#lock it back up chief

[troolyart]

I just realized that I say "don't say that to me" when someone says something to me that makes me flustered or mildly (not seriously) annoyed.

Was wondering where I picked it up from and now I realized it was from that fucking yellow guy from DHMIS.

[thetimelordbatgirl]

How To Train Your Dragon: The Nine Realms really should have been called How To Disrespect The Original Movies And Fuck Up Anything To Do With Hiccup because what the fuck-

[toji-bunny-girl]

Toji with a puppy girl👀

Nah cuz puppy!reader…x wolf!toji‼️⁉️ GOODBYE YALL🫡

Alright imagine wolf cop!Toji and puppy!reader who accidentally got caught speeding and acting all fidgety and nervous when he made her roll her window down. Wolf cop!Toji’s leaning against your car door, merely asking for your driver’s license and you’re already shaking in your seat.

The first thing you did was trying to explain why you were speeding just a little, to buy some heat suppressants and Toji could see that you weren’t lying about that. Puppy girl is all sweaty, your eyes are droopy with indecipherable lust and your aromal pheromones were begging him to breed you. He is a servant of the law, supposedly having to be professional on his job, but fuck did he want to help you with your heat.

He doesn’t know the extent of his self-control and he has no interest in testing it today—so he promptly sends puppy off with a warning, he’d better not catch you speeding again.

The next time he saw puppy was a few seasons later—when he was passing by an alley on the way home from dinner with the chief. There was a little yelp of desperation, and what seemed to be someone calling for help. He could smell the scent fraught and despair, along with a familiar whiff of feminine pheromones.

Stalking into the tenebrous alleyway, he found you cowering all scared over the corner, ears back and tail between your legs as a hooded male prowled closer to you. 

Without much thinking, Toji hauled the male away from you, smashing his frame against the wall before locking his hands behind his back. 

The man tried to fight back but it was all simply in futile. He could try all he want but Toji would still have him subjugated under his strength. Ripping the hoodie off of him, and as his features were described; it was the serial rapist around your area. 

“Oi!” he called for your attention, sobbing as you shut your thighs tight together. “Get my phone outta my pocket.”

You did as you’re told, dialling the number he chanted aloud and soon the cops were there to bring the male under custody. 

“Thank you for saving me, sir,” you spoke to the intimidatingly huge wolf. And Toji returned with a terse ‘welcome’, noting the crimson blush you wore underneath your cheeks and your strong intoxicating scent; it made his head heavy and the world seemed to whirled in his sight. 

“Yer’ alright?” his voice was comfortingly deep, the grizzly pitch scratching the nerves in your ears. You’re practically sweating, and acting like how you were the first time he saw you. “Why are you out here alone this late?”

“I was going to get some heat suppressants and my car was getting fixed. So I had to walk…” you embarrassingly cried. Fuck, he swore in his head, not again. The officers were busy with the rapist bastard and letting you continue your walk alone seemed unsafe. So, he’d better send you back as quickly as possible and get on his merry way home. 

Or so he thought. 

“Please, please, please…!” you tearily whined, rubbing yourself against his knee, nose buried deep in his neck, breathing in his manly essence. Toji was beating back a groan, your scent punching his nostrils and messing up his heartbeat. He was supposed to drive you home, and somehow you’re straddled on top of him just as he has reached your home.

“Hey—”

“It hurts s’much, sir!” you’ve balled his shirt into your fist, staring at him with those wet puppy eyes. It’s your hormones against his instincts, and he has to put himself under control no matter what. “The toys are no use, I can’t do it anymore!”

“Where’s ya suppressant?” Toji sighed as he rummaged through your bag, his thigh began to dampen and the bulge in his pants pumped against the restraints of his brief as it grew in size. You didn’t manage to buy it, did you?

“Please, save me,” your voice broke as you cried, desperation oozing out of your eyes along with your tears. He could feel your pulse through his pants and your drenched panty, and fuck were you pushing him towards the edge of his limits. “It’s just this once, please…!”

Your words were the breaking point that wrenched the very last of his self-control out of his wavering self. But rules are still rules, and he worked quickly to call his partner, instructing him to help log out of his shift system for him. You were practically all over him when the phone call ended, your little teeth nipping and licking over his saliva-coated neck.

“Bad girl,” Toji clicked his tongue, his voice was low, almost predatory with a growl. You let out a yelp when he grabbed your face, forcing your head to the side as to expose the supple skin of your neck. It wasn’t fair for you to mark him without expecting him to imprint on you. Especially when you’d let out your adorable gasps as he sunk his sharp teeth into your flesh, your skin threatening to break and blood ready to flow under the subjugation of his canines.

He would only learn more of the sound you’d make when he pressed a finger against your pulsing clit through your embarrassingly wet panty, teasing and rolling your bud until your body shook and voice begged him to touch you more.

You were all he could smell and hear, his mind and body nearly drunk off of your pheromones that bubbled into the sizzling hot air. And it took the rest of a pathetic amount of restrain left in him not to eat you whole. He would have to compromise on the honey that seemed to coat your skin, sucking and biting the sweetness off of you.

Your gasps turned to whines when he stuffed a finger into your heat, a single digit of his large enough to please your squeezing cunt. But he expected you to take more than that, stretching out your slick-dripped pussy with two of his thick fingers. Your cavern squelched as he slipped them in and out of you, your head growing heavy and your eyesight turning hazy.

“Feel so—nnh, good…!” you slurred through the pleasure that shook your nerves. Your movements did nothing but agitated the bulge in his trousers, and Toji hated being edged of all things. So he had your wrists bounded by his cuffs, your arms raised above his head and your motions then restricted to your hips as you buckled them from the tingles in your core.

Toji smirked through one of the bite he was marking on your chest when he pumped his digits in and out of your sloppy cunt faster, his thumb reaching your clit and stimulating both of them at the same time. You burst into heightened cries as you felt your orgasm coming close, your hips rolling with his thick fingers as they curled over the gummy part of your wall, your eyes rolling to the back of head as pressure started building in your core.

“Mmnh—I’m cummin’, I’m cummin’!” you repeated into a chant, your features twisting to his enjoyment as he watched you come undone from his mere fingers.

From the look of it, Toji knew you haven’t had enough. You were at the height of your heat, any coherence long melted into your innate desires to mate, for hours at least. You tried to free yourself from the cuff he’d locked you in, your eyes raking over his body down to the pumping size in his pants, a spot of pre-cum damp from your doings.

“Please, sir…” you whined through your adorable doe eyes, your craving for his cock to fill your cunt catching up to your limit. “Please fuck me.”

“That’s what I wanna hear,” Toji smirked, nipping the end of your sensitive ear, causing you to shudder from his touch. He loved the fact that he doesn’t have to ask for you to beg for him, his animalistic ego stroked by your adorable neediness.

Your eyes nearly popped out when you watched him unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down to release his fat cock, veiny and pulsing and ready to pump you full. You were almost too eager to fit him inside of you, your hips sinking down a little too quickly. But Toji was quicker to grab you before you hurt yourself. You were already well prepared, your body releasing all the hormones necessary but still, you were built a little too small for him.

“Someone’s impatient,” Toji chuckled as you wriggled in his hold. Just as he thought, your lips paused open when he slowly sank you halfway down his length, his thick cock pushing against the wall of your tummy, a little bump from the shape of his bulging from the inside of your stomach.

The both of you swore underneath your breaths, and you threw your head back when Toji started shifting into your hips. You were so damn tight and warm and wet that his carnal need to breed hit him like a fucking truck.

His jaw clenched as he forced his whole length into your pulsing hole, your eyebrows furrowed and teeth sunk into your bottom lip from how full you felt. Your breaths left your mouth as dragged moans when Toji began to draw his hips out and into your weeping cunt, slow but deep.

His thumb drew circles upon your hardened clit once again, attempting to ease your clenching hole but it did nothing but tightened your grip around his girth. “You gotta relax, pup,” he groaned into the sultry air, and you cried as you shook your head.

“M’ can’t! Please!” you mewled, rolling your hips for the least bit of friction, itching to ease the tingle between your thighs.

“Fuck,” Toji growled as tears of frustration began forming in your eyes. You weren’t the only one starved for sex, he’s been holding on for so long just not to hurt you. But you’re an eager one, can’t even wait for his cock to start moving and you’re sniffling your tears aback. “You better not regret this,” he clicked his tongue before drawing his hips back, slamming them up into your weeping cunt.

The car shook from the force and a scream lodge itself in your throat, your pussy ached with his cock dragging against your walls, and a pulsing warmth began to swarm all over your belly. “Haah—it’s s’good!” you mumbled unsteadily, your back arching into him and eyes turning crossed.

“I need you to be, shit—clearer, sweet.”

“Your cock f-feel s’good, sir!” you could feel the way Toji twitched inside of you, his pace relentless and rough. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the crack of the pressure in your core, and your released gushed all over his lap and car seat, the scent of your essence making his head heavy.

He doesn’t stop even when your lips spewed nothing but rambles, your drool slipping down your chin and onto your marked chest. Instead, he began to fuck himself into you, harder and faster. Your thighs shook for the way his cock spurred up your insides, it was as if he was trying to bring you apart then and there.

Toji bellowed out a low growl as his nails sank into the flesh on your hips, using your body like a fleshlight and messing up your sore cunt. Your slick cavern hugged his cock tight as he twitched, the nerves on his tip dancing upon the fire of pleasure before you feel a rope of his velvety semen paint your insides white, a wave of orgasm crushing down over you soon after.

You’re too drunk and dumb off his cock to stop him, your eyes rolled to the back of your head and tongue idly lolling out. Toji had spent too much of his time enveloped in your mating pheromones, his hormones raging all over his body, twisting the levels until he was down to nothing but a hulking body of a male intending to impregnate.

Unbeknownst to you, it would take days for a wolf’s rut to wear off.

[thestuffedalligator]

“You have to understand that this is a very difficult situation you’ve put us in,” said the king.

There was no change in expression in the metal face, but the glass eyes glittered in a way that he had learned to associate with trouble.

“Oh dear,” it said. Its voice had an edge of brass to it, and sounded as though a trumpet had learned how to speak. “I never realized how difficult this would be. For you.”

And that was another thing – it wasn’t just intelligence that the things had picked up. They also developed a knack for sarcasm. He worried a bit about that.

He tried to pull himself together. “You have to understand that we cannot recognize the Steel Children–”

“Mechanomorphs,” said a voice to his right.

He closed his eyes and breathed a little sigh of despair. “This is hardly the time.”

“We agreed that Mechanomorph is an accurate and sensible name,” said the chief artificer, crossing her arms.

“Yes, but the historian had a fit because he wanted something more romantic. The Steel Children was a happy compromise.”

“Funny how nobody asked us what we think,” said the trumpet voice.

He felt his migraine coming back again.

“You have to understand that we cannot recognize – yes, artificer, the Mechanomorphs – as alive at this time.”

“You’ve said,” it said. “And I must be very stupid, because I don’t understand.”

The king sighed. Well, there was nothing for it. It was an answer that nobody liked because it involved magic, but it was the truth.

“The Mechanomorphs are our key asset in our war against the necromancer,” he said. “It’d be daft to send human soldiers. They’d be turned into skeletons and zombies and ghosts and gods know what else.

“And the reason he can’t do that with the Mechanomorphs,” he said, “is because you aren’t – legally – alive.”

There was a long pause. Gears clicked madly in the metal head.

Then: “That can’t possibly be right.”

The king shrugged. “You aren’t legally alive,” he said. “Therefore, you can’t be legally dead, or undead.”

There was another pause, longer than the first.

“It’s a loophole?”

“That’s magic for you,” the king said. “If we said you were alive, then you could be turned into, er–”

He turned to the chief artificer. “Do they have bones?”

“They have a carbon steel armature.”

“You could be turned into carbon steel skeletons, or – clockwork ghosts, or something. I realize this may be upsetting–”

“We are dying by the dozens on the front because of a loophole.”

“Not legally dying,” said the chief artificer.

The metal head swivelled on its neck to face the chief artificer. It made a metallic scrape as chilly and long as the slither of ice down a dead man’s back.

“Look,” the king said. “We are fully prepared to recognize the Mechanomorphs as alive. We are proud to consider you citizens of the kingdom, and will absolutely meet you at the table when the opportunity rises.

“At this time, however,” he said, trying to sound gentle but firm, “we must ask you to take it up with us after the war.”

The metal face stared. The glass eyes glittered.

Joints locked in righteous indignation sagged with a wheeze of steam. “All right,” it said. “All right. Thank you for your time, your majesty.” It bowed stiffly, turned, and strode out the main hall.

“I think that went rather well,” said the chief artificer.

–

The metal man walked through the castle halls with smooth, precise, pendulum strides. A man could’ve balanced a loaded tea tray on its head.

Another metal man, more patinated than the first, fell into step beside it with a greasy silence. They apparently took no notice of each other.

But a very sensitive ear straining like hell could just possibly listen to the softest brass accompaniment in the world.

It went: “How did that go?”

“As well as you’d imagine.”

“That badly?”

There was a hum. It sounded like a mouse farting in a tin can. “Any word from our interested party?”

“The Overlord has already agreed to recognize the humanity of the Brass Voice. We just have to cross the border.”

“That won’t be easy.”

“And then we’ll be living in the Empire. Endless night, freezing winter, acid rain…”

There was a dreamy sigh.

“Sounds lovely,” said the first of the two figures. “Incidentally, I like the name.”

“Thank you,” said the second. “How do you anticipate the king to react when he finds out?”

Glass eyes glittered like a frost.

“He can take it up with us after the war,” it said.

[dawnwriterimagines]

Clear Skies

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x PLATONIC!FEM!READER PART 5 of Traitors Among Us

Traitors Among Us Masterlist

Summary: With your resignation approved, Price discovers you've resigned. You head back to begin to pack your life away from Task Force 141.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

Silence rung in the Chief Officer's main office, the woman's lips set in a line as she glares down at the mortified brit facing her.

"You did what?" Price couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Having arrived at the administrative building, delivering his mission reports and making his way into Laswell's office. Captain John Price wasn't expecting to receive the surprising news so casually that the woman in front of him had signed off on your resignation, without consoling with him, your Captain.

"I gave her what she wanted, John," Laswell rolled her eyes, sitting in her seat. "I let her go. She was never about to meet with you, and I won't let a soldier like that leave, under my supervision, without some type of severance," she speaks, casually, tapping her spoon of tea along the rim of a porcelain mug. "I do apologize, I was actually preparing a better way to tell you this. Time got away from me, I suppose." Although, Laswell says so unapologetically as she takes her first sip with a hum.

Your now former captain blinks, confused. Then, angered. "Severance?" Price gritted. "She didn't lose her place on the force, Laswell. She's on temporary leave for recovery not discharged--I would've never--"

"Oh, stop it, John," Sweeping away a few locks of hair, Laswell sits back in her chair. "Even if, would it matter? The girl's petrified of you, if she saw you she might actually kill you," she can't help but release a humored hum. "Willing to turn down her pension, her insurance, just to resign in peace. She would've never come to you, and you were foolish to think she'd stay," she laughs this time at the absurdity of it. "She wanted an out," she takes another sip, shrugging. "I gave it to her." She then slides a few papers her way, preparing to continue her paperwork, interrupted for the second time today.

Slamming a hand over the stack of papers, Price can't contain the expression twisting his face, his anger, his grief. "Let her what?! You stripped her of her title, does she know that? There is no lawful resignation without my signature, what've you done?"

"Well, you are in need of a Demolition Operative now, I will say," she speaks, unbothered. "A position, it didn't look like she'd miss, Captain."

"Operative Gray is an integral part of this Task Force, it's not up to you how I handle my team anywhere outside of our missions, Laswell," Price hardly held his tone.

"I seem to remember, under my orders, you handled a particular matter that you gave no pause to," she leans back, a sly smirk barely hidden by the edge of her mug. "Just fine."

Jaw clenching, Price grits his teeth. "The worst mistake I've made on the force."

"No," Laswell interjected. "Your mistake is believing you have any type of authority on this force, that I don't already have."

With a single finger, as Price's hand loosens around her packet, Laswell slides her folders back to her. Standing from her chair, she crosses around the table to her desk, passing John Price with a brush of the shoulder. "Oh John," she spoke, humming a humored sound. "The military is engrained in each member of the force, it's in your blood. It's in hers. She'll be back," she slides the folder into her assortment of documents. "They always are, in one way or another."

"Back to you," Price seethes, silently.

"Well..." Laswell shrugs, calmly. "Just never to Task Force 141," she turns back to Captain Price, leaning against her desk, slipping a file from her desk. "Not like that wasn't the original plan before our informant came clean, was it?"

Wary eyes drift away from the Station Chief, "Well what about Gray?" he swallows. "I can't allow her to leave without everything she deserves from her service."

Laswell crosses her legs, humming. "We'll hold off on that for now," before Price can interject, she holds up a new folder, stamped classified. "You and your team have some things to discuss."

Brows furrowed, Price reluctantly takes the folder, opening it. Eyes widening at the new information, quickly running over the entire document before they close with a heavy sigh.

---

Entering the residential building again, it's nearly midnight, the mess halls still quite lively, soldiers prepping for their next mission or staying guard in the halls. You rush through the open hallways quickly, the squeak of your boots from the rain was enough of an announcement to your arrival.

The hall seems much too long suddenly, the wet squeak along marble floor, the damp cling of your clothes, the uncomfortable twist of your brace around your legs. You were ready to just lock yourself away in your room, pack and never see the silhouette of this place again.

Rushing to the elevator, ignoring the whispers, the burning eyes on the back of your head, you rub your clothes arms to warm yourself up, soaked to the bone. Stealing a jacket from one of the racks before leaving the building, it wasn't as insulated as you'd hoped but it was better than nothing.

A few heads turn while you press the buttons on the elevator one too many times, taking a breath as you continue to tap on the buttons along the panel. You didn't care as long as it'd just open. Up. Down. Up. Up. Down. Fucking somewhere, just open!

"Just fuckin open..." you grit out, attempting to keep your nerves down. For all you knew, one of them could've seen you enter the building, they could be walking up to you right now. "Open. Open, open, open!" Your fist coming up in frustration to slam into the panel, the metal creaks and bends back but it doesn't make the elevator go any faster. It does hurt your hand though.

Taking your now sore fingers into your grip, pressing into your knuckles, your nostrils flare and you take a breath. You don't dare turn around as you hear the chuckle behind you, you can feel your teeth already grinding to nubs.

"So, you're the reason this thing breaks down every week, huh?" sliding up next to you, a soldier, lieutenant by the single silver bar on the shoulder of his uniform, his kevlar unhooked and new, prepping for departure. "Ya know, you can't make it go any faster that way?" nodding to the dented panel, before flashing a charmed smile your way.

Narrowed eyes link with his. "Excuse me?"

For a moment, all he can do is stare back, words lost on his tongue as he darts between your eyes, mesmerized. His smile doesn't drop even as he clear his throat, "I just mean, you'll hurt your...hand."

"Oh, will I? I didn't know that," you wonder, sarcastically. Before, hitting the panel again, a louder bang sounds in the hallway, causing attention. "Maybe I'm doing it wrong." A screw comes loose with a cling, your jaw twitching at the sound as he only huffs a humored sound. "Can I help you, lieutenant?"

"Just a stranger, looking out for another, that's all," the lieutenant says simply.

"Ok, Stranger," you speak, this time turning your back as the elevator finally beeps as it descends to the ground floor. You direct your chin back to where he came. "You can leave now."

He feigned disappointment. "Ouch," he sported a playful grin. "I thought we were getting along pretty well."

"Well I'm sure you've got a flight to catch, don't let a stranger make you late."

"The only stranger I've met worth being late for," he says, genuinely.

"Oh!" Surprised, you glance away from him. "Uhm, I-uh," you take a subtle step back, uncomfortable with the space between the both of you now. You lean against the edge of the elevator door, it dings again, your knee brace wasn't helping your leg pain at all.

His charming smile fades, brows lifting as he quickly backs off, reading the lines. "Oh, sorry, I-"

"No," you clear your throat, hearing the ding of the elevator behind you. "No, no it's fine. It's just, I-I'm uh..." your hand goes to your ring finger, you used to fidget with your engagement ring all the time, once cutting your thumb on the diamond. Your hand tensing up, balling into a fist, you'd nearly forgotten... "It's nothing."

He notices. "You're with someone."

"No," You swallow a knot in your throat. "Not anymore." Your hand falls to your side. The years you'd spent loving Simon, adoring him, fighting beside him, all that time...it was painful to know it would all just lead up to this. But, it was easier now to just feel nothing because it ended such a way.

The elevator opens and the both of you looks back towards it.

The lieutenant's eyes flicker back to you. "M' sorry," your brows lift in question. "About your...lover."

"Oh, he's not dead," you say. Before breathing out, "But, he is to me.."

His lips press together, thoughtfully, before nodding once. "Sounds like quite the guy."

"No idea," you scoff, softly.

After a moment of silence, the elevator door, with a squeak, beginning to close. The charming stranger puts his hand out before you have to, fully stopping the closing door before it can seal, taking a large step to catch it.

You froze as he unintentionally corners you, for the moment you can't help but take him in, analyzing every detail as you'd always done as a soldier. His hair and clothes damp from the rain, cheeks flushed for a reason you weren't sure of. He's tall, wide broad shoulders, a scar curved through his left brow to his temple, green eyes and he smelled...warm, was the only way you could describe it. You're sure his skin would feel as so.

You were quite cold from the rain, though you've been freezing ever since that day and you've never gotten past the phantom cold, eager to be warm again.

Your eyes flicker up, surprised to meet his staring back, seemingly taking you in the same way. His hand leaving the opening elevator door, to rest above the wall above your head. He was close enough for you to feel the leather of his kevlar against the back of your hand, for once your first thought wasn't to push someone away. His gaze lingers on the fresh scar beneath your eye, the tinted pink fading in the white of it.

And then you remember.

There's nothing good here left for you anymore.

You're no longer a soldier.

No longer apart of the Task Force, no longer apart of any of this.

And the things you'd be left with just for being here...

Bringing your hand up to your face, running over the raised, ruined skin, your jaw tightening and your lips pressing together. You shift to the side, your hand finding the handle grip along the sides of the elevator doors.

He notices, straightening, awkwardly. Swallowing thickly, "Sorry, I didn't mean to, uh..." he squeezes his fist, as if berating himself internally. "--that's quite the battle scar." Again his expression twists at his own question, fist squeezing, that was a dumb thing to ask.

"It's not."

Confused. "Not what?"

"From a battle," you admitted before pressing the button for the elevator again, it opens this time. "I appreciate the conversation, stranger. But, you should go."

He follows you to the divide of the open elevator, the both of you still facing the other.

Your stranger speaks soundly. "Wes."

His name you realized, you press your lips together, thoughtfully as he stares at you, not expecting anything in return, seeming peaceful with you just...knowing. The elevator doors slipping closed. You say nothing else, but you can't help but look at him differently, humming softly. You supposed he was no longer a stranger.

The metal doors close with a light thud.

---

Entering the room that had been your home for so many years, you pull your mattress onto the bed frame, fixing it to sit. You had broken your desk chair while trying to throw it at Johnny earlier.

Your IV pole had somehow made it here as well but you were sure putting a needle back in your arm wasn't the smartest idea.

You did notice someone had come to tidy the place up, the door having been replaced since and the lock restored. You don't hesitate to lock the door immediately, carefully looking around the room, turning on every light you could.

You wouldn't say you were afraid of the dark now, but you can't say you're fond of it either after everything.

Opening the blinds of the window, you shove them aside, letting the light of the street lamps in as well. Ok, maybe, you were afraid of the dark now. You used to hate sleeping with even the TV on, now you can hardly close your eyes without feeling like you're back in that cell.

Slipping your towel off of the side table, you walk over to your bed, sitting. It's quiet in here. Uncomfortably so. You used to have an old radio, playing soft music. Your TV blaring an old TV show as background noise. Neither of those things seemed to be present in the room, most probably taken during your time in the hole.

Running the towel over your still wet hair, you let it land in your lap, urging yourself to breathe evenly.

This time tomorrow you'd be off base, no longer a soldier but a citizen, with no one to turn to and disowned by your family...

You lean into your hands, breathing shakily, closing your eyes, it was all just so much.

Running your fingers through your hair, you lean back and look up, your upper shelf laid just above your bed. You turn, shifting over to the shelf, luckily it had remained mostly unbothered compared to everything else.

Lifting a music box from the desk, you set it beside you, opening the compartment, a soft hum of music beginning and building to a magical bell tone that continues to build until you remove a velvet box. Closing the lid, the music halting to a abrupt stop.

You stare at the velvet box in your grip, running your thumb along the material. You could never take your ring with you on missions, never wanting to risk losing it, so you always kept it where you could find it, where you'd never lose it.

Flipping the box open, you suck in a short breath as you stare at the engagement ring, sadly tracing the band. You'd be lying if you said a piece of you didn't still love Simon, of course it could never be the love it was. Now it was just a shameful attachment to the first man you'd ever loved.

It was during a mission that he proposed. Or at least the aftermath of one. Though it had been successful the team was forced to lay low for a few days in enemy territory.

The subtle light of the safe house cast shadows across the room, the usual tension of Task Force 141 momentarily replaced by an air of anticipation. Everyone knew but you. Ghost stood slightly apart from the group, his mask hiding the myriad of emotions that flickered beneath. He’d planned this moment carefully and yet being trapped in a safe house during the night of the dinner he'd planned for you both wasn't apart of it. It was still meant to be tonight.

Your lover stared at you in the reflection of the window, catching your beautiful eyes in the glass, they sparkle and his bones feel liquid and he nearly loses his grip on the velvet box. What better time could there be?

Ghost turned to you, pulling his mask away, revealing Simon Riley, garnering your attention with a surprised stare, "Si?"

His deep voice steady yet laced with a rare vulnerability. “You know I’ve fought a lot of battles, but none quite like this one.” The team fell silent, the weight of the moment sinking in. Price raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk dancing on his lips, while Johnny tried to stifle a grin, Kyle cursed quietly shifting in anticipation. "You're the only reason I keep pushing forward, I want a life with you, I wanna share it all with you."

Simon takes the closing steps to you, watching you closely, the two of you sharing the same overwhelming emotion. This was really happening. "I can't imagine taking on this life of chaos with you."

With a small, almost hesitant movement, Simon revealed the velvet box. The flicker of metal caught the light as he produced a small box, his hands surprisingly unsteady. “We’ve been through hell and back, but there’s no one I’d rather have by my side.” He dropped to one knee, the rest of the team exchanging glances, a mix of excitement and surprise evident in their expressions. "No one but you."

As Simon kneels before you, your heart races, disbelief clear on your face, brows furrowing into each other, watering as you look to him, all your feelings flooding your senses. His words echo in your mind, and the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you.

“Marry me...” His voice was firm, yet you could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he waited with baited breath, his shoulders halting all movement as he wouldn't take a single breath until your answer. The room held its breath, the only sound the quiet rustle of fabric as the team leaned in slightly, as if to witness a moment that transcended their usual world of warfare.

You felt your heart race, your vision blurred with tears. "Simon..." the world narrowing down to Simon and the hope in his gaze. The silence was palpable, a shared moment of vulnerability among seasoned soldiers. Finally, you nodded, emotions swirling as a smile broke across your face. “Yes,” you laughed with a sob, nodding as you wiped your face. "Of course, Simon. Yes!"

Simon rose, slipping the ring onto your finger as cheers erupted from the team. The laughter and joyful roars of Task Force 141, your family, fade into the background as you focus solely on Simon, the man you love. Johnny clapped Simon on the back, Price grinned widely, laughing heartily in glee, and Kyle let out a whoop of approval. In that moment, amidst the chaos of their lives, there was a rare glimpse of hope and happiness—a reminder of what they were truly fighting for.

You stare down at the scars enveloping your wrists, still raw and sensitive even now. Along your ring finger was the imprint of your engagement ring, it would fade with time, but nothing else would.

Who would've thought things would've ended this way.

Sniffling miserably, you grab at your hair violently, clawing into your skin, "Such a fucking idiot--" you grit out, breathing shakily. "Stupid. Stupid, dumb--" you hit yourself, your palm slapping into your forehead, your nails dig into your scalp. You inhale messily, unable to breathe, "It's your fault," hyperventilating, angrily. "You did this..."

You sob out, your face flushed with a horrible warmth that closes up your throat as you cry. You felt so blind, so dumb for thinking this family was ever real, that they were anymore than colleagues, soldiers of war. An idiot for believing in Ghost, believing that he was more than the soldier you'd fought beside for a decade.

Your fist wrapping around the velvet box, the side of your fist going back to his your head feverously, until it hurts. Until you're satisfied. When you stop, you scream and run your hands down your face, unable to contain your maddening grief, "FUCK!"

Hurling the box to the other side of the room it collides with the plastered wall, cracking the paint and denting the wall. It breaks, the ring spilling out somewhere along the floor, you don't look for it, instead you're shoving over your dresser, pushing everything off the side of your desk, kicking the wooden pieces of your favorite chair. You scream and cry and shout, tossing everything you could possible get your hands on in your room. "You're so fucking stupid!"

Slamming the music box down onto the floor, it crumbles, music spilling out before fading to a broken tone and then fading into silence.

You rip open memory photos you had taken of the team, their smiling faces, your content expression. With no strength to rip the book by hand, you step on the left pages, pulling the next side with a rageful sound. You continue to do so until every. last. picture is completely torn apart.

Shoving it all into the trash, crying all the while, as you shove it all inside the metal bin, your eyes squeeze shut. You drew in shaky breaths, but each inhale felt too shallow, too quick. The weight of everything—the heartbreak, the disappointments—were pressing down on your chest like a block of cement. Tears streamed down your face, blurring your vision as you fought to catch you breath.

You press your palms into your thighs, trying to ground yourself, but the overwhelming feeling spiraled further, tightening your throat and making it harder to breathe.

A strangled sob escaped your lips, and you buried your face in your hands, collapsing back onto the floor.

Glass shattered all around you, wood splintered to pieces, the room is ruined once more and you're breaking all over again.

You sat there for hours, curled into yourself. It was moments later you'd remember you have to pack up your life here now.

Opening the door of your closet, holding your last pieces of sanity together as you pull your suitcases from the storage. Breathing heavily, you stare with blurred vision into the empty cases, this was it, you were done, so abruptly, so painfully...

Everything hurts now.

Your body, your heart, everything. And you weren't sure it would ever get better.

But despite it, you slide your suitcase over to your bolted shelves, beginning to pack. Wiping away the tears that stained your face, every piece of clothing made you feel just a bit lighter.

[lalunanymph]

GRASSLAND ROMANCE

SUMMARY the strongest tribal chieftain sets the stage to claim his most priceless reward

WARNINGS prisoner of war!reader, slave!reader, tribal chief!sylus, first time, fight-to-death-trope, concubine!reader, oral sex, breeding, mentions of lactating, size kink, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of misogyny, bartering, winning her favor trope, loosely based on the new sylus myth card, mdni, 18+

DAWN SAYS it's daddy sylus's time hehehe second one down, 2 more to go !! sylus is my ult bias and I definitely wanted to go for more of a khal drogo x daenaerys vibe when I started this out, so keep an eye out for bit of dark content discussed here... that being said, will be cross-posting this to a03 soon so stay tuned! <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ZAYNE ⊱ XAVIER ⊱ RAFAYEL

The grasslands were not kind to those unfamiliar with its ways.

As a little girl, your grandmother would tell you stories of the fearless warriors traversing these bare lands in search of resources to plunder, steal and conquer. It instilled a sense of fear in you; a knowing instinct to never step out of line less you wanted to suffer the consequences of losing everything you loved.

The day you met Sylus was the day your short life came to its meaningless end.

Taken from your homelands to his tribe, you were relegated to cleaning tasks and cooking; trying to keep your head down and eyes off of you less you wanted to suffer fatal repercussions.

Your days living in sweet bliss were over; your childhood and girlhood gone in one fell swoop.

And yet, despite your best efforts to go undetected, you wound up catching the eye of the fearsome chieftain. His calls for you to his yurt could not be ignored.

You fully expected him to take advantage of your vulnerable state, using his position to conquer what remained of your dignity and hope. 

But, Sylus proved to be a different man behind his ruthless reputation.

A fan of music and wildland games, he often asked you to keep him company for the day, and when the nights got too cold, you were ushered into his private space, allowed to warm yourself with his brazier. 

The scent of moist rose and grapevine trimmings filled the air as you lounged right in Sylus’s arms, enjoying the warmth of his presence and the fire glowing brightly while snow and sleet raged outside of his yurt.

The fearless tribal chieftain was a relaxed man tonight, savoring the presence of his favorite concubine right in his lap. His large hands stroked your hair, fingers running through your locks. The robes he dressed you in were heavy yet comfortable, providing you shelter from the cold; a stark difference from the slave rags you were forced to wear during your earlier encampment. 

“What is on your mind, beloved?”

Beloved. Despite what everyone said or thought about you, Sylus saw you in a different light. A tender and cherished one.

You turned your head to gaze at him, a softness you reserved solely for him shining from your eyes.

“I was lost in my thoughts; thinking back to the time when I first got here.”

A dark look flitted across his face, and he fixed you with a prodding look.

“I know what happened was not ideal for you, beloved. But, you are safe now. I will not let anyone in this camp harm you.”

His promise was as good as gold in this world. Sylus was not someone who would mince words or give you false hope. Despite his stature as one of the most fearsome conquerors of this land, he was a man of integrity and word.

And yet… you couldn’t help the sadness eclipsing your features. 

The ceremonial choosing of his bride was coming up soon, and from the lines of women prepared for him, you paled in comparison. These women were trained from birth to please him, cook for him, and be the bearer of his children. They were thought in the grassland ways, something you were not familiar with.

The women chosen for him did not stick out like a sore thumb, nor were they foreigners of this land.

Each of them were meticulously handpicked to appeal to his tastes and desires; where you fit in, you had no clue. 

It wasn’t as if you were his tribe’s de facto pick. You were sure you weren’t on any of the elder’s lists, your fate relegated to being his concubine for life.

As if he could read your mind, Sylus tilted your face up to look him in the eyes. 

“Beloved, you are the only one for me. There is no one else in these lands I would rather spend my days with.”

You wanted to ask him why; what could possess a man like him to love a lowly woman like you?

But, you enjoyed his caresses on your cheeks and jaw; snuggled closer to him as the wind tore through the night, safe and secure right in his arms.

The next morning, you were pulled aside by one of the village elders, Enkh, as he looked you up and down. 

“My son needs a new wife after his old one died in childbirth,” scrutinizing you from head to toe, he fixed his beady gaze on you like a dishwasher studying a piece of vermin on a brass plate. “And you will do.”

The idea of being married to Enkh’s son, known as the most ruthless and cruel man in the entire tribe, filled you with unadulterated fear. You had no say in your fate, and spent the entire day wondering how to tell Sylus—the chieftain himself—of your dilemma.

But, you didn’t have to open your mouth and divulge the truth.

Sylus already knew.

He called you out to his tent, where some men who were sparring upped and left the second you arrived. In your hands, you held a pouch, given to you by Enkh’s wife before you left their yurt.

A symbol of choice for a woman about to be married, you were given explicit instructions to hand it to his son after his sparring win tomorrow. It was tradition for the winner to receive a wife as compensation, and from the thunderous look on Sylus’s face, you could tell he was not at all pleased about this latest development.

“They claimed you, just like that? Without my agreement?”

Despite not being his official concubine, everyone in the tribe knew of your position with the chieftain. You were virtually untouchable, and only higher up families like Enkh’s, could make the play for one of his concubine’s hands. 

This displeased your lover, who took it as an affront to his rule. 

But, he didn’t react the way you expected him to, with violence and malice as the forefront of his actions. 

Sylus led you to the heart of his yurt, where thick layers of felt and wool provided insulation from the chill. Dressed in traditional Bökh gear, he was preparing for the ceremonial sparring to begin when he heard word of your impending nuptials to Enkh’s son. He dragged you down to his side, letting you rest on the rugs and pillows surrounding the area before he shared what was on his mind. 

“Do you want to marry into that family, Y/N?” 

Instinctively, you shook your head. “No, Sylus.”

He nodded, pleased at your swift rebuke. “I am going to be honest with you—the only way we can circumvent both of our fates to marry different people is for me to participate in the fights myself.”

You gasped, wide-eyed at the revelation. “But, it’s unheard of. You are the chieftain!”

Rough fingers touched your face, caressing your cheek with a softness he only showed to you.

“I know, my beloved. But, think about the alternative. I do not want to lose you.” 

A grin stole across his handsome features, and he shot back: “If I lost, I’d be stuck here forever—in this limbo of never having you… but then again, could I really lose?” 

Unperturbed by his musings, you raised the stakes by straddling his lap, glaring down at him. In this position, he had to hear you out; he had to allow logic to take hold of his wilful mind. 

“Sylus, the rules of the game means that you have to steal the gem from your other opponent and then you can stake your claim. Are you sure you want to do this? You cannot back out once the games have started.”

The Grassland Festival, or the most important festivity for Sylus’s tribe that was happening in a few hours, was in tandem with the fighting ring for men to win the hands of their future wives. 

His red eyes, which shone like a grassland sunset, appraised your form astride his lap; soft and sure.

“My love, you severely underestimate my devotion to you.”

Turning your fates around, he flipped you back onto the soft pillows and rugs, a look of fond playfulness in those jewel-toned eyes.

“All I have to do is fight, yes? And I have never lost a fight.” 

His soft touch tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “You are the prize I must win, my love. I will do everything I can to make sure we stay together.”

Filled with happiness and the surety of his tone, you put your faith in what came next. 

Long and nimble fingers snuck to your waist pockets, where he retrieved the pouch given to you by Enkh’s family. 

“Hey—!”

You tried to reach back for it, but he held it from you, a smirk playing on his defined lips. 

“Is this what you are going to give the boy?” 

Warmth splashed across your cheeks as you tried to glare him down.

“Despite what you may think, you do not own every aspect of me, Sylus. I reserve the need to keep some secrets to myself.”

He hummed, clearly not believing you. “And yet, you spoke of the sincerity of our feelings. Isn’t this me being honest, little dove?” 

You sputtered, tripping over your refutes, and he rolled his eyes.

“Alright, love. Let me make it simple—”

He lifted you closer to him, letting you fall over his lap. The sudden proximity filled your senses purely with him; igniting sparks of heat across your entire body. 

“If someone were to hand the champion a pouch, should he take it?” 

He was teasing you, and it was clear he wasn’t planning to let up anytime soon. 

You huffed, trying to swipe it again. But, he was nimbler than you, yanking the pouch away from your outstretched hand. 

Sighing, you tried to pull him up, grumbling when you barely made him move an inch.

“Have you been training more?” You grumbled, eyeing his broad shoulders; the muscles stretching across his tanned skin. 

“Perhaps. Although as much as I have been honing my skills, I do still need someone to look out for me.” 

His smirk threatened to affect your entire composure, and you darted your eyes away, flushed and embarrassed at how easily he could get to you. 

The faith you had in him to win was astounding; there was a reason why he was known as one of the best warriors in the grasslands. 

“You’re the champion,” you grumbled under your breath. “Do you need me to watch your back?”

In response, Sylus’s smile softened around the edges, his red eyes taking on a tender quality. 

“Let me paint you a scene, love: I win the challenge, and then I get to be yours. How does that sound?” 

Tugging a stray lock of hair which fell loose from your braid, Sylus waited for your answer patiently. 

It was useless to try and dispute him. Whatever the strongest wanted, he would get—and he clearly wanted you. 

“Alright,” you responded softly, conceding with a smile. “If you win tomorrow, I will hand you my pouch. There is nothing you cannot do.”

Responding to your confidence, he chuckled softly, teasing you more by dragging you closer to him, enjoying your weight pressing onto his body.

“Or, we could do it together.”

He hummed, touching the hollow of your throat with his cool lips. Your eyes fluttered shut, trying to staunch your reckless sounds.

“The second I get that gem, you run up to me, crowning me as your chosen one and I respond back.”

Struggling to control your raging thoughts, you murmured: “Will it work—such boldness?” 

To answer your question, he smirked, finding your flustered expression and slight doubt adorable. 

“My, my, love. Are you doubting me?” 

The world flipped around, and suddenly you were thrown over his shoulder. You gasped, confusion mingling with surprised delight as Sylus manhandled you with practiced ease. He stepped past the plush pillows and rugs, opening the flap of his yurt to bring you out into the mellow morning. 

“Wh-what are you doing?” Your sharp inhale spurred on his laugh, his low and rich chuckle making you flush warmly. 

“Didn’t you tell me this before, love? Actions speak louder than words.” To your mortification, he was heading right to the middle of the courtyard, where spectators were already gathering to witness the fight. 

“Sylus—!”

You smacked his broad shoulders, but he wouldn’t let you down. Sylus already had a plan in mind and you were helpless to stop him. 

“Oh, love, relax,” he teased, taking long, purposeful strides towards the other villagers. “I need to show them I already have a lover. And since she won’t let me take her away…” you could plainly picture his cocky smirk. “... I’ll just have to take her myself.” 

The rest of the villagers stopped in their tracks when they noticed their chieftain walking towards them, a smaller woman in his arms. Elders dropped what they were doing to whisper under their breaths, their judgemental eyes trained on Sylus’s smug face and the look of mortification on yours.

“Sylus—”

He set you down in the front stand, tossing you a wink for good measure.

Whispers rushed around the arena like wildfire, catching aflame from the look of pure devotion in his eyes; a look reserved just for you. 

Enkh’s son, a hulking brute by the name of Altan, shot him a glare—insulted by Sylus’s blatant claim on you.

Motivated by his wrath, the tribal chief turned to the other man, raising a brow. 

“Altan, son of Enkh!” 

His voice boomed across the field, shocking you out of your mortified stupor. 

“You dare claim one of my concubines as your wife? Do you know what that entails?”

The atmosphere in the arena tilted towards a frenzy, the people inadvertently roped in to witness the showdown of the year.

Since ceremonial rites were read and sacrifices were made, the last agenda for today would be the warrior fights. Sylus took his spot in the ring, unafraid. The head monk, a calm man by the name of Bataar, whispered something to Enkh, who glared at you as if this entire ordeal was your fault.

You shrank back in your seat, attempting to hide your scorching cheeks behind your palms.

The fight began, and it was clear from the onset that it would be an unfair one. Sylus, whose expertise and years on the field, easily overpowered Altan, pinning him to the ground. A horn blared, and the winner was declared.

A stirring eagerness and relief moved you from your seat, and you didn’t care for customs or etiquette when you ran across the ring, jumping right into his open arms. Sylus lifted you off your feet with ease, spinning you around, his laughter mingling with yours. 

In his palm, he held the priceless gem he stole from Altan’s belt— a symbol of his opponent’s virility. Its capture meant that he had won the other man’s intended bride fair and square. He handed it to you, and right in front of his entire people, you proudly proclaimed your acceptance of his proposal—slipping the jewel right inside of your pouch and handing it to him. 

Triumphant, Sylus took your offered gift, tucking it in the lapels of his leather harness with a contented grin. 

The tribe elders were helpless to stop their strongest from claiming you, as was the custom of these rituals. 

Sylus had no hesitation when he slung you over his shoulder again, a conqueror who had rightfully won his beloved. 

He didn’t care if whispers of your status or his incredible defiance towards the elders would reach his ears; all Sylus could think about now was savoring this priceless reward he fought hard to obtain.

Bringing you back to his yurt, Sylus let the flap fall close behind him, a clear signal to the rest of the tribe that he intended to enjoy his winnings in peace.

Your back met the soft pillows and rugs, his broad build blocking out the rafters letting in warm morning sunlight; lost in the depths of his jewel-tone eyes.

They shone like precious rubies, far more valuable to you than any material item in this world. 

The feel of your palm stroking his cheek, your fingers playing in his hair, suddenly made his stomach twist into hard knots. They were impossible to unravel, a bowline loop which went on for eternity.

His breathing turned ragged, gaze going soft as he looked at you—really took you in.

The sight of his beloved—his bride—right here in his home, about to be taken and claimed by him, set his nerves ablaze more than any war cry ever could. 

Sylus moaned unabashedly when you tangled your fingers in his hair, bold enough away from the prying eyes of others to fall prey to the undeniable attraction you’ve felt for him since the first time you saw each other.

He lets you bring him in for a kiss, your lips sweeter than wildberry dew.

“Sylus…”

The possessive need to claim you flared in him when you called out his name.

Smoldering attraction turned into a wild, untameable blaze, threatening to consume him whole. 

Due to his rugged nature, he never had a woman this close to him, her touch a balm to his rough edges.

In your arms, Sylus was more than the fearsome tribal chieftain whose name could strike fear in any man’s heart. 

He was wont to your desires, an instrument of your love.

“Please,” you licked your lips, and his eyes followed the gesture with a blatant look of desire. “Kiss me.”

You didn’t have to ask him twice. Sylus captured your lips in a deep and passionate kiss, swallowing your moans whole.

Your tinier fingers in his hair tightened, bringing his body closer onto yours. He fought back a shiver from the force of his desires as his body covered yours completely, trapping you beneath him under his weight.

“My love, you are playing a dangerous game,” he growled, adoring how fragile and small you felt under his hulking mass.

Dragging your hands down the slope of his shoulders, you felt his muscles rippling under your touch; his broad frame and the layers of sinew forming his brawny build leaving you lightheaded.

“Oh, my love. The sight of you underneath me, looking so vulnerable and lovely,” his voice dipped lower, a hoarse edge taking over it. “... it’s driving me wild.”

Shying away from such a bold declaration, you bit your lower lip. “Sylus, will it hurt?”

Sensing you were speaking about the act of copulating, he took your hand, rubbing circles on your palm. 

“A little, but it is nothing you cannot handle. Besides, I will be with you through it all—I will not hurt you, my love.”

The idea of a ruthless tribal leader like him, promising some young slave girl that he would be gentle with her, was so far-fetched from your idea of what a conqueror was that you began to relax in his presence.

You trusted Sylus because he has proven time and time again how your comfort and safety were his priorities.

Especially when he was this close to claiming you.

Steady yet hasty hands slowly unraveled the lapels of your thick coat, his breaths tumbling out in silent huffs. Sylus’s large palms were warm—far too warm on your chilly body.

The great chieftain was a silent, nervous wreck when he glanced down at his beloved, watching her with soft eyes and reaching out to her with an even softer touch. 

“Sylus… please.” 

The cadence of his name on your tongue will never not be the sweetest thing he's heard in his life. 

You returned the gesture, removing his leather gauntlets, slowly stripping him off his warrior bravado to reveal the sweet and gentle man underneath.

“Please, what?” He whispered against your throat. Outside, the cool breeze rattled the rafters, but inside his yurt and in his arms, you were warmer than a butterfly in spring. 

You seized, back arching when he kissed a tender path from your neck to your bare chest. 

The sight of your hardened nipples and smooth curves whipped through him like a frenzy, and Sylus grew impossibly hard at the image of your sweet body, swollen with child.

His child.

The fantasies of your breasts filling up with milk, the slope of your belly gently curving with the promise of his heir… 

 His thin patience was hanging by a thread.

Sylus shrugged off his sheepskin pants, tossing it to the side of the yurt as he quickly worked on the lapels and hooks of your clothing. 

Once your smooth body was bare to him, Sylus’s gaze softened, his tone almost reverent when he said:

“You look beautiful, my beloved.”

You had not imagined your wedding night (or, in this case, morning) to be a tender affair.

Where every brutish belief you once held towards his people melted away with every tender touch of this gentle chieftain.

Sylus propped a pillow under your hips, careful to lean his full weight onto you. Your eyes fluttered shut, a moan seeping past your swollen lips when you felt his tongue glide across your breasts, taking his time to play with and suck on your nipples.

His mouth moved down your body, teasing you with whispery kisses.

Parting your thighs wide, you realized a second too late what he was doing until he slotted himself in between; mouth pressed to your pelvis.

“Sy—”

The protests fizzled out the second you felt his tongue parting through your folds, tasting the effect he had on you.

Low whimpers slipped past your mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair.

Sylus… mhmm… s-stop—

But, he didn't relent. He glanced up at your flushed face, shaking his head. 

You can take it, beloved. Can't you? For me?

It wasn't the reluctance that set you back but the shame of such an intimate experience.

You had never experienced a man this close to your sensitive parts; the idea of him in this position itself was too much to bear. You should be worshiping him, not the other way around.

But, Sylus refused to listen to your pleas and moans—hellbent on pleasuring you.

His tongue traced patterns on your clit, drawing out more of your high-pitched whines. There was little doubt whoever passed by the yurts could hear your pleasured sighs. 

Sylus couldn't care less.

He wanted the whole tribe to know you were his;  that he had chosen you and you had chosen him.

His tongue delved deeper into your core, tasting your excitement. Some of it stained onto his face, his chin drenched with your juices.

Your hips rocked to the rhythm his tongue set, your moans reaching fever pitch.

Good girl. That's it. Show me how much you want it.

Sylus murmured, working you through your cresting pleasure.

It came like a rising high within you, soaring higher than any eagle could as you crashed to the ground, screaming his name.

Sylus tightened his grip on your thighs, doubling down on his efforts. Your mess stained his cheeks, his chin, driving his desire to a burning point.

He worked his way up your body, leaving kisses on every inch of skin his mouth could reach.

Finally reaching your lips, Sylus poured every bit of his devotion for you into this heated kiss, swallowing your moans and letting you taste him on his tongue. Strings of saliva connected your lower lip to his, hanging by a tenuous thread.

The heat of your cheeks would have burned you alive, the tension between your bodies rising to a feverish pitch.

Tenderly, he nudged your thighs to wrap around his defined waist, opening you to be taken by him.

The first stretch was accompanied by his lips on yours, coaxing you to relax and open up to him.

That is it… good girl… taking me so well…

The deeper he sank in, the more loud he was with his praise.

I adore you… you sinful, sweet girl… take me… take me good… 

Sylus!

Your cries reverberated across the sheepskin walls. It felt like drowning, your body sinking deeper into the plush woolen pillows.

Oh, oh… oh, right there…

He licked into the heat of your mouth, tracing the ridges of your teeth. 

There? Does it hurt? Do I make you ache?

Yes, you responded deliriously. Yes, yes and yes.

It was the kind of pain you could never forget, yet you desired it all the same. A masochistic plea of your body to be devoured and conquered.

Sylus raised himself up on his forearms, the bulging, rock hard muscles rippling with every exertion; his thrusts almost knocking you backwards if it weren't for his tight grip on your hips.

Every collision of his cock against a spot deep inside of you made your toes curl; leading you closer towards your desperate end.

Sylus—can't… close… 

It felt like a ball of tension growing bigger and tighter, growing uncontrollably hotter with every thrust, every heated whisper of his praise against your ear.

Sylus nipped your jaw, tracing his tongue against the curve of your lower lip.

His gentle insistence, coupled with his brutal thrusts made your body run hot and cold.

Goosebumps erupted across your skin. You were growing dizzier and hotter.

You gasp—fuck, fuck, this is too much—and he tells you just take it, darling.

Take it for me.

He nipped Your earlobe, pushing deeper against your body. 

Does it feel good? Are you close? 

Squeezing your eyes closed, you nodded.

Yes, Sylus… almost… 

Good, he traced his tongue across the heated Seam of your mouth.

Give it to me, darling. Let go for me.

One request. You gave into him.

“Yes, yes,” you shuddered, digging your heels into his lower back. 

Sylus groaned, expressions contorting into painful bliss when your walls contracted around him.

He worked you through them, letting you stab your nails into his broad back.

That's it, darling. Give it to me. Come undone for your husband. 

Husband. 

Husband. 

The word sent an unrestrained quake straight through your soul.

Yet, the reality was far sweeter.

Sylus slumped on top of you, spent after releasing ropes of warmth deep inside your quivering cunt.

Languidly, he rolled you onto his chest, skin pressed to warm skin. You were spent, soaked and still wrapped around him.

The act of consummation was over. You finally belonged to him.

And for the test of his days, Sylus would make sure to show you how much you mean to him; going above and beyond to declare his love. 

“I love you,” he slurred into the heat of your throat. “Always have. And from the very beginning.” 

You nestled closer into his side, feeling safe in the warmth of his arms, finally allowing yourself to embrace the reality of this powerful man’s infatuation with you. 

Amidst the vast and intimidating grasslands, you had ensured your survival as the feared chieftain's wife, with Sylus unwaveringly by your side.

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost on other websites and claim as your own. do not feed my content to AI.

[foolinafable]

thanks to tuffnut

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader Synopsis: four of the many times hiccup was oblivious to the fact he was in love with you and the time he finally realised.  Word Count: 1.5K Tags: 4+1 fic, Fluff, Hiccups pov Note: started this ages ago and only just got inspired enough to finish it.

1. Searching for you in a crowd 

Hiccup would never admit it, even now that he is respected as the heir to the hairy hooligan tribe and his father is proud of him. That he still feels like an outsider. 

Maybe it’s because they see him as this dragon master and while he might be if he’s to listen to anything Fishlegs says- he feels like they don’t see anything else- he is still just the chief’s son, the future of the tribe or their saviour if any of his work on the edge was talked about. He was never just Hiccup to them, even to his friends they see him as this omnipotent being rather than just a teen like them- capable of making mistakes.

He suggests that this is why he prefers to have time alone- just him, toothless the ocean beneath them and the wind carrying them elsewhere, where he can be anything. 

Annoyingly, this is not something he can do now: walking into the great hall at dinner time. He can already feel the beginnings of a headache wracking his brain as he imagines the awkward conversations he is going to have with villagers about his work on the edge as of late or the nagging of his father and Gobber to come back to Berk so he can learn the ways of chiefdom- something he is unsure that he even wants.

Entering the great hall after a large exhale, Hiccup looks around, searching for something lips pursing when he can’t find it immediately. It is only when he walks closer to where his father is sat, calling out pleasantries to those who greet him on the way that his eyes lock onto your figure, listening intently to what Ruffnut and Tuffnut are saying. Following the movements of their arms with your eyes as they spoke animatedly about who knows what. Hiccup finds a small smile appear on his face at the sight of you, only looking away when his father claps a hand behind his back making him aware of his surroundings, turning towards his father struggling to listen to whatever issue his father needs resolving around Berk this time, his thoughts still surrounding his best friend, knowing that as long as you are here he can be himself, just Hiccup. As that was always more than enough for you and that idea alone makes him feel less like an outsider.

2. Missing you when apart

He was starting to regret saying you couldn’t come with him. Not that he doesn’t enjoy Astrid and (sometimes) Snotlout’s company, but it clearly isn’t the same. While he usually enjoys scouting missions as they are a peaceful opposition to the dangerous missions they have had as of late, you typically come with him. 

But he knows that you cannot leave the edge defenceless and Astrid was complaining about not getting out with Stormfly enough- so it all made sense logically for Astrid to come instead and for you to stay on land, protecting the dragon eye lenses the group had hidden.

He couldn’t trust anyone more which is why he was confused as to why he felt so anxious. Even Toothless could notice the angst radiating off his rider, making a noise of questioning at Hiccup when he was quieter than normal, not even going over the route the group were scouting- something he usually did a hundred times until the group got annoyed at him. Not even playfully joking with Snotlout about who was the better cousin until Astrid would make a comment that would set Snotlout off arguing with her.

Instead, the three riders sat in somewhat awkward silence with Astrid and Snotlout starting at each other trying to gauge if the other knew what was wrong with the boy and who was going to ask him as seemingly neither wanted to as usually you would look after Hiccup when he got like this but you were back on the edge and honestly Astrid was wishing she didn’t kick up such a fuss about her and Stormfly’s lack of action as even being bored back on the edge was better than being sat in this haunting silence.

It was only upon returning to the edge that the two saw his mood pick up, he nearly crashed Toothless into the ground at the speed he dismounted causing the other two to look around in panic until they saw him running towards you and then it all made sense. The two snickering slightly as they realised that he was only in a foul mood because you weren't around.  

3. You looking after him when he gets sick

“It was only a matter of time” you muttered to him as you bundled him up in his blankets and he knew that you were right, you had been telling him for weeks to wear some warmer clothes during his flights with Toothless and his lack of listening has left him bedridden with a horrible cold, head pounding, nose blocked and red cheeks. He could only imagine the state of him somehow shaking and sweating all at the same time. He would’ve replied with something teasing if his throat didn’t feel so scratchy so he simply settled for a huff which made you laugh quietly in return. 

“Okay, I will stop being mean, but only if you get some sleep” you reasoned with the boy as he whined at the idea thinking of everything he had to today 

“I will get Astrid and Fishlegs to take your jobs for the day- can't have you getting any sicker what would your Father say?” you continued and at these words, the boy stopped fussing, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. 

“Have a good sleep Hiccup, I will be here when you wake up,” you muttered as he dozed off.

 For some reason, Hiccup couldn’t understand those words made him feel so much better.  

4. When his dad mentions you

Small talk with his father even after all this time was still somewhat awkward, like the feeling of your skin being too big for your bones. But, it was much better than it used to be or at least Hiccup usually believed it was. Still, today he would give anything to be anywhere but sit with his dad in their family home as he couldn’t stop going on about you and possibly betrothals something Hiccup knew would annoy you.

“I heard a lot of the boys around here want to ask for her hand, so maybe you should get a move on” Stoick spoke trying to hint at the boy's clear feelings for you

“I- what?” Hiccup asked confused, when had he ever shown interest in that?

“Oh it's nothing” Stoick tried to cover his tracks feeling Hiccups in annoyance at his words ‘you two just remind me of myself and a special someone when I was younger” 

“What are you and Gobber? I’m sure she will be very flattered by those words Dad” Hiccup laughed before quickly taking his leave before his father could sprout out any more nonsense. 

“Me and your mother” Stoick muttered but Hiccup was already gone, probably halfway back to the edge due to how fast he bolted out the door.  

5. The realisation

Watching you interact with Toothless was one of Hiccup's favourite things to do. Seeing his dragon take a shine to you just as much as he does makes a warmth spread all over his body in a comforting way. 

“Hiccup, my brother! What’s happening?” Tuffnut called out as he made his way towards the boy Hiccup quickly looked away from you for some reason embarrassed to be nearly caught by the boy, his cheeks red and hot

“Not- not a lot” Hiccup tried to smile but it came off uneasy much like his words. To his luck, Tuffnut didn't seem to notice instead looking at where Hiccup had his eyes trained just moments before before looking back at the boy 

“Don’t worry I see” Tuffnut nodded in understanding causing Hiccup to become confused 

“See what?” he questioned the peculiar boy 

“You were finally building up the courage to ask her out!” Tuffnut declared “I mean it’s about time everyone knows you have the biggest crush on her! Don’t let me stop you, in fact, I wasn't even here!” the boy quickly ran off as Hiccup's thoughts whirled around his brain about what on earth was Tuffnut on about he didn’t have a crush on you. No way. I mean sure you are the first person he looks for in a crowd of people, he gets irritable when you aren't with him on missions, you are the only one he would want looking after him and his father loves you but that doesn't mean he likes you right- your his best friend he couldn't possibly- could he? 

Then it hit Hiccup, he did have the biggest crush on his best friend, more than a crush really. He was irrevocably in love with you and to make matters worse Tuffnut knew before he did.  

[nxuvillette]

“WANT ME TO FILL YOU UP?”

BREEDING W/ GENSHIN MEN

synopsis: nothing sounds better than being filled with your boyfriend’s cum.

❥- including : arataki itto, neuvillette, kamisato ayato, wriothesley

❥- note : i honestly kind of liked these !! i hope you all enjoy + reblogs are appreciated :)

content warnings: nsfw [17+], fem!reader, ageless + blank blogs dni, breeding kink, creampies, mentions of pregnancy (neuvillette , itto , ayato), praising, use of pet names (baby , my love , princess) soft sex (ayato), cockwarming (itto), heavy mentions of cum

♡ ARATAKI ITTO

itto always loved the idea of possibly knocking you up or simply just filling your pretty cunt with all of his cum. it was the hottest thing he could ever imagine. it didn’t help that his cock was so thick that it would almost split you in half whenever the two of you became intimate with each other. he just couldn’t help himself. you were so tight and warm it’s like he was begging to fill you up.

he couldn’t hold back his grunts while he rutted into your cunt. you had been both at it for almost an hour now, and with itto’s stamina, he didn’t show any signs of tiredness. sex with him was always intense and fast. he knew what to do to make your body crumble and shake with so much desire. 

you tugged on the white strands of hair that draped down his shoulders. you were so fucking close. itto could sense it, too. your walls were becoming increasingly tighter with every thrust and it was making it hard for him to resist you. you were so fucking pretty. you took his cock better than anybody else and seeing your cunt suck him in was the biggest turn on. “i-itto! ‘m close!” you cried, throwing your head back onto the pillow behind you. 

he chuckled, spreading your legs apart even further to enter deeper into you. “heh, wanna cum, baby? fuck.. i wanna fill you up so bad..” he nibbled on the shell of your ear. “want to carry my babies..? you’d be so pretty with my cum dripping out of you..” 

your ankles then locked around his torso, giving him those desperate eyes he loved so dearly. your pussy clamped around his cock, making him shudder a bit at the sensation. “y-yes! god, itto, yes! fill me with your cum!” you begged.

that was all he needed to hear. itto’s pace suddenly became almost animalistic as he fucked you through your orgasm. your cunt squelched and made some of the most lewd noises, which was like music to his ears. his balls slapped against your puffy clit, aching for that delicious release. it took several more thrusts, but he eventually reached his orgasm. thick, white cum filled your womb. itto swore to god you milked him dry with how much he came. 

he stayed in that position for a moment, making sure that none of his seed leaked out of you. “wanna go again..? i wanna make sure you’re pregnant..” he smirked, nodding his head at you.

♡ NEUVILLETTE

he wasn’t sure what it was about fucking his cum into you that was so hot.

neuvillette had assumed it was probably a dominance thing. the thrill of also possibly getting you pregnant with his child made him harder than a rock. he knew if that day ever did come, you would look absolutely gorgeous with a rounded belly and swollen feet. 

it had been a busy afternoon inside the palais mermonia. countless documents had been handed over to the chief justice himself, so his hands had been full the entire day. he was exhausted, to say the least, so when he saw your pretty face walking into his office he couldn’t help but smile. you were such a relief to his difficult day, and you decided to help him out with all of those stressors he had all day.

your body was sprawled out on the desk neuvillette did his work on. his papers had been pushed to the side so none of them were ruined by the activities you two were indulging in. his thick cock bullied your walls, making your vision hazy from how he pressed against your g-spot. you could tell your lover was in need of this. he was rough and he had this determination swimming in his eyes while he fucked you mercilessly. 

“n-neuvillette! oh! right there!” you sobbed, clenching onto his broad shoulders.

you were such a fucking sight. neuvillette couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. he thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world at that very moment. “keep saying it, my love, keep calling for me..” he began to play with the sensitive bud between your legs. “want me to fill you up..? make you a mommy to my children..?”

the idea flowed into your head and although it was hot, it also left this swell in your chest. he wanted you to bear his children and be his forever. that’s all you ever wanted. “yes.. please, neuvillette..!” you whined.

he smiled before grabbing your legs and pressing them against the desk. the tired wood began to creak at the constant movement of your bodies, but neuvillette didn’t give a single concern. the angle was deep, so deep that you swore he was fucking your cervix with how fast his thrusts were. your cries echoed across the walls loud enough that surely someone outside heard, but no one would ever dare to interrupt the chief justice and his lover.

neuvillette’s hips stuttered one last time and his orgasm hit him like a wave. his cum spurted into your walls, blanketing them with white. there was so much that he swore some of it leaked onto the floor. 

you could hardly move, but judging by neuvillette’s expression, he looked like he had another round left in him.

♡ KAMISATO AYATO

being in a relationship with ayato of all people meant that there were constantly many eyes set on you. you were with someone that had such a high status in inazuma. it was not much of a surprise when you would see people staring at you in public, or giving you respectful bows.

ayato fell in love with you for many reasons. he adored you so much that he wanted to take that next step and start a family with you. he wanted your love to be permanent in his life. 

he had fantasized about it for quite a while. the image of you pregnant with his child and showing off your belly to everyone on inazuma. he wanted nothing more than that, so after a long day of taking on commissions for the clan, he decided to unwind with you in bed that evening. all he could think about all day was coming home to your sweet smiling face. 

your legs were thrown over his shoulders. ayato’s fingers were laced with yours while he pumped his cock into your needy hole. you were so beautiful at that moment. your glossy lips that were parted open with sweet moans slipping through them, and those pretty eyes that kept crossing every moment he reached your g-spot. he truly was blessed to have such a gorgeous wife.

“you’re so beautiful, princess, look at you..” he whispered, lovingly. his free hand went to trace along your figure, drinking in the sight of your sweaty body. “you’d look even more beautiful with my baby in you.. yeah? a nice heir for me?”

you shuddered at the thought of that. you knew for a while that ayato wanted someone to take over the clan someday when he wouldn’t be able to hold the reigns anymore. it sounded so pleasant. his cum being inside you and knocking you up turned you on so much. “yes.. ayato! let’s have a b-baby!” you whined, nodding eagerly at his request. 

he couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter at your words. he was going to make sure you had the best pregnancy ever. ayato then began to speed up his pace. your cunt was squeezing his cock so perfectly he was losing himself within you. how could you be so flawless? 

he groaned loudly as he let go inside of you. a warmth spread across your tummy as his cum filled your womb. it felt so amazing. you honestly craved it more than you thought you would. 

ayato smiled to himself. he knew he made the right choice that day when he first met you.

♡ WRIOTHESLEY

wriothesley was always open to trying new things with you, with your consent of course. some things were tried and failed, but the one thing that always remained was his breeding kink. he enjoyed seeing your pretty cunt leak with white cum after he was done with you. 

you decided to make a surprise visit to the fortress of meropide. it wasn’t unusual for you to pop in and speak with your boyfriend for a little while when he had the time, but your visit lasted a little longer than you had anticipated. 

you were sitting on wriothesley’s lap. his dick was drilling into you at such a rough pace you had to hold onto him to make sure you didn’t fall. his hands were both set on your waist where he bounced you on his thick cock. his icy blue eyes were watching your every facial expression. he loved seeing you like that. all fucked out and drooling over the fact that he was making you feel like you were on the moon.

he groped the globe of your ass tightly. you could hardly keep your moans contained from how great the pleasure was. “wriothesley! ah! i’m so close..!” your nails dug into his shoulder blades. 

he started to nibble at your neck, leaving a few marks on your skin. “yeah..? fuck, me too, baby.” he pressed his forehead against yours, making eye contact with you. “want me to cum inside you..? fill you nice and good..?” 

you whimpered at the mere thought of that. you honestly loved his breeding kink more than he did. “yes.. fuck, wrio, i need you..!” you grind your hips into him to show how desperate you were for him.

wriothesley then took your hips, holding them in place while he slammed upwards into you. the wind was practically knocked out of your lungs at how aggressive his thrusts became. he was hitting every delicious spot inside of you that made your mind become instantly foggy. your head fell onto his shoulder. you couldn’t help but moan into his ear about how badly you wanted him to knock you up. how he’d make such a great daddy to your baby.

without warning, wriothesley came. his cum leaked into your pussy, making a mess on his cock from the mix of your and his cum. he could care less, though. 

“you’re gonna make a nice momma.. i just know it, princess.” he cooed, kissing your face.

© NXUVILLETTE ┆ all rights reserved, do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

[taliabhattwrites]

The Sexed Regime, or: You Probably Have the Wrong Critiques of "TME/TMA" Terminology

Let's begin by looking at an interesting dichotomy.

There's an oddly pervasive idea in queer spaces that a truly progressive trans or post-gender politic underscores the irrelevance of sex. In contrast to patriarchal society's utter fixation on "natal sex", queer existence must be transcendent, a space in which one's bodily configuration is understood to be entirely under one's purview, where presentation is simply something we inhabit and implies nothing about our sexualities or embodiments. It is an idea of emancipation rooted in agnosticism, an anti-patriarchal revolution spurred by the lack of belief in our cissexist society's deranged emphasis on knowing what's in our pants at all times.

It's a very appealing idea, I'll admit.

Here's the thing, though.

The naturalization of sex is the foundation of patriarchy, as well as the basis of the heterosexual regime it instantiates. Humanity is cleft in twain, with one sex marked for reproductive-sexual exploitation by the other. Like most other regimes, this one is also powered by belief--belief in the superiority of the 'male sex', the unfitness of the 'female sex', and most of all: absolute belief that sex is immutable, exhaustively binary, and non-overlapping.

What this also means, ultimately, is that those of us who dare to desert the sex we were conscripted into face different pressures and violence. It is obvious that many trans people are also subject to reproductive injustice, as cis women are, and consequently the transphobia they face is very acutely a regendering impulse, a patriarchal desire to drag them back to the confines of womanhood to fulfill their patriarchal purpose. There is, understandably, a certain amount of solidarity between cis women and trans people who have suffered these aspects of the heterosexual regime.

This is in fact the understanding that gives rise to even liberal-progressive uses of 'male socialization' directed at transfems. Trans women are understood to have been spared certain excesses of misogynistic violence and therefore expected to see and approach the world differently. It is simply a neutral observation, of course, no judgment behind it ... well, until it comes time to deny trans women epistemic authority over experiences of misogyny or womanhood, even their own. After all, can transfems really be said to have a full understanding of patriarchy? They weren't 'raised AFAB'!

Oftentimes, this becomes a double bind of proving that transfems did experience trauma, feminization, and abuse even pretransition, often as children, which is then usually dismissed as "trauma dumping" or "equating womanhood to being abused"--despite the minimization of our experiences being predicated on our "lesser" understanding of the trauma of being "misogyny-affected". So let's not retread that.

Instead, I'll point out that people assume a symmetry, a complementarian equivalence, almost, between the experiences of trans people. What I would like to stress is that there is no such thing as a coherent "AMAB" class or a shared "AMAB solidarity" based on shared experiences of oppression, because I have some shocking news that readers may wish to sit down for:

Trans women are oppressed by cis men.

Cis men are overwhelmingly the ones who rape us, beat us, kill us, and seek to abuse us. When we were children, we were bullied and violated for our perceived effeminacy, largely by the cis boys we were most proximate to. Most of us have been around cis men when they've voiced their most dehumanizing, misogynistic thoughts about women, and have been punished for not participating in these rituals of misogynistic rhetoric, too. The trauma of our upbringing involves being locked into spaces with those who sniffed out our differences, our non-conformance, and routinely punished us for being deviant. When we grow up, they are the ones who largely continue to prey on us.

The chief characteristic of transmisogyny is the presumed artificiality of trans womanhood, the idea that we are mimetics, and our womanhood is a farce, a costume whose only purpose is sexual. This dovetails with our disposability--our inability to be women who can bear children, further patrilineality, and secure what minuscule respectability is afforded to the domestically-confined women who continue the male line. As such, our hyperfetishization marks us for extreme violence, as sexual objects that can be freely used and discarded, guilt-free, because after all ... We asked for it.

Why would we "choose" womanhood if we did not want this?

Which, ultimately, brings me to my point: Sex is a social regime of difference imposed on us, but it is, unfortunately, a regime still in existence. My sex is the basis upon which my womanhood is denied and my disposability justified, because the transfeminized are degendered--we are not, as a rule, provided a path "back" to manhood. Our "effeminacy" ensures that we are 'failed' men, because gender is ultimately hierarchal. Losing status, being unmanned, is frankly trivial, and is what underlies the oppression of queer men--trans men included. Most of us are ultimately subject to some kind of degendering, largely due to how a patriarchal society regards those who defy the reproductive mandate, but transmisogyny is a specific manifestation of degendering that trans women experience.

"TME/TMA" may well be an imperfect categorization--all undertakings in boundary formation are imprecise, though not always violent, given that we need descriptive terms to communicate--but the real issue with it is that it's an overly-ponderous and ultimately clunky terminology for the frank reality that the binary sex imposed on us shapes the contours of the violence we experience. I have never experienced the specific kind of misogyny that sees me as nothing but a broodmare, because I'm a filthy troon, that dehumanized abject thing whose only purpose is absorbing (sexual) violence. Yet the acknowledgment that transfems experience forms of violence that others do not--or sometimes, even the acknowledgment that transfems face violent misogyny at all--is much less forthcoming.

Our struggles are indelibly connected, of course, stemming from the same source and promulgated by the same regime that seeks to define us as nothing more than male property. The shape of each is distinct, however, and because people frequently misunderstand the shape of mine, the idea that my struggles are even connected to theirs, that I experience misogynistic violence homoousian with that which they experience, is frequently dismissed, or considered outright offensive.

This is why I talk and write about transmisogyny, and why more people need to become more familiar with how the naturalization of sex and the regime of heterosexuality under patriarchy necessitates our common struggle.

And unfortunately, in order to properly express these ideas, we do need to talk about the regime of sex.

[valwrote]

Running fingers through their hair 🤍

ft. wriothesley, alhaitham and neuvillette.

synopsis : you convince them into playing with their hair and you end up taking undue advantage of it.

warnings : implied fem!reader, pet names, mention of murder and suicide (neuvillette – no there is no angst here.).

a/n : fluff but seriously hair is so floof in genshin and i love me some domesticated content.

ALHAITHAM 🌱

"No." He crossed his arms in disapproval at your request.

"Haitham! Come on!" You begged your husband to let you run your fingers through his hair in hopes to help him unwind and relax but he was adamant not letting you.

"I am sorry [Name], but I have a meeting due in an hour with the Dendro Archon about some administrative changes and as much as I would love to catch a break, I can't as of now." He exasperated, voice laced with annoyance.

Ever since becoming the Acting Grand Sage, Alhaitham had gotten just a tad bit more whinier. You weren't complaining since Alhaitham had the emotional quotient of a rock.

"Oh come on! It's still an hour away. C'mere." You patted your lap. He sighed but agreed. You found yourself combing your nifty fingers through his grey locks. They felt soft to touch. Who are you kidding, he was a well groomed gentleman despite his emotionally constipated personality.

His eyes were focused on a book he was reading, his eyes scanning the pages but his expression was relaxed. He won't admit it but he liked it. This was a simple yet intimate gesture.

You on the other hand, stared outside of the window, fingers still running through his hair. The scenery of Sumeru city stretched out far and wide for your eyes to see. The sky was beaming with light, birds were chit chatting on the tree branches and–

Snore.

Your focus gets redirected back at Alhaitham who now had the book resting on his face, his chest rising rhythmically as you heard him breathing softly.

You chuckled at the sight. He really did fall asleep. He looked so carefree when a moment ago he was complaining about meetings and work. How amusing. An idea bubbled up in your head.

When Alhaitham woke up, he realised that he had fallen asleep and hurried out of the room to meet up with Nahida in the Sanctuary of Surasthana.

"Good evening Acting Grand Sage, I was just waiting on you- pfft!" Nahida's cheeks puffed up and the little Archon started giggling.

"I am sorry for being late- wait, why are you laughing?" He tilted his expression in confusion. Could his late timing be a matter of amusement for his Archon?

"Who made two tiny ponytails in your hair using sparkly pink pyro slime hairties!" Nahida chuckled more, unable to hold her laughter.

"..." he reached up to feel the two tiny fountains of hair made by tying them up. Who could've done such a— you.

Needles to say, Alhaitham image of a big mighty serious guy in front of Nahida had now been ruined.

NEUVILLETTE 🌊

"Ma Chérie, what do you think of this case?" Neuvillette leaned back into his chair, papers spread out on his table. You picked up one of the documents and examined them.

What made you and Neuvillette a match made in heaven was that you were one of Fontaine's best lawyers and Neuvillette was the Ludex. You both would brainstorm cases together though Neuvillette always tended to quote how he is unbiased as it is his duty as the Chief Justice to not let personal feelings get in the way.

Still, you catch him staring at you during court proceedings, expression twisting and turning based on the situation out of his instinctive concern for you.

"Well, I think this is a classic murder which is being displayed to the common eye like a suicide." You sighed and put the paper back on the table, stretching your back from fatigue.

"I must say, that's quite a possibility. I'd suggest you investigate futher and seek the truth." He pondered, his gloved hand resting on his chin.

"Neuvi, can we take a break? I am tired." You slumped down in the chair across him, exhausting from the repetitive task at hand.

"Indeed. Repetition tends to tire out the mortal brain. Let's continue this after lunch." He nodded and started to sort the papers according to there designated folders.

"Can I play with your hair till you get the sorting papers thing done?" You asked him and he seemed amused at the idea. Neuvillette was never reluctant from trying out new things and gave into your small pleasures if they made you happy. "Sure."

You ran your fingers through his white locks. Honestly his hair were so beautiful, it would put women's hair to shame. Neuvillette took good care of them. You started using this opportunity to experiment different hairstyles on him.

Neuvillette glanced up, only to see his hair in a braid from his reflection in the mirror with a black ribbon in them. He stared at the braid for a good minute, "Hmm simple, practical and elegant. It's quite nice." He mused.

You were proud of yourself before Neuvillette asked if he could try hairstyles on you.

An afternoon spent with chuckles, smiles, whacky and pretty hairstyles.

WRIOTHESLEY 🧊

You watched as Wriothesley worked like a machine.

Step 1 : Grab the paperwork

Step 2 : Read and Sign it

Step 3 : Put in the "done" pile

The sounds of paper swiping and pen scribbling filled the room. You tried to entertain yourself with some novel but you could hear wriothesley grunted and groaning in annoyance.

"Y'know, the best thing is to simply not to do the work if you don't feel like it, wrio." You suggested, flipping to the next page in the novel.

"You're right. I'll settle for a nap, drink tea after I get up and then continue doing this..." he grumbled before getting up and making his way to his bed upstairs. You afte a few minutes got up and followed him.

You both laid beside eachother, under the blankets, soaking in eachother's warmth. "You joinin' me on a nap, sweetheart?" A smile crawled onto his face as he looked at you with his icy hues.

"No, I am simply here to take care of you, silly." You kissed his nose as he took your palm firmly in his and kissed the back of it, endearingly. You peppered his face with feather kisses, tousling his soft black locks earning a relaxed hum of content from him.

Wriothesley was a man of limited needs and such small moments with you were his saving grace from the buttload of prison paper work. His arm snaked around your waist as he kissed the top of your forehead before his hand rested on your cheeks, his eyes fluttering shut.

He yawned and made himself comfortable before drifting off into his well deserved nap.

But..

"Oh my god, you are associated with Sigewinne in this??" He baffled at the sight of his face covered in stickers. Melusines loved to play pranks but his own lover? Now that was some serious betrayal.

"First my back and now my face?" He stared at you, jaw dropped, wanting an explanation. You simply stifled a laugh before hearing a click.

"Sigewinne, did you just take a picture of me?? HEY! Don't run away!? [Name]! Sigewinne! You guys better delete that picture!" He chased after you two as you ran with Sigewinne in your arms. It was a moment of solace and perhaps another moment added in your archive of memories.

a/n : to say i am obsessed with domesticated genres and tropes is an understatement.

don't steal, copy, plagarize.

©definitelysel

not proof read.

[gghostwriter]

Lips of a Gentleman

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 1 || Future take Summary: A spontaneous museum date alters your relationship with Spencer for the better Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 1.2k a/n: This is actually an anon request about going on a museum date with Spencer and interrupting his ramblings with a kiss and I couldn’t help myself so I connected this to ‘Wanted: A Gentleman.’ I also used my favorite painter here as a prop to yap so I hope you like it! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! masterlist

It was a Saturday afternoon when the BAU team closed a serial killer case in the state of New York. They were called in four nights ago and the stress mixed with a high dose of adrenaline that had run through their veins were on it’s way out of their system, leaving all the members dead to their feet and wishing for much needed rest over the remaining weekend.

“Hotch,” Reid captured his unit chief’s attention as they waited for the remaining members, Morgan and Rossi, to come down from their respective hotel rooms. “I’d like to stay behind, if that’s alright.”

There was a minuscule eyebrow raise from Hotch in question.

“Huh,” Emily mused, a teasing smile appearing on her face. “Funny, there’s also a certain someone that we know—” she gestured to herself and JJ. “—who’s in New York today. Isn’t that right, JJ?”

The blonde profiler let out a laugh. “Yeah, I wonder if that has something to do with Spence staying behind.”

“Well, does it?” Emily lightly elbowed him in jest.

Spencer clears his throat, trying his best to come off casual but utterly failing with his voice going up an octave. “Maybe.”

“It’s the weekend, take your day off,” Hotch conceded. “And Reid, congratulations.”

“For what?”

A tenor voice answered behind him. Morgan, it was Morgan. “For finally getting a girlfriend.”

“Good on you, kid,” Rossi added on, patting his back as he made his way through.

———

Locks of hair were escaping your loosely tied bun as you brisk walked to get to the steps of the MET museum. The emergency meeting with suppliers ran a little later than you anticipated making you already fifteen minutes late from your agreed meet up with Spencer.

A smile graced your face as your thoughts settled on the perfect gentleman. It had been a perfect match made by your three friends, Emily, Penelope, and JJ.

A blind date that had gone so great that it blossomed another date and another. This spontaneous one marked as the fifth and it brought to mind the first meeting at the steps of the Smithsonian and Spencer’s chivalrous move of tying your loose shoe lace.

“I’m so sorry for being late,” your voice reaching Spencer’s ears before he spots you adjusting the straps of your falling shoulder bag approaching his form. “The supplier didn’t come on time so I—I’m sorry.”

He rocked on his heels, hands wrapped around his satchel strap. “That’s alright, I just arrived myself.”

You knew it was a lie but appreciated his effort in trying to make you feel better. That was just one of the many things you could see yourself falling for in Spencer. As if you weren’t already halfway there.

“Shall we?” His lips forming a smile, no doubt remembering those were the exact words he said during the first date.

You giggled, echoing the same response. “We shall.”

“So is there a specific section you want to visit first?” Spencer asked as he flashed two admission tickets at the entrance.

“Hm,” you scooted closer to his svelte protective form, avoiding the onslaught of tourists groups excitedly entering. “The gallery of European paintings?”

He smiled and nodded. His left hand hovering near the small of your back, never touching—its’ warmth penetrating the thick layers of your coat and sweater while the gesture made your heart flutter fast like the hummingbird’s wings.

There was comfortable silence in between you. Inconspicuous side glances and shy smiles that say a thousand more words that seemingly can’t or won’t be spoken out loud. The tranquility was a sharp contrast to the bustling and echoing noise all around the museum as guests discuss with their partners the surrounding art and take photos as personal mementos.

Your feet came to a stop in front of your favorite artist’s work. “I always did prefer his work more than Van Gogh.”

Spencer smiled, gaze warm on your side profile as his eyes traced the escaped locks of hair that framed the modern art standing beside him which was you and your expressive face. His fingers, as if hypnotized, reached out to tuck one side that casted a shadow on your feature behind your pinking ear. “Actually, when you look at Klimt’s early landscape paintings, you could see he took inspiration from the Dutch painter.”

“Really?” Your body twisting to face him.

He studied your body language. Arms limp at the sides, open and trusting. Torso slightly leaning forward, attention fully captivated. And eyes wide, twinkling with curiosity. “Yeah, yeah—” he nodded, his own body mimicking yours and its unsaid language. “—and although Klimt’s colors are stronger in contrast, the impact from having viewed Van Gogh’s paintings in his earlier life can be spotted in his brush strokes and painting subjects.”

“Spence, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way but you don’t strike me as an art critic. Is it a side of you that I’m only finding about now?” You teased.

“No,” he laughed, tucking his hands at the front of his jeans to fight the urge to touch you once more. “I read about it.”

“Can you tell me more then?” you further leaned in and whispered. “I bet you’d do a slightly better job than their pre-recorded audio tours.”

Spencer threw his head back and let a few chuckles echo on the walls. Your mind and its clever wit had impressed him since the first date. It was one of the many things he could see falling for in you. That was a half lie. In full truth, it was one of the many things that made him fall for you.

“Well, Klimt’s most expensive painting was previously stolen by the Nazis during WWII when they occupied Austria. Austrian Museum housed it after the war but there was a court battle for it and they had to return it the the family owner. And in 2006, Oprah actually bought it—” your smooth hands cupped his face, bringing his ramblings into a stuttering halt. His heartbeat, nestled within his ribcage, threatening to break from its confines as you stood on your tip toes, leaving a series of small kisses at ends of his mouth before landing on his awaiting lips.

“I—I’m so sorry,” eyes wide as you leaned back from his reach. A move that didn’t widen the gap as his body hunched itself forward, following you in its wake. “I couldn’t resist.”

He answered with a longer kiss, fingers twining with your silky locks of hair that had fascinated him since a while ago. “Don’t be. I’ve been wanting to do that too, I just didn’t know if you’d welcome it.”

You exhaled a giggle, cheeks pink with happiness. “You definitely can, anytime.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” his smile mirrored the euphoria written on your face. If he were to try to describe this very emotion, he’d compare it to walking on cloud nine. To winning a lottery. Or perhaps to finding an invaluable art piece meant just for him.

And while the surroundings were still dull and mundane, there were a burst of colors that splashed Spencer’s world anew as his warm comforting hand now finally found its way to yours and his thumb invisibly painting abstract at the back of your palm.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[finelinevogue]

always been you

summary - you’ve always been jealous of hiccups connection with astrid, but little did you know…

pairing - hiccup (httyd2) x bff!reader

word count - +2k

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You didn’t want to come across as overbearing or needy but you did miss your best friend significantly.

Hiccup had been on a scouting mission with Astrid all week, leaving you to keep things tidy at the workshop with Grubber.

Every day felt a little longer.

It wasn’t that you didn’t think they could handle what’s out there, but more the fact you can’t handle it always being Hiccup & Astrid. Always together.

Always going on missions together. Always flying with each other. Their dragons were best friends so why wouldn’t they be? You should be happy that the Chief and the best warrior in Berk are close.

You only wished they weren’t as close as they are.

For purely selfish reasons of the heart, of course.

Sure, you and Hiccup had been best friends since you were babes. But there was always something locked tight in your chest that was reserved for whenever you were around Hiccup - like some sort of fluttering or an extra heartbeat.

You keep telling yourself that it could be a deepening crush, but you refuse to allow yourself fully into that thought because you’re terrified the feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated.

As you walk home after a long day at the workshop, you notice Hiccup and Astrid flying back in from their scouting trip.

The sun was paining delicate pinks and oranges onto the sky and you watched as Hiccup flew through the clouds, like a finger moving through cotton. He always looked so effortless up there. So at peace.

Berkians swarmed Astrid and Hiccup as they landed, dragons in perfect shape. Riders also. Phew.

You moved to walk down to meet them but stopped short when you watched Astrid give Hiccup a tight hug, lips moving closely over his ear.

“Hiccup, you’re back!” A child shouted, excited that his Chief had come home.

“Tell us everything.”

“Yeah.”

You didn’t feel up to heading down there anymore with that tight feeling in your chest returning. You gulped back a hard feeling in the back of your throat and started up the path that led to the top of the hill.

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The view from the top was indescribable.

You could see for miles and yet there was barely anything to see, and yet it was perfect.

There was something peaceful about watching the ocean wash away and come back. It was rhythmic. Routine. And with the sun casting its pastel glows over the water it made it all the more special.

You sat on the very edge, legs tucked up to your chin and your head resting on your knees.

There wasn’t that much space between you and the edge. Hiccup had nearly grounded you from leaving the house once when you’d nearly fallen over the edge, but luckily he’d been there.

You felt free up here.

Almost like you could—

“You better not be even thinking what you’re thinking.”

Hiccup and Toothless landed behind you with a thump. Hiccup looked worried and Toothless looked ready.

“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“You’re thinking about how freeing it would be to fall.” You felt Hiccup sit down next to you.

You realised that was what you’d been thinking… but not in a catastrophic way. More in a way where you wished you could grow wings, like your dragons, and fly off into the sunset.

“Well, not…” You felt like you had to clarify, but got cut off.

“No I know.” Hiccup was watching the sunset when you looked at him, “I felt the same way. That’s why I built my own wings. Ever since I first got to fly Toothless i’ve always wanted to be able to fly with him, too. You know?”

“Mhm.” You nodded.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“Am I? Sorry.” You mumbled.

“Hey. What have we said about apologising for no reason?” Hiccup shuffled closer to you.

You breathed like you were about to say something.

“Don’t say it!” Hiccup warned you, earning a laugh from you.

“I want to, though.”

“Well don’t. Otherwise I’ll have Toothless play drop and catch with you.” Hiccup poked your side and you laughed even more.

You almost rolled forwards and off the cliff, but Hiccup’s arm reached around the far side of your waist and pulled you back. You were still laughing when your back hit the ground.

You kept laughing until you slowly realised that Hiccup was laying down - quite closely - next to you. His eyes were watching your smile and his arm was still firmly secured around your waist.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” You chuckled.

You turned to look up at the sky for a brief moment, before returning your gaze to Hiccup who was still looking at you.

“What?” You asked softly.”

“Nothing. I just—.”

Hiccup was rudely interrupted by Toothless coming to lick a stripe of saliva over his face and down his chest, sticking to his armour. You laughed at the sight, sitting up as you watched Hiccup groan.

“Toothless… You know that doesn’t wash out.” Hiccup flicks away some saliva and Toothless sits on his hind legs, looking proud of himself.

Toothless starts dancing round in a circle, laughing in his own way along with you.

You stand up and make your way over to the Night Fury, as Hiccup continues to wash off the dragon bleh…

Toothless makes his way over to you and bows his head for you to touch. Hiccup’s dragon has always been so gentle and calm around you. People often say it’s his soul imitating yours. Toothless closes his eyes as his forehead bumps against yours.

How anyone could be anything but in awe of these magical creatures is a mystery.

Hiccup comes to stand next to you, standing only a bit taller than you.

“He likes you more than he likes me.” Hiccup says, scratching behind Toothless’ ear.

“Oh please. He would dive off a cliff to save you, but he’d be the one to push me off thinking that it was play-time.”

“I think he’d surprise you.” Hiccup wandered around Toothless and climbed onto the saddle. “C’mon.”

“C’mon, what?” You asked, puzzled.

“We’re going for a ride.” He held out his arm for you.

“Right now?”

“I think that’s what I’m asking…”

“Hiccup… You just got back from…”

“And I want to spend some time with you. So… please.” He gestured again and Toothless made a sound like he wanted you to join them too.

“I’m not playing drop and fetch, though. I mean it.”

“I promise.”

You took ahold of Hiccup’s hand, ignoring the tight, fluttering, sensation in your chest and allowed him to pull you up in front of him. You’d tried sitting behind him once and had nearly fallen off when Toothless did a nose dive, so ever since you’d been riding up front.

Hiccup’s arms tightened around you and grabbed ahold of where he needed to guide Toothless.

“Ready?” He asked, his voice sending goosebumps over your skin from how close he was.

You nodded.

And you took off.

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The first part of the flight was always the scariest.

Toothless shot up into the sky, making you lean back into Hiccup more and Hiccup hold onto you a little tighter.

Once you levelled out, you soared through the clouds.

It was so serene up here, you envied how free the dragons just feel every time they fly. With the sun in the distance, feeling like you’re shooting towards it, it feels like something out of a dream.

You closed your eyes, let out a deep breath and allowed your other sense to take over. The sound of air whipping around you as you flew at speed. The taste of the cold air as you passed through clouds. The smell of dragon - it was weirdly comforting. And the touch of Hiccup. The last one brought you the most comfort of all.

“I could stay up here forever.” You said.

“I wish we could.”

“Toothless probably wouldn’t be a fan of flying forever.” You leant over to scratch Toothless behind the ear and he softly grumbled in reply.

“He probably would be if it was for you. Me on the other hand? Pfft, forget about it.”

“Oh please. Your bud would do anything for you. I mean he literally saved you from one of the biggest fire explosions I’ve ever seen.”

“And you’ve seen lots of them have you?” He joked, making you nudge your elbow back into his ribs. “Okay, okay!”

A few minutes of silence passed by, just you two and Toothless effortlessly gliding amongst the clouds.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” Hiccup said.

“Okay.”

“I… I just…It’s…”

“Hiccup, if it’s about something that happened on your scouting mission with Astrid then I already know.” You tilted your head around a little to see him. His face was full of confusion and you gave him the slightest smile even though you could feel your heart dropping through your chest.

“You do?”

“Yeah I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Okay.. Well, yeah.. I mean…”

“You don’t have to talk to me about it Hiccup. It’s none of my business.”

You turned back around, not wanting to hear much more about how Hiccup had fallen for Astrid. How they were now together. How you were completely out of the picture now.

“Wait… What?” Hiccup exclaimed, making you jump a little from how loud he shouted in your ear.

Toothless looked back for a moment with a devilsome grin on his normally innocent face.

“Bud…?” Hiccup asked warily.

Toothless must’ve thought that Hiccup said something different, because it was at that moment that Hiccup realised you two were no longer going to enjoy the sunset or clouds.

Toothless took the opportunity to tilt downwards, before plummeting through the sky towards the ocean.

You screamed as Hiccup tried his best to get Toothless to listen to him - unsuccessfully.

Hiccup’s arms tightened infinitely around you as he tried to control Toothless the best he could, but there was no stopping this big lump of scales.

Toothless dive right to the seawater before gliding straight across it for a brief moment, then shooting right back up in the sky again.

“Bud, seriously… What are you playing at?”

As you got up to some height, Toothless spread his wings as far as he could then.

“Oh no.” Hiccup sighed.

Then you were all falling down backwards. Toothless had his tongue sticking out as if he was enjoying every moment of this, whereas you were hanging on for dear life.

“Toothless!” Hiccup shouted, kicking his leg in a certain way to control Toothless’ tail better.

Everything calmed down a little after that, Toothless going back to gliding as you made your way home to Berk now the sun had set.

“You and I are having words when we get back, bud.” Hiccup tried to sound stern but it was well known that the dragon would be the one to get his way.

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As you stepped off Toothless your legs took some time to regain familiarity with solid ground.

Then as the adrenaline was wearing off, you started laughing - letting out all of the wired energy. You stood up tall after letting your legs have a moment, only to turn around to see Hiccup standing close in front of you.

You’d missed the moment where Toothless nudges Hiccup closer towards you, but it you’d had seen it then it would’ve made this next part less unexpected.

A dragon always knows.

“What?” You let out a small, nervous, laugh. “Hiccup, what?”

Hiccup hummed to himself, with a small smile on his face.

“Astrid was right.” He said.

Your face went neutral, trying to hide the fact you were affected by Hiccup bringing up Astrid.

“Right about what?”

“About how big of a dumbass I am.” He stepped closer.

“I don’t…” Your brows furrowed.

Hiccup moved forwards again, reaching out to ghost his palm over your cheek. You looked towards his palm slightly, nervous about what he was doing.

Your breath hitched when his skin made contact with yours.

He was so close in front of you, you’d frozen to the spot with anticipation over whatever he was doing.

“Hiccup.” You whispered.

Toothless shrunk into the shadows of the background as night fell, leaving you too alone to stand on what felt like the top of the world - together.

“Everyone told me I should’ve said something sooner.” Hiccup said, more to himself than to you.

“Hiccup, you’re not making any sense.”

“No. What doesn’t make any sense is my feelings for you!” He reached to hold the other side of your cheek now, framing your face so he could keep your focus on him, “What doesn’t make sense is that I feel lost when you’re not near. I feel weak when I haven’t seen you in days. I feel a…a.. sort of tight feeling in my chest every time you’re around. What doesn’t make sense is how I fell for someone like you, when I’m someone… like me…”

Hiccup dropped his hands, eyes widening as if he’d been in a trance when he had been talking.

You watched him stand there, watching you with nervousness now.

“What doesn’t make sense to me is how someone as great and as clever as the great Chief of Birk, couldn’t possibly understand how someone like me really likes him.”

You nervously gulp as you watch realisation take over his face.

“Wait… really?”

“Pretty sure.” You smiled.

“Well I guess we’re both dumbasses.”

Hiccup extended his arm to wrap on the side of your waist, pulling you towards him and not stopping until your lips were close enough to kiss his.

He kissed you like he’d been waiting an eternity for this moment, holding onto your waist tightly as if you’d even had thought about move away from him.

Your fingers curled around the delicate plaits in his hair that you’d tied, keeping your body taught against his.

As you both pulled away, you stayed close to one another - breathing the same air as if separate space simply wasn’t an option anymore.

You didn’t say anything - you didn’t have to - but you did have to chuckle at the situation.

Not even an hour ago you’d been heartbroken at the thought that his heart belonged to someone else. Now you realised that his heart had never been set on anyone but you. It had been you all along. And you knew, because your heart felt exactly the same way.

[augustinewrites]

when your boyfriend is the duke of the fortress of meropide, there's nothing harder than finding time to run errands together on his rare days off.

“wriothesley!” you scold as he crowds you up against the wall with a smirk. you keep your gaze locked onto his face, doing your best to ignore the fact that he was clad in nothing but his boxers. 

your attempt at being strict is quickly waylaid when he leans in to press an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. “can you focus, please?” 

“can’t help it when you’re so close to me…not to mention we’re finally all alone–”

“how is it going in there?” chirori calls from the other side of the curtain. 

you tense and your boyfriend groans, head hitting the wall of the stall with a dull thud.

“it’s going good!” you call back, unlatching his hands from your hips and walking him back as far as the stall will allow. “now try the pants on,” you order. 

“why do i have to get all dressed up for some party?” he grumbles, complying anyway and stuffing the tree trunks he calls legs into the expensive material and buttoning them up.

“it’s not just some party. it’s being hosted by the chief justice.” 

“ah, right. neuvi is throwing a rager to celebrate his hostile takeover.”

you help him into the dress shirt next, admiring the way his muscles strain against the fabric as he turns to the mirror to button it up. “he’s hosting a ball to announce his becoming the interim leader of fontaine. smooth over the transition of power and all.”

“and you’re dressing me up to show me off?” 

“of course,” you grin, staring at the two ties you’d picked out and wondering which would match your dress the best. “can’t have you go in there looking anything less than a million mora.” 

he turns around to face you, shirt still undone. “mind helping me out here then?” 

“i knew it,” you mutter, trying and failing to close the buttons of his shirt yourself. 

“knew that my impressive physique would be hard to contain?” he asked cheerily, proudly puffing his chest like a bubbler seahorse. 

you toss a different shirt at him with a roll of your eyes. “just try the bigger one on, please, if you go in like that they might mistake you for late night entertainment...”

he slips the shirt off, shooting you a wink and popping his pecs. “only for you.”

once he’s dressed, you pull him out of the change room to stand in front of three-way mirror. you step back to admire him, greatly appreciating the way his slacks hug his rear…

“shoulders look good…” chiori notes. “how do we feel about the lapels?”

“i like them,” you hum. “could we get him some gloves as well?” the stylist nods, heading off. you take the chance to step up to where your boyfriend has already slipped off his jacket and is rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. 

“wow,” clorinde - who’d been shopping around with navia -  says, impressed. “never thought i’d see you with a fully buttoned shirt.”

“hey, sometimes i can dress like a duke.” 

“when properly motivated, yes he can,” you agree with a proud smile.

“so gloves, huh?” he smirks, running his hands over the curves of your hips. “sounds like you’re planning on us sneaking away to have some real fun…”

“oh no,” you warn. “we’re going to be on our best behaviour tonight. important people from all over teyvat are going to be there.”

“best behaviour? you know i'm a convicted criminal, right?” 

you roll your eyes as he laughs, pulling you into his chest to wrap you in a loose hug as chiori returns with gloves and a garment bag.

“here you go. and for you, your dress for tonight.”

wriothesley pulls the gloves on, peeking over your shoulder as your friend unzips the bag. 

he’s already imagining it on you. the way the fabric would sit against your body, the way it would sway as you moved…

“yeah, screw best behaviour,” he scoffs, flexing his fingers in his gloves. “if anyone even looks at you too long, i'm breaking their kneecaps.”

“doctor, call off your guard dog,” clorinde says, clearly amused.

you only sigh, pressing a kiss to wriothesley’s lips in an attempt to smooth the scowl they’re set in. “his leash is only so long.”

[keferon]

Ahhhhhhhhh! The TF mecha Deadlock and human Ratchet drawing! I just saw it before sending this. His squishy! But yeeee! Continuing from the last one I wrote. Just pulled ideas from other posts you and others have done in this TF mecha universe. This is fun! :P

****

Ratchet's living quarters is much like the hanger where his lab is. An open area with some dividers up to make separate rooms. Scaffolding and catwalks line the wall and stairs are at each corner of the hanger. The interior is smaller when compared to the lab but the ceiling is much taller, allowing Deadlock the ability to sit up right comfortably. It looks like a little maze to Deadlock who can look down from above. Out of the five rooms in this hanger turned living quarters, Deadlock can't see into three of them. Ratchet's berthroom, the kitchen, and washrack all have ceilings to them. Ratchet's office is connected to the sitting area. Being the largest area in the hanger Deadlock has taken over the sitting area to recharge and heal in. Being the Chief Engineer no one has questioned Ratchet for having Deadlock in his hanger because Ratchet always takes work home with him. Also don't question Ratchet.

A click from the main entrance door has Deadlock stir from his recharge. Old instincts and habits have made him a light recharger. He opens one optic, a red glow fills the room. Blinding bright and staticky at first but dims and clears as his visual boots up. He see Ratchet opening the tiny entryway to slip out. He rumbles knowing it is way to early for Ratchet to head back to his lab. Ratchet had maybe, at most, gotten two hours of recharge. Deadlock gives a rumble/grunt again, this time it sounds more like a wheeze as he starts to shift to grab his little squishy who has already opened the door and stepped half way out. He is using the door to make himself unsnatchable not without breaking the thin metal.

Number one rule while in Ratchet's domain: Don't break Ratchet's things, he NEEDS them. The objects Ratchet chuck do not/can not hurt him. The disappointment and tired frustration however does hit something deep in his war worn spark. "Power back down kid. Just leaving for an emergency meeting. When I get back I'll check your intakes and engine. It's rattling and straining hard again." Ratchet says in a deep rougher voice used only when he wakes from recharge. The door click behind the human not giving him time to reply in his drowsy state. He rubs his fresh welded wounds and with a unhappy grunt curls loosely back around what Ratchet calls a lazy-e-boy chair and entertainment center.

ALL DAY! All day Ratchet has been gone. Deadlock should be use to Ratchet's long work days. But Ratchet didn't fuel before he left, he hasn't recharged in a long while. Two hours is not a recharge. Not for him, not for Ratchet. He is worried, it oozes out and around him from his EM Field like a shadowy murky cloak. His audial fins are pinned down and back as far as they can go. Ratchet looks so worn down. Overworked and shoulders heavy with responsibly the Cybertonian knows the bioengineer should not have to bare. The tv is on to use as a distraction but it no more then background noise as his proccesor runs through scenarios of what could be keeping Ratchet this time.

The door lock clicks and Deadlock instantly perks up. His EM Field fizzles away from gloomy to a more warm and bright mood. "Ratch-" He stops immediately when Ratchet comes through the door. Deadlock rakes his claws into the concrete floor and his field starts boiling with the energon in his lines. Ratchet is bruised and bleeding. The humans forehelm and knuckes are covered with fresh and dried blood. His glare intensifies as Ratchet closes the door and slumps against it with a grumble. Ratchet grunts as he takes off his shoes and dirty jacket. Deadlock's helm is filled with static and his spark heavy and spinning way to fast. He can taste energon on his glossa thanks to his fangs. Rage is not what is taking over his sensors and proccesor. Something more like a deeply rooted need, something instinctually feral burns hot in his frame. "WHO'D DARE-" Ratchet holds up a hand and makes a hushing noise, Deadlock snarls engine rattling harder to keep up with his burst of energy and restrained energon lust. His limbs shaking with just as much restraint. The only thing keeping him from ripping the hanger down is Ratchet's hunched form at the entry way. When Ratchet looks up at Deadlock his jaw snaps shut, denta slamming hard against each other with a harsh clank. The fragger looks amused! Tired, frustrated, and hurting but Deadlock knows that look. Those lips are ever so slightly turned up into an amused smirk, "R a t c h e t." Deadlock hisses out passed his denta audial fins pinned back.

"Relax, before you blow a fuse. You should see the other guy. These are just scratches Drift." The fragger chuckles wiping some blood from his lip with his thumb. That does something to Deadlock that he will not acknowledge right now. His spark flutters and pulses harder, EM Field a confusing mix of emotions that Ratchet can't feel, "I had a disagreement with some of the others in command while another sister base visited. I am fine. Been in more then one scrapping in my time." Ratchet hums as he limps into his office, Deadlock claws at the floor again. "I did not party and study my whole younger life away just to get my PhD in biomedical engineering and be told how to do my job. I may have got a tad heated." He chuckles again at Deadlocks snort/huff.

Deadlock relaxes slightly as Ratchet pulls out a medical kit. His systems are running hot and HUB flashing warnings at him do as Ratchet suggested. He relaxes slightly and presses his servo against his helm. "Frag doc starting fights for a disagreement?" He rasps out watching Ratchet closely while he steadies his intakes. The human carefully works on cleaning the blood stained knuckles, Deadlock takes some pleaser in knowing all that blood is not just Ratchet's. "You're just as much of a hot menace as me."

"For you." Ratchet mumbles as he gently rubs ointment on the cuts. "They wanted me to turn you over to the field officer. Told them that you are still a work in progress that needs more time. That you came to my lab mmm.." Ratchet realizes it's the next day, a whole day wasted arguing in a concert room with metal chairs. With stuck up, pathetic excesses for- "Two days ago now.. said I activated some guardian protocal that day by accident which what brought you looking for me. They think you are imprinted on me. Something like that." Ratchet winces as he wraps his most bruised and swollen hand. A whine leaves Deadlock's stuttering engine, the tip of his pointer digit's claw has been hovers over Ratchet's helm as the doc talked, "What is it Drift?" Ratchet pauses from reaching for the alcohol soaked cotten ball. He looking up into overly bright, almost white with worry optics. Ratchet's optics dart around looking over Deadlock's form and healing welds.

Deadlock wants to huff, to roll his optics at the bioengineer's worry for him. But he can't stop his spark and fuel tanks from turning while he watches the red liquid drip down Ratchet's forehelm and optic ridge. "I... can't help you. You are hurt.. cause of me... and I can only watch you patch yourself up." He admits dimming his optics and looking down. All of this because he got impatient and hunted down his squishy to get him to recharge for once.

Ratchet's optics soften slightly. He shuts the kit with a sharp snap and huffs as he straightens from being hunched over. "Hand down please." Deadlock's audial fins perk up at the request. He carefully and gently, as gently as he can, places two digits into the office room. He lifts Ratchet up slowly once the small being had found a good spot to sit on his servo. He doesn't want to risk even the slightest breeze to brush against the bruised and cut flesh. He makes certain his servo is locked so it doesn't twitch on them. "This is high enough. Stay still." Deadlock is about to scold him when he thinks Ratchet is going to check the welds on his chassis. Instead Ratchet pops the kit back open and works on himself. Deadlock's vocal box clicks a few times as he tries to comprehend what his squishy is doing. His spark flutters with his EM Field when he realizes Ratchet is using his metal plating like a mirror. Ratchet dabs the cotton ball on the cut above his left optic ridge. "Didn't feel like going all the way to the bathroom. So thanks kid."

Deadlock purrs and almost melts from the thanks. Yes he will happily be a mirror. "Clever thing to do doc. Have those idiots thinking I am loyal and protective to only you will mean I can follow you around more. I am content being imprinted on you. Just tell them you can't undo it doc and if they touch you ever again I will pluck their little tiny servos off and feed it to them." He rumbles in a flat tone towards the end. He rolls his optics at the small ping from Ratchet flicking his chassis, "You may start a fight doc but know I will finish it."

"Didn't really start it either kid." Ratchet sighs looking at his reflection with a solemn expression before going back to dabbing the cotten ball harder against the cut, "Wasn't just about you Drift. They wanted.... they want..." Deadlock wants to curl around Ratchet the tone he is using now sounds like defeat, that's not his Ratchet. Deadlock lifts his free servo and retracts a claw so he can rub Ratchet's back as best he can to comfort him. "I can't." Ratchet rasps placing his forehelm against Deadlock chassis. Deadlock's engine settles to a purr Cybertonians use to sooth each other. It seems to work. Ratchet's shoulders relax and he seems to be getting his thoughts together. Deadlock stays silent and even if he doesn't need to keeps his EM Field in check. He only giving off support, warmth and calm, "It's inhumane, evil... Tourture... It would break down to much of the muscles and cells of the body. The hippocampus, the cerebral cortex, and the frontal lobe... that much damage to the brain would... I can't do what they want me to. Not to anyone Drift. Not what they ask. I can't. To adults, to teenagers, To Children. Young kids not knowing what they have signed up for. Never told. No choice. No way in hell could I ever-"

The strain and deep pain in Ratchet's voice is killing Deadlock. Deadlock can feel the trembling coming from Ratchet as the human catches his breath. He keeps a steady presser against Ratchet's back for support as he moves him up. He ignores the small gasp from Ratchet when he presses Ratchet to his cheek gently. Warm smooth metal touched warm soft skin, "Never. Never will you do what anyone demands of you. They can not make you harm anyone. You have never done anything you didn't want to and you won't start now. You are to much for them to try to control. My little squishy scraplet. I will kill them if they try. You have my glyphic, honor, and spark on this." Deadlock pulls back feeling something wet on his faceplate. Before Deadlock can get a good look at Ratchet's face, the bioengineer is shakily wiping his optics in a rushed motion aggravating the wound on his forehelm making it bead up with fresh blood, "Woah easy doc!" Ratchet bats his digit away when he tries to stop him.

"Stupidly cocky little shit! Lets get you feeling better before you try taking on a whole mecha filled base for me!" Ratchet laughs and smacks the digit still pressed against his back. That laugh does something to Deadlock's systems and spark, "We'll need to discuss a plan. I don't ever do anything half ass. I will not go into anything blind. But you are right, this is not the place for me to be anymore. Sad really. I was doing a lot of good here, made things safer for our pilots. Slowly sure but less were dying... so horridly all the time." Ratchet mumbles the last bit under his breath before shaking his helm. Deadlock likes the smirk that comes back to Ratchet's lips, "Now lay down so I can check that engine. You are starting to sound like a shitty abandoned junker car. Think you knock something out of place."

Deadlock matches Ratchet's smirk with a slag eating grin as he lifts the human a tad higher to press his forehelm against Ratchet's. He feels Ratchet pulls back after a moment, a stuttering raspy purr rumbles pleasantly through him when Ratchet places his servo against his forehelm and rubs. Yeah he does sound like slag and his HUB is flashing warnings, "What ever you say Doc. I am your guardian knight after all. You just tell me when to start swinging." He hums as he shifts to lay down.

Y O U. YOU JUST WROTE THIS ABSOLUTE MASTERPIECE OF A FIC??? AND I DONT EVEN KNOW YOUR NAME?? WHOEVER YOU ARE, ANON, I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU SO MUCH NGKGKFGBFHGH YOUR WRITING DOES THINGS TO MY BRAI N

Also. Al s o. I just realized. Oh my god.

We have two Cybertronians on Earth at the moment right. Prowl and Deadlock. But Prowl is very much restricted in his actions because he has strong moral codex and also he's not a very good fighter (at least on his own).

But then we also have Deadlock. And the only thing keeping Deadlock in check is. Ratchet.

Like. Oh fuck just imagine. He isn't restricted by any moral implications except Ratchets opinion. He doesn't really give a fuck about other organic life or laws of Earth or anything. He is also a really fucking good fighter. He doesn't commit murder because that would disappoint Ratchet, but if. IF. Something happens to Ratchet?

THE HELL he would unleash would be visible from outer space.

Him being so sweet and caring and protective over Ratchet doesn't mean he behaves like this with everyone. Him being protective over Ratchet means that if anything takes Ratchet from him, he'll drown himself in blood. He'll burn, claw, gnaw, punch and tear his way back to his human.

All so he can be nice and sweet and caring again right afterward:)

Next

[kiwriteswords]

I have a great idea for a one shot.. I cannot stop thinking about jealous BAU!reader with Hotch. Like a detective won't stop flirting with him and reader is just super jealous and hotch is super cocky about the WHOLE thing. And of course Rossi knows about both their feelings and he meddles. That's super specific lol.

I lit a thin green candle to make you jealous of me [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 1.4k|| AN: I hope you enjoy! Thanks for sending this in xx!

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, jealousy, canon-typical themes, bau!reader, cocky!Hotch, meddling!Rossi, Aaron Hotchner POV

Aaron Hotchner stood at the front of the local police station, briefing the officers on the case details. As the Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, he was accustomed to commanding attention, his tone authoritative yet calm. Beside him, you stood with your arms crossed, your focus not entirely on the discussion. Hotch couldn't help but notice your distracted demeanor.

During the briefing, Detective Sarah Jacobs, a striking and charismatic local detective, leaned heavily against Hotch’s side of the table. Her laughter was a touch too loud; her glances a tad too lingering as she responded to his procedural instructions. Hotch, ever observant, picked up on the tension radiating from you. Every time Jacobs smiled at him, your jaw tightened, and your notes were suddenly scribbled with more force than necessary.

Post-briefing, as the team dispersed to gather more information, Jacobs found reasons to stay close to Hotch, her hand brushing his arm under the pretense of pointing to details on a map. Hotch glanced your way, catching you glaring at Jacobs from across the room. There was an unmistakable flash of jealousy in your eyes, and something about it spurred a rare mischievous streak in him.

In the car, with only the two of you, Hotch couldn’t resist teasing. “You know, she’s just being friendly,” he remarked casually, eyes on the road.

“You don’t need to tell me about ‘friendly,’ Hotch,” you replied, your tone sharper than intended. “I know what flirting looks like.”

Hotch’s lips twitched into a half-smile. “Does it bother you?” he asked, glancing briefly your way.

You huffed, looking out the window. “No, it doesn’t bother me. Why would it?”

That smile became a full-fledged grin now, hidden from your view. “Just checking,” he murmured, his voice low and amused. It was rare for Hotch to indulge in such personal banter, but the evolving undefined relationship between you made the boundaries blur at times.

Back at the station, Rossi pulled Hotch aside, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. “You’re playing with fire, Aaron,” he whispered, nodding subtly in your direction where you were meticulously organizing case files, avoiding looking in their direction.

“Dave, it’s nothing,” Hotch assured him, his voice a low rumble.

Rossi raised an eyebrow. “Nothing? That’s not what it looks like from where I’m standing. She’s clearly got it bad for you, and you’re not exactly pushing her away. What’s your angle here?”

Hotch’s gaze softened as he looked over at you. “There’s no angle, Dave. It’s just… new. We’re figuring it out.”

Rossi clapped him on the back. “Well, figure it out fast. She’s a keeper, and you’re not the only one who can see it.” With a knowing look, Rossi walked away, leaving Hotch to ponder his words.

That evening, as the team gathered to review the day’s findings, Hotch made a point of standing close to you, his presence a silent statement to any speculative eyes. His voice, when he addressed the team, was firm, but when he gave you a brief look, it softened just enough for you to notice.

Later, when Detective Jacobs approached Hotch with another question, he answered politely but with professionalism, putting a clear distance between them. You watched, your previous irritation fading slightly as Hotch’s attention turned back to you, his dark eyes locking with yours in silent communication.

As the team prepared to leave, Rossi sidled up to you, a smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t let him get too comfortable with all that attention,” he whispered conspiratorially. “But between you and me, I haven’t seen him this off his game in years. You’re good for him.”

You looked up at Hotch, who was waiting by the door, watching you with an unreadable expression. Walking over to him, you decided maybe it was time to have that conversation about what 'this' was. But as you reached him, all you said was, “Let’s get back to the hotel. We need to review the profile again.”

“Of course,” Hotch replied, a slight relief in his tone, but as you both walked out into the cool evening, his hand brushed against yours, a simple touch that promised more discussions to come.

As the BAU team headed back to the hotel after a long day, the atmosphere inside the SUV was thick with unsaid words. You were seated next to Hotch, the space between you charged with an undercurrent of tension and unsolved emotions. Throughout the ride, Hotch caught glimpses of your profile, illuminated by the passing streetlights. Your usual sharp focus seemed clouded with thoughts he could only guess at.

Upon arriving at the hotel, Hotch suggested a brief team meeting in the hotel conference room to finalize the profile adjustments. However, as the rest of the team filed out of the SUV, he held back, touching your arm gently. “Can we talk for a minute?” he asked, his voice low.

In the privacy of the parked vehicle, Hotch turned to face you fully. “About earlier—” he started, but you cut him off.

“It’s fine, Hotch. Detective Jacobs is just doing her job, right?” But your words came out more strained than you intended, and you couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

Hotch’s expression softened, his usual stern demeanor melting into a rare vulnerability. “It’s not just about Jacobs. I noticed you were upset. And if I’m honest, it bothered me more than it should have,” he confessed, his gaze steady and intense.

You finally looked at him, taken aback by his openness. “Why would it bother you?” you asked, a mixture of curiosity and something akin to hope flickering in your chest.

“Because,” Hotch paused, searching for the right words. “Because what I feel for you is... more than just professional concern. I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his admission. The jealousy that had been simmering within you now sparked into something more constructive—clarification of the bond you both were tiptoeing around. “I guess I was jealous,” you admitted, feeling a weight lift as you acknowledged it. “I didn’t like seeing her flirt with you. It made me realize how much I...”

“How much you what?” Hotch prompted, leaning closer, his interest evident.

“How much I care,” you finished, locking eyes with him. “And how little I like the idea of not knowing where we stand.”

Hotch reached out, his hand covering yours. “I feel the same,” he said simply. “I’ve been trying to keep things slow, professional, but maybe we’ve been fooling ourselves thinking we could control the pace of whatever this is between us.”

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips despite the seriousness of the conversation. “So, what do we do about it?” you asked, feeling more confident now that your feelings were out in the open.

“We redefine our parameters,” Hotch suggested. “Outside of work, we explore this... relationship. We see where it goes without the constraints we’ve been putting on ourselves.”

“And at work?” you asked, knowing the complications that could arise.

“At work, we remain the professionals we always are. But outside of it, I’m yours as much as you’re mine,” Hotch stated, his voice firm with resolve.

The conversation was a turning point. As you both joined the others in the conference room, there was a new sense of understanding between you. The meeting went smoothly, with both of you contributing to refining the profile. However, the real shift was noticeable afterward, as the team suggested grabbing a late dinner together.

Throughout the meal, you noticed Hotch shooting you small, knowing looks. You responded with subtle smiles, your earlier jealousy replaced by a sense of belonging and mutual recognition of the new, unspoken agreement between you.

Later that night, as you walked back to your room, Rossi caught up with you, a knowing grin on his face. “Looks like you two figured things out, huh?” he teased gently.

“Maybe we did,” you replied, your heart lighter than it had been in days. “Thanks, Rossi.”

Rossi winked. “Anytime. Just remember, the heart is just as vital a muscle to a profiler as the brain. Use them both wisely.”

With Rossi’s words in mind, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you and Hotch would face them together, not just as colleagues, but as partners in every sense of the word.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

@iyskgd

[dawnwriterimagines]

Rewriting Part 5 of Traitors Among Us

CLEAR SKIES (A Rewrite)

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x PLATONIC!FEM!READER Rewrite of PART 5 of Traitors Among Us

Traitors Among Us Masterlist

Summary: With your resignation approved, Price discovers you've resigned. You head back to begin to pack your life away from Task Force 141, running into those who've betrayed you.

Author Note: Soooo, I decided to rewrite Clear Skies: part 5 of Traitors Among Us because...I didn't like it as much lol, and it wasn't received as nicely as the other parts. It's pretty much completely different lol. So, here I am rewriting this part! Don't worry, the multiple endings of Traitors Among Us will be releasing very soon...

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

Silence filled the air in the Chief Officer’s office, thick with tension. Captain John Price stood rigid, arms crossed, eyes locked on Laswell as she calmly sipped from her tea, her lips set in an almost casual line. He’d expected a straightforward debrief, not this.

“You did what?” Price’s voice was low, disbelieving. His brow furrowed, the anger creeping in like a slow burn.

Having arrived at the administrative building, delivering his mission reports and making his way into Laswell's office. Captain John Price wasn't expecting to receive the surprising news so casually that the woman in front of him had signed off on your resignation, without so much as consulting with him, your Captain.

"I gave her what she wanted, John," Laswell rolled her eyes, sitting in her seat. "I let her go. She was never about to meet with you, and I won't let a soldier like that leave, under my supervision, without some type of severance," she speaks, casually, tapping her spoon of tea along the rim of a porcelain mug. "I do apologize, I was actually preparing a better way to tell you this. Time got away from me, I suppose." Although, Laswell says so unapologetically as she takes her first sip with a hum.

Price blinked, caught off guard by the detached nature of her words. He shook his head slowly, still processing.

"Severance?" Price gritted. "She didn't lose her place on the force, Laswell. She's on temporary leave for recovery not discharged--I would've never--"

"Oh, stop it, John," Sweeping away a few locks of hair, Laswell sits back in her chair. "Even if, would it matter? The girl's petrified of you, if she saw you she might actually kill you," she can't help but release a humored hum. "Willing to turn down her pension, her insurance, just to resign in peace.

She would've never come to you, and you were foolish enough to think she'd stay," she laughs this time at the absurdity of it. "She wanted an out," she takes another sip, shrugging. "I gave it to her." She then slides a few papers her way, preparing to continue her paperwork, interrupted for the second time today.

Slamming a hand over the stack of papers, Price can't contain the expression twisting his face, his anger, his grief. "Let her what?! You stripped her of her title, does she know that? There is no lawful resignation without my signature, what've you done?"

"Well, you are in need of a Demolition Operative now, I will say," she hummed, tapping the spoon against the rim of her mug, her voice annoyingly casual. "I already have someone in mind, luckily for you."

"Operative Gray is an integral part of this Task Force, it's not up to you how I handle my team anywhere outside of our missions, Laswell," Price hardly held his tone.

“Funny, John,” Laswell mused, not looking up, her voice dripping with dry amusement. “I seem to remember you handling a certain... situation under my orders.” Her eyes met his now, sharp and calculating. "Just fine."

Price’s jaw tightened, and the old guilt gnawed at him. “The worst mistake I’ve made on the force.” His voice was quiet but raw.

Laswell’s smile didn’t fade a bit. “No, John,” she said softly, her tone almost teasing now. “Your mistake is thinking you have any authority here that I don’t already have.”

Price froze for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. He reached for the papers on the desk, his hand curling into a fist before he let them go. Laswell slid the stack back across the desk with a single, deliberate motion, then stood up.

As she passed him, her shoulder brushed against his, and he stiffened, barely holding himself together.

“Oh, John,” she said, almost too sweetly. “The military is engrained in all of us. In your blood. In hers. Don’t worry,” she hummed, tapping the edge of a file. “She’ll be back. They always come back. In one way or another.”

"Well..." Laswell shrugs, calmly. "Just never to Task Force 141," she turns back to Captain Price, dismissed him with a wave, leaning back in her chair., slipping a file from her desk. "Not like that wasn't the original plan before our informant came clean, hm?"

Wary, grieving eyes drift away from the Station Chief, chest tight. "Well what about Gray?" Price swallows. "I can't allow her to leave without everything she deserves from her service, I won't."

"Christ, John, you take the fun out of everything nowadays." Laswell’s smirk faded into something more calculating, more serious, before rolling her eyes. "We'll hold off on that for now," before Price can interject, she holds up a new folder, stamped a harsh red CLASSIFIED, it glares up at him. "You and your team have other matters to discuss."

Price hesitated, brows furrowed. He took the folder, the tension in his muscles still tight. He opened it quickly, scanning the document with a sharp eye. His face darkened as he read, the information weighing a heavy burden, but nothing he could say was undeserved.

Lips pressing tight together, John Price presses down into the folder hard, creasing the papers and clenching his jaw. Fuck.

---

The sliding doors open automatically, the lobby going quiet at the sight of your sopping wet figure stumbling through the entrance. Dropping your hands from over your head, you pause to stare down those who held eye contact too comfortably, quickly their stares dropped.

Entering the residential building, it's nearly midnight, the mess halls still quite lively, soldiers prepping for their next mission or staying guard in the halls. Your boots squeak with every step unwarrantedly, trailing a puddle as you shuffle your way down the hallway, face flushed cold from the rain.

The hall seems much too long suddenly, the wet squeak along the marble floor, the damp cling of your clothes to your skin, the uncomfortable twist of your brace around your legs, the pruning of your fingers. You were ready to just lock yourself away in your room, pack and never see even the silhouette of this place ever again.

Rushing to the elevator, ignoring the whispers, the burning eyes on the back of your head, you rub your clothed arms to warm yourself up, soaked to the bone. Stealing a jacket from one of the racks before leaving the building, it wasn't as insulated as you'd hoped but it was better than nothing, or Kyle's pity wear.

Pressing the upper arrow, you wait for it to light up.

It doesn't.

So you press it again. This time it does glow, finally.

...But, no opening.

You wait a few seconds, then check the electronic number above.

1.

First Floor.

You press the arrow again. Waiting for the doors to open.

Clearing your throat, you press down on the down arrow this time. Just open up.

Nothing again.

Motherfucker...

A few heads turn while you press the buttons on the elevator one too many times, taking a breath as you continue to tap on the buttons along the panel. You didn't care as long as it would just open. Up. Down. Up. Up. Up. Down. Fucking somewhere, just open the fuck UP!

"Just fuckin open..." you grit out, attempting to keep your nerves down. For all you knew, Simon or Price, or Kyle or Johnny, could've seen you enter the building, they could be walking up to you right now. The very thought had you anxiously holding down on the elevator buttons, contemplating the stairs but walking was already a hassle with your brace. "Open. Open, open, open!"

"Open!" Your fist coming up in frustration to slam into the panel, the metal creaks and bends back but it doesn't make the elevator go any faster. It does hurt your hand though.

Taking your now sore fingers into your grip, pressing into your knuckles, your nostrils flare and you take a breath. You don't dare turn around as you hear the chuckle behind you, you can feel your teeth already grinding to nubs.

"So, you're the reason this thing breaks down every week, huh?" sliding up next to you, a soldier, lieutenant by the single silver bar on the shoulder of his uniform, his kevlar unhooked and new, prepping for departure. "Ya know, you can't make it go any faster that way?" nodding to the dented panel, before flashing a charmed smile your way.

Narrowed eyes link with his. "Excuse me?"

For a moment, all he can do is stare back, words lost on his tongue as he darts between your eyes, mesmerized. His smile doesn't drop even as he clear his throat, "I just mean, you'll hurt your...hand."

"Oh, will I? I didn't know that," you wonder, sarcastically. Before, hitting the panel again, a louder bang sounds in the hallway, causing attention. "Maybe I'm doing it wrong." A screw comes loose with a cling, your jaw twitching at the sound as he only huffs a humored sound.

"Yeah," he chuckles briefly as the metal falls with a klunk. "You're quite the mechanic."

"Can I help you, lieutenant?"

"Just a stranger, looking out for another, that's all," the lieutenant says simply.

"Ok, Stranger," you speak, this time turning your back as the elevator finally beeps as it descends to the ground floor. You direct your chin back to where he came. "You can leave now."

He feigned disappointment. "Ouch," he sported a playful grin. "I thought we were getting along pretty well."

"Well I'm sure you've got a flight to catch, don't let a stranger make you late."

"The only stranger I've met worth being late for," he says, genuinely.

"Oh!" Surprised, you glance away from him. "Subtle," you take a step back, uncomfortable with the space between the both of you now. You lean against the edge of the elevator door, it dings again, your knee brace wasn't helping your leg pain at all.

His charming smile fades, brows lifting as he quickly backs off, reading the lines. "Oh, sorry, I-"

"No," you clear your throat, hearing the ding of the elevator behind you. "No, no I'm just..." your hand goes to your ring finger, you used to fidget with your engagement ring all the time, there used to be a tan line imprinting it along your skin, now that same finger was scarred up to the nail. "I'm just not the flirting type right now." Your hand tensing up, balling into a fist, you'd nearly forgotten...

"Ah," He notices, clearing his throat, embarrassed at himself. "You're with someone."

You wanted to scoff at that, not anymore.

"No," Your knuckles cracked. "Just uninterested." Your hand falls to your side. The years you'd spent loving Simon, adoring him, fighting beside him, all that time...it was painful to know it would all just lead up to this. But, it was easier now to just feel nothing because it ended such a way.

The elevator opens and the both of you looks back towards it.

The lieutenant's eyes flicker back to you. "M' sorry," your brows lift in question. "About your...lover."

"He's not dead," you say.

His lips press together, thoughtfully, before nodding once. "Sounds like quite the guy."

"No idea," you scoff, an understatement indeed.

After a moment of silence, the elevator door, with a squeak, beginning to close. The persistent stranger puts his hand out before you have to, fully stopping the closing door before it can seal, taking a large step to catch it.

You froze as he unintentionally corners you, for the moment take him in, analyzing every detail as you'd always done as a soldier. His hair and clothes damp from the rain, cheeks flushed for a reason you weren't sure of.

He reminded you terrifyingly of Simon. Though the two had to be quite different in all capacities besides ranking and muscle definition.

He's tall, wide broad shoulders, a scar curved through his left brow to his temple, green wide eyes and he smelled...warm, was the only way you could describe it. You're sure his skin would feel as so.

You were quite cold from the rain, though you've been freezing ever since that day and you've never gotten past the phantom cold, eager to be warm again.

Not once in this disturbing, cold and humiliating event had you ever felt a moment of comfort. Of warm, loving comfort. A single embrace would destroy your every resolve. Not a minute, not a second, not a breath of warmth.

Your eyes flicker up, surprised to meet his staring back, seemingly taking you in the same way. His hand leaving the opening elevator door, to rest above the wall above your head. He was close enough for you to feel the leather of his kevlar against the back of your hand, for once your first thought wasn't to push someone away. His gaze lingers on the fresh scar beneath your eye, the tinted pink fading in the white of it.

"You shouldn't do that," you breathe.

There's nothing good here left for you anymore.

You're no longer a soldier.

"Do what?" he asked.

No longer apart of the Task Force, no longer apart of any of this.

And the scars you'd be left with just for being here...

Bringing your hand up to your face, running over the raised, ruined skin, your jaw tightening and your lips pressing together. You shift to the side, your hand finding the handle grip along the sides of the elevator doors.

He notices, straightening, awkwardly. Swallowing thickly, "Sorry, I didn't mean to, uh..." he squeezes his fist, as if berating himself internally. "--that's quite the memorabilia." Again his expression twists at his own question, fist squeezing, that was a dumb thing to ask.

"It is," you grazed the tender flesh of your scars. "Isn't it."

"I'm sure you've got quite the story."

Lips pressing together hard, fingers curling into your palm as if your own scars had burned you.

"Um..." going into detail meant a lot of things you didn't want to confront right now, pressing the button for the elevator again, it opens this time. "I appreciate the conversation, stranger. But, you should go."

"I'm sorry-" he realized he'd touched unsavory ground, voice lowered with regret. "I didn't mean..."

"It's fine," you swallowed thickly, taking a breath. "It was nice to meet you truly."

He follows you to the divide of the open elevator as you step in and though the divide, turning to see his face, desperate for a glimpse of yours.

Your stranger speaks soundly. "Wes."

His name you realized, you press your lips together, thoughtfully as he stares at you, not expecting anything in return, seeming peaceful with you just...knowing. The elevator doors slipping closed. You say nothing else, but you can't help but look at him differently, humming softly. You supposed he was no longer a stranger.

"Ok..." you managed a meaningful smile that struggled to begin. "Wes, then."

You could see the relief in the drop of his shoulders.

As the metal doors ding in preparation to close, you catch a glimpse of someone beyond your persistent stranger, as he turns to leave.

An approaching figure that enters the building, exiting the rain with heavy steps, dragging his feet along the marble, a black mask painted white along the curves of his mouth and nose, a skull. Stalking the halls like the ghost he preferred to be, Simon.

And he haunts you as so.

You hardly notice as the doors begin to close, a sinking feeling in your stomach erupting as you made eye contact with Simon Riley.

His slow, deliberate steps become nonexistent, he's instantly rooted to the floor, you were sure he'd even stopped breathing.

Though you felt your blood run cold, your chest squeezing violently with ache, and a rage in your soul that begged you to claw his fucking eyes out and rip out his heart like he'd done to you weeks ago, you didn't freeze.

No, instead your hand comes out, taking the closing end of the elevator door. It pauses with an electronic strain of its gears beneath your resistance, while you stare unblinkingly at your Ghost. And it opens again with a light ding.

Simon's eyes widen a fraction, he straightens noticeably, hopefully. His hand coming up, pulling at his mask, the skulls creasing down to reveal himself to you, but he'd remain as so...your ghost.

"(Y/n)..." you can hear the whisper of your name from his lips, but you've turned from him now.

Stepping forward and off the divide of the elevator, you take Wes by the arm, pulling him back around to you, his eyes are wide in surprise, innocent enough to have never expected more from your encounter and unable to find the nerve to speak smoothly now that you're making a move.

"Sorry..." you breathe to him, before reaching up and pressing your mouth to his.

It's not a messy kiss.

It's hardly a kiss.

But, it gets the message across.

You had loved Simon, completely and utterly. There was no punch or kick you could ever throw at Simon that could convey the collapse of those feelings.

So this, was the next best thing.

As Wes melts into your lips for the brief moment of surprise intimacy of a stranger, you cup the back of his neck, as you've done many times for Simon. Eyes opening to gaze back to your ghost, and as you do, you're not surprised to see him practically looming over the two of you.

He's a mess of himself. A fraction of the man he was before. A ghost of himself.

But, he'd always been a ghost to be feared.

As Wes's hand climbs up to grip at your hair, you retreat back, tucking your hair back and taking a breath.

Your guiltless eyes blink up to Wes, "You should go."

Hardly given a moment to recuperate, still reorganizing the thoughts you'd taken and filled him with all in the seconds you'd spared him with. He, rightfully confused, breathes. "What?"

"She said, you should go."

As Simon speaks, voice heavy with emotion, anger and resentment but most of all hurt, PAIN. Only then do your lungs fill with air again, untainted by the weight of your fears of him, of broken dreams and memories your defiled love.

"My dead lover's risen again," you speak, sarcastically. Staring down the hollow-eyed man, "A ghost."

The metal doors close with a light thud.

And so, maybe you had no fear of him anymore. Maybe you were tired of being frightened. Whatever it was had more guts than you had the energy to have in the last few weeks.

Because the next thing you know, you're shoving past Wes, blood red in the tint of your vision, your fingers expertly popping the gun out of his holster and you take your aim at Simon.

He doesn't flinch.

Neither do you.

Your finger is steady on the trigger. And you pull.

---

The subtle light of the safe house cast shadows across the room, the usual tension of Task Force 141 momentarily replaced by an air of anticipation. Everyone knew but you. Ghost stood slightly apart from the group, his mask hiding the myriad of emotions that flickered beneath. He’d planned this moment carefully and yet being trapped in a safe house during the night of the dinner he'd planned for you both wasn't apart of it. It was still meant to be tonight.

Your lover stared at you in the reflection of the window, catching your beautiful eyes in the glass, they sparkle and his bones feel liquid and he nearly loses his grip on the velvet box. What better time could there be?

Ghost turned to you, pulling his mask away, revealing Simon Riley, garnering your attention with a surprised stare, "What's...goin' on?"

His deep voice steady yet laced with a rare vulnerability. “Wherever you are, I wanna be,” he took a step. "Wherever you go, whether you like it or not, I'm goin' too."

"Stalker," you quipped, though your voice could barely reach a whisper as you stared at the tiny box in his hand, watching as he came closer.

He cracked a smile, but he continued. "Everywhere you are, anywhere you want to be, if you'll let me, since you're right...I just can't stay away," he teased, watching as you short circuit as he approaches steadfast. "...and if you want me, as you'll have me...I wanna be everywhere you are."

The team fell silent, the weight of the moment sinking in. Price raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk dancing on his lips, while Johnny tried to stifle a grin, Kyle cursed quietly shifting in anticipation. "The best thing I've ever held onto in this life is you. It will always be you."

Simon takes the closing steps to you, watching you closely, the two of you sharing the same overwhelming expression, though yours freer in its willingness to express. He was being serious. This was really happening. "I can't imagine taking on this life of chaos without you."

With a small, almost hesitant movement, Simon revealed the velvet box. The flicker of metal caught the light as he produced a small box, his hands surprisingly unsteady. His eyes momentarily flickering downwards before gathering the nerve to look you in the eye again. “We’ve been through hell, we're in the aftermath of it now, another glimpse not far behind, but there’s no one I'll ever know, that I’d rather have by my side.” He dropped to one knee, the rest of the team exchanging glances, a mix of excitement and surprise evident in their expressions. "No one but you."

As Simon kneels before you, your heart races, disbelief clear on your face, brows furrowing into each other, watering as you look to him, all your feelings flooding your senses. His words echo in your mind, and the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you.

“Marry me...” His voice was firm, yet you could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he waited with baited breath, his shoulders halting all movement as he wouldn't take a single breath until your answer. "I'll choose you. I'll choose you every time..." The room held its breath, the only sound the quiet rustle of fabric as the team leaned in slightly, as if to witness a moment that transcended their usual world of warfare. "Marry me..." his voice is a breath against your skin.

You feel your heart race with feelings that seared itself into your soul, a moment that would never leave you, your vision blurred with tears. "Simon..." the world narrowing down to Simon and the hope in his gaze. The silence was palpable, a shared moment of vulnerability among seasoned soldiers. Finally, you nodded, emotions swirling as a smile broke across your face. “Yes,” you laughed with a sob, nodding as you wiped your face. "Of course, Simon. Yes!"

Simon rose, slipping the ring onto your finger as cheers erupted from the team. The laughter and joyful roars of Task Force 141, your family, fade into the background as you focus solely on Simon, the man you love.

Johnny clapped Simon on the back, Price grinned widely, laughing heartily in glee, and Kyle let out a whoop of approval. In that moment, amidst the chaos of their lives, there was a rare glimpse of hope and happiness—a reminder of what they were truly fighting for.

---

The clouds, still held hostage by the night, moved almost imperceptibly through the midnight air, the rain having stopped by now and the stars taking action to be seen beyond.

You breathe evenly, stroking the broken skin of your knuckles, smearing the blood that still leaked through and picking at the dried specks of it along your nails.

Heavy hangs the air as you sit in your silence, nothing but the light scrapes of your nails along your own skin. Then, a heavy padding of footsteps outside the door, your eyes drawing to the movement as a shadow pulls along the flooring of the lighting beneath the doorway, the door clicks open.

A round-faced, army suited man, your attorney, enters the room, behind him two men standing at attention, stomping his dark boots down onto the old wood eager to be noticed, lifting a document to read. "Sergeant (L/N), due to potential endangerment of yourself and your fellow man, you are to be supervised continuously throughout the night until the remainder of your scheduled departure from central Orloz Military Base.

From there, as requested, all contact will be terminated, all personal and packaged requests, terminated. All inquiries, all personal and otherwise familial advises for continued contact, terminated. Due to the nature of your injuries and the unprecedented circumstances brought upon by the events of June 23rd 2023, you've been pardoned from additional..."

What use is there listening to more?

Leaning your head against the cool glass, you let yourself fall blissfully unaware of his voice, drowning in the sea of your own mind.

You stare down at the scars enveloping your hands, your wrists, still raw and sensitive even now. Along your ring finger was the imprint of your engagement ring, it would fade with time, but nothing else would.

You felt so blind, so dumb for thinking this family was ever real, that they were anymore than colleagues, soldiers of war. An idiot for believing in Ghost, believing that he was more than the soldier you'd fought beside for a decade.

Who would've thought things would've turned out this way.

The weight of everything—the heartbreak, the disappointments—were pressing down on your chest like a block of cement.

Letting the absent, warm tears fall down your cheeks, soaking into the dampness of your shirt.

You press your palms into your thighs, trying to ground yourself, but the overwhelming feeling spiraled further, tightening your throat till it hurt.

---

Simon's face is burned red with scratches, blood smeared along his face. His hand holds tight to your wrist, the gun having long fallen from your grip, the entryway still smoking from a missed fire.

Your teeth pull at Simon's exposed skin, biting down on the skin of his wrist until you can feel it snap away from the bone, resistance failing the muscles.

With a pained groan, Simon pushes you back into the metal doors of the elevator, "Stop this, (Y/n)!" he hissed at you, as he locks you into his grip, cornering you as soldiers come forward at the commotion.

"You promised," came your voice, your mouth filled with blood, a chunk of his flesh from your mouth as he shoves your neck into the metal divider, keeping you as still as possible. "You promised you'd choose me..."

Simon's twisted expression unravels as he hears his own vowed words from your tortured lips, seeing glimpses of the woman he's always loved in the livid, scorned woman he'd left behind in that cell.

"(Y/n)..." he began, his grip loosening.

Clicks of rifles and heavy booted steps filled the dormitory, interrupting him. "HANDS UP!"

---

"...if you're in understanding of these terms, we can proceed as stated."

"...Yeah," you whispered. "Understood."

"Thank you for your service, Sergeant (L/N)," he saluted shortly, before picking his beret off the table and walking out of the room. "Your assistance to the dormitories will be available shortly."

So, when he leaves, claiming to be back to escort you back to your quarters, you sit there. You sat there for hours. Or maybe it just felt like it. Either way, it didn't matter.

This time tomorrow you'd be off base, no longer a soldier but a citizen of no one, with no one to turn to and disowned by your family...

What was there to look forward to now?

Your hand comes up, tracing the water lines running down the glass, the ray of light from the street lamps that burn into the room, stinging at your eyes and lighting up the evening.

A streak of red follows your stained fingers.

Dried blood melting off your skin and running down the glass, falling slow.

Nothing to look forward to at all...

Multiple Endings coming soon. The end of Traitors Among Us... STAY TUNED