#now it's time to do everything correct and somehow get fucked out of a good ending with lae'zel too wish me luck lol

[razorblade180]

Ekko Location

Ekko:*thousand yard stare*….

Caitlyn:(Should I tell him? No, false hope doesn’t do any good. Especially in this case.) *looks left*

Giant mural of Jinx

Caitlyn:….Ekko?

Ekko:What could you possibly want after everything?

Caitlyn:Hopefully, an olive branch. I have to tell you something but you have to promise to not get your hopes up, or tell Vi. This is something I’m trusting with you specifically.

Ekko:And how in the world did I get such an honor?

Caitlyn:Because if it wasn’t for one act of kindness, I’d be in your shoes right now.

Ekko:…What do you have to tell me?

xxxxxx

One month later. Somewhere across the water, in a nice quaint land known for its view of the ocean and mountains, a cloaked girl bobs her head to music as she roams the back alleys streets without a care in her mind.

Jinx: 🎶Do you ever wanna catch me?Right now I'm feeling ignored. *turns corner*

Jinx:So can you try a little harder? I'm really getting bor-

Ekko:*cloaked* !?….

Jinx:…..(Just when I thought I’ve wrangled all the voices. This is a low blow, me.) *closes eyes* (Just gonna breathe in and-)

Ekko:*grabs her wrist*

Jinx’s eyes immediately shoot open to see him right in front of her. She starts looking back, forth, everywhere; her thoughts trying to rationalize this moment because what do you mean he’s real!?

Jinx:Y- wha- how? How!? Fuck everything else. How?

Ekko:Let’s just say someone offered me a little hope. Honestly it was more like wishful thinking.

Jinx:Ekko, that’s not a “how” at all! You left Zaun to chase wishful thinking? That’s alone is crazy, but not as crazy as you actually finding me! I could’ve gone in any direction and stopped anywhere yet somehow you’re right here searching in the correct city? Gasps Did you put something in me?!

Ekko:What? No! Jinx, we used to spend literal hours talking about all the places we wanted go; the sight ls you wanted to see. Sometimes you rambled so much I never got a word in to say mine!

Jinx:So you’re telling you just remembered all that ramble and started flying to the places I yapped about!? Who the heck remembers stuff like that!?

Ekko:Me!! Since when have I ever forgotten anything!? Especially stuff about you!?

The girl was too stunned to speak. Ekko told no lies and he had a point, however, what the hell? How was she supposed to respond to that? She told absolutely nobody that she was leaving and left no trace, yet somehow wishful thinking from probably the world’s most annoying enforcer and childhood memories was enough for Ekko to find her in a little over a month. Jinx could only squint at him in disbelief. Sure, she could definitely break free of grip and make a break for it, yet this moment only gave her the strength to exhale tiredly before him.

Jinx:Anyone else know?

Ekko:Nope. You think people have time to chase hypotheticals?

Jinx:So you just left??

Ekko:Told them I needed some air. Had to move quickly. You don’t exactly stay in one place for long.

Jinx:…..Alright. Out with it. I know you have some rehearsed lecture and rant you’ve prepared in case you actually somehow weren’t crazy and found m-

Ekko:*hugs her* I can tell at you later.

Jinx:You really just might be crazier than me.

Her entire body relaxed as she finally put her arms around him. Despite all odds, he really was right here. Leave it the Boy Savior to yet again foil her schemes.

Jinx:At this point I should call you Ekko Location or something.

Ekko:I this point, I should put a fucking bell on you.

Jinx:I’d still get away.

Ekko:And I’d find you again.

Jinx:Heh, yeah. *hugs tightly* You would, wouldn’t you?

[oldestenemy]

Scion, At Rest - in which trust is unshakeable

welcome to me deciding to ignore time order for a moment and post a piece from the epilogue/companion series to Forever Onward, Scion Read on ao3 here <3

Eurydice Nightshade is in the midst of teaching a class about the important difference between historic names, titles, and true names. It’s one of their favorites. Something they remember fixating on for months when it had first been introduced to them—long ago as that now was.

“Professor?”

“Yes—Ironglade isn’t it?” One of Dorothy’s students, only recently starting to pick up Conjuration as a secondary.

“Do people have true names?”

“Everything has a true name—living or dead, though the dead are often unresponsive to non-necromantic influence outside specific circumstances—I can cover the intersections between the two another time—the living on the other hand, do have true names.”

“And they work the same?”

“Using a persons true name would give you complete control over them—similar to that of your summons to the monsters used in battle—assuming you have the power of will to exert that control.” A handful of the students go wide eyed before they finish, making the same jump that always gets made, that the everyday names they use could somehow be used against them. “Fortunately, given names and true names are not the same. A living person’s true name is more than just a word, it’s more than a summons, you must learn even your own through study and meditation. If I were to ask any of you what your true name is, you wouldn’t be able to answer me. It is also exceptionally difficult to acquire a true name belonging to another person without their permission and cooperation.”

“Do you know any?”

A pause while they consider Ironglade’s question, glancing around the class and realizing the little triad of chaos happens to be entirely present. If they feel up to dealing with the inevitable consequences—technically there was an opportunity for demonstration here.

Eurydice nods slowly before they speak, “Opalkeeper, go collect Professor Grimwater for me?”

“Dog what?”

“Darana.” They resist the urge to roll their eyes. This will be worth it.

“I’m going—I’m going!”

~*~

The door to Duncan’s classroom is swung open at full speed, revealing Darana Opalkeeper leant halfway in across the frame. “Daaaaaad—Professor Nightshade wants you for something in their class. The lesson is on True Names, so, what they call you in the privacy of your own home is not the subject of today”

“I’m not your father, Darana.” The response is an ingrained habit at this point, so often does some form of that joke leave the Conjuror’s mouth. He doesn’t grace the latter half of their statement with a response. Which is usually the correct choice. “Mistsong, keep an eye on your classmates until I’m back, no summoning anything until I am back in this room—I’ll know if you’ve lied to me.”

“Do you hear this shit?” Darana crows over their shoulder as Duncan moves past them into the courtyard, “Disowned! Orphaned even!”

“Nobody fucking believes that Daz!” Allison Ashwraith yells back, only to have Darana flip her off before they slam the classroom door, needing to jog to catch back up.

Duncan just shakes his head, taking a breath and training the slight smile back off of his face before Darana is close enough to see it. Titans sake, was this really a good idea? Out of every class this could have been for—was it necessary to choose one Opalkeeper was present for?

…though given their timeline, he wasn’t sure there was a class of Eurydice’s they weren’t in.

~*~

“I take it you have a good reason for interrupting my lecture, Professor Nightshade?” Duncan asks, voice carrying the level of exasperation they’d expected given the request.

Eurydice smiles and doesn’t answer, simply waits for Darana to get back to their seat, “Class, watch carefully.”

And the sound that leaves their mouth is not entirely a word, not fully, not in any language their students can absorb, and they reach out to Duncan’s mind. The pieces that make him up sitting at the forefront of their own, lining up and twisting with their own like puzzle pieces slotting together.

There is a moment of resistance, a soft telepathic really, Eurydice?

Their smile shifts into more of a smirk. You brought this on yourself.

There is a split second where they see a flash of annoyance in Duncan’s expression as they refuse to back down—it’s expected, there was no satisfaction if he didn’t push back at least a little—before his eyes unfocus, pupils blown so wide the grey had nearly disappeared behind them, then they return to normal and he’s given in. They feel his body like an extension of their own. The sharp edges of resistance where part of him is still trying to fight back, not exactly on purpose, more out of instinct. Self preservation.

The room is deathly silent.

None of their students daring even to breathe. Someday they may well regret this particular display falling during a class when they have all three of their most chaotic pupils there to witness it. But not right now.

When they speak again, Duncan follows suit in perfect time. Their words overlapping, not repetition, but complete unison. “True names are as much about respect as they are willpower and control. Especially with living things. The mind of a human person does not like being bent into shape by outside forces.” The odd sensation of sound vibrating through two heads, their own and his. One of the closest things they’d ever experienced to matching that internal echo Raven’s words used to carry. “You have to understand what, and in the case of a person—who—you are commanding. In the case of monsters and myths, you can study them to find answers, you can summon and entreat them outside the confines of battle, build your understanding, as you saw with our lesson on the Minotaur.”

A pause, they tilt their head slightly, one hand outstretched just to help with the focus. Words are easy, actions though—actions required a little more thought. There is more pushback, resistance like heavy duty elastic. “However,” just their own voice now, “once that control has been claimed—”

Admittedly, the spin looks more graceful than it does in their minds eye. Duncan is, after all, not a polar bear in a tutu. But the motion is still the same. Something they can pull from that is both easy to convey—and unlikely to happen under any normal circumstance.

“—it is exceptionally difficult to break from.”

“Holy shit.” Eurydice chances looking away just so that they don’t miss the wide eyed expression on Darana’s face. It’s worth it. On either side of their friend, Zinnia Thunderwhistle and Brecken Bittersweet seem equally enraptured by the display.

“There are, obviously, exceptions.” Eurydice continues, setting their focus back to Duncan, having him come forward until he’s level with them in front of their desk. “For example—impossibilities, I cannot ask him to sprout wings and fly expecting compliance. It’s not that I lack the drive to put behind the order—he simply lacks the ability to follow it.” A pause as they pull their sword from where it is typically sheathed on their hip. An older piece. Fitting here. Belonging to one of the paladins roaming the Labyrinth. “Another being something that would override the mind’s usual faculties—life or death, fight, flight, and freeze reactions do not play well with any form of compulsion—which is often what using the true name of a living person is closest to.”

A breath.

They are perfectly aware he’s capable of breaking this.

But this in particular is just on the edge of nerve wracking.

One strike, aimed well for the side of Duncan’s throat.

A feeling like glass shattering inside their skull.

The hand that catches the blade wreathed in Shadow, a sliver of the Sentinel called up to block it from his skin. A sharp twist and it’s wrenched fully from their grip. Grey eyes narrowed in irritation and focus.

“Welcome back, Professor Grimwater.” Eurydice has to bite back on the grin trying to break through their controlled expression. Settling into what is maybe an approximation of respectable mirth. “That was all, you’re welcome to return to your own classroom—provided you leave my sword behind.”

Read my other wiz fic here <3

[zazikels]

lol now that i went back and redid the whole thing, the final conversation with shadowheart is actually that fucking bad in general.

(for the good(TM) ending i.e no shar) she has one of the most emotion driven slowburn romances in the game if you do it correctly that is purely committed to each other shit, she literally tells the pc she wants a life WITH THEM WHICH THEY CAN SAY THEY WANT TOO, if her dad is there he tells the pc he hopes shadowheart will want to live near his wife and him, with her paramour, and then larian proceeds to treat relationship is treated like you had a fling and you never discussed your future together, lmao 'you and i had a connection' 'oh i had hoped for more bc our time has been so precious to me' 'come find me when you're free it's not like i just asked you to build a life with me recently' just remove all of the player's autonomy here too, what a fucking joke.

[hollisiguess]

im bored so y’all are getting some hazbin hcs

Alastor is aroace and agender but he does not know it he has no clue what ANY of those words mean

Rosie actually knows that Alastor is all of those but to fuck with him she doesn’t tell him however she will from time to time call him one of those (for example when she says she knows Alastor is an ace in the hole)

Alastor and Rosie are in a qpr!

Velvette and Vox are besties they will gossip about everyone and everything

Velvette is a non-binary lesbian who uses she/her

EVERYONE in hell assume that the vees are a polycule and for the chaos they never correct anyone

Velvette barely tolerates Valentino and would like to beat the shit out of him at any given time

Ok I have to restrain myself with Velvette so last one even though Vox has beef with Alastor to everyone’s shock she hangs out with him every once and a while over some tea

Lute is aroace but she and Adam are « dating » bc people kept asking Lute out would never take no for an answer and it was making her uncomfortable

Despite everything Adam does care for Lute and is a good friend towards her hence why he agreed to the fake dating plan

Vaggie before getting her wings back would get HORRIBLE phantom pain from them and whenever Charlie would ask what was up she would always dodge the questions and Charlie wanting to respect her gfs boundaries wouldn’t push to much

Vaggies love language is acts of service and Charlie’s is physical touch

Charlie ADORES Vaggies wings she thinks they make her gf even more gorgeous then she already is

Vaggie is actually insecure of her wings as they remind her of a past she’s rather forget but Charlie fawning over them does make her like her wings a bit more

If Charlie is cold Vaggie will use her wings to make her warmer

After the battle against the exorcist Vaggie went back to thank Carmilla for her help and the two got to talking and ended bonding now they meet weekly at Carmillas to practice battle together (the both enjoy it greatly) and sometimes it leads to Vaggie staying for dinner

Carmilla Carmine is essentially Vaggies mom/mentor

Vaggie bonded with Carmillas daughters and they see eachother as sisters

Charlie will sometimes head over to cannibal town to give Rosie a visit and she now calls Rosie Auntie all the time

Vaggie brought Charlie to meet Carmilla and Charlie brought Vaggie to meet Rosie (both were super nervous to meet each others respective mom/aunt figure worried they wouldn’t approve)

Husk and Cherri used to hate eachother but after Angel forced them to hang out they grew to like eachother in a I hate u and hope u die/affectionate type of way

Angel does Cherris hair and I will not elaborate

Angel can’t cook for shit and almost set the hotel on fire many times (he’s now banned from the kitchen)

Vaggie however is a great chef!

Husk taught all the members of the hotel who didn’t already know how to play poker, poker

The hotel guests now have game night which is usually the entire cast struggling while Alastor, Husk and Vaggie sweep and have a rivalry between themselves the others are trying tho!

Alastor also taught the residents chess

Nifty eats the pieces

Im not elaborating on that last one

Vaggie and Angel actually like one another (PLATONICALLY) even considering one another one of their closest friends but neither would ever admit it out loud

Alright now that that's said Angel and Vaggie have mini cooking lessons in secret (WITHOUT ANY FIRE for safety reasons ofc) so Angel can make food for his friends

Lucifer and Vaggie actually bonded a lot especially given both are fallen angels

When Lucifer found out why Vaggie was cast out and how Vaggie had to physically restrain him from (somehow don’t question how he'd even be able to get to heaven to do it) beating the shit out of Lute

Shickingly Lucifer, nifty and Husk are friends and hang out

in fact Lucifer knew Husk before the hotel and had already grown fond of him

Sir Pentious and Charlie are besties

Charlie was the first person who Sir Pentious actually told he liked Cherri (the others still knew but like he actually told Charlie)

Sir Pentious makes Alastor babysit the egg bois after the outing he had with them a while back

Sir Pentious does like Emily but she kinda makes him sad as she reminds him so much of Charlie and he cant see her anymore given she's currently in hell

Razzle was always super attached to Charlie but Dazzle wierdly enough got super attached to Vaggie making her even angrier with Lute when she killed him

Imma end the hcs here cause this is already a shit tone lol

[queensunshinee]

His favorite toy- Part 4 || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex), our favorite toxic relationship is back.

Word Count: 6.1k

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

This one can stand on its own, but I recommend reading the rest :)

His favorite toy- Part 4:

"What are you doing here?" I tried to sound composed. My heart couldn't stop racing at a speed I never wanted it to beat again. A speed reserved for one person only. And no matter how many years passed or how out of place he would seem in my world, Art Donaldson entered my life like he was the boss. Like he was paying my salary. With exaggerated confidence and an aura that made me blush. A smile that made my lips tremble.

I was painfully aware that my mascara was smudged after a too-long day, and that I had taken my shirt out of my skirt after lunch. Painfully aware that I had taken off my shoes an hour ago because pacing around the room in heels made it hard to think. Painfully aware that he was seeing me in all my flaws now. Years after the last time we met, and he was just as smug.

"I was in the area, and Patrick mentioned something about you working around here..." he said, as if everything in that sentence made sense. As if the fact that I stayed in touch with Patrick made sense. I nodded, trying to somehow control this ridiculous situation. I'm not supposed to react this chaotically to Art Donaldson. I'm 28. I'm not a 19-year-old girl. I do morning meditations. I drink green smoothies and ginger shots. I'm a fucking queen. But I don't feel particularly royal when I remember the coffee stain on my shirt, or the half-eaten avocado sandwich I bought from the café downstairs. It was awful. Both the sandwich and the café. I’m pretty sure the regular barista hates me because once I corrected one of my orders. Ever since, he's been out to get me. It’s a nightmare. I've considered changing jobs more times than I'd like to admit because of it.

"That sounds... completely normal," I mumbled, and he chuckled in response. One of his legs found its natural place over the other, and his fingers played with one of his billion rings in a disturbingly nonchalant way. "Is a tennis player supposed to have that many rings?" I blurted out the first thing that came to mind, knowing how stupid it sounded. Hating myself a little for how stupid it sounded. "I don’t play with them, and they’re beautiful," he shrugged. "They’re ridiculous," I rolled my eyes, trying to recover from this topic of conversation. "Yours is ridiculous," he shot back playfully, looking directly at my ring. At the small diamond (Art probably thinks it’s too small- well, fuck him).

"Oh, this?" I asked, and now we were both looking at it. I liked it until about three seconds ago. Until he walked into the room and stared at it like it was filled with snake venom. It felt like it weighed as much as my entire body. It felt like it was burning my hand from the inside. My blood boiled beneath it, reminding me that all my plans just went to hell. A reminder that I was crazy to even try making plans. "It’s pretty, delicate," I could hear the mockery in his tone. No matter how many years passed, I would always recognize every nuance in his voice. Every rise and fall in octaves. Every unnecessary affectation. He smiled the way he did when he tried to get under my skin—five minutes hadn’t passed, and he’d already succeeded. How embarrassing. What a failure as a person. A failure as a woman. A failure to feminism. Sitting in my office with a coffee stain on my shirt, while my ex from college critiques my choices like some kind of fraudulent fortune-teller. Like God sent him to help me make some life-changing decision.

"Why are you here?" I asked again, trying to maintain control and not snap at him. After all, we hadn’t spoken in nearly a decade. What good would it do to lash out at him? What would it accomplish to tell him about the therapy sessions, about the years I didn’t believe anything good was coming my way at all? About the fact that because of him, I didn’t believe I could ever be anyone’s first choice. "Why did you stay in touch with Patrick?" he asked, and for a moment, it sounded like his tough mask cracked. Like his defenses crumbled and his heart was laid bare. Like we were 20 again, and he was holding my face, explaining how scared he was to let me go.

"He insisted," I shrugged. The day after that party, Tashi's accident happened. Some would call it karma, but I’d say it was just bad luck. Because even though she hurt me without even knowing my name, I never wanted her career to end before it even began. And everyone was sad that day—Patrick, because he felt guilty, Tashi, because her knee twisted in the air, and Art, because he lost a friend and the girl who forgave him for all his bullshit. Aka me. But he won what really mattered. He got Tashi. Patrick found me that day in the library, refusing to wallow in my own misery, and somehow, he managed to entwine his miserable life with mine. He managed to secure a spot on my couch from time to time. He managed to impress me with lame jokes about his pathetic life, or maybe about mine.

And life didn’t turn out the way I planned. I didn’t discover a cure for cancer or make it to space by age 25. My apartment was crappy. So fucking crappy. But there were funny moments, and I only occasionally followed Art’s career. I only followed his love life when his face and Tashi’s were plastered on billboards. That could never have been me. It would never have worked. It wasn’t meant to be, I’d tell myself every time I was filled with self-pity. Every time I worked a temporary job selling skincare products or transcribing lectures for students. Every time I felt lost. I knew he wouldn’t have settled for someone like me in the long run.

He and Patrick made up two years ago, which was ironic. Because what’s the point of maintaining my friendship with Patrick if not to have at least one person in my life who understands the pain of knowing Art Donaldson? Of knowing that once, he was a part of your life, and it felt amazing. Almost unreal. Almost spiritual. But they made up, and Patrick promised me he wouldn’t talk about me with the smug bastard sitting in front of me right now. He promised and didn’t keep it. Well, here’s someone who’s never eating pasta at the restaurant near my place on my dime ever again.

"He insisted?" Art looked amused, and I just shrugged again in response. I knew he wanted more details, but I wanted him to take a headfirst dive into a volcano. Desires are ridiculous. "He insisted," I repeated, and this time he laughed. Actually laughed. "It's like you two have a contract not to tell me anything. How am I supposed to work with that?" He spoke as if we’d been friends for years. As if there hadn’t been a rupture, a break, and devastation. As if I didn’t have the image of him leaving me at that party seared into my brain. As if my heart hadn’t shattered into pieces because of him more times than I could count.

"I want you to handle my money," he suddenly said. "Excuse me?" I raised an eyebrow, looking at him as if he'd lost a lobe of his brain. "You're a financial advisor, right? Be my financial advisor," he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, all while glancing at the pathetic office I was sitting in. "You don’t want me to be your financial advisor, Art," I almost snorted in disbelief. "You haven’t spoken to me in ten years, and now you know what I want?" he asked, allowing himself to raise an eyebrow in return. "This is a big firm; I can recommend someone who’d be happy to take you on," I tried to fake a smile. "I'll go to your boss and tell him I’m willing to let only you handle my account, and that you’re refusing. I’m sure he’d be thrilled. I Googled him—Albert looks like a guy who’d love to lose a wealthy client," and I saw that spark in his eyes. Challenging. Almost childish. The kind that said, 'Let’s see what you do. You’ll lose.'

"That’s a terrible idea," I declared. "Keeping in touch with Patrick and not me is a terrible idea. Managing my investments will give you some good money," he said, gesturing with his hands, and for the first time, I realized how big his hands were. "Are you bored with your life, Donaldson?" I asked, trying to figure out what I was dealing with here. "Come on, Peaches, you have to admit you missed me, at least a little." And for a change, his smile was genuine. He looked like every word I said could hurt him. "Like I miss my appendix," I rolled my eyes, and he laughed. "I’m looking forward to working with you." He suddenly stood up and extended his hand for a handshake, as if that wasn’t utterly ridiculous. "I’m looking forward to it like a deer looks forward to being eaten by a lion. It’s on my wish list," I said, and he just laughed again. A laugh that was too real. The kind that made tears gather in his eyes.

An hour after he left my dingy office, my heart was still racing at an unreasonable pace. The kind that made me wonder if there was a defibrillator in the building. I tried to remember if I shook his hand at the end of the meeting. I couldn’t. . . . As he left your office, Art felt like he does after a long tennis match. One that he won. A thought detached from reality, but he allowed himself those kinds of thoughts now. He was a new person. He believed in victories before they even happened. And seeing you after so many years in real life, not in blurry Facebook pictures, felt like a victory. You hadn’t changed much. The years had even given you a more sophisticated look—subtle yet full of curves. Your eyes still looked at him with that same spark. With a glimmer of something he could never quite put his finger on. But he wanted to conquer it. He wanted to win.

When Patrick and he reconnected, it was alongside the problems that only began in his relationship with Tashi. Alongside Lily’s birth, alongside the intrusive thoughts that had plagued him all his life, he wondered if it was a mistake. But Patrick was Patrick, and when he insisted on something, he got his way. And for Patrick, he and Art had to reconnect. So they did. Slowly, gradually. He wasn’t his best friend anymore, of course. But sometimes Art thought he was his only friend. Which was strange, because he was always surrounded by people. Tashi was supposed to be his best friend, but she never was. She made it clear more than once that it was a ridiculous notion.

One night, as he and Patrick were having beers at some sketchy bar, Patrick casually mentioned that you and he were good friends. Art looked at him as if he’d fallen from the moon. He wanted to punch him. He hadn’t expected that. It felt like someone had punched him in the chest and knocked all the air out of his lungs. Patrick got over Tashi and settled for you? You weren’t supposed to be a compromise. Art wouldn’t allow that. He’d go to war if he had to. He had no grounds for such a war, but you were too good to settle for Patrick. You were too good to settle for anyone, really.

He quickly realized that things between you and Patrick were platonic. Or at least that’s what the guy sitting across from him kept repeating, but Art wasn’t fully convinced. Everything was too mysterious. Patrick kept too much information to himself. He didn’t share anything with Art about your life, and the more Patrick kept things hidden, the more obsessed Art became.

And it wasn’t weird that he checked if you’d posted a new status on Facebook almost as often as he checked if his infant daughter needed anything. It wasn’t weird that he searched for you on Instagram. It wasn’t weird that he looked through the profiles of all 67 people you followed and hated most of them. Because you didn’t follow him, and millions of people did. You could have followed, and he wouldn’t have even noticed—allegedly.

"She got engaged," Patrick said one day, throwing it into the air as if he were talking about his grocery list. Art stared at him, blinking, trying to process the information. Who’s the person responsible for this? Who’s the person who took you away, and why do you think he deserves forever with you? What kind of thought is that—that someone else deserves forever with you? That someone gets to have a picnic in the park with you. To pick you up for dates. To share a house with you. There’s someone who’s going to be the father of your kids. Who picked out a ring for you. Who’s going to make sure your dreams come true. Art doesn’t know what your dreams are. But he doesn’t want to think about it.

"Is he a good guy?" Art knew that was what he was supposed to ask. That’s what social norms demanded. "I’ve sat with them a few times when they were together. He’s kind and funny, and I think he loves her," Patrick shrugged, as if that’s all it takes to be with you. "Well, I’m happy for her," Art took a gulp of whiskey, too big, letting the drink burn its way down his throat. Patrick looked at him like he didn’t believe him. His problem, Art thought. Let him believe whatever he wants.

That night, Art opened your Instagram while Tashi was asleep. There wasn’t a picture of a ring or a tag of some guy. Tashi got annoyed because of the phone light. Art apologized.

That was almost six months ago. Since then, his life had changed because he and Tashi decided to keep their relationship strictly professional. It was for both of their benefit, though he wasn’t entirely sure how much it benefited him. He was still learning how to function without her. He was still learning how to communicate effectively. He was still trying to bridge the dissonance that came with going home to an empty house, yet navigating press conferences as if he were happily married.

In two weeks, even that charade would end. And he wasn’t sure what he was even fighting for. Because they weren’t truly happy. And you were in his thoughts enough for it to count as emotional cheating if he were married. So he let Tashi go. He was much less broken than he had imagined he would be without her.

'I’m looking forward to working with you.' -Art- He couldn’t resist sending the message. Maybe ten at night was too late. Maybe you were already asleep. Maybe your fiancé was with you, trying to love you. Maybe Art was intruding.

He didn’t particularly care if he was. . . . "I’m going to kill you," I said into the phone, hearing Patrick's rolling laughter. "You're exaggerating—" he began, trying to save his ass. "We had one rule! Just one, Patrick!" I found myself pacing the bedroom while Alec worked in the living room. This was the day after the meeting with Art Donaldson. "He lives in New York and he’s divorced. I felt like a jerk not telling him where you work when he asked so nicely," Patrick’s voice sounded genuine. "He's not divorced," I rolled my eyes. I would know if Art were divorced. His and Tashi's faces are plastered all over this stinking city.

"They’re finalizing things in about a week and a half. There will be a press conference and everything. It’s going to be a big deal," he said, as if it were common knowledge. As if I should already know this. "Sorry I didn’t give you a heads-up. That wasn’t cool," he added, and I could hear him biting into something, probably an apple. "We’re supposed to be a team. You can’t prioritize Art Donaldson’s interests over mine. I fed you when you were half-homeless," I declared. "I still prioritize your interests, drama queen," he continued speaking lightly, as if I had no reason to feel like my world was crumbling. "How is this prioritizing my interests? I’m going to manage his money. I’m going to handle his investments, Patrick. I’m going to see his stupid face every time he wants, as part of my job. Because of you! This is your fault!" I found myself stopping for a moment in the room, almost stomping my foot in frustration. Years of self-work going down the drain.

"Everything okay, Bunny?" I heard Alec's voice from the living room. "Yeah, I’m just talking to Patrick," I replied, steadying my voice into something more composed and responsible. So he’d keep thinking I had my life together. "Tell him 'hi,'" Alec said, and I could only guess he’d put his headphones back on. "Well, hi," I rolled my eyes, returning to the conversation with the chief idiot. "I’m sorry," Patrick mumbled after a few seconds of silence, and I hung up, sprawling on the bed like a starfish. He didn’t sound sorry.

I sat down next to Alec on the couch, wearing just my bra and panties with an open button-down shirt over it. Sexy enough for any stranger peeking through the window. A teenage boy's wet dream. I’m on fire. He kept staring at his screen, ignoring my existence. I started placing small kisses along his neck, trying to set the mood. Trying to seal the deal. Trying not to think about the one-who-shall-not-be-named. Trying to be a good woman. Trying to conquer feminism with mediocre sex, just like Alec and I know how to deliver. "I really have to finish this, Bunny," he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably, making me sigh, lean back, and roll my eyes. "How long will it take?" I asked. "You’ll probably be asleep by then. Watch an episode of your favorite show instead," he said without looking at me. "Can we talk about the wedding?" I tried another angle. "If I don’t have time to make love to you, I definitely don’t have time to plan the wedding," he said, slipping those hideous—massive—headphones back on, ending the conversation. I kind of hated that he never said "fuck" or "have sex" or even used the word "sex" in general. He always treated it like I was Princess Diana. I am clearly not Princess Diana. Sometimes I wonder if he even wants to marry me at all. It’s been over six months since he proposed, and he’s been dodging setting a date since practically the same day. It’s very frustrating. I need to meditate.

"Bunny," he suddenly said, and I looked at him expectantly while he removed his headphones after I’d already started heading to the bedroom, "you have a stain on your shirt." He quickly put his headphones back on, eyes glued to the screen. At least the soup I had for lunch managed to fuck me today. . . . "You can't just show up here," I said as I tried to finish chewing the terrible sandwich I’d chosen today. I think it had mold. "If you had answered my messages, we could’ve scheduled something without me showing up at your office." Art looked good. So fucking good. It was frustrating. Today was the day I decided to skip the contacts and wear glasses. God hates me. But on the other hand, God was trying to help me—making sure Art Donaldson never gets attracted to me. God is on my side. I knew she was a feminist.

"What do you want?" I mumbled in surrender, knowing he wouldn’t leave until he said whatever he came to say so we could all move on with our lives. "To talk business," he smiled from ear to ear. "I'm eating right now, come back in half an hour," I replied, "or better yet, schedule a meeting like a rational human being." I continued pressing my point. "Better idea, let's go grab lunch and talk business over food." He looked at me like a dad who just told his little girl what her next hour is going to look like. "Sorry, I can't—" "Art Donaldson! When I got your email, I couldn't believe it," Albert burst into my office excitedly. Sure, let’s invite everyone. Apparently, there’s free cookies being handed out. All are welcome.

Art kept wearing his unbearable poster smile while Albert went on and on about tennis and how much he loved Rafael Nadal. Albert is clearly a man with vast general knowledge. "She treating you right?" Albert asked Art as if they were best friends, and now they both stared at me while all I wanted was to finish my food-poisoning sandwich in peace. "She just agreed to join me for lunch to talk about my money," Art said, and if looks could kill, Art Donaldson would’ve had a stroke right there and disappeared from our lives as suddenly as he appeared. But no, looks don’t kill, and feminist God apparently isn’t on my side anymore because now I’m sitting across from this asshole at a diner. I ordered a burger because I knew he’d never allow himself to eat one and would whine for hours about how he wants to eat a burger every day but can’t.

"I hope that's okay," I smiled one of the fakest smiles I could muster, blinking as I took a bite of the slab of meat in front of me. "Mmm, it's amazing," I sighed, watching for a moment as he stared at me, mouth half-open, eyes sparkling. "You're cruel," he stated after shaking his head, as if shaking off urges. He looked different with short hair. I always told him he needed to cut it because it kept falling into his eyes, but his curls had a youthful playfulness that was clearly missing now. He looked defeated.

"So, what did you want to talk about? What are you looking to invest in?" I tried to focus on the reason behind this ridiculous meal while Art stole a fry from my plate and picked at the sad grilled chicken he had ordered. Maybe I should stop making those satisfied sounds when I eat. "You," he said, biting his lip like a kid who let a curse word slip in front of his mom. Testing boundaries. Watching as I rolled my eyes. "I'm not going to let you waste my time, Donaldson," and we both knew I wasn’t just talking about business. Because honestly? Fuck business. Art didn’t seem like someone who was planning to disappear from my life anytime soon. He had shown up too determined for that to happen. "I have no intention of wasting your time, Peaches," he smiled, leaning back, relaxing a little after we established this basic ground rule. He continued stealing my food.

"So, tell me about him," he suddenly said after insisting I order an enormous ice cream that was supposed to be just for me. Every time his spoon got closer, mine heroically fought it off. "Who?" I asked, taking a spoonful of ice cream and leaving it in my mouth for a few seconds. His gaze immediately locked on my ring. "We're not that kind of friends, Donaldson," I said, watching as he inched his spoon toward my ice cream, and I quickly blocked him. No chance. "So what kind of friends are we?" he asked, smiling, looking half at me and half at our spoons, still battling each other. "I don't know," I sighed a little, finally lowering my spoon in defeat. There’s no point in fighting. It’s truly a lost cause.

The more Art Donaldson entered my life, the more Alec distanced himself from it. Art did it in a quiet way, almost eerily so. It started with deep conversations about financial investments he wanted to make. About charity events he wanted to be part of. A foundation he wanted to establish. He talked about his money as if it made sense to be this rich at his age. As if he and I were on the same level in terms of lifestyle. He never once acted condescending about it, even though I expected him to. Even though I had prepared arguments in advance. He never once asked why I didn’t continue in academia or why I gave up on medicine. He didn’t poke at that wound. Even though he could have. Even though it would’ve been easy.

It continued with stupid messages in the middle of the day about how he was hungry, tired, or wanted to go home. Messages about seeing a guy dressed as a bear in the middle of the street. Fucking New York. He’d ask questions about my day. Ask what I ate. If I ate. If I was drinking enough water. Never anything too deep. Never out of nosy curiosity. If I forgot who he was, I might’ve thought he cared about me. I know, it’s unbelievable.

One time, he called me at seven in the evening, talking such nonsense that I wondered if he was drunk. I wondered out loud, of course, because I’m not 19, and I’m not afraid to tell Art Donaldson what I think. He wasn’t drunk. He made dinner and decided to call. He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Said it, and then went on about his day. About Lily. About how she was adjusting to splitting her time between his place and Tashi’s. He talked about Patrick and told me what he was cooking. It was domestic. Like I was a part of his life. Weird.

Alec and I were in the middle of a fight that made me wonder if I was mentally strong enough not to throw the vase that was sitting on the dresser. Not at him. I’m not violent. On the floor, to make a point. “Do you even want to marry me?” I suddenly asked. Because at that point, I no longer knew what was happening. I don’t like not knowing what’s happening. “Of course I wa-” “To who the hell is it obvious? Do you know how embarrassing it is when people ask me about a wedding date almost a year later, and I change the subject?!” I cut him off. “Every time I try to bring it up, you’d rather talk about light fixtures or that time we randomly had an hour-long conversation about types of doors.” I reminded him of some of the truly bizarre moments we’ve had recently. “We do need to replace the door.” I shot him a look that should’ve made it clear that if he kept going with that sentence, I was breaking the vase on the floor.

“Why don’t you want to fuck me anymore?” I suddenly asked. Almost defeated after too much yelling. “What? Bunny-” he blushed. The question was too brutal for him. Too raw for his delicate soul, which couldn’t handle talking about sex. “I can count on one hand how many times we’ve fucked since you proposed,” I said it as bluntly as I could, enjoying his discomfort. “We don’t have to make love every day,” he mumbled. Last time I checked, to make love, there has to be love. I threw the vase. Alec left the house. . . . ‘You’re not at work.’ – A –

‘How is it that we’re back to you not answering me?’ – A –

‘Did you secretly get married over the weekend?’ – A –

‘Seriously, get back to me. It’s about the charity event.’ – A –

The bitter truth was that I was busy wallowing in the current failure of my life- Alec. I binge-watched all the seasons of The O.C. in three days and ate more ice cream than should be legal. But I didn’t feel the pain in my bones the way you’re supposed to when ending what was supposed to be the relationship. I’d once hurt more over losing someone who loved me less.

‘Are you okay? You’ve got our mutual friend worried.’ – P – He talked about Art like he was a spy. ‘Hey, could you stop being an idiot for a second and just answer to say you’re alive?’ – P –

‘I’m calling the fire department to check your apartment.’ – P –

‘This is concerning.’ – P –

‘I’ll call your mom. She’d love to hear from me after that time I burped in her face.’ – P –

‘I broke up with Alec.’ – (Y/N)–

‘You’re not going to die alone.’ – P –

‘I know you think you will, but you won’t.’ – P –

‘You can’t know that.’ – (Y/N) –

‘You’re an idiot.’ – P –

‘Are you okay?’ – P –

‘I mean, obviously you’re not okay, but... are you okay?’ – P –

‘I’m okay.’ –(Y/N)–

When I walked into the hall where Art Donaldson’s charity event for kids with muscular dystrophy, was being held, eyes didn’t turn toward me like they do in the movies. Everyone was too busy with their conversations and stroking each other’s egos. From the side, it almost looked homoerotic—the gentle touches on shoulders and the occasional pats. Almost sexy. Maybe I was seeing sex in things that weren’t sexy because my ex refused to touch me with more resolve than an ant carrying food that weighed more than its body. “You made it,” Art’s voice came from behind me. “You’re sharp,” I shot back as I turned to him, taking one of the champagne glasses he offered. “Is Patrick here too?” I asked. “No, he couldn’t come. He signed up for a Challenger in Malibu,” he replied, his eyes unapologetically scanning me. I felt completely exposed under his penetrating gaze. “So random,” I mumbled. Art’s hand gently pulled me by the waist, bringing me close to him while keeping his hand exactly where it was. I almost let confusion show on my face, but he introduced me to the man who had come over to talk to him, never taking his eyes—or his hand—off me. Not during the next conversation, or the next one, either. He presented us as a strange package deal. If someone wanted to talk to him, they had to talk to me too. Maybe he hoped it would drive people away. It didn’t. "Want to step outside for some air?" he whispered in my ear. After spending most of the evening standing so close to each other, it felt strange to pull away now that no one else was around. "Sure, why not." I shrugged, acting like it wasn’t a big deal. Before stepping out, we each grabbed a glass of wine. "You raised a lot of money," I remarked, trying to break the ice. "You disappeared on me," he shot back, not bothering with small talk. "I’ve been busy." I shrugged again. "Where’s your ring?" he asked. "You’re obsessed with my hands, Donaldson," I said, unsure how to respond to this level of bluntness after being in a relationship with someone who was too scared to talk to me for years. "It’s not relevant anymore," I added, as his gaze didn’t allow me to dodge the question. "Good, it was ugly," he stated, stopping in his tracks, making me stop too and turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow. His expression was challenging again, with that playful spark, inviting a debate. "It wasn’t ugly," I rolled my eyes. "It was pathetic, Peaches. You know you deserve better," he declared, leaving no room for argument.

And somehow, he was so close. Close enough that his breath, smelling of mint gum and wine, blended with mine. "I’m not looking for a rebound," I murmured. "Neither am I," his usual smug smile was gone. There was no trace of it. He looked hazy. Almost captive. "What are you looking for?" I dared to ask. "You," he replied. It was a good answer.

After an excruciatingly long hour and twenty minutes, during which I had two more glasses of wine, and Art spoke into the microphone—stopping me from downing a third—we arrived at his house. It looked a bit like a modern palace. "How is it that you live here?" I mused aloud, and his mouth found my neck as he chuckled. "What, this old thing?" he mumbled, his kisses as sharp as his words. "Don’t leave marks, Donaldson. We’re adults," I managed to say as I kicked off my heels, and he unzipped my dress.

"I want to do this from the moment you walked into the room today. Fuck, you’re so hot," he growled. It was throaty and masculine, almost animalistic. His eyes scanned me like a smoke detector picking up a cigarette. Within seconds, I found myself on the most comfortable couch I had ever been on. His lips traveled over me as if he was painting a map, as if he remembered all the sensitive points on my body. "I missed her," he said, giving a small bite to my right nipple, glancing at my face as I let out a moan. "her too," he added, moving to the left one. "Art, I need you." I tried to make it clear to him that I couldn't handle the teasing right now. That he should save it for another time. For someone else. For something else. I need him inside me.

"Peaches, have some patien—" he started, continuing to place deadly kisses on various areas of my body. "Art, just fuck me. Okay?" I almost pleaded, my voice lower than usual, filled with an inexplicable need. He looked at me for half a minute and nodded. "Okay baby, I got you," he said. And within seconds, his boxers were on the floor, and my panties disappeared too. He was inside me as if this was his home, as if he belonged there. "Fuck. Art. Thank you, there," I felt stupid, but I couldn't control it. I needed him so badly. I needed someone to fill the empty space. That Art Donaldson would fill the empty space.

He moved at a chaotic pace, almost as if he was trying to prove he could give me exactly what I wanted. What I needed. And he was right. I came after a few minutes, during which his cock filled me perfectly, and his lips found mine and refused to let go. He wrapped me from every direction and came right after I did.

"It's like we're teenagers," I muttered, and he laughed. "I usually last longer," he stated, not getting up, his body weight feeling almost comfortable on top of me. It was almost nice to breathe heavily. "So do I," I retorted. His hand drew little shapes on my shoulder. "Let's go to sleep," he decided, standing up slowly, reaching out his hand and pulling me toward him. Not forgetting to give me another kiss on the lips, a small one. As if it had happened a million times before. As if it were a routine.

"Your bed should be illegal, Donaldson," I said after he tossed a soft T-shirt he had in his closet over me. He lay down beside me, laughing. "I can't believe you're here. I was afraid it wouldn't happen," he said, with a seriousness that felt profound. "How long have you been thinking about this?" I tried to sound amused. "Since the moment I stepped into your office," his honesty was both terrifying and comforting. No one had talked to me so openly in a while. "probably before that" he added. "You can't waste my time, Art," I replied, looking up to catch his gaze. . . . Art took a moment to nod. He already had a ring for you. Even before you broke up with that idiot, he had bought the ring. He didn't know where life would lead you. He just knew he was going to spend every free moment proving to you that he loved you enough not to waste your time. Not when you were his favorite person.

How are we doing guys?!?!?!?! Can't wait to hear from you. That's my chance to remind y'all that English is not my first language and I might have some grammar issues. love you all, hope it was a good addition to the story <3

taglist: @lalalandofive @wild-rose-35 @theynothem @angelism13

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

03 — MY COMPASS, MY TRANSPORT

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

“I have nothing else to live for.”

It’s a truth. A deep, earnest one – and it’s the only option you have.

Without Graves, without your Shadows, you have nothing. No income, no family, no support. You're left with the clothes on your body and the shoes in which you stand, with no hope of finding your footing.

In the darkness, the only light shines from the headlights of the truck, and the red of the radio. It’s silenced, of course, but it serves as a beacon of something between you all.

“I don’t – I have no other choice,” you say, voice trembling. You would not break in front of them, but you could feel yourself cracking; porcelain underneath a harsh grip. Turning yourself so you’re completely facing the two, your expression turns desperate. “I want to help you both, and I want to save Phi– Graves.”

You correct yourself at the final moment, wary of your slip up.

“Save ‘im? From what? Feckin’ charges for war crimes? Getting his ass handed to ‘im?” Soap chokes out, incredulous, eyes wide where they meet yours. He winces when he moves forward too quick, straining his arm.

“He’s…” You look down at your hands, merely watching for a moment as they close into a fist and open again. Blood crusts underneath your fingernails. “He’s all I have. I’m sure he just needs a wake up call, someone to snap him out of it.”

“He tried to kill us,” Ghost speaks up, matter-of-fact, but quiet. As if at any moment, his words will wake up the entire city. If there were any civilians left in it, you supposed. Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“...And I had to kill some of my men.”

It’s a confession of sin. Like poison on your tongue, yet at the same time, an anecdote to an evil in your veins. You’d killed your men. You’d… done that.

You still haven’t quite allowed yourself to realise it, not yet.

But if it’s enough to keep you alive right now, so be it. You hadn’t gotten this far just to give up over something as inconsequential as pride.

“Ye will tell us everything you know about ‘im. And’ll help us until we figure out what to do. We’re our own bosses now, Sweetheart,” Soap commands, that fucking nickname of his seeming to stick. You don’t dispute it – not right now, not when this is quite literally life or death.

“I promise,” you say, resolute and stern. There was no time for self-pity or wallowing, only time for action and conviction – something you had in spades. “I’m yours for as long as you need me.”

You hadn’t known how true those words would be – not then, and not for a good while. But they were a prophecy, if such a thing could at all be possible for a woman like you.

Soap and Ghost share a look; a brief, yet important one, before Ghost gives the Scot a short nod. Soap turns once more to you, his face betraying the answer of their silent agreement.

“...So?” You suggest, impatient considering the consequences of the next few moments. 

Bringing a hand up to stroke at his stubbled chin, Soap makes an act of pretending to ponder – and it succeeds in stoking the flames at your core, fury burning through you like a liquor-soaked rope.

“I dunno, lass,” he says on a sigh, his ocean eyes betraying a mischief in their depths. “Yer kinda mean to me.”

You might choke him.

Actually, check that, you will choke him. He’s impossible – an arsehole to the nth degree – somehow worse than Ghost in his… foolishness? Was that the right word? Or just straight frustrating-ness?

Seeming to sense your thinning patience, Soap’s hand falls from his jaw with a mirthful smirk, proud of himself. 

“If ye say pretty please, ye can join our lil’ duo.” He finishes the statement off with a wink, and you don’t realise that your hands have curled into fists until the sharp pain of nails digging into your palms force you to resort back to your senses.

You let out a slow, loud breath. 

Neither of them move a muscle, except for the twitch of Soap’s dimple. You hate that you recognise such a small movement, but you easily blame it on the fact that it’s a drilled-in mentality.

“...Please,” you acquiesce, however quiet. 

Ghost’s eyebrow raises. How you’re aware of that, considering his mask, is a props to him. 

“That’s not what he asked for.” His voice is a low, husky thing, and the title of guard dog suddenly doesn’t sound so incorrect.

With your teeth gritted and cheeks straining, you mutter out, “Pretty please.”

Soap’s responding smile is nothing short of beaming, and you almost immediately wish that you could take those words back. Was death really so bad? Would it even be a mercy, compared to deciding to share a threadbare camaraderie with these weirdos?

Too bad time control isn’t exactly a well-researched military weapon.

“Let’s go then,” Ghost slaps his gloved hand against the steering wheel, before looking one last time towards you with purpose, “Sweetheart.”

Soap laughs.

You get out and slam the door in his face.

“Och! You feckin’ bastard, lass,” you hear him screech, before the door opens once more and Soap hops out, fuming.

Turning away, you fall behind Ghost, and quickly take a look around at the vast, empty area that is barren suburbia. Not before responding, however.

“Next time you get shot, I’m not taking care of your ass,” you threaten. “And I’m giving the rest of my sweets to Mr. Melodramatic.”

Soap’s returning mock gasp is, in all fairness, pretty comedic. “You have more sweets? Gimme those and ye lovely bedside manners ‘nd I’ll get a cavity!”

Your returning glare could cut steel. “Keep that up, and you’ll end up with bigger issues than a cavity.”

“I think ye are already the bigger issue,” Soap snaps back, but it’s not inherently malicious. It’s… borderline playful, and that sudden thought has you internally slapping yourself.

“Both of ya – quiet,” Ghost warns.

You both shut up immediately.

With wary steps, the three of you go to step up towards the front door, when Ghost swings out a hand, stopping the lot of you in your tracks. The night doesn’t allow for any of you to see well, but he must’ve picked up something that you hadn’t.

The thought is an immediately terrifying one.

“Pressure plates,” Soap murmurs under his breath, eyeing the square linoleum tile. “Nice catch, Lt.”

Ghost doesn’t respond, instead motioning for you to follow him towards a glassless window. Gravel crunches underneath your light footfalls, easily heard in the deathly quiet, as you move to swing your leg over the access point and drop to the floor inside.

Landing with a soft thud, you go to unfurl from your crouching position, before a loud warning shout from Ghost has you freezing.

Flinching where you stand, your eyes dart to where Ghost has flung one of his daggers, the sharp metal splintering a wooden beam further into the dark room. Realising that Soap sits at your flank, you shift your gaze to spot a red light focused in on his forehead – between his eyes.

“¿Quien esta ahi?” An unfamiliar, accented voice calls out from behind the beam. You could slap yourself for being so careless, in not realising that someone else was in here before Ghost had saved your arses. 

“Rodolfo!” Soap calls out, relief flooding his tone as he rights his position, shoulders back.

A man peeks out from behind the wood, eyes wide and slightly panicked, before they soften at the sight of the two men behind you. “Soap! Ghost! You’re alive!”

Stepping out from around the beam, he reaches for Ghost’s dagger, pulling it away from where it had dug into the oak with undeniable ease. His appearance is striking, with a set jaw and gentle features – he’s quite pretty, but not at all in a way that you find yourself attracted to the man.

“Affirmative,” Ghost responds, accepting the knife back when the man – Rodolfo – hands it to him hilt-first.

“Good to see you, amigos,” Rodolfo smiles, before his appraisal sets on you, confusion sparking in his deep brown eyes. He looks to the two men at your side for an explanation, hesitant in the way he does so.

“This is…” Soap trails off, before coming to a realisation. “Feckin’ hell. I never even asked for yer name, Sweetheart.”

Rodolfo blinks. Once, twice, before his eyebrows furrow and his mouth settles into an uncomfortable grimace.

You shoot a glare Soap’s way, before gifting Rodolfo a polite, yet stilted, smile. Extending your hand, you give him your name, and then your official title.

“Colonel? Graves’ colonel?” Rodolfo repeats back, utterly taken aback by such an introduction. He doesn’t seem to know what to do, quickly hissing to Soap in unamused Spanish, “¿Has perdido la cabeza?”

“I saved his life,” you interrupt, before any verbal sparring begins. “And I’m on your team. I don’t agree with what Graves is doing – and I’m sorry for what he’s already done. But I want to help you. I swear.”

Rodolfo regards you for a moment, his internal walls still heavily locked in place. But he seems… softer, now, in a way. More understanding, maybe, less hesitant as he slowly appraises you, inspecting you under his critical analysis.

The silence stretches, before the soldier raises his hands placatingly, the left side of his mouth twitching into a smooth smirk. “No accusations from me, Corazón,” he reassures, the pet name sliding from his full lips like butter over warm toast.

“Aye, none of tha’,” Soap warns, and Rodolfo’s amusement deepens. Whatever the Scot is about to say next is abruptly stopped by Ghost’s booming demand from behind you both.

“Anyone outside of these walls is now considered a hostile – we’re a team now. This happened under my watch, and I’d bloody well do good to fix it.” His posture is stiff, hand unconsciously flexing around the blade strapped to his belt as he delivers the order. It’s the most you’ve ever heard him speak in one shot.

You figure he’s stopped speaking, when suddenly his heavy gaze is on you, any ounce of solidarity snuffed out like a match’s flame. “You fuck up once, Sweetheart, and I won’t hesitate when I shoot ya dead.”

It’s as good of a compromise as you’re going to get from the hulking Lieutenant, but you weren’t made Colonel for your talents in stepping down.

“You forget that I outrank you,” you challenge, chin raised and eyes flinty. “And that I saved your mutt.”

“We don’t have a feckin’ dog,” Soap starts, but when he sees the way Ghost side eyes him, and how you give him an unimpressed look, his jaw drops. “Ye bastard! Shoulda killed ya –”

Rodolfo’s hand wraps around Soap’s forearm, the grumbling man twisting in his hold, but not putting up anything close to a fight. “She’s just stirring you up, hermano,” Rodolfo placates, his large eyes meeting yours with a hint of respect in them. It has you straightening your spine, and your resolve.

“We sort this out as equals,” you state, folding your arms over your chest and bucking your hip. Ghost doesn’t, for a single second, shift your mutual eye contact. “And you will all tell me what the fuck’s going on – and what we’re doing.”

“Alejandro,” Ghost quips, sharp and to the point. Finally, you think, his near-black eyes drift to Rodolfo. “We need him back.”

“He’s the only other lad we can trust out there,” Soap adds, his pout easing slightly. Rodolfo finally drops his hand, clapping it hard against the petulant man’s shoulder with a firm nod.

“Already got a head start, hermanos,” he gestures for the three of you to follow him further into the room, before his calculating eyes glance back at you, “y hermana.”

It’s an unknown, entirely different feeling that erupts inside of your chest at the inclusion. Rodolfo was clearly the most soft spoken man of the three, but he had an intelligence to him that you couldn’t wait to unpack. And he trusted you. Or so you had gathered, anyway.

However.

First things first.

“...Where’s Alejandro? I thought he was Mexican Special Forces?” It was, admittedly, a unique kind of embarrassing – how out of the loop you felt, considering you were a colonel under Graves’ command. You’d heard the man’s name before, but it was usually just paired with barracks gossip and warnings to steer clear. Some joke about how the only one who could kill Alejandro, was the soldier himself.

Moving along with Rodolfo, you’re surprised when it’s Soap who supplies you the answer.

“Your fuckwit of a Commander’s got ‘im,” he curses, the words grating and harsh. Deserved, of course it was deserved, yet it was still odd hearing such disrespect for the man of whom you’d idolised for so long.

Of whom you’d given everything.

Switching a light on, Rodolfo stops in front of a large table, a map laid out across the top of it. Your eyes go wide at the intricacies – focusing as the man leans over and presses a finger towards a highlighted spot, watching the three of you where you stand on the other side. Dust floats near the source of the lamp, and the scent of grime hits you a moment later, a familiar thing.

“Graves is holding him here,” Rodolfo explains, his previously mischievous expression settling into a firm, military-grade frown.

“His own personal black site prison,” Soap scoffs, subconsciously flexing his fingers around the straps of his vest. His focus is utterly devoted to the map in front of him, but his anxiety shows itself through the tiniest of movements.

Rubbing his spare hand down his face, Rodolfo lets out a long, strewn-out sigh. “My men are locked in there, too.”

“Then let’s get them back,” you supply with a small shrug when all eyes shoot your direction.

“That’s obvious, lass,” Soap says, lacking any hint of his previous vitriol when he looks around the room. “How we get ‘em back is the question.”

“By breaking in,” Ghost answers, the retort as simple as breathing.

If you weren’t so receptive to body movements, to the smallest of expressions, you’d’ve missed it. Even then, you doubted that anyone could miss how Soap’s eyes soften when he looks to his Lieutenant, how his breath softly hitches in his throat.

You want to claw out your eyes with a rusty spoon.

By the look on Rodolfo’s face, he feels much the same – until he catches you staring, and then his face twists into something much more cryptic. Like a man trying to solve a puzzle without all of the pieces, being forced to jam spares into spots that just won’t fit.

“We need weapons,” you startle out, the words surprising even yourself. You don’t go back on them, don’t even think to. “If we want to stand a fighting chance – we need firepower.”

“Who said you’re with us?” Ghost questions snarkily, but when you go to reply, you find that Rodolfo’s moved to the corner of the room, switching on even more lights, displaying a wrought iron door.

Sliding it open, you feel like a kid on Christmas morning as you take note of the supplies within.

Rodolfo shrugs, but the small, smug grin on his face doesn’t dispel. “It’s well-stocked. This is Ale we’re talking about.”

The affectionate nickname is something you store away for later. ‘Well-stocked’ is certainly an understatement – guns of all types line the walls within the room, all types of bombs and grenades along with it.

“Alright,” Ghost huffs out, the closest to appreciative that a man like him can get.

Soap is much more upfront about his joy. “My man!” He laughs, his dimples etched into his features like the light spattering of freckles over his upper cheeks and nose bridge. “We’re gonna need new wheels. Preferably up-armoured.”

Digging into his pocket, Rodolfo pulls out a set of keys, tossing them over to Ghost with relaxed shoulders. Turning, shock must be evident on all of you, because Rodolfo lets out a low chuckle. “Your wish is my command, hermanos y hermana.”

To the far end of the room, within the adjoined stables, is a fully-armoured forward drive of some sort – sleek and black and fucking perfect.

“Alejandro thought of everything,” Ghost admires, and when you look to him, you swear that you can see a hint of hope shining in his darkened eyes. Your heart skips a beat on its own accord, and you’re absorbed by the all-consuming want to pull it out of your chest with your bare hands, just so it never does such a thing again.

“Yeah, he did,” Soap whistles, before turning back around to face your small band of misfits. With a determined grin, he says as if it’s an afterthought, “Let’s go get ‘im.”

With a stern resolve and an even sterner disposition, you walk alongside your newfound teammates, and get ready for the most difficult mission of your military career.

*

When you’d, stupidly, recklessly, decided to play good guy and helps out the 141 and Los Vaqueros, you hadn’t taken into account how you’d be at the bottom of the totem pole.

While the three men you were working alongside were all considerably close, you were an outsider. At that, an outsider who had, only a few hours ago, decided to swap sides from enemy to ally.

Being paired with Ghost is, arguably, the most gut-wrenching job in your life. By the time that Rodolfo finds Alejandro through the CCTV system, you’re nearly entirely covered in dried blood, and your head thumps with a headache.

Not a headache from war – a headache from the fucking twat with a shitty DIY job for a military get-up.

“You’re seriously the worst,” you grit out, wiping off a bit of Shadow blood that’s been sprayed on your cheek. “I seriously can’t fucking believe that any one of your mates can tolerate you.”

“Who needs ‘mates’ when I have my boys?” Ghost quips back, wiping off his bloody dagger onto his vest, before slotting it back into its rightful position on his belt. His ability to blend into the night, even with the prison lights on, is uncanny – the only tell the white of his stitched-in skull.

You mock a disgusted sound, sticking out your tongue. “You sound like a fuckboy.”

“A what?” And, although it sounds nothing like a choke, you’re sure that it’s an instinctual question.

The sound of a helicopter up ahead has the two of you pausing in your tracks, feud coming to a quick halt. Looking up, you struggle to see the vehicle in the black of night, but you manage to spot the slowly circling heli above the prison.

“Ghost, Sweetheart, what’s yer status?” Soap’s voice trickles in through your comms. Ghost glances at you, before he answers on your behalf, ever the control-freak.

“Comin’ your way.”

Falling into step side-by-side, you focus on the wet gravel underneath your feet, avoiding making any communication with the man to your right.

“Copy. We’re on the move,” Soap replies, before Rodolfo cuts in.

“Heads up on the helo,” he warns. You find that you much prefer him over the other two – in fact, under any other circumstance, you could see the two of you becoming good friends. Maybe, if everything goes well, that could be a possibility – a positive in your world of negatives.

“Don’t think we’re in his line of sight,” you respond, double-checking your route and the helicopter's position in the sky. Rodolfo had warned you all, debriefing in the drive here, that helicopters would likely show up at some point.

Minutes pass, with small comms between the lot of you, when you finally spot the familiar figures belonging to the other half of your precarious team. 

Soap and Rodolfo stand at the entrance, before the two turn at the sound of your and Ghost’s footsteps. They both seem to visibly loosen their stiff shoulders, seeing you both uninjured – and if you do the same, you pray that no one notices.

“The door’s locked,” Soap informs you all, gesturing to the steel entrance5.

With a small hum, Rodolfo reaches for the pack on his vest. “We’ll need to breach it,” he explains, but before he can grab a charger, Ghost raises a hand to stop him.

“No, Rudy –” And that is a nickname that you’ll be using later, “Knock.”

Rodolfo seems apprehensive, but he agrees anyway, giving all three of you separate glances. “On me…”

All of you getting into readying positions, Rodolfo knocks on the door, the sound echoing loud enough to have your blood pounding in your ears.

A moment later, a Shadow – one you don’t recall having met – pushes open the door and moves to step outside. However, Rodolfo and Ghost are quick to neutralise him, softly dropping his body to the floor.

Pushing through the entrance, everyone except for you shoot a Shadow dead – clearing the room in less than twenty seconds. It’s impressive, how smoothly run the operation is, considering the lack of proper authority or guidance.

You’re the first to spot some more Shadows moving your way, down the stairs – calling it out. “More Shadows from the second floor – watch out!”

This time, you find yourself the cause of two men falling to the ground, blood pooling underneath their lifeless bodies. Your team doesn't give you time to second guess, to mourn, before they’re encouraging you to follow them up the stairs.

“Ale’s up here, let’s go!” Rodolfo urges, his voice bordering on a kind of desperation reminiscent of a boy enlisting for the first time.

Like expected, Alejandro’s cell is down the hall, sat to the far right. Two Shadows guard the steel door, but Soap and Rodolfo are quick to light them up, successfully clearing the entire two floors. You’re ashamed of how relieved you feel, being gifted the small mercies of not having to kill your previous subordinates, unless necessary.

You feel, more than see, Ghost’s heavy gaze on you. When you look back up from the gun in your hands, however, he’s turned completely away – and if you were a less accurate person, you’d have thought you were imagining things.

“There’s Alejandro’s cell.” Stopping at the steel door, Rodolfo adjusts his grip on the gun, before giving you an encouraging jerk of his head. “Open it up, me and Soap will cover you.”

Another small mercy, you think, as Ghost reaches into his backpack and pulls out a set of bolt cutters, regarding you stiffly. “When I pop this lock, you push in,” he directs you curtly, and you bite back a retort. You knew the process like the back of your hand – you had no need for an explanation.

The ‘especially from him’ goes unsaid.

With precise, practised movements, Ghost positions the bolt cutters, and pushes open the door.

As soon as you take one step into the cell, a large hand wraps around the back of your neck, slamming your face into the concrete wall, a blinding pain shooting through your retinas. Letting out a small yelp, your chest rattles as your hands wildly raise in an imitation of surrender.

“Alejandro! Let go of ‘er! It’s us!” Soap calls out, and you swallow unhealthy amounts of air. That hit had taken more out of you than you’d expected – and your harsh breaths were making that incredibly apparent.

The grip on the scruff of your neck slackens when Rodolfo shoots off in quickfire Spanish, “Coronel, relájate, cabron, somos nosotros.”

Your cheek aches and your head pounds as the hand removes itself entirely, allowing for you to take in lungfuls of oxygen.

“Soap, Ghost!” Alejandro bursts out, and as you rise to your feet unsteadily, you watch as he thumps both of them on the back of their shoulders, before turning to Rodolfo with an expression that could only be described as longing. “...Rudy.”

“Didn’t think we’d leave ya, did ye?” Soap chuckles, oblivious to the thread of tension between the two men. 

Whatever silent conversation had occured between the two enforcers is quickly cut as Alejandro accepts the shake of Soap’s hand, a feral grin wide on his features. “What took you so long, pendejos?”

“A traitor with an attitude is what,” Ghost inputs, and really, how much self control can a Lieutenant lack? Wiping at your cheek, you let your hand fall once more to your side as you meet Alejandro’s inquisitive gaze head-on.

“I’m Graves’ previous colonel,” you extend your hand, “And I’m your best bet at getting your base back.”

You expect suspicion, uproar, maybe – or at least questioning, similar to that of Rodolfo’s.

Instead, all you’re met with is Alejandro’s manic smile sharpening, and a slap on the back of your own. Ruffling your hair, he uses his free hand to accept the gun Rodolfo’s extending towards him, shooting you a knowing glance.

“Sounds good, hermana. Welcome to how real men fight.”

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re

[m1ssunderstanding]

Let it Be Close-watch

Paul, sweety, it's beautiful, but it's killing the vibe.

Ringo looks like a very old, very tired lab rat whose been put through the maze a few too many times

Somehow the air-brown mostly eaten apple is very appropriate.

She looks far too sweet here to ever let John down. Yoko has very kind eyes.

I love how it makes it seem like Paul and John are calling Maxwell “the corny one” but really we know from Get Back that they're talking about a particular arrangement they were trying out for Don't Let me Down.

I swear he's saying “John” there, not “Joan” and also he said “came down upon His head” so… Oh! And Max died in the end in this version? “Sure that Max was dead” Okay. So Paul kills John and then himself. Murder suicide story. Yeah, Paul, you're doing great mentally, we can all tell.

I love how George getting electrocuted was important enough to make the cut for both films. Poor baby. “If this boy dies you're gonna cop it” from the guy who was just singing about a serial killer.

They're so silly

Yoko does not agree with me

Paul: stealing your man, sweetheart. John: oh no I'm being stolen teehee!

They're so silly

Oh wait, were those bitchy looks at George??? Because there he is. Idk could easily be him or Yoko.

this poor autistic baby trying to use words (not his language) to explain music (his language)

“Good MoOornin! Wooah!” I think I just … You know how Mike said people were booing Paul in the theater watching this? Yeah it's because they were pissed he didn't step out of the screen and onto their necks.

Oh Michael put himself in his own movie too? Huh, cool.

They are always in my heart

The way Paul says “get on the mic” to John??? I would've thrown something, that was so fucking bossy! Just his tone and his face and his angry pointing fingers. So mean. And John just goes “okaaay”. Oof.

Ringo covering his eyes like a little kid watching a scary movie during the orange sweater fight. Same, babe.

Sounds like the original lyric John's going for is something long “All I want is you. Nothing else is gonna do.” But that obviously didn't fit with the tune. I wonder if there was a particular conversation with Paul being controlling that made the “everything has got to be the way you want it to” line click in.

Oh my gosh! So George is showing I Me Mine to Ringo and Paul and he says the “I don't give a fuck it can go in musical” line before he even plays it. Not after John's making fun of him like he does in Get Back. Nagra reels experts: which one is correct??

George: it's a heavy waltz. Ringo:*claps hands angrily and punches the air to a ¾ beat. I love him, he's like the core of “Beatle humor” to me.

Woah there! Okay this is the John/Yoko pda Peter Jackson cut, I see. I wonder if there's a lot more footage of them swapping spit that might make the “oh John was just so in love” theory more reasonable.

It's extremely impressive that George just wrote this whole thing last night. You know? John and Paul have brought in all fragments from what I can tell. He's the only one to come in with a basically finished product.

LMAO and we're just going to Apple now. No reason. Nothing happened. Nothing to see. Moving on.

Ringo is so so cute pretending to hide from the cameras. Really he should've been the cute one.

Is it just me or does Paul drop the sillies and get sad when he sings “always be mine” at John? It's his regular voice, too, for a minute, if I'm not mistaken.

Silly cuties. But John's grin and little sexy tongue action happens the second time Paul sings always be mine, so…

What friendly artistic collaboration looks like when it's not psychosexual

Paul: have you played the dubs? George: yeah. Terrible. Paul: Great! Ringo: terrible. John: laughs Paul: (sarcastic) oh, so dreadful. …. John: where's my guitar? Paul: (still sarcastic) well we're just the greatest band ever. Idk I just like this dialogue. It's very them, you know?

This is adorable.

But I also love how they're already communicating with eyebrows, you know? They just bonded so fast and I find that beautiful.

And then Heather ups their game from taking turns going “chchchchch” into the mic to meowing into the mic. She looks at Paul like “okay your turn” and he sets her down lol he's thinking ‘if I meow into the mic right now after John already had a sex dream last night about me, he might actually cream his pants and we can't have that on camera’

Lol Billy just magically appeared!

Paul you're literally so annoying. You started the goofing off and now you're like “alright lads, that's enough.” Mkay.

He is unbelievably sexy and talented though so you know he does have those little things going for him. Someone write me a Paul/Billy fic please!!

Kinda crazy how they all four just slide straight from “Kansas City” to “Miss Ann” to “Lawdy Miss Claudy”. Makes me think of something they might've done in Hamburg.

I'm sorry but Paul finishes “please don't excite me baby. I'm down in misery.” And John's immediate answer is, “well you can get it if you want it, and if you want it you can get it!” And Paul ends up singing “I want it I want it I want it I want it”. Nice. Very subtle, boys. And that's before John gets kinky.

I love how Heather just forces a hug from George and then immediately runs away. What a cutie.

But really. How did anyone watching this get the idea that John hated Paul? Just confirmation bias I guess?

All the cut off conversations kill me but especially the one where John's working though Paul's anxieties. They're just in the middle of it and then cut. “two of us Sunday driving…”

Someone should do a study of whistling in their songs. I feel like it's another one of their tip offs that “hey this one is about us” Anyway I love John's whistling here. He's so good at it. I can just imagine him as some farm boy picking apples, you know?

Imagine booing this poor stay puppy though, like. What? I mean, what if Johann Weiner was wrong and John wasn't crying at the sight of him and Paul playing triumphant together on the rooftop, but at Paul playing his little heart out about their doomed love. Idk it's probably both. Let's be real, John was bawling through the whole thing.

What is George laughing at? Picture quality is garbage because evil corporations don't let you take screenshots of their content, but he looks like that one kid in your elementary school class that just dumped Cheetos all over his crushes desk and thinks he's a criminal mastermind.

Also I do appreciate all the attention given in the chosen shots to the musicianship. I bet they liked that at least if they had the heart to like anything about the movie at the time.

I'm sorry but I love how in sync Mo and Paul are. With this ducking and later the shimmying. I know it's wrong to ship Ringo’s wife with one of the Beatles she didn't sleep with, but… idk I really want her to have bedded all four at one point, you know? She deserves it, being an og.

Okay but yeah I'd be having a public meltdown if I fumbled that too holy fucking shit

Ringo feeling himself as he should

George just looks like he smells nice. Unlike the others. You know?

John has such a beautiful smile. If somebody looked at me like that I'd put him up on a giant screen behind me on my world tour after he'd been dead for forty years too.

That pleeeaaaheeeaaase though. Looking at Paul. How did he survive I'll never know.

The cut from screaming Paul to grouchy nap lady is extremely painful.

John was so cool in this concert. Like the epitome of cool.

Kevin, my love, thank you for your service

I love Yoko leaning so far and craning her neck. She's like a mom at a school talent show. Like “I only came to see my baby.” Type vibe. Which is exactly what she's doing, unlike Mo, and honestly I find both of them extremely valid

You know in movies where the romantic leads are never looking at each other at the same time?

I think I watched George and John switching back on their amps like fifty times because I just love it so much. And from this angle, you can see John's saying something to Paul about it. He looks serious and he's shaking his head. I wonder what he's saying.

Mal Evans I love you forever for this. Look at his hand on the rail, just blocking them off completely, so protective.

Them turning to each other at the end always gets me. It's automatic, like second nature, and it's the last time ever. They deserved better.

Oh Darling duet in the credits are you fucking kidding me??? Was that in the original? “Believe me, when I tell you.” “Oh I do.” That's the second time that they gave away in this footage that they know they're talking to each other in their music.

Alright, that's it, I guess. And then MLH is haunted by this experience for forty years until he makes Two of Us to purge the demons.

[ninuwrites]

Moth to a flame LN4

summary: charles makes you realise that lando is not treating you right

warnings: angst and fluff

a/n: FINALLY i finished this and i hate it tbh. but idc really i am just happy i wrote it. SORRY FOR THE GRAMMAR MISTAKES feel free to correct me🙏🙏so enjoy and i love you all, sending kisses💋💋

———————————————————————————

1:30 AM

L Norris

«Can i call you?»

you looked at Charles that was cuddling to your side. you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. you didn’t even have time to reply, your phone already vibrating.

you carefully left your bed and went to the bathroom. you looked at yourself in the mirror, the feeling of guilt spreading through your body.

Lando was like a virus that you couldn’t get out your body. it was never anything serious between you two. you were just very good friends that decided to start hooking up.

you always had some attraction to Lando, who would not. he was handsome and charismatic young man. the problem was that you started to develop feelings for him during your “relationship”. and that was it for you.

first of all you knew that he definitely didn’t want anything serious, at least nothing serious with you and second of all you knew that you weren’t the only girl he hooked up with and after you caught feelings it was something you could not stand.

so you distanced yourself a bit but lando knew what was happening and somehow you were spending more and more time with him.

you felt special, who wouldn’t, he took you everywhere and he was treating you like a princess . you went to see his races, he took you on holidays with him and you even got to know his parents.

but apparently…

you weren’t the only one.

one evening you had planned a date because you haven’t seen each other in a while but lando wasn’t picking up his phone and didn’t reply on your massages.

it started to make sense when your friend sent you paparazzi pick of lando and some girl holding hands and having dinner in restaurant YOU should have been in with HIM.

that was the first strike.

you needed time off, you didn’t want to see him, hear from him or meet him. you were hurt and offended. did he really forget about your date and just took some other girl with him?

after three days he started to call and text you but you just ghosted him until he showed up at your door.

he showed up with the most beautiful bouquet and beautiful necklaces.

and that’s how it always was.

he did something, you ignored him, he came to apologise and you fucked.

it was exhausting, you really tried to change your relationship but it never worked out.

and than you met charles.

you got to know him on a party of landos first win. you shared room with lando and all evening he talked about how he’s so lucky to have you and that he can’t wait to celebrate with you.

but somehow when you were in the club he disappeared from your sight and you couldn’t find him anywhere. you gave up and went to sit on some couches with a drink in your hand.

“ do you mind if i keep you some company?” you looked up and saw clearly tired charles.

“i would actually love some company right now.” you smiled

you talked for hours. he listened to you, you listened to him. you always had something to talk about.

you started to feel tired so charles decided to accompany you to your room.

as you came upstairs you took the room card from your purse. as you came closer to your room you already felt off so you hoped that lando was there and okay.

well he was more than okay.

you stood in front of the room door and clearly heard a woman moaning landos name from your room. you just stayed still and tried not to cry.

charles took your hand and led you to his room. as he closed the door you hugged him and started crying like a child.

you explained your relationship with lando to charles and he listened carefully to everything you had to say.

he didn’t understand why would someone play with you like that. he wanted to help you, he wanted to show you that it doesn’t have to be like that with everyone.

you slept at charleses room that night.

in the morning he ordered breakfast straight to your room and you ate at on a balcony with beautiful view and sunny weather.

after you finished you knew that you should go and pick up your bags from yours and landos room but you really didn’t have the mood to deal with him. you thought about every possible way of how to not go to go there but none of them seemed to work.

“what are you thinking about?” charleses soft voice snapped you back from your thoughts.

“nothing important, i just need to get my stuff and i really don’t want to see him.” you sighed and closed your eyes.

“i’ll go for them.” charles said and immediately stood up.

“no no no you don’t have to, i will get them in a minute.” you didn’t want to bother him with such a stupid thing.

“i want to do it for you. i’ll be right back.” he said and before you could answer he was gone.

i want to do it for you. this sentence meant everything to you. you’ve never met a man who would really took an action and not just say sweet words.

he came back minutes later with your bags and you went straight up to him. you hugged him tight and said “thank you charles.” you looked up ���for taking care of me.”

“that is what you deserve chérie.”

and that’s how your soon to call relationship started.

you started going out on dates and few trips and to be honest you never felt better in your life.

charles was sweet, caring and his love for you is true. but he doesn’t know that you still call lando from time to time.

charles understands that you still need somee time to get over him and he doesn’t want to rush things.

after that night in miami lando tried to reach out many many times but you’ve never replied. you were really hurt and he was annoying you with every call and text more and more.

until he showed up at your doorstep and you felt like you’re reliving the same moment every month.

“can we talk, please?” he asked giving you flowers. you nod at him to come inside and while he’s sitting on a couch you put the bouquet in a vase with water.

“so… you and charles…” he started but you immediately cut him off.

“lando if you came here just to talk shit you can leave.” you were pissed off. the audacity this man had. unbelievable.

“sorry… i mean, i missed you and i just can’t go on without being either you.” he said while look into your eyes.

you hated the soft spot you developed for him. you didn’t even listened to what he was saying because every time it was the same, but he looked so handsome in his white button up shirt, two buttons unbuttoned, his tan skin peeking through and his messy hair.

“can i kiss you?” he asked and you went straight in. you didn’t want to admit but you missed his soft lips and curls. you straddled his hips and kissed his neck slowly.

“i hate you norris.”

“i know.”

after that you gave him some rules on how your relationship will be working.

first of all texts and calls only at night. second of all no day to day communication and third just sex. nothing more, nothing less.

you knew that this wasn’t right, that you needed to get rid off him and keep no contact but somehow you just couldn’t let go of your past.

soon enough your love for charles seemed to grow more every day. he treated you like a princess and he gave you reasons to fall in love with him more and more.

but as your lando situation was never solved you could not devote your heart to charles for 100%.

you haven’t seen lando in two months just photos of him and his new girl on the socials.

until the call.

“hello? babe are you there?” he asked as if you were full on his girlfriend.

“i’m here. how are you? ” you whispered.

“fine, portugal is beautiful, i’ll take you here some time.” he said confidently.

you laughed. “when are you coming back?” you asked.

“next week. what miss me that much?” you could hear him smirking.

“yeah right, i just need to talk to you about something.” you said while closing your eyes.

“oh, okay, can’t wait. i need to go love see you next week. love ya.” he replied and hung up.

“everything okay ma belle?” you heard charles outside the bathroom and the guilt just grew bigger.

“yes baby everything alright.” you said, turned off the light and opened the door. he hugged you and kissed you on top of your head.

“can sleep without you.” he murmured and you giggled and hugged him tighter.

“let’s go back to sleep.”

the thing you wanted to talk about with lando was breaking everything up. it was draining you, the relationship you kept just for nothing. you felt guilty because of charles and you could not keep it up anymore.

you truly loved charles and you to stop loving lando you needed to let him go.

you were in his apartment laying on the couch. “so what did you want to talk about?” he asked definitely bot expecting what you were going to say.

“listen, i really like you lan, i really do but i can’t do this anymore. i want a relationship, i want someone i can rely on any time, any day and i do not want just simple hook ups. i loved you enough and i’m not willing to spend any more of my love on someone who does not feel the same way i do.” your eyes started to water. “it was very hard for me to come up with this topic because i still have some feelings for you but in past months i’ve realised that there are people out there who can treat me better.” you finished with tears streaming down your cheeks.

lando just looked at you, too stunned to speak. he was in shock.

“so… you want to break up?” he asked.

“we were never together lando, i never had you.” you whispered.

“you have me now.” he whispered back, his eyes watering too.

“it’s too late lan, i waited too long and i went through too much pain because of you.” you smiled through the tears.

“no i it’s not i want you, just you. it was always you.” he said, and cupped your cheeks. you were slipping out of his grasp and he could do nothing to save you.

“lan stop with this nonsense, just last week you were with some new model, or we never discussed your night in miami.” you laughed at him.

“please, don’t end this.” he hugged you and cried on your shoulder.

you stayed like that for maybe minutes maybe hours. “i need to go lan.” you moved away and caressed his cheek.

“i know, i’m sorry… for everything.” he said and walked you to the door.

you stayed by the door for a few minutes just looking at each other. until you kissed him one last time.

“i’ll always have a soft spot for you norris.” you smiled.

“i’ll always be one call away baby.” he sniffled and smiled back and you closed the door behind you.

[lowkeyrobin]

can i ask for qsmp reacting to new member reader who is russian??

yes of course!! I love this request sm, hopefully I got everyone you're looking for! sorry if these are a little ooc, I'm learning a lot and watching a lot about the qsmp still so hopefully this is good lol. kind of a mix of q! selves and cc! selves so 💀

QSMP ; meeting a russian creator

includes ; tubbo, quackity, cellbit, jaiden, roier, wilbur, foolish, slimecicle, tina, and nihachu

warnings ; language, probably ooc 💀💀

masterlist

TUBBO

"oh, hi! are you the new member???"

he's really nice, helps you build a house and stuff to get started and whatnot

you, him & sunny spend a lot of time together, especially because quackity gave you your own child too

sunny & your egg absolutely love each other, and perfectly balance one another out

tubbo teaches you all about his machines and factories and whatnot

welcomes you with open arms to the town of fobo

talks to you about the federation and whatnot, how they're basically the government and to just avoid them at all costs

even with a language barrier (if you don't speak English as well) you guys are so tight

always fucking around together somehow

he adds you into his lore as well

QUACKITY

welcomes you with kindness and open arms

introduces you to your own egg 😭🫶

he's got a lot of energy and is very chaotic, literally sprints around the whole smp showing you everything and catching you up into lore stuff

if he fucks up a first impression, he repeatedly tries to make it up and corrects himself and whatnot

doing dumb shit with him and richarlyson is a must

you guys become really good friends and make some great lore ideas together

if you speak a little/lot of English, you guys will just have chitter-chatter streams together and build a little tree house for the eggs

CELLBIT

"hello!!"

you teach him a little Russian and he teaches you a little French

even if you have a language barrier he's really nice to you

very selfless, if you need something, hes got you

if you get kidnapped, good lord is he holding a grudge

has a protective type of personality, makes sure to keep you and your egg safe if you two come across some federation funny business together

starts to learn Russian because he thinks it's a cool language

surprises you one day with a phrase in Russian and you're just like "???? hello cellbit?"

"was that a good pronunciation? I'm still learning"

puzzles >>>>

used to be a rlly good pvper so he teaches you some outdated tricks lol

JAIDEN

"Oh my God, hi!!"

teaches you all about how the smp works and tells you all about her adventures

also takes you on adventures with her when you stream together

through the language barrier, you still get along really well and enjoy each other's humor and company

building together >>>

such great inputs from each side

in lore, she's kind of just off to herself, and alone

she can't really trust other people whatsoever now

but when you come around, she's a bit more open but obviously wants to be left alone

teaches you all about her pets

she rubbed off her love for vocaloid on you

ROIER

welcomes you with a smile

teaches you all about lore and whatnot

mentions his and cellbits wedding at least 3 times

gives you a little referral to therapy

he's currently a rat in lore so uh

he kinda just uses you as a pedestal for now

"y/n, tell them that im the superior rat, please"

you repeat the phrase in russian to any other russian creators you joined the server with

becomes a co-parent to your egg

very level-headed, somehow always has a plan

"Oh, yeah, the federation kidnaps people, just stay away from them"

"Dude what"

everyday is his birthday

you play into the bit by singing happy birthday in russian and giving him some sort of food

WILBUR SOOT

very formal first impression

introduces you to tallulah

tallulah is kinda iffy about you and your egg at first but she warms up to you guys

if you're the building type, he'll do the dirty work to get you the stuff you need to make a house, or anything you wanna build

on top of learning french, dutch, and spanish, you get him invested in russian as well

in lore, he believes that most problems can be solved by love, and you just kinda go with it because he's nice enough and whatnot

teaches you some stuff about music

you guys do a lot of yap streams while grinding up some resources on the island to make some new locations and whatnot

"the pattern you're doing looks like upside down dicks"

"wh- wilbur, why would you say that?"

if you're still learning English, and it's kinda broken when you speak or you say something wrong, he kindly corrects you and teaches you correct pronunciations

becomes a co-parent to your egg as well

you teach the eggs the "scary fight like a badass" stuff and he's the "be nice, children" parent

FOOLISH GAMERS

you're immediately introduced to his laugh

kind of reckless, but pretty laid back

pretty playful as well, likes to joke around with you

he doesn't have a reason to not trust you yk

you're very overprotective of your egg and anxious that you'll let something bad happen, but if he becomes a co-parent, he releases your egg from the little plastic box you have them in when you aren't around

does the whole Batman bit with you on your first stream on the qsmp

holy shit the amount of laughter

he wants to leave a good impression on you, thinks you're really cool lol

you've mutually decided that he builds exteriors, you design interiors

SLIMECICLE

probably wasn't even aware new people were joining

"who the hell is that???"

like you're trying to let quackity teach you the basics and he's staring from a distance like he's gonna plot to kill you

tries to joke around and say hello in russian but ends up saying some random phrase that didn't make sense

"You just said your toes taste like cheese"

"Wait, what?"

makes you a bitch wife/husband asap

makes you curse people out in russian when he gets slightly offended

definition of the uwu cat boy and tall angry bully gay stereotype

in lore he's got some serious psychological problems but it's okay!! you can deal with it

quackity tells you about the whole gegg think and you sit there like "okay wtf"

TINA KITTEN

you guys just kinda run into each other one day and you ask her for help on something

something clicked man, yall are such an iconic duo

you guys build a whole mansion near the sea together for the eggs

in lore, she's pretty reserved and isolates herself, and you become one of the many tk worry about her and try and give her advice

secrets are safe with her 💳💥💥💥

you guys own a little farm together too

Em and your egg get along so well

she has a little proud mom moment

tetris competitions.

she likes to draw and she loves drawing you and your egg together it's so cute

NIKI NIHACHU

she's kind of shy but your personalities balance each other out

she's sworn to protect everyone, and you and your egg are quickly added to that list

baking with her>>

you work with her at empanadas bakery

she talks to you all about psychology and how it fascinates her and stuff

you learn a lot from her

lots of compliments whether it be builds or even outfits you're showing off to you're stream

she easily becomes a co-parent of your egg lol

[ckret2]

I'd been meaning to do this since I found your account but today I read through the entirety of your Goldielocks fic (or at least, what's available) and all I can say is WOW !!!!!

You're really fucking good at writing these characters, capturing the lighthearted-yet-somehow-serious tone of the show, and the stuff you make up for worldbuilding fits right in with canon stuff. As a lover of making things canon-compliant and in-spirit-of-canon, this fic is like a dream come true. You're an amazing author !

I really look forward to your post-TBOB edits of the eclipse arc and the flatworld arc, I can already kind of guess where you're gonna go with it, but it's still exciting to think about what direction you might take things.

I'm also wondering, are you planning on changing anything about the Death Valley girls, what with the info we got about ciphertology and the like ? Or keeping them relatively the same ?

(I stayed up till almost midnight reading this - I'm so glad I don't have to be anywhere early tomorrow)

Thank you!! I've discussed my TBOB edits of the eclipse arc already, you can see some of them here if you want.

For the flatworld arc, I actually think basically nothing's going to change. Spoilers, but: Bill's world was never gonna be like Flatworld. It was gonna be a big reveal late in the fic ("big" for the characters, not the readers lmao) that Bill's world was actually pretty okay—like yeah, a few flaws, but not "barely-exaggerated satire of Victorian-era ableism/sexism/classism" flaws—and everything the kids read in Flatworld that made them pity Bill was 100% bullshit. It was going to turn out that Bill's world is actually...

... pretty much fucking exactly like Euclydia ended up being in canon—up to and including baby Bill getting medical trauma over having a super-rare cool-ass eye mutation that lets him see the stars of the third dimension.

I was gonna have Bill go "oh yeah, that's why I drove the author insane, I was that pissed at him for making my home world look that bad. I didn't correct you guys because I thought it'd be useful if you pitied me."

I did this because, before TBOB came out, I knew that no matter what I wrote about Bill's home dimension, probably a good 20% of readers would just push it to the side and automatically assume that his dimension was exactly the same as Flatland—like, occasionally readers were making comments about my fic talking about how triangles ***ARE*** oppressed in his home dimension like it was a canonical fact and taking it as a given that I was writing that. For that 20%, it seemed to me like the best way to ensure it got through to them that whoa, this isn't Flatland would be to have the characters assume his dimension is exactly the same as Flatland so that I could say, in story, "no that's totally wrong."

Post-TBOB, a lot fewer readers are gonna make that assumption. But having the characters assume his dimension is a lot worse than it really is is still a part of the story—it ties into the narrative of them slowly growing to expect him to be something more sympathetic/heroic than he actually is, a la Dipper's assumption that the Axolotl poem is a prophecy about how Bill will help save them—so there's no reason for me to take it out.

So yeah, tl;dr: Flatworld doesn't need to change because it was always going to be wrong.

I'm only gonna change the Death Valley girls a little bit. Everything I've currently written about them stays the same; except I'm also gonna mention that, yes, they are a Ciphertology sect, and yes, all the girls in the cult are Cipherwives.

So now I also get to crack jokes about Bill being both flattered and a little creeped out that even after he mostly ditched the cult they just kept inducting new recruits as "cipherwives" whether he showed up or not, like wow, you're just gonna marry him off in absentia to some lady he's never met??? What if he doesn't wanna marry her? What if he doesn't like her haircut?? Every time he shows up he finds out he's got a new wife! He loves the attention, but jeez, girls! At least send him a letter with his new bride's picture and wait for him to mail back an "OK" or something!

[junedenim]

not one goddamn thing

part one part two part three part four

if you're in love with you, you might as well be with him

warnings: smut, piv, angsty, fluffy, whatnot

word count: 4k

He's got the sheet resting at his hips. His back bare, your hand sliding up, contracting his body heat. His breathing is slow and steady. His eyes are still closed. You've debated waking him up. You've debated leaving. You haven't made an attempt at either. You're conflicted about feeling conflicted and you've stressed over everything you could and he still hasn't woken up. 

You were up late last night. You know he was up later than you. He had left the bed while you were dozing off for a cigarette. God knows he probably got wrapped up in some work assignment that could have waited until morning but he took care of it then. He always seems to find a way to go to bed late.

He's stirred a handful of times, switching from lying on his back to lying on his stomach. You've stayed in the same place: naked and under the covers. You're not sure what you're hiding from or how something has changed in the last few hours to make you nervous around him, fearful of what will happen when he wakes up.

Maybe you should leave, at least get out of bed and take a shower. But his face is right next to yours. His hair is roughed up and fluffy, the edges touching your forehead. You long to be so close to him and so far away at the same time. You hate yourself for getting into this mess. But then he's doing this little sigh in his sleep where all the tension has rolled away from him. It's the only time you see him still. He's so button-up all the time, running around, determined to get everything done, to lighten everyone's load, but in bed he's still. 

These early mornings, the first hour where he is just so still. He told you once that he hates lying around in bed for so long. It makes him feel like he's missing out on time. You told him to get out of bed then. He said he was comfortable here, next to you, finally feeling he could take a breath. You told him he works himself up too much. He agreed but got out of bed 15 minutes later to finish something from work.

"Hi," he croaks, taking you out of your moment of remembrance. His eyelids flutter, adjusting to the morning light.

"Hi," you manage.

He looks like he could go back to sleep. He pulls his arm around your stomach, holding you to his side. "What are you thinking?" Alex asks.

You shrug.

He exhales and rubs his hand up and down your side. "You're thinking something." You don't know what to say so you stay silent. "Come on. Did I fuck up so bad?"

You shake your head.

"I'm pretty good at reading you but I can't work off these non-verbal responses."

"I'm just thinking about work," you pawn off as a bad excuse. 

"You mean, us at work," he corrects.

"No." A pause. "Yes. I don't know. I'm just figuring stuff out." You feel tense and you know he can feel it too. Stuck in your rigid muscles and stiff in your brain.

"Okay. Why don't we go away for a little? See if we tolerate each other out and about." He's cheeky and thinks distracting you like this will somehow work.

You fight off the grin and tell him, "I know I tolerate you. I like you, Alex."

"You like me?" He smirks.

"What do you want me to say?" You sit up, resting your back against the headboard.

"You don't need to—no, that's not true." He sits up beside you, wanting to make clear eye contact with you. "I want to stop dancing around what we are doing."

You raise an eyebrow. "By going on a trip?"

"By going to HR."

"No." You're quick to get out of bed. "I am not doing that." You throw the sheets and go for your clothes. Running feels easy now.

Alex moves closer to you but stays in bed. "We're having a relationship."

You're pulling last night's clothes on and, yes, you feel shameful doing the walk of shame in Christmas party attire. "That no one needs to know about. It's our own personal business."

He squints and starts doing that thing where he speaks with his hands, tapping his hand on the mattress and chest to emphasize his point. "No, it's my business and it's my ass on the line if we get caught."

"I'm not going accuse you of anything and we're not going to get caught."

"Consider our behavior at the holiday party."

You're quick to point your finger at him. "You're the one who took me into the closet."

He throws his hands up in the air. "I thought you weren't going to accuse me of anything!"

"I'm not going to HR." You turn away from him to grab last night's dress, a sloppy mess on the floor.

"Fine," Alex settles. "But are we even in a relationship? You seem to want nothing to do with me."

"I want everything to do with you! I just don't want everyone at work knowing that. I love working there and being with you but the second that comes out, everything I do gets labeled with preferential treatment and me being some kind of slut."

He falls back against the headboard and rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on, it's not Mad Men. You have the idea that everyone cares so much. People don't give a shit."

"I give a shit!" You yell at him. "I need to know that I did it on my own."

"You will know that. Who cares if Gunner or some loser thinks you got some favour? You did it on your own."

"Did you give me the assignment with Jeff because you wanted to sleep with me?" That fact had played on your mind when you first got together. You hadn't thought about it in a while, so, rightfully it comes bubbling up in an argument. 

His face scrunches up and he looks around bewildered, unable to believe what's coming out of your mouth. "What?!"

"Come on, you had just broken up with your girlfriend, we were having a company party later that day, and you wanted a piece of ass so you buttered me up by saying my proposal was better than Jeff's."

"I thought you weren't going to do this accusatory shit?"

"It's just a question."

"No! I picked yours because yours was the best. Not the shit Jeff threw together in 2 minutes. Don't act like you weren't willing either. Do you think this whole relationship has been some plot for me to get an easy hook-up? If I wanted to bang someone, I would have fucked Elizabeth."

You throw back at him, "Why don't you?"

"Because I only want to fuck you. What? Do you feel some other way? You want to go fuck Gunner?"

You cross your arms, scoffing, "Yes, Alex, I'm the office slut—"

"Don't pull that card, okay? You know what." He stands walking over to you. "I love you and whatever else you want to imagine, go for it, but that's not changing. If you don't feel that way, then fine. Trust me, I've gone through a lot more than losing you."

"I wouldn't know. You never tell me." The blanket of his past has been largely uncovered and though you don't care much hearing about his various ex-girlfriends, it's clearly held part of him back. 

He seems to hesitate on this like he is combing through his brain looking for an answer. He moves his head back and forth like it will help him decide his next move like a Magic 8 Ball. Then, he stops and looks at you. "I'm gonna take a shower. Leave or stay, either way, I'll have my answer."

He disappears off into the bathroom. You're left trying to figure out your directions again. There's leaving, which feels like the easiest. Running away has always been a specialty. There's joining him in the shower, which used to be so easy. Now, it feels far and suffocating. 

You decide to walk around, making your way to the kitchen. Evidence of last night is found with your high heels scattered on the floor and Alex's tie was stuffed halfway into a couch cushion. You open his pantry and front and center a new box of your favourite cereal. You had finished the last box the morning before your fight in his office, which means he got this new one after you started speaking.

Maybe it's for him but it's still unopened and you've never seen Alex eat a bowl of cereal, only ever stealing from your bowl. So, you pour yourself a bowl and wait for the shower water to stop running. You try not to think too much but it feels impossible. Your mind wanders to the water flowing down his body in the shower. Your desire for him almost overcomes that pit in your stomach.

He stops in the doorway. You see it. He's shocked you're still here or maybe he's pissed you are. You can't tell. He walks behind you, still dressed in a shirt and boxers, his hair now damp. You turn your head to watch him as he starts the coffee machine. 

"Do you want some?" He asks as he stares as the coffee drips into the pot.

You shake your head and turn back to your cereal. "No. I'm good." He stays put, leaning against the counter. You stay put, scooping your cereal. "What time did you get to bed?"

He loudly sighs. "Late."

"Maybe if you went to bed earlier you wouldn't need some much coffee."

Alex snorts a chuckle. "Probably."

He knocks his knuckles against the counter and waits for his coffee. You finish your bowl before it's fully dispensed. You look at him, making your gaze clear, and he keeps staring at the coffee. "Do you want me to leave?" You ask, so unsure of yourself now.

He doesn't respond. Doesn't say anything. Doesn't shake his head. Keeps looking at that damn coffee. 

"I don't want to leave," you confess. "If that's why you're not answering. You know, like, if you think I don't want to be here and you're too scared to say anything. I want to be here."

"Okay." He reaches up and grabs a mug, pulling the coffee pot out.

"Alex." You want some answer from him. You fear you've let your doubt linger for too long and it has spread to him.

Then, he stops you. "I bought you a mug for Christmas."

The statement leaves you confused, unsure of why presents are being brought up, unsure of why he's talking about this and not the status of your relationship. "Okay."

He shakes his head and you're not sure if it's at you, himself, or the coffee he's pouring. "I couldn't think of anything else to get."

"Well," you shrug, "I like mugs. I'm an easy girl to shop for. I like all kinds of things."

He nods, reaching into the fridge for half-and-half. "I know. But I don't really know you."

"You know me," you reason. "You love me." You heard him say it so he can't take it back now. 

He hums, leaning his hip against the counter, the mug warms his hands. "I don't know you. I mean, compared to...past relationships, I don't know you. But I get this feeling when I'm around you and I noticed it before. Thought it was some measly crush." He laughs at himself and stares down at the floor, avoiding your eyes. "Then, when I was single, I was down for a while, not sleeping. You know, smoking too much."

"You don't smoke too much now?"

He cracks a smile and his eyes finally lift. Your stare at one another is warmer than expected but filled with questioning. He confesses, "I didn't like you much at first. Did you know that?"

I nod, managing a tiny smirk. "Yeah. I didn't like you at all."

"It was in your first week and I talked to you in your office and when I walked away you and Elizabeth did that thing where you whisper with one another. I figured you were talking about me. I was so sensitive back then."

"You still are now. I like that about you. Besides, we were probably just talking about your ass."

He nods a laugh and continues, "A few days after my break-up, you walked into the lounge and had me pour you a cup of coffee. Then, it just switched."

"Because I ordered you around?"

"Yeah. Kind of. Gunner is so scared of me he pisses himself, I can barely hold a conversation with Elizabeth, Ed is too aloof and he is my boss too, plus he doesn't wear a mini skirt to work." You laugh and he shrugs, crossing his arms. "I just clicked one day."

"It was when you told me I could laugh at your misfortunes. At that dinner. Before then I just thought you were a jerk."

Alex accepts this, always willing to take criticism and see the worst in himself. "I picked your proposal because it was better than Jeff's but I'm not going to say I wasn't attracted to you. That I didn't want to get to know you better."

"You have to be okay with the fact that I don't want people at work knowing we're together." You don't ever want to hurt him but you won't give parts of yourself up in the process.

"Okay."

"But I do love you." He needs to know that. Needs to know that part is true. "Proudly. I just can't mix the two."

"That's okay."

"Are you sure?"

He nods at his feet before making his eye contact with you. "I'd do anything for you. You have to know that by now."

"But I don't want you to have to feel that. That you have to sacrifice your own happiness and wishes because of what I want."

He shrugs. "Yeah, but I want you and so that's that."

"That's that?"

"Yeah."

You probably worry about him too much. He's a grown man but, to you, he's much more. A man who is pained by rejection and disappointing anyone. "But I don't want to take things away from you or feel you have to give things up for me because—"

"Can I kiss you?" He stops you dead in your tracks. A smug look and a sip of his coffee.

"What?"

He takes a few steps forward, leaning his body closer, his head now hovering so close to yours. "Can I kiss you?" He could do it if you wanted to. Easily. His lips are so close that he could swoop down right away.

You try your best to be of a clear mind, but his gaze, his words, his lips, him. Everything is so difficult. "We can't just shove these things around until the next fight. We have to be practical."

"I am being practical. I want to kiss you."

Your brows furrow. "Why?"

He laughs. "Did you seriously just ask me why?"

You curl your arms around his neck bringing him closer, despite insisting, "Let's be serious." Sometimes you just need to feel him. His skin contact calming your heart rate, his lips racing it.

"I am being serious." Your breathing gets heavy, your skin feels prickly as the anticipation builds. You've missed him, all of him, the way he speaks and the power he holds over you, the rare occasions you had time to just enjoy yourselves and take things slow, the warmth of his body curled up next to yours at night—and the way he touches you, grabs you, takes you, and his lips brushing up against your own, his skin against yours and the friction between you.

“Can we go back to bed?” Alex asks.

“Are you for real?”

“Of fucking course.”

And he leans over, gently grabbing the back of your head, and pulls you in to close the distance between you. His lips crash onto yours and suddenly you don’t care about anything else but this moment. You close your eyes, the bitter coffee taste on his mouth remaining the only thing on your mind. Fast, erratic, his breath against yours. You push against him, harder, every ounce of missing him channeled into this kiss.

“I hate you,” you say, breathless, as you pull apart.

“Uh-huh.” He smirks and takes your hand, dragging you back to his bedroom. 

Initially, he's slow with his movements, like he wants to take you in piece by piece. He lifts last night's dress off of you, staring at you in your bra and panties. He plays with the strap of your bra, pushing each strap down one at a time. He kisses the top of your breasts, giving each his love. He reaches back and unclasps and you let the material fall to the floor. 

But you want some too. You pull on his shirt, signalling for him to remove his mouth so you can take his shirt off. You snap the waistband of his boxers and he slides the fabric off his butt, kicking it down the rest of the way.

His lips reattach to yours. His hand plays its way down your skin before he snaps the waistband of your panties. You remove your hands from around his neck to pull them off when he slaps your hands away. He shoves his hand into them, connecting with your clit right away, pulling a shocked moan from your lips.

He leans his head back to get a clear look at your face. The way your eyes flutter and your lips slightly part makes his erection even more brutal. He tells you, "You know, I think I want to fuck you. What do you think about that?"

You bit your lip, desperate not to give him the satisfaction of you moaning as he works away at you. You nod, equally desperate for him.

He hums and removes his hand, walking away. It leaves you confused until he sits down on the edge of the bed, eyes transfixed on you, standing so lost and innocent, and he motions for you to come to him.

You stand in front of him, waiting for his order. He kisses your stomach, slowly sliding your panties off of you. His hands come up to squeeze your ass before he pulls you down onto his lap, making you yelp in the process. "Do you want to fuck me?" He asks again.

You nod again, just to toy with him.

He squeezes your side, making you pull away from him with a giggle. He laughs out, "Come on, you want me or not?"

You sit up straight, straddling over his lap. "I want to. I want you."

So soft and vulnerable, he asks, "Promise?"

With the most sincerity, you nod, holding his face in your hand. He's so rough and can make you drown in your desire, but to hold him in your hands. You hope to make him feel at home there. Always. You kiss him, just kissing him, for a little while.

Eventually, you pull away and he pushes your hair back and there is such longing but also a wish to keep still like this. Horniess wins out. You reach down between your legs to pull his dick forward to rub it against your pussy. Your folds part around the thickness of his cock, sliding yourself along his shaft and coating it before sinking down on it completely.

"Fuck," you both moan in relief. You bounce on him, rocking your hips. His hands stay on your waist, moving along with you. Always in need of control, Alex flips you, pressing you into the mattress and thrusting into you before you can fully process what's happening.

He leans down to kiss you, keeping the affection, even when being so rough. He slips his tongue into your mouth and swallows your moans as he keeps pumping into you in deep strokes. You widen your thighs so he can settle even further between them and then wrap your legs around his waist to keep him there like there is even the slightest chance of him pulling away.

"You like fucking me?" He asks, frantic for words of affirmation. "Huh?"

"I'm close," you tell him, forehead pressed against his and your words spoken against his lips. You slip your hand between your sweaty bodies to work your clit, but before you can make contact, Alex is batting her hand away so he can do it himself.

Your body arches off the bed as he rubs you and thrusts into you. "Come for me?" He says it like a question—a simple request. You whimper and writhe underneath him, eyes threatening to roll back in your head the longer you try to keep them open. 

You roll her hips against his rubbing fingers and his cock pounding into your cunt, trying to pull him even deeper into you. The ball of pressure that has been building up inside you bursts. You feel so spent already, wanting to collapse, but he keeps going.

You feel too sensitive and your orgasm is still vibrating through you, but you don't have the energy to try to do anything and you want to make him feel good.

"Wait," you whine, gripping his forearms to keep him in place in case he does try to pull away. "Not so hard," you tell him.

He listens, slowing his hips and switching up his pace to pump into you in long heavy strokes, once, twice, three times, and then staying. He shoves his cock in deep and unloads.

His body falls over you as he comes, his hips twitching sporadically as he pumps into you. You sigh at the comforting warmth you haven't felt in a while. You clench your pussy around his throbbing cock as he finishes emptying his load into you. He slowly pulls it out watching as a river of his cum starts to flow out for a moment before flopping down onto the mattress beside you.

His arm comes over you, needing to feel your warmth. "You're beautiful," he mumbles.

"What?" You heard him but sometimes you just want to hear it again. To be sure, you know.

He smiles, scooting closer to you. "You're beautiful." He kisses your temple and his eyelashes brush against your skin.

"Don't fall asleep on me," you warn.

"I won't." He sits up straighter, adjusting himself, sinking into his pillow.

You turn your head and kiss his cheek. "You're beautiful too. I hope you know that."

"Well," he sighs, "you have good taste."

You giggle and turn your body to face him more. You take his hand and yours, wanting to convey a sense of seriousness. “Are you sure you’re okay with everything?”

He chuckles, finding your concern adorable. “Yes. I don’t need Gunner knowing how good I am in bed to know you love me.”

You slap his chest, pushing yourself away. “You’re so cocky.”

Alex rolls onto his back, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah? I thought that’s what you liked about me.”

“I’m partial to it.”

He looks over at you with a wide smirk. For now, you hope this is enough.

*

a/n: i kind of abandoned this series a while back but goblinontour reminding me of it brought this part on. i don't know if it's the end but here's a little something for now.

[gallusrostromegalus]

all the captains and lieutenants accidentally get slipped some of ukitake's fucked up gigaweed edibles, what happens

First of all, it's not an accident, they straight-up plan a Friday-Night-Of-A-Three-Day-Weekend event of this. Everyone is curious, and Ukitake thinks it will be a funny way to celebrate his Birthday. He is correct: Yamamoto: Veteran of The Dank Arts, gets real high but not unpleasantly so. Would do it again next time he has a long weekend to enjoy it!

Sasakibe: Claims Ludwig Wittgenstein makes PERFECT sense now, attempts to write this philosophical revelation down but is thwarted by the jammed machinations of a clicky pen.

Soi Fon: Gives herself a hernia laughing at one (1) bad pun.

Yoruichi: Used to Urahara's Megaweed Edibles, so approaches the Gigaweed with undue confidence, declares This Edible Ain't Shit five minutes in and eats a second one. She has to be coaxed down from the top of the fridge where she's hiding from The Hatmen by bribing her with a can of Tuna. (Ukitake keeps the $21-a-can Good Shit in the house)

Omaeda: Creates a God-teir marinara Sauce, AND has the good sense to have Nemu pause her Game of Go and come into the kitchen to write down what he did.

Rose: Writes a magnificent new symphony, it's his best work ever, it's life alteringly beautiful, it's effervescent- When he sobers up, it's half a piccolo solo that barely qualifies as a ringtone.

Izuru: In the kitchen crying while eating an inadvisable amount of Omaeda's Spaghetti Marinara.

Retsu: Category Five Mukbang Incident

Isane: Thinks she's filming the Mukbang Incident, actually has her phone open to the calculator app.

Shinji: refuses to touch the Gigaweed because he "Owes The Hatmen Money" and nobody can tell if he's joking or not (he's not).

Momo: Literally Everything is HILARIOUS

Hiyori: Did not know it was possible to have a bigger, gayer crush on Momo, but she somehow opened up a new level of lesbianics. She calls it Gay 2.

Byakuya: Couchlocked for 24 hours straight.

Renji: Couchlocked right there with him, but able to text Izuru to bring them Spaghetti.

Komamura: Can't. Canine Weed Toxicity. (Relieved, offers to spend the weekend watching Toshiro and Yachiru so he has an excuse to go winter camping over the weekend)

Iba: Got High as FUCK. Found out later that the thing he actually ate was a Little Debbie Cosmic Brownie.

Shunsui: his alcohol tolerance actually makes his weed tolerance terrible so he's on the floor from jokingly licking the wrapper.

Nanao: Challenging people to knife fights (Romantic Intent).

Tousen: Immediately passes out because he managed to get his blood pressure down to normal levels, sleeps for 26 hours straight and wakes up feeling genuinely well-rested and in a good mood for the first time in two centuries.

Kensei: Gets his hand bitten at the Category 5 Mukbang Incident because he thought it would be funny to try to snitch off Retsu's plate.

Shuuhei: Attempting to refinance Shinji's debt with The Hatmen. Possibly succeeding?

Mashiro: Said "This Edible Ain't Shit", took a second, and appears to be unaffected. Playing Go with Nemu and winning.

Matsumoto: Makes the Hernia-inducing Pun. Will not STOP making Puns.

Hitsugaya: Being babysat by Komamura, would be madder about this if he wasn't also having a blast doing wintertime camping.

Kenpachi: Attempts to fight his own shadow, loses.

Yachiru: Also on the Wintertime Mountain Expedition, trying to talk Toshiro into joining her and Komamura on an Elk Hunt.

Ikkaku: Has done weed before, but only smoked it, but has a naturally suspicious nature and waits to see how Yoruichi does on her second edible, and avoids running afoul of The Hatmen.

Yumichika: Stays sober to collect blackmail on everyone. Actually films the Mukbang Incident for Isane

Mayuri: This is NOTHING compared to the Quantum Formaldymeth shit he's been on for the last century.

Urahara: from a prominent weed-growing family and lifetime connoisseur of The Herb. Takes one bite and realizes he's in deep shit, lies down on the floor next to Shuuhei and gives him terrible financial advice.

Nemu: Not chemically effected by The Edible but she loves A Group Social Activity so she's a little crunk on Social Recognition Euphoria and it's interfering with her game.

Ukitake, peeling his lieutenant off the floor: Y'all are wimps.

Rukia: has to be peeled off the floor, is affectionately dumped in the laps of Renji and Byakuya, where she forces them to have an emotionally honest and borderline normal conversation.

[maybankswhore]

𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀 , 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓?

“ yes i know that he’s my ex but can’t two people reconnect? i only see him as a friend. ”

SUMMARY: rafe cameron’s back in kildare and he’s got one thing on his mind: you.

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem!reader.

WARNINGS: alcohol , cursing & heavy petting.

“ i only see him as a friend ” — the biggest lie i ever said. yes i know that he’s my ex but can’t two people reconnect? . . . i just tripped and fell into his bed. ”

“ haven’t heard from you in a couple of months but i’m out right now & i’m all fucked up & you’re calling my phone , you’re all alone & i’m sensin’ some undertone. & i’m right here with all my friends but you’re sending me your new address & i know we’re done & i know we’re through— ”

You and JJ had taken one too many tequila shots. Somehow you convinced herself it was fate , drowning in alcohol while thinking of him. It had been months since you and Rafe had broken up— months , and while you seemed to be over it just fine in front of everyone else , you knew you weren’t.

The last time you had seen him , you knew it was really over. It hadn’t felt like all the other fights especially not after what happened with the Sherriff and then his dad not too long after. With everything going on , the only good thing he really did back then was let you go while figuring his own shit out.

Everyone told you it was for the better. It was easier to forget with him away from Kildare and you had found yourself in a new group of friends that helped ease your transition from being Rafe’s girlfriend— to being a new and improved Y/N.

Was all of that progress really worth losing?

Hey. I’m back.

The text had illuminated your face in the night air. The wind whipping at you as you stood in place , looking at your phone. You knew it was Rafe because even though you had deleted his contact in a fit of rage and sadness not too long after the break–up , he was still the only person you knew who bothered to text with correct punctuation and capitalization. Blinking as you looked at it , you subconsciously glanced around to see if anyone had noticed knowing what they’d say if they did. Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard , debating responding.

You could always blame it on the alcohol , right?

oh.

Was all you said before your phone started ringing , and the number you had memorized by heart and never was able to forget popped up. Panicking while looking around , you rushed through the crowds of people to find a quiet spot away on the beach. You only hoped he’d give up and hang up before you found one. It was silly for you to be this excited , and even more so to be so quick in answering. But with those shots in mind , you pressed answer.

“Hey.”

Rafe’s voice made you shiver. It had been forever since you had heard it last. Swallowing the enormous lump in your throat , you opened your mouth to answer. “Who is this?” You asked , sounding unsure. You could hear him chuckling at your question— and you knew that he knew.

“Rafe.” He responded and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Did you get my text?”

“Yeah.”

The music was still thumping but not close enough to where you couldn’t hear him shuffling around on the other end. “Where are you? What’s the noise?”

“Doesn’t matter.” You rolled your eyes. “Why did you call me Rafe? Like what do you want from me?”

“Just wanted to let you know I was back in town. . .” he trailed off. “I’ve missed you , you know.”

There it was. You almost groaned out loud as soon as he said it. Not because you didn’t like hearing it , but because you knew exactly where it’d lead to. Sighing as you rubbed a hand down your face , your lips pursed. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“Y/N—” Rafe started but you interrupted him.

“Seriously. What do you want?”

“To see you.” He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Kelce and I just finished up in the apartment and you’re the first person I called.”

He was making it hard. The two of you were broken up and all for good reasons— but even though you couldn’t admit it out loud , you did miss him and you found yourself responding before processing what you said. “What apartment?”

“Where are you? I’ll come pick you up—”

“No!” You shouted , shutting your eyes in embarrassment as soon as you had. Rafe couldn’t pull up there. For one , it didn’t matter how ‘broken up’ the two of you were— you knew Rafe Cameron. Seeing you on the cut around JJ , John B especially , he wouldn’t like it. Your friends wouldn’t appreciate watching you getting in his truck either , and would definitely try talking you out of it. “I mean— send me your address and I’ll uber there.”

Rafe was silent and you thought he’d hang up. But you heard him mumble something to himself before feeling your phone vibrate. “I’m glad you’re coming , Y/N. I really did miss you. Send me a picture of whoever comes and gets you just in case.”

“Okay.”

You didn’t bother saying you missed him back regardless if you did or not. Saying things like that made it complicated. If anything you were only going to see him just to check up. Make sure he was okay. Sure Rafe had been shitty , did shitty things , but in the end Rafe had always loved you and the feeling was mutual. Things like that don’t just go away.

“ seein’ you tonight , it’s a bad idea , right? ”

You always you were getting yourself caught up in shit you shouldn’t be. How stupid could you be , really. Rafe was your ex for a reason. It took you so long to even get yourself to leave your room after it happened , to eat a proper meal. You were heartbroken.

“ seein’ you tonight , it’s a bad idea , right? ”

Of course it was a bad idea. It was! But what’s the worse that could happen? It was just one night. You shouldn’t , though. Not after everything. Not even if he didn’t mean all those things he said. Not even if he said how much he missed you and how genuine he sounded. This would blow up in your face.

But how bad was bad?

“ yes i know that he’s my ex! but can’t two people reconnect? i only see him as a friend. ”

As you walked back to the beach , you started the conversation in your head.

There were tons of people who were friends with their ex. Like , who else could know you better than a person like that? And so much time had passed that he was probably a different person now , just like you were. Your heart ached to see him again because it had been so long. You wanted to hear all about what he’s been up to , how he was dealing with everything. You still cared about him. You just didn’t love him.

You couldn’t , could you?

People reconnect with eachother all the time. Rafe was just a friend now. That was it.

Right?

the biggest lie i’ve ever said.

You told your friends you weren’t feeling good anymore. They were too drunk to really notice you looked fine. If anything you were sick to your stomach with nerves. JJ walked you to your Uber and hugged you goodbye , telling you to text him when you made it home.

You almost felt bad about lying.

The whole ride Rafe was texting you , he wasn’t ever a fan of you using Uber’s to get around. Always saying he was the safest option.

The apartments were nice. He was on the second floor and by the time you had gotten to his door , he was already standing in the doorway waiting for you. You tried playing it cool , but he had looked better than ever. Surely you had seen other people , other guys and maybe then they were hotter than he was. Or whatever you tried convincing yourself then.

But he looked different now. Older. There was something different about the atmosphere he brought. With his hair shaven away to nothing but a buzzcut— one that only someone like him could pull off so fucking well. So well actually , that it almost pissed you off. His upper lip held the tiniest bit of hair in a stache–esque way and if you hadn’t looked away , your knees would have given out.

“You look so pretty.” Was the first thing out of his mouth and you flushed , standing in front of him awkwardly. “You also look like you’ve been out.”

He tried not to think about who you were out with. Pushing down the familiarity of possession over you mixed with a bit of jealousy. It didn’t matter if the two of you were broken up— not to him , anyway. Rafe knew as soon as he could , he’d be going back to you. He hadn’t even bothered looking at another girl. But it would be selfish of him to expect the same.

“Are you gonna let me come in or what?” You shuffled on your feet as you ignored his words. Your eyes flashed behind him to peak in , wondering what the Rafe now lived like.

Clearing his throat , Rafe nodded. Moving back to let you come inside. Your eyes roamed the walls as you did. It was more simple than you imagined , the smell of new hit your nose so what he said earlier on the phone proved to be true. There were a few empty boxes laid around. Rafe was quiet as he let you wander around , leaning against the wall. His eyes roamed over you— taking you in. Everything in his body was burning , begging to close the gap between the two of you. He wasn’t lying when he said he had missed you. All of you.

You paused when you saw a picture of the two of you propped up in a picture frame one of the counters. The memory in the photo seeming ages ago. The two of you were only sixteen in the photo , his arm wrapped around you as showed off the horribly decorated Halloween cookies. Your fingers ghosted over it , finding your heart crying at it.

“It’s one of my favorite pictures of us.” Rafe said when he noticed what had stopped you. “Even if my hair was fucking terrible.”

You giggled at that. It was. Not at the time , though. At the time there had been no other boy who looked as handsome with handfuls of gel in their hair. The innocence in his face in the picture almost made you sad. “Mine’s our first Christmas—” you turned around to look at him , hands at your sides. “When I forced you to where the Santa costume for Wheezie and her friends.” Rose had taken that picture for you then. You were sitting in his lap , pretending you were talking to Santa about what you wanted for Christmas. Which he had listened to your silly , girly wishes and surprised you with a Barbie Dream House. Wheezie had been so jealous.

“Do you still have it?” Rafe questioned. His heart beating in his chest so loud that he wondered if you could hear it , too.

“Yeah.”

You can see the glimmer on his face as you answer him. Your eyes narrow as you cross your arms , shifting on your feet. With your heart thumping rapidly in your chest mixed in with the way he looks— you can feel it start bubbling in your stomach. “What’d you call me for , Rafe?”

“What’d you answer for , Y/N.” He quirked back , matching your stance.

“I didn’t know it was you.” You huffed out a lie.

By the way you avoided his eyes , he could tell you were lying. He also knew you well and knew that you never deleted contacts. “Yeah , sure.”

Knawing on the inside of your cheek , you stayed in place as Rafe slowly walked over to you. His eyes never leaving you as he treaded lightly , cautiously. Every part of you was screaming how bad of an idea this was but nothing in you was strong enough to move. The minute his hand had reached out to touch your cheek , your head lulled to the side to fall into it. A sigh left your mouth quietly. It had still felt the same. Nothing had changed.

“I meant it when I said I missed you.”

“ i only see him as a friend — i just tripped and fell into his bed. ”

You didn’t know how it happened. One minute he was sweet talking you and the next you were stumbling over your feet into his room. You wished you had taken a few more shots— the alcohol completely voided of your body.

His hand held yours as he tugged you in his room , connecting his lips onto yours quickly. You gasped as he kissed you , the fire that had been slowly burning inside of you for months finally catching— igniting almost instantly. Instinctively you reacted , wrapping an arm around his neck to pull him closer.

You huffed as you pulled away , allowing him to lightly push you down on the bed and crawl on top of you. Your legs parted and as he crawled on top of you , the chain he was wearing dangling in his face— it occured to you that all this time you had been lying to yourself. Rafe wasn’t a friend— he never could be , and as his eyes shimmered looking down at you , a part of you could feel that he felt the same.

He was panting. The need to have you as close as possible settling in. Your hands reached up to cup his face , fingers ghosting over his skin. “What would you say if I asked you if you still loved me?” Your words were barely above a whisper as you heart beat loudly in your chest. So loud it thumped in your ears.

Rafe’s eyes softened on you and your hands on his face had felt like a distant memory. Nostalgic and sweet. Leaning down , he nudged his nose against yours , mind hazy. “I’d say that I did. That I’ve loved you as a boy— and now as a man.”

The words he had spoke seemed to resonate deep in your chest. It was true that the last time you had saw him , he was still the boy you had grew up with. But things were different now and the time apart had changed more than just you. He wore it in his actions , in the smile lines that had reminded you of all the laughs you had shared together in the hopeful years. His build was stronger , the way he carried himself was , too. But all in all— he was still Rafe.

“And you?” Rafe couldn’t help but ask. How much he wanted to lean down and kiss you. To worship you the way he should’ve— to fuck you like he loved you.

He just needed to hear you say it.

Your bottom lip trapped itself between your teeth. The thoughts of your friends scolding you , the disappointment from your mom and the idea that this would bring nothing but bad news to you plagued your mind. Though deep down you knew that Rafe Cameron was the love of your life. The kind’ve love that could only ever come once. You met him as a girl. Spending your girlhood lusting after him. He was the first boy you ever kissed , the first boy that broke your heart. Your breathing quickened and nothing else mattered. Not now. Not anymore.

“I’ve always loved you.” You answered , brushing his forehead like you had done so many times before except his shaggy , blonde hair was ghostly now.

“I’ll love you forever and even after that.”

[muffinlance]

Zuko, banished, no crew, no uncle, no quest for the avatar. Says "fuck this" aka, if I can get back to caldera maybe I can convince my dad to take me back. Horribly wounded thirteen year old finds dragons, starts a civil war by accident

Zuko didn’t think he was still delirious. The Sun Warrior’s healer hadn’t wanted him to leave yet, but—

But he’s standing here, back in the throne room, and the room is set up again for another war meeting so maybe he should have waited before coming in. But the guards hadn’t even asked him—or anyone inside—before they’d thrown the double doors open, so. He’d thought father wasn’t busy.

The general he thought he was going to fight at the Agni Kai is here, and so are all the others, even uncle. And father, at the head of the table, standing.

Father is the only one standing. Everyone else is... They’re kneeling. 

When he’d come back to the palace, the servants in the courtyard he’d landed in had hurried to open the doors for him, all the way here. And the guards had let him in. And now the whole room is kneeling except for father who—

He doesn’t look like he did on the Agni Kai field. Father had been… he’d been so calm, then. He’d been doing what he had to do, to instruct Zuko, to correct him. 

Now he just looks angry. 

So. So Zuko is screwing this up, too. He practiced his speech the whole way home, it was a good speech, he’d based it on the one the Stone Prince made to his father the Mountain Emperor when he’d come home to beg forgiveness, bringing the treasures of the Ice Spirit with him as tribute. But Zuko doesn’t remember how he was going to start. And the flames behind father are getting higher, and hotter, and Zuko is okay now with flames that flicker with purples and golds and greens, but red flame is—

It’s so hot against his face—

“Father,” he croaks. “Father, I’ve returned. With dragons.” 

He is so, so stupid. Ran and Shaw have flanked him from the courtyard, have wound through hallways paralleling his path, are snaking between the pillars of the room until coils of red and blue dwarf everything here. Ran breathes her own flames out, and the fires before the throne shift from Ozai’s reds to the shimmering rainbow-sparks of dragonfire.

“A sign from Agni,” Uncle Iroh says. He’s bowed like the rest, but Zuko can see his eyes, and there’s the same glimmer there that father and Azula get before they do something Zuko should have seen coming.

“You dare,” father says, and Zuko isn’t sure if it’s him or uncle he’s talking to. But when he takes a step forward it’s towards Zuko and when he raises a fist it’s towards Zuko and when he makes the fire it’s towards Zuko and—

(And Zuko cowered the first time the dragons tried to show him their flames. It was all around him, swirling, and he hit his knees and shoved his face against his arms because he’d learned better than to look up. 

The fire stopped, and a whiskered nose nudged him, and then there was a huge scaly coil loosely wound around him until he was done crying, so at least the Sun Warriors below hadn’t seen how pathetic he was.

After that, it was… they made it a game. Little puffs of flames, the kind of sparks he used to make to keep Azula from getting fussy in her crib, until she was old enough to climb out and go exploring with him instead. 

He flinched at first, a lot, but they didn’t hurt. Didn’t even hit him. And then it really was a game, where he would spin their colors in with his own flames, and send them back, and they’d keep playing as the flames got bigger and bigger but somehow they never got scary again. 

When he’d stopped flinching at all, when he wasn’t a coward around his own element, he knew he was ready to return home. Grandfather had once welcomed uncle home with honors for killing dragons. So father would accept his apologies if he brought home two live dragons, right? Making friends with dragons had to be harder than killing them.)

Father’s flames were… they were just red. Zuko didn’t realize what he was doing until the war ministers were gasping. By then he was already spinning father’s flames with his own, mixing in all the colors father’s had lacked, and.

And sending them back.

(Batting fire around with dragons had not given Zuko a realistic grasp on the heat tolerance of the average abusive father.)

Uncle was not the first to bow, when Zuko had first entered. This time, he is.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” he says.

The war ministers are not prepared to countermand the Dragon of the West. Or literal dragons. They never left their knees, and they don’t start now. Foreheads touch the ground.

Zuko… Fire Lord Zuko’s first order is to take his father to the healers. He’ll let him stay there, longer than Ozai let Zuko.

(You can read this and other prompts at AO3. And longer stories, too. <3)

[rosaleelovesdilfs]

“Mama I’m In love with a Criminal” pt 1/?

MDNI, smut, kidnapping, mild Stockholm syndrome, mentions of ex mental abuse, daddy issues CLEARLY (lol) , mentions of murder and gore, and stalking. (If I forgot something I’m sorry!)

“Cooper what the FUCK!” You say as you’re leaned over, sweating digging a grave. What am I doing?

“Just keep digging.” He looks over at you, butchering the body. You gag, it’s so gruesome to watch his process. You know his process very well, but helping? Why the FUCK are you helping?!

Oh, yea…you’re in love with a fucking criminal, The Butcher.

Then:

“Welcome in! How can I help you?” You say putting on the most artificial smile.

“Vanilla cold brew, no ice, extra cream, two pumps of caramel, and foam on top.”

You have gotten used to no “thank yous” or “please”. Just put on a smile and do what they say.

“Yes Ma’am will that be all?” You ask in the most polite tone.

“Well did I say anything else? Yea that’s all.” She states.

“Apologize to her, she’s just doing her job…” a tall man in a firefighter uniform says. The lady looks at him and immediately flushes. “Oh uh yes sir. My apologies Cooper. I’m sorry” she says curtly to you.

Of course, Cooper Adams. I mean who didn’t know him? He’s the chief firefighter, polite, tall, and very fucking hot. “Hi Mr. Adams what can I do for you?” This time, without an artificial smile.

“Oh please, call me Cooper. I’ll just do a straight black coffee. Thank you sweetheart.”

Sweetheart…fuck is he dreamy. You hand him his coffee and his receipt to sign. When he hands it back, it has a number on it.

“I’m uh-hosting a thing at the station. Maybe if you could somehow cater? Call me.” He smiles as he turns around and walks out. That smile…it’s so perfect, too perfect.

Now:

After you’ve finished digging the grave you look over at Cooper. “What’s um-what’s next?”

“I need you to help me carry these pieces and put them in the hole. Got it?” He says walking over. “I’m sorry that you are having to do this…” he kisses you on the head. He’s not fucking sorry. He enjoys you helping. Enjoys having someone see the true him, The Butcher he’s always been. He loves having you get your hands dirty, and after this? After this he’ll join you in the shower and fuck you senseless. Fuck all the anger, emotion, and stress out.

You nod to him, doing as he says. You don’t really want to find out what would happen if you said no. Does he love you? Are you just a toy to him? Let’s be honest you don’t care. You’re in love with him, his flaws, his perfections, everything.

“Okay put these on.” He hands you a pair of gloves. You put them on as you help him carry the pieces of the body to the grave you dug. After all the pieces are in there, he starts to fill it back up. He’s done this countless times, always leaving a little piece of the victim somewhere for the police to find. He loves this little game, knowing people fear him, have nightmares about him. While people are having nightmares about him, what he may do, you’re inside his bed straddling him. Kissing him, riding his cock while he praises you.

“Good girl. You did so good tonight helping me.”

Then:

You dial the number left on the receipt.

“Hello?” His voice comes on the other end. His voice is like liquid sex, so smooth, so perfect. Too perfect.

“Hey! It’s y/n from the coffee shop. You mentioned something about catering…? You do know we don’t have much food correct?” You slightly giggle.

“Would you be mad if I said that was a lie just to get a pretty girls number?”

You fluster and get agitated just at that comment. “Oh really? And if I said I was mad?”

“Then I guess that would be an issue.” You hear him smile on the other end. “So now that I have your number, would you wanna go out sometime? Go anywhere you want.”

How could you say no? You’re not gonna say no to the chief firefighter that’s single and fucking hot. “Yea sure. Hey listen, there’s a rock concert actually in a week and my friend bailed…would you maybe wanna go? I don’t know what music you like but-“

“Yes of course I’ll go.” He cuts you off.

“Perfect it’s next Wednesday. Pick me up at 8:00.” You try not to scream with excitement.

“Okay see you then sweetheart.” He hangs up.

Concert day…

“You ever been to a concert before?” I ask. He gets sweaty and uneasy.

“Oh yea once. It was a long time ago though back when I lived in Philly.” He says looking around.

“Oh cool, that’s cool. I’ve been to a few but this is my first rock one.” You look up at him, still looking around paranoid. “You okay…?”

“Oh yea, just a lot of people.” He wipes his hands on his jeans and smiles down at you. “I’m having fun though, I promise.”

The concert ends an hour later and you get back to your place. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him to grab you and kiss you. You wanted him to kiss you like a starving man in all honesty.

“I had fun, thank you for coming with me.”

“Of course, I had fun too.” He pushes a piece of your hair behind your ear. You look up at him almost begging for him with your eyes. He can read your expression and leans in to kiss you. This was what you dreamed of, what you saw in the movies and the books you read.

You unlock the door to your house with him still on your lips.

“Fuck cooper.” You moan into him. He starts shedding his clothes, folding them neatly as he did so. You do the same with yours. You don’t know why he’s so neat with them, but did it matter? Before you know you’re on the couch with him between your legs, licking and sucking at your pussy. You grasp the couch and moan. This was heaven. This man’s lips, tongue, hair, everything was so perfect. For a moment your gut tells you something’s not right, but why listen when there’s a deeper knot building. His thick fingers teasing your entrance, pushing but not yet.

“Cooper…cooper fuck I’m close!” You grab his hair and tug which pulls a moan out of him.

“Good girl, take my tongue like the good girl you are.” He says looking up and returning to suck your clit.

His words hit you like a bus, your orgasm closely following. He continues until you’re squirming in his hands, the way he likes it. He likes when you struggle…

Who knew this would lead to you being his accomplice? Who knew he had this all planned out from the beginning?

“Turn around. Hands on the table.” He wasn’t asking, he was commanding. You have never done this on the first date, so why now?

“Yes sir.” You looked back at him smiling. The smile was hiding how nervous you were to take him all in. He smacks your ass leaving a stingful mark. He massages it with his hand after while massaging your clit. Next thing you know he pounds into you without warning, letting out a moan. “Fuck you feel so good baby. You’re gonna be good and take me all…”

You pant and let out almost incoherent moans and words as he relentlessly pounds into you, all while massaging your clit. “Come on baby you’re squeezing me, let go, come all over my cock.” Not long after you reach your climax, he follows right behind.

He cleans you up and kisses all the marks he left, praising and apologizing all at once. “You did so good for me.”

You fall asleep like that, in his arms. It was comforting but something was just nagging at you.

The next morning you both decide to go get breakfast at a new place up the street.

“So Cooper, how long have you lived here?” You ask curious.

“About four years now. Left Philly awhile back.” He almost looks around, trying to avoid your eyes as he says this.

“How come you left?”

“Hey I have to get going the station is calling me. Emergency. I’ll call you later okay?” He rushes to get up and kisses you on the forehead before he’s out the door. What the fuck was that about?

Now:

You quickly help him clean up the rest of the evidence at one of the safe houses he has. “Cooper, exactly how many people have you killed…?” You didn’t know if this was the first time, or the 10th time.

“This is my 13th victim. The other twelve were back in Philadelphia. My um- my family I’m not sure where they are. They are under witness protection. That’s why I chose this small town, no one would know who I am? I could tell you always thought something was off, something was not right, but yet here we are.” He starts to walk over to you. “I knew something in you could do it, you could be a good girl and help me.” He kisses me and touches me with his bloody hand. That wont last long. He has clinical OCD which means he can only be like this for about five minutes. Everything’s always constructed and achieved perfect. Too perfect.

All you can do is nod. Your brain and gut is telling you to turn away, go to the police as fast as you can. Your heart…it’s telling you to stay. To protect Cooper. You are officially an accomplice to this. You couldn’t run if you wanted to…this is what he wanted all along. For you to fucking HELP so you were stuck with him?! What the fuck did you get yourself into.

Im not quite sure how many parts I am going to do. I am going to aim for 3 though!! I hope y’all enjoy the first part :)!!! The second part will be out Sunday most likely!

@coopers-bunny @babygorewhore @cryobabyy @thebutchersbitch @hereforthehitsbaby @amethystblackkchaos @rainingrabbits89-blog @lustskitty69

If I forgot anyone I’m so sorry please just remind me in the comments!

[ae-azile]

If I ever catch up with my WIPs, I have (another) plot bunny in my head...

Chay is still so angry. He's angry at Porsche for lying to him and joining the mafia. He's angry at Korn for likely killing his father, taking their mother away, and making her into whatever shell of a person she is now. He's even angry at Kinn for making his brother happier than Chay has ever seen him, because that means they are never going to leave this place.

But most of all - despite how fucked up those reasons are - he is still so angry with Kim. He still won't talk to him, but he dreams about him every single night. It isn't fair.

So when he wakes up after a rare dreamless sleep, he feels grateful for about five seconds until he realizes where he is. He's back in his old room, his old house, and completely alone. And when he finds his phone plugged in on the nightstand, it is almost a year behind. If he weren't so freaked out by waking up in his old bed without knowing how he got there, he would smash his phone against the wall. The screen displaying the date he went on that college tour and first met Kim is NOT doing his brain and heart any favors. He calms down for about five minutes when he convinces himself this must be some kind of dream, one that doesn't directly include Kim yet still somehow inserts him into the overall narrative.

But Ohm calls and asks if they are still meeting at their go-to coffee shop so they can gush about Wik before seeing him perform in person - just like he had asked the day it actually happened. So Chay tells him he'd rather die, hangs up the phone, and decides to eat breakfast instead. He makes it down four steps before tripping down the rest and promptly breaking his neck.

Then he wakes up. Again. In his old bed on the day of the tour. When he decides to ignore Ohm's call and take a shower instead, he slips against the porcelain and cracks his head against the wall.

He takes a hint by the third time and goes to the college to see Kim. Kim looks as good as he did the first time and doesn't pay Chay any mind until Chay obnoxiously shouts out the answers to Kim's stupid trivia questions. For some reason, that is an offense that makes getting tased by security justified.

To give Kim a little credit, Chay hears him yelling stop before losing consciousness.

When he wakes up for the fourth time, he realizes he is going to have to go about this a little differently. He goes to the school tour, attends the concert, corrects the girl's answer, and approaches Kim after the show when Ohm drags him over to get his shirt. Chay knows there is no shirt and that Kim's signature, lessons, and expensive guitar aren't worth the heartbreak. Chay wants to tell him as much.

But Kim smiles at him kindly, no recognition in his eyes as he looks towards his friend in hopes to give Chay a shirt. It's then that it truly clicks that Kim doesn't know him, at least not yet. He may have figured out who he was shortly after meeting him and offered the lessons for information, but right now? He has no clue.

Chay is suddenly the one who knows everything and has the upperhand.

So Chay - against every instinct he has - asks Kim for those lessons once again. This time, it's going to be different.

This time, Chay is going to break Kim's heart first.

Notes for plot:

- Chay will die every so often, causing the loop to start once more. Sometimes he gets a month or two in, other times he gets a few days, hours, or even minutes in.

- Chay will occasionally get sidetracked from his mission to destroy Kim. He thinks it could be an opportunity to pull his brother away from the mafia prior to Porsche becoming so attached to and in love with Kinn. He also tries to save his mother singlehandedly. It does not go well.

- After several loops and a couple of long, interrupted bouts, Kim starts becoming more aware. He recognizes Chay in the crowd and starts breaking script.

- It becomes clear this isn't some simulation. Somehow, Kim is now getting trapped into this curse too, but it's more gradual.

- They end up having to work together, all while Kim is struggling to remember what happened in the original timeline.

- Kim and Chay end up falling in love in a way that is more authentic and based in truth - after Chay gets a few loops where he one ups Kim, breaks his heart first, and gets it out of his system.

- Other characters start becoming more aware when Chay regularly deviates from the loop in ways that won't kill him. This results in allies, as well as bringing more of the ensemble into the loop. Sorry for the pun.

*Loosely inspired by the episode "Mystery Spot" from Supernatural, but more complicated * 😂