#right or wrong they're still the captains

[falling-star-cygnus]

i've been rooting around the wbk fandom and manga for a little over a week now, and i've made a few posts just about some observational things, sooo now i feel a wee bit more comfortable posting something more indulgent :3 -> it's like leveling up in a video game, where you gotta learn the controls for the first 10-15 levels until you can participate in the fun stuff T^T

Nirei, Sakura, and Suo's dynamic is so very, very adorable. i wish more people talked about how cuddly they are with each other 😭

Nirei Akihiko and Suo Hayato's Top Secret Guide to Being a Grade Captain's Charger Or, Sakura Haruka's Emotional Support Vice Captains

"You guys ever notice..." Anzai starts.

The small group of first years' gaze is drawn over one by one. First to Anzai, and then green, brown, amber, and red eyes pulled to the shwip of the door opening.

This early in the day, the people entering and leaving didn't cause much fanfare. Sure, you might perk up when you saw your friend, get giddy to share news that couldn't be conveyed properly over text, but all in all it wasn't really anything out of the ordinary.

A freckled blond strolls in.

"...that Nirei gets away with a lot more than we do?"

With his hand wrapped around Sakura Haruka's upper arm.

The group of four feels an irrational swell of jealousy, one that they’ll deny to their graves.

It wasn't like Anzai was wrong, even if it was an unwanted dose of reality. Out of all of them, Nirei- whether it be because of his puppy like energy or his position as one of Sakura’s first friends- always seemed able to squeak into contact with their bristly captain without his alarm bells going off.

Seriously.

It was impressive, actually, Kiryu had tried to brush some of his darker hair out of his face once- buut Sakura hadn't seen his hand coming until it was right in front of his nose. Both of them had frozen at the resulting flinch, as dishearteningly natural as it was.

Kiryu didn't really let it deter him, though. Sakura's hair was really soft. Anzai would know, considering he got a face full of it when he tackled him that first day. Also positive reinforcement 'n conations 'n all that.

Anyway- honestly, the only one that even came close to Nirei's level of allowed tactility was..

“Oh? What makes you say that, Anzai-kun?” Suo asks, smiling like they couldn't all see how he tightened his grip on his wrist. 

Greedy bastard. At least Nirei was practically impossible to hate.

And Suo got away with blatantly staring at their grade captain's pretty features, so Anzai thinks he really shouldn't be complaining.

"Why're you actin' like that, you get his attent-"

“I told you, it’s fine!” Sakura is huffing at the blond, unintentionally interrupting as the two came closer, “It’s not even that deep.”

“It could still get infected-”

The attention shifts again, this time to the hand hidden inside the bicolored boy's pants pocket.

"Hmm? Did Sakura-chan get hurt on his way here?" Kiryu questions, shifting closer as Nirei starts talking with Suo [eh, somethin' about missing him this morning?]- though the blond's hand slips down to his captive's elbow instead of entirely letting go.

"Wh-? As if! Nire- he's overreacting!"

Annd there's that familiar blush, rosy down to Sakura's accusing finger. ....is that healthy? It's cute, no doubt, but are hands supposed to blush? They're not, right?

Eh, Anzai will ask Nagato later. It's been a while since they hung out one on one.

"No, I'm not! You're- mmph!?"

"Shut up, shut up! It's not important!"

With Sakura's hand clamped [gently, oh so gently, everyone notes] over his vice's mouth, Nirei can't do much more than make some worriedly frustrated noises. He's still clinging to their bristly captain's arm, as if trying to pry out the injured hand into the open through sheer force of will, and-

"DID YOU JUST LICK ME!?"

"YOU WEREN'T GONNA LISTEN OTHERWISE!"

...they're rowdy this morning.

Suo, the asshole, is just watching with an elatedly amused curve to his eye- like observing a ping pong match.

Unnoticed by everyone, the desk the group was gathered around contained one slowly rousing Sugishita. Well- they knew he was dozing there, but none of them really knew how long he'd been listening. Or awake.

Had he been awake the whole time?

It'd clearly been long enough regardless, because he reaches his lanky arm up- perfectly level with Sakura's pocket in his slouched malaise- and lifts the bicolored captain's hand into view. Like a princess.

The result is near instantaneous.

Like a feral cat, Sakura throws himself backwards and out of Nirei's hold with a startled screech- kinda adorably reminiscent of a tuxedo arching it's back and hissing- but he doesn't really get far when Sugishita shifts his grip to his wrist to keep him from bolting.

....and Sakura's wrists were really small.. or maybe the blue haired fanatic's hands were really big? He only had to use his pinkie and thumb to completely loop around it.

Both could be true.

Also wow. Their relationship really had changed since Noroshi.. it still couldn't really be considered friendly, of course, but...

Hey, wait a second-

"WHAT DID YOU DO!?" Anzai balks in pure astonishment, finally registering the absolutely demolished knuckles of his grade captain. They're practically skinned to the bone!

Seriously, they're horrific looking- skin is literally dangling off in places.

Sakura squirms, concerningly red in the face and heaving in the chest as he tries to free his hand, but Suo maneuvers his way behind him to gently grab his shoulders.

"Calm down," he cajoles, ever the greedy, soothing gentleman, "We're just worried, Sakura-kun, no one wants to hurt you."

...right.

Maybe they were coming on a bit too strong. Sakura's trust in them was still a fragile thing, barely planted with a bud as new as spring flowers and... ah, Sugishita could do this metaphor better. Something, something, too much water and fertilizer at once?

Point is- they had to go slow. A little at a time.

"I- I knew that," their captain bristles defensively, his raised shoulders lowering as Nirei wraps himself around his arm again, "I just- I wasn't expecting to get grabbed-"

"Eh? But didn't Nire-chan and Suo-chan grab you just now?" Kiryu cuts in, returning from wherever he had disappeared to [Anzai feels a little bad for not noticing his departure] with a roll of bandages and cleaning solution.

Unsurprisingly, that just makes their captain flush darker.

"That-! That's different-"

Oh?

Anzai grins.

"Reeeally?" he leans close, but takes care not to brush against him just yet- there's already three people touching his bristly captain, and five in total crowding him- "Why is that?"

Distantly, he wonders if they make cosmetics in the color Sakura is turning. Maybe Tsuchiya would want some..

"They're-"

"Special?" Kiryuu heckles lightheartedly, leaning over Sugishita to gently pat the cleaning solution into the cuts.

Sakura doesn't even flinch. Anzai's chest squeezes again.

"H-Hey! Don't put words in my-"

"Aww, Sakura-kun. We're touched," because, of course, Suo had to rile him up even further, "We are your vice captains, after all. It makes sense."

Smug bastard.

"It's not like that- You volunteered for that role!" Sakura continues to deny, getting dangerously close to overheating, "You two just- don't... count. For some reason."

...he doesn't even realize.

He doesn't even realize!

Anzai has never been so jealous in his fucking life-

Nirei squeezes their grade captain's arm closer with sparkles in his big brown eyes, "Sakura-san..."

"So how did your knuckles end up like that anyway?" Anzai butts in, forcing his gaze to where Kiryu was gently taping the gauze down.

Sugishita was still holding Sakura's wrist still, but at least the limb wasn't trembling anymore. Still stiff as wood, though, but progress is progress so he'll keep his mouth shut.

Their grade captain goes silent- his ahoge practically crinkling from the heat emanating from his face.

The four look to Nirei.

"Ah, Sakura-san.." he prompts, patting his captive's elbow, "You should be the one to tell them!"

Suo squeezes his shoulders, curious himself.

Sakura stays silent.

"I bet it'll make them reeeally happy!"

....maybe the blond was more devious then they all thought.. or maybe Suo was just rubbing off on him too much. Either way, their captain relents the slightest bit.

"There was... a fight."

"Yeah.. we figured." Anzai can't help but deadpan.

And then he wants to kick himself, because Sakura was sharing and if Anzai was the one that made him retreat back into the shell everyone was trying to crack, then he'd never forgive himself-

Sugishita kicks his ankle for him. Which- surprising, but also fair.

"They were- saying shit. About Kiryu," it's honestly a miracle Sakura hasn't ground his teeth to dust yet, "'...'n Suo.... and Sugishita.."

Their bicolored captain raises his injured hand to the back of his head- out of Sugishita's surprise loosened grip- and ruffles up the strands as he attempts to glare holes into the edge of the desk. His face is as pink as his namesake.

"And you," Nirei tacks on, but Sakura just shakes his head.

"I don't care about that, they can say whatever they want about me- I'm used to it."

He shouldn't have to be used to it, they all think bitterly.

"But they don't know you guys," Sakura bulldozes before any of them can say as much, "It just- pissed me off."

That seems to be his limit, because as soon as that final word rings out he's whirling around hiding his face in Suo's shoulder. The eyepatched bastard is caught so off guard that it shows on his face.

"Oh my," he says, tentatively resting his hands on his captain's shoulders, and then he smiles again... all soft and unslimy-like that it's a little off putting, "So our dear Sakura-kun was defending our honor~ How sweet."

Sakura defended them.

Unlike his usual backhanded compliments, this one from Suo sounds so genuine.. Suo, Kiryu, hell even Sugishita look a little awed in different ways- though the blue-haired fanatic looks pissed about it a second later and puts his head back down against his desk. Kiryu pats his shoulder consolingly, clicking a million photos away on his phone of their bashful captain.

...Anzai'll have to pester him for some of those later.

Sakura weakly punches his vice's shoulder, his knuckles bright pink [seriously, is that healthy?] and his ears much the same.

Maybe they still had to go slow with their affection, still had to ween the bicolored boy off the loneliness that plagued him like an addiction, but the rewards were more than worth it.

How anyone could look at Sakura and not want him in their lives was a concept that Anzai couldn't grasp at all.

Sakura Haruka, the boy who jumped fist first into protecting those who couldn't- their grade captain that wanted all of them to be safe and made himself literally sick with worry after everything with Keel.

How could anybody not love him?

How could his old town look at him, truly look at him, and not want to crawl into his skin to make a home?

It was their loss, now, regardless.

Sakura Haruka belonged to Makochi.

And Makochi was greedy enough to want him all to themselves.

[samzies-world]

Ateez’s hierarchy

(*^o^)人(^o^*)

Soooo I noticed a lot of people ranking and writing their opinions on which Ateez members were on the top and bottom of their hierarchy so I wanted to share mine cause I feel like there is a lot I don't see on them much but I love reading them nonetheless. So here’s mine

Most dominant - Most submissive

This is mainly focused on dom and submissive not so much top and bottom because i think with certain members they all can cave (I will happily attach a masterlist to this and elaborate with short fics of each ship if you guys want)

Yeosang: Dominant - Switch but mainly top

BEFORE ANYONE COMES AT ME I put Yeosang at the top because I see him as the kinkiest member; let me elaborate. We all know what they say about the shy quiet people well then I don’t see why Yeosang is always so low on the hierarchy. He is definitely sadistic and how he always walks around the dorm naked?!?! He clearly only does it because he wants to see his members drool over him. Anyways he’s definitely into ruining his members and watching them suffer.

Hongjoong: Dom - Top - Rarely ever bottoms (Mainly just if he’s stressed) Only bottoms for the members he knows can fuck him right

Hongjoong is seen as the daddy of the group. Why the heck would he not be high in the hierarchy? In fact the only reason I didn’t put him higher than Yeosang is because I feel like he’s not as of a “Strict” dom as Yeosang. (well he is he’s just not as cruel.) Don’t get me wrong though he will still be able to put Yeosang in his place if he was in the wrong (LIke I said I will happily go into depth with this if you guys want) but we all know Yeosang is all the members princess so it’s not often. He more so praises his members when they're in the bedroom and is good at talking them through it. (Definitely likes watching them cry over his good words). When it gets to putting any of his members in their place though his act definitely changes most of the time giving said members whiplash how their loving captain can go mean. He doesn’t give them pleasure just some endless torture not even letting them finish at the end saying if he did make them cum they would just do it again while putting their pants back on ignoring their pleads.

Yunho: PERVERT - hard switch

This one is my favorite because I only ever see bottom Yunho in the rankings but in fics I can find perv Yunho SO WHY IS IT DIFFERENT WITH HIS MEMBERS AND NOT MC!?!

Anyways this man is a pervert he can be dominant and submissive he just wants that bag whatever you give him he’ll take. If he’s initiating he can beg or just simply take it just depends on which member it is like the members below him or above him. And for special Jongho he’ll probably start off begging him and then while teasing him end up on top of him while he’s not expecting and top from there.

Jongho: Dom - Top (or is he?) no he’s a switch (Shhhhh)

I gave fourth place dominant to Jongho because I feel like he never really bottoms not so much the fact that he’s kinky dominant he’s more so just dominant OUT o f the bedroom like opening things for his members and whipping stuff off their faces but when he is with the kinkier members (like Yeosang) in the bedroom and he’s doing “Gross” stuff to him they can definitely tell he likes it and their not afraid to point it out and degrade him. He says he’s a top and generally is but he is still their maknae so of course he cant get away with not bottoming once in a while (He secretly loves it though so it’s ok) The only one that really seems to let him actually dominate him is Seonghwa (In his head he’s testing him and just admiring how cute he is) but it’s the only member that doesn't say it out loud everyone one else always ends up on top of him somehow.

Seonghwa: Mother - Switch

Okrrrrr so I feel like Seonghwa has such a caring role outside of the bedroom so of course he gets seen as the mother of the group and it can be sometimes be incorporated in the bedroom also like when hongjoong is stressed or if Jongho is in need of some relief but doesn’t want the teasing when he tells him he wants to top. So Seonghwa happily helps them- all of them when they get this way he can top if they need it and bottom he’s there for their pleasure and to service them. He can also put them in their place though like if Wooyoung can’t stop teasing him especially one day you can bet it will end with him shaking and trembling in his bed.

Mingi: Another service switch

Mingi is a princess after all and that's how I came to this conclusion he has strong feelings and they can control him most of the time and it’s not like he can control it but sometimes they get a strong hold of him like anxiety and stuff so when he needs a moment in the bedroom with one of his members he just wants them to tell him how good he is whether he wants them to make him do stuff so he can earn the title or if he can finally cave ad except the praise while all he does is lay down and look good for them. That's on his softer days though he is still human so on good days and stuff he tends to be more of a top generally still a service top.

Wooyoung: perv… - Switch Bottom leaning

So I'm also putting on pervert for Woyoung but he also falls low on the hierarchy because while Yunho is a perv it’s still in a more dominant way while Wooyoungs is in more of a submissive way. He still will top but prefers to be ruined and be a brat just so he can be put in his place.

San: Sub - Switch rArely

OK SO DON’T KILL ME! But i'm putting him on the bottom BECAUSE this man was TWIIINK and i know you might think he’s de-twinkified BUT IS HE REALLY he only likes to work out to get checked out by his other members lats be real here (imma write on that) AND THE STUFFED ANIMALS!?!? Like hes sub by heart he loves getting called cute and when he and Wooyoung get together all I see is a kitten pile loving on each other so these kittens are going on the bottom but San can be the obedient one meheheh.

........................................................

I wrote this really badly buuut like I said I would love it if you guys told me what ship you want me to elaborate with and I’ll make a master list attachment. My tumblr is very lonely and I love the community so I’m always willing to write things suggested to me!

[spilladabalia]

Pikes in Panic "Wild Man" La Mecca-Pontassieve 15/01/88

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Well we know Sauron does end up killing the captain so he was perfect to use as the reader’s equivalent of a Mirdania. These two are so in love and it’s everyone’s problem😆

Thank you very much for your kind words❤️

Theatrics (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which Celebrimbor tries to expose you and your husband to the people of Eregion, but you play the role of the innocent maiden to perfection

Warnings: evil!reader, murder, manipulation, mentions of wounds, smut, light choking, blood licking, fingering, p in v, slight roleplay, slight voyeurism kink

Note: part of the evil!reader collection of fics. okay I finally said fuck it and wrote smut *throws it into the wild and runs away*

Mature content below the cut—minors DNI!!!

Chaos roars around you as you step out into what were once the beautiful streets of Eregion. Walls are crumbling, arrows are flying, Elves are scurrying about every which way.

You suppress a smile. All is going according to plan. But what pleases you even more is that at long, long last, the moment which you had been most eager to savour has finally come to pass.

Celebrimbor has learned the truth.

No more tiptoeing around him, playing the unassuming Elven smith. No more taking orders from him, no more assisting him, no more pretending like you are anywhere close to kind and innocent and sweet.

Well, with him, at least. But he is the one you had most strived to fool, ever since you came to Eregion all those years ago, not knowing how long you would have to endure the life you would craft for yourself there until your husband regained his form. When the moment came that you were finally able to stand at your husband’s side in the crumbled forge as Celebrimbor realized who ‘Annatar’ was and what you were to him, when you took in the horror in his eyes as he pointed accusingly to your beloved’s pitch black blood only to watch you lick it hungrily off his hand instead of running in terror...

It nearly made up for all the times the words ‘my lord’ had tasted foul on your lips, spoken to the smith in false submission. You serve no one but your husband—and even that can hardly be called service, when he serves you in return with equal devotion.

You wonder how much of a fool Celebrimbor will have already made of himself even before you find him, wherever he has run off to in the wake of his terrible realization. You and your husband had ensured that by the time Celebrimbor manages to speak against you, all ears would be shut to his words. The Elves once loyal to him now believe him fatigued to incoherency at best, dangerous in his madness at worst. When you had last emerged from the forge, it had been crying and holding a bloody hand, claiming that Celebrimbor had brought Fëanor’s hammer down upon it in a moment of cruel impatience with your work. An illusion, of course, conjured by the part of your husband’s power which lives within you. You have bandaged that hand now, mindful to keep up the charade.

You make sure to fill your eyes with as much dread as any other Elf’s as you run through the chaos, searching for Celebrimbor. Your husband is out here as well, but not with you—it would serve you better to arrive separately for this little special occasion.

By the time you find Celebrimbor on the rampart, he is already quite the pitiful sight—he and Mirdania stand near a section of the parapet which had been wrecked by an Orc boulder, leaving it horribly easy to fall over the edge through the resulting gap. He is screaming at Mirdania that she has to believe him, over and over. She eyes him warily, drawing ever so slightly away, no doubt unsettled to find herself in the proximity of such a disturbed individual and a dangerous fall, all at once. Of all the Elves he could have run to, it had to be the one most taken with your husband’s charms. Oh, this is too perfect.

“My Lord, there you are!” you exclaim. His eyes widen in horror at the sight of you. Yours are awash with concern as you reach for his arm. “It really is not safe for you to be out here—”

Celebrimbor recoils, so violently he nearly knocks Mirdania off her feet as he stumbles into her. She yelps, rushing to your side instead.

“Don’t you dare come near me, you witch!” Celebrimbor spits out, jaw trembling as he yells at the guards, “Seize her!”

You don’t need to see your own face to know you have made it into the perfect picture of confusion and hurt. You exchange a glance with the guard closest to you, Captain Malendol. You’ve shared some laughs over the years, the occasional friendly conversation, even a dance or two at celebrations and the ever-so-subtle flirtation under the supposed influence of a wine glass or two. He likes you quite well, if you do say so yourself. Which makes the bafflement on his face, unlike yours, genuine.

Celebrimbor swallows painfully as realization dawns on him—his own guards no longer obey him. “She is no friend of yours,” he insists, “she never has been! She—”

The words die in his throat when he catches a glimpse of your husband. He has finally joined you, silently making his appearance on the steps behind Celebrimbor, and now the smith is effectively caught between the two of you, even if the trap is utterly invisible to those around you.

“Seize him,” Celebrimbor scrambles to order, “seize them both.”

Malendol stays put. All eyes around Celebrimbor regard him with nothing but sympathy.

“He is Sauron,” he claims desperately, as truthful an attempt as it is fruitless. “Seize them! They have been lying to you all along.”

“No,” Mirdania shakes her head at your side. “Lord Annatar has been protecting us.”

“While you’ve been in your tower, giving orders that might have been the end of us all,” Malendol adds reproachfully.

You allow yourself the slightest raise of a gloating eyebrow, visible only from the angle of Celebrimbor and your husband. As intended, it fuels the rageful despair in the smith’s eyes.

“No,” he all but pleads to be believed. “No, that was him. He is Sauron! And she...” he points a finger which trembles with anger at you, “His foul lover! His depraved mistress! I saw it! Before my eyes, she tasted his blood as if in some... deranged coupling ritual!”

“By the Valar,” you breathe out, swaying on your feet. Such vulgar words would weaken the knees of a faint-hearted maiden. So, accordingly, you begin to fall in Mirdania’s direction, leaving her to scramble into a hasty attempt at holding you upright. Malendol is at your other side in an instant, helping her to support you with a firm arm around your waist.

“My Lord, please,” Malendol says, appalled. “She has been a loyal friend to us for a long time, one who cares for you greatly. How can you say such degrading words about her?”

“Was it not enough,” you burst out tearfully, holding up your bandaged hand, “that you crushed my fingers with Fëanor’s hammer? I believed it to be an accident, but... To have you question my virtue as well...?”

You dissolve into sobs. Your supposedly wounded hand flies to cover your face. The other one, Malendol takes in his, endlessly sympathetic.

The briefest brush of your husband’s mind through the bond you share tells you that the captain is unlikely to survive the siege.

A chuckle bursts from Celebrimbor’s throat, the sound of one driven to insanity. It is funny. All of it. The trouble for him is that you, your husband and Celebrimbor are the only ones who get the joke. And the poor smith is the butt of it.

“Let not yourselves be fooled by her false tears,” he strives, in vain, to convince them. “She has no shame, no care for any of us! Her heart is black—black as his blood.” He turns to your husband as if in sudden realization. “His blood... Cut him open!” he orders. “Look at his hand, see for yourselves!”

He’s nearly gleeful as he says it, genuinely believing he has found the answer to ending his torment. Some of the pity in your eyes is genuine as you look at him with the same dismayed expression as the others’. Your husband knits his brow, as innocent as ever—and lifts his hand to reveal a cut smeared with what appears to the others as utterly natural, perfectly ordinary red blood.

Any trace of hope is drained from Celebrimbor’s eyes. He stares, wordless, jaw quivering as your husband speaks in that calm and composed tone of his.

“You may speak of me as you wish, Celebrimbor. But I will not have you besmirch a kind Elf maiden’s honor, even out of frailty of mind,” says with great sadness Annatar, the divine messenger who has most certainly never laid one pristine finger upon your most demure self. “Please,” he addresses the guards, “escort him back to the forge.”

But the guards exchange glances, hesitating. It was one thing taking orders from your husband when it came to defending the city, but it appears they do not yet dare lay hands on their supposed true lord. They are very close, though, merely in need of the slightest nudge over the edge. Such as a word from their captain, but Malendol wavers, just as torn. Ensuring that you are indeed steady on your feet, he releases you and lays a hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip as if to ready himself, but hesitates to give the order. You exchange a nervous glance with Mirdania, who is still at your side, hands on your arm.

A nudge... over... the edge.

You wouldn’t even need the bond between your minds to know that you and your husband are thinking the exact same brilliantly awful thing.

You release a shuddering breath, leaning on Mirdania only the slightest bit more. At once, her hold on you tightens reassuringly.

“Come,” she says, beginning to tug you away, “let us get you some water.”

You nod, visibly grateful to follow her. You halt after a couple of steps, however, just as you are passing Celebrimbor, and turn to him as if with sudden determination. At your back stand Mirdania, a gap in the wall and the field of raging Orcs below, and before you is the smith glaring daggers filled with more disdain than you even imagined he possessed. You meet that scornful gaze with nothing but a pained smile.

“I forgive you, you know,” you murmur, only just loud enough for the guards to catch your words as well. “Get better soon, my dear friend.”

Whether it’s your words, imbued with such sickly saccharine affection, or the hand you lay upon his shoulder with utmost gentleness, Celebrimbor loses his last shred of restraint.

“Get your hands off me!” he roars.

It happens quickly, much too quick for anyone to notice exactly what occurred (as was, of course, your intention). Celebrimbor shoves you away with all his strength, causing you to crash into Mirdania, and—perhaps she might have been able to catch herself, if not for the flick of your husband’s wrist which makes her trip over her feet and tumble over the edge of the rampart, screaming all the way down into the Orc-riddled mud field below.

You certainly possess the power to keep your own balance, but you still yelp and stagger through the couple of backward steps that have you nearly slipping off the edge as well. Malendol, however, manages to catch you in the nick of time, as you had seen he was already desperately rushing to do. He yanks you toward him, and you collide with his chest only for your legs to play the part of finally giving out. The heroic captain keeps his hold on you as you crumble to the ground, hyperventilating.

Celebrimbor’s “No!” rings out as he stares down at the fallen Mirdania, but she is just as lost as any sympathy the guards still held for him. You scramble on your hands and knees to look over the edge just in time to see an Orc bring a hatchet down upon her, and shriek her name as you burst yet again into sobs. You keep them coming, loud and miserable, as Malendol helps you to your feet and you fall into his arms with enough force to push him a few steps back, burying your face in his neck.

Discreetly glancing over your shoulder, you see your husband speaking with Celebrimbor. But so loud are your cries, and so intent is Malendol on offering you words of comfort over them, that the others cannot hear their trusted Lord Annatar strip Celebrimbor of the last of his fight with a final threat. Finish the Nine, and I will spare your city.

This time, when your husband turns to the guards and repeats, “Escort him to the forge, please!” they comply without question.

It’s only once Celebrimbor is out of sight that you begin to quiet your sobs, pulling away from Malendol.

“It’s all right,” he comforts you, releasing you from his embrace but still resting his hands on your arms. “He shall trouble you no longer.”

“He meant to throw me over that wall,” you whisper, voice laced with terrible guilt. “Poor Mirdania died because of me!”

Your husband is standing a few feet away, gazing sorrowfully down to where Mirdania lies dead. He had, after all, made his preference of her quite apparent to the others. It would seem odd if he did not spare a moment to mourn.

“No, not because of you,” Malendol insists. “It was but the doing of Lord Celebrimbor’s troubled mind. You must not hold yourself responsible for anything he has done or said.”

“What he said... Oh, what he said!” you whisper, mortified, and lean closer to Malendol as if to conceal your words from your husband, “How am I to face Lord Annatar now?”

“Please,” your husband speaks, and you turn as if startled to find him coming to you with a most sympathetic gaze. “You have not the slightest reason to be ashamed. I only regret that you had to endure such vile accusations, and witness such tragedy. You must not blame yourself for it.”

“Such is her nature, my Lord,” Malendol says, his hand now at the small of your back in a gesture of kind support. “Of all the Elves in Eregion, she is least deserving of such scorn, and suffers the most for it.”

Oh. Between embracing you as you cried on his shoulder and the sheer affection in his voice as he sings you praises, he might as well have gone for a little tea with the Orcs, too. Forget the whole siege—now you doubt your husband will let him survive the hour.

Lord Annatar, however, offers the captain a most gracious smile.

“Thank you, captain,” he says, “for being a most loyal friend when your friendship was most needed. I shall see to it that your honourable deeds are well rewarded.”

Malendol bows his head respectfully, blissfully unaware that his ‘reward’ will very much resemble Mirdania’s.

“Performing one’s moral duty is a reward in itself, my lord. Come,” he turns to you, “let us bring you to safety.”

“No,” your husband says—a fraction of a second too quickly. The slip is much too brief to be caught and the recovery utterly seamless. “You are needed in battle, Captain Malendol. I shall see to it that she makes it safely back inside.”

Malendol exchanges a glance with you, and upon your slight nod, he says, “Of course.” As if on a sudden impulse, he turns to face you, taking your hand in his.

“Fear not, my friend. We shall prevail,” he vows. And leaves a gallant kiss on your knuckles before he takes his leave.

It’s all you can do to school your expression as you are left alone with your husband—well, ‘alone’ in the sense that no one’s focus is trained on you at the moment, but you can hardly risk one of the soldiers catching a glimpse of your triumphant smile when you had gone through so much trouble to earn their sympathy. As such, you meet your husband’s composed gaze with a somewhat shy one, quickly lowering your eyes as though you do not dare hold it for long.

He does not speak a word as he walks you back into the tower, never once attempts to place even so much as a guiding hand at the small of your back. There is the sound of destruction around you, the screams of Elves, but loudest in your mind is the tumultuous blend of emotions within your bond. So proud, so satisfied, so hungry for each other the high of victory in your wicked plans has made you, the very air thrums with the vibrancy of it.

And as if that was not potent enough, there is also that sweet possessive ire you love to rouse within each other, even when you are well aware that no being in existence could ever truly come between you. For them, to merely glance in longing at one of you is a death sentence from you both. Mirdania had sought out your husband’s touch, Malendol had dared embrace in comfort one who belongs solely in her husband’s arms. It matters not that they were allowed, even led into it. When you and your husband play such games, collateral damage is a given.

The moment you are inside the tower, you expect some kind of climax to the tension—you are most eager to be ravaged by its force, whether he should devour your lips to celebrate your flawless performance or crowd you against the wall to thoroughly replace the captain’s innocent touches with his ruinous ones.

But he does neither. He remains as impassive as though you are still being watched. Provoking you into lighting the fuse of the impending explosion yourself. Very well, then. You shall do so gladly.

“Pity about Mirdania, though,” you remark nonchalantly as you ascend the steps to the forge. “I would have liked to see her face when she realized the object of her little infatuation was the Dark Lord himself.”

“Fear not, my love,” your husband says, eerily calm and without looking back as he walks ahead of you. “We shall soon have the pleasure of a similar realization on Captain Malendol’s face, right before I run him through with his own sword.”

Unseen by him, you smirk.

“Well, he was rather eager to save my life,” you goad. “Perhaps he has earned the privilege to die in blissful ignorance after all.”

Only your footsteps fill the following silence until you reach the top of the stairs. You’ve barely climbed the last step when he turns around and—you yelp as your husband quite literally sweeps you off your feet, whisking you bridal style towards your bedchamber, instead of the forge. A giggle escapes you as you cling to him, quite pleased with the reaction you have elicited.

“Tell me, my love,” he says, kicking the door shut behind you, “what need have you of a common Elf captain to save you from falling,” you are unceremoniously released onto the bed, with your husband climbing over you not a moment later, “when you are bound to one of the Maiar who would sooner destroy the foundations of the earth than let you slip from his grasp?”

His hand is sliding up your thigh, lifting your dress on its way. He is a Maia possessed, caught between the high of triumph and the thrill of the chase at which you two so like to play, and you can hardly think of a witty answer when his fingers are only a breath away from where your flesh aches for his touch the most.

But a wicked thought prevails, and you shove him away with all your might. Still, it’s the shock of it rather than your force which knocks him to the side, allowing you to scramble off the bed. It’s almost comical, the half-confused, half-enraged look he gives you.

“Lord Annatar!” you gasp, ostentatiously doe-eyed and quite scandalized as you smooth down your dress in haste. “Surely you do not mean to lure me into some... ‘deranged coupling ritual’?” A little smile flashes through your little act while you savour Celebrimbor’s earlier words on your tongue. “And in the midst of a siege as well!”

You back away from him with slow, tantalizing steps, watching in delight as his gaze darkens in a deliciously sensual threat.

“You loved it, didn’t you?” he says, standing from the bed to walk towards you with all the patient grace of a wolf stalking prey. “Acting the innocent little maiden. Prone to fainting at the merest... suggestion of impropriety.”

His strides are larger than yours, and before long he is close enough to surge forward, swiftly closing the distance between you and grabbing hold of your neck with his blood-coated hand. You gasp as your back suddenly hits the wall, closer than you had realized it was, leaving you pinned between the cool stone and your husband’s body. Your hands fly to his wrist and his lips hover close to yours, teasing you with the promise of a kiss. You chase it just to be cruelly deceived as he evades your mouth, a wicked smile upon his as he lightly but decidedly pushes your head back against the wall.

“Be grateful, my innocent little smith, that there is a siege,” he says in a lurid whisper, releasing your throat to bunch up the skirt of your dress with both hands, “for your fellow Elves are far too distracted to hear you fall apart beneath my touch.” Your undergarments are pushed to the side, and you are so wound up that even the maddeningly light press of his fingers between your legs draws a loud whimper from you. Your husband leans into your ear as you shut your eyes, hips helplessly chasing the slow little circles he makes around your aching bud. “I should hate for anyone to ‘question your virtue’.”

His tongue makes a mockery of your own words from earlier, just before you feel its warmth at the hollow of your throat. You arch your neck as he licks upwards, long and slow, towards your jaw, gathering the blackness his wounded hand had smeared onto your skin. That same hand is now splayed over your rampant heart, holding you down as you fist your hands in the fabric of his garments and writhe with the pleasure he languidly stokes between your thighs. He kisses you, and when his tongue plunges past your lips, your mouth fills with the sweetly metallic taste of his blood, more intoxicating than the strongest liquor. You moan, long and wanton, whining for the firmer, faster, deeper touch he is withholding.

Your husband chuckles. It infuriates you.

“Oh, but you loved it too, didn’t you? When he—ah!” You suck in a sharp breath as he slips two long fingers inside you. Your wetness makes it easy, your body welcoming the familiar intrusion with nigh unbearable delight. It takes great willpower not to shut your eyes, to hold his gaze as he curls his fingers expertly, right where he knows it feels the most divine. “Did you not like it when he called me yours?” you insist, breathlessly. “Did you not want to show them yourself?”

If possible, his eyes darken even further, and his fingers pump inside you with more vigour. “Had it not been utterly counterproductive to our purpose,” he says, voice low and gruff, “I would have taken you right there upon the rampart and proved him right.”

The image is so sudden and vivid before your eyes, it pulls a pitiful mewl from your throat.

“I would have let you,” you gasp, and crush your lips to his with desperate abandon. “I want them to know.”

A guttural sound escapes his throat, and all of a sudden he withdraws his fingers, leaving you achingly empty. You think your legs might give out if it weren’t for his firm hold on you as he pulls you to the nearby window, twisting you around so that your back is against him and you plant your hands on the waist-level windowsill for support.

“Look,” he rasps out in your ear. “Do you see our soon-to-be army, my love? The very first of our devoted subjects?”

In the distance, Orcs holler crude names at each other, ready battle devices, send an endless rain of arrows over the walls of Eregion. It isn’t a pretty sight, but the terror it strikes in the hearts of their enemies and their power of destruction shall be wielded by you and your husband in the near future—and that is no small thing.

You nod, letting the thought sink in and add to the onslaught of elation already driving you wild. Your husband coils one arm around your stomach as the other wraps around your throat once more and he pulls you into him. Your bare folds meet his clothed erection, and you push back against him with a wanton moan, desperate for the friction.

“They shall be followed by Men,” he continues, rutting against you with animalistic greed, “and Dwarves, and Elves, until every single soul in Middle-Earth has been brought to their knees to worship at the feet of their King and Queen. Then, we shall at long last stand together before them all.”

“A love greater than ever was or ever will be,” you say, high-pitched and breathless, as if you are repeating words you have told yourself a thousand times. “All shall aspire to be us, yet none shall succeed.”

You are released abruptly. You hear the shuffle of fabrics, and sure enough, the swollen tip of him is soon nudging at your entrance.

“And how beautiful you shall be, my love,” your husband whispers, the sheer reverence in his voice a stark contrast to his lurid words, “with a crown upon your head, and my cock buried deep within you.”

He slides in to the hilt, quick and powerful, and you cry out. You could take him a million times, in a million different ways, and yet the perfect fit would never cease to steal your breath. He withdraws only to thrust back in, then again, setting a punishing rhythm which is nearly enough to obliterate any semblance of coherent thought from your mind. It would be so easy to let him plough into you just like this until you come undone, yet you crave something else. More.

“Wait,” you plead, planting a hand onto his hip to push him away. “Let me... let me...”

He does, letting himself slip from you with a rueful grunt. You turn to face him on unsteady legs, to look upon his face as you had so longed to—the only reason which had given you the will to interrupt your pleasure as you did. Your eyes never leave his as you seat yourself upon the windowsill, lifting your skirts once more. “I want all that,” you confess as he nestles his hips between your spread legs. “But I want you more.” He groans as you stroke his length, then guide the weeping tip back to your entrance. “I want it with you, or not at all.”

Your voice is so thin, it nearly chokes out at the end, your chest constricted with emotion—with the fear of being forced to let go as you have been before, always present in the deepest corner of your hearts. Something flickers in your husband’s gaze, the same anguish which wrenches at your soul.

“My love,” he breathes out the words as though they are the last thread by which his very existence hangs. “My love,” he vows and prays and fiercely claims as he nestles himself in your tight heat once more. You don’t know which sinks deeper into you—his swollen cock or the look in his eyes, which remain devastatingly locked with yours as he joins your flesh. Perhaps there is some innocence left in you to be ruined after all, for so raw and disarmed you are left by this union, tears spring in your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. Your husband gathers them with his lips and tongue as he rocks into you anew, far from gentle but less brutal than before, with deep, long thrusts that leave you too weak to sit up if it weren’t for his arms holding you to him.

Outside, the battle rages on. Inside, you fight to prolong this, to wring every last drop of the sweet torment that is your ascent to the peak of your pleasure. You lay a hand over your husband’s heart, feeling it hammer on in tandem with yours as he drives into you with increasing urgency. You are reduced to a string of incoherent mewls as you bury your face in your husband’s neck, mindlessly licking and biting at his skin.

His sounds of pleasure are less loud, but much deeper as they reverberate beneath your lips. You want more—so you fist your hand in his hair, with no mercy for the carefully-crafted bow at the back of his head. Crafted by you, on a playful whim the very morning before the siege began—he’d teased and claimed you were sure to ruin your own work the next time he would bed you. You don’t even think of that now, consumed by pleasure as you tug and pull with abandon, feeling the fair tresses come apart beneath your fingers. It drives your husband even wilder with lust than he already was, and he grabs your face to devour your lips as he spirals closer to his release.

Your own takes over you in an abrupt instant, right as your husband reaches between you to rub your swollen bud above where you are joined. You sob into his mouth, trembling as your hips thrash in a confused attempt to both escape and chase the unbearable height of pleasure thrust upon you.

Your husband fucks you through it, pulling you close and cooing in your ear, calling you his and ‘love’ and all sorts of adoring things in Black Speech through his own heavy breaths. Your name falls from his lips in a ragged moan as he finds his pleasure, and you feel it echo through your bond with nearly as much power as your own. His seed will not take unless he wills it so, and neither of you wish for that, but you still clench around him longingly, greedy to draw every last drop of him as deep within yourself as possible, because it is him. You’d spend each second of your life with him inside of you, if not for the impracticality of it.

Once spent, your husband remains as he is, simply holding you to him. He cradles your head in his hands, pressing sweet kisses to your hair, and you are too weak to do anything but sag against him whilst you regain your breath.

“Why, Lord Annatar,” you whisper, smiling tiredly, “I’m starting to suspect you might have impure intentions towards me after all.”

He gives a soft chuckle, pulling away to look at you. “Whatever gave you that idea, my lady?”

The innocuous words are followed by your husband gently withdrawing himself from you, leaving a great, leaking mess between your legs. The only response you can give is a soft groan as his fingers gather some of his spend from your sensitive folds, and gently press it back inside of you where it belongs. With a small, satisfied hum, he steps away to tuck himself back into his garments. You press your legs together, sighing contently at the delightful ache left in the aftermath of your lovemaking.

“However will you keep up this innocent act of yours,” your husband muses, “now that I shall be dripping down your beautiful thighs with every step you take?”

“Please,” you say coyly, standing up and fixing your dress as though your undergarments are not soaked beyond hope beneath it, and your legs don’t still feel a bit unsteady. “I’ve managed before.”

He smiles knowingly. “Indeed, you have.” He pulls you close by the waist, as if you haven’t just parted from one another. “Always so eager to wear me,” he praises, and there is nothing insincere about your flustered little smile now. It’s true that you delight in wearing what he gives you, whether it be his spend nestled between your legs or a less secretive gift. Which reminds you of the gift you had given him to wear. You lay a hand on his cheek and coax him to turn his head silghtly, pouting when you glimpse the mess of tangled tresses you have made in his hair.

“You were right,” you admit, somewhat regretful, “I did ruin the bow.”

“Like the merciless creature that you are,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. When you pull back, his appearance has already been restored. It isn’t quite as meaningful, now that his power did the work instead of your hands, but you suppose you’ve been gone long enough already. Now that your hunger for each other has been sated, your husband shares that sentiment.

“Come, now,” he says, taking your hand and making for the door. “I believe Celebrimbor is in need of encouragement with his work.”

“What are we, if not encouraging?” you quip, and gladly follow his lead.

Previous fic with same reader -> Reveal

Next fic with same reader -> Old wounds

[luminni]

Most desperate things the 141 boys have done for sex because I can't stop thinking about it <3

(sorry for this being a 3rd repost, I had an account called Lumi_bunsblog but that one got deleted for some reason so this is the new one now ig lol)

John's begged for it. I mean on his hands and knees begging for a taste. I know this man is an avid pussy pronoun user too. He has been on his knees in front of you as you sit pretty on his couch, trailing kisses up your soft belly to your tits and then back down to your thighs.

"C'mon sweet girl lemme' 'ave a taste of 'er yeah? Know she fuckin' needs me hm? Just look at tha'" as he runs a thumb of the wetness that's seeped through you thin panties, just waiting for you to say the words and let him tear them off.

He knows if anybody else in the 141 or if any of his fellow soldiers could see him now, the Captain Price practically drooling over you and sweet talking your cunt like it could hear him they would have a fit. But he couldn't care less because you looked so fucking good right now so "just let 'er 'ave what she wants alright sweet thing?"

I just know Kyle has spent 70% of his last month's pay check on hotel room because the 5 star pent house suite was the only hotel room in your area left available during the holidays. He played it cool with an arm around your waist assuring you it was fine, acting like this was the room he wanted to get, not the one he was forced to have. But if he was being forced to do anything thank god it was spoiling you.

"Don't worry 'bout it love. Just make 'urself comfortable" He'll say in a sultry sweet tone, planting kisses up the side of your neck before excusing himself to the lavish bathroom to check his bank account. He had to make sure he still had enough to buy you a nice breakfast in the morning.

And you're already layed out so pretty for him on the bed so he's not complaining about anything. Especially not the mirror situated on the ceiling right above the bed. Oh and don't you dare suggest splitting the cost, "just split your legs for me hun, 's all ya need to do"

Johnny is eager, like so so eager. When a passionate make out session on your couch got even more heated than either of you had previously expected and he now had his fingers playing with the waistband of your skirt, letting his cold finger tips splay themselves just below. When he got to the hem of your panties and began to hook a finger into the lace you had to stop him,

"Johnny"

"Yea?" He was breathless, chasing your lips when you pulled away to talk. You almost felt bad for separating but if he was going to touch you, there was one request you needed to make. You had felt his nails drag across your thighs moments earlier, it felt wonderful but they were...a little long.

"Do ya nae want this hen?" He'd ask, looking at you like you were a piece of art. Pleading with his eyes, shining like they'd spill tears if you said yes.

"No, no I want this, I want you so so much. It's just..." you trailed off

"Tell me what's wrong bonnie and I'll fix it, yeah?" his hands kept you grounded to his lap either a soft grip on you ass.

"It's just- you're nails, they're a little long" your request was nothing more than whisper.

'Oh' Johnny knew he probably should have just asked for clippers, but you felt so damn good on his lap. He could feel your warm cunt through the zipper of his jeans and with your tits brushing against his chest he couldn't bring himself to move.

You watched in shock as he just began to just tear his nails off with his teeth. Without a second thought his pointer and middle finger nails were bit off to the skin. He paused and looked at his right hand before ripping off the index finger as well.

"Johnny what's gotten into you-?"

But he's already got his hands back down your skirt. Soft finger tips slipping between your folds. "Feel better now eh?" And when you just nuzzled your nose into his neck and let out a little whimper he chuckled "I'll take tha' as a yes"

Simon swallows his pride for the first time in his life for a chance at hitting it raw. You tell him it's okay to not use protection, that you're on birth control. But you needed to make sure that he didn't have any stds seeing as they're even more of a pain when you're on birth control. Not that you don't trust him you just want to make sure and it's not a problem for him seeing as he has to get tested every other week being in the military.

He doesn't, however, have his records on him at the moment and with a girl already lying in his bed telling him he can cum inside. Plus a raging hard on, he doesn't exactly feel like running back to base to get the paper work. So...next best thing.

"Price-"

"Rare for ya to call on leave Simon, whatchya need?" Price responds, his voice cracking through the face time call, a cigar dangling from his lips.

"Sir I need..." he looks back at you, your eyes expectant and shining. You wanted him and he wasn't going to fuck this up. "Can you send me a picture of my last med check results?" He rushes out the last part, elbow on his knee and hand dragging over his face.

Price quirks one eyebrow but doesn't look like he's going to ask any questions. Unlucky for Simon though, Johnny was also in the room. His voice distantly coming through the phone,

"The feck ya need those for l.t.?" He questioned

Simon just groaned, soap's addition to this call just made it even more frustrating. But he snapped out of his frustration at the sound of price opening his file cabinet. "What part?" Price asked, dismissing Johnny with a wave of his hand.

"The-" Simon began, this was fucking embarrassing but when he looked back to you, now perched on your hands and knees, the plush of you hips resting on your ankles, he'd do anything at this point. "STD results." He responded plainly.

"Aye! No fuckin' way mate!" The sound of a chair scraping the floor could be heard as Johnny began to clammer over to his captain who pulled the sheet from his files.

"Ya didn't tell me he was in the room" Simon growled

"Ya didn't ask" Price droned

Johnny's head popped into frame "show me what she looks like ey l.t?"

"Not happening" Simon deadpanned

"Aw c'monnnn" The sergeant whined "just proud of you for finally getting some action!"

"Enough." Simon could see you biting your lip to stifle a laugh out of the corner of his eyes, a curious look in your eyes at his reddened face.

"Sent a picture to ya Simon" Price huffed, letting Johnny give him one last "good luck!" Before hanging up the phone.

You were a mess of giggles as he just shook his head and shoved the phone results in your face for you to look at. "See. Clean."

"Okay okay" you giggled, finally letting his form eclipse you back onto the pillows

"Went through a hell of a lot of trouble for ya, sweet girl" he whispered, nipping at the shell of your ear.

"I'll make it worth it" you said, kissing the corner of his lip and tangling your fingers in the back of his hair

"Christ woman" he groaned, feeling his cock twitch at your promise, "gunna' be the death a' me"

[a-substantial-trash-pile]

Catalyst

so in my au which i'm totally not using to cope or anything haha, after realizing that curly isn't going to do anything about jimmy, anya confides in swansea and he goes Protective Dad Mode. i'm calling this the "Responsibility AU." ramble below cut.

swansea doesn't immediately go after jimmy with an axe or anything because 1. they're not in a high stress life/death crash situation and 2. anya specifically requests that swansea not enact violence upon jimmy after swansea says, and i quote, "i'm gonna beat his ass." anya just wants to feel safer and more supported on the ship—she doesn't want swansea to get in trouble even if jimmy does deserve to get destroyed by 10000 punches.

what swansea can do is watch out for anya and make sure she's never alone in a room with jimmy. if there's a situation where she has to be alone with jimmy (like the psych evals), she and swansea have a system where she can signal for help. with anya's permission, swansea asks daisuke to help look out for her too (without telling him the details as to why since that's anya's right to share or not). daisuke has already picked up at this point that something is wrong based on how much more hostile swansea's become towards jimmy, and he trusts his boss, so he agrees without much question.

anya, feeling less alone now that she has people watching her back, gains more confidence to stand up to jimmy. which makes him angry because his unwanted advances are being denied and swansea and daisuke keep getting in his way. he just can't understand why he's being treated as the bad guy here (this is because he is a delusional asshole).

meanwhile curly is slowly realizing that he needs to actually do something here because the tension in the crew is palpable and increasing by the day. also swansea is being mighty passive aggressive to him and talking about "responsibility" a lot. curly keeps trying to talk to jimmy about it but the guy just keeps downplaying it and blaming everyone else but himself. and curly is realizing that his friend isn't who he thought he was.

it all comes to a head one day when an angry jimmy tries to confront anya alone and swansea steps in. things get heated, people start yelling. curly show up to see swansea and jimmy on the verge of fighting with anya and daisuke trying to hold them back respectively. curly breaks up the fight. jimmy storms off. curly follows him and finds him trying to get the gun from the case in the cockpit. curly asks him why he's doing this and jimmy claims it's for his own protection because he feels "threatened by swansea." he tells curly to give him the code. curly, the sheer wrongness of the whole situation hitting him, finally calls jimmy out on all his bs. jimmy just laughs in his face, still believing that he's not in the wrong and curly doesn't have the guts to do anything anyway. so the captain fires him on the spot. jimmy snaps and he and curly get into a fight in the cockpit. jimmy is trying to crash the ship and curly is trying to stop him. then the rest of the crew show up and anya knocks jimmy's ass out with the gun case. swansea is so proud.

they throw jimmy in the cryopod so they don't have to worry about him pulling anything else and he can be properly dealt with once the stupid delivery is over. everyone's like, "wow that was a close one—could you imagine how messed up it would be if we ended up in a crash because of jimmy? thank god that didn't happen." curly makes swansea the copilot until they can get a replacement and swansea's like, "goddammit as if i don't already do enough shit around here."

anyway my whole goal here was to get rid of jimmy early so i can have beautiful Found Family shenanigans in space with the rest of the crew. apologies and healing and happy times will happen. no the whole getting laid off thing doesn't happen. no i don't have an explanation for it. sorry for the essay.

[d-emeter]

Secret Santa on base (but the entire 141 is desperate to pull you) — plus-size!fem!reader x task force 141

CW: christmas (?), the boys being a little bit creepy but they're just in love leave them be, allusions to sexual activity

So this somehow ended up from Laswell's pov for the most part lol but it switches to reader for the end! Also happy holidays to everyone that celebrates! <3

When Laswell had brought up the idea of doing a secret santa on base — well, it had been her wife who said they needed some more holiday cheer, and who was she to deny that? — she had not expected it to become something akin to a battlefield. Maybe she should have known better, the soldiers surrounding her were competitive by nature. Winning was always the main goal.

But this time, there was no enemy to defeat, no intel to gain, no hostage to save. No, this time, you were the objective. Laswell was not stupid, in fact, it was her job to be observant, to figure out that which others could not. And to her, Task Force 141 was an open fucking book.

It was in the way Price would leave his hand on your shoulder after offering you an encouraging pat, and how that hand would move lower down your arm or back while he talked to you. It was in the way Ghost would always prepare an extra cup of tea to bring to early morning briefings, trying to subtly push it your way while you were rubbing at your eyes. It was in the way Gaz would lean over you when you asked him to come look at something on your laptop, arms on either side of you and practically caging you in. It was in the way Soap would always find a way to touch you, without fail, calling you 'bonnie' or 'love' in that obnoxious Scottish accent as he threw an arm over your shoulders. It was especially in the way the other three would scowl at whoever had your attention for the moment. It was clear as fucking day — they all wanted you.

Laswell knew this and, in hindsight, should have taken that into account when organizing the gift exchange. This realization came when Price knocked on her door just after the announcement had made the rounds. He had inquired if she was going to be the one to select the secret santa's, and if he could maybe take a look with her — just to make sure they weren't pairing up people that disliked eachother and causing issues, he explained. When she told him no, some random online generator would do just fine, Kate got her confirmation that he was lying about his motives — she'd never seen the captain look that disappointed.

After the secret santa's had been given out, she realized that maybe it was time to do some damage control. She had walked into the rec room to find Gaz grilling everyone in there on who they pulled, seeming more agitated each time they did not answer with what he wanted to hear. A few hours later, he had apparently found the one he was looking for, as Laswell overheard someone talking about how Sergeant Mactavish had offered the person in question nearly 100 bucks to switch. Then the report came in about Lieutenant Riley threatening that very same person, and Laswell had had enough.

REMINDER: SECRET SANTAS ARE FINAL AND CANNOT BE EXCHANGED.

She pretended not to hear the huffing from Price as he read the email she had sent around.

Kate had hoped the situation had been subdued with that, yet still couldn't shake the weird feeling in her underbelly when the base christmas party came around. Everything seemed fine, at first; there stood a sadly decorated plastic tree in the corner, lights were strung up around the room and the secret santa table was overflowing with badly wrapped gifts. Everything would be fine, right?

—

Wrong.

You had been excited about the gift exchange. It was a fun way to interact with some of your coworkers that you hadn't done so with yet, and you had always liked giving out presents. You tried not to beam too bright when Kate unwrapped the gift you had got her, and got up excitedly when your name was called. It was nothing special, really; a cute mug with a bar of chocolate inside, courtesy of some random private you had never really had the chance to talk to. You were grateful nonetheless.

But then your name was called again. And again. And again. The flush of embarrassment grew with each one. By the end of the night, you had five gifts in total, somehow. The second gift was a bottle of perfume, and you had to stifle a gasp as you saw the brand — it had to have been close to three figures in price. You tentatively spray some on your wrist, and- Hadn't you smelled something similar on Gaz when he greeted you earlier?

The third gift was a basket filled with goodies; all your favourite sweets and snacks, a pair of fuzzy socks, a book you had had on your wishlist for a while, and, wait, was that..? You're so preoccupied with using the socks to hide the box of XXL condoms that you don't notice how Ghost's fingers move to adjust himself in his pants.

You start to feel really flustered when your fourth gift is handed to you, trying not to flounder under all the stares you're getting. The box looks expensive, and reveals a gorgeous pearl necklace when you open it — God, that must've been at least triple the given budget. You have to hide the added note from view when you read it: 'Just a placeholder until I can give you a pearl necklace of my own -S'.

You don't even open the fifth gift, choosing instead to quickly accept it and ushering the announcer into calling the next name. You feel a little faint when you actually open it once you're in the privacy of your room — it's a fucking vibrator. The little instruction manual says something about it being remote controlled — so where is the controller?

[poisonousquinzel]

@steaming-goblet-of-nutte-mylk

😭 except Joker's history with sexist behavior, his now over 3 decade long abusive dynamic with Harley, his gross obsession with Batman that has turned into SA before, the events of The Killing Joke & Barbara becoming paralyzed, are all significant and frankly Popular Joker plot points. It is consistent, it's his character at this point.

There's absolutely an issue in comics / their fandoms with inconsistency and back n fourth characterizations, as a Harley fan god I know skdjskd

But Joker is not a character who's greatly affected by it. Like at all.

He's very consistent being an abusive, sexist pig with an obsession towards Batman.

And there is someone who wrote a comic where he won't work with Nazis, that's why folks bring it up. Because 1 time he did a morally decent thing of doing the literal bare minimum & not working with scum of the earth Nazis.

But things like him being abusive or sexist or gross towards Batman aren't aren't rare Batshit Insane plots that happened here and there and Are Inconsistent. Him not being like that is inconsistent.

These aren't things that only people who Really read DC / Gotham related comics know about. Him sexually assaulting Batman maybe since that comic isn't a primary timeline one, but his obsession with Bats is quite literally these people's proof of him being queercoded. So, no.

Joker's actions in these plots are the foundation for his relationships with Batman & Harley, and Barbara no longer being Batgirl and becoming Oracle is directly tied to Joker's horrid actions when he paralyzed her, she's Oracle Right Now.

Sure, especially with Harley, I don't expect people to know every single horrendous thing he's done to her because frankly, there's a Fuck Ton, and I didn't even list it all, I didn't even list half. (Hell, I'm sure there's still moments that I haven't come across yet and that's saying something cause I've consumed just about every single piece of Harley media out there)

But The Killing Joke is a popular DC story, his unhinged obsession with Batman is like the only thing his character is, if you know he's obsessed with Batman, then you know the basics of his character.

And his relationship with Harley has Always been abusive. Like, if all these folks have seen of DC is BTAS, then they still know that. Joker not being abusive towards her is significantly more rare, inconsistent, and Batshit Insane tbf. And 9/10 times the "good moments" are clear as day love bombing to anyone consuming the content that's got more than 1 brain cell, it's just love bombing. It's called the cycle of abuse for a reason.

That's why I said "like y'all's only reference for him is the fucking Lego Movie and GOD it shows" because that's how they act he is all the time. It DOES show.

The Lego Batman Movie Joker is the outlier, he's the inconsistent one when compared to 99% of Joker's out there.

people in the replies of this keep mentioning Joker and him being queercoded n shit and it's just like 😭😭😭😭 y'all are so stupid I stg

Yeah the best example of a good villain whose not bigoted is *checks notes* the dude who violently abused his bisexual girlfriend, drugged her, pushed her into chemicals, ran her over with a car, infected her pet hyenas with rabies and had them attack her, hung her up by the neck with a chain, tried to forcefully impregnate her, pretended he was going to cut her face off to make her scared, made fun of her appearance to her face and to his goons, cut the side of her mouth open with a shaving blade, put a hit out on her, carved a J into her chest, pushed her out of a window 5 stories up, has kicked - punched - slapped - strangled more times than I could list individually,,,,, or has sexually assaulted Batman, and has sexually assaulted Barbara Gordon, is implied to have sexually assaulted someone in Joker (2008), oh and forced Harley to strip in a public crowded bar under threat of detonating the bombs in her and the squad's necks if she didn't. So ya know, also sa.

but hey !!! at least he's not said a slur! and he won't work with Nazis! as if that's not the literal bare minimum. Wow he won't work with Nazis, fucking NAZIS, do you want me to applaud him for doing the easiest thing that any person with even mildly decent or existent morals would decide? Ya know, not working with goddamn Nazis.

No one should be working with fucking nazis?? The bar is in hell.

Being an abusive borderline rapist with a sky high sexist streak is just casual Worst Villain behavior, he's not a bigot!

Everyone knows you're only a bigot of you 1. Say Slurs 2. Work with Nazis.

That's obviously the only qualifying criteria for being a bigot.

-

The Joker is a whole entire sexist with a history of severe in character abuse and sexual assault. but none of that matters to ((unfortunately large)) sections of the fandom or to locals cause some of y'all would rather just pretend he's an uwu messy gay dude who's just oh so in love with Batman and is not a sexist, abusive bigot cause fuck women and the suffering he enjoys putting them through right? like y'all's only reference for him is the fucking Lego Movie and GOD it shows

[shmalk]

141 is filled with alphas, not a single omega in sight. there are a few betas, but they're either low-ranking or transfers that were never going to last.

like you! (beta!reader) who works at reception and takes calls, scans badges and is the first point of contact for the task force.

none of them know your name, none of them even speak to you - maybe price, when you transfer a call to him, he'll mumble a thank you. or even laswell, when you bring her a coffee.

it's nothing, really, you don't mind.

only, one day, a totally normal friday, you've done the exact same style in your hair you always have, and you're wearing more clothes than you were yesterday.

price wants a coffee, sure- you make it, just the way he likes, and head towards his office. you knock, and wait a few seconds until you hear 'come in.'

the office is silent, it usually is - but this time there's more than just price inside.

they're finishing up just as you enter, soap and gaz sitting in front of the desk whilst ghost leant against the back wall.

"my apologies, captain." your voice isn't exactly quiet - why should it be, you've done nothing wrong, but its still respectful. price just nods as you place the cup down on his desk.

"thanks, that's all." he dismisses everyone in the room, and you wait for the boys to file out before you do, soap and gaz both giving you a cheeky smile.

ghost is the one to hold open the door, standing just adjacent to the doorway with his arm sprawled against it. its a heavy door, and you swallow as you pass him.

"thank you," you all but mumble out as you rush past him - straight into the break room.

you can't help but rant about the situation to your roommate whilst you're packing up your things, your phone tucked between your jaw and shoulder.

"i mean- he held the door open for me and i couldn't even look him in the eye to say thank you!" you stress, throwing your bag into your passenger seat before leaning back against your car. "god, all i wan't right now is a plate of sushi and some boba."

"too bad its pizza night, dweeb."

"thats not fair! i could loose my job, i should be allowed to eat my comfort food when im stressed out."

you stress about it over the whole weekend, and when you return back to work on monday you try to act as casual as possible. of course, you don't see ghost - price doesn't order a coffee, and youre break time comes around quicker than you expected.

you had brought- oh, theres- your favourite sushi, and a boba drink sitting where your food was supposed to be. in somewhat messy hand writing, on a small piece of paper, theres your name.

signed ' s. riley. '

i am a sucker for sweet lil moments like this !!

in my head i think that simon would like a beta, or an alpha, but in this lil snippet (which is CERTAINLY getting turned into a fic) he's big and broad and gets worried when he's with alphas because they can't think straight, he tells them what to do and he does it.

but you? you dont react to his scent or chase him down to get him to court you - so, of fource, he courts you. <3

[tradgedyinwaves]

First Choice - Part 2

Part two of this Poly141! x fat!reader tw: social anxiety, self-doubt, drinking

A month. You didn't go back to the bar for a full month. Avoided the place like it was the birthplace of the plague. And it was to you. You didn't want to run the risk that they were there again, that the man in the mask would berate you for making eye contact with him that night despite knowing he'd probably forgotten about you 30 seconds after. Social anxiety was a bitch.

But they were there. EVERY. FUCKING. FRIDAY.

Ghost thought he was going to lose his mind. The others had started to think he'd imagined you or had a hallucination of you. So when they sat down on the fifth Friday, there wasn't a mention of you from them. Simon still kept his eye out for you.

Surely a month was long enough that they'd have moved on, gotten bored with the dark, dingy bar and the same crowd every Friday. Arriving with your friends, your heart was in your throat and there was a swirl of nausea in your stomach.

They're not here. They're not here. They're not here.

The mantra was on repeat, but you couldn't help checking the back table anyway. You froze where you were standing as your eyes landed on the four larger men, your friend bumping into your back and asking what was wrong. You shook your head and gave her a weak smile, claiming you thought you saw someone.

You took your usual seat at the bar, tucked into the far corner where you could see the table of men and watched as your own friends filtered out onto the floor again. It was so easy for them to just introduce themselves to men, flirt their way to free drinks and possibly a nice little one night stand.

Ghost clocked you the moment the bell above the door dinged pathetically against the wood door and you walked in with three of your friends including the little blonde that informed them that you would be there every Friday. His gloved hand reached out and smacked Soap center chest, incidentally grabbing everyone's attention at the table as well.

"That her, LT?" Soap asked, eyes darting between his lieutenant and you. Soap eyed you for a moment, taking in the open scoop neck long sleeve shirt and the swell of your breasts that weren't hidden very well.

"Tha's 'er. Pretty thing, hm?" Ghost replied before picking up his glass and knocking it back, mouth suddenly dry as the Sahara. You were as pretty as he remembered and the urge to have a picture of you with him at all times roared to life in his chest.

Gaz being on the end gave him the best view of you, taking in the jeans that hugged your plump hips and ass. He could also see the way you held your jacket over your stomach to hide your belly as best you could.

Price could tell you were uncomfortable, watching you watch your friends with a hint of resentment and disdain in your eyes. He hadn't missed that all of your friends were "conventionally beautiful" and he could see that it bothered you.

"Go get her," Price suggested to Gaz, nudging him a bit as he knew Gaz was the proper man to send. You'd never come over if any of the rest of them approached you. Ghost made a disgruntled noise, looking to his captain for a brief moment of silent communication before he nodded, conceding to his superior.

You ordered your whiskey, sipping on it as you flipped between checking on your friends and scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You couldn't help but to let your eyes flick up from the dim screen to check on the table in the corner every once in a while.

Which was where your eyes were now, but there was one missing, the pretty one. Oh, he wasn't missing. He was settling himself against the stool next to you, looking down at you with those molten eyes of his and a friendly smile. "Come join us for a drink. Promise we won't bite. Well, I make no promises about Johnny."

Yup. I did a part two. This is really speaking to me right now for some reason.

Hope you guys liked it!

<- Part One Part Three ->

[sky-is-the-limit]

How Task Force 141 would react in a real argument with their partner (they're in the right):

Captain Price:

The way Price gets mad at you is calm, serious, and controlled. If you are looking for a shout match, you're not gonna get it with him. He doesn’t believe in yelling or making a scene, he's too old for that.

Instead, when things get heated, he quietly tells you that he’s going to step out, giving you both time to cool down and think. Usually, he heads to the pub nearby, has a drink (or two) and lets the anger settle before coming back to talk things out. It’s his way of making sure neither of you says something you’ll regret even if it means leaving you to deal in your own frustration for a while. It doesn't last long though.

❁❁❁❁

"This isn’t helping, love." Price says, tone steady despite the obvious tension. "I’m stepping out for a bit." He grabs his jacket and you can see the disappointment in his eyes. "I’ll be at the pub, just need some time to think. You should do the same." He pauses at the door, looking back at you with a flash of concern and frustration in his eyes. "We’ll talk when I get back, yeah?" The door closes behind him, leaving you in the quiet of the room.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

When Kyle gets mad, the laid-back, chill guy you know disappears. He becomes sarcastic and cynical, his words sharp and his patience terribly thin. He might roll his eyes or make you feel like your emotions are over the top, dismissing them with what he thinks is logic (according to him, of course). It’s not that he doesn’t care or he wants to upset you on purpose but when he feels like you’re not getting his point, his frustration turns into biting remarks that cut deep.

❁❁❁❁

"Oh, that’s rich-" Kyle says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because clearly, I’m the one who’s being unreasonable here, right?" He crosses his arms, shaking his head in disbelief. "If you actually listened to what I’m saying, you’d see how ridiculous this all sounds." His words hit you hard and the sting of them makes you want to shout back, even to break something but he’s already turned away, muttering under his breath before heading into a different room.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish:

When Johnny is really mad, he goes completely silent. Your cheerful, talkative boyfriend just shuts down. He won’t talk, won’t argue. He just ignores you, burying himself in video games or working out until he’s too tired to keep his eyes open. He thinks it’s better to stay quiet than risk saying something he can’t take back but the silence is worse than any argument and in his ignorance, he makes you feel like you don’t even exist.

❁❁❁❁

"Johnny, can we please talk?" You ask, watching him pick up the game controller. He doesn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the screen. The silence is deafening, each minute that passes only making the knot in your chest tighter. "Johnny…" Still nothing. Hours pass like this and when he finally puts down the controller, he heads straight to bed. "I’m knackered." He mutters, not even looking at you. "We’ll talk tomorrow." But you know that tomorrow might just be the same unless you can find it in you to apologise first and make up before bed.

Simon "Ghost" Riley:

When Simon gets mad, he goes back into the defensive man with trust issues you first met. He never raises his voice nor lets the argument last long. Instead, he becomes cold and distant and his usual quietness turns into a wall that you can't break through. He’ll say things that remind you of past mistakes, making you feel guilty whether you're in the right or wrong. His bitterness makes it hard to reach him and it feels like no matter what you say, he won’t budge. Stubborn bastard.

❁❁❁❁

"You think I can just forget what you said?" Simon is monotonic but there’s a harshness underneath his tone that makes you wince. "Words like that… they stick. You can’t just take them back." His eyes are cold, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he looks at you without a hint of his usual softness. "Maybe you should calm down before this gets any worse." He doesn’t move or change his expression, just stares at you blankly, making you feel shut out.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Big Bed IV

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Sometimes you just need the Big Bed

It was a rough game.

Against a team like France, the games are always tough. They're ranked so highly and they play so skilfully and they run circles around most teams.

Their shots come in rapid fire, one after the other and it's like they're playing with multiple balls because the pressure keeps piling up and up and up.

A corner is where it all goes wrong for you.

One of your midfielders conceded it, a young girl that you're pretty sure plays for Häcken who had to kick the ball out after your defence was caught off guard.

France swing it in.

You can't get a good grip on it, not with all the jostling and pushing in your box but you manage to punch it away.

There's a leg already up though, a dangerously high leg with a knee that cracks into your eye.

The pain is instantaneous and you groan.

Your eyes swells shut quickly. You can already tell a bruise is forming.

It's a straight red card.

No leg should be high enough that the knee is what connects with someone. There should be no high legs regardless but the fact that it's the knee that hits you instead of the foot is pretty dangerous play and the player gets sent off.

You get taken off too. You can barely see out of your other eye. You're no use to the team right now.

You give the armband over to your vice-captain and follow the medics out to get treatment.

You don't have a concussion which is good but you have to sit there with an icepack on your face to make the swelling go down.

"You look rough," Magda says, tilting your head to one side when you come home that night.

This was the last match of your Euro Qualifiers and, honestly, it hadn't really meant much.

Sweden were already through so it's not like your absence from today's match was make or break for the team.

It's nice to be home though even if you still feel a bit unsettled.

You don't know if it's because of your eye or just plain exhaustion but you feel a little out of your skin, like you're sitting at the dinner table but not at the same time.

You're hyper-aware of every part of your body and your stomach swirls uneasily.

But you can push that feeling away, at least for a little while. At least while you eat with your mothers.

It's a good time, mostly. Good food. Good conversation. Good company.

You think you've made yourself feel better, pushing away this fleeting feeling of anxiousness.

It comes back though, like it always does. It creeps up on you like a phantom, waiting until you're alone to pounce.

You stare up at your ceiling.

It's dark out and, even though you took some painkillers, you can swear that you feel your eye throb.

You toss and turn for what feels like hours, unable to settle yourself.

The last time you felt like this, you were at home with Talia. She'd held you and whispered sweet nothings in your ear, a supportive body against yours as you both waited for the feeling to fade.

You feel dangerously unmoored, like you're a boat that's been pushed out to sea with no sails and no oars. You just drift into the darkness as your stomach swirls uneasily.

You sigh, pulling yourself from bed and shoving down the covers.

It's a short walk across the hall to your mothers but your hand freezes on the door handle, suddenly worried that they'll kick you out for doing this.

Your hand hovers, clenching and unclenching around the smooth metal before you close your eyes, resting your head on the door.

You push the door open, slipping inside.

It creaks slightly and Pernille rolls over in bed, voice still rough with sleep.

"Princesse? Is that you?"

"Yes."

"Is something wrong?"

"I..er...I mean no but..." You sigh. "I don't know. Can I sleep in here tonight?"

Even in her sleep addled mind, Pernille can't make much sense of why. "In here?"

"I can sleep on the floor," You say quickly," I just...I don't know. Can I?"

"Don't be stupid," Magda says, awoken by the noise and blunt as ever," You're not sleeping on the floor." She pats the spot between her and Pernille. "Get in."

"Are you sure?"

"Get in. The bed's big enough for all of us."

"I feel like a kid again."

"You are a kid. You're our kid. Get in bed."

It's the best sleep you've had in weeks.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

"Safe and Sound.....Kinda" pt. 1

You went M.I.A and the LADS Men are stressed!

Zayne

MC: Lets get dinner when I get back from this three day mission Zayne: Im not sure whether you're brave or idiotic MC: What do you mean? Zayne: A hunter with ample heart issues agreeing to go on a three day excursion its risky MC: I'll be fine besides I have you to take care of me Dr. Zayne Zayne: How many of you are going on this mission MC: There's eight of us in total and I'm partnered with Tara

Two days have passed since Zayne spoke to you. Just one more day and he'll see your pretty face again. He smiled to himself "How childish" he mumbled to himself as his leg bounced with anticipation of seeing you soon. Just then his work phone rang "Dr. Zayne speaking"

"Dr. Zayne we need you in the ER stat" Yvonne's voice was much more stern compared to her soft easy going tone. This was serious. He stood quickly moving around his desk; throwing on his white coat not missing a beat as he made his way to the ER.

"Give me a rundown of the situation" Zayne said as Grayson jogged the catch up with him. "We have seven patients, two unconscious, and all severely injured, the hunters association told us they were on a mission that went wrong a frenzy of wanderers appeared through a rift"

Time seemed to slow as Zayne's mind swam through the possibilities that this could be for squadron. "Give me the names"

"Ceila 21, Terrance 24, Mico 21, Tara-"

"Tara? is MC among these patients?" If looks could turn someone to stone Grayson would be a statue in the courtyard by now. He quickly flipped through the pages on the clipboard searching for your name. "I don't see her name here"

"You said there were seven ... is someone missing?" Zayne asked as he could feel his blood pressure rising.

"Zayne!" Someone was calling his name. "Zayne!" The voice was coming from a pale woman with short brown hair. She had lacerations scattered across her body; her torn uniform hanging on by a thread. She was covered in bruises and was about to pass out from blood loss any minute. "You have to help her..."

"Help who?"

"MC ... she's still ... she's still fighting ....... alone .......... you have to find her" Time seemed to slow as reality set in. MC was alone with the wanderers who did this to her team. All the oxygen left Zayne's body in an instant.

"Dr. Zayne they're calling for you in the operating room" Yvonne yelled snapping Zayne out of his mental spiral. "Right, right tell them I'm on my way"

Your profile was flagged as M.I.A. after that day no one knew where you were

Three days.....

Five days.....

One week....

One week three days twenty seven minutes....

Time ticked by slowly tormenting Zayne. He couldn't sleep and his appetite was non existent. Dark shadows formed under his eyes from his late nights going out and searching for you. "Where did you go?" He dropped his head in his hands trying to control his emotions. Just then an unknown number flashed across his phone screen.

"Hello?"

???: Hello, this is Jenna I'm MCs Captain you are listed in her file as an emergency contact. I'm just calling to let you know that we found her, but she's unresponsive. She's being transported to Akso Hospital now......she has a faint pulse.

Zayne dropped his phone and booked it out the door heading straight for the hospital. You were battered, bruised, and bloody but you were breathing and that was enough for Zayne. You had to be put in a medically induced coma so he and the other doctors could stabilize you.

Zayne stayed by your side adjusting your pillows, checking you vitals, and settling into his nightly position sitting bedside with his head in your lap. Rubbing small circles on the back of your hand with his thumb as you lay there motionless. Slow steady breaths with nothing but the sound of the heart monitor melodically singing in the otherwise silent room. He'd wait as long as it would take for you to wake up. You have to wake up.

Rafayel

You were supposed to be back two days ago. Rafayel was losing his mind. "She has twelve hours to contact me before I burn the hunter association headquarters to the ground" he seethed through gritted teeth.

Thomas stood back as Rafayel's anger was radiating off him in waves. He could almost feel the heat of his evol burning his skin.

Next day...

"Are you even looking for her?" Rafayel yelled in Jennas face.

"You're not the only one worried about her sir she's M.I.A. with a damaged hunters watch we're having trouble getting a lock on her coordinates" Jenna smoothed her skirt as she stood from her desk to size up Rafayel. "If you have any suggestion I'm all ears"

"Find her or you can say goodbye to this entire organization"

"Is that a threat?" Jenna stood tall under Rafayel's searing gaze anyone else would have cowered away.

"Its a promise"

One week later...

There's a loud bang on the door of Rafayel's art studio. The sudden noise startled him. "Raf....." The softest voice came from the other side just as he could hear the person sliding down the door and the soft thud of them hitting the ground.

He rushed to the door recognizing your voice. "MC!" You fell backwards as he opened the door. He managed to catch you under you arms. "What happened? Where were you? Don't tell me this is your blood" A blood trail tracked the path you took he could tell you'd fell a few times just trying to get to the door. Blood was smeared down the door and was now slowly pooling underneath the two of you.

"I was so badass" You smiled as you looked up at his blurry face going in and out of focus. "This is not the time for jokes" Your eyelids were so heavy. You tried to respond, but your words came out slow and slurred. "I just....wanted.......to see...........you.....before I.........died" Your head fell back as you passed out from blood loss.

Rafayel scooped up your bloody body and rushed out the door trying not to slip. You were dead weight and your breaths were shallow he knew he didn't have any time to waste. He ran with you in his arms to the nearest hospital begging for help as he fell to his knees with you in his arms.

Like I said safe and sound....kinda.

Xavier & Sylus here ♡

[heartfullofleeches]

[18+ Amab Reader, Scummy Reader, Cheating/Cuckold, Internalized Homophobia. Both he/they are used to refer to Reader]

Jock Yan who immediately loses interest in Femboy Cheerleader Darling upon finding out they're a guy. He's still cute and all, sure, but Jock isn't into guys. Jock Yan who while casting longing stares in Darling's direction notices he has a certain....type. People who were partially invisible to the captain of the cheer team become the center of his attention with the slightest mention of a new partner. The same went for Jock's most recent girlfriend who had been on the team for some time prior to their relationship. Darling could hardly be bothered with her outside of practice - now he's inviting her to grab drinks and complimenting her on that new dress she bought to surprise her boyfriend.

Jock Yan who stalks Darling and his girlfriend when they're out together. Something about the way Darling said they were just "going on a little study date" rubbed him the wrong way. He isn't even surprised to see Darling's arm around her waist as they walk out of a theater together. Jealousy and rage tears through his heart, but for some reason.... It's not directed at Darling. He can't stand the guy - can't stop staring at him. So why isn't he over there ripping Darling's head off?

"Heyyyyy, Ry-ry. Need to borrow your girl for a sec. Cheerleader business and all that. That okay with you- Ryan?"

Bastard. Darling doesn't even try to hide it anymore. There's lipstick stains on the corner of his mouth from the last time they snuck off together. Can't even argue that it's his since it doesn't match the shade he wore that morning or one he keeps on his person. The Jock already checked. They have to know that he knows at this point, right? Darling has to see the pain and suffering they're causing the man. Why did they choose her? Was it because she's easy? Accepted rather than deny her desires- A good lay? Jock has heard stories of Darling's escapades. He could take their cock better than she ever could if Darling just picked him...

Wait - That's not what he-... He didn't mean it like that.

Fuck.

Darling is a thought he can't escape. He'd recognize them anywhere. Their laugh. Their scent. The panties he sees them wear in the locker-room, strapped to his girlfriend's waist after a small mix up in the Janitor's closet. He begged her to let him keep them. Claimed he missed her so much when she's gone he just needed a piece of her to keep him sane. He isn't entirely lying when he says it. Just directed at the wrong person.

Jock Yan who calls his girlfriend back to back, praying she picks up by accident so he can hear Darling over the phone like the last time she butt-dialed them. Cheer practice was the excuse Darling gave for the strain in their voice when they snatched her phone to say hi. If Jock wasn't enthralled by how Darling's voice sounds post physical activity, he might have a thing or two to say about them being at his girl's house after 10 o'clock at night.

If there's one thing Jock won't allow Darling to do in his presence it's kissing her. Darling gets bolder over time, but kissing is where he draws the line. In another world, Darling's lips are his. In a perfect one all of Reader belongs to him. Even kisses on the cheek are enough to tick him off. That should be him - not her.

"What are they like?"

"Hm? Who, babe?"

"Y/n. The captain of your team?"

"Oh!....oh... They're great! We've actually been hanging out a lot recently. We've got a competition coming up pretty soon - why do you ask?"

Not good enough. That isn't what he wants to know. He wants to know what Darling is like - what they taste and feel like. What it's like to have their arms around him. To have them inside him. He wants everything from Darling and more.

And doesn't know how much longer without them he can take.

[daosies]

how they love you

xavier, rafayel ♡ gn!reader

warnings: major xavier and rafayel story spoilers, reader is the protagonist from the game (but gender neutral), rafayel is his own warning (hes a bit of a freak)

notes: im writing this like i understand xavier and rafayels lore (i dont. all i did was read up on reddit and the wiki before going straight off the dome.)

"xavier," jeremiah calls incredulously, "you're staring."

"no, i'm not," xavier lies straight through his teeth. his periwinkle eyes trail after you like they're bound to you, held together by a red string that knots at his irises.

(maybe they are.)

xavier blinks, resting for but a moment before his gaze returns. it'll always return—xavier thinks he does a lot of that. return.

"at least try to pretend," jeremiah remarks, tender expression betraying his incredulous tone. despite the fact that xavier is loitering in philo, posing a hazard to the nearby flora with his intense aura, jeremiah can't bring himself to say anything more.

xavier is in love—but that's not right, jeremiah thinks. xavier has always been in love. he loved you back in philos, in all your incarnations and the ones thereafter. xavier loved you when you sparred against him, when you rose to the throne, and even when you suffered and while everyone was against you, he loved you then, too.

jeremiah supposes that it's only right that xavier loves you now. because xavier loves with his whole being, it's not just his eyes that follow after you, but rather, his existence.

xavier follows you despite the era, traveling centuries back and staying just to catch a glimpse of you, to glimmer, ever so slightly, in your incomparable radiance.

we could go back, jeremiah thinks, conjuring up the possibility despite his nerves telling him not to. we could go back to philos. the core within your heart holds infinite possibilities.

if xavier wanted to, he could obtain your aether core, and that would be enough to return to the future—where you still exist, sure, but more importantly (to jeremiah, at least), where philos exists.

("we will not kill them," xavier muttered darkly, "do not bring this topic up again. i will find another solution.")

(and that was where jeremiah went wrong. because to xavier, philos is nothing. you have always been the whole, vast universe. you are the most important thing in this life, and the many more thereafter; and to xavier, no future matters except the one you exist in now.)

so, he did. he tried, at least. xavier scoured the ruined earth for protocores that could mimic the same capabilities of yours. he lived through centuries on earth, fighting for existence despite knowing that the answer lied, as it always has been, in you.

when your incarnation appeared, jeremiah never once doubted xavier's judgement. while the other backtrackers under xavier's command went mad, trying to harvest your aether core to return to philos, xavier fought—but more than that, actually. xavier loved.

xavier loved, no, loves, so fervently, so profoundly, that he killed the backtrackers who had tried to harm you. you are not the same incarnation that he loved back in philos, but the fact that it's you is enough for xavier to rid all doubts.

and jeremiah thinks that, despite xavier's desperate intent to return back to philos, he wouldn't mind living here on earth with you now. jeremiah has noticed that the fervent expression his captain once wore has dwindled into something more mellow, into something tender.

something like the looks he'd send to you from afar, chasing you across school rooftops and coexisting in between the clashing of blades—xavier loves.

and love has made him content. and love has made him present, when he never was before. when all he could do, prior to your incarnation's existence, was think of returning to philos.

(how could he return to philos when you're right here?)

"[name]," jeremiah calls, feigning ignorance to the way xavier glares at him, the captain's tender expression suddenly dissipating into nothingness. ouch, jeremiah thinks, mouthing to xavier, "you don't have to make it that obvious you don't like me."

"yeah?" you reply, glancing up from the foliage. xavier reaches over the many shelves of flora—much to jeremiah's dismay—before parting them to get a good look at your face. xavier smiles. jeremiah's jaw drops.

"did you find something you liked? you said you had to get a bouquet for a friend, right?" jeremiah asks, egging xavier on.

"a friend?" xavier echoes, not even bothering to look at the florista behind him.

"oh, yeah! i'm choosing a bouquet for this one guy—" jeremiah sees the way xavier's expression goes blank, lips thinning into a line whilst his periwinkle eyes, somehow, manage to retain their enamored look.

ah, jeremiah realizes, it's 'cause captain is still looking at them. of course it is—why did he expect any other reason?

although xavier remains silent, jeremiah knows that the only thing running through the captain's mind is: guy, guy, guy?!

"a guy?" jeremiah queries, deciding to put xavier out of his misery.

"yeah. he worked with my grandma when she was younger, but i have to deliver it through one of my friends because he lives in the arctic..."

"that means he's old," jeremiah whispers, loud enough for only xavier to hear. the captain glances away.

at least try to hide that look of relief, jeremiah thinks incredulously. still, it's fun to see xavier like this: with his tense brows easing up, his thinned lips turning slightly upwards. when xavier loves, he does it with his whole being.

it's in the way he slips in between the aisles of flora in order to be next to you. in the way he carries the vases of flowers for you despite knowing you're perfectly capable of doing so yourself.

when xavier loves, it's evident in the way his cold, indigo eyes melt into hues made of periwinkle. it's in the way his touch, hardened by years of training, melts into something as light as a feather. it grazes past your face, brushing a stray leaf away.

"how much will it be, jeremiah?" you ask, preparing your coin pouch. jeremiah feels xavier's glare piercing his skin.

i know, i know! is all jeremiah thinks. "for free. don't worry about it!"

"huh? that can't be right... these are a lot of flowers, jeremiah."

"it's okay, [name]," xavier interjects, resting a hand over yours to prevent you from getting your money. "he owes me a favor, and i never buy flowers. so it's best used for your bouquet."

again, xavier lies fluidly through his teeth.

"are you sure...? you could buy a couple flowers, xavier! you know, to decorate your room?"

xavier shakes his head. "i'd forget to water them, probably."

liar, jeremiah thinks. for his own safety, he opts to keep his mouth shut, observing the situation with a suppressed smile.

xavier can't even be bothered to hide his infatuation—when he does so much as look at you, his world comes to a halt, his attention fixated wholly on you when usually it drifts off into wonderland.

when he does so much as hear you, or perceive you, or exist with you, xavier shrinks into nothing, permeating wholly into your skin, melting into your bones and becoming a part of you.

forget his title as captain, or lumiere, or crown prince—xavier becomes yours. and that's all he needs to be.

somehow, jeremiah thinks that xavier is more than just a lover.

he's love itself.

rafayel taps his foot impatiently. with his arms crossed, his gaze darts back and forth between the clock and the door, brows furrowing once he realizes you're nowhere to be seen.

"ugh, that bodyguard!" he cries to no one. "always making me wait for this and that.... puh-lease, like i care!"

rafayel turns around and starts heading into the art museum, lips curled into a pout whilst he glances occasionally over his shoulder. eventually, he stops, still trying to discreetly scope out the premises.

they're still not here?! is all he thinks, reaching for his phone with newfound passion. rafayel tries calling you a couple times, somehow getting more and more offended when you don't pick up.

he then resorts to spamming your texts, his phone flailing around in his hands from the onslaught of his madness.

"you think this is just a game, huh?!" rafayel texts. "fine, it is! whatever! not like i care!!!!"

when you don't respond, he blinks owlishly in disbelief, staring at the screen with his mouth hanging agape.

no way they ignored me! rafayel thinks, somehow even more offended than before.

but the irritation nestled in his stomach morphs into worry, and the worry contorts into yearning. oh, rafayel thinks, staring at your contact name for far longer than he'd like to admit. what if something happened to them?

rafayel's imagination eggs his yearning further. what if you're waiting for him somewhere—with nothing but him on your mind, of course—tears spilling from your eyes while crying his name? what if you're injured, clutching your wound whilst thinking of him—and his killer looks—wishing you could see him right now?

oh. rafayel's imagination eggs his yearning further. oh, what if they're injured? he thinks, his fingers beginning to glide all across his phone's keyboard, spamming you like a madman whose lost all sense of reason.

"you don't have to show up," he starts texting, but quickly deletes that sentence. "text me when you see this," he manages to send, hand coming up to fiddle with some stray strands of his wisteria hair.

he feels his heart thrash against his chest like a fish out of water, his skin beginning to feel stuffy while he grasps at his shirt, crumpling the pearl fabric under his hands. what if you're hurt? what if something happened to you? what if you're leaving, and he isn't able to catch up?

rafayel hates waiting. he turns around, heading toward the exit of the museum, ignoring the looks of confusion from the people who just watched him enter and clutch his head manically.

again, rafayel's imagination runs wild, feeding him delusions and convincing him that he's your knight in shining armor, saving you from the clutches of despair. obviously, after he saves you—with his killer looks and killer moves—you're going to grovel at his feet and beg for forgiveness, hoping that he'll spare you so much as a glance for your impudence.

he tries to ignore the way his ribs begin to constrict, the way his chest begins to ignite with agonizing pain. not again, is all he thinks, rushing out of the museum. not again.

rafayel loves you. sometimes, he hates to admit it. sometimes, he knows it's fact. rafayel loves you—how could he not? you are bound to him, no, rather, he is bound to you.

rafayel is bound to you, yet even then, he struggles to keep up. he follows you hopelessly into every incarnation, trailing after your existence like a drowning man at sea, gasping for air and a wisp of your presence. he had you, once. and what a twisted thing love is, to give him so much hope and radiance, that he can't possibly fathom to live without it now.

rafayel is hooked on you, drinking you in greedily with his eyes, searching for you desperately amidst the tides. rafayel is hooked on you, he's left in a constant state of wanting more, more, more, even though you don't feel the same. even though you're perfectly okay with leaving him, oblivious to the effect you have.

you have carved rafayel's being, forcing his hands to be a perfect fit with yours, forcing his eyes to only ever hold you. you've dismembered rafayel's bones, taking apart the shafts and forcing yourself in, your existence running through his marrow, your existence running through his veins.

sometimes, rafayel hates what you've done to him. he hates how he's reduced to a spectator in your presence, the way he's destined to love you despite all you've done to him.

rafayel hates the way you go around, saving everyone, saving everything, even though he was the first. he was your first victim, your first lover, your first everything.

and you've forgotten. and you've forgotten. how could you? sometimes, rafayel envies you. he wishes he could be as blissfully ignorant as you, he wishes he could rendezvous around the world, unaware of what he's done before.

(how could he? how could he ever forget you? how could rafayel ever be anything more than what you've made him?)

he laughs bitterly to himself, running a hand through his hair when your caller id shows up on his phone. rafayel half-considers letting you go to his voicemail, but oh, the way his heart constricts, the way his hands instinctively move to answer.

rafayel isn't like you—he has a heart, first of all—he's made of memories, made of century-old pacts and vows that have haunted him across lifetimes.

rafayel isn't like you, because, first and foremost, he loves. he loves you. he loves you! and oh, how could he not? how could he ever forget what you've done for him? how could he ever forget what you've done to him?

(and yet, he loves you anyway. rafayel loves you, despite the way you betrayed him, despite the way you forgot. rafayel loves you, not only because he was made to love you, but because it's you. does he need any other reason?)

just before your call gets forwarded to voicemail, rafayel picks up. he swallows thickly, letting his yearning drip down his throat, permeating into his organs whilst he says, dreading the way his voice cracks, ever so slightly, "ahem. what took you so long, huh?!"

your voice glitches on the other end. rafayel feels heat rush to the tips of his ears, feeling the way you sound so close to him. he presses the phone closer to his head.

"sorry, rafayel! i was busy,"—rafayel scoffs at this, so is he, you're not special—"but i'm coming right now! just wait for me, okay?"

"ugh! no, i don't wanna! i'm leaving! did you hear that? i'm," rafayel trails off, pausing for extra emphasis (hoping that you'd care enough to interrupt him), "i'm leaaavvii—"

you hang up. rafayel gasps, staring at the end screen with a flabbergasted look.

"no way! ugh! nobody respects me around here! making me wait... who do they think i am? a waiter? the waiter?" rafayel mutters incredulously to himself, sending glares towards anyone who eyes him weirdly.

still, he remains put, crossing his arms with a pronounced frown whilst sunset eyes scan the area, looking for your familiar motorbike.

rafayel waits. begrudgingly.

then again, he supposes he does a lot of that when it comes to you.

he opens your contact one more time. "some bodyguard you are!!!" he texts. "i could be dying right now and you still wouldn't pull up, huh?!?!"

"i'm dying! i'm dying! heeeelllooo?! i'm dying!" he spams. the familiar whirring of a motorbike appears, and rafayel glances up from his phone, horizon eyes growing wide.

rafayel hates the effect you have on him, the way your sudden appearance can bring tsunamis to a lull, the way your sudden appearance makes an utter fool of him.

still, rafayel lets you get away with it.

(you've gotten away with a lot of things.)

"raf!" you call. "quit spamming me!"

when you take your helmet off, rafayel's breath hitches. you steal the oxygen from his lungs, a mere wisp of your existence making the world tumble.

"hmph!" he crosses his arms, hoping you don't see the way his ears bloom a violent red. "don't tell me what to do! do you know how long it's been?!"

"ten minutes?" you reply, unamused. rafayel glares at you.

too long, he thinks, eyes tracing over the bridge of your nose and the curl of your lips. the artist instinct with him begins to flare—he wants to paint, he wants to devote himself to you all over again, drawing tirelessly into the night.

"no. eight-hundred years, you idiot!"

you roll your eyes. "what an exaggeration."

rafayel huffs. "puh-lease! i just say it as it is!"

you start heading towards the museum, and rafayel scrambles to catch up, his throat beginning to close. his heart—whatever's left of it, at least—lurching forward.

it chases you. it chases you! it always, always chases you.

into every life, into every eon. rafayel chases you, desperate and made of memories, hanging onto the depths of your soul, forfeiting the ocean and the tide and all that ever mattered.

then again, rafayel supposes that none of it matters now. you're here.

and even if you don't remember, rafayel will love you anyway.

(how could he not?)

[chaotic-toasters]

Up the Stairs?

This actually happened to me one time LMAO

England Lionesses x Teen!Reader

------------------------

"I'm not climbing those creepy old stairs!" Ella protested. "Y/N and Hannah should go. They're the youngest and the most fit, so if there's a serial killer hiding in the stairwell, they can outrun them. I'm taking the lift, I don't care."

You rolled your eyes. "C'mon, Hannah. Let's go."

"Tooney's such a baby," the Keeper laughed, matching your stride as you approached the hotel's staircase. "I swear, she believes the dumbest things."

You snickered. "Right?"

Hannah started climbing the steps, but you began bounding up them three at a time instead of your usual two. The girls always said you were childish, and this was one of the reasons why.

Because you weren't used to the extra height, you tripped, moving your hand out in front of you to break your fall. However, the sudden impact to your hand sent a sharp pain shooting down from your wrist to your forearm.

"Oh my days," Hannah grimaced, forcing you to sit as she gingerly picked up your hand. "How much does it hurt?"

You squinted at her. "On a scale of what?"

"One to 'take me to A&E, I'm dying'."

"Meh."

She scoffed. "Yeah, right. That crack echoed 'round the stairwell."

"That's just because the acoustics in here are really good," you dismissed her concern. "Seriously, Hannah. I'm fine."

"I'm still telling everybody," she warned. "We need to keep an eye on it. You might not have any symptoms now, but that can change in a few days."

You groaned. "Fiiine."

-----------------

"Are you hurt?! What happened?" Rachel yelled in your ear, startling you. "How did you break your hand?! Are you alright?"

You scooted away from her and closer to Alessia. "I'm fine, Rach. And I didn't break it, it's just a scratch."

"Scratch? More like a loud arse crack," Hannah shook her head. "I think we should take you to the medics. Even if you aren't feeling too much pain and it's not broken, you might have sprained it or something."

You pouted, turning to your more empathetic teammates pleadingly. "Lessi, Niamhy, tell them I don't need to! I'm literally fine."

"Sorry, kiddo," Alessia smiled apologetically. "I'm with Rach and Hannah on this one. If it goes untreated, it'll heal wrong and you'll have chronic pain."

Niamh nodded her agreement, a sheepish look on her face.

You turned to your last hope. "Hempo?"

The forward picked up your hand, turning it over and observing it. "Nah, you're fine."

"She doesn't even have full range of motion!" Hannah exclaimed. "Her wrist can't move in a circle smoothly."

"I'll go to the medics if it gets worse," you grumbled. "Now let me be."

An awkward grin spread across Rachel's face, causing you to frown. "What?"

She looked down, unable to remain neutral. "I- uh... I texted Leah."

As if on cue, the door flew open, revealing a very worried Captain England. "Y/N! What the hell did you do?"

You gasped, glaring at your traitorous teammate. "You snitch!"

"Get up, we're going to the medics," Leah pulled you up by your non-injured hand. "Come on, let's go."

You tried to remain still. "Leah-"

"We're going," Leah grunted, throwing you over her shoulder despite your protests. "You're not getting out of this."

You stared glumly at the floor, ignoring the giggles of your teammates.

"I need a medic for this one," Leah declared as she entered the room, setting you down on a chair. "She fell down the stairs."

Sarina's head whipped towards you. "What?!"

You looked at Leah indignantly. "No, I fell up the stairs. Get it right."

Leah threw up her hands in exasperation. "How do you fall up the stairs?"

"I was going up and I tripped," you answered, frowning when one of England's medics held up your arm and hand. "I fell onto the step above me."

Sarina sighed, rubbing her temples. "Did she fracture it or anything?"

The medic shook his head. "Likely a mild sprain, especially if she can still somewhat move it. We'll give her a wrist brace. I'm sure you know how that works, Y/N."

You gave Leah the stink-eye. "This is all your fault."

"No, this is all your fault," she corrected, patting you on the shoulder. "You're the one who likes to go up multiple steps at a time."

"Whatever," you stuck out your tongue, taking the brace from the medic. "We all know that this is really all Tooney's fault."

Leah paused. "Yeah, that's true."