#i've been particularly struggling with echoes...

[teethcore]

.

[anneapocalypse]

Not gonna lie, analysis of Minfilia that rests on a reading of her as some kind of hiring manager at a company really doesn't sit right with me, not just because it lends itself to some particularly uncharitable readings of Minfilia, but because it seems to me like a pretty inaccurate reading of what the Scions actually are in ARR.

The Scions of the Seventh Dawn are the union of the Circle of Knowing, a group of activist academics who accurately predicted the apocalypse but failed to prevent it and lost their beloved mentor in the process, and the Path of the Twelve, a group for Echo-bearers to help them better understand and make use of their gift--all doing their best to pick up the pieces and protect the realm in the wake of said apocalypse. Minfilia, formerly the leader of the Path of the Twelve, has now been thrust into the position of leadership over both at the late Louisoix's behest. The Scions in ARR aren't a company, they're an activist group, and in ARR still a very small one without the massive web of political connections they fall into later. They don't have a lot of financial resources. They're largely working quietly and behind the scenes. They have a secret code phrase to identify friends of the organization. Being recruited into this group in ARR is closer to being recruited into a resistance cell than being interviewed for a formal job.

Minfilia's role prior to the Calamity was as the leader of a support group for people experiencing a frightening, isolating, and as-yet poorly-understood phenomenon, a group where they could find others like them, understand what's happening to them, and learn how to use their gift for good. And to some extent, this is still a part of her role. The Warrior of Light is brought in because they were witnessed experiencing the Echo, and Minfilia is reaching out to them as a fellow Echo-bearer. I think it's a mistake to interpret her words and actions without that context, particularly her expressed hope that this most recent Echo-bearer she's invited into her group will find something like family there. I mean, listen to the joy with which she says, "I too possess the Echo." She's telling the WoL that they're not alone, that there is a name and an explanation for what they've been experiencing, that they can find others like themselves here. Yes, she's also asking for their help. But this is a pretty far cry from a job interview. However flawed the Scions may be as an organization, I can only see Minfilia's overtures here as offered in the spirit of friendship and camaraderie. And framing that as her trying to build loyalty she can exploit in a corporate manner feels extremely ungenerous given what we know of her character.

I don't want to sound like I'm here to defend the Scions in ARR against any and all criticism--I've discussed my own in the past, from their concerning tendency toward self-sacrifice to the attitude they develop toward the WoL (which is kind of up for interpretation based on your character's relationship to them but which can come across as a cavalier attitude toward the WoL's safety, taking advantage of their unique abilities, etc). In particular, the Scions' experience as a small activist organization, and Minfilia's particular experience as Echo support group leader, has ill-prepared any of them to be thrust into an international spotlight following the defeat of the Ultima Weapon. The attack on the Waking Sands has already revealed the weaknesses in their opsec, and certain scenes in the ARR patch quests reveal something of a power struggle between Minfilia and Alphinaud--one which Alphinaud ultimately wins, because Minfilia lacks the kind of confidence in her position to stand against the force of his personality, and she, like most of the other Scions, starts to fall into the trap of seeing Alphinaud as the second coming of Louisoix and lets him push her around accordingly. Minfilia is simply not equipped or prepared to lead the kind of organization the Scions are turning into. (Urianger, incidentally is one of the few who seems to notice this and remark on it, but also seems to feel that he can't directly object.) The cracks begin to show, and then it all falls apart, and when the Scions finally begin to put themselves back together post-Heavensward, I think they all understand that they can't go back, that what they rebuild will be something new. Over the next few expacs I think we see them developing a new group identity, recognizing that that old model no longer serves them and doing their best to adapt to constantly changing circumstances.

The Scions in ARR have plenty of problems, but they're not a for-profit company and they're also not the same organization as the Scions of later expacs. I think that context needs to be taken into account when interpreting their actions, especially those of their leader.

[ama0310]

Bubblegum Bitch

Character: Aaron Hotchner

Requested: No

Type: Song Fic, Angst/Fluff

Summary: Hotch never thought he'd fall in love again—until he met Y/N.

Author's Note: Based on Bubblegum Bitch by MARINA

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

Meeting the Unit Chief should have been terrifying, but for you, it was exhilarating. Strauss had recently transferred you to the BAU from the Counter-Terrorism Division.

You suspected she added you to the team to ruffle the Unit Chief's feathers. It might have bothered you if it hadn’t come with a nice bump in your paycheck.

The moment Hotch saw you, he knew you were trouble. He just didn't realize how much trouble until your very first case.

Got a figure like a pin-up, got a figure like a doll Don't care if you think I'm dumb, I don't care at all

You stood before the mirror in a dingy motel bathroom, applying the finishing touches to your makeup. The skin-tight leather mini dress hugged every curve, transforming you into the perfect bait for the unsub who had been terrorizing local nightclubs.

Hotch's reflection appeared behind you, his face etched with worry. "Y/L/N, I really don't think you're ready for this."

You turned, cocking an eyebrow as you placed your hands on your hips. "And why is that, sir?"

Hotch's response was immediate and brutally honest. "You're still new, never been face-to-face with an unsub, let alone undercover. You're reckless, difficult to control, and frankly, a loose cannon. Need I go on?"

I'll chew you up and I'll spit you out

A smirk played at your lips as you sauntered towards him, invading his personal space. The scent of your perfume mingled with the tension in the air. "Look, Hotchie," you purred, noting how he stiffened at the nickname, "I was transferred here for a reason. I know what this job entails. So be my boss and let me do it."

You could see the internal struggle playing out behind Hotch's eyes. His professional concern warred with something else – an attraction he was clearly trying to suppress. You were a walking danger sign, and part of him was drawn to that fire.

"First," he said, his voice low and controlled, "don't call me that. Second, I'm not trying to offend you. I simply think Emily might be better suited for this operation. You can take points next time."

You scoffed, taking a step back. "Next time? With all due respect, sir, I fit the victimology perfectly, and you know it. I've spent the last hour transforming myself into exactly what this creep is looking for. If I don't do this, he'll likely claim another victim before we can catch him. So again, Hotchie," you emphasized the nickname, watching him bristle, "let me do my job. Don't make me have to disobey orders."

Without waiting for a response, you slipped on your stilettos and brushed past him, the warmth of your body tantalizingly close for a moment before you were gone.

Hotch watched you go, a mix of admiration and trepidation swirling in his gut. You were brilliant, fearless, and undeniably effective. But you were also unpredictable, pushing boundaries at every turn. As he followed you out, preparing to oversee the operation, one thought echoed in his mind:

Definitely trouble.

Candy bear, sweetie pie, wanna be adored I'm the girl you'd die for

Over the past few months, you had become the team's radiant beacon of positivity, your presence a cure for the often-dark nature of their work. Even the usually stoic Hotch, though he'd never admit it aloud, had fallen under your spell.

It was impossible not to be drawn to your infectious energy. Each morning, you breezed into the bullpen, a whirlwind of warmth and enthusiasm. Your greetings were accompanied by compliments, tailored to brighten each team member's day. After particularly grueling cases, the aroma of your famous blueberry muffins would fill the office, a comforting reminder that there was still sweetness in the world. You even patiently endured Spencer's lengthy tangents, sparing the others from information overload.

As the team prepared to head out for a new case, you sprinted across the parking lot, your laughter echoing off the concrete walls. "Shotgun!" you called out triumphantly, playfully shoving past Spencer to claim the coveted front seat next to Hotch.

Your friendship with the young doctor had blossomed quickly, bonded by your shared status as the "kids" of the team. While the others sometimes found his endless stream of facts overwhelming, you delighted in his knowledge, often engaging him in spirited debates that left the rest of the team both amused and bewildered.

The unit chief's lips twitched, fighting back a smile as he watched your antics. Spencer, mock indignation coloring his voice, appealed to their leader. "Hotch, come on! She rode shotgun last time. It's my turn, isn't it?"

Hotch cleared his throat, his tone stern but his eyes betraying a hint of amusement. "Y/N, you know the rules. It is indeed Reid's turn to sit up front."

You turned to face Hotch, unleashing the full power of your most irresistible puppy dog eyes. Your lower lip jutted out ever so slightly as you pleaded silently. Behind you, Spencer let out a resigned sigh, already knowing he'd lost this battle. Your ability to wrap Hotch around your finger was legendary among the team, even if the man himself was loath to acknowledge it.

Hotch held your gaze for a moment, visibly wavering. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, he started the engine, tacitly allowing you to keep your place.

Victorious, you twisted in your seat to face Spencer, sticking out your tongue in a childish display of triumph.

"Y/N!" Hotch's voice held a note of warning, though it lacked any real heat.

You straightened immediately, your voice dripping with faux innocence. "Sorry, sir!"

The apology was hollow, and you both knew it. As Hotch pulled out of the parking lot, you caught the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Your sunny persona had once again melted the ice around the unit chief's heart.

Oh, dear diary, I met a boy He made my doll heart light up with joy

The realization hit you like a thunderbolt – you were hopelessly, irrevocably in love with Aaron Hotchner. For the first time in your life, you felt a fear that chilled you to your core.

How could someone like him ever reciprocate such feelings? The cons seemed endless: a decade age gap, your extroverted nature clashing with his stoicism, your wild spirit at odds with his controlled demeanor. Not to mention the professional boundary – you were his employee, AND  he was still navigating the aftermath of his recent divorce.

Your newfound awareness of your feelings for Hotch led to a desperate attempt at avoidance. It was hard, given how intertwined your lives had become over the months. For a week, you'd been dodging his texts, offering only cursory greetings, and maintaining a physical distance that felt painfully unnatural.

Hotch noticed the change immediately, and it gnawed at him. Your vibrant presence had become a constant in his life, a source of warmth he hadn't realized he'd come to depend on until it was suddenly gone.

He found himself missing the little rituals that had naturally developed between you. The morning car rides, once a practical solution to your car troubles, had evolved into a cherished start to each day. Your habit of bringing him a piece of candy during lunch breaks, with the excuse of "sweetening up his day," never failed to bring a smile to his face. Most of all, he missed the casual physical contact – the way you'd unconsciously place your hand on his arm when standing close, a gesture that grounded him more than he cared to admit.

As the week progressed, Hotch's concern deepened. Had he unknowingly offended you? He wracked his brain, trying to pinpoint any misstep. Perhaps the latest case had affected you more than usual, or maybe you were simply exhausted. Whatever the reason, he was determined to lift your spirits.

During his lunch break, Hotch made his way to your favorite café. The aroma of freshly baked goods enveloped him as he ordered your usual – a ham and cheese croissant and your preferred coffee blend. Back at the office, he noticed your empty desk and quickly left the bag before retreating to his office.

When you returned from the restroom, steeling yourself for an afternoon of paperwork, the sight of the familiar bag on your desk stopped you in your tracks. With trembling hands, you opened it to find the still-warm croissant and perfectly prepared coffee. Atop the container, a piece of candy was taped to a note that read: "To sweeten your day up! – Hotch"

Your heart swelled, a mix of joy and ache flooding your chest. Looking up, you caught Hotch watching you from his office window. Despite your best efforts to maintain distance, you couldn't help but offer him the radiant smile he'd come to cherish.

In that moment, the truth was undeniable. You were completely, utterly, and hopelessly in love with Aaron Hotchner. As your eyes locked with his, a flicker of something – hope, perhaps? – passed between you, hinting that maybe, just maybe, these obstacles weren't quite so impossible after all.

Oh, dear diary, we fell apart Welcome to the life of Electra Heart

Aaron Hotchner never imagined falling in love after Haley left. His life revolved around his job and Jack. He didn't need anyone else. That is, until you entered his life.

You were the first to sense something was wrong when he didn't answer his phone. Racing to his apartment, you found it covered in blood. With Penelope's help, you tracked him to a hospital, learning he'd been stabbed nine times.

When he opened his eyes and saw you, Hotch thought he'd died and gone to heaven. You looked angelic - an angel he couldn't bear to see harmed.

So when George Foyet shot him in his own home, Hotch realized he needed to end whatever was blossoming between you before you got hurt.

But you made it difficult.

The moment he was released, you were there every day, before and after work. Groceries, cleaning, anything to ease his burden. You knew how hard it was for him to send Haley and Jack away, how alone he must feel. You were determined to show him the team - and you - were there for him. For anything.

Driving him home after the Darrin Call case, where he'd recklessly entered a house without backup, your anger finally boiled over.

"What the hell were you thinking, Aaron?" you demanded, following him into his apartment. "No gun, no vest, no backup. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Hotch turned, his face a mask of stone. "I knew the profile. I had it under control."

"Under control?" you scoffed. "If it were anyone else, you'd have suspended them! This isn't you, Aaron. What's going on?"

His eyes flashed. "What's going on is I'm the Unit Chief, and I don't answer to you. I think before I act, unlike some people."

The barb stung. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he said coldly. "Just find it ironic you're lecturing me on recklessness."

"I've never walked into a hostage situation alone and unarmed!" you countered.

"I don't have to explain myself," Hotch snapped. "Especially not to you. Get out."

Your eyes widened. "No. We're talking about this. You're spiraling, Aaron. This obsession with Foyet-"

"Stop. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know you're not alone in this!" you pleaded. "The team needs you. I need you."

Hotch laughed bitterly. "If you haven't noticed, I am alone. My son is gone. I have no one. And I won't rest until Foyet is dead."

Tears welled in your eyes. "You have us. You have me. We can figure this out together."

"There is no 'we,'" Hotch said, his voice cold and final. "There never was."

The words hit like a physical blow. "Don't say that. You know that's not true."

For a moment, his mask slipped, revealing the pain beneath. But then it was back, harder than ever. "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression."

You stared at him, hurt turning to anger. "Go to hell, Hotchner," you spat, before storming out, leaving him alone with the wreckage of what might have been.

I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips Hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss

Your relationship with Aaron had crumbled to dust. Since that night you stormed out of his apartment, you'd made it your mission to avoid him at all costs. Difficult, considering he was your boss.

You understood he was facing unimaginable challenges - the loss of his ex-wife, becoming a single parent. Part of you ached to support him, but you both needed space.

That space stretched into a year.

You'd left transfer papers on his desk days ago. Despite your love for the team, staying had become impossible. It wasn't fair to you or Hotch. Counter Terrorism Division beckoned - a fresh start.

You hadn't told the team yet, dreading their reactions. You'd become their wild, sassy, overdramatic little sister. But tonight wasn't about goodbyes. It was Spencer's birthday, and Derek had chosen a club to celebrate. You wouldn't miss it for the world.

Arriving in a hot pink mini dress and matching heels, you spotted the team immediately.

"Happy birthday, Boy Genius!" you exclaimed, hugging Spencer tight.

"Please," he whispered, "get me out of here. Derek's trying to set me up with his friend."

You laughed, ruffling his hair. "No can do, Spence. It's your night. Go crazy. I promise not to film anything too embarrassing."

Turning to greet the others, you froze. Hotch was there. You hugged everyone but him, pointedly avoiding his gaze.

"Damn, girl! You're on fire!" Penelope gushed, clearly tipsy.

Emily nodded appreciatively. "I'm borrowing those heels."

"You know how to make a girl feel special," you winked. "First round's on me!"

An hour later, you were dancing with Penelope and Spencer, the alcohol buzzing through your veins. Suddenly, Spencer spun you – right into Hotch's arms. You glared at Spencer, who mouthed 'Karma' with a smirk.

The tension was strong as you and Hotch swayed silently. You wanted to escape, yet craved his touch.

"You requested a transfer," he stated, his voice low.

You quirked an eyebrow. "Did you sign it?"

"No."

You pulled back, stunned. "What do you mean, no?"

"We need to talk first."

Anger flared. "You're unbelievable," you spat, pushing past him and out of the club. He followed close behind.

"Y/N, please-"

You whirled to face him. "There's nothing to say. It's been a year, Hotch. Whatever we had is dead."

"You don't mean that," he insisted, his eyes burning into yours.

The alcohol amplified your emotions. "I do. I'm over it. Over you. There's nothing left to talk about."

"Then I'll talk, and you listen," he said firmly, gripping your shoulders. "There was a 'we'. Everything I said that night – it was a lie. To keep you safe from Foyet. He was targeting everyone I loved. I couldn't risk losing you."

Your heart stuttered. "You... loved me?"

"I still do," he breathed, cupping your face. "This past year has been hell. Not having you by my side – our carpool chats, sneaking candy, just... you. It was torture. I'll do anything to earn your forgiveness."

You wanted to resist, to make him suffer longer. But the alcohol, the longing, the raw emotion in his voice – it was too much. You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his neck.

You both exhaled, tension melting away. It felt right. It felt like coming home.

"I love you too," you murmured, then pulled back with a stern look. "But you've got a lot of making up to do."

He pressed his forehead to yours. "I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to. You deserve the world, Y/N, and I intend to give it to you."

Your lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, full of promise and the weight of a year apart.

As you parted, you whispered, "This doesn't mean I'm not still furious with you."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch

Again, you were trouble. Even after two years together, you definitely kept him on his toes. Not transferring and working alongside your boyfriend made for an interesting way to live.

“What you did was stupid and reckless, Y/N.” Aaron's voice was stern as the team boarded the jet to head back home. The case had been a success, but it came at the cost of you getting into the unsub’s car without any weapons. Fortunately, you had your team.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at him. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Y/N. I’m serious.”

“Ooooo, Mom and Dad are fighting,” Spencer teased from across the jet.

“Shut up, Spencer,” you snapped, making him raise his hands in mock surrender. Then, you turned to Hotch. “You know damn well I needed to get into his car. If I didn’t and you caught him, he would’ve acted like he was just trying to get with me.”

Aaron rubbed the side of his head. Migraines. You gave him migraines. “The plan was for you to walk down the street, and the moment you were alone with him, we would get him. You went rogue.”

You rolled your eyes again. “Well, technically we were alone, and you did get him.”

He was about to argue again, but you wrapped your arms around his neck, giving him your infamous puppy dog face. “Aaron, I’m okay. You know I did what I had to do to catch him. I’m sorry I worried you, but I’m not sorry for helping bring him in.”

He sighed, knowing you were right, and he could never stay mad at you. “I hated every second of it. My heart stopped the moment you got into that damn car.”

You smiled and pecked him on the lips. “Hey, you always said I was going to give you a heart attack.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes before he kissed you. “You have, and you most definitely will again.”

“Hey, that’s what you love about me.”

“That is true.”

[devilfruitwriter]

falls in love easily {Taz Skylar}

Summary: Life comes at you fast, and often in uncertain ways, at least that's what you find yourself thinking when it's almost five in the morning and you're waiting for the cast of the upcoming Live Action One Piece Netflix show in their makeup trailer, and you realise you might have finally found your people. (And the way you try not to think about how you might genuinely be falling for the actor who you've been joking about being in love with since day one.)

Need to Know: They/Them Reader. Makeup Artist!Reader. Fluff through vignettes. No use of Y/N.

A/N: 3424 words. Unedited and probably a mess but I love him your honor. Now idk if it's good, but I hope you enjoy it. There's mentions of drinking. Let me know what you think, or if you have any prompts for Taz or any of the rest of the cast! <3

Taglist is always open, please comment or message me to be added! xx

Taz has started bringing you coffee, and damn if you don't love him for it.

"Don't let it go to your head; they love everyone," Emily rolls her eyes but her expression is fond. You stick your tongue out at her, still cradling your steaming take away cup with both your hands, looking between them in the makeup trailer they share with you and Emily's makeup artist.

"Yeah but me the most," Taz sits a little higher in his chair, his smug little smile is levelled at his co-star, though you see his gaze flick to you and the grin you're trying to hide behind the rim of your cup, "that's the point of the coffee, isn't it?"

"You have a few other redeeming qualities," you chime in, struggling not to laugh at the whole situation, especially as Taz makes a show of practically preening at your decidedly backhanded praise.

"Told ya," he's outright beaming now, "loves me the most, as they should."

"As I should?" You hear the disbelief in your own voice rise as you lower your cup, crossing your free hand over your chest.

"Obviously," Taz, however, does not seem phased by your indignance, looking at you with wide, bright eyes, like it's the most simple thing in the world, "you're my makeup artist, if you loved one of them more I'd consider that a great betrayal of our bond."

Emily can no longer contain her laughter.

You take a moment to ponder and sip the coffee he'd brought you, mulling over his words.

"I've known Emily longer," you pointed out, though Taz shook his head, managing to keep his composure and keep up with the bit.

"And I've worked with other makeup artists in the past; what matters is the here and now," he says with an almost believable sincerity, "and here and now, I love you the most, and I buy you coffee, and I'm gonna be real sad if you don't say it back." Endeared by his antics, the words tumble from you -

"Of course I love you the mostest -"

"- the mostest! -" he echoes under his breath with a pleased kind of triumph.

"- the mostest? -" Emily, however, has her whole face scrunched up, muttering amid her laughter like she can't quite believe she'd heard you say that.

"Of course I love Taz the mostest -" you doubled down, now outright grinning, "not that it should have to be stated; this is a well established love affair we've got going on here, was that not clear?" Gesturing between yourself and Taz, who's once again looking particularly pleased with the bit, the two of you share an amused look before both turning to Emily in the makeup chair beside you both. She gives you both a thin, amused smile, her laughter having died down.

"Oh it's clear," she smirks at him, "considering that even Kiki won't swap trailers with me -" though there's no real malice behind it.

"You have not asked Kiki to swap with you," Taz rolled his eyes good-naturedly, "you love us."

"And we love you," you assured her, playing up the saccharine quality of your voice once more.

"But not as much as you love each other," she pointed out.

"Obviously," Taz nodded, right as you agreed;

"That goes without saying."

(Later, when you ask him how he takes his coffee, he cracks an eye open where he's relaxing as you're laying his wig for the day, slight smile on his lips, telling you that's not how this works.

Music fills the little trailer in the in-between moments, loud enough that Emily and her own makeup artist can't hear the specifics of your conversation. You give pause, waiting for the spirit gum to dry, echoing his words back to him as a question, amused at his apparent courteousness. He nods, now watching you, as if confused by your question.

"How am I meant to let you know I love you otherwise?" You snickered, playing off the earlier joke. It did the trick, however, as he huffed a quiet laugh of his own. Still, he tells you how he takes his coffee, and you, triumphant, turn to the counter for your next product.

"Or you could just say," he adds after a moment, and you can't help but freeze. You don't even need to be looking at him to hear him grinning - this moment is doing strange things to the affectionate feeling in your chest, but you do your best to ignore it. Turning back, his eyes are closed again, settled back in his seat, waiting as patient as ever.

"That's too easy," you hope he can tell you're smiling too.)

----

"I'm so sorry, love," Taz is leaning against the side of your trailer, cigarette in one hand, and blue, plastic lighter in the other, "my lighter's dead, you don't happen to have one?"

After being called in even earlier than usual to assist with Jeff's Buggy makeup for the shoot today, it takes you a moment to catch up. It takes you a moment, and a yawn, but you reach into one of the side pockets of your backpack.

"Yeah, gimme a sec," you mumble through your yawn.

"Fuckin' love you," Taz mutters gratefully, shoving his own, empty lighter into his back pocket, "I know it's a filthy habit but -"

"I don't judge," you shrug, finally handing over the lighter that had been buried in the bottom of the pocket. Instead of heading in, however, you joined him, leaning against the trailer, tipping your head back to look at the lilac sky as it began to turn gold.

The quiet spark, pop, sizzle of the cigarette isn't an unfamiliar sound given the industry you work in. Taz thanks you quietly as he hands back the lighter, and you give a tired smile in return; you had an energy drink and probably a coffee waiting in your trailer but you would rather take these few moments of peace where you could get them.

"I thought you vaped," you mused after a moment. Taz makes a noncommittal noise as he breathes out a lungful of smoke.

"Left it in the accommodation," he admitted. He offers the cigarette, but you shake your head, "probably smart, like its a bad habit, yeah, but also I don't exactly know where this came from, I found it in the bottom of my bag, it's..." he gives a thin, self deprecating smile, "questionable."

"Sounds like a you-problem, my guy," you tell him, shifting over to lean against his shoulder, closing your eyes for the moment. You hear him laugh and agree, and a comfortable silence stretches out between you.

"It definitely is," he agrees after a moment, "can I ask why you carry a lighter with you if you don't smoke? Not that I'm not grateful -"

"That's why."

"What?"

"In case someone needs a lighter."

"That's sweet, that's very lovely."

"I do try," you hum with a slight smile. After a moment, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, continuing to blow smoke into the wind, away from you.

"You doing alright, love?"

"Always," you sigh, leaning into him in the moment, "I'll be alright, I just need to get some caffeine into me."

"Coffee's waiting for you inside," he told you warmly, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

"Yeah," you mumbled, before admitting, "I like hanging out with you though."

You can't bring yourself to open your eyes and gauge his reaction, but he doesn't let you go.

(He keeps borrowing your lighter. Sometimes it's those early mornings, sometimes it's on set, during the few scenes where Sanji's smoking; before anyone else he'll come to you. You start carrying your lighter in your pocket just in case.

"So you've just given up on having a lighter of your own?" You teased, lighting the herbal cigarette they were using for filming.

"Why would I need one? I've got you," he smirks back, and damn he's just as charming in character as he is out of it. "Thanks, love," he wraps you up in a one-armed hug, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before the cast and crew is called to stand by for the shot.

Taz is the kind of affectionate you could really see yourself getting used to, and he's definitely taken notice.)

----

Between the wig, the makeup, and covering up his tattoos, Taz's spends just over an hour in your makeup chair, depending on how much of Sanji will be seen on any given day.

"Scenes like today might be my favourite," You're working diligently away, already a half hour into your routine and mind on autopilot as you take Taz's hand to keep it still while you added product to your brush. You hadn't even realised you'd said that out loud until he responded.

"Scenes like today?" His voice is gentle but amused; you can hear him smiling but can't bring yourself to meet his gaze, suddenly feeling flustered that you'd voiced that thought at all. "Come on, love, you can't just say that, what d' you mean by that?" And it takes you a moment of deliberation to decide if you want to answer honestly, applying concealer to his tattoos as you feel yourself grow flustered.

"I like all your scenes," you mutter dismissively, "I feel lucky that I get to see so much of the show being filmed." Which isn't a lie, you're on standby on set to touch up makeup throughout the days, and you love the production and what you've seen of the show thus far... but it's also not the whole truth, and you know Taz can tell.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, and when you look up finally, you can see the way he's smiling, but he's thankfully not looking at you. For a moment, you're glad Emily's not filming until later in the day, her call time not for several hours, so it's just you and Taz, and his playlist to fill the silence. But you make the call to swallow your embarrassment and voice the compliment that had been idling in your mind.

"I like watching you cook on set the most," you say without a hint of hesitation, and he looks to you quickly, almost like he's surprised by your honesty, but you weren't finished, "I know you've really immersed yourself in the role and put in a lot of effort and training; it really shows, especially when you fight and when you cook." There's something in the way he's looking at you that starts to overwhelm you, and you have to break the moment, break eye contact, go back to covering his tattoos or your not sure what you might do. Even your tone shifts, a little flustered, a little awkward, a little jarring after how sure you'd just been, "I, you know, I appreciate you and stuff, but you knew that."

There was a warmth to the silence that followed. When you finally sat back to grab the colour correction pallet, you could see Taz still watching you with genuine affection in his gaze.

"You're very kind," he says softly.

"Nah, it's just true," you huffed an awkward laugh.

"Don't hit me with that 'nah, it's just true' shit," he snorted, shaking his head, "you're being very kind and I appreciate that," he told you with firm honesty, matching the tone you'd addressed him with just moments ago, "lemme cook you dinner some time, 'cos I have been practicing," he agrees with pride, "and I'd take any excuse to show off, 'specially to you."

"Thought we established that I already love you, you don't have to prove anything to me," you ducked your head as you loaded your brush with product, unable to keep the grin from your face.

"Yeah, but this love-bit is a two way street."

"Okay," you said after a pause, finally meeting his gaze once more, and your smile grows wider.

"Okay?" Matching your excited energy, Taz grins widely at you, and you nod.

"Yeah, dinner, eventually," you laughed, "whenever we both are up for it. I'd really like that."

Something is... different now. Something has changed. Taz can't help but mention, as you're securing his wig, that it's going to be hard for him to think of anything but your kind words during filming today. Sheepishly you apologise, but he waves you off quickly - nothing to apologise for, he assured you.

But something is different.

(The silly, little fantasies you've been having on occasion, or more accurately, have been trying to ignore on occasion, have only gotten worse.

And more domestic.

They leave you feeling that kind of giddy-sick and unprofessional, the kind of daydreams that remind you at two in the morning that you should be sleeping and really shouldn't have a crush on your coworker.

Except you can't stop picturing small moments, like a sunlit, mid-morning, music playing on your laptop, the two of you moving around each other to make breakfast together on your day off. Or sharing quiet conversations and laughter while making dinner and -

When you both finally have a night off, he mentions how he's invited some of the other cast members to join you both. You've never been so relieved and disappointed all at once.)

----

Lines and jokes get messy and blurry; late nights on set, Taz almost falling asleep in your makeup chair as you're removing his wig for the day, nights out that both he and Emily invite you to, and a burgeoning friendship with the rest of the cast, and quiet moments spent in the back of Ubers lamenting how early you all have to get up the next day.

Usually you're the first one to bail, considering you're usually getting calling in even earlier than the cast, but some of the more responsible ones, or the other members of crew who have been roped into these various shenanigans, will split the Uber bill with you. The others all seem to understand why you have to leave early, but still, they're sad to see you leave.

What you tell absolutely none of them is that your self restraint is wearing incredibly thin when it comes to Taz already, and you know you're so close to doing something you can't take back.

Because he gets somehow more tactile when you're all out together; his arm around you, kisses your temple, your cheek, elated to see you whenever you meet up again after any amount of time. The way he laughs, the way he just talks to you, making you feel like you're the most important person in the world in the moment he gives you his focus and attention, and your brain gets all giddy and foggy when he calls you 'my love'.

So you need to leave, before you do too much, or say too much... well, too much more.

("My love -" and there it is again, his voice above the music, cutting through the crowd where he's spotted you.

"Yes, my darling Taz," you greet him with a sunny smile and open arms as an invitation to join you. Beside you in the booth, Emily and Inaki are playing slaps, and somehow neither are doing well, but thankfully they're both enjoying themselves.

Taz slides seamlessly into the booth beside you, pressed up to your side. Immediately his focus is stolen by his castmates' various yells and shrieks and slaps, and he half drapes himself across you and the table in front of you to get closer to their game. You don't even really mind, simply enjoying the moment, his proximity, and trying to figure out how long before you should head home. These three have the day off tomorrow, but you've been called in to assist with the hair and makeup for Mihawk.

"You're thinking very hard," Taz muses, as if remembering on whom he was leaning. Giving him a nudge, you grin.

"Just got work tomorrow unfortunately -"

Emily pats you sympathetically on the shoulder, Inaki immediately shouts that she's cheating, his eyes bright and wide. You push Taz back so he's no longer half-leaning over you to instead offer your shoulder to Inaki; he gives a decisive pat and declares he and Emily even, while you lament that you should probably hit the hay.

Emily and Inaki put their game on hold to say goodbye, Emily hugging you tightly and telling you to message when you got back to your accommodation, before they returned their focus to each other, and trying to pick a new game. Taz slides from the booth, giving you room to get out, and walks with you to the door.

"Surely you're not leaving," you grinned, but he's already shaking his head, throwing an arm around your shoulders as you get out onto the street.

"Making sure you make it to your taxi, or Uber, or whatever, okay."

"My hero," you teased, but still pulled out your phone to order your ride back to the hotel. Taz is humming something to himself that you can't quite pick all the while, "should be here in three minutes," you say softly, turning your attention back to him for the moment. The sight of his affectionate, smiling face has something softening in your heart - "you don't need to stay out here, I'll be fine, the bouncer's -"

"I work hard to my top ranking with you," Taz tried to muster up as much seriousness as he could, but it only served to endear you further, "no way I'm letting something happen in these three minutes and you end up liking some fuckin' bouncer more than me."

What you want to say is 'that will never happen'.

What you actually do is kiss him.)

----

It's not nothing.

This thing between you both is something, but you're not quite sure what. Because at first neither of you talk about what happens on those nights out, or how it keeps happening, but it never feels strange when you see each other at work. Still you tease each other endlessly, and there's something about the way he tries not to laugh when you're doing some kind of nonsense bit while doing his makeup, and how you'd fallen asleep against each other when Inaki invited people over to hang out and watch movies together.

Somehow after the wrap party, you, the main cast, and a few other members of the crew all ended up back at your accommodation. Most had left in the wee hours of the morning, but Inaki's passed out on your sofa, and a few of the other makeup artists had decided to squeeze into your bed like sardines, while you and Taz haven't moved from the wicker armchair on your balcony for hours.

The sunrise paints him golden in this moment you never want to end.

He's halfway through telling a story that has you practically wheezing, and you want to tell him that you'll miss him, miss these moments, miss whatever it is the two of you are, that you might actually love him, but instead what comes out is -

"You bastard, you know you've ruined me for other actors," you're beaming from ear to ear, watching the sun rise, and you hear him practically giggling as he leans against you.

"My grand plan has succeeded then."

"Grand plan?"

"Grand plan," he confirmed with a slight nod, "since I met you and you pointed at me," he points out to the horizon for emphasis, "and you said I was going to do great things with this role, even though you'd barely even met me; I've been gone for you ever since," he admitted with a snort of laughter, as if embarrassed by the recollection.

"You what?" You shifted back, eyes wide with surprise, only to be met with Taz's confused smile, like obviously.

"You've been nothing but a support this entire time, how is this a surprise?" He chuckled; seeing how obviously flustered you were becoming, his smile softened to something endeared, "you make yourself very easy to love, you know that, right?"

So much is running through your head at once, a million things you'd like to say, questions you have, what-ifs you could dwell on, but you don't.

"Oh thank god," you breathe, wrapping your arms around him, "I love you too," you're beaming until you're kissing him, this moment golden and absolutely perfect.

----

Taglist: @annssell @deadsnothere @hobbitsnapes @notdaninotfound @uncertainturquoise

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 03 Chapter 03 | peace⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

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The halls of the palace were empty this early in the morning, silent except for the faint echoes of your footsteps.

The stone floors were cool beneath your sandals as you moved gracefully, carrying a tray carefully balanced with food and drink for the queen.

The scents of breakfast wafted upwards—a fresh loaf of bread, drizzled with honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds, alongside a bowl of ripe figs and a small serving of olives. A jug of goat's milk rested next to the plate, the cool liquid sloshing slightly as you walked.

You had walked these halls so many times that you barely needed to think about where you were going, your feet knowing the way on their own, your movements steady and confident.

Yet, you couldn't help but reflect on how different this all felt from when you first arrived

Back then, you had been a frightened, scrawny child, uncertain if you would even find a place here.

Now, after years of training and being in Penelope's service, you had grown into someone with purpose, someone the queen trusted and relied upon

You passed by tapestries depicting scenes of Ithaca's heroes, the vibrant colors muted in the early morning light.

You often found yourself drawn to these tapestries, seeing in them reflections of the great stories Penelope would tell you.

They reminded you of the legacy you were now a part of, a history that you had once thought too grand for someone like you

As you reached a large set of double doors, you paused for a moment before gently knocking. The sound echoed softly down the empty hallway, and you waited until you heard the gentle voice from within:

"Come in."

You pushed the heavy door open, entering the room with a bowed head.

Penelope sat at the windowsill, dressed in her mourning clothes—a deep, rich purple robe, embroidered delicately along the edges. Her dark hair was partially covered by a veil, the fabric thin enough to let light pass through, giving her a ghostly, almost ethereal appearance.

She looked out across the sea, her gaze distant, the waves shimmering under the morning sun. When she heard you enter, she turned, her lips curling into a soft, tired smile.

Even as she smiled, the weight of her sorrow remained, etched into her features—a weariness that never seemed to leave her.

"Ah, ____," she said, her voice gentle, yet carrying the weight of her lingering sorrow.

You curtsied, lowering your head respectfully. "Good morning, Queen Penelope. I've come to help you break your fast."

She nodded, her smile not fading, though the sadness lingered in her eyes, a weight that never seemed to truly lift. You walked forward, approaching her carefully, the tray balanced delicately in your hands.

As you set the tray down on the small table beside her, you couldn't help but take in her tired features—the lines that worry and waiting had carved into her face, the weariness that seemed to cling to her even now.

Your time in Ithaca had been a story of struggle and small victories.

After arriving by boat those years ago, you had found yourself amidst many others—orphans and the poor—standing outside the towering halls of Ithaca, each of you hoping for work.

You remembered how you were overlooked at first, Ithaca's head servant dismissing you and a few others with barely a glance; he had been the one in charge of hiring new servants, particularly while Odysseus was gone and Penelope was wrapped so deeply in mourning that she rarely involved herself in the day-to-day matters.

His face was stern, his patience thin, as he waved you off, deeming you too young and weak to be of any use.

You had felt a deep pang of disappointment, a sense that perhaps you truly were not enough. It was a familiar feeling, one that had often accompanied you since you lost your family.

But fate had other plans.

Just as you were about to turn away, Penelope herself had appeared, her figure somber and regal as she passed by. Her eyes caught yours, and something in your pitiful state must have struck her heart.

She paused, her dark eyes lingering on you before she stepped closer, her hand reaching out to gently caress your face. Her touch was soft, her expression filled with a mix of melancholy and tenderness.

In that moment, it felt as though a small ember of hope had sparked within you—a feeling that perhaps you were worth more than the hardships you had faced.

"You look as sweet as a dove," she had murmured, her voice laced with a deep sadness. "Such bright eyes for someone so young."

It was in that moment that she made her decision. She called you forward, and despite the objections of the head servant, she decided to take you under her care.

You were to be trained under other servants until you were old enough, learning the ways of the palace, how to serve properly, how to carry yourself with grace and dignity.

Over time, you became one of her personal maidens, trusted with tasks that others were not, your bond with her deepening as the years passed.

You came to understand her sorrow and her strength, admiring the quiet resilience she carried each day.

Penelope had given you a chance when no one else would, and you felt a deep loyalty towards her—a loyalty born from both gratitude and genuine admiration for the woman she was

Now, as you stood beside her, offering her breakfast, you could see the years that had passed reflected in both of you—her, still mourning but holding on, and you, no longer that lost child from the docks but someone with a purpose, with a role in the grand halls of Ithaca.

There was a sense of pride in how far you had come, a feeling that perhaps you were slowly repaying the faith Penelope had placed in you all those years ago.

The weight of that trust and your determination to be worthy of it were always present, driving you to do your best every day.

Penelope glanced at the tray before her, her tired smile softening further. "Thank you, ____," she said, her voice quiet. "You have always been a light in these halls."

You bowed your head again, a warmth spreading through your chest at her words. "It is an honor, my queen," you replied, your voice steady, though you could not help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

As Penelope began to nibble on the bread and sip the goat's milk, she looked at you thoughtfully. "____," she said, her tone gentle but weary, "what news do we have of the suitors?"

Your face faltered for a brief moment, the exhaustion of dealing with the suitors creeping into your expression, but you quickly smoothed it out, replacing it with a cheerful smile. "Prince Telemachus is handling them well, my queen," you said brightly, though in your heart, you felt the cracks beginning to show. The suitors were restless, and each passing day seemed to test the young prince's patience more and more; you could sense that the tension was growing, and it was only a matter of time before something would need to give. "He's been taking them on hunts and finding ways to keep them occupied. He does his best to ensure they remain... entertained."

Penelope sighed, her eyes lowering to her lap. Her fingers traced the edge of the table idly, the tiredness once again visible in her features. "How long can I keep them at bay?" she whispered, almost to herself. "It's been twenty years now... how much longer must I hold them off?"

The sorrow in her voice was palpable, and for a moment, the silence in the room seemed to deepen, broken only by the distant sounds of the waves outside.

Knowing your place, you tried to offer her comfort, your voice gentle but resolute. "My queen, remember what your husband promised you?" you began softly, stepping closer. "You told me once, in confidence, that he swore he'd sooner fall into the River Styx than betray his vow to you. King Odysseus will find his way back to you, no matter the trials he faces."

Penelope looked up at you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She gave you a watery smile, her shoulders lifting slightly as she sighed once more, her posture relaxing just a bit. "Thank you, ____," she whispered. "Sometimes... I need reminding."

As she finished her meal, Penelope glanced at you again, her expression softer. ____, would you perhaps sing for us tonight at dinner? The halls could use some joy, and your voice has always been a comfort to us all."

You smiled warmly, bowing your head. "Anything for you, my queen," you replied, your voice filled with warmth and sincerity.

☆

☆

The palace kitchens were bustling with commotion. The air was filled with the smells of herbs, freshly baked bread, and simmering stews as people moved back and forth, their arms full with ingredients, plates, and cooking tools.

Voices overlapped, cooks shouting out commands, and scullery maids scrambling to keep up with the rapid pace. The clinking of pots and pans rang out like a steady rhythm, the heartbeat of the palace.

You moved gracefully through the chaos, the tray held carefully in your hands until you found an empty space on the counter to place it down. You glanced up just in time to hear a voice raised in frustration.

"Gods above! Another request for roast peacock and olives, as if we're swimming in olive oil and gold!" The man in question was the head cook, a greying, scowling figure by the name of Argon, his face twisted in annoyance as he ranted to a younger kitchen boy. His voice was deep, roughened from years of shouting over the din of the kitchen. His hands were covered in flour, his apron stained with the work of the day.

The moment his eyes landed on you, however, his fierce expression softened considerably, and the scowl fell from his lips. "Ah, ____," he called, cutting himself off mid-rant, his eyes crinkling kindly. "How are you, girl? Did the queen enjoy her breakfast?"

You gave him a polite bow, smiling as you replied, "She did, Master Argon, thank you. Though she did ask if it would be possible to have a lighter broth for her dinner later on. She's not feeling up to anything too rich today."

Argon's face softened further, a gentle smile replacing the frustration. "Of course, of course. Anything for the queen," he murmured. But his face soon fell back into a scowl, and he shook his head, muttering under his breath. "If only those no-good suitors were anything like the queen. They want to eat like kings every single night! Extravagance, waste... they're draining the storage dry with their demands." He let out a gruff sigh, slamming a rolling pin onto a pile of dough with a bit more force than necessary.

You hummed in understanding, your brow furrowing slightly. "Perhaps I can speak with Prince Telemachus," you offered, your voice gentle. "Maybe he can convince them to bring in more from their hunts. They should replace what they take if they want to keep demanding so much."

Argon looked at you, his eyes warming as he paused his work. "You're too kind, ____. Always thinking of everyone else. A real beauty, inside and out." He reached out and patted your arm gently before turning back to his dough, the scowl still lingering but tempered by your promise. "Go on now, and watch out for yourself. Those halls are filled with troublemakers."

You nodded, offering him one last smile before turning to leave the busy kitchen.

As you walked down the quieter hall, the hustle and bustle fading behind you, you were suddenly yanked around a corner, your heart leaping in surprise.

You found yourself face-to-face with a familiar grin.

"Cleo!" you gasped, a laugh escaping you as you steadied yourself. Cleo was a striking girl—pale skin, long blonde hair that fell in waves around her shoulders, and bright green eyes that always seemed to be filled with mischief. She was beautiful, with delicate features and a playful smile that could charm just about anyone.

Cleo giggled, her eyes sparkling. "Sorry, sorry! I just had to catch you before you disappeared again," she said, her voice light and teasing. "Are you free later? A few of us girls are planning to head over to where the young suitors will be gathering after dinner. We thought we'd do a little... mingling." She waggled her eyebrows at you suggestively, her grin widening.

You furrowed your brows, shaking your head. "I can't. Queen Penelope has asked me to sing tonight at dinner."

Cleo groaned dramatically, then giggled once more. "No worries, we'll just have to use your beautiful voice to get serenaded by those dashing suitors," she teased, nudging you lightly.

You scoffed, a smile tugging at your lips, though you couldn't help but feel a pang of concern. "You know better than to be fooling around with those suitors, Cleo," you said, your tone more serious. "They aren't interested in anything more than fleeting entertainment. You could get hurt."

Cleo just rolled her eyes, her expression shifting to one of nonchalance. "Oh, ____, you worry too much. They're rich, and we're just servants. I'm just having fun while it lasts. It's harmless." She waved her hand dismissively, her green eyes twinkling with defiance. "Not all of us have a handsome prince practically hanging on our arm."

You blinked, feeling your cheeks grow warm at her words. "Cleo, it's not like that," you stammered, waving her off, but she just laughed, giving you a knowing look before skipping away down the hall, her laughter echoing behind her.

You watched her go, your face still flushed, before you shook your head, letting out a sigh. You had to get back to your duties, and today that meant ensuring you completed Penelope's request.

As a personal handmaiden, your duties varied greatly, often requiring you to attend to the queen's comfort, whether it was keeping her space tidy, arranging her garments, or fetching whatever she needed; but today, all the queen asked of you was to bring music back to the halls.

You headed towards a small shed built on the edge of the palace grounds, a place dedicated solely for your instruments.

Not too long after you had settled into the palace, Penelope had discovered your talent for singing. She had been utterly moved, telling you that your voice was the first thing that had stirred her heart since her husband left for war.

Wanting to nurture your gift, she had this little structure built to hold the growing pile of instruments she would acquire for you.

Whenever Penelope came across a unique or exotic instrument—whether it be at a market, a gift from a visiting dignitary, or a trinket discovered in the palace storerooms—she would have it sent to you.

You always seemed to master whatever instrument she placed in your hands, your fingers learning the strings, keys, or beats with an ease that brought joy to her otherwise weary heart.

The inside of the shed was filled with an assortment of Greek instruments—lyres of varying sizes, an aulos, a kithara, and a pandura.

But there were also instruments that were much more exotic: a Chinese guzheng with its shimmering strings, a small djembe drum with intricate carvings, brought by a trader from distant African lands, and even an erhu with its hauntingly beautiful tone.

Penelope loved seeing you interact with these exotic gifts, marveling at how easily you brought each one to life with music.

You stepped into the shed, the familiar smell of polished wood and aged parchment wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

You selected your favorite lyre, the one Penelope had given you first, and turned back towards the private courtyard—a space often used for rehearsing or practicing away from the prying eyes of the palace.

The courtyard was quiet, filled with blooming flowers and shaded by tall olive trees, providing you with the tranquility you needed.

You began practicing the song the queen had requested, your voice rising softly amidst the rustling leaves and the gentle breeze."I weep for you, my lost love, across the endless sea, and still my heart will find you, where the wild winds are free..."

The song was one of love and loss, a haunting melody of tragedy and reunion. It was a ballad you created for her; a tale of lovers separated by fate, only to find each other again through trials and tears.

As you sang, you did not notice how the sun seemed to shine down on you a little brighter, as if the heavens themselves were listening.

The small flowers around you swayed gently, their blossoms leaning towards you as though you were their light.

The air seemed to hum in harmony, a warmth spreading through the courtyard, and the leaves of the olive trees rustled softly, almost in applause.

There was a beauty in the moment that felt almost divine, as if the earth and sky were united by the sound of your voice, each note resonating with the hope and pain carried in the song.

And as the last note rung out and you struck the final chord on the lyre, you felt a warmth roll over you, like the embrace of sunlight on a cold day.

A low voice sighed from nearby, whispering, "Gods, I don't think I could ever tire of hearing you sing..."

Startled, you opened your eyes, your gaze shifting towards the voice.

Leaning casually against the trunk of a tall cypress tree stood a young man, his presence subtly commanding the tranquil courtyard. His hair, dark and curly, fell in messy waves around his face, some strands clinging stubbornly to his forehead and cheekbones.

He was dressed in the fine garments of royalty—a rich, deep blue himation draped over a white tunic, the fabric of which was adorned with golden embroidery along its edges.

His skin held a warm, sun-kissed hue, with faint traces of stubble gracing his jawline and upper lip, giving him a rugged, almost wild look. His build was lean but solid, showing a life that spoke of training and discipline.

Though youthful, there was a quiet intensity in his sharp features, a hint of something deeper beneath his calm, collected exterior. He seemed almost a part of the earth itself, grounded, unwavering, and watching.

You breathed out softly, "Prince Telemachus."

The young man's smile widened at the sound of your voice, his eyes lighting up with a mix of admiration and warmth as he began making his way over to you, his footsteps quiet against the stone pathway.

Telemachus reached you and, without a hint of hesitation, plopped himself down on the grass beside you.

Internally, you wanted to fret about him getting his fine clothes dirty, but you knew better by now—Telemachus had always been one to ignore such trivial concerns, brushing them off with that same carefree grin.

He looked at you, his eyes twinkling with a boyish delight. "I swear, I could listen to you sing that a hundred times over. Especially the part where you..." He cleared his throat, attempting to mimic a line, though his voice wobbled in a way that was both charming and utterly off-key. "...Wᵉeᵖ fᵒr ʸoᵘ, mʸ lᵒsᵗ lᵒvᵉ..."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound spilling out as you shook your head, nudging his leg gently. "Not quite, my prince. Perhaps leave the singing to those of us who aren't heirs to Ithaca," you teased, setting the lyre aside. He chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Before he leaned back, though, he hesitated. "Wait a second..." he murmured, and his fingers reached out, brushing away a stray lock of hair that had fallen over your cheek.

Your breath caught as he leaned in closer, his hand lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

His eyes met yours, the warmth in them somehow soft yet piercing. His lips curled into a smile, his gaze holding yours as he hummed in approval. "...There."

The space between you seemed to vanish, and your pulse quickened, your heart racing over this simple, fleeting touch.

You swallowed, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you looked back at him, your thoughts whirling. Surely he could hear the drumming of your heart?

But then he pulled away, completely relaxed, as though he hadn't just sent you into a whirlwind of overthinking.

Telemachus stretched back, lying flat on the grass with a contented sigh, his arms tucked behind his head as a makeshift pillow. His eyes drifted closed, his face bathed in the golden light of the sun.

His expression was carefree, as though he hadn't a worry in the world, and you watched the way the sunlight traced the lines of his jaw, highlighting the boyish softness that lingered in his face.

His curls shone like burnished bronze, his skin glowing with the warmth of someone untouched by the weight he carried.

You couldn't help but think how effortlessly at ease he seemed, oblivious to the way he'd set your heart into overdrive.

Suddenly, he popped open an eye, startling you out of your thoughts. You quickly looked down, fiddling with the strings of your lyre, pretending to adjust them.

Telemachus sat up, his gaze fixed on you, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Mother told me you'll be singing tonight," he said, his voice soft.

You nodded, your eyes still cast downward. "Yes, my prince, that is correct."

Telemachus hummed, absently toying with a blade of grass between his fingers. "Will you be playing her favorite song?" he asked, his tone curious.

You looked up, meeting his gaze. "Of course, my prince," you replied. His mother's favorite song was one you knew by heart, each note infused with the hope she carried through the years of waiting.

Telemachus' eyes softened, his smile turning sad. He looked up at you, his gaze earnest. "I'm glad," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I fear it's the only thing that's been keeping her 'here'."

You both knew what he meant. The weight of the years was heavy on her, and there were moments it seemed her spirit had almost drifted away.

There was a silence between you, the kind that held shared understanding, until suddenly, Telemachus' lips curled into a smirk. His features glowed with a mischievous charm, his gaze twinkling as he leaned closer.

You couldn't help but notice the light scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose, almost hidden beneath the shade of his dark curls.

"Tell me, ____," he said, his voice teasing as he looked up at you from under his long lashes, "will you ever write a song for me?"

Your lips pressed into a thin line as your heart raced, warmth rushing to your cheeks.

Little did the prince know, you had written hundreds of songs about him—about the love you harbored for him but were too afraid to speak of. You turned away slightly, trying to calm yourself before stuttering out, "O-of course, my prince. All you need to do is ask."

Telemachus chuckled, the sound soft and almost affectionate. "It's okay," he said, shaking his head, still toying with the blade of grass. "I'd rather you write one for me without asking, for me to be your muse. Otherwise, it wouldn't be any better than me paying for a song, would it?"

Before either of you could say anything more, loud voices cut through the tranquility of the courtyard.

You looked up, startled, to see a group of suitors ambling down the courtyard, their voices echoing off the palace walls. They were dressed in hunting gear—thick tunics, leather belts, and their bows slung across their backs.

The men spoke loudly, laughing amongst themselves, seemingly oblivious to their surroundings.

Telemachus let out a groan, throwing his head back, cursing softly under his breath as he stood up, brushing the grass off his garments.

The group of suitors moved closer, one of them impatiently calling out, "Little Wolf! We're waiting for you; hurry up! We want to hunt a bit before we head back for dinner."

Another laughed, elbowing his friend as he added, "Maybe we can charm some 'desserts' out of a servant or two while we're at it." The rest of them laughed in agreement.

Telemachus cast a glance down at you, his eyes softening for a moment as if checking to see if you were alright. But after noticing that you seemed unbothered by their crassness, he frowned, turning back to the suitors. "It's uncouth for you all to lust after another household's servants," he said, his voice stern.

One of the suitors laughed him off, shaking his head. "A servant is a servant, no matter the location, Telemachus," he replied dismissively.

It was then that one of the suitors, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scruffy beard, took notice of you sitting on the ground behind Telemachus. His eyes narrowed, and a sleazy smile spread across his face. "Well, hello there," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance as he began to move toward you.

Before he could take another step, Telemachus moved swiftly, positioning himself between the suitor and you.

The easygoing smile that had once graced his lips was replaced by a cold, serious expression. His eyes darkened as he stared down the suitor, who paused before letting out a derisive laugh. "Ah, I see. This one's taken by the prince, is she?" he sneered.

Telemachus didn't rise to the bait, his voice steady and uninterested. "We're wasting daylight. If you want to hunt, let's get going," he said, sidestepping the taunts.

With a few more muttered comments, the group of suitors eventually turned away, moving on with their plans.

As they walked off, Telemachus stood still, waiting until they were at a good distance before turning back to you. He offered his hand to help you up, and with one graceful motion, he pulled you to your feet with ease, his strength evident as he lifted you almost effortlessly.

You steadied yourself, murmuring a soft thank you. But just as Telemachus was about to walk away, you found yourself reaching out, your fingers wrapping around his wrist. "Prince Telemachus," you called softly.

He turned, his face softening as he looked down at you, his full attention on you now.

You had to tilt your head back slightly to meet his gaze, your fingers slipping from his wrist only for his hand to turn, grasping yours gently in return. The warmth of his palm against yours steadied you.

You swallowed nervously, pushing through your frazzled thoughts. "Would it be possible... to get the suitors to cut back on their extravagance? Or perhaps encourage them to bring in more from their hunts? The kitchen storage is running low. The demands are getting quite... difficult to manage," you said, your voice almost a whisper.

Telemachus met your gaze, the intensity in his eyes fading into something gentler as he offered you a small smile, his thumb brushing gently against the back of your hand. "Of course, ____," he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "I'll take care of it." 

[novamariestark]

Stress Relief...

Summary: Over the last 9 months, your life has changed a lot, it was hard not to feel stressed, but after meeting quite possibly the sexiest guy you'd ever met at Molly's, stress was the last thing on your mind

Warnings: age gap, smut, unprotected sex (wrap b4 you tap), drunk-ish sex

Word count: 3354

Fandom: Chicago P.D

Pairing: Hank Voight x halstead!reader

[A/N] I've been wanting to write for Hank a long time, but every time i watched Chicago P.D to get ideas and inspiration, I got distracted 🤣, It's very hard not to

You were a creature of habit. Always have been. So it didn’t take long for everyone to learn them. One particular habit was your nightly trip to Molly’s. The firefighter bar. You met Herrmann in the ER one day and you became friends. He was quite possibly the sweetest person you’d ever met. He was also the only one who knew your full past.

You weren’t always here in Chicago nor were you aware of your brothers, Will and Jay. Up until 9 months ago you didn’t know that they existed. You were an orphan, or at least that’s what you were always told and you had no reason to think otherwise. But sure enough, after a trip to Chicago and one freak accident that took you to the ER, you found them. Well one. Your older brother Will. How he found out, you still didn’t know but he did. Shortly after, you met Jay, who apparently is your twin brother.

You spent as much time with them as possible before leaving for your college graduation, promising to visit. Little did you know that they were coming back with you. You didn’t find out until they “dropped you off” at the airport the next day but with bags.

“You think we’d miss our little sister’s graduation?” Will asked smiling warmly.

"Seriously?" you asked, your face lighting up like a child's on Christmas morning.

Will chuckled, ruffling your hair, "Of course. We wouldn't miss it for the world."

As soon as your flight number was called, you all boarded the plane, excitement bubbling under the surface. You couldn't believe it. Just a week ago, you thought you'd be walking across the stage to receive your degree with no one in the crowd cheering for you. But now, you were going to have two people there, and not just anyone—your brothers.

As you settled into your seat, you glanced over at Will and Jay, who were chatting animatedly about the plans for the weekend. The reality of the situation finally hit you, and felt a smile creeping up your face. You'd spent so much of your life moving from place to place, rarely feeling like you truly belonged anywhere. But now, it felt like you finally did belong.

When the plane landed, you turned to your brothers with a smile. "I'll head home and change, and then I'll meet you both at the hotel with my husband," you said, still riding the high of excitement from the journey.

They nodded, and after a quick hug and a promise to catch up soon, you headed off towards your apartment. You didn’t live so far away, so you decided to walk. As you walked up the driveway, you noticed your husband's car was there. A small, happy smile crossed your face.

You unlocked the front door and stepped inside, calling out a cheerful greeting. "I'm home!"

But there was no response. The house was eerily quiet, and an uneasy feeling began to settle in your stomach. You walked through the hallway, your footsteps echoing in the silence. As you approached the bedroom door, you noticed it was slightly ajar. Pushing it open, your eyes widened in shock.

There, on the bed, was your husband—tangled up with another woman. It was almost too surreal to process at first; your mind struggled to comprehend what you were seeing. They both looked up, startled by your sudden entrance. Your husband quickly pulled away from the woman, but he didn't seem particularly shocked or apologetic. Instead, he simply stared at you. In fact, a look of mild annoyance was plastered on his face.

For a moment, you just stood there, frozen, as a tidal wave of emotions crashed over you—betrayal, anger, sadness. You felt like you had been punched in the gut. You'd been so excited to share your news with him, and now this?

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to speak. "I'll be back for my things," you said, your voice surprisingly steady despite earthquake of emotions rattling inside you. You didn't wait for a response. You turned on your heel and walked out, grabbing your car keys on the way out.

As you got into your car, your hands were trembling. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you wiped them away and started the engine. You drove to the hotel in a daze, trying to shake the image of your husband and the other woman from your mind. How you didn’t have an accident was beyond you.

Needless to say, they were furious when you showed up at their hotel room in tears. You had tried so hard to hold it together, but as soon as the elevator doors closed behind you, the dam broke. The tears came fast and hard, and you struggled to keep your sobs quiet as you rode up to their floor.

When you reached their room and knocked, Will opened the door, his smile fading instantly when he saw your tear-streaked face. Without a word, he pulled you into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around you protectively. The warmth of his embrace made you feel better, even if just for a moment.

Jay quickly crossed the space between you, "What happened?" he asked, his voice tense.

You tried to speak, but your voice caught in your throat. The pain was too raw, the words too painful. Instead, you just shook your head, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. Will held you tighter, his hand gently rubbing your back in a soothing motion.

"He... he was with someone else," you finally managed to choke out between sobs, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jay's face turned red with anger, his fists clenching at his sides. "What?" he nearly shouted; his voice filled with fury. He took a step towards the door, clearly ready to confront your husband. "I'm gonna kill him," he muttered under his breath.

Will, still holding you close, turned to block Jay's path. "No, Jay," he said firmly, "This isn't the time. She needs us."

"I don't know what I'm going to do," you said, more tears streaming down your face as the realization hit you—you were now possibly homeless. You felt the weight of everything, slowly crushing you. But you needn’t worry about anything.

Jay offered you a place to stay and went back with you to collect the rest of your belongings. He was also there when you filed for divorce. Despite his assurances that he didn't mind you staying with him, you started looking for a place of your own. When you thought you had found one, Jay insisted it "wasn't safe enough" for you. So, almost nine months later, you’re still living with him. It had been a long time since you had a brother around, and you'd forgotten how much of a nuisance they could be—but you loved it.

You're now a nurse at Gaffney, the same hospital where Will works. While you love being near your brothers, the ER can be incredibly stressful, and when it gets overwhelming, you find yourself at Molly's, sitting on your usual barstool. Herrmann could tell just by the look on your face which usual you needed. You had two orders: one for a good day and one for a bad one. Clearly, today was the latter.

You smiled as the drink appeared in front of you. "Thanks, Hermie," you said, picking up the shot glass and downing it in one go, welcoming the familiar burn.

"No problem, kid," he said, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Wanna talk about it?" You shook your head, offering a grateful smile. He casually draped the towel over his shoulder and placed another drink in front of you, a glass of coke with double vodka, "You know where to find me if you change your mind."

You nodded once more as he moved to serve other patrons. You let your eyes leave their place on the glass and wander around the bar. Many people were regulars, in fact all of them were except for one.

He caught your eye immediately. He was quite possibly the hottest person you’d ever laid your eyes on. He was definitely older than you, by about 20 years but damn you didn’t care. His short, neatly trimmed hair was greying slightly but it only made him sexier. As you continue to admire him you could feel yourself being pulled from reality as your eyes trace his strong jawline. They then made their way further south to where the luckiest pieces of clothing hugs him. Especially the leather jacket. You love leather jackets. You’re not sure why but when they are wrapped around men like that, do you need a reason?

He must have felt your eyes on him because his flicked over to them. You quickly avert your eyes back to your glass, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks and you hope that it’s dark enough so no one can see.

You want to talk to him, but you feel you need some more liquid courage. You continued to drink your double vodka and coke and when you finished you signalled for a refill but just coke this time. You picked up the drink and made your way over to the man and sat beside him.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you here before,” you said, trying to make yourself sound like you weren’t completely freaking out on the inside.

“It’s not my usual place,” he replied with the deepest gravelly voice you had ever heard. You had to squeeze your thighs shut because of the effect it had on you.

Nevertheless, you try and ignore the feeling and held your hand out to him, “I’m (y/n)” you said with a small smile.

“Henry” he replied, placing his hand in yours. The rough skin on his fingertips felt good against your soft skin. You couldn’t help but think where else they’d feel good.

You both talked for a while as more people started to filter in. It started to get really loud and you wouldn’t mind going somewhere private with Henry. So you asked, “Hey, wanna go somewhere quieter,” you bite your lip hoping he says yes... And he does.

The drive to his was quiet, I left you to your thoughts. This wasn’t what you intended when you left the apartment tonight but hey apparently sex is a great stress reliever and you have a feeling you are about to be well taken care of.

You shoot Jay a quick text to let him know you are okay and as you press send you stopped. He’s a gentleman and opens the door for you and holds his hand out for you to take.

You take it and you get out of the car, following him into the house, his hand on the small of your back guiding you towards it.

The next few moments are a blur. As soon as the door shut, his mouth was on yours. The kiss started off tender but slowly got more passionate. You certainly weren’t complaining. He slowly guided you towards the bedroom, his lips never leaving yours. You had no idea where in the house you were until the back of your legs hit the cool sheets. His hands moved from your face to the zipper on your dress pulling it down swiftly. He slid the small straps down your arms as you fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. The dress dropped from your frame and pooled at your feet, leaving you in just your underwear. When you undid the last button, you slowly removed both the shirt and the leather jacket. You let your hands follow the garments until they landed on his belt. Your mouths were still attached. You could taste the whiskey on his tongue and he could taste the vodka on yours. You continue fumbling with his jeans until thy joined your dress. His hands glide down your body until they reach your ass, you moan as he gives them a firm squeeze before lifting you up.

He turned and sat on the bed, so you were straddling him. You could feel him beneath you and you couldn’t help but grind against him. When he groaned you felt your pussy yip as if it had just been shocked. Was anything this man did not sexy?

Your tongues continue to battle each other as your wet core rides his clothed hardness. Until you couldn’t take it anymore. You stood only to remove your panties. He removed his boxers quickly before you climbed back on top of him, wasting no time sinking down on him.

“fuck* you breathed, the word falling from your lips as your head falls back.

His hands hold your shoulders, slamming you down harder on him. You were already seeing stars and you had barely started.

His lips attached themselves to your neck, licking and nibbling at the soft flesh. They then trailed lower towards your still covered breasts. He kissed the valley between but made no movement to take off the piece of fabric in his way. So you reached behind you and unclasped it, discarding it with the rest of your clothes.

He smirked against your skin taking one in his mouth, sucking hard on the sensitive nub, his hand played with the other, rolling it between his thumb and index finger. Then he switched, giving them equal attention.

Without warning, he stood up and chucked you onto the bed, leaving you feeling cold and empty. Your hand went to your clit to give you something as he climbed towards you. Eyes locked on you as if you were his prey.

His hand slowly runs up your thigh until it reaches your hand. He looks at you and you move your hand and rest it on your stomach. His hand replaces yours. Teasing you. One finger gliding through the lips, dipping it ever so slightly into your wet hole.

“Please” you whimpered as his fingers continue to tease you.

With a smirk, he enters you fully, making you arch off the bed. He starts to move in and out, your body begging for more. You can’t help but let out a low moan that echoes through the room.

“Oh, baby, you like that?” he whispers in your ear, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

You nod your head, unable to form words as pleasure overtakes you.

He slammed into you, hard and fast, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the darkness. You dig your nails into the bed, trying to hold on as he fucks you into oblivion.

You’re not sure how long it goes on, but you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

And just as you’re about to go over, he pulls out and flips you onto your stomach, pushing your legs apart. You know what’s coming next, and the few second wait is almost too much to handle. He slams into you from behind, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he drives into you, over and over again.

You bite the pillow to muffle your screams as he takes you roughly, your body trembling with every thrust. You can feel yourself about to cum, and you know it’s going to be the best fucking orgasm of your life.

Finally, with one last, hard thrust, you do. Your orgasm rips through you like a tornado in a trailer park, leaving you a trembling mess on the bed. Henry follows shortly after, his own groan of pleasure muffled against your neck.

The two of you collapse onto the bed, both panting and sweaty. You lay there for a moment, trying to catch your breath, before you feel him roll over and wrap an arm around you.

The next morning you open your eyes, and you don’t recognise your surroundings. Your eyes squeeze shut as the bright light burns them and you become aware of the arm draped across your bare waist. Its then you remember the events from last night and it wasn’t just an amazing dream.

As your mind replays the sex a tone begins to sound. You knew it wasn’t your phone. The arm removed itself from your body and the sound stopped shortly after.

You turned to look at him, “hi,” your voice is small and unsure. You hadn’t done anything like this before so you didn’t know the protocol.

“Hey... I uh... Got to get to work,” he said removing the covers and going to get changed, “I’ll take you to get your car,”

“Thank you,” you smiled as you grab your outfit off the floor and quickly threw it on. You got your phone out your bag and checked the time, “shit,”

“What’s wrong?” Henry asked turning around as he continued buttoning up his shirt.

“Nothing, just my brother might have left for work already and he hasn’t given me a spare key,” you groaned inwardly. You couldn’t show up at the hospital looking like this.

As soon as you both were ready, as promised, Henry took you back to Molly’s to get your car. Much to your disappointment, plans were not made to see each other again.

You got in your car and drove as fast as you could without breaking the law but when you got there it was indeed too late. Jay had already gone to work. You got back in your car and headed to his workplace. What a first impression you were going to make. You haven’t met any of Jay’s colleagues and dressed in last night’s outfit and possibly smelling like sex.

You took a deep breath as you walked through the doors and up the steps to find a huge desk in front of you. You watched as the woman gave a sarcastic reply to a couple of patrol officers and you tried to stifle a laugh but failed. Her eyes flashed over to you, “Can I help you?” she asked in a tone that would probably send the uniforms running but you just give her your sweetest smile.

“I’m looking for my brother, Jay Halstead,”

“Oh, so you’re the mini-Halstead,” she said with the same tone, “Lets hope you aren’t like the other two,”

“Well, I’m a female,” you shrugged “Thats a difference,”

She pointed to another set of stairs leading up to a gate, “He’s up there,” she said resting her hand on the button waiting to buzz you in.

As soon as you hear it buzz, you open the gate and head up the rest of the steps. Jay spotted you before you got to the top.

“Look who decided to show up,” he called out. Everyone in the room turned to look at you and you kinda felt a little exposed. They probably thought you were a prostitute or something.

“Jay, I don’t have time for this,” you said walking over to his desk, your palm held out ready to receive the keys, “I’ve got to go to work,”

He fished the keys from his pocket and tossed them up in the air, a smug grin on his face, “Come home at a reasonable time then,”

“Or you could have gotten me a key cut, asshole,” you said rolling your eyes as you put the keys in your bag. When you looked back at your brother, he was looking at you funny, “What?”

“Where did you get that jacket?” he asked pointing to the leather jacket Henry gave you. You had forgotten you were wearing it.

You shrugged, “Just a friend,” you replied nonchalantly. Jay went to say something else when a voice spoke from behind you. A familiar one. You turned and sure enough, there he was, “Henry?”

It didn’t take a detective to connect the dots. You had slept with your brother’s boss. You hadn’t meant to. You had no idea who he was. But the thing is... You want to do it again. You want to fuck him again.

[A/N 2.0] Part 2?

[doumadono]

ainful sunday!!

thinking about izuku coming back from a long, agitating mission and just fucking his girlfriend for hours on end due to the fact he couldnt fuck her for two months..

Warnings: aged-up Izuku

SINFUL SUNDAY

The door swung open, revealing a dimly lit bedroom bathed in a soft glow emanating from a little lamp placed on a nightstand. The atmosphere was both calming and intimate, a thoughtful touch from someone who knew him all too well.

Izuku's eyes widened as he spotted your silhouette by the window, your gaze fixed on the city skyline. The scent of a familiar perfume hung in the air, triggering a wave of nostalgia and warmth. He cleared his throat, not wanting to startle you.

You turned, your eyes widening in surprise before giving way to a radiant smile. "Izuku," you breathed, crossing the room in swift strides. Your embrace was a testament to the longing that had built up over the weeks of separation, the relief of being back in each other's arms.

"I missed you so much," you murmured against his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his hero costume.

The sensation of your touch grounded him, a stark contrast to the chaos he had faced on his long mission.

As you pulled away, Izuku's eyes met yours, gratitude and love reflected in the depths of his green orbs. "I missed you too, Y/N," he confessed, his voice a mixture of exhaustion and genuine affection. "It felt like an eternity out there."

You led him to the bed, urging him to rest while you fetched a glass of water.

Sitting there, he found solace in your presence, the weight of the world momentarily lifted from his shoulders.

You spoke of the challenges faced, the victories achieved, and the moments of doubt that had haunted his journey.

"Coming back to you makes everything worth it," Deku admitted, his gaze unwavering.

You nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. "You're my hero, Izuku, in more ways than one."

Izuku enfolded you in a snug embrace, his lips leisurely planting tender kisses across your face. After delicately removing his gloves, his calloused fingers traced a gentle path along the nape of your neck. Amidst the soft caresses, he murmured affectionate words against your lips, "My babygirl, my little love."

Soon, he found himself pinning you down onto the mattress, his adept hands delicately removing your nightgown. His slightly chapped lips planted kisses along your exposed shoulders, traced the neckline, and lingered in the valley between your breasts.

Effortlessly, Izuku shed his hero uniform, the sound of zippers echoing in the room. Your laughter bubbled as you witnessed his struggle, prompting you to assist. A small smile graced your lips as your fingertips traced the contours of his toned body, a tangible reunion after the prolonged absence.

Foreplay was unnecessary - you were already drenched, just for Izuku.

Deku encountered no obstacles entering your pussy - your slick wetness facilitated an easy slide of his aching manhood right into your snug core.

He started with deliberate slowness, his thrusts mirroring the measured precision of his heroics.

Your quiet moans intertwined with his labored breaths, marking the end of a prolonged hiatus from your sex sessions. Despite your initial tightness, the reunion felt blissful for both, a testament to the longing that had built up during your time apart.

"Oh, Izuku, I've been dreaming about this moment for so long," you whispered, arms enveloping his neck.

He grunted, gazing down at you, hands cradling your face. "Me too, babygirl. Missed your warmth."

As pure passion took hold, Izuku found himself completely consumed by desire, his thrusts quickening in response to the escalating intensity of arousal.

In no time, you succumbed to pleasure beneath him, becoming a moaning mess. Every thrust seemed to expertly target those incredibly sensitive spots, sending waves of pleasure through you as the tip of his dick brushed against your spongy walls.

After a particularly forceful thrust, you screamed his name as your head tilted back onto the pillows. Overwhelmed by the intense sensation, you instinctively wrapped your leg around his hips, drawing him closer and subtly altering the angle for heightened pleasure, allowing Deku to penetrate your pussy even deeper than before.

Following his climax, you soon experienced your own, your body spasming from overstimulation.

Deku, catching his breath, tenderly kissed your forehead before withdrawing his cock out of your snug cunt. He then requested you to turn to your side. As you complied, he positioned himself behind you and reentered your pussy; his cock got hard again in no time.

Breathless, you gasped and bit your lower lip, feeling the intensity of his thrusts and a bulge his cock formed within your lower tummy whenever he pushed in, the tender kisses of his mouth placed to your cheek, and the warm breath fanning the back of your neck and ear as he grunted, quickening his pace.

In this specific position, Izuku could easily cup your breasts while reaching maximum depth with his dick buried in you, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each of his thrusts.

Time blurred, but when Izuku cum yet again, emptying his balls in your pussy, he settled beside you on the bed, and slid his hands under his head with a smirk. "It was amazing, babygirl," Deku whispered, gratitude evident. "Thank you for the warm welcome."

You nestled against his robust chest, cheeks flushed as you felt your mixed cums trickling down your thighs. "Thank you for taking me to heaven, Izuku," you whispered, kissing his chest lightly.

[lymericslimerick]

I've been devoting myself to You, Monday to Monday and Friday to Friday | 𝖶𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗅𝖾𝗒 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

"Have you heard? The Duke has been way more vicious lately."

warnings .ᐟ suggestive themes but no sex, grinding, humping, biting, blood, fighting, wrio is described as wolfish a lot, continuation of this fic, vaguely vampiric reader, mild torture, begging to be 'eaten', yandere

2.7k words | she/her pronouns

The smell of blood was thick in the air.

Shouting, cheering, bet wagering filled the air as the inhabitants of the Fortress of Meropide surround the makeshift boxing ring laid in the center of a room hidden by a maze of pipes. The warm lighting of the arena was undercut by the endless sea that shone through the gaps in cold metal, shining onto the opponents in the arena like a frigid spotlight. Criminals, horrible and benign alike surrounded the two stars of the show, hungry eyes glued to the cowering figure of their fellow inmate stuck to the corner of the ring. His shaking form is contrasted by the hulking figure of Their Grace stalking towards him, bringing with him the promise of something sinister.

The inmate was bloodied and beat up, face slowly turning red as blood gushes out of his mouth and nose. His swollen eyes unable to see the panicked looks on the guards, who glance between themselves and whisper, “Isn’t this too much?”. He struggles to sit up on his arms, but cold metal meets his hair and slams him onto the floor. He hears the whirring and hissing of the components holding the Duke’s Cryo energy at bay, cold to the touch. He had only heard this noise once before, reverberating through the walls of the fortress as he ran away from The Duke’s office that fateful night.

He supposes this was a long time coming, he thinks as his head is slammed back onto the floor. The inmate always felt The Duke’s eyes on him, stalking him. He was high priority prey for a rabid wolf intent on protecting what's his.

Another slam to the floor. He thinks his nose is broken. The inmate’s mind wanders back to what got him in this mess in the first place, that figure he saw in The Duke’s office looking down at him. He had been summoned in there by The Duke himself, who told him with an easygoing smile that he “had a job for him.” That job turned out to be disposing of a garbage bag full of things he recognises as Fontainian research tools, all coated in something he hopes isn’t blood. As he lugs it over his shoulder, grumbling about how unfair all of this is, he hears a noise. The inmate looks up and he sees a shadow retreat from its place above the stairs, deep into the office. He gulps. He’s heard stories of the Meropide being haunted by vengeful ghosts eager to take revenge on the upper management whispered by some particularly looney prisoners, but he had paid them no mind. Ghosts? Oceanids were more likely.

Though, he knows ghosts don’t have footsteps and Oceanids don’t even have feet. So, if one plus one was two, this was…

“Hello?” The inmate’s voice reverbs through the walls of the room, echoing. He hears something bristle, like whoever was up there paused what they were doing to listen to him. He takes this as a sign. “Are you a guest of the Duke’s?”

Silence. Not even any rustling.

He doesn’t know why, but he drops the bag on the ground and walks towards the stairs. The inmate feels like he’s being lured, snared like a fish on a hook being reeled to its doom. His footsteps are slow and careful, like he was scared to even move. He approaches the steps and starts climbing up them, heart beating fast with such pressure his ribcage felt like an actual cage. Anticipation grows, his heart beats faster.

The inmate opens his mouth. “Don’t be sca-“

The door opens, and the atmosphere becomes frigid cold instantly. The inmate can feel the temperature drop to freezing as The Duke’s gaze threatens to sear the skin off his neck. A beat. Silence. Maybe he isn’t dead mea-

Whirring, hissing, and a sharp clang of The Duke’s gauntlets clamping onto his bare hands, Cryo storming around his clenched fist with as much intensity as a snowstorm on Dragonspine. He feels his heart drop into his stomach completely as The Duke utters with barely concealed white hot rage, “Start running. Now. I catch you, you’re fucking dead.”

He had never ran harder in his life.

The inmate is brought out of his daydream by the impact of The Duke’s gauntlet-clad right hand slamming onto his stomach. He faintly registers blinding pain coming from the side of his stomach. Hah, he punctured him like a balloon. Behind him, he could hear the very real screams and gasps from the usually performative audience. They were used to being entertained by the fights that happened, watching it like they would court hearings up in the overworld. Safe, but real displays of human drama and savagery.

But this? This was a real bonafide hunt. This was a certain and slow death being played out right in front of them.

He hears the Duke whisper something into his ear, but all he sees is a wolf snapping at him and snarling a promise of death. The Duke’s eyes look terrifying, cold and animalistic as he smiles a toothy grin, fangs shining like steel. He’s eyeing his neck like a hawk, The inmate saying a prayer as he realises.

The Duke opens his mouth and bites.

The screams turn to shrieks, and the guards swarm up behind the Duke pleading and screaming at him to stop. The inmate’s body falls with a thud as he closes his eyes, feeling the blood from the open wound on his neck trickle down his skin like hot lava as he feels himself drift into unconsciousness, the sound of panic increasing in his wake.

__

This haunt feels more like an assault on the senses than the Palais Mermonia, what with the merging of the warm, almost old lights of the lamps patterning around the table, and the cold, with the unforgiving cold of light streaming down onto the center of the office like it was waiting to reclaim the office into the abyss of the ocean.

It certainly felt like the ocean wanted to reclaim this place, the dripping of water from the window above a constant rhythm in your ear. It was a cloying presence, much like a low tide trying to consume the beach it rose up upon. Meek, scared it was going to cause the beach to up and leave, but unabashedly desperate to get to her by any means necessary.

You look up at the window in contemplation, that sounds familiar.

A water droplet almost falls on you but you avoid it, turning to look at the papers on the desk. All reports of inmates benign and monstrous alike, but none of the inmate you’re most curious about. You sift through the reports, eyes darting about for a title familiar to anyone and everyone who dares call themself a warrior. A presence that makes itself known wherever and whenever any huge fight happens, eager to throw his hat in the ring at a moments notice.

Childe, Tartaglia. Whatever he calls himself, the 11th harbinger.

The mess he had made in Fontaine, from his brief stint in the Meropide to the fall of his monstrous form at the hands of the great whale (described in The Steambird with great enthusiasm by miss Charlotte), made national news. You, ever eager to find any and all people who had some sort of connection with the primordial, naturally decided to seek him out after getting what you wanted from the Chief Iudex. Maybe taking what you wanted from him would burden your heart less than it would you taking from the draconic man, the storm that followed your leaving weighing heavy on your mind.

Getting to him was easy enough. You just had to make your way to his case files and use them to track where he is now, since the fortress had a mandatory 4 week surveillance on all prisoners in which they had to report their status and current place of residence at the end of every week. Mighty convenient. The only caveat was that you had to get close enough to the top to even begin to see his files for yourself, and well..

The sound of the heavy metal door scraping against the floor making a hideous noise that scrunches your noise in irritation. He’s back.

You prepare yourself for his return from another hunt, positioning yourself on his table like you had just sat down and pushing the case files back into his drawer. Well, not like he wouldn’t let you read them but appearances are everything. His shadow starts huge at the end of the stairs and dims with every step he takes, finally emerging at the top of the stairs with bloodied gauntlets and an even bloodier mouth, red staining his lips down to his roughish jaw. The perfect image of a wolf on the hunt skulking back to its den with signs of victory, eager to display it to the rest of his pack.

In this case, You raise your hands and clap in mock praise. It lands all the same with Wriothesley who practically buckles under the weight of your perceived approval. His mouth pulls into a gleeful, toothy grin and his teeth are bloody too, but you guess he’s grown to want it this way. His gauntlets come off in a hiss, deconstructing and falling at his sides to reveal black bandage wrapped hands and rough fingers shaking in anticipation. He had gotten better at controlling himself over the week, trying to stop himself from acting like an overexcited puppy in your presence, but something must have gotten him really excited today.

You say as much, and his smile turns sweet and almost bashful. He walks towards you, still not saying a word until he stops in front of you with his chest rising and falling with a vigour. He looks down on you with blown out eyes, smile still on his face but shaky and barely contained. You blink at him, “You have anything to say to me?”

Immediately, “I got him.”

You raise an eyebrow as he drops to his knees in front of you, grabbing onto the sides of your thighs like a vice as he nuzzles his head into your thigh. This was an impressive amount of restraint for The Duke. “What do you mean?”

“Him,” He says into you. “The it you’ve had on your mind lately,” He pushes his face harder into your thigh and you feel his teeth talk against your skin. “The thing that’s keeping you away from me.”

You say nothing. What imaginary beast has this man conjured up yet again? He senses your thoughts and looks up at you, looking more pitiful wolf cub than the terrifying Duke of Meropide he was supposed to be. “Him! Th- The man.. That man who you… That pest who..” He was tripping over his words, slurring them together as if the thought of even uttering them terrified him to his core. Like if he spoke it to you, this man would once again claim his place in your head. You take his head in your hands and he keens, cheek nuzzling against them. Your eyes give him an order, and he takes a deep shuddering breath before finally saying. “That inmate who intruded you, Us, a few days back. I handled him, My Love.”

You sigh. This again. Since that poor soul had made the mistake of being curious, Wriothesley had been acting more wolfish than usual. Skulking around the main level of the Fortress, eyes blown in anger as he tried to sniff him out and ordering all high level guards (At least, those who were unfailingly loyal to him) to organise some sort of grand fight with the inmates, with him and the fool who had tried to steal you away at the center of it all.

Of course, you wouldn’t know head nor tail of this plan had he not confessed all of it to you like a prayer after a particularly steamy embrace. You still remember the weight of him on top of you, muscly chest pressing into yours in desperation as he whispered it in your ear. His hands were clamped on your waist, somehow still cold against the warmth of your revitalised skin.

“Darling, Baby, I promise you a hunt like no other.” He whispered as you felt him push against you, his still clothed bottom half rubbing against yours, which was barely clothed. Not quite enough to make you excited but more than enough for him, his hips stuttering in anticipation for something that isn’t going to come anytime soon. “I’ll bring you proof, a sign of my devotion, very soon. You’ll never have to doubt me ever again.”

Your silence must have been enough for him, as he buried his head into your neck and continued warming your bed.

In the now, you remember what to say. “This was the hunt you told me about?” His nod elicits a contemplative hum from you as you make a decision on where to bring this next. His heart was in your hands and you had the choice between crushing it under your grasp or making it beat faster in your palm, both options gladly welcomed by this beast in your lap. You look at him for a split second, taking in his especially tousled hair that took the form of two wolfish ears on his head, and you’re reminded that the version of him you know has turned more beast than man. And what more do beasts need than simple pleasure?

You bring your hand to tousle his hair and pat his head as he eggs you on with a deep groan, hands gripping the sides of your thigh even harder. “Impressive, Wriothesley.” He nods eagerly into your lap, goading you to continue. “The true extent of your strength always amazes me, leaves me positively speechless.” He whines this time, and you feel a familiar rubbing against your leg. You close your eyes to stifle your laughter at how typical he is. “I might even say that you’re the best I’ve ever seen.”

His movements grow more intense as he looks up at you, face flushed red and eyes wild as he desperately stares into your (e/c) eyes. His voice is a whisper, “Am I?”

You smile, and he reaches his own conclusion. His yell isn’t the most elegant, a guttural, feral thing that gives way to his climax at your feet. His hands slide of your waist ever so slightly and come to grip your hips, no doubt pantomiming what would’ve happened had you not been the person you were. His head comes to rest between your two legs which formed a cage around his face, guarding him from a treasure he’s had his eyes on for a while. He keens and you ‘tsk’, shaking your head like he was a misbehaving dog. He should know better by now.

He does, instead asking you, “Why won’t you feast on me?”

You still, and he hurriedly says his next words. He knows he’s gone behind your back, looked behind the curtain, but he can’t help it. He wants to know you, know all of you. How better would he know to rip and tear all that’s in your way if he doesn’t even know what you’re looking for? “I.. I know of your ailment, Love. I want yo- No, I need you, to relieve yourself with me. Please, let me be of service to you, drain me dry.”

You heave a sigh. Oh, this poor little wolf. He doesn’t know the extent of your ailment, the truth of your depraved actions that leave you regretful and secretive. If he knew only divine, no, ancient blood was the only way to soothe the burn in your veins, he’d be as devastated as you. A mere human couldn’t even dream of quelling the ache in your veins, but maybe, just maybe-

Your gaze drifts to the side, eyeing the case files on the wardrobe. It’s like one of them shines in your line of sight, a gleam of letters that finally surprise you.

Ajax. 11th Fatui Harbinger.

Beneath you, Wriothesley whimpers at your silence with a cowered head. You shake your head as if you were in thought and you gently brush your fingers against the skin of his cheek, some blood making way on your skin.

“Oh Wriothesley, you shouldn’t ask that of yourself. That’s a hunt you can’t hope of winning.”

[takamimami]

Heya!! First of all, congratulations on 100 followers!! 🎉🎉🎉 Been reading your stories since day one!! Id love to request some fluff for Kid, “Sweet of you to think of me.” “I always think of you.” with f reader please

Hiya, anon!! Ty for the kind words, for the continued support, and tysm for submitting a prompt <3! I hope you enjoy this Kidd fluff I've prepared for you :3

Kidd x F!Reader - SFW - “Sweet of you to think of me.” “I always think of you.” - STORY UNDER THE CUT CW: FLUFF; reader is pms-ing, period woes, kidd is a sweetie pie and gladly acts as your punching bag for your mood swings, gentle kidd will be the death of me ---word count 1.3k

You were sitting at the bow of the Victoria Punk, leaning against the railing underneath the open mouth of the ship’s figurehead as you flipped through the pages of the book you’d been meaning to finish for far too long. The crew had docked late last night, and almost everyone had headed into the port village when they woke this morning. You, however, offered to stay and watch the ship - not wanting to trek through unfamiliar territory with period cramps. 

You groaned and rubbed at your stomach, the stabbing pains only intensifying as the day went on. At one point you hobbled your way to the kitchen to make yourself some tea, and you were surprised to see your captain, and lover, rummaging through the cabinets in search of something to snack on.

He greets you with a grunt, barely sparing you a glance as you walk past him and turn on the stove to heat up some water. The two of you stand in comfortable silence until a particularly aggressive cramp has you gripping the edge of the counter and groaning slightly. 

Kidd flicks an eyebrow up at you, noting the movement and sound, but not saying anything. You thought maybe he didn’t notice you, so you grab the tea from the cupboard and turn to walk away, holding your arm over your abdomen as you go to walk past him and back out the door. 

Kidd’s arm extends in front of you, stopping you and nearly spilling the hot water in your tea cup, to which you glare up at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, face stoic as he takes in your clammy skin and wrinkled forehead. 

“You mean besides the fact that you just almost made me burn myself?” you sneer at him, pushing past his arm and continuing back out onto the deck. You thought for a second he might follow you and demand you answer him, but he remains in the kitchen - and you’re not sure if you’re relieved or irritated by his lack of pursuit. 

You return to your previous spot and curl back up under the figurehead, flipping back into the pages of your books and trying to push Kidd from your mind. The sun peaks and begins to set in the distance by the time you stand again, the rest of your crew starting to filter back onto the ship just as darkness settles in. 

Their rowdiness usually doesn’t bother you, but with your heightened irritability, you rise from your spot and slip below deck before anyone can notice your absence. You saunter down the hall and enter your and Kidd’s shared quarters, setting the book down on the end table before curling up under the thick blanket and tucking your knees to your chest, groaning as you struggle to fall asleep.

The next morning you awake to an empty bed, irritation immediately settling in as you realize that there was no sign of Kidd even coming to bed last night.

Had he been upset at you for snapping at him? You knew your tongue could be extra sharp during your period, so maybe you had upset him more than you realized. Your previous irritation from the day before had dissolved, replaced by a feeling of vulnerability as you tugged the blanket tighter to you, missing the warmth of your lover as you lay in the bed and tried not to get emotional. 

You finally forced yourself out of bed when your stomach growled loud enough to echo through the room, realizing you hadn’t eaten much the prior day and it was already mid-day as you stepped out onto the bright deck. A few of your crewmates offered you sympathetic smiles and you ran your fingers through your hair, realizing you probably looked worse for wear as you pushed open the kitchen doors.

The smell of the food Killer was cooking wafted towards you, filling your nostrils and making your stomach grumble in response. Killer hears the sound and turns to glance at you, giving you a look over before chuckling lightly to himself.

“You look like shit,” he teases, to which you flip him your middle finger and pull up a stool to the counter space near him, leaning your elbow on the counter as you watch him sprinkle some cheese over the pasta he had prepared.

“Have you seen our captain?” You inquire, your mouth nearly salivating as Killer plates a bit of the food for you and slides the plate in your direction. He plates two more dishes and turns to you, and you swear you can see him crack a knowing smile behind his mask.

“Last I heard from him he had been in his workshop all night,” he says, keeping his response short as he gathers the plate and heads towards the door. “He asked me to make you and him some food, and said he’d be done with whatever he was working on by the time you woke up.”

“He asked you to make me food?” you counter, confusion laced in your tone. Killer just nods and walks back out onto the deck, and you turn back to the plate of food as you grab for the fork next to it and take a bite. You finish the food embarrassingly fast, your confusion still gnawing at your mind as you wash the dishes and head toward Kidd’s workshop.

As you reach for the handle of the door it swings open, Kidd’s wrist held in the air as he sits on his workbench, eyeing you from across the room with a smirk on his face.

“Good morning, grumpy,” he croons as you enter the room, flicking his wrist again to shut the door behind you. You stick your tongue out at him and cross the room, eyeing him wearily as you inspect him and the room around him.

“You’re chipper,” you muse, his arm reaching out to pull you into his lap as he nuzzles his face into your neck, peppering it a few with light kisses before pulling away and looking at you.

“Did you eat?” he questions, his finger tracing gentle circles in your back as you nod. He gives you an approving hum before pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, and your brows must have still been furrowed from the surprise at his pleasant mood because he lets out a laugh as his eyes meet yours again.

“Just because you were pissy yesterday doesn’t mean I have to be,” he says teasingly, reaching around to grab the thick belt that lay on the workbench behind him. “I made you something that might help with that, though.”

Your brow remains furrowed as you stare at the contraption in his hands, raising your arms as he leans you back so he can wrap it around your waist. He fastens it and adjusts it so it's sitting across the very bottom of your abdomen, the protrusions pressing into your skin as he tightens the band. Then with a press of a button, the protrusions begin to rotate, massaging the skin under them gently as the band begins to heat up, and you let out a satisfied hum at the relieving feeling it begins to offer.

“How does that feel?” he says softly, eyes softening as he sees the relief washing over your features.

“So nice,” you purr, and he smiles triumphantly as he tightens his arm back around your waist. Your heart swells at the way he gazes back at you, that familiar glint in his amber orbs peaking out at you as your smile widens.

“I know sometimes your back hurts too, so you can wear it the other way and it will massage your back too. The temperature is adjustable,” he murmurs, taking your hand and placing it over the buttons on the sides to show you how to operate it. 

“Thank you, Kidd,” you croon, pulling his goggles off his head and running your fingers through his tousled hair. “It was very sweet of you to think of me, ya big softy.” 

He chuckles as he nuzzles his face back into your neck, holding you tightly as your fingers continue to play with his hair.  “I’m always thinking of you, angel.”

100 Follower Event Masterlist ✨come say hai :3✨

[ch3apv0dkka]

John Price x Reader - Overwhelmed

All Masterlists | COD Masterlist | Rules For Requests Everything I Post On Tumblr Is Also Posted On Wattpad: @/Ch3apV0dkka

Plot: After a long stressful mission, you felt overwhelmed and struggled with your emotions, which you usually kept bottled up. Price realizing something was off, tries to comfort you.

Price led the team back to the base after a particularly intense mission. The weight of the recent events hung heavy on his shoulders, as it did on everyone else as well. As he turned a corner, he caught sight of you sitting on the floor with your back pressed to the wall. You had a distant look in your eyes, and he could tell that something was off.

As he walked over to you, he noticed the signs of exhaustion etched on your face, your breathing shallow, and your body tense. It was clear the mission's stress had taken its toll on you more than the others.

"Hey," he said softly, leaning against the wall beside you. "You holding up alright?"

You tried to put on a brave facade, forcing a faint smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit tired ya' know?"

Price studied your face, seeing right through you. "You sure about that?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You huffed a small laugh, but it was clear you were overwhelmed and trying to hide it. "Yes Captain, I'm fine," you repeated avoiding his gaze.

Price leaned a bit closer to you, looking into your eyes. "You know you can talk to me, right? You don't have to hide how you're feeling, I know that mission was a lot for you to take in, it was a lot for everyone" he said softly.

You looked back up at him with a hint of vulnerability in your expression. Part of you wanted to unload all your worries to him, but the other part of you feared being seen as weak in your captain's eyes. Price saw how conflicted you looked and understood why you were hesitant to share your emotions. He knew that pushing too hard would make you distance yourself even more.

"Why don't we get out of here for a bit?" he suggested. "Just a change of scenery and some fresh air might do us both some good."

"Alright," you finally agreed, nodding slightly. "But only if it's somewhere private. I don't feel like dealing with the rest of the team right now."

Price understood why you might want a break from the rest of the team. Task Force 141 was a tight-knit group and you loved your teammates as a family, but sometimes you just needed to escape the constant chatter and banter that came with living in close quarters.

He nodded. "Understood. I know just the place." He pushed off the wall and started walking, the sound of his footsteps echoing slightly in the empty hallway as he led you outside. It was the perfect night to sit outside and talk. He lit a cigar before speaking to you.

"You know," he began after a few moments of silence as he took a drag of his cigar, "we've been through a lot together." He exhaled the smoke from his cigar. "I consider you one of the strongest soldiers on the task force. But even the strongest of soldiers need to let their guard down after a long mission. The mission is over, you can relax tonight until the next one."

You listened to his words, feeling some of the tension leave your body. Price always had this way of knowing exactly what to say to comfort you. "I know," you said quietly. "I need to work on allowing myself to do that.

He chuckled softly. "Yeah, you definitely do," he teased, nudging you slightly with his elbow. "I've seen you working your ass off all day, every day. I swear, you're more dedicated than the rest of us combined."

You smiled faintly in response, feeling a warmth in your chest at his words. It was rare for Price to give direct compliments, he usually only gave them to the team as a whole. "I just don't want to disappoint you, Captain," you mumbled, shifting your feet awkwardly. "Besides, this is the only thing I have going for me. It's not like I have anything to go home to after deployment. So I might as well give it my all."

Price took another drag from his cigar, giving you a saddened look. He knew you didn't talk about your life outside of the military often, so he was glad to see you finally open up. "You won't disappoint me," he said firmly. "You never have and most likely never will. And as for not having anything to go home to, I don't believe that for a second."

You shrugged looking down at your hands. "I dunno'...it's just me and that's it," you muttered. "No family, no partner, no one who relies on me. I guess that's part of the reason I joined, I just like to feel like I'm doing something beneficial to at least someone.

Price was silent for a moment as he studied you, trying to figure out what to say next. "You may not have a traditional family," he said finally. "But you're not alone. Not with the people you've met here. This team is your family, even outside of work. Like it or not.

You smiled at that, knowing he was right. Task Force 141 was more than just a group of soldiers to you, they were like family to you. They looked out for each other and relied on each other. "Yeah, I guess you're right," you admitted. "Being part of this team is what's kept me going all these years."

He nodded, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. "See, I'm always right," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. He wrapped an arm around you "Without you, we'd all fall apart. I think you could even be a better captain than me one day."

You laughed softly at his remark, leaning into his side as his arm wrapped around you. His body warmth was comforting. "Not a chance in hell," you replied, shaking your head. "You lead us well. I trust your decisions over myself and the others."

A moment of silence went by before you spoke up. You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. "Hey, Captain Price?" you mumbled, your voice soft.

He hummed in acknowledgment, tilting his head down towards you. "Yes."

"Thank you," you said simply, wrapping your arms around his body and pressing your head against his chest. "For everything, really. You've done so much for me."

He put out his cigar before he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. The scent of cigar smoke still lingered. He gently pressed a kiss onto the top of your head. "You don't gotta thank me," he murmured. "Just doing my job as Captain."

You felt the kiss on your head, a sweet but unexpected gesture. You leaned back, looking up at him with a hint of confusion. "What was that for?" you asked, a slight smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Just felt right, in the moment."

Your gaze softened as you reached up to gently cup his face, your thumb brushing his cheek. Without thinking twice you leaned in, giving him a gentle and sweet kiss on the lips. Price didn't hesitate to kiss you back, his arms tightened around you, holding you close as he deepened the kiss. His lips moved against yours. It was as if he was waiting for this moment his whole life. You broke the kiss, both of you catching your breath.

"I...didn't expect that to happen," he said, his voice low.

You smiled, leaning your head against his chest again. You could feel his heart beating rapidly against your ear, he was just as affected by the kiss as you were. "Me neither," you murmured, closing your eyes. "But I'm not complaining."

Price laughed as he played with your hair. "Yeah, neither am I," he agreed, tilting your face up so he could look down at you. "Been wanting to do that for a while, actually."

You were surprised by his confession. "You have?" you asked. "I never would have guessed that."

He nodded. "I just didn't think I had a chance. Figured you just saw me as your captain, nothing more."

You shook your head, unable to keep a small smile from forming on your lips. "You're more than that, Captain Price," you told him. "You're my friend, my confidant, and now I guess you're also my..." You trailed off, not sure how to label this sudden development between you two.

Price laughed again, the sound warm and inviting. "Your what? Finish that sentence, soldier," he teased, but there was also a hint of curiosity in his voice.

You took a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak the words. "My lover, I guess. Only if you're okay with that label of course," you finally said, your voice quiet.

Hearing you say it out loud sent a thrill through him. "Lover, huh?" he repeated, a smirk playing on his lips. "I like the sound of that."

You blushed softly at his acceptance, but also felt a sense of relief. "I do too," you murmured, unable to hide how flustered you were. "So... what now? Where do we go from here?"

"We let things happen naturally," he said, leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead. "There's no need to rush into anything. But one thing's for sure," he paused, "You're all mine now, sweetheart," he teased.

"All yours, huh?" you teased back, looking up at him through your eyelashes. "I could get used to that."

He chuckled at your response. "You better, 'cause I don't plan on letting you go anytime soon," he responded, his hand coming up to rest on your cheek. He leaned down, kissing you. "I love you, (Y/n)," he mumbled against your lips. "More than you'd ever be able to imagine. You look so beautiful right now, but you probably already know that."

You didn't know how to respond at first, as the words he said sank in. You hadn't expected him to say he loved you first. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close and burying your face into him, tears forming in your eyes. "I love you too, John," you whispered back.

[la-petite-lapin]

Double the Love | Part Two

Double the Love masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x female civilian!OC Word Count: 2.9k Series warnings (may change between chapters): 18+, Minors DNI, angst, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of poor mental health, injury description, eventual explicit sexual content, polyamory, M/M/F, FMC is bad at feelings

They finally meet

One year later...

The message comes out of the blue. The first time I've heard from John Price in a whole month, and it's a fucking text message.

I'm watching TV, curled up in a ball on the sofa next to my best friend and flatmate Winslow "Winnie" Sloane, when my phone pings. I think about ignoring it until I catch a glimpse of his name. It's an unspoken rule between the two of us - we never knowingly ignore one another. Obviously, he can't reply to my messages when he's on ops, but that's different - that's not wilful.

I pick it up without hesitation and take a look.

JOHN PRICE: Tali, I need a favour. It's urgent.

My heart drops.

TALIA KELLER: What's happened? JOHN PRICE: Call me. I'll explain.

So, I do. I tap Winnie on the shoulder and rise up to my feet, shuffling off to my bedroom so I don't disturb her episode of Slow Horses. When I'm safely shut behind my bedroom door, I tap on the call button, dreading what's awaiting me on the other end of the line.

"John?" my voice is full of nerves as the call connects, echoing slightly around the room.

"God am I glad to hear your voice, Tali." He sounds haggard, his own voice tired and hollow. It's not hard to tell that he's fresh off an op. I can already imagine how drained he looks; can picture the dark circles shading his eyes and his scruffy too-long beard.

Sometimes, when I'm feeling particularly brave, I try to talk him into leaving the service. I think about Alex and his death, and I hate that John still knowingly puts himself in harm's way day and night. He's the only serving soldier I know now - I never met any of the other members of their unit - and I desperately wish that he'll retire soon.

"How are you?" he follows up, voice puncturing through my thoughts.

"I'm okay. At home with Winnie. How's Marcella?"

A soft sigh leaves him at the mention of his long-suffering wife. I wonder if he's even had a chance to see her yet. "Last we spoke, she was perfectly fine. Misses you though. You need to come over for dinner soon."

An easy laugh leaves me. Winnie and John aren't the only ones who've been supporting me since Alex died. John's wife Marcie has been there every step of the way too, helping me through rough patches whenever John is away on deployments. And Winnie's never been anything but kind and understanding - it's not in her nature to be anything but.

"Soon," I mumble in agreement. There's a sound on the other end of the line in the background, a murmured snippet of conversation and a drawn-out groan followed by a soft shut up. "Not alone?"

"Got some company," John admits. "Speaking of... does Winslow still have that big trip coming up?"

My palms slick with sweat. Yes. Yes, she does.

Ever since her big promotion six months ago, Winnie's job now involves a lot more travelling than it used to. And - because of that - in three days' time, she'll be in France, starting a month-long assignment helping a struggling marketing firm in Paris.

And I'll be alone.

It doesn't bother me as much as it used to, but I've always had this thing about being alone. It's part of the reason why I live with Winnie; why I've been seeing a therapist since I was sixteen; why I struggle to have normalcy. My current therapist thinks that it's a form of abandonment issues from being orphaned at a young age, which has led to my inability to maintain stable relationships. The therapist before that thought it was something completely different; that I seek to form attachments but wilfully don't, self-sabotaging and creating my own permanent sense of loneliness. But, my point is, I don't react anywhere near as badly to it as I did when I was a kid.

I still remember when I was fifteen and Alex left for his first deployment. I was still living with our maternal grandmother at the time, and I completely shut down. I holed up in my room for almost a whole month, refusing to speak and barely eating or sleeping. I could hardly function for worrying about him...

"Tali?"

I snap out of it. "Sorry. Yes."

"Could you... could I possibly bring some of my guys to your apartment? Just while Winslow is away. Our safehouse in the area has been taken out of action and we need somewhere to lay low for a little while."

My guys. The unit.

"What about your place?" My brow furrows. Surely Marcella wouldn't mind a few guests. She's calm and motherly and takes great pride in hosting. I'm sure she'd be in the element with them.

John clears his throat awkwardly. "Not an option. They don't know."

Ah. The brave, almighty Captain John Price still hasn't told his team that he's married. Typical.

I roll my eyes. "Okay. I hope you know that we're coming back to that later." A beat of silence passes. "How many people are we talking, John? Because it's a two-bedroom flat in London. It's spacious but it's hardly the Tardis."

He snorts out a dry laugh. "Only two. One of the lads is local so he's got family around here he can stay with. And there's some stuff I've got to get done, so I'll be hopping from base to base."

"Where are they going to sleep? Are they going to mind sharing a bed? Because the sofa is comfortable, but I know how you army guys are built..."

There's an awkward silence on Price's end as I hear him shifting around. It takes me a second to realise that he's covering his mouth against his phone's microphone. "Yeah... that's, um- that won't be an issue for them."

Oh.

Oh.

"Okay. Cool. I'll take them."

I wince. Why the fuck did I say cool? Of all the ways that I could respond and I choose that. Way to go, Tali.

"Are you sure that you're okay with this, Tali?" Price asks, his voice soft and encouraging. "If you aren’t, we can find something else-"

"Price, I'll take them in. Winnie leaves on Tuesday morning, so just have them swing by around then, okay?"

Favour asked and questions answered, we say our goodbyes and hang up. It takes me a second to gather my thoughts before padding back into the living room. The moment I step through the hallway, Winslow pauses the TV, angling her head up to look at me. A cloud of black curly hair frames her beautiful face, dark eyes wide and expectant. "Is John back home?"

I wince, getting ready to launch into an explanation. "Not quite."

Tuesday morning rolls around all too soon. By 9 a.m. I'm sitting cross-legged on the foot of Winnie's bed as she packs up her stuff. I can't help but feel a pang of anxiety strike deep in my chest.

"Are you sure that you're gonna be okay?" Winnie asks, almost like she can read my mind.

I meet her dark, knowing gaze and offer her a smile. "Winnie, I'll be fine. You don't need to worry about me. If I need anything, I can call Marcella."

She smiles, running a hand through her freshly braided hair. The pearls attached to some strands clink together softly. "Okay. Good. But you've got to call me once a week at least, okay?" Before I can reassure her that I will, she adds, "And you've got to text me every day."

"Winslow, I will. Stop stressing, please."

A moment of easy silence passes before the laughter starts. Both of us crack up, her eyes finding mine and holding my gaze.

Once we've both calmed down, I take a closer look at her cases. She's packing almost everything she owns. It's a sight that worries me, so I look away, deciding to look out of the window instead.

A loud, firm knock on the front door saves me just as Winnie is packing up her last suitcase. We exchange a look before I'm up on my feet, scrambling to answer it. I can't lie, I'm curious to meet John's friends. But I'm also sad. Because there's a strong possibility that they knew Alex too. That they were with him when he died.

When I open the door, there's two men standing in the hallway, just like John said there would be. The first has short brown hair styled into a mohawk, the sides cropped close to his scalp but the top and back left longer. He's broad-chested, muscular too; built like a grizzly bear. And, even though his complexion has a slightly pallid hue under the overhead lights, it's not hard to imagine that he's usually quite tan.

And then there's his friend. Standing next to the grizzly bear and at least half-a-foot taller than him, he has the expression of a man who wants to break me apart with his bare hands just to see what's inside. I fight to meet his intense gaze, taking catalogue of the features visible under the dark hood of his black sweatshirt. His eyes are hazel - I think - skin tanned from what I'd assume are long hours spent out in the sun, and I can't quite make out his hair colour. He's equally if not more muscular than his friendlier-looking counterpart. My eyes trail down to his mouth, drawn to the scar bisecting his bottom lip. It doesn't draw away from his attractiveness though; just adds to the sense of rugged charm that I'm getting from him.

Not that it should matter. It doesn't. They're here because they need help; not because they want to be ogled by a complete stranger.

"Are you John's friends?" I ask stupidly, as if they could be anyone else.

The grizzly bear nods. "Aye. And you are?"

Scottish. Nice. I've always loved the accent, but his is even better. There's a humour there; something uniquely his. It makes me want to keep him talking just so I can hear it more.

"Tali." I step back so that they can come inside. They hesitate for a second before following me into the living room, the tall, silent one closing the door behind him with a soft click. "Also John's friend."

The grizzly bear plops straight down onto the couch, stretching out with no hesitation and making himself at home. His arms drape over the backrest, a lazy grin forming on his lips as he watches me take a seat on my armchair. The tall one gives him a reprimanding look, hovering beside the window behind him. His light eyes are always alert; darting around the room like something's going to jump out at any second.

"You army?" he asks, expression wary. His voice is all gravel with a Manchester accent.

I offer him a small smile. "Nope." I don't think anyone could mistake me for a soldier. I'm small - short and slender - and skittish at the best of times. "So... what should I call you?"

Hazel eyes narrow at me. "Ghost."

The grizzly bear rolls his eyes dramatically, offering me a wide, disarming grin. It's blatantly obvious that he's overcompensating for him. "Callsign is Soap, but a pretty lass like you can call me Johnny."

My heart flutters.

It takes a second to remember what John had said on the phone. Sharing a bed won't be an issue for them. The awkward, implying tone he'd said it in. In other words, neither of them are meant for me.

Ghost eases away from the window to stand just behind the sofa, drawing closer to Johnny. Johnny, on the other hand, moves so that he's leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees as he cocks his head at me. "A friend of Captain Price, are ye?"

I nod softly. "Yes."

"Funny that," Ghost barks, tilting his head to one side. "He's never mentioned you." Thinly veiled suspicion drifts off of him in waves, and it makes me feel endlessly uncomfortable. His harsh gaze melts through my skin and bones, boring deep into my soul.

I shift in my seat. "He never mentioned either of you to me, so I don't think that counts for much."

Johnny lets out a loud laugh. "I think I'm gonna like ye, Tali. Not many people talk back to 'im."

It's in that moment - as I'm silently praying for the floor to open up and swallow me whole - that Winnie steps out of her room, suitcases in tow. She walks into the living room, depositing them by the front door before coming over to introduce herself, a sceptical look on her face.

She levels Ghost with an icy glare, not looking away from him as she asks me, "Everything all okay here, Tali?"

"Yeah, it's alright Winnie." I gesture to each of John's friends in turn. "Winnie, this is Johnny." He raises his hand and waves, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "And that is Ghost." I point to looming, ominous figure behind him.

"Ghost?" she repeats slowly. I nod. "Okay, well I'm leaving now. Tali, I love you and I'll miss you. Remember to call me." She bends at the waist to hug me, wrapping me up in her warm, vanilla-scented embrace. As she straightens, she glares at each of the men in turn. "And you two - don't give her any shit. If I find out you've made her feel uncomfortable even once, not even John will be able to save you. Got it?"

Johnny stares up at my friend, mystified. His blue eyes are bright as he nods. "Don't worry. We won't be any trouble."

Winnie turns back to face me. "Right, I've got to go or I'll miss my ride to the airport. I'll be back before you even know I'm gone, okay?"

"I know," I say, my voice soft. "I love you. Be safe and text me when you land."

With a nod, Winnie presses a gentle kiss to the top of my head then gets her last few bits together. And then she leaves. Leaving me alone with two complete strangers. Yay.

"So," I grumble, struggling against the urge to shy away from their intense gazes in the safety of my room, "do you want to see where you'll be staying?"

Later that night, the three of us gather in the living room to watch TV.

The guys didn't have much to unpack. They travelled light so I'm going to have to go shopping sometime soon to buy them some essentials; more clothes and toiletries. Definitely food too. If dinner tonight was any indication, they eat a lot.

I'm curled up in my armchair again, watching something that Johnny chose on Netflix. Every once and a while, I glance across at them. Ghost is sitting upright, legs stretched out in front of him. His legs are so long that his feet are tucked under the coffee table. And then there's Johnny. He's laying on his side on the sofa, his head resting on Ghost's muscular thighs. Every now and then, Ghost's hand runs down the length of Johnny's side, stroking him in soothing, rhythmic motions.

Looking at them, I can't help but feel a sense of longing. Jealousy that they're together and obviously quite happy. That they're comfortable enough around one another for these subconscious displays of affection.

I'll never have that. It's something that I've come to accept. I'm twenty-five now and I've never had a serious relationship. I don't even think I want one. For a period of time in my late teens, I thought that I might be aro-ace, but over time I've gathered that I do feel romantic and sexual attraction. It's just different.

The sad truth is that I don't trust anyone enough to believe that they'd stay with me. Love me. Make me feel safe enough for displays of casual affection. There would always be that looming sense of dread that they'd leave me sooner or later.

In my head, I've justified it. If I don't get into relationships, no one can leave me. Alex's death all but solidified that for me.

The rom-com Johnny picked out gets to a comedic scene - a naked beach fight - and he starts to chuckle. I join him and I swear even Ghost lets out a little snort. We're all laughing until...

"Fuck. Johnny, you're bleeding."

My heart crawls up into my throat. My eyes snap across to them, blatantly looking now. The white t-shirt Johnny is wearing is plastered to his side, a red patch seeping through the fabric, spreading across his ribs.

He sits upright, holding it with one large hand. "Ah fuck. Didn't get any on the sofa, did ah'?"

"Fuck the sofa," I splutter out in a panic. "Are you okay? Why are you bleeding? Should I call an ambulance?"

Johnny looks back at me with a quizzical expression while Ghost just sighs, standing up. He walks towards the bedrooms at an unhurried pace, stopping along the way to press a chaste kiss to Johnny's forehead, placing a loving hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, darling, I'll get the bag." Hazel eyes swing towards me, where I'm still panicking in my armchair. "His dressing just needs changing, and I'll check his stitches. He's fine, love."

I ease back into my seat, heat rushing to my cheeks. "Oh."

Ghost leaves the room, heading into my bedroom to get the aforementioned bag. I've decided to give them my room for the duration of their stay because it has an en-suite. It eliminates the risk of me accidentally stumbling in on them in the shared bathroom that doesn't have a working lock. Overall, it's safer for everyone that I'm staying in Winnie's room.

Feeling more than a little foolish for my outburst, I offer Johnny a weak smile. "I'm going to go to bed now. Goodnight, Johnny."

"Ye sure?" he asks, blue eyes tinted with a hint of... something. Maybe disappointment? I don't know. "The movie isn't over yet. You seemed like ye were enjoying it." His brow furrows. "We could watch something else."

"I'm sure. It's fine; I'm just tired. We can watch another movie tomorrow night if you want."

His eyes light up at that. "Yeah, sounds perfect."

I'm back in Winnie's room by the time Ghost leaves mine. I can hear his footsteps padding down the hallway. Hear their muffled conversation and muted laughter.

As I fall asleep, I can't help but feel a different kind of loneliness. And, as I drift off, my heart aches for what Ghost and Johnny have.

a/n: guess who's back! so Tali has finally met the boys :) sorry if this part is a little short, just wanted to get something out in time for christmas for you guys - merry christmas and take care of yourselves, lapetitelapin

[south-of-heaven]

Judgement Day x reader where their daughter has been waking up at night a lot, but reader thinks the others shouldn't have to wake up, so she does it herself and feels exhausted. The others find out and assure her they want to help because this baby has 5 parents, not one

Lost sleep || The Judgement Day x Reader

Summary: Every time your daughter wakes up at night, you're the one who takes care of it, simply because you don't want your partners to lose any sleep over it. They remind you that you're not alone.

It had been a rough week, to say the least. Your precious daughter, the apple of your eye, had been having a difficult time sleeping. She'd wake up multiple times throughout the night, fussing and crying, leaving you exhausted from lack of sleep.

You had made it a point to get up each time she cried, not wanting your partners to lose sleep over it. They all had busy schedules, and it seemed like the least you could do. But as the nights passed and your sleep deprivation grew, it was becoming harder and harder to keep up with her demands.

One particularly sleepless morning, you dragged yourself out of bed, your body heavy with fatigue. Rhea, Damian, Finn, and Dominik were all still asleep, blissfully unaware of your nightly struggles.

As you prepared a bottle for your daughter, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. You loved her more than anything, but the sleepless nights were taking a toll on you.

Later that day, you couldn't hide the bags under your eyes and your overall exhaustion. Your partners noticed, their concern evident. Rhea was the first to gently confront you.

"Hey, love," she said softly, pulling you aside while the others were busy. "I've noticed you've been looking really tired lately. Is everything okay?"

You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to burden her with your struggles. But then you sighed, realizing you couldn't keep this to yourself any longer. "It's just... our daughter has been waking up so many times during the night, and I didn't want you all to lose sleep, so I've been taking care of her myself."

Rhea's expression softened as she listened, and she pulled you into a comforting embrace. "You don't have to do this alone, you know. We're all here for you, and we're her parents too. You can ask for help."

Later, Damian and Finn echoed similar sentiments, letting you know that you were never alone in this. They assured you that they wanted to share the responsibilities and the joys of parenting equally.

Finally, Dominik found you sitting quietly in the nursery, your daughter sleeping soundly in your arms. He approached you with a gentle smile, his eyes filled with love and understanding.

"You're an incredible parent," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you don't have to carry this alone. We're a team, remember?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you nodded, feeling the weight of exhaustion and stress finally lifting from your shoulders. You realized that you had an incredible support system right in front of you, and together, you could handle anything.

From that day forward, you all took turns caring for your daughter during the night. The burden was lightened, and the bond between you and your partners grew even stronger. Parenthood had its challenges, but with love and teamwork, you knew you could conquer them all.

[akutasoda]

Not the biggest Dr.ratio fan but Damm me if he isn't fun to write about...

I BET this mf way of showing love and care is by not only teaching you, but also by actually being patient with it DGBDVDNS

It was not new information the fact that Veritas Ratio did not tolerate idiocy. He couldn't even bear to look at someone he deemed as a moron.

But you were a... strange case. Not the dumbest person Veritas had ever met, but also not someone who would have caught his attention. At best, you could be considered "average," and at worst, "teetering to stupidity."

But even with your lack of outstanding intellectual skills, Veritas' attention was still piqued by you. Call him a hypocrite or a fraud, mention his double standards when it came to you, and he wouldn't care.

It started with something small. Veritas occasionally approached you and begrudgingly helped you comprehend some of the statistics in your reports. And he never failed to point out how much of a hard time you were having with something that was so simple for him.

"Are you struggling with this subject?" "Really?" The familiar condescending tone in his voice made you only lower your head slightly in shame.

He found it annoyingly amusing to see how you acted around him. It was almost charming in a way, how much of an airhead you were sometimes. But he couldn't deny how frustrating it was to see how his words entered and immediately left your head.

Gradually, you could notice more changes in his behavior towards you. Going from him just giving you advice from time to time on how to do your work, to him outright teaching you.

"Wrong answer again." His voice echoed. His gaze felt like two daggers ready to jump you at any moment. How many attempts have already been made? Three? Four? You couldn't remember. "Are you even paying attention to what I am saying?" The answer was no.

"I've had students with ADHD who paid more attention than you." He wanted to say, but a small voice in the back of his head didn't allow him to do so. He couldn't bring himself to say such mean things to you.

With a long and heavy sigh, Veritas pressed the bridge of his nose before leaning closer to you. "I'll go over the subject again, pay attention this time because I won't repeat myself anymore." Even he knew it was a lie, that for you, he would go over his explanation as many times as possible. Not only to make sure you understood it, but also so he had an excuse to spend more time by your side.

Trying to think how this guy would confess his feelings ヽ(o´3`o)ﾉ

and i totally agree! he wouldn't have any other idea on how to express his feelings but he wabts to show he cares.

i can just imagine how he'd want to be so condescending. so mean and rude to you like he normally would be to anyone else, but the little voice inside of him screams at him not too. he knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he actually insulted you - his students would know ratio at his worse.

reminds me of that one voice line where he talks about how the' most annoying thing about idiocy is that you can't explain it to an idiot'. however it wouldn't be annoying if he had to explain anything to you but he's so in denial and so confused on how to properly express his feelings that he instead offers his undivided time and dedication. he may be intelligent but he's not that emotionally intelligent when it comes to feelings, love particularly.

[yuurivoice]

with the new reveal in the the L+F episode, there have been some small timeline issues within the fandom’s understanding, which makes me curious

would you ever consider making some sort of online timeline (such as within carrd or another website making site) in order to avoid confusion?

I've been considering my options there. Having some sort of evergreen post SOMEWHERE at the minimum would be great.

My real goal is to have all of that sort of info on the channel proper, and have it logical and easy to find. I have some thoughts on how to accomplish that.

Situations like this one in particular are special cases because typically I circumvent the confusion by writing it into the script and adding clarity that way. But, cliffhanger. So even though within the next minute or two of the next episode you'd have all of that information..........we're looking at like...weeks or a month away from that actually happening for the audience.

I think where I fucked up this time was that I didn't really consider how we've had issues in Auron's content as well where it's been so long since the establishing of the context, they forget that like...certain events have happened in a specific timespan, and what events then happened after the fact. Currently, Lost & Found is the furthest ahead chronologically, in the Spring-ish of the new year that follows the events of BS3 + Auron's Escape series. It's not unreasonable for folks to have forgotten specifics like that because it has taken literally years for me to get here, so if I had really thought about it, I would have given a little more to work off of and re-establish some of that information.

But, fun fact......I decided to do this particular reveal on a whim. It felt right. I wasn't sure WHAT to do with the audio itself, I knew we'd see Casper's car for the first time, and I thought that Charlie couldn't actually be that dumb. Certainly not if he had enough time to start thinking too much about things. Then I was like......ya know? What if I just...did a little more than I thought I'd be doing with this audio.

There are quite a few bandaids that need to be pulled in terms of reveals and connections leading into Shattered. Felt like the right time for this one, and raise the stakes for everyone by marrying these two particular threads.

I've struggled particularly with how to convey that Auron hasn't been peachy between Christmas and Spring-ish times. I thought about diving right in but realized that people could be thrown off. I thought about adding some context on the front end of Shattered, but we're not quite there yet.

And while the hardcores have caught onto the brief, viney threads that connect Charlie to Auron at this time, being more deliberate about it right now at this time feels good.

I am very amused at the general reaction. So amused, that I wrote the bulk of the next episode last night right after the premiere, because this is too good not to capitalize on. lol

Edit: Forgot to add that I'm aiming to have my timeline solution in place for the Echoes of Evalas drop because we're going to run into the same exact issue with Evalas things. EoE takes place around Shattered in the timeline, but various Evalas spinoffs are years prior. So it's paramount that there is some sort of resource to point people towards. I've been thinking about creating a "Guide to YuuriVoice" playlist that would have a fresh channel trailer, series synopsis, broader timeline clarification, and whatever else might be needed that I can think of. I just need something to be finished for me to go ahead and get that rolling.

[utilitycaster]

What would you say are the CR cast's individual weaknesses? I'm always trying to improve for my own games and also curious to see if I can spot them in the episodes.

Hi anon,

This is super subjective, heavily biased towards my own personal likes and dislikes, etc, so I don't think you should per se use this as your own metric, and also a lot of these are not mechanical but more broadly about structure or acting.

Travis: bias immediately begins here; I think he's one of the strongest actors and one of the strongest people mechanically at the table. He also really knows what he wants and likes to do, which, spoilers, is essentially my biggest criticism of almost anyone else; and I think as part of that he addressed what would have been my biggest criticism in the past (namely, a hesitancy towards emotional roleplay which was present in C1 and was very much part of what he proceeded to push his boundaries on with Fjord and in some ways even more so with Chetney). Anyway I think my current main critique is that I would like to see him play a character who really isn't good with melee/is a full caster and I think he's been more hesitant on that, but also, it's valid to have a strong preference for one type of build so like. he can keep doing what he's doing and I will not be mad.

Marisha: I've talked about this before but I think she really needs to do more involved backstory planning that dives into motivations more, or, failing that, simply have very goal-oriented characters. I think that even when there's been vagueness in the backstories of her other characters (basically everyone but Keyleth) their motivations were enough to carry them through, but this has been a campaign-long struggle for Laudna. I will also admit that I find her acting choices as Laudna specifically to be rather overwrought in a way that doesn't particularly, work for me but I have a really strong personal bias towards naturalistic styles. She's also capable of much subtler work, and both Bee and Patia I think showed that off.

Sam: Kind of a weird in-between situation in comparison to the above. I think Sam knows his sweet spot and capacity for humor and so he rarely goes as dark as say, Oscar Grimm, but he is absolutely killing it already over there. In general I think Sam needs to be more willing to leave his comfort zone and push himself more because he can play it a bit safe. I think he does have a sharp learning curve re: complex mechanics (this is why early FCG was rough) exacerbated by the fact that I think he really tends to assume what he can do is way more limited than it is, and I suspect the much simpler Candela system is working to his favor, but like, he does eventually get there and, should we get a campaign 4, I'm going to tape "BE PATIENT WITH SAM, HE ALWAYS GETS THERE" on my laptop to remind me.

Ashley: Bit like Sam actually! I think she can and should go harder on mechanics (and for the most part has been; I think she underestimates herself a lot), and I also think she needs to make wilder choices. Fearne has been a delight in this regard but I want to echo the cast at one of the recent convention Q&As: please push the red button more, please go absolute as hard as you want. Will say her acting is maybe my favorite in the cast.

Laura: ABSOLUTELY NEEDS TO PUSH MORE BIG RED BUTTONS. Like...man. I feel this mindset; I don't really play video games other than stupid phone games but I'm That Person who's like "I only have 100 erasers in Two Dots, I must ration them". But I think she's doing a fantastic job with Imogen and my one criticism would truly be Go Bigger And Weirder And Harder. This is why I mentioned her; she was willing to take such massive risks as Arlo, and I think part of that was because it was a short campaign and she didn't feel that need to hold back but like, please, press buttons and take more risks. Her RP is always stellar though. Like, truly, I think Laura, Ashley, and Travis often appeal to my personal taste in acting choices and themes the most, and I just want Laura and Ashley to make similarly wild choices to Travis sometimes.

Liam: This is 100% purely a very me thing; I find he acts like a stage actor (which he is!) when there is a camera like 10 feet from his face and it can at times be a bit much for me, a person who is annoying re: subtlety. When he hits, he fucking hits though. Vax sometimes got a little overwrought for me but when he went quieter it was top notch; Caleb was fantastic because I think he counteracted this tendency; and there's been a couple moments with Orym I haven't loved but so many that I have. Mechanically he is great and while I'm a noted Rogue Disliker, Wizard/Fighter/Cleric are all flawless and much as I'd like to see him play other classes he is valid for his core four choice.

Taliesin: Here is the thing. I think whereas Laura takes a somewhat hesitant, afraid to let her character die stance, Taliesin does in fact have sort of a parallel issue of taking huge risks and then being very pikachu face when his character does die. Big swing of the pendulum in the other direction. However, Taliesin tends to hit on themes I find fascinating, consistently, and has a truly impressive breadth of mechanical skill. Even when I don't like his characters (only happened once) I absolutely respect what he's doing, and perhaps most importantly, he truly does not care what I or others in the fandom think, which makes me respect him more. Like, you know what? Molly isn't for me, and that's valid! Anyway. I hesitate to suggest more caution bc episodes 3x77-78 were so good and I loved all the wild shit Percy got up to (I also loved Caduceus but he was a much more laid-back character by design) but I do think that lack of caution is his weakness.

Matt: Judging more on the basis of being a DM than a player here just for sheer quantity but I think that his two greatest weaknesses are first, communicating highly specific risks (the main ones being the Iron Shepherds and the Otohan fight; you can't do that in pitched combat my man); and for lack of a better way to put it, I do still think he needed more firmness in the character creation stage of c3 and then looser reins during the campaign itself. I've been thinking about this a lot because I think that when I have frustrations with Aabria's style it's weirdly sort of...needs slightly looser reins but in a totally different way, and like, when Matt needs to loosen up, RP moments fall by the wayside and plot is fine, whereas when Aabria needs to loosen up, RP is still stellar but plot suffers.

[atombombkaytee]

My Echo, My Shadow and Me (Part 2)

Summary: Hancock and I retire to The Third Rail after a long day to find that it’s particularly busy. Still, we manage to find a quiet spot to indulge in heavy flirting, booze and chems. However, I notice a shadowy figure across the room - somehow, neither Hancock or I recognise the stranger (another ghoul). Hancock is keen to introduce himself but the sheer amount of intoxicants we’ve consumed could have the potential to lead to a very interesting evening.

Pairings: Hancock x Female OC/Reader, Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Female OC/Reader

Warnings: (In future parts - all of the following) Heavy alcohol/drug use, public groping, smut, MMF threesome, anal.

(Part 1 here)

Part 2

After a few hours, I'm struggling to focus and my speech is slurred. However, the entire night has been spent laughing maniacally at the ghoul that I've been cuddled up with. Hancock can handle his liquor much better than me, but he's also been alternating between huffing on Jet and popping Mentats. His favorite combination - chasing the upper and then riding the downer - it led to hilarious conversations.

“Holy SHIT! Do you remember that fucking molerat - that thing went absolutely flying!" He laughs uproariously, nearly toppling the rusty metal table in front of us, clutching his knees for support. Tears of laughter fill my eyes as I try to stifle my giggles. My makeup is likely ruined but the alcohol is dulling my concerns.

“We have sure had some crazy times together…” The fiery sting of whiskey rushes down my throat.

I swing in place before slumping against his shoulder and looking up in admiration at the handsome ghoul sitting beside me. He inclines his head to meet my gaze.

“And, my love, this is just the start. You know being here with you is the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me… right?” He swoons, maintaining his stare. Even beyond the alcohol, I can easily uncover the arousal beyond his eyes. If he could, he would probably just have me - right here and now.

I slide my hand clumsily across his thigh, towards his groin and, with it, I catch a swollen erection beneath the fabric of his slacks. Chewing at my lip, I avert my eyes down to admire it. The visible bulging lump is enough to send a flood of liquid trickling into my panties.

With unwavering determination, I maintain the rubbing motion, stimulating his cock beneath the layers of his clothing. Placing my lips against his neck, I tenderly bite down on the elastic flesh nestled there.

“I want you…” I whisper as I move up his neck to connect with his lips. He clashes messily against me, using his tongue to greedily explore my mouth. Our intoxication leads to sloppy, wet kisses. Gripping a fistful of my hair, he pulls me away and holds me in place just inches from his face. The palpable presence of his breath, generating a sensation of warmth against my lips, coincides with the slow, deliberate advance of his other hand towards my thighs, where it delicately brushes against the damp fabric of my underwear. His fingers linger there for a brief moment of stillness, before eventually retracting back.

“Not yet…” Releasing my hair, he jerks me back into position, then promptly seizes his half-full glass once more. Even though he's not making eye contact, I can detect the smile playing on his thin lips, understanding that he’s driving me wild.

“You think you can be a little more patient, dollface? It’s not even midnight yet!”

I pout and tightly cross my legs. Trying to ignore the swollen heat of my cunt between them.

While Hancock throws back another shot - my eyes roam the bar. The noise has diminished noticeably as a large portion of the previous attendees have either retired to their rooms at the Hotel Rexford or are congregated around various tables, showing signs of weariness from their festivities. 

I recognize a lot of them - regular faces around Goodneighbor. Some of them are residents, some traders, some mercenaries looking for work, or lost souls that just couldn’t stay away from The Memory Den. But there are also some unfamiliar faces.

Across the room, a group of unkempt women who appear to be raiders are seated around one of the small metal tables. Since they are not causing any disturbances, they are being treated with the same level of acceptance as everyone else (at least for the time being). Two tables over from me and Hancock, an unknown elderly ghoul couple catches my eye. I can't help but smile fondly as I observe the man lovingly place his jacket around his partner's shoulders, shielding her from the chilly breeze.

I quickly shift my focus from table to table, until my attention finally lands on a man by himself, near the back room. Despite the distance between us, and the fact that his eyes are completely obscured underneath a cowboy hat, I can tell that he's a ghoul. The flickering candlelight on the table casts dancing shadows across his face, highlighting the dark, mottled skin and the void in place of his nose. He absentmindedly manipulates an object in his hands. When the spotlights shift to him, a glimmer from the item catches my eye. Is it a knife?

I gently prod Hancock, who is lounging on the sofa with his tricorn hat covering his face, having just indulged in more jet.

“Hey, who’s that over there?”

Offended that I’ve interrupted his high, he adjusts his hat to shoot me a perplexed look before following the direction of my gaze to the stranger in the corner. After a moment of absent observation, he furrows his brow and shakes his head to refocus after using so many chems.

“No idea. Can’t say I’ve seen him around before…”

Hancock's expression contorts into a subtle frown, emanating a hint of concern at the realization that there's a person in Goodneighbor whom he has yet to meet. Unperturbed, he picks up the bigger of the two whiskey bottles left on the table, gently swirling its contents to gauge how much remains.

“Let’s go and introduce ourselves!”

Before I can react, he drunkenly seizes my wrist and yanks me to my feet. All at once, the whiskey rushes to my head. I stumble behind my excited companion, struggling to walk in a straight line.

Hancock staggers towards the shadowy man with no hesitation. He recognizes the potential danger but takes a silent comfort in the fact that every able-bodied person in the bar would come to his aid in an instant, should something go wrong. Then again, he is perfectly capable of fighting his own battles, even when completely inebriated  - he doesn't require anyone's help. I have observed this firsthand on multiple occasions.

Hancock pulls out a chair opposite the stranger, its metal feet chiming against the concrete floor. The sound captures the man’s attention. He watches us inquisitively from under his hat while reaching into his pocket to retrieve a small, rusted tin of cigarettes. Despite both of them remaining completely silent, Hancock is already pouring whiskey into the man's glass. I tentatively take a seat on the chair between them. The stranger places a cigarette between his gnarled lips and speaks through it.

“Can I help you?” He ignites the cigarette, nonchalantly discarding the used match to the ground. Reminiscent of Hancock, his voice is coarse from radiation, except it’s complemented by a smooth southern drawl. It's strangely appealing. And I'm seriously drunk. Before I can stop myself, words begin to tumble out of my mouth.

“Are you like… a real cowboy!?”

Both his and Hancock's movements cease abruptly, and although only a moment passes, it stretches out into what seems like an eternity. The dread of my careless remark hits me as I comprehend the implications of saying something so silly to a complete (and possibly dangerous) stranger.

Their eyes meet briefly before turning back to me. The stranger lifts his head, unveiling a clearer look at his face. His complexion is much darker than Hancock's, with a rubbery texture that appears less ridged. His eyes are also different from Hancock's, with the whites still visible and large black-brown pupils surrounded by red forking blood vessels. His serious demeanor shifts slightly as a smile snakes across his lips and he twists his head to examine me with curiosity.

“Well, fuck me! Ain’t you just an adorable little smoothskin?”

He inhales deeply on his cigarette, and nods in a gesture of approval towards Hancock, leaning forward purposefully to reach for his newly acquired glass of whiskey.

“I guess you could say I am a cowboy - something like that.”

It is quite apparent from the way he is speaking that he is also somewhat drunk. He sways slightly in his spot as he gulps down his drink, forcefully placing the empty glass on the metallic surface and then proceeding with his cigarette. Hancock unveils his own tin and pops a Mentat into his mouth, extending the same to the stranger. The ghoul eyes him with a touch of suspicion momentarily, before snatching one and avidly consuming it.

“Hell - would you look at this for hospitality!” He chortles. Hancock smirks at him, his eyes droopy with alcohol.

“That’s just what you get when you come to Goodneighbor, my friend! Of the people, for the people!” I discreetly reach out beneath the table to grip Hancock's knee, half-wondering if he’s still hard. Instead, mindful of the presence of another man, I let it rest there, protectively.

“Yeah, I dunno about all that horseshit. But - free booze and drugs will get me on your side, ain’t no doubt about that.”

His teeth are yellow and his lips are dry. Nevertheless, he’s handsome - just like Hancock. Not all ghouls are handsome… some are more decayed than others or, simply, lack the accompanying charisma. Luck of the draw, I suppose.

Observing Hancock lean back in his chair, I am somewhat surprised that the flimsy support can withstand his unsteady weight.

“I’m Hancock - I’m the mayor ‘round here.” His hand tightens on my shoulder as he gestures toward me with a tilt of his head. “And this… this is my girl.” 

A surge of blood rushes to my cheeks. His girl. The dampness that still clings to my panties acts as a stark reminder, reigniting my keen awareness of the heat building once more between my thighs.

The stranger curls up one corner of his mouth, exposing his gritted teeth. It seems more like a snarl than a smile. After making brief eye contact with me, he rummages for another cigarette. He extends one to Hancock, but not to me.

His lack of introduction prompts Hancock to glimpse over at me momentarily with a flash of worry splayed across his features. Regardless, he accepts a cigarette from the man and lights it, illuminating the grooved skin on his face.

“You staying at the Rexford?” In an attempt to fill the heavy silence, I ask innocently the first thing that comes to mind. The ghoul pours himself another glass of whiskey.

“You mean that shithole hotel round the corner? Nah… I’ve got a little camp set up just down the way… Prefer it that way.”

“I feel ya. Sometimes - better to just keep to yourself to yourself - sure fire way to stay outta any trouble.”

Hancock attempts to express solidarity with the man in an effort to establish some connection. In contrast, the ghoul consistently casts glances in each of our directions with an air of indifference, yet appears quite pleased to continue to help himself to our collection of chems and alcohol.

Other than his beige cowboy hat, he sports a long black duster coat that is frayed and tattered at the hem. Beneath it, he has on several grimy layers of clothing and armor. A quick look down by his side reveals a leather belt with numerous large rounds and a shoulder bag - presumably holstering weapons (and who knows what else).

"Well, you don't mind if we drink with you for a while, do ya?" Hancock asks eagerly, extending yet another Mentat to our new friend. The ghoul doesn't respond - just nods inattentively.

(Part 3)

(Part 4)