#is making me feel nostalgic for things I haven’t lived

[yeyinde]

riptide | Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!Reader

"Thought we lost you." His voice is a crackle; sap popping as it burns in the fire. The log charring in the kindling. There was a battle in his head; artillery fire in the gaps of his eyes. "Thought we— fuck, pet. Thought you were gone, and we couldn't do a damn thing about it." His knuckles graze the mark in your temple, gentle around the tight, irritated flesh—it's proof that you lived, that despite the tragedy of the betrayal from the man you counted on the most, you survived. You made it. You won His touch is featherlight. But his eyes– His eyes are heavy with the promise of nothing but ruin.

(it's like holding a lit cigarette to your pulse.)

part ii of in undertow

tw: gratuitous smut; unfettered filth; gendered reader; f!reader; female anatomy; near death experiences, MAJOR spoilers for the game (seriously, if you haven’t played it are saving it for later, or you haven’t finished, maybe don’t read this yet); PINING; cigarettes after sex was listened to on repreat during the making of this; also, i had “THAT’LL DO!” and “AHUEVO” on a loop, y’all. blame that.

notes: whenever someone asks what “doing the most” means, feel free to point them to this. it’s 16K. fullstop. it was only supposed to be smut. this ended up more plot than porn. but i so wanted the pining; the ambiguity, the danger, the drama. (i mean, this has none of that, but i wanted it.)

i told my very Welsh dad i was in love with an English man, and he said how could you do this to me? and that is pretty much all you need to know about Welsh culture. 

Porthmadog hasn't changed much at all since you last washed up on the sandy shores, one hand gripping the strap of your off-duty duffle bag, and the other clenched around your passport. Wound tight. Ready to flee. A constant state of fight or flight. 

The air is heady with the scent of the sea. Algae. Seaweed. Salt. Your lungs burn with the thickness of it. The sulphur sits in your throat, sticking to your larynx. It clicks when you swallow, refusing to budge. It curls behind your teeth when you suck the air in through parted, salt-chapped lips; the taste lingers in that strange microcosm of being both achingly nostalgic, and woefully foreign in the same breath. 

The streets, too, live there: a realm of vague memories flashing by as your feet tap against the cobblestone. Boots heavy with exhaustion, and jet lag. 

You're not ready to face it. Not yet. 

Head bowed, you stare at the quasi-familiar cracks on the sandstone, and wonder how everyone else is fairing right now. An hour after takeoff. Soap would have been dropped off, wouldn't he? Safe and sound in Edinburgh. 

You're both luckier than your American counterparts—the ones who have a full nine hours left to go. 

Bouncing from the Middle East to Europe is a blink. 

Europe to America is a whole ocean. 

You and Soap played rock, paper, scissors for who got to depart first. In the end, you won. Wales was closer, anyway. 

You left them behind with a heaviness that settled in your pericardium, compunction dipping in the valley of your pinched brow. 

A strange feeling leaks from the fissures. 

Ghost didn't depart. 

They didn't stop in England at all. Right to Wales, right to Scotland. America. Mexico. 

You try not to think about your prickly Lieutenant, but he flashes behind your eyelids, anyway. A bonfire in the dead of night. Tendrils of smoke drifting into the midnight blue aether. You're too close to the crackling flame. The heat scorches your skin. 

He, too, sits heavy in your chest. A spooled cluster of questions bereft of answers. An unknown chasm gaping below. What it all means–

You woke up when the interior lights of the jet flickered on a few rows ahead, the jaundiced glow rousing you from your slumber. Your temple rested on something warm. Firm, sturdy. You blinked into existence, the ghost of a breath on your lips; a passing dream now left behind to rot. A world, forever unattainable, dissolving into nothing. Sand on your fingertips.

The world knits back into the cold clutch of reality: you're on a plane, and–

And you find yourself staring at tightly woven black thread. A balaclava. 

Your eyes dart up. 

The pad in his hands bathes him in iridescent light. It casts shadows on his face, in the pocks of his mask, and illuminates the white of the artificial bones. The paint used is tinged blue, brushed with cyan where it meets the black. 

His lidded eyes crest low as he stares at the screen—a profile open on a man named Zyani stares back. Your eyes don't linger too long, pulled, instead, to the man you're leaning against. The coal under his eyes is smudged, nearly eroded away in the inner corners. You wonder if he rubbed them earlier, eyes gritty and heavy, but refusing to close. He won't sleep on the plane. He never does. 

You don't usually, either. 

Why didn't he wake you? Why did he let you stay? 

There is no time for discussion—not on a jet that reeks of testosterone with ears everywhere. It will have to wait; shelved for another time when Gaz isn't snoring a few pews away, and Soap hasn't been glancing at you in intervals since you sat down. 

Bonnie… you can almost hear him say. What are you doin'? 

You can hear the steady breaths he takes, the sound swells through you. 

It's the first time you've seen him so relaxed since–

Where are you going? Loose-limbed, one hand still wrapped around his softening cock, the other settles on the bend where your thigh meets the crease of your hip, fingers ghosting over the knob of your bone. His eyes are half moons. I didn't say I was finished with you yet, pet.

You shudder, a quiet breath leaving your lips. It draws his attention. His shoulder tenses under you. His head tilts just enough for him to slide his gaze from the screen balanced on his thick thighs to your open stare. 

His eyes are liquid. Honeyed words over smouldering charcoal. "Alright?"

Your lungs quiver with your inhale. Outside of the acrid smell of ammunition, ozone, and gunfire, he carries something musky in his scent. Driftwood. Salt—sweat, blood, the sea. It's potent. You breathe him in again, lids lowering. You hold his scent there, nestled in the gummy webbing of your lungs, dripping down your throat. 

Your eyes feel gritty when they slip shut. Anchors pull them down. You nod your head, slow and languid, murmuring your assent in a barely coherent mumble. The drag of his rough fatigues under your cheek, the straps of his tactical vest grinding into your cheekbone. And then—awareness. It startles you back into reality. Your eyes pop open, meeting the black pools above. 

You wish you could chisel open his head, and read whatever it is that might be lingering in those unfathomable depths. His expression is shuddered, hidden by the thick of his mask. Eyes lidded and heavy and narrowed right on you. 

Intense focus. 

Sometimes, the others talk about Ghost like he's a berserker. A wild, untamed beast let loose in the shadows. Even the vilest people pale when they see him—his larger-than-life frame lingering in the background—and it's fear that dances in the cut of their brow, in their shaking glare.

You heard stories, of course. 

Those always paled in comparison to seeing him on the field. 

You got it, then, why no one mocked him. Why even the worst of the worst never bothered with leading him around by the nose. 

He asked a question, and they answered. 

For a long while, you thought it was his heigh. His size. Immense power. Expert precision. 

But no. It's just him. Those eyes. His presence. 

He doesn't just receive attention, he commands it.  

You should move. You're awake, now. There is no reason for such intimacy with your Lieutenant, for a man more distant and unreachable than the sea. 

You should. 

But you don't. 

He's warm milk under your chin. Heat bleeds into your skin from the firm bracket of his body. Ghost smells good—sweat and timbre—and feels even better. You could sleep again like this. Lashes fan down, sleep digs into the back of your eyes. You force them open. 

Your fingers are tucked into the crook of his arm, pressed tight to his chest; there's a note of domesticity in the way he breathes with you, a palpable weight that falls on you like a thick quilt. His muscles jump. Body tense. 

Eyes on you. Always. 

But then they're gone. A flutter. They cut out to the pews, and you follow his gaze. Price wades closer. 

The bubble pops. You're clinging to your Lieutenant like it's a luxury you're allowed. 

Like it's something commonplace. 

There is distance in his eyes when they flicker to you. The molasses hardened into something once again unreachable. A wall now sits between you. 

(Maybe, that conversation will never come, after all.)

You should have known better than to let yourself want.

The air is crisp when you draw it in. The chill hurts your teeth. 

You slip your fingers out from the wedge of his arm and ribs, already mourning the loss of him under your flesh—ticking muscles coiled tight; velvet draped iron. Ghost says nothing when you move, but his gaze is heavy on you when you fold yourself back into your seat. Proper, now. Lieutenant and soldier. You press yourself as far away from him as you can until your arms dig into the plastic around the window, and sit straight—as if you weren't sleeping on his shoulder. 

As if he didn't let you. 

He looks away when Price takes the bench on the opposite side, offers a nod. 

Price echoes it. Flashes a tight smile your way. 

Then his eyes linger. Not on you. Not on Ghost. He rests his pensive gaze on the sliver of space between the two of you. Where Ghost's bulky arm takes several inches of space up on your own seat, flesh glued together, parting only at the elbows. He's too big to get away from. Takes up all the space—

(—in your lungs, in your head, in your—)

Price, mercifully, isn't the type of man to pry. His brows buoy on his head, a fleeting glance sent in Ghost's direction, and then he's all business. Astute leader. Battle-ready even on a sleepy jet.

He clears his throat. "Where are you headed?" 

It's for you. 

Gaz is going to America with the men you'd picked up for this mission. His offer for you to join was swiftly rejected. The invitations from the Mexican operatives, notably Alverez, to come and enjoy the coast were also rejected. 

"Is Soap going home?" You ask, hands fisting into balls on your lap. 

Price's smile is wan. "He is. Not joining Gaz on his American adventure."

"Misadventure, more like." Ghost's dry tone makes your toes curl. 

You can still hear the way he growled out pet.

You huff. "I'm…" 

There is nowhere for you to go. 

—Well. Nowhere else. 

(Your knees ache, chafed and raw. Pebbles dig into your skin.)

"Wales," you murmur. You hear the ruffle of fabric when Ghost dips his head to look at you. "Whatever is easier. I'll take a taxi."

"Right," Price nods. "Get some rest while you're home." 

It sounds like a dismissal. 

Baleen lines fill your periphery when you turn your head. Your gaze sticks to the crease where his chin meets his neck. You can't bring yourself to look up. 

"Better go fight it out with Soap." 

He doesn't stop you when you stand, when you squeeze past him, thighs brushing his knees. 

He says nothing at all when you depart. 

(Don't think about it. Don't get your hopes up—)

The town is silent save your heavy steps on the cobblestone. In the distance, the roar of the ocean crashes along the beige shore. 

Something inside of you begins to crumble. 

(Too late.)

    The woman by the apartment block greets you warmly, but the words are a strange amalgam of vowels and consonants that do not belong together. Her accent sounds English. The words make no sense to you. 

Your bewilderment must show on your face. Her smile dips, a touch of laughter paints her words when she says, in English: 

Sorry, dove. I thought you were Welsh.

It feels a little bit like a slap to the wrist. Naughty child… mind your manners, and speak your tongue. 

"I'm not…," you murmur, chastised despite having done nothing wrong. 

Wales isn't where you came from. Here is not the place of your birth. It's a paradoxical realm: a land where you were taken to as a child, and told welcome home; all memories erased of the other times they said the exact same thing. A taboo, now. Faux pas. A fresh start (for the nth time). Welcome home. 

It's the place you stayed the longest, though. Your developing years from a child to a teenager, to a spiteful preadolescent with too much to prove, and an ocean to live up to. 

(You wonder if the pavement is still stained red.) 

You know Welsh. Have spoken it for years. You came, fresh-faced and chubby-cheeked, and the ladies cooed while they taught you the words. 

But it's buried. They are covered in dust; a forgotten relic. You remember pieces of the greeting, but your lips are no longer used to forming them. Your tongue is too heavy, too foreign. 

You say nothing at all, trailing off into a stifling silence. 

"Right," her brows knot, rheumy eyes regard you warily. "Do you need a hotel—?"

"I live here." 

You bend down, peeling the pristine welcome mat back, and fish out the key you keep tucked away. Years of training echo in the background; a firm voice rings out, one that sounds suspiciously like Ghost's, barking out how that's trouble. You'll come home to a world of hurt if you keep doin' that, soldier.

(You already do.)

You pull your duffle bag up when it slips, and nod at the bemused woman. 

It's not much of a homecoming. 

It never is. 

The flat you own is barren. A bed that feels too comfortable at night for you to ever truly relax on is shoved into the bedroom, a wardrobe with civilian clothes, a shoe rack in the foyer. A kitchen that's always empty. 

You mostly sleep on the worn, old couch where the springs dig into your shoulder blades, and remind you of that night you spent in Sierra Leone, belly full of yabeh. Ghost a hair's length away from you. His gloved hand brushing yours. 

The duffle bag falls to the tiles with a heavy thud. Your passport will go in the safe along with all of your other belongings—clearance badge, certificates, your guns—until the call comes in for your next mission. 

You hope it's soon. That Shepherd and Laswell trudge up some calamity that will take you far away from this place. A long-haul mission. The kind where you go deep into the trenches, and when you surface, it feels like an aeon has passed. 

It's too quiet at night. 

Your home reeks of dust. Disuse. 

You settle on the couch, eyes fixed on the popcorn ceiling, and pretend you can't feel his shoulder under your head even now. 

A world away, and you still think of him. 

(Always, always.)

    Shepherd calls you weeks later. A secret mission with the Shadow Company, he tells you. When you ask about the others, his voice is tight. 

Just you, soldier. Just you. 

Breaking up the Task Force isn't unheard of. Ghost does so many secretive missions on his own that meeting people he worked with in the past on a group venture isn't at all a rarity anymore. Price is the same. Soap, sometimes, too. 

There isn't much else to do. 

(You held your phone in your hand each night for those weeks, finger hovering over the CALL button. Two letters— Lt— on the contact screen. His profile picture is a dune of sand.

It never rang. You never called.)

You give your affirmative, and go to the coordinates where his operatives will be waiting for you. 

"Show me what you got," he says, a challenge in his voice. 

Your grin is sharp. "Always, Actual." 

    Phillip Graves meets you with a wide grin on his face. The American flag on his fatigues sticks out against the green. So used to the British flag, you can't stop your eyes from sliding down to it, drawn like a beacon. 

(Maybe, in a bygone era, it, too, might have been home.)

"Welcome aboard, soldier." His eyes flash in the setting sun. Eager. Heavy. You echo it in your own smile. "Let's get these son'of'a'bitches."

    You're back at the bottom. 

The Shadow Operatives stare at you when they think you aren't looking. Low murmurs fill the jet— princess, chick, girl— and you gazed, pointedly, out the window. 

Your hands itch; the phantom scabs prickle. 

It makes you miss 141 more than you thought possible. Gaz, Price, Soap, Ghost. They flicker in your mind, and you wonder what they'd do in this situation. 

How would they prove themselves to everyone around them?

(Answer: they wouldn't.) 

The only one who isn't pushing you in a box is Graves. 

"Heard great things about you," his smile crests over his lips. Eyes hungry. Ready for battle. "Can't wait to see what you can do." 

He worked with Ghost a month ago. You find this out when he mentions it offhand. Secret mission with your Lieutenant. Is he always that much of an asshole—?

Actual is in your ear, stay alert. Keep your eyes out, always. Never know what you might miss.

But it's Ghost you think of. 

(Always, always.)

"He's not an asshole," you say, shrugging. "Just a man who cares too much." 

Almost immediately, you want to swallow the words back down. Stupid. Stupid. You force yourself to remain still, nonchalant. 

(How presumptuous of you to think you know him.)

Military likes to gossip. It'll come back to him somehow. The little rookie who stuck up for him. Who said he cared.

Graves' eyes flicker. "That right?"

You blush. English is gone. The only language in your throat is Welsh. 

(Graves' guffaw echoes in the jet.)

    Graves purses his lips, rolling them from side to side, as you sift through the documents in front of you. He's been pacing the room for the last ten minutes while you meticulously translate each paper in your grasp. Agitation bleeds through the usual warmth in his countenance. 

It's tense. A slaughter. 

His compatriots flank all of the exits; sounds of gunfire resound through the compound. 

The infiltration was easy. 

This—

This is not. 

"So…," he drawls, the thick accent is warm, but his voice is constricted; pinched. "Heard you were the best at sniffing things out. What do you think?"

"It's not—," you pause, eyes skimming the page, squinting at it. 

"What?"

His tone is sharp. Icy. The usual warmth dissipates into a palpable tension; a tight unease. 

The shift is strange. Focus on the mission.

"It's not just Konni in this. They're being backed." 

"That so?" 

You suck in a deep breath. "We should leave. Tell Actual what's going on–"

"Yeah," he intones, crouching down in front of you. His eyes are placid. "We'll do just that."

    It all happens so fast. A clichè, really, but a fitting one. 

Head turned out the window of the cargo van, deadly missiles being dragged behind. Your mind is full, racing. Nothing makes sense. 

You wish Ghost was here. Price. Soap. They're the ones you use to bounce ideas off of: this is what is happening, this is the missing equation, and this is what I think. 

Good, bonnie. Now, tell us something we don't know. 

And what if the equation is wrong?

Crafty, soldier. How do we prove it? 

And then the world shatters. 

Konni Operates. A gun to your head. Graves yelling in the distance; spitting curses, threats. Actual in your ear— you'll die here, soldier. 

Chaos. Death presses cold metal to your forehead, snapped words in rapid-fire Russian, too fast for you to pick up. 

The only ones that leak through are oozing glee. I'm going to blow your head off.

A dead-end. You think of Gaz—the closest to you in age, passing jokes back and forth; playing Never Have I Ever when the missions lull, the others looking on with amusement. 

Kids these days, they scoff.

Have you seen this video? He asks, dropping into the vacant seat beside you. Ghost looks up. It's a club in London. 

Soap huffing when you ask if he wants to come. Too old for that, bonnie.

You kids have fun, Price says, lips twitching. A rare show of amusement from the man. But I'll have to pass.

What if we went to a pub instead, you geezer? You chuckle. 

Geezer? He nudges Ghost to his left, eyes dry. You've been rubbing off on the kids. 

You meet his stare over the plastic table. Smile turns shy. Wanna come with us, Lt?

He holds it. Halfmoon. Eclipse. Liquid black. Negative, soldier. 

You try not to let the sting of rejection show. It's stupid. Stupid—

Nice one, kid.

Y'did good, bonnie.

Let's show these old boys what us kids can do, yeah?

Their voices echo in your mind. One rings louder than the others. A sharp bark. Gravel shattering. Move, soldier!

You're a dutiful soldier. You never disobey a command from your superior officer. From him.

White-hot pain splits across your temple. The world turns static. You're falling down, down, down—

Waves lap at your body, tugging you out to sea. The briny water fills your throat. 

Stay alert, soldier. The General. Voices. 

"Well, shit." Graves. He sounds distant. Far away. 

You think of Sierra Leone. Your first mission. 

Hiding in a concrete house with no windows, no doors, no cover. Gunfire booming across the landscape, cloaked in the pitch black darkness of night. Flickers of yellow-red light pop in the distance. 

You don't breathe. Don't make a sound. Your hands tremble around your rifle. Eyes wavering. 

Warmth against your back. You startle. A gloved hand over your mouth. The brush of a balaclava against your neck. 

"Easy, soldier. They'll see you if you jump." 

They'll see you—

"They dead?" A boot knocks against your calf. 

You go limp. 

"Yeah," Graves. Companion. Comrade. Be careful who you trust, soldier. All you have right now is yourself. Trust your gut; you're on your own. 

Copper on your tongue. You let it pool between your teeth, keeping it held in the space between your lips. It tastes of pennies. You try not to choke.

Sir… you whisper the words against his tactical vest. Feel the shift of his body when he looks at you from over his shoulder. Let's get yabeh after this. 

We're not on holiday, soldier. 

Really? Feels like one. 

You need to get out more. 

Yeah… maybe…

C'mon, now. Stay with me, pet. 

Always… sir. Always…

    You drag him to someplace you'd heard of through your new friends–best yabeh in all of Salone; gotta try the Jollof, too, Sesay insists–and he fits in like a sore thumb. 

You both stand out, really. Foreigners in the middle of a place visited only by locals. Him in his denim trousers, and short-sleeved shirt, tactical vest fixed on his chest; his mask stays on. A ball cap low over his brow. He exudes danger. The rippling musculature of a tiger. The stealth of a panther. 

You—nondescript and tiny beside him. 

There is something to be said about seeing your new Lieutenant in denim. In the custom facemask instead of the full balaclava. 

With the baleen lines missing over his chin and neck, he almost feels too exposed to you. Too vulnerable. Too open. 

You can't stop fixing your gaze on the scant flesh, uncovered, above the collar of his shirt. His arms, bulky, and big, fold over his massive chest. 

He barely fits inside the small booth. 

Your eyes dance. Amusement. A roseate veil shudders over you—a novice, a rookie—and high off of the success of a mission. 

"Sesay says this is the best place in town."

"Sesay says a lot of things, don't he?" 

You blink, fingers tapping against the worn wood of the table. It's hot in Sierra Leone. A wet swelter that brands your skin with white-hot intensity. It's different from the dryness of the Sahara. 

Somehow, his tone is drier than the arid desert you crawled out of. Drier than the burning heat of the massive sun. 

"That he does…," you agree, floundering. 

Was this a mistake? Maybe you shouldn't have come here. What were you thinking? Dragging your superior out for dinner. You flush. It's barely discernable from the blistering sunburn over the bridge of your nose. Unfamiliar with the intense sun that scorches the land. 

You're drowning, now. Wallowing in this limbo of uncertainty. Maybe you should have just come later with Sesay and Abdul. They asked you when you pestered for directions, but you met Ghost's stare from over their shoulders, and hadn't heard a thing of what they were saying once you met him in the middle.

He's a whole head taller than everyone he meets. Massive. The locals' baulk at him: this huge, terrifying being with a skull on his face, cutting through the throng of people like a tank. 

There was so much going on once you started the mission. After the Intel was gathered, and the forces were ready, those long nights spent inside a tent that was barely big enough for yourself let alone the behemoth bulk of your Lieutenant came to an end. It was abrupt. Sudden.

It was just you and him. 

And then it was a sea of people. 

You'd spent the better part of a year pouring over documents in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by Scorpions and sand, and him. 

The tent was deadly during the day; balmy with a humidity fit for the Amazon. At night, any complaints you might have had about the heat turned into regrets. It was freezing. You could see white clouds of condensation when you breathed out. 

You'd lie next to each other. Grains of sand is the only thing keeping you apart. He was warm—bonfire hot. 

You'll be frustrated, mad. That's normal when you spend so much time with a stranger. You might argue, bicker. But just focus on the mission. This is a test of camaraderie as much as it is endurance. 

It wasn't like that at all. It was—

Seamless. 

His ebb and flow were easy to adjust to. Maybe, it was the fact that you were a neophyte that made it so. Too afraid to let the bundle of frustration rear when this was your first mission. Your first test. 

But—

It wasn't quite like that. You found that you enjoyed his company. His barbed insults spoken in a flat, serious tone often flew over the heads of the men you had to work with, but you grew accustomed to them. Enjoyed them, even. He was—

An enigma. A year later, and you know nothing about Simon Riley, and as much as he'll allow about Ghost. There is distance still, but; 

It wanes. It cracks. Fills with the sharpness of his sarcasm, the stoic dedication to his mission; the grains of sand that stick to his sweat-slicked forehead. The deep hue of red from the mask he refuses to take off. 

You'll suffocate, you quip, eyes glued to the paper in front of you. 

Don't worry about me.

That's a silly thing to say… 

It ain't. You shouldn't. 

Mindless, stupid: well, I do. 

Silence. Brutal and stifling. Then: focus on the mission, Rookie. Not on me. 

You'd hummed noncommittally. It slipped into the back of your head, eyes fixed on the numbers in front of you. 

But it wells, now. When Sesay asks if you want to go with him for dinner, when he tells you how to get there, and what to order. 

Not on me.

Your eyes haven't left his. He holds your stare. 

The chossy wobbles, cracks. Your hand on his arm. C'mon, boss, let's eat. It stays there while you lead him through winding valleys. The heat of his arm—bare, veins ticking under your palm, too burly for you to wrap your whole hand around the thick of him—bleeds into you. You, cold-blooded, leach the warmth from his flesh.

And now—

He doesn't eat when dinner is brought out. Doesn't take his mask off. 

You watch him through the steam that wafts off the Jollof rice, his eyes roaming around the room like clockwork, looking for something that might strike. Hyper-vigilant. Wary. Cold. Distant. 

A puzzle not meant to be put together, but your fingers itch with the urge to try. 

Why did he come, you wonder. Why didn't he say no? 

As if hearing your thoughts, his eyes are on yours. Tendrils of translucent white fog the air between you. His brow pinches. Lids crest. 

It punches the air from your lungs. There is a phantom heat in your palm. Your hands shake around the fufu in your grasp, tightening around the tacky food until it bulges between your fingers. 

The syphoned heat begins to simmer in your belly. 

It bubbles over, blustering through your insides when his head pulls close, chin over the table, and says:

You did good, rookie. Might make a soldier of you, yet. 

You bow your head. "Cachu hwch."

"English, soldier." 

You shake your head. "N-nothing, sir… burnt my tongue."

    You wake up in an empty hospital room. It was early August when you left for Al Mazrah. The calendar on your wall says it's now late September. 

The space in between is a blur. Left in the mud. Graves was taken. Was he okay–

You don't remember anything after the point of passing out in the mud, and waking up—sick from infection, burning from a fever—and finding yourself strapped down on a jet. Medics surround you. 

You'll be okay, you'll be fine–

You'd passed out again. The world slipping away until you felt the heat on your shoulder blades. The scent of yabeh thick in your nose. 

You move, sluggish and heavy, on the rough hospital bed, fingers gripping the sheets below. 

You still feel the grit of sand against your arm. 

Heat in your belly. 

(Cachu hwch, indeed.)

    Shepherd calls you a day later on the phone in your private room. Your prison. The men outside say you're not allowed to leave. It's dangerous. 

"Did good out there, rookie."

"Thanks, Actual," you murmur, hands clenched around the receiver. "Couldn't have done it without your help. Without you." 

You want to ask about Graves. About your team. 

You remember the rapid Russian spat in your ear. And this one? You bite your tongue, body pickling with unease. 

"Rest up, now. My boys will be keeping an eye on you. They'll keep you safe."

      You are discharged at the end of October. 

Hands pressed against the still-healing scar on your temple. They peeled the bandage off yesterday. 

The infection made it worse. It wasn't healing with the sickness you had. You're lucky some local boys found you in the mud when they did. You would have died. 

Laswell finds you outside. Hand against her throat, eyes wide.

She looks like she's seen a ghost. 

You certainly feel like one. 

    The ride to your safehouse is punctuated by a game of catch-up. She tells you about the mission they went on, the one you were exempt from. 

The phone calls from Soap, Gaz make sense now. Straight to voicemail. 

Hey, you skimpin' out on us, yeah? Skippin' duty? Not like you at all. Kinda worried, y'know? Text me somethin'. You know I don't like callin'. Anyway… we're keepin' it together, yeah? But kinda freakin' out. Uhh… anyway—

Not like you to miss one, bonnie. Call me when you can, aye? Want to make sure you're okay. 

Price calls nine times. Leaves no voicemail. 

A single text from Ghost. Wheels up at 16:00. Expect to see you there. 

You didn't get your phone back until today. These were sent at the end of October. 

The clock on your screen reads 2nd November.

"No one knew…," you murmur, hands clenched around the metal. "Why didn't Shepherd—"

"Shepherd said you were sent on recon. Said something happened. He didn't tell the others—just me and Price. Didn't want to distract them from the job." 

"When did you find out?"

"That you were alive?" Her lips thinned, skin paling. "Yesterday." 

"Where are they now?"

"That's confidential." 

A scoff. "Sure. Now, off the record…"

"Mexico." 

Something doesn't feel right at all. It sits like an anvil in your stomach. 

"Laswell…" 

"Get some rest," she says, even. Her eyes are glossy when she stares at you. "We'll keep you updated. I'm sure everyone will be relieved to know you're alive."

    Your phone rings two days later. 

The screen flashes. Lt.

Your hands tremble when you answer it. 

    "It was Shepherd," he admits. 

Your head swims with the admission. Shepherd. Did good out there, rookie. Now, stay good. Stay alert. Keep your eyes out, always. Never know what you might miss.

"Is he–?"

"No," he grouses, the word a sliver short of being a growl. "He's alive. Graves is dead."

It hits you in the sternum—a punch unlike any other you'd received. Air knocked from your lungs, chest throbbing in agony, you sink down into your bed, fingers gripping the sheets until your knuckles bleach white. 

This shouldn't have happened. 

This is what you do. It's your purpose. It's your job. Your role. You were selected by Shepherd, by Laswell, Price for that, for your ability to gather information, to weed out the moles, the rats. To sniff them out, and puncture holes in their ship until they sank to the bottom, secrets leaking out. 

The words roll out of your mouth before you stop them. 

"I should have been there." 

The tremulous quiver makes you wince. Weakness. You're not weak. You're not—

Ghost won't see it as such, you know this; he doesn't really react to the harsh emotions of others. He carries an unwavering focus, rapt attention to the overarching mission, the end goal; pragmatic, astute on the battlefield, he doesn't flinch. 

It's a toss-up if he'll ever respond. If he does, it's usually with a dry, biting dismissal. Sarcasm with him often rides the line of being too sincere, and too flat. It's not just murky, but opaque. He'll say something—equal parts scathing and wise: it's already done, no sense dwelling on what you can't change. Do better next time. 

The bite in his words hurt; it was enough to make even the most impassive man irritated by the blunt, almost cruel tinge to his tone. 

But it's later when the message will unravel itself. When you're lying alone in your cot, picking over the things he said, and why he said them, and then—

Oh.

Do better next time. 

Right. 

A soft sound. The rush of air being inhaled through clenched teeth.

Then: "I'm glad you weren't." 

Silence. Your heart thunders. I'm glad you weren't.

It could mean a lot of things. A lot of bad things, but:

He thought you were either dead, or missing, or just—gone. You get it:

The last job didn't kill you—the evidence stacks in your head; one conclusion drawn: 

It should have. It was meant to. 

Your brush with death was a footnote. Nothing at all in the grand scheme of things. 

They wanted you dead. They failed. 

Soap called you last night, voice tight. You good, bonnie?

Getting there, you joked. Actual had my back. Graves, too. I'm alive because of them.

You choke. 

"You alright?"

It's on the tip of your tongue to say yeah. The usual response. Practised. Easy. Distant. But you think of his words, and your ears ring with the deep husk of his voice. He was honest with you. Open. And that's—

Your words are a rush, dipped in vulnerability. "I don't want to be alone right now." 

Too much. Too honest. 

Too open. 

You flinch. Heart thudding in your throat. 

Ghost makes you feel like an exposed wire. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Raw. 

He says your name—a low, brassy rasp that tickles the back of your neck. It's rare for him to call you by your given name. It's much too intimate. Too—

Well. It's just too much. You want to lean into it, to drape yourself in the rich utterance. Have it whispered into your ear late at night, while he fucks into you the same way he bucked into his hand. 

And in the morning when he first wakes. When he rolls over, body folding over your own. Lips against the shell of your ear. A husky rasp; the word dragged over gravel. 

You want it, want him, in ways that are unattainable. 

Domestic. 

You gasp. "I–um. Thanks," you fumble over your words, head roaring with the realisation that there is more than just attraction in the way your heart flutters in your chest; the downy soft wings of a small bird ruffling its fresh plumage. "I'll… talk later." 

Your name is barked through the phone when you pull it away. It's cut off before he can finish. 

    They video call you from some pub. 

The sight of them together—Gaz, Soap, Price, Laswell, Ghost—makes you smile. 

"Christ, bonnie." Soap's eyes are fixed on the line near your temple. Scabbed. Plum colour. Healing, but not yet there. An inch over, and you'd have been—

You flinch, shrugging. "Could be worse–"

"What happened?" It's a command. You try not to tremble at the bark in Ghost's tone. Perhaps Laswell didn't tell them everything. 

His eyes are wide, the whites cresting over the puddles of black. You can't match his stare. You drop, darting to the clock in the corner. 

It's Laswell who tells them about the mission with the Shadow Company. Graves. Shepherd. 

"...Fuckin', aye." Gaz murmurs. He echoes Ghost's question. "What happened? No one told us anything. We thought— and then Shepherd said you were out for the mission. Not that—that you'd been— " 

It falls silent. They don't know about the mission's end aside from Shepherd's lies. Laswell knows. She was the first face you saw in the hospital. 

Let's talk… 

"We were ambushed," you start, shrugging again. Blasé. Nonchalant. You pretend you can't feel the intensity of Ghost's stare through the screen. "I… they were going to shoot me. I got away. Got a scratch—," a scoff from Soap, a murmur of more than a scratch, aye; you ignore it. "They thought I was dead, so they left me there…"

There is more to it. Graves. The whispers in your head. Them, in your final moments. Agents outside your hospital door. Two inches from death. A day away from rotting. 

You swallow it down. It doesn't matter. It happened and now it's over. 

"Bonnie…," there is something raw in Soap's voice. It pricks your pericardium. 

Left for dead. Abandoned by everyone around you. The ones you trusted the most. Your own team didn't even look. Had no time to mourn, no time to worry. 

You know what they must see; the lines they must be drawing. How they, themselves, currently feel, and what they would do if it were them instead of you. It—

It hurts. 

"I'd have joined you at the pub," you murmur, voice a shaky worble, before he can say anything else. "But–," you lift your head, eyes downcast. A facsimile of a smile flickers. You wonder if it hits the mark. "Maybe next time." 

Price nods in your periphery. "Listen—"

"I'll be ready for Makarov," you interrupt. "I'm… I gotta go, though. Am I — can I be dismissed?" 

"...Yeah, yeah you can."

You hang up without another word. 

In the silence of your flat—in a land more foreign to you than the Sahara—you break. 

    Your night dissolves into a series of firsts in quick succession:

A knock on your door. No one knows that you live here. No one but Laswell when she dropped you off. The rheumy-eyed lady with knobby knuckles who mutters at you in warm Welsh. Words you pretend you can't understand. 

Shepherd, too, because he needed a location to put down on paper. A place to find you if they couldn't get a hold of you.

You think it might be him—back for vengeance—and you hold your pistol in your hands, back pressed flat against the wall. One hand drops the brass doorknob. 

"Who is it?" 

A beat. 

"It's me." A thick baritone—enough, you think, pulse racing, to rattle the door with his voice alone. "It's Simon." 

Simon. Not Ghost—

Right. Off-duty, now. Until you get a lead on Makarov. 

Your Lieutenant knocking on your door at—gritty eyes flicker to the stovetop in the kitchen—quarter to five in the evening is another first. Almost paradoxical, really. 

Gun shoved into the holster, you turn to face the wood. Through the little window above, covered by a paper-thin curtain, you can see the dark shape of him, unmoving, as he stands on your porch. 

There are a number of reasons why he'd be here, but only one makes you yearn. 

You pull the door open, and the sight of him makes you dizzy. Hypoxia. Seasickness. Homesick. 

He's dressed as casually as Simon is capable of. Black hoodie, wet on the hood from the snow that falls in clumps outside. A black beanie on his head. Skull mask flat against the bridge of his nose. Denim. Black boots. 

The coal around his eyes is smudged. A nebula of pale skin through a black oasis. 

"What—?"

"Shepherd." Right. He could have called. Got the Intel from Laswell. His words leave no room for argument when he lets out an amalgam of a snarl, a growl; it's ground to dust when he says: "we need to talk."

"Not—," you don't want him to see the emptiness inside. The vacancy. Militaristically barren. Lonely. "Not here…" 

Shepherd was here, too. Not him, specifically—maybe. You don't know for certain. But his agents, definitely. Polluting the inside.

It's a flimsy excuse. You hear the threadbare conviction in your tone. 

"Shepherd was here," you say, and then wince. "Not now, I mean—"

The words die on your tongue. Ghost— Simon —is smart. Of course he wouldn't think Shepherd was here now. He'd fled. Went into hiding. You shift on your feet. 

He can read you like no one else. 

(You wonder if anyone at all can read him.)

You flounder. "I don't want…not here…"

"Where do you want to go?"

Somewhere stiflingly hot. "Anywhere." 

Simon doesn't press. He never does. His head rolls, tips toward the street. "C'mon, then. Get your stuff."

He reads it on your face, in the things you don't say. It reminds you of Sierra Leone— eat, rookie, you haven't all day; get some sleep, you're dead on your feet; I'll take the first watch— and the memory clots behind your ribs. 

"Okay," you murmur. 

You feel his gaze on your back when you turn around. The door is left open. He doesn't follow. 

    There is a chill in the air when you step outside, bundled up in a knit sweater that does little to stem the frigid sea breeze from cutting through the cracks in the threaded cable. 

It's a cold night in Porthmadog. 

Snow falls in clumps from the indigo-smeared sky, sticking to the cobblestone under your feet. 

Simon says nothing as you walk out of the apartment block. He stays close to you, so close you could inch your elbow out and touch him. The heat from his body is a beacon. You're at war with yourself, struggling not to get pulled into his current, and swept out to sea. 

Despite the closeness, there is a distance in the way he paces. Eyes roaming under the hood, taking in the lights strewn overhead, lingering on the alcoves where someone might hide. 

Having him here feels a little surreal. Porthmadog is off-limits to everyone—it's a place where you come to rot. 

His presence shatters the sense that it doesn't really exist outside of those long nights when you stare up at the ceiling, and want. A metaphysical realm that laps at the cracks inside of you, eroding the thick veneer you cobbled together over the years until it withers away, and you have to patch it up when you get called in for another assignment. 

Intact soldier. Whole. Nile. 

It's a place, now. Real. Tangible. 

Seeing Simon—Ghost, Lt—walk beside you down Lombard Street, footfalls echoing through the winding road, makes something churn in your guts. It sits inside, and feels a little like finality. 

How could you possibly come back to a place you pretend doesn't exist? A place that is just en-route to wherever else you have to go? 

A place you come to because you have nowhere else. 

You can't come back here now that the streets are tainted with the nitroglycerin scent of Simon. A bonfire on the beach. The burning logs doused in kerosene. The miasma will suffocate you. 

It clots inside of your lungs, sticking to the gummy lining when you breathe him in. 

He smells of bourbon. Cigarettes. Carries the scent of everyone else with him—Gaz's cologne: thick vetiver; the sickly sweet tang of Price's cigars; thick metallic: ozone and gasoline that Soap wears after a mission—and you greedily take it in. 

You let it sit, red-hot barbed wire, against your chest. 

Your eyes slip. Illegal. Wrong. They find him, always. Bathed in the streetlight above; flushed yellow. It casts shadows on him, and makes his eyes look lighter. 

A peaking shoal in the middle of the midnight blue ocean. 

He's dangerous. Makes your fingers prickle with want; with the urge to touch.

Makes you greedy. 

Stupid. 

Despite not knowing the area, Simon cuts through the supine street like he's familiar with it already. Maybe, he is. He must have looked at the map on his phone before he got here, eyes locked on the space, the landscape. Mentally cataloguing each hiding spot. 

You follow him—a stranger in your own home—and cross your arms over your chest when the thick chatter carries from inside the shops along the street. Heavy Welsh. Warm milk and honey. 

Salt in your wounds. 

You don't belong here.

The familiar green of the carpet and flooring shop nearly makes you trip, but you steady yourself. Ball your hands into fists by your side, and drop your gaze to the cracked ground below. 

You can feel the moment his gaze shifts, sliding over to you. It bores into your temple; abrasive, and grating. 

Goosebumps erupt over your flesh. You blame it all on the cold—the stutter in your chest, the ache in your lungs, the shiver dancing down your spine. The frigid weather. The icy breeze. 

Another shiver rolls through you, different this time, when you catch sight of the park. 

Your chin hits the pavement. Palms sliding through jagged gravel. Knees splitting. 

Your blood puddles on the grey rocks. 

They crack you open. Nothing spills from the gaping hole. 

"You with me?" 

You blink. The reverie shakes, shudders. The little girl with her chin on the ground warbles. 

Simon stands there, his back to the streetlights. His presence makes the image distort, and bend to fit him inside. It doesn't belong. 

"What's a'matter with you?" 

You flinch at his voice, and peer up at him from under clumpy, wet lashes, heavy with melting snow. 

The words are harsh, but his tone is—

He steps forward, a few paces ahead. You didn't realise you stopped. 

He doesn't come to a halt until there is barely an arm's length of space between you, and seeing him this close to you, his face concealed, blank and empty, has that strange feeling pooling in the pit of your stomach again. 

His lashes are blond. It surprises you. You'd always imagined he had black hair. Black hair, black eyes. 

It's blonde. 

You don't know why it matters, why you can't stop staring at the soft wisps around his lids. They flutter shut, fanning across the smudged ink skin under his eyes. The tips are blond. The bottoms are ash. They're nice, you note, a flavour of that same something blistering through you. 

His lids slide open, the corner tightening as his gaze sharpens, focusing on you. "Y'alright?" He asks again, waiting for an answer. 

You swallow, and it tastes of sand. Gritty, and painful when it slips down your throat. Your voice is a rasp, a shiver above a whisper, when you say, "yeah. "

His eyes tighten again, deeper this time. Something flashes in those polychrome depths. Under the hat, his brow pulls taut together. 

The indent makes your fingers itch, the urge to reach out, to soothe it, is nearly overwhelming. 

"You lyin' to me?" He grumbles, an edge to his voice you can't place. 

"No," you mutter, the words dragged out of you by force. "Just a —a headache." 

He has a look in his eyes that makes you think he knows, somehow. That he can chisel inside your head, and rummage through all the secrets you try to keep. 

Your neck aches from having to tip your chin back so much to even look at him, the 90-degree angle making you feel dizzy. The opposite of vertigo where you sometimes look up at the unending sky yawning overhead and feel that tendril of fear curling around you, admixing the awe, until you feel the urge to dig your fingers into the ground, and hold on. You can't fall up, but in those moments, it almost feels like you might. 

Ghost gives you that same feeling. 

His chin dips low, eyes lidded and heavy. You could almost mistake it for bland disinterest had his jaws not been working, gnashing together in a wordless tick. He says nothing. You watch the bones move. The fabric teeth snap. 

All his focus is centred on the blood-red gash near your temple. The black sutures keeping the split skin together. 

Ghost makes a sound, and you almost mistake it for a growl. Inhumane. Animal. It's pulled from his throat, but bitten off by his teeth before it can take shape. 

You blink up at him, wide and owlish, when he reaches for you. 

His hand is warm even through the glove. The rough fabric grazes your skin when he brushes your hair away with his knuckle. His eyes are fixed on your forehead, hardened, all militaristic concentration as he looks you over. 

"It's—it's fine…" 

"It ain't." 

Gritty sandpaper. Harsh, abrading. 

It's hushed, though. 

Speaking above a whisper feels taboo. This whole thing does, honestly. Illicit, wrong. Ghost shouldn't be lasering his glare on your forehead, searching for a reason to do something about the anger that now brims in those dark depths. His knuckles on your skin feel sacrilegious. Touching you is exempt. Illegal. Off-limits. 

But he does it, anyway. Strips the barriers pitched in front of you both like tissue paper, and holds his four knuckles to your temple, his thumb brushing a hair beneath the irritated skin. Gentle. Soft. 

You didn't think these hands knew how to do something so delicate. That they were made, instead, to break. To crush. To ruin. 

He might, yet: the pad of his finger feels like a brand when it ghosts over the soft curve of your forehead, soothing the phantom hurt, and you think you might just shatter if he doesn't stop touching you like this. Gingerly. Calming. A balm over your aching flesh. 

You'd gotten so used to the pain, the constant throb in your head, that this respite from it feels like bliss. Nirvana wrapped in leather. 

His touch is magnetic. It pulls a sound from deep within your chest, something desperate and wanting, and you can't snap your jaws shut quick enough before it's loose in the atmosphere, and cresting over him. 

Ghost's gentle prods go still. With his thumb pressed into a place that makes liquid heat spume in your vein, you can feel it tremble when your tongue snakes out, gliding over your lower lip. 

Your head swims. Phosphenes dance across the back of your lids, and you struggle to remember when you shut your eyes in the first place. 

They flutter open. 

His stare is fixed on your lips in a total eclipse, honed in on the slow roll of your blood-red tongue as it peeks out from the warm cavern of your mouth. The wet trail left behind is swallowed by his gaze. It flickers up, catching the bloom of heat under your cheeks. The darkened flush makes him rumble; the soft rattle of an engine purring. A frisson passes over his expression, lashes fluttering. 

He's close. Closer than he was before. You can feel the molten heat bleeding into your skin with his proximity. Taste the gunpowder, the ash, and the ichor that clings to him; he smells of war when you breathe him in. Gasoline. Copper. A livewire scent that makes your lungs itch. 

Dangerous. Powerful. Deadly. 

Every synapse in your head misfires, sending off warning signs and sirens to run from the man that reeks of gun oil, and fire; napalm-scented demise with blood-soaked hands meant to ruin. But it only makes you lean in closer until the acrid burn of him corrodes your throat. 

His body is warm, and the heat is stifling. 

You're drunk off the fumes he exudes; reckless and wanting, and in the slurried molasses of your mind, you wonder if this is what it feels like for a gazelle to stand so close to a lion. 

Something cold pools at the base of your spine, making you shiver. A warning—distant, ancient—but the calls of your ancestors are dimmed under the bulk of his shadow. The heavy iron in his gaze rests over you, and you imagine that his body pressed into yours would carry the same heft. 

He's somehow bigger up close, you think. Wide shoulders, thick arms, a broad chest and waist; muscular thighs, firm calves. 

He's not Adonis, but you imagine he feels just like marble all the same. 

"Thought we lost you." His voice is a crackle; sap popping as it burns in the fire. The log charring in the kindling. "Thought we— fuck, pet. Thought you were gone, and we couldn't do a damn thing about it."

We. He says we, now. It's new. You shudder in his hold. 

"I'm here," you whisper the words, afraid of breaking this strange spell between you. It feels like everything else around you has melted away until only you and he exists on this lonely street that makes you ache. 

"You are…" he rasps; a low hush. Maybe he, too, is afraid of shattering it. "You did good, soldier."

His knuckles graze the mark in your temple, gentle around the tight, irritated flesh—it's proof that you lived, that despite the tragedy of the betrayal from the man you counted on the most, you survived. You made it. You won. 

His touch is featherlight. But his eyes–

His eyes are heavy with the promise of nothing but ruin.

A million thoughts run through your head, ones that taste like kerosene, and cauterise inside you like a cigarette to your skin. The heat blooms again, but it's not enough—all you can think of is how you wished you had more of him. 

(You wonder if you run your tongue along his skin, kiss that acrid mouth, if he'd taste of napalm.)

Chiselled open, exposed to the air. Ghost takes a deep breath, holding the fumes of your burning need in his lungs. When he exhales, you can taste the smoke in the air. 

His hand drops, fingers sliding down the curve of your face until he meets the plush softness where your chin and cheek meet. The hand he keeps on you is firm. 

His eyes bore into yours. He wants your attention. Demands it. Then, he holds it steady until your mouth drops in a series of short, gasping breaths. 

Your voice is featherlight when you say his name. His real one. Simon. It simmers in the air between you, and the scent of it almost makes his eyes snap shut, shoulders coiling. Tensed. Wanting. His muscles flex, bunching together in tight knots. Clench. Release. Clench. 

It's only when you hear his haggard breath through the nylon, do you realise he's holding himself back from you.

Your belly flutters at the rumble roiling out of his throat. 

Another command falls, deeper, darker, and your spine nearly snaps with how quickly you straighten up when he utters two words. 

"Later, pet." 

It's a promise. A demand. An out. 

His mind made up, decisive and sure, he's now shoving the choice in your hands. Leaving the decision with you for safekeeping.  

Like before, there is only ever one choice. As if you had any other answer for him. 

When you nod, firm and eager, his chest shudders. "Fuckin' Christ–" it's a snarl, full of tension. Excitement.

His hand slides away from your face, and presses into the base of your spine, settling heavily over the curve of your ass. There is pressure, an urgency. 

"C'mon," he rasps, jerking his chin to the end of the park. "Parked over here."

He keeps his hand on you, heavy and hot. A possessive branding as he leads you away from this place. 

When you pass, your eyes drop to the pavement. 

The gravel is clean. Your blood is nowhere to be found. 

Your muscles go lax. You get pulled into his current, shoulder brushing over his chest. 

Simon tightens his hold, and pulls you closer. 

(Dragging you out to open water until you can't see the shoreline anymore.)

    He leads you to a black jeep with tinted windows, and grounds out that it's rental when you press the heel of your palm into your mouth, futilely trying to hide a smile. 

"It's nice," you quip, light and airy. "Very you."

"Just get your ass inside already," he says, pulling the door open for you. "Got a drive ahead of us." 

His hand settles on your waist when you step up on the first rung, heavy. Firm. You want to lean into him. Have him pressed up against you like this for an eternity. 

"Where are we going?" You breathe, shivering from the molten look in his eye. The heat in his chest. 

He tugs you back into him, chin grazing the space between your neck and shoulder. His voice is white-hot in your ear. "My safe house." 

Your eyes flutter. Heat blooms. "Simon—" his name is a whimper on your lips. 

His fingers dig into your hips. "Fuckin' hell, pretty thing. You keep saying my name like that, and we won't make it to Southport." 

There is no lie in the words that are forced out of his throat; inhumane, a growl. You don't want him here —in this town where you moulder. 

Your fingers trail over his wrist. The coarse hair on his arms tickles your skin. 

"Get me out of here."

His eyes sharpen. "Gladly." 

    Two hours and a half hours from Porthmadog to Southport. 

A lot of time for him to reconsider. For that coldness he wears like a shield, that unbreakable distance, to pitch itself in front of him once more, locking you out. Perhaps, it'll be for good. Maybe—

Your hands ball into fists. Knuckles dig into the plush seat. 

You know what you want. Know what you've wanted since before you stupidly opened your mouth— keeping my seat warm— and he saw it through. 

But what about him? There was no time on the jet for a grand discussion, not when everyone was on top of each other already; not when Soap kept glancing at you, brow drawn tight, as if to ask really, bonnie?  

Memories of Sierra Leone have you in a chokehold. Your purgatory, your limbo, your afterlife; when you were dying, it was all of him. Of the desert. Of the town that felt so warm, so inviting. The people baulked at his size but still ushered you over, offering snacks, and treats. 

So tiny beside him, a woman laughs. You need to eat more. Your man should make you fat and happy. 

You blushed. He's not—

Yes, yes… A wink. A coy grin. He watches from the dirt path as she presses bundled cassava into your hands. He says nothing at all. Your man. You like the sound of it more than you should. 

You know what you want. What you've wanted. 

It puddles inside of you. Droplets leaking through the fissures that have been splintering for years, now. 

A man stands in front of you. Promise me, you'll get him. 

You: young, naïve, nodded. I promise. 

Ghost pulled you aside. He yells—quite often, in fact—but he's ice cold when he says, we don't make promises, rookie. Deadly. Your heart is in your throat when you apologise.

And then the scent of fire. A mission in Mesaieed left you and Gaz trapped. Helpless. Smoke clogging your lungs. Gaz wheezing under the intense blase; the noxious fumes billowing from the smoulder. 

His voice in your ear. We'll get you out of there, rookie. Hang tight. 

That a promise? You gasp, gagging from the black cloud drenching your lungs. Close to death, and cracking jokes. Confident. Assured. Nile crocodile lurking below the surface. 

He isn't there to see your hands shake. You're thankful for it. Stupid, stupid—you want nothing more to impress your Lieutenant. Match him wit-for-wit. Vile joke for vile joke.

It surprises you when his voice filters through the line, one word slurred into your ear: yes. 

Are you a man who keeps his promises? 

Always. That's why I never make them. Close to a fiery death, and his voice crackles again. Why wasn't Jesus born in Liverpool? 

Gaz coughed. Fuck's sake… Lemme die in peace. 

Why, Lt? 

There are no wise men or virgins. 

Funny. I like that one. 

Knew you would. Cover your heads. 

The window above shattered. They saved you—just like they said they would. 

(You realised then that Ghost cared for you, for all his subordinates, more than he let on.)

And now—

There is no turning back. Later, he said. He promised. A man who keeps his promises. 

You think, then, of the look on his face under the streetlamp. Snowfall trickles between you. There was a battle in his head; artillery fire in the gaps of his eyes when he said:

"Thought we—fuck, pet. Thought you were gone, and we couldn't do a damn thing about it."

The words get lodged in his throat. They're ripped out with a harshness that bludgeons through you. 

You turn to him, taking in his profile as he leans back in the seat, looking out the windshield. 

As if he feels your stare, his eyes cut from the window, and find yours. He holds it until you taste smoke in your throat, until your lip trembles. Then it sinks low to your lap. One hand peels off of the steering wheel.

It feels like an anvil when it rests on your thigh. 

"Almost there," it's a strangled rasp. A promise. 

You nod. Your smile feels flushed when it pulls on your lips. Sunkissed. Warm. Expectant.

Your hand unfurls, fingers aching from the strain of your grip, and you curl them over his wrist. His pulse thuds under your thumb. You stroke it, and wonder what he would say if he knew yours beat the same. 

    The safehouse in Southport is not at all what you were expecting. 

The winding road he drives on leads to a small, modest cabin on the outskirts of the town. Perched away from the rest of civilisation, it sits on its own island. Cut-off from the mainland. 

The distance is something that makes a smile pull on your lips. So fittingly him —your lone wolf leader who only just learned the word we —but the sight of the house makes something gnarl inside of your chest. It's quaint. 

Somehow, you'd expected a flat in the heart of the city. London, perhaps. Somewhere close to the airport, to the UK base used when you needed the closest weapons cache or jet. 

The little abode in the middle of a farm doesn't mesh with the image you'd drawn of your prickly Lieutenant. It's too—

Wholesome. 

"It's temporary," he grouses when he catches your teeth sink into your palm, a wide grin splitting across your face. "I haven't been back here in a long time."

"Is it yours?" You ask, turning to him. The jeep hums, idling. Neither of you makes any move to get out. 

His fingers drum on the wheel. "Grew up here."

"I thought you were from East London."

"No. Moved there, then back here." He offers. 

You nod. You get it. 

"It's nice." You say instead, and it really is. A sprawling farmland with rolling hills in the distance where you know the sun hits in the morning. Where it'll bathe the boscage in ochre. "Peaceful."

"I'd have taken you to London," he grinds the words out from between his molars. "But it's too far." 

Too far. Roughly four hours. 

You've been sitting for nearly three. You shudder, eyes lidded when you turn to him. 

A slow roll of your tongue has his arms flexing, hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles are stained white. Bleached. 

"Maybe next time." 

A promise. A question. 

The vein in his forearm throbs. "C'mon, let's go." 

    You barely have enough time to pace a few feet into the foyer before it starts. You turn to look at him from over your shoulder—taking in the chimney, the chaise, the distinct lack of anything personal outside of a safe, a lighter on top of the fireplace—and he's suddenly there. Boots off. Hands curled into fists by his side. Head dipped down, and eyes more dangerous than you'd ever seen them. 

That thrill pools—a warning. Run, run.  

He stalks toward you, eyes burning coal. "Are you hungry?"

"No," you shake your head, swallowing thickly. 

A step back. A step forward. They spark when you run. 

"Thirsty?"

"N—no…"

Two steps bring him closer to you. Your back presses flush to the wall next to the fireplace, and he moulds over you like a liquid shadow. Dark, imposing. He's massive. You can't see anything but him. 

Simon rests his forearm against the wall over your head, bending it at the elbow to bring him closer to you. The rough graze of his mask over your cheek has you panting. 

His hand is a brand on your thigh. It slips down, fingers crooking in the fold of your knee, wrenching it up his hip. You gasp, hands grasping the bulk of his biceps when he drags your centre flush over the growing bulge in his pants. 

Your head swims when he growls in your ear. "Is there anything you need to do before I drag you to my bed?" You shake your head slightly, pulse humming in your chest. "Because once I'm inside this pretty cunt, nothing at all will get me out. Understood?" 

Your brain short circuits. A complete whiteout. 

"A—affirmative." You choke, somehow coherent despite the absolute mess in your head. "Sir."

He rumbles. His chest pushes into yours; the sound reverberating through your bones. "Good girl."

    He turned his back to you after he let you inside a modest bedroom, pulling the black sweater over his head. His back exposed—rippling muscles, etches of black from the tattoos—all pale skin wrapped in thick sinew. The sound you make has his shoulders coiling tight. 

"Fuck, pet… I haven't even touched you, yet." 

He turns, the mask slightly lopsided, and his beanie missing. His hair without the full balaclava sends a shock to your system. The newness of discovering something; elation bleeds in. His hair is ashen brown. Lighter than chocolate, darker than caramel. 

You want to sink your fingers into the thick of it. 

Thighs pressed tight together, your greedy eyes take him in. The way his hair—moussed from the hat—falls over his forehead; not cropped to the grain like Soap, and barely centimetres longer than Price. 

He gazes at you. Waiting, maybe. 

Your hands fall to your pants, eager to rid yourself of every barrier between your skin and his. You want him on you— in you. It itches like a sickness. Burns like a fever. 

Your trousers fall. Fingers looped into the hem of your panties. He stops you, then, with his words. 

"I took the mask off for the team."

You falter, bent down to push the panties the rest of the way off, and blink up at him. 

The first thought, of course, is that Gaz saw his face before you. Gaz. The rookie rivalry (playful, carrying the flavour of siblings vying for their approval) makes you burn. 

You swallow the jealousy on your tongue. "Oh…" 

He waits, still. 

"You don't have to…" you want to see him. He's a mosaic; an incomplete piece. You have two halves but the middle is murky. You try to fit them in your head, but the image doesn't line up. 

"Lay back," he ordered, hands dropping to his belt buckle. 

The image of him tugging the leather, veins rippling under the black ink of his burly forearms, feels unholy. It douses you with a want so palpable, your belly quivers with need. 

You don't need foreplay, you think. Not when the sight of him pulling off a belt already has you melting. Has your pussy throbbing, your thighs slick.  

"Damn, Lieutenant…" you mewl, dropping down on the bed, knees pressed taut together to stem the ache. "How are you so—" 

"Simon," he rasps. The belt hangs in his hands. You wonder if he'd tie you up one day with it. Leave you quivering below him, completely at his mercy. 

Or, would he let you use it on him? Let you bind this behemoth to the bed for your pleasure. 

Your toes curl. The thoughts alone are enough to get you off, you think. 

But it's the sight of him, then, standing over you, trousers hanging low on his hips, kept in place only by the thick thigh he slots between your knees, that really makes you shudder. 

"Lay back," he orders again, hand dropping—white-hot, rough—to your shaking knee. His chin lowers, eyes staring at your pussy. "I want to taste you again, pet." 

Fuck. Fuck —

He lowers to his knees, still somehow taller than you, and gazes at you between your bent legs. Dark eyes flashing. Goosebumps prickle along your flesh as he trails his gaze down the length of your body, settling, once again, on your cunt. 

He looks as if he's going to devour you. Eyes wide, whites full, when he pries your legs apart, spreading your cunt for him once more. He hadn't seen you bare like this—beneath him for his own pleasure—and you feel the ghost of his breath on your sex when he leans in close, breathing in deeply. 

"Bloody- fuckin' -hell, pet—" it sounds like a curse when he says it. A choked snarl. "So wet for me, and I haven't even touched you."

His hands are on the outside of your thighs, rough skin grazing the sensitive flesh as he trails them down to the soft flesh beneath your knee. With his thumbs hooked in the bend, pressing sharply into the cartilage, he wrenches them apart, opening you wider for him until your pussy is bared to him completely. 

The groan he makes edges on the equinox of being absolutely filthy and wrecked when he drinks you in. 

"Missed this pretty little cunt." His masked cheek rests on your knee, head cocked as he stares down at you. When he tips his chin, gazing at you, his eyes are blacker than midnight. A pool of ink. Desire brims. 

He hooks your thighs over his broad shoulders, finger looping in the gap between his mask and the skin beside his nose. 

You don't have a chance to see it. Fucking tease —

He dips his head before he tugs it down, and you feel the molten heat of his tongue slipping between your folds. 

Your head falls back on the pillow, toes curling as that greedy mouth devours you once more. The stubble around his chin prickles the skin of your thighs. His grip is so tight, you already see blooms of blue pooling beneath the tips of his fingers. 

The first time wasn't a flute. Simon presses his mouth to your cunt like he can't get enough; lips sealing over your throbbing clit, tongue lapping at you in even, thick strokes that make you see white behind your eyelids. It's good, so good —

He's going to ruin you. 

"Simon—"

You remember those filthy groans rumbling against your slit, and your hand lifts, reaching down to tangle in his locks. A tug—sharp, pointed—makes him pant into your pussy, makes his fingers tighten until you can feel capillaries bursting under his firm hold. Until his short nails make indents in your flesh. 

"Yeah, pet," his voice is molten rock; you throb, aching, from the sound alone. "Just like that…" 

His mouth is on you again, devouring you whole. 

You lift your head, staring down at the black eyes that bore into you, the thick locks of hair spilling out between your fingers, and you break. 

You fall back with a groan, arching your cunt into his eager mouth, desperate for more. More of that liquid bliss that spools in your core, that has you leaking a puddle under his chin. 

His hands shift, sliding down the meat of your thighs until they wriggle under your ass. Your flesh spills between his fingers when he grips you tight, lifting your hips, your cunt, to him. 

Simon helps you buck against him, lets you cant your hips into his face, nearly smothering him with the sopping heat of your centre. When you're mewling, panting, with your head tossed back, and rapture in a quiver of his name spilling from your lips, he shifts. 

His hold changes, and one hand falls back. His lips seal around your aching clit as a finger—long, thick—presses against your entrance. His tongue laves over you when he slowly presses it inside, crooking it to stroke against your fluttering walls. 

The choked sob that leaves your throat is a mangled wreck of pleasure, of want. 

"More," you mewl, but the plea barely has a chance to pass your lips before he's dragging his finger out until only the tip keeps you open. "Please, sir—"

He thrusts it into the last knuckle, groaning against you at the slick, wet sound that it makes. "Fuck, pet. Always so wet for me, aren't you?" 

"Always," you gasp, fingers gripping his hair tight. "Simon, I need more—"

He pulls his finger out; another joins it when you whimper. The stretch feels good. Heat blooms in your belly. You won't last long. Your thighs quiver with each roll of his fingers pushing in as deep as they will go; with each stroke of his tongue over your clit. 

You're going to cum— 

"Simon—"

The coil snaps, pussy clenching on the thick fingers wedged inside of you, hips canting into his eager mouth as he rides you through the spasming pleasuring that ripples through your abdomen. 

"That's it… that's a good girl," he slurs against you. 

It's almost too much when he forces another finger into your throbbing cunt. You keen at the stretch, at the too-full feeling of him splitting your walls. 

"Simon, I can't—"

"Yes, you can. You're taking me so well already." 

His voice is liquid sex; the wrecked sound of him makes your toes curl, and your spine arch. You want him inside of you. You want to know if he'd make those same grunts of pleasure with your pussy wrapped around him. 

High of the sudden burst of endorphins, you look down at him—sloppy with your wetness, his face hidden by your cunt—and you tug his hair until he meets your blown-out gaze. 

"Fuck me," you try to demand, but the word comes out as a shaky plea.

"Too tight, pet," he rumbles. "Gotta get you ready for me."

Three fingers buried to the last knuckle, and he says it still isn't enough. 

You'd think him cocky had you not the pleasure of seeing him hard and aching already. Big, fat cock leaking between the seal of his palm. You shiver, head dropping to the pillow. 

It's all you can do but take whatever he gives you—long, thick fingers stretching you out, brushing the gummy walls inside that flutter when his mouth seals over your clit. It feels like an eternity since he pulled you inside the room. 

A tug of your hand makes him groan. You meet his stare, pleading. Breathless. It's too much—

And not enough. 

"I don't care," you slur, drunk and stupid on the way his hot mouth glues to your cunt. "I wanna feel you inside of me for days, sir—"

"Fuck!" 

It's a harsh snarl that makes you whimper. The sound ripped from his chest, and rubbed raw as it was scraped out. His forehead is pressed to your mound, breathing you in once more. 

His head lifts. 

It's dark in the room. You can't really make out the entirety of his features—the familiar long nose, the cut of his jaw. His lips. It's bathed in black, in shadows, but through the glimmer of the washed-out moon that spills inside, you can see the distinct wetness gleaming on his mouth, his chin. 

You whimper, eyes burning with tears of desperation. When he speaks, it's shredded rocks. Gravel. Low and dark.

"You're gonna feel me for weeks, pet." 

It's a dangerous precipice. His voice alone shatters your resolve, and seeing those full, pink lips form the words that will ruin you, it's overwhelming. Your cunt throbs, walls shuddering in pleasure ripped through your being. 

He feels it against his fingers; it makes his eyes flutter. His tongue sweeps out. Eye hooded, half-mast as they take you in. 

He sits back, hands slipping to the crease of your knees. His chin dips. 

"Hold 'em open for me, pet." 

You gasp, belly knotting tight from the command that drips from his drenched, wicked, mouth. Your hand reluctantly falls from the soft locks to do as you're told. The warmth of his skin brushes over your fingers when you take his place, keeping your legs bent, spread, for him. You're on display. Open, wanting. 

His hand, now free, reaches for the bundle of fabric pooled at the base of his neck. The mask is fixed into place again—a needless action, you think, pouting. Gaz saw his face in better lighting. 

(You hope he had the wherewithal to take a picture for you.)

But there is something to be said about how illicit he looks, mouth now concealed from your view until just his eyes are visible. The coal is rubbed off, shadows along the crease, the corner of his nose, under his eyes, but it feels dangerous like this. 

With the mask on, he's Ghost. Deadly. Dangerous. Fearsome. Men cower from him. His name alone scorches the earth, and makes the underbelly tremble. 

And he's going to be inside of you. Claiming you, taking you. It's a cigarette thrown on a sea of gasoline. Your skin, fervid, begins to blister. 

When you look up, it's ink-blot eyes in a sea of white. Red tendrils in the corners; rivers of ichor.

If he keeps looking at you like that, like you're a feast for him, you might go a little crazy, a little delirious. 

Simon stares for a moment longer, hand dipping below the bed to grasp himself in his hand. A grunt at the touch, a flutter of his lashes, and then he moves. Coiled muscle; rippling flesh. He looms above you like a Cimmerian god—drenched in tenebrose, mask soaked from your slick—his haunting eyes gazing at you like you're an offering meant to be savoured. 

His thighs—thicker than the tree trunks in the distance—slot beneath yours, and the sheer width of them makes you dizzy. The bulk is bigger than your head. Simon must notice the way you're drooling over them, knuckles white as you stare, open and hungry, wanting, as he takes a small amount of mercy on you. He shifts until the bulk of it is pressed taut to your core. 

Your back arches, legs trembling. Fuck—

You want to ride his thighs. Want him to perch you on his massive lap, and have those molten eyes fixed on you as you use him to get yourself off. 

You could do it, you think, mind blanking out; that soporific pleasure slurring all logic from taking root until a gossamer spools inside, filled with want. With greed. 

"Wanna ride you…" you slur, wrecked on the notion alone. "Your thighs. They're so big, Simon, fuck— you're so big—"

"I like that idea, pet," he rasps, thigh notching closer to your throbbing cunt, smearing slick all over the coarse hair that covers his flesh. "Wanna see you desperate for it." 

"I am…" you whine, breathless. "I want you so bad, I can't stand it…"

His hands fall, bracketing his burly arms beside your head until the absurd heft of him fills your vision. The muscles in his core pull taut; veins in his arms pulse. 

He told you to keep your legs spread, but your fingers itch with the need to touch him. To feel him against your palm. 

His cock hangs, daunting and thick, between his legs, head brushing your belly. Prespend smears over your skin; warm, tacky. You want a taste—

When you tell him as much, chin tipped backwards to whisper the words into his neck, he shudders above you. His cock twitches, spits more prespend on you. You want him to cum on your face, you gasp, words liquid, slurred. You're not entirely sure they're in English. You don't think you have the capacity to think beyond want, want, want—

"Yeah?" He rasps, elbow bending as he drops to his forearm. It brings his chest flush to yours. The dark smattering of hair rubs against your nipples. His face is a constellation: white jowls, black eyes. The look alone makes you smoulder. "Don't worry about me, pet." 

You're shaking your head, but the protests die on your tongue when his hips slip between your thighs, prying you further apart. Completely spread beneath the bulk of his body, you crumble.

He knocks your hands away, a low murmur of his approval slipping past those sinful lips for listening to him, as if there was ever a choice, and he notches your knees against his hips, pressing himself closer to your core. 

Finally free, your hands spring down to grab him, gripping his bicep in a vice just to feel the way it jumps under your fingers, and the other flat against his heated chest. His pulse thunders against your palm. 

"Gonna give it to you, now." 

You wanted it— ached for it—but as he feeds his thick cock into your pussy, you wonder if maybe you'd been a little overconfident before. That, perhaps, he was right. 

It's swallowed down, smothered with a whimper. His stupidly fat cock will not break you. 

"That's it, pet," he slurs, mask pressed tight to your ear. "Take it… C'mon, now." 

He pulls back, widening your thighs, and then pushing them up until you're nearly folding in half beneath him. The movement jostles his cock, and it nudges something inside of you that makes you spasm around him. 

"Fuckin' hell…" he groans, sinking in deeper. His eyes are fixed on the spot where he stretches you taut. Skin raw; cunt pushed to the mettle. "Almost there… look'it your pretty cunt take my cock…"

The air is punched from your lungs when he pushes in deeper, when the blunt head batters up behind your belly button. He knocks against your cervix, and the deep ache has tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. 

"Go on, pretty thing," he husks in your ear, words drenched in pleasure. Your fingers dig into the bulk of his body, crescent moons embedded into his skin.

He bludgeons into something inside of you that has you see stars—galaxies burst behind your eyelids, and heat, supernova hot, burns low in your belly. It burns at the place where his cocks ruts into you so deeply that you can feel him in your sternum, almost taste him in your throat. It liquefies your body. You melt into a conduit under him; a receptacle that leaches pleasure from the stretch of his cock inside you. 

Your body slackens. There is a give; something breaks. And he's suddenly deeper than you knew existed, than you ever thought possible. You feel him almost knocking against the cap of your womb. Each persistent jerk has your pussy clenching around him, milking him, trying to get him deeper. 

As if that was possible. As if there was any room left inside of you for him to claim. 

You're stuffed to the brim; overflowing with him. You can't take anymore. 

You sob brokenly when his hips pull back until only the mushroom head of his cock splits your aching, raw cunt open. The seam of you flutters around him, as if begging to be filled again. 

He grunts, a hoarse, low noise dredged from the depths of his chest when he shifts, his cock spearing back into you.

It nearly makes you scream. Your nails rake over his flesh, desperate to find purchase amid a crumbly chossy that threatens to send you plummeting down a precipice, hurtling you toward an unknown abyss. 

"Easy, now," he commands, the bark of his voice bitten between clenched teeth. "You're gonna make me cum before I've gotten my fill of this cunt, pet."

"Want it," you slur, babbling on the liquid bliss roaring through your veins. "Want you to fill me up, Simon."

A snarl of your name is the only warning you get before his cock is battering against your gummy walls, blunt head jarring into that little place inside of you that has phosphenes filling your vision, has your lungs aching with hypoxia. Head dizzy, chest shuddering with each breath. You can't get enough of it. Of the heady scent of him, the sun-drenched heat. 

Simon is normally so controlled, constrained, and you find yourself fracturing into pieces as his ironclad resolve seems to shatter with each squeeze of your cunt. It's a dizzying feeling to reduce your cold-hearted Lieutenant into a rutting beast, spoiling himself with each tight clench of your soft insides against his thick, hard cock. 

Your eyes open, wet lashes flutter and stick to the crease of your eyelid, and you find the way his brow is pinched tight together as he burrows himself deep within you, until the taste of salt is heavy on your tongue, absolutely breathtaking. It's enough to get you hooked. Enough to make such an utter mess of you, that you don't know how you'll recover from this. 

It's an intense feeling having him seated so deeply within you. Edging deliriously along that equinox of unfathomable bliss, and the sharp, distinct too much—too full quiver of pain. It's a pinch within your guts, a deep throb that follows the unending plume of pleasure so blistering as it batters into you, that you almost find yourself getting swept away by the sheer thrill of it all. Mindless, driven stupid by the way he takes, the way he ruins. 

(You don't ever want him to stop.)

It's one thing to have his mouth on you, but another thing entirely to see how he breaks when he's inside of you. It's addicting. A powerful high that renders everything else static. 

Pleasure, red-hot and dizzily intense, lacerates through your core, spooling at the base of your spine. It fills your limbs with molten bliss until nothing remains except the way he pounds inside of you, filling you over and over again with every inch he has to offer. You think you might just go insane if you don't have him. If you don't get to feel the delicious drag of his cockhead rubbing against your pulsating walls. 

Your hands slide over his skin. The muscles clenching under the pads of your fingers as you drag them up, over his arm, his biceps, his broad shoulders. 

The bulk of his back makes your fingers itch. You sink them into the corded muscles, clinging to him as Simon drags you to that hazy place where euphoria clots inside of your veins, and the heat you syphoned from him bubbles, frothing over. 

It's pulled taut—an elastic band that stretches well past the breaking point, and makes your fingers sting when it snaps. You convulse beneath him, sobbing out barely coherent words that sound like a quivering war cry of his name, of how good he feels, and how you're mad with the taste of him nestled so deeply within you. 

Your nails digging into his skin, his name on your lips like a gospel, the molten clench of you around—it all congeals together until he's snarling in your ear, a raspy grunt that makes your toes curl, that has you seeing nirvana once more. It's your name—somewhere in the mess of his growl, his groan—that is pulled out from him, and pierces you deep, makes your core tremble at the ragged sound of it, broken and hoarse. 

He throbs like a heartbeat, cock pulsing as he sputters out a thick pool of cum. It's almost too much; your pussy is overstuffed, forced to take both the heaviness of his cock, and molten spume that fills you to the brim. It leaks out from around the plug of him, pushed to the base until not even an inch remains, and you feel it gathering under you. 

You want a taste of it. It swells inside, fills you deep, and you wonder if he'd let you lick it off of him. 

You murmur it into his drenched chest, more slurred words that only vaguely sound English. Maybe it's the tone of your voice—ruined and raw, and drunk of the taste of him—that punctures through, but it hits the mark. Simon buries his head into your neck with another gravelled rasp of your name that sticks to his throat, breaking over the vowels. His softening cock twitches within you. 

Words, or sentiment, whispered into the crackling atmosphere that smells of sex and kerosene, and goes straight to his groin. 

"Cheeky little—," he starts, a husking grumble, but you squeeze your sore, aching sex around him, fluttering like a soft heartbeat, and it dies with a groan. 

The victory doesn't last long. Your raw, abused cunt aches from overstimulation, a throbbing sting from your tender flesh making you wince. You're too keyed up. A ragdoll against the shoreline, caught in the current that batters your body until you feel like one massive contusion. 

Fucking Simon feels like surviving a war. It feels like clawing your way out of the trenches, tasting the heavy, gunmetal tang of acrid artillery fire in the air, and standing victorious. Brutalised, dazed, and numb from the beating, but full of the banquet of victory. 

He keeps you under him, still buried to the hilt, and pants into your neck. Flushed with exertion, his chest red and drenched in sweat, you slip your hands through the mess of him, and find purchase where the knob of his spine protrudes from his flesh. 

Simon's head rises. His eyes—quivering, glossy ink—lidded and sleepy with pleasure, and that tangible post-sex haze that permeates the air, find yours. 

Sweat drips down his forehead, over his brow, his temple. It's swallowed by the fabric of his mask, lopsided on his cheeks. Red peaks over the black horizon. A deep flush the same bloodied hue as his chest.

(You wonder if it tastes like ichor.)

His eyes shudder, body trembling from the ripple of it. 

"Fuck me, pet…" 

You tip your heavy, mushy head back, and grin. Big, and wide. The smile of elation. Of success. "I already did."

He huffs, heavy and full, through his nose. "Bloody hell—" in response to your tease, he grinds his cock against your aching walls. 

Your breath is sucked in through clenched teeth; a breathy, high-pitched whimper. 

"Mae hi wedi cachi arna i…"

"English, pet."

Your ankles try to link at the base of his spine, body drawn like a bow. "Your cock ruined me." 

His eyes are rapacious, tainted with the fervour of conquest. 

"It was meant to." The smoke in his timbre makes your toes curl. Your lungs smoulder with the heat of it. 

    Simon has you seeing nirvana again, and again before the light outside crests through the thin curtains.

He rolls you under him, ankles hooked on his shoulders, and makes you watch as his cock spears deep inside of your well-fucked cunt. 

Eyes on us, soldier. Don't you dare look away. 

On your knees, head nearly smothered by the pillow, he covers you with the entirety of his bulk until everything around you is pitch black with the shadow he casts. He looms over you, chest pressed against your back, and fucks you slow, and deep. The position almost has you blacking out from the depths he reaches like this, and the burn of the stretch as your pussy pulls taut against his cock. 

You can take it. This pretty cunt was made for my cock, pet. 

Your favourite is being lowered onto him. Chests pressed together. You bury your hand in his damp hair, your face in his neck, and sink your teeth into the column of his throat until the salt of his skin nearly drowns you. 

Fuckin' hell…

(In response, his hand brands the cheeks of your ass with the perfect impression of his massive palms.)

He lays back with you barely lucid, aching, sprawled on top of him, and runs his hands down your spine, husking in your ear about how good you've been for him, how pretty you look blissed out from his cock. 

His words are mercury in your head. 

"...wanna be good for you, Simon," you murmur into his collarbones. 

He shudders under you. 

    His chest is slick with sweat when you rest your head on it, pulse thudding under your palm. His arm around your waist is an anchor, locking you tight to his side. 

You'd woken up to the sun bleeding through the window, the room thick with the balmy swelter of sex. Ashes in your throat, salt on your tongue. Simon's heat burrows into your marrow. 

There is a lot to be said, you think. Words that you were too cowardly to admit when in the soft, dazed atmosphere of the plane. 

Only one thing buoys to the forefront. The only things you'd been clutching at this whole time. Life on the line, and all you could think of was the dunes outside of your tent. The searing heat on your back. 

(Not on me.)

(Always, always.)

"...Since Sierra Leone," you confess into his flesh, mouth pressed against the side of his pectoral. His ashen chest hair tickles your nose. 

Simon tenses under you. The soft strokes of his fingers–bare, warm–on your hip still. 

You wonder if you misread things. If you made a mistake. Your mouth parts on his flesh. The briny taste of his skin is sharp on your tongue. 

You won't apologise. The words are there, the confession lingering in the air like opaque tendrils of smoke. It's in his hands now. This little thing that flutters within your chest, tucked away for safekeeping since he turned to you, eyes dark and narrow, and said you did good, rookie. 

His fingers coil over you, tightening against your flesh. 

"Everything…" he rasps. Everything. It's pulled out of him; rolled over barbed wire. 

Confused, you raise your head, brows knitting together. Everything—

A total eclipse. The ocean in the dead of night. Endless, unfathomable pools of black. The current threatens to drag you under to those depths that shudder in front of you. 

The words die on your tongue, ashes in the back of your throat. 

What good is a man if he has nothing to lose? So, what do you have to lose, soldier? 

A smile splits across your face; a sun dawning over the beige spalls that seem to never end. 

It tastes of the sea when you press your lips to his. You feel sand under your fingers, his pulse on your palm. 

—Price calls it, has known since Mesaieed. He'd bet on Gaz, maybe even Soap. It never crosses his mind to think of Simon. 

—But thinking about it now, it was obvious from the start. 

("Sierra Leone. Wanna take Gaz with you–"

"No. I'll take the rookie.")

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley fanfic #simon riley #Simon Ghost Riley #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #cod mw2 spoilers #cod spoilers #simon riley cod

[sanspuppet]

Stranger!Yunho x afab!reader

Summary: weeks after breaking up with your ex, you finally try to enjoy yourself and spend the evening at a club. There, a tall, handsome man approaches you… thanks to him you have the best night you’ve ever had in your entire life.

W/T: alcohol, quick foreplay (in public), hotel sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, big dick Yunho cuz it’s him c’mon

please reblog if you enjoyed :3

- not already proofread

Your body shivered at the feel of the freezing wind, you tried to keep your warmth by crossing your arms around your waist. Wearing a short dress on a cold night of autumn wasn’t a good idea after all… You pulled the door of the club, the smell of alcohol instantly hit your nostrils, it passed so much time since you’ve smelled it, and somehow was nostalgic, too. You took off your leather jacket and layed it out on the stool, before sitting on it.

When the bartender handed you the drink you ordered, you took a long sip, squeezing your throat at the burning feel of the high alcohol degree.

“I hope getting drunk will help me forget all this shit” Even though it was supposed to be whispered to yourself, the loud lounge music tricked you ears, making you say it out loud.

“Forget what, Miss? Wanna share your story? Seems that both of us have came alone here.” You turned your head towards the voice, your eyes widened at the sight of a tall, handsome man approaching you. He sat down next to you, ordering quickly a drink before having all of his attention back to you.

“What’s your name, beautiful lady?”

“Uhm… y/n” He smiled, you shook hands.

“Mine’s Yunho, Jeong Yunho. So, what’s going on?”

Honestly, talking to a man was the last thing you wanted to do, maybe having sex with someone should have helped but you haven’t thought about having to approach them first.

“I broke up with my boyfriend, i mean…ex now.”

His mouth hung open slightly, not sure what to reply.

“Oh, i’m so sorry… should i leave you alone then? It must be painful for you” He brought his hands on the counter, ready to stand up.

“Nah… he’s a dumbass. Actually i’m happy to not see him anymore, i’m just… kinda annoyed.”

His hands slipped off the marble, resting then on his lap. He giggled, before taking another sip of his drink. You talked for what seemed to be a couple hours, telling short stories about your lives, until your cheeks became red after all the drinks and you were a laughing mess.

“Y/n, you’re such a nice person… and very good looking”If it wasn’t already for the all the amount of alcohol in your body, you’d have surely blushed, because somehow that man attracted you, in all the ways possible. “What a blessing that you’re not taken, no longer at least.” He sighed, turning his head away from you. “But i imagine you have no intention of spending the rest of your night together, neither saving my phone number, having just broke up with your ex”

Fuck.

“What do you mean for the rest of the night?” You leaned forward to see his face better.

“Oh… uhm, never mind.” He shook his head, as if he wanted to throw away his previous thought.

“If you mean by sleeping together, i’m up for it. But we seriously need to call for an Uber after all the tequila we’ve drank.” you giggled, barely standing up straight.

“Yeah i agree, my place?” The man walks behind you, grabbing softly your waist to help you walking.

“I-i don’t know, maybe it’s better if we book an hotel room. You get what i mean.”

He was still a stranger after all.

You squeeze yourself against his warm body as soon as you left the local, the night breeze froze your cheeks, which he cupped in between his hands. “Can i kiss you?”

You didn’t even know why your body reacted a little too critically to him, your legs went shut, your core felt like burning, internally melting at the image of you kissing each other. You leaned forward and planted your lips on his, the warmth of his breath and his arms wrapped around your waist got butterflies in your stomach, this man had a whole new effect on you.

The kiss started a little shyly and hesitantly, but it didn’t took long before you two were tongues deep into your mouths, biting softly on the other’s lips. It was passionate yet still had a hint of neediness from the both of you. The tall man pulled away once he noticed the white car waiting for someone in front of you two.

“Pretty, we’ll have time later to kiss. The uber’s here”

You nodded, moving his hand away from your cheek before carding your fingers through it. He opened the car door for you to enter first, then joined you in after a few seconds. You asked for the nearest hotel, then called the reception to book a room. The journey lasted about 20 minutes, in the first half the mood was pretty tense, the driver turned on the radio to cut off the embarrassing silence. Yunho turned his head to look at your side profile, you were so fucking cute but so damn fuckable. His hand was resting on the seat, before doing so on your inner thigh instead. You had a pretty tight dress and your ass was barely covered, he could feel the warmth of your skin, the hotness of his palm near your weakest core was about to drive you crazy. He got closer to you ear, enough for you to hear what he was whispering despite the loud music:

“What are your intentions for later, beautiful?”

His hand was dangerously close to your cunt, you could already feel a wet slick inside your panties. How could he turn you on with just a light touch? Was it the alcohol? Well, however, you were now sure that the only thing you’d want him to do to you once you get to be alone is to fuck all the stress out of your body.

“Yunho, we already know, right?” You moved your hand under his chin, your noses were a mere inch distant, he could feel your unstable breath, struggling already to contain yourself.

“I want to be sure about that, say it. Let me hear you say it, gorgeous.” his grip on your inner thigh got tighter, his eyes were sparkling with the lush lights coming from the palaces of your city.

“I want you to fuck with me, how about this?” The other hand that wasn’t occupied, quickly ran onto his lap until you were palming the bulge on his pants.

“Fuck” you whispered, more to yourself.

“Shush… i know i’m pretty big, but also pretty impatient.” He forced you to stay still, pressing your shoulders against the backrest. “I need to prep you, now. So as soon as we enter the bedroom i can fuck you with my huge cock” He rubbed your plush lips with his thumb. “You have to be quiet though, can you do it for me?”

“Yeah… yes, Yunho”

“Good girl, i’ll use two fingers. Be ready.”

His slender finger sinked into your panties, rubbing instantly against your aroused bud. It was hard to hold back any whimper, because fuck if time had passed from the last time you felt like this. Yunho was close to your ear, sweet praises were leaking out of his plump lips as he started to rub faster. “Mmh just like that, don’t make any sound or the driver will know how much of a needy slut you are.” You bit your cheeks, forcing you to keep your mouth shut. On the other side, you were trying to spread your legs as wide as possible for his big hand to dive better into your soaked hole. You rolled your eyes back when the two long fingers slided between your folds, pushing them deeper with every little thrust “What a warm and wet pussy… can’t wait to have my dick inside you.” The more he talked dirty to you, the more you felt intimate. His fingers were stretching you out so perfectly that if he would have had better access, he would surely reach your g-spot. “Yes baby, take it… a few more minutes and we’ll arrive. Don’t cum, i want you to do so on my cock, got it?” You nodded quietly, biting forcefully on your lip. After less than a dozen of seconds your legs started to shake slightly, the knot inside your stomach intensified as Yunho’s fingertips were rubbing every sweet spot of your walls. “Y-Yunho… pull out- or else ‘m gonna cum-“

The radio turned off. “Here we are. It’s $70”

Yunho slided out of you at light speed, searching for his wallet. He handed the money to the driver, before motioning you to get out. You could barely stand on your jelly legs, still trying to recover from the previous mind blowing stimulation.

It took you a few minutes to reach the door of your room, his hand never left your waist, gripping at it tightly because of the rush that kept flowing in his veins. Your chest expanded widely with each heavy breath, your heartbeat was racing at a seemingly racing pace. He opened it quickly, running towards the bed as he threw you on it. He pinned your wrists above your head with just on hand, the other one dived back into your panties, giving a quick rub to your clit before tugging on the fabric of your underwear and drugging it off your body.

“Fuck… i need this pussy so bad.” he murmured while watching the tension of his pants between his legs. He then looked at you with hooded eyes. “i don’t have condoms here with me, darling. Dammit i just remembered it, but i’m clean.” You giggled at his frustrated look. “Don’t worry, i am on a birth control.”

Yunho smirked at you, he immediately hooked up your dress. His hands groped every part of your soft body, before focusing particularly on your breast. He seemed on the verge of drooling from just the sight of them.

“Fuck… those are some perfect tits. You’re almost too pretty to be ruined by my big dick…. almost” He sucked on your hard nipple, tugging at the other one at the same time. His tongue swirled around the hot bud, his bulge was becoming painful as he kept getting harder with every moan escaping your mouth.

“Mmmh i wish i could fuck them… maybe later. Now i need you go on all fours for me, gotta fuck your pretty cunt first.”

You immediately turned around, burying your face in the soft mattress as you raised your ass up. The night lights coming from the big window were accentuating the wetness leaking out of your folds.

“So pretty and ready for me.” You heard him unzipping his jeans from behind, then unbuttoning his shirt. A few seconds after hearing the sound of the belt hitting harshly the floor, you felt his warm tip brushing against the entrance of your throbbing hole.

“Good… now take it, i know you can do it.”

“F-fuck! Y-Yunho!” You moaned loudly when his cock slided inside of you. Despite your pussy was a literal river from how wet you were, his girthy length was painful to take for the first seconds. You unconsciously grabbed your ass, moving your cheeks apart and widening your legs more, trying helplessly to give him more space inside you.

“You’re doing great baby, taking me so well…” he waited a few seconds for you to adjust yourself to his hugeness. When he felt like you were ready, he leaned over your back, and sucked on your earlob. “Mmh… so tight, i love it. ‘M gonna start fucking you now. Are you ready babe?”

“Y-yes… Fuck! So big…”

You couldn’t help but moan with every single twitch and stroke of his dick. His hands were groping at your ass, forcing your hips to stay still while he pushed himself even deeper. “Good girl, just like that. I need to go faster” As he said that, he was now completely sank into your pussy, his cockhead hit pleasantly your g-spot, making you yelp out. His hips started to move backwards and forth, sliding continuously his length into you. You mewled out loud with every thrust, the pleasure became more powerful with the seconds passing.

“Yeah? Right there baby? Feels good? I bet it feels amazing…ah” his low groans were music to your ears, the intense knot was building up again in your stomach as he started to fuck you even faster.

“Y-Yunho- please… fuck!” By now you didn’t even know what you were begging for, you were mumbling incoherent words as your mind went quickly blank with every pound.

“Yes pretty, i know you want to cum… i’m close. Will you take all of my precious sperm inside your wet little pussy?” His thrusts grew more decisive but still became sloppier than before. You were about to reach your orgasm, you felt it so close… you just needed that little more friction and you were sure that you would experience pure abyss of pleasure, something that could never feel more amazing and arousing. He knew that, he could tell it. His thumb pressed quickly against your clit, rubbing it in fast circles, enough for your climax to hit you after a few seconds.

Your lower body felt like falling, Yunho quickly grabbed your waist, keeping you still. A tight squeeze of yours around his dick and you got him over the edge. His cum was leaking out of your folds as they were already filled by his huge length.

“Fuck… i wish you could look at you right now. So beautifully fucked out and bred with my babies.”

He layed next to you, a hand caressing softly your bare back and drawing invisible lines with his fingertips. Without even realizing it you both collapsed in a deep sleep, locked in each other’s arms.

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez hard thoughts #ateez povs #ateez fic #ateez hard hours #ateez x reader #ateez yunho #jeong yunho #yunho smut #yunho fanfic #yunho imagines #yunho scenarios #yunho hard thoughts #yunho povs #yunho fic #yunho hard hours #yunho x reader #yunho pov #yunho #yunho drabbles #jung yunho #kpop #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop hard hours #kpop hard thoughts

[matan4il]

Buddie 613 meta

We now know that the man who risked himself to get Buck out of the line of fire during the shooting arc is Jeshan, which means ‘clear’ (if you’re interested, you can find more name meanings for 911 characters here). So let me just giggle for a second about the fact that 911 had once again reunited Buddie with a character who can be referred to as Captain Clear Me(h)ta. Coincidence? IDK. But I have to admit, it kinda made me reflect back and feel nostalgic. When I first started watching the show, I had no intention of writing meta for 911, but after going ballistic when 309 aired, I knew I would HAVE to use the s3 hiatus to write down all my thoughts about everything Buddie related so far. That’s what I did, I wrote and shared my baby, my first round of Buddie meta. That’s where it was supposed to end, but then people asked and encouraged me to write meta for the eps in 3b as they would air, too. I figured I could try, and that’s how my Buddie weekly meta posts were born. At the time, there was no one else writing proper weekly meta (I don’t mean a summary/review of the ep, or meta posts that stand on their own, but proper analysis on Buck, Eddie and those who matter to them, organized and serialized for each ep as it aired). And now, I’ve been writing them for almost 3.5 seasons. And I feel like they’ve inspired others to do the same. TBH, I can’t actually remember seeing weekly meta posts in other fandoms (maybe they exist and I just haven’t come across them, IDK). So I got all emotional, thinking about how these posts may be love notes to Buddie and the show, but most of all they’re a love letter to the wonderful people who have been supportive and encouraging, who’ve been reblogging the posts, who’ve been commenting on them and telling me that what I do makes a difference for them. Thank you so much, these posts wouldn’t exist without you. You have a much bigger impact on the fandom than you might have realized! So if Captain Mehta is indeed a nod to the meta, it’s a loving, appreciative nod that belongs to all of you. ~~

When Chim shows up to escort Hen to work, he ends up sitting down for a talk with Denny instead, and I really enjoyed this scene, it was lovely, but it also once again emphasized the difference between the firefam kids’ relationship with their parents’ colleagues and the r/s Buck and Chris have. Chim talks to Hen’s son when he happens to come across the kid, but he only sits down for a proper conversation because Denny implies Hen and Karen are up to something intimate, and Chim shouldn’t interrupt them just yet. Consider how different that is to how Buck intentionally looks to spend time with and dedicated to Chris! And then Chim is impressed by how smart Denny is. It’s cute, but it also reveals just how little they interact that this comes as a surprise to Chim. It’s so different to the intimate familiarity of a parent, which is what we know Buck has with Chris (and that Chris has with Buck, which can even be seen in the kid’s teasing, for example regarding the snoring in 414). ~~

You might have seen that, when the promo came out, I momentarily lost my sanity and posted this. I just couldn’t get over the fact that they actually had Eddie correct the chief on the duration of Buck’s death. It was such a spouse thing to do. It was a declaration about the anguish that each single second represented, when Eddie couldn’t breathe because Buck wasn’t. It was a confession of sorts, on how Eddie felt as he desperately NEEDED his husband to live (I’m not even joking when I ascribe him this title, Eddie said with his whole chest, “THAT IS MY IDIOT HUSBAND THAT I HAD TO WATCH DIE FOR THREE MINUTES AND SEVENTEEN SECONDS AND I WILL NEVER FORGET ANY OF THOSE SECONDS, NOR LET ANYONE ELSE DO THAT”). It was a glimpse into how time must have moved differently for him as each second etched itself forever into Eddie’s mind. And yes, it’s a clear parallel to 413, when we witness time slowing down for Eddie. And I mentioned in my post that in both scenarios, Buck is just out of his reach, so close, but simply not close enough. In one case, this forced Eddie to believe he must now accept his own death. In the other, he couldn’t accept the possibility that Buck would die, so he just fought harder, and if he couldn’t save Buck with one course of action, he tried another, Eddie just had to keep going, 'coz the idea of those three minutes and seventeen seconds turning into an eternity? Unacceptable. ~~

But notice in my unhinged post from that day, I used the word ‘counting.’ Eddie counted the seconds, and this is revealed to us at a poker game where Buck is counting the cards. I already noticed that when we saw the promo, but this connection was reinforced in the ep itself when Chief Williams vocalized what Buck was doing. The thing about counting is that it’s reserved for what matters, what’s crucial. Buck is counting the cards in order to win, and he wants to win because it matters to Eddie. Buck wasn’t the one who initiated the search for a poker game where he could use his newfound skills, Eddie was the one to take that initiative. And he could bring Buck along without telling him where they’re going (I would normally scream for a whole separate paragraph just about Eddie telling Buck to dress nice and there being no need for any further explanation or prompting, but we were so well fed, I’ll have to scream about it into my fist for just one sentence) 'coz Eddie was so sure his husband would go along with whatever crazy scheme he’d come up with. And he was right, even though Buck didn’t think it would end well, he still went along with what his husband wanted. Please let me reiterate: Buck’s counting cards because Eddie is so important to him, and Eddie was counting the seconds because Buck’s his vital sign. ~~

Another thing to keep in mind about the poker game is that the only other time we’ve seen Buck playing poker was in 312. In that ep, Eddie was off to meet Christopher’s school teachers (leading to his eventual lackluster r/s with Ana), so having a free evening, Buck spends it with Maddie, Chim and Josh (and is told he unequivocally sucks at Poker). Jokes were made about setting Josh and Buck up, and it was implied whatever Buck’s sexuality was, that was not the reason why Maddie abstained from making the match. What I find interesting is seeing how far our boys have come! In that ep, they were operating separately, and it led them down the wrong paths.

In this ep, Buck and Eddie were inseparable both as a couple (even sharing the winnings from Buck’s new talent, because what don’t these two share? And I was particularly chewing glass when Chief Williams asks Buck how he wanted HIS winnings, but instead of answering her, he looks at his husband. THEY ARE SO FREAKING MARRIED), and as a family unit with Chris (which is maybe a good moment to point out that all of the romantic couples were paired off in 613, and so were Buddie! Now, one could argue that Buck and Eddie were paired off because, well... who else is left for them to hang out with? But 312 is a reminder that when the show wants to, it can push the main cast and minor characters into the same orbit, so it still didn’t HAVE to pair Buck and Eddie off here. It chose to. On top of that, by showing them with Chris as well, 911 reminded us they’re far more bonded than just two best bros hanging out together ‘coz none of their other friends are single). In short, during 312, Buck lost and Eddie was about to be lost on a detour in his romantic journey. In 613, they ARE a family, they work as one throughout the ep, not just in parts of it, and they’re both winning. ~~

Something that gets to me is that when I first shared the BTS pic of Buddie at the poker game, it was clear that Eddie was just bursting with self confidence. He looked like he would be the star of that game. But when we got the promo, we discovered that it was actually going to be Buck who would shine that night. So what makes me slightly froth at the mouth is that all of that sexy confidence we picked up on in the photo? It was real. We weren’t wrong. It just wasn’t confidence that Eddie had in himself, it’s confidence he has in Buck. All of his swagger? Is a reflection of how much he believes and enjoys seeing his husband be a star. I am gonna need 3-6 working weeks at least to recover from knowing this. ~~

Speaking of things that destroyed me forever, everything about the Buckley-Diaz family in this ep falls into that category. I mean, not only did we once again have incredibly domestic scenes, we had one that was very reminiscent of the lasagna one in 601 (Eddie with Chris at the table, Buck fussing around them only to join in once he brings along something to be consumed), reinforcing that this is THEIR NORM, we also had Eddie and Chris being so cute and supportive when it comes to Buck’s new ability (Chris calls him a superhero, Eddie goes along with it, and when Buck’s upset he didn’t get a better superpower, naming some he would have liked to have, Eddie comforts him by saying those other options sound horrible). 

And then to top it all off, we had Buck and Chris cooking together. Bobby’s been explicitly acknowledged as basically being Buck’s dad by both of them, and we know Bobby’s been teaching Buck how to cook. Now we get Buck doing the same with Chris, clearly marking them as father and son, especially since this is done with just the two of them, this special time that’s allocated just to their bond together. Eddie is not needed as a middleman. I know that this isn’t news, but every single time the show reinforces this truth, that Buck is Christopher’s other dad, that their bond is that deep, I gain 10 years, so I have to mention it. ~~

For 613, I made my weekly gifset about Buck and answers, but I’d actually like to elaborate on what you see there. In 602, at the happiness center call, we see Buck looking to Lev in search for his own answers on what his happiness looks like. When he still can’t find any, he turns to Hen, because she always has them. Along this season, that’s been his theme. He’s trying to figure out what he wants in order to be happy, which is connected to the couch theme we’ve all been screaming about since 601 (and especially after he fell asleep on Eddie’s in 612). In 613, Buck suddenly finds that he’s the guy with the answers and he likes it. But has he really got them? Buck says these words to Eddie and Chris, and in addition to that, while he utters them, he’s literally captured in the same frame together with Eddie. But it’s also essential that we heard why Chris can’t just be given the answers. It’s in order to learn, Eddie tells him. That’s exactly what Buck has to do, he has to find his answers in order to learn from the search process. He’s not just there yet, but the framing of the whole scene coupled with the ongoing couch theme is very loud. ~~

What gets me maybe most of all in a whole ep of REALLY GOOD BUDDIE CONTENT, is the way the whole thing wraps up. The storyline on Buck’s new abilities doesn’t end with any commentary on those or on his recovery process. His last scene in this ep is the one with Chris. It follows directly the one with Hen and Karen, a scene which reminds us that we’re never surprised at either woman spending solo time with and caring about Denny, even though neither is biologically related to him, because they ARE BOTH his parents. In the same way, it’s only natural that we see Buck spending alone time with Chris, without Eddie around. It is so meaningful that the last shot of Buck in this ep is not about his story line at all, and neither his abilities, nor having died for several minutes is the point. Instead, the last, and therefore most significant shot of Buck in this very Buddie domestic ep, is him smiling at their son. I feel like that says everything about his trajectory.

~~ (my weekly meta posts) (my Buddie gifs) (all of my content)

~~ My tag list will follow in the reblog, please let me know  if you wanna be added/removed here.

~~ Thank you so much for reading and for any reblog, like, comment or supportive tag! Also, HUGE thank you to @whosoldherout​. On top of real life stuff, she makes her own amazing gifs AND helps make these posts so much better. She’s the one with the real superpowers!

#buddie #911meta #buddie meta #911 meta #9-1-1 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 spoilers #evanbuckleyedit #eddiediazedit #christopher diaz #wm #911edit #buddie gifs #buddieedit #911onabc #911 on abc #911abc #911 abc

[3terna15unshin3]

Connected

—

A/N: idea came from this ask, so thank u anon🥰🥰 it was so fun to think of how Matty and Este’s relationship was seen from the other side like what fans pick up on, and also establish how much they decide to share with fans vs keep to themselves. this concept is so interesting to me but i had a hard time writing from the pov of a fan hahaha so i just did it this way instead :))

This obvs is based heavily on TBSG lore so none of this makes sense if you haven’t read the main fic - go do that first!! and also check out the Instagram AUs, they add to the pizazz

—

“Love, look what I just saw on Twitter. This is hilarious.”

Este points her phone screen towards Matty as they sit in bed on a Sunday morning. He yawns, tired and still half asleep, then blinks his eyes a few times to read what she’s showing him. It’s a tweet from a fan that sits in her mentions from a couple of days ago when a clip from his Zane Lowe interview resurfaced.

megs ⎕ PL4YINGONMYM1ND

thinking about the fact that matty mentioned meeting e.manansala when she worked at a bookstore in manc to zane and in this 2018 interview he said his fav spot in the city is Greenhouse Books …….. what are the chances this is the same bookstore bc that would be so😭😭😭💔💔💔💔 https://manchesterwire.co.uk/?s=matty+healy+give-yourself-a-try/arts&culture/article

jaymie SAW UNDO LIVE trmanb1ackk

→ Replying to PL4YINGONMYM1ND

Hold on you might be onto something

megs ⎕ PL4YINGONMYM1ND

→ Replying to trmanb1ackk

right like okaayyy bookstore worker x customer to lovers notting hill pipeline????? 🤭 huge if true

She watches his eyes scan over the text and a fuzzy smile grow on his face. Matty loves talking about Este when he can—to bring some much deserved attention to her writing—and did so often, but does’t always mention many the details of their relationship. That was until strolling around the Northern Quarter with Zane brought a bit of it out of him.

Este is what brings him back to Manchester the most often, from visiting her family and Cate and Georgia to just needing a bit of a homey feeling from its familiar pubs and nostalgic shops. So, naturally, Matty talked about her in the interview done for the release of Being Funny—explaining how they’d met and how much the city means to them both.

“How they put two and two together is beyond me,” he says, scratching his head. “That Manchester Wire interview was five years ago now, you know. Did you ever read that?”

She chuckles. “Course I did! We had a few fans come in that summer with the sole intention of coming to a place you recommended, actually.”

“Why have you never told me that?” Matty asks, “You’re welcome for the business, by the way.”

“You never even told me about your little shout out, to be fair. I had to find out on my own,” Este teases. “Plus, we weren’t even a thing at that point—we’d met once! Quite creepy, in retrospect.”

“When you put it like that it’s honestly so cringe so please change the subject now.” Matty buries his head in the bunches of sheets that sit in her lap, embarrassed and frankly too sleepy to defend himself.

Este giggles, letting her hands settle into his curls. “Oh c’mon, you weren’t cringe. I’m just pulling your leg. It was sweet,” she reassures him.

“You’re just saying that because you feel bad,” he whines, then rubs his eyes to try and get the sleep out of them. “That’s so crazy that they dug that up, though. I’m not sure if many people know you’ve been around since then.”

“They probably looked at your life in 2019 and figured you were a rockstar with a new girl in every city but in reality you were calling me to get to sleep every night and doing origami in your free time because it reminded you of me.”

Matty’s jaw drops at her blunt comments. “I was about to get mad but I can’t even disagree.” He sits up, raking the hair out of his eyes. “Do people still use the word ‘simp’? Can that be applied to this situation? Was I a simp?”

She throws her head back, mouth wide, as she laughs at how ridiculous his question is.

“Please don’t say ‘simp’, love. You’re 34.” Este squeezes out between her giggles, “But no, people don’t use that word anymore. And yes it can be applied. And also yes, you were. And still are.”

“Proudly am,” he adds.

She leans into his side and he snakes his arm around her waist. They sit there, Matty only in a pair of pyjama pants and her an oversized tee, scrolling through the funny replies to the tweet and how big of a deal some fans were making it.

“You should respond. Tell Megs that she’s right.”

“Seriously?” Este asks, shocked that he’d want her to engage in something so meaningless and speculative.

But alas, he nods casually with a smile. “Yeah. They seem sweet, and just curious. And maybe being such a simp will give me some brownie points,” confirms Matty.

“God, enough of that word!”

Este e.manansala

→ Replying to PL4YINGONMYM1ND

Can confirm🤝

liv livmymistake_

→ Replying to PL4YINGONMYM1ND and e.manansala

MEGS OH MY GOD

Jude 🥾🌎 ittsjudesk

→ Replying to PL4YINGONMYM1ND and e.manansala

UMMMMMMMMMMM

megs ⎕ PL4YINGONMYM1ND

→ Replying to e.manansala

omg hi😭😭😭 are being fr i can’t cope

Este e.manansala

→ Replying to PL4YINGONMYM1ND

Greenhouse is the bookstore i worked at and is where matty and i met that year:)) and hi💌

megs ⎕ PL4YINGONMYM1ND

→ Replying to e.manansala

i think i’m psychic for guessing that🤭🤭🤭🤭

—

megs ⎕ PL4YINGONMYM1ND

k now i’m going crazy bc i had no clue him and este had been dating for that long💀 was genuinely convinced it had been 3 years max

Jude 🥾🌎 ittsjudesk

→ Replying to PL4YINGONMYM1ND

Literally they didn’t post each other until like 2020

sarah🧸 _102sar

→ Replying to PL4YINGONMYM1ND

I think she was at the 2018 Pryzm show too. Not sure but I was at the after party and remember seeing her there lol

megs ⎕ PL4YINGONMYM1ND

→ Replying to _102sar

WHAT…….. this lore being uncovered omg

“Someone recognises you from the Brief Inquiry album release show?!” exclaims Matty in disbelief. “There’s no way.”

They still sit in bed as Este types away, having fun interacting with the small group. He leans his head on her shoulder and watches her as she does it.

“They’ve known you longer than I have, you know. They know their stuff,” she responds.

“Even I don’t remember you being at the Pryzm show.”

Este’s mouth falls open in shock, thoroughly offended. “You prick.”

“I’m joking!” Matty defends through fits of laughter. “C’mon E, I’m joking.”

She knows he is, but enjoys the theatrics of it all; shoving his head off her shoulder and scooting away from his touch in protest.

“That was a special night for me! The first time I saw you play and met the guys! Don’t make fun!” Este pouts, crossing her arms playfully.

“Fine. I take it back, I take it back,” Matty begs, dragging her back over to him and bringing her legs over top of his. He grabs her hand and places a kiss on her palm. “I remember meeting Cate, and introducing you to Louis. And Ross making fun of my gallbladder surgery, and leaving Cate on the dance floor to get drinks, and screaming at each other over the music at the bar. You telling me about the anniversary party. I very much remember!”

“Okay, okay. Enough gushing. I forgive you.”

Matty pecks her palm once more and shuffles her even closer. “Open Twitter back up. This is fun.”

Jude 🥾🌎 ittsjudesk

→ Replying to PL4YINGONMYM1ND and _102sar

This is absolutely shocking bc how did his chronically online ass manage to hide a whole gf that long

megs ⎕ PL4YINGONMYM1ND

→ Replying to ittsjudesk

fr!!! like do we think she was on the abiior tour with them bc i swear jordan absolutely fed us with so much bts content it would be impossible to miss?? someone dig

sarah🧸 _102sar

→ Replying to PL4YINGONMYM1D and ittsjudesk

If u scroll back on her IG u can see Matty in her comments since then. And they’d repost each other on their stories and stuff🥲 So not that hidden if ur a stalker like me lmao

megs ⎕ PL4YINGONMYM1ND

→ Replying to _102sar

thoroughly upset that i missed so much bf matty content </3

Este e.manansala

→ Replying to PL4YINGONMYM1ND and _102sar

Ignore me stalking u🤭🤭 i was indeed at that Pryzm show lol but we weren’t dating yet. And during abiior tour I saw a few UK shows but otherwise i was just in Manc working/being a bad groupie x

Este e.manansala

→ Replying to PL4YINGONMYM1ND

Also matty is sitting beside me now and he is cool with me filling u in (it was his idea) and he says hi. and that u guys are cute

megs ⎕ PL4YINGONMYM1ND

→ Replying to e.manansala

ohhh yes u are a working woman how could i forget!! bookstore worker/groupie same difference. thank u for responding😭 u are the coolest❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 (also hi matty😳)

Jude 🥾🌎 ittsjudesk

→ Replying to e.manansala

Hi Matty sorry for calling u chronically online x

Este e.manansala

→ Replying to ittsjudesk

He forgives you (but it’s true imo)

liv livmymistake_

→ Replying to e.manansala

este wait i have to know …. since u are a former bookstore girlie turned writer are u the reason matty periodically spam posts a bunch of literature on his instagram stories???? did u convert him to bookstoregirlieism??

Este e.manansala

→ Replying to livmymistake_

I am obsessed with the idea that he was illiterate before meeting me so i’m gonna say yes. thank u for that

Este e.manansala

→ Replying to livmymistake_

Liv it’s me I stole the phone and don’t appreciate this sentiment tbh. You should know I’ve always been a wanker so all the literature spams are just me letting that out and este just enables me. hope that helps x Matty

#is this even good???? i’m spiralling #like why do i feel like it isn’t giving anything. #tbsg #meste blurb #blurb #matty healy #the 1975 #matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 fanfiction #matty healy x oc #matty healy fic #matty healy fluff #matty healy fanfic #fanfiction #fluff

[081314]

Sunset Savannah’s Tamashina-Mina – Episode 2 (Part 1)

Following is part 1 of my translation of Episode 2 of the Tamashina-Mina event. This part contains episodes 2-1 to 2-3.

Spoilers after the cut!

Episode 2-1

Leona: We made it.

Grim: Woah! So this is Sunset Savannah.

Leona: Yup. This is Sunrise City - the imperial capital, and also my hometown. Allow me to welcome ya'll to my sordid abode.

Jack: Ah- It’s hot….

Vil: It’s certainly hotter than it is back at Sage’s Island and the Shaftlands. Even the air here feels different.

Kalim: Everything is so bright and pretty!

Lilia: Indeed. And it’s quite uncommon for a large metropolis like this to have so much greenery in it.

Leona: That’s thanks to this country’s conviction, which we’re all so grateful for. The people here value “coexistence with nature” more than anythin’ else, and we make sure to conserve natural areas like this so the local animals have places to live, since they’re our ancestors and all.

Lilia: So what do you think, Leona? You feeling nostalgic about returning to your homeland after so long?

Leona: The opposite. I’m sick of lookin’ at this place. It never changes.

Lilia: Oh, really? I haven’t been to Sunset Savannah in quite a while, and it appears to have completely transformed since the last time I was here. The city back then wasn’t really developed very much, and they didn’t have any of these skyscrapers or whatnot.

Leona: That woulda been decades ago. Even back when my dad was healthy an’ ruled over the country, development of the city had already started.

Vil: I’ve also been to Sunrise City countless times before, but each time I come here I can’t help but be astounded by what an amazing place it is.

Leona: Amazing? You know… For folks who only come here once in a while just to kick back and relax, I guess that’s about what they’d think.

Vil: What is up with you? You keep beating around the bush about something.

Leona: Kalim, Scalding Sands is a hot and dry country like this one, right?

Kalim: Uh-huh. Most of my country is desert. But there’s a canal that runs through my hometown, Silk City, so it’s actually not too hot there. It used to be a huge problem trying to find enough drinking water, but we don’t have to worry about that anymore.

Leona: I’d wager that’s ‘cause the folks who run the government over there are proactive about adoptin’ new technologies, and they’ve been workin’ hard to improve the living conditions of your people.

Sunset Savannah is mostly made up of arid land. We ain’t got any deserts, but water’s still a precious resource for us. Unlike Scalding Sands, however, the development of infrastructure here is pretty much nonexistent. We even got people who still live off well water.

Folks here are so conscientious they’ll go out of their way to adapt to the land in whatever ways they can, and their whole lives are spent subject to the whims of mother nature. That’s why we still have this stupid festival to pray for rain every year.

There’s tons of natural resources underneath these lands, and if we’d just set up some large-scale mining operations then no doubt we’d be a lot better off. But everybody’s way too concerned about “coexistence with nature” or whatever. I doubt urban development ever even crosses their minds. It’s a lot different from Scalding Sands, huh?

Vil: So it’s not that the people here are unable to develop the infrastructure, it’s that they’re purposefully avoiding doing it… Something like that?

Leona: Yeah.

Lilia: Hmm. I don’t think that’s entirely a bad thing. As far as arbitrary development is concerned, if you spend enough money, it’s easily doable. And that’s why you’ll find modernized towns all over the world. But trying to develop an area and preserve the surrounding nature at the same time, like what they’re doing here? That’s astronomically more difficult.

Leona: My, what an exemplary response. If my big brother heard you sayin’ something that, he’d be beggin’ you through his tears to tell that to me, too.

Kalim: Your big brother, huh. Isn’t he the leader of this country right now?

Leona: My dad is the king, but he’s been sick in bed for a while. Falena, the first in line to the throne, has been runnin’ this place the past few years.

Kalim: I’ll need to be sure to say "Hi" to your brother! I’ll tell him how you and me always have so much fun together, Leona!

Leona: I don’t remember ever havin’ fun with you.

Lilia: We should give him our greetings, as well! I’m sure it’ll be fine if we just say something that sounds nice, right?

Vil: We’ll need to tell him all about how hardworking and kind our dear friend Leona is.

Grim: And I’ll tell him that Leona’s my henchman’s henchman!

Leona: Fat chance he’d come meet a bunch of tourists. We’re talking about the guy who’s the chief executive of the whole country. Sorry, but I ain’t in the mood to go see him, either. Why, I’m shakin’ in my boots just at the thought of havin' an audience with his royal majesty. Heh.

Vil: Oh, really? That’s a shame.

(A car pulls up)

Kalim: Ah! Here comes my ride. I’ll need to get headed to the hotel now.

Lilia: Leaving already, Kalim? That’s no fun. Here, why don’t you tell us what hotel you’re staying at? We can hang out together tonight.

Leona: As if ya even need to ask him. No doubt he’s staying at the Sunset Villa hotel.

Kalim: Hmm, let’s see here… Hey, you’re right! “Sunset Villa hotel!!!! (Don’t forget it)” …is what it says here on this note that Jamil left me. How did you know, Leona?

Leona: We don’t got many hotels that are luxurious enough to house guests of the state. It’s the same place we're gonna be stayin' at.

Kalim: Really? Awesome! It’ll be so much fun being together with everyone.

Vil: Sounds like you really did book us a proper hotel, Leona.

Kalim: Bye you guys! Let’s meet up later!

(Kalim gets into the car and departs)

Lilia: How about we go do some sightseeing now?

Vil: Good idea.

Jack: Man, it’s hot…..

Leona: Was wonderin’ when you’d finally pipe up, but you’re just saying the same thing you did before. You honestly think it’s that hot?

Yuu: Yeah, it’s pretty hot out!

Leona: That’s just your imagination talkin’. Deal with it. Sunset Savannah is a lot longer than it is wide, and we got a lot of tall mountains that are high above sea level. The climate changes completely from one area to the next, but the average temperature in Sunrise City is a bit higher than it is at school.

Jack: B-but still… Isn’t it really hot here….? Argh…. I’m dripping with sweat….

Leona: I mean, the UV rays in Sunset Savannah are really strong. A lot more than in other countries.

Vil: Thank goodness I applied ample sunscreen before we left.

Lilia: And I’m glad I brought my sun visor! I took every possible measure I could before coming here.

Grim: I've been standing in your guys’ shadows this whole time so I’m A-okay!

Lilia: My, aren’t you a clever one. That’s something I do quite often, myself.

Jack: …..

Leona: ….Jack? Hey, you alright?

Jack: I…. I’m fine….

Leona: Cut the crap! Your face is gettin’ paler by the second. Hurry up and go sit down in the shade over there!

Jack: I’m fine…. I….

(Jack collapses and falls on top of Grim)

Everyone: JACK!?

Jack: ….

Vil: He collapsed all of a sudden…. And he isn’t responding when I call his name.

Leona: This isn’t good... He probably got heat exhaustion.

Lilia: He’s unconscious. This is an emergency!

Grim: Waaaah! I’m stuck under Jack!

Yuu: Somebody help!!

Leona: Calm down! We need to bring him somewhere he can rest and look for something to cool him down with…

???: You seem to have quite the problem on your hands, Lord Leona.

Leona: !? You’re….

Everyone: ?

Grim: Who’s this guy?

Episode 2-2

???: Now I understand. I’ll go ahead and perform a physical examination, then.

Jack: Ugh.

???: Hmm. Just as Lord Leona surmised, you appear to be ailing from heat exhaustion. Come, let’s get you in the shade and I’ll patch you up for the time being.

Vil: Leona, may I ask who this is? You two appear to know each other.

Leona: *Sigh* This guy’s the head chamberlain of Sunset Savannah, and he serves the royal family.

Kifaji: My name is Kifaji, and I’m pleased to make the acquaintance of Lord Leona’s school companions.

Vil: A pleasure to meet you. I’m Vil Schoenheit.

Kifaji: Ah, yes. I recognized you immediately. We are truly honored to have a distinguished model such as yourself come visit us.

Lilia: I’m Lilia, from Briar Valley. Nice to meet you.

Grim: And I’m Grim!

Yuu: Name’s Yuu! Nice to meet you.

Kifaji: My, what a lively bunch. Thank you all for coming.

Leona: Anyways, your timing was pretty impeccable.

Kifaji: I noticed it was about time for you to arrive and came here to welcome you, Lord Leona.

Leona: Hah. Don’t make me laugh. I bet you swung by just to check whether or not I even showed up. You seriously don’t trust me, huh.

Kifaji: What a terrible thing to say. I wonder, which one of us is it that doesn’t trust the other?

Jack: A…augh…

Leona: Ya comin’ to, Jack?

Jack: S-sorry. I got super dizzy all of a sudden and blacked out before I realized what was going on…

Kifaji: Master Jack, please have a sip of this water.

(Jack drinks the water)

Jack: Haaah….. I feel a little better now…

Vil: You sure gave us quite the shock back there.

Leona: You idiot…. You should’ve dressed more appropriately for the heat. The hell did you come in your school uniform for?

Jack: I’m sorry. I…. I don’t do good in hot weather.

Leona: Yeah, I know. …I should’ve given you a heads up before we came.

Grim: Huh!? Leona’s admitting up front that he made a mistake…!

Leona: Why’re you actin’ so surprised?

Kifaji: We don’t want your condition to worsen any further. You’ll need to rest today.

Leona: Yeah.

Jack: What!? I don’t need any freakin’ rest! The tournament starts tomorrow… We have to train today…! Heat exhaustion isn’t even a big deal…. I’m going to our practice session with you guys!

Lilia: It is a big deal. You mustn't push yourself so much.

Vil: He’s right, Jack. That one-track mind of yours can be a real virtue, but sometimes it can also be your undoing. Anyways, we’re guests in a foreign land right now, so really you need to stop being so unreasonable.

Jack: But… But Leona Senpai’s counting on me… He chose me as a member of the team and everything… I’d feel awful if we couldn’t compete in the tournament just ‘cause of something stupid like this…!

Leona: If you’re feelin’ sorry, then zip it and listen to us already. You need to rest.

Jack: B-but…

Leona: You’ll just end up dragging us down in the condition you’re in. I’m kicking you off the team.

Jack: No....!!

Leona: This is an order from your dorm warden. You understand, right?

Jack: Dammit…. I’m really sorry…!

Leona: I told ya already, I’m the one who messed up. Don’t make me say it again. You tryin’ to make me look bad or something?

Kifaji: You were talking about Catch the Tail just now, correct? Might I presume you all are members of the Night Raven College Team that will be competing in the tournament?

Leona: Yup. Remember I asked ya to keep a spot open for 'em in the tournament?

Kifaji: Yes, and I’ve made the proper preparations. However, you never revealed your reasons for doing all this. Could it be…. You’re attempting to shirk your responsibility of performing the “Lessons of the Guardian”?

Leona: Nice guess. You’ve always been sharp as a tack, Kifaji.

Kifaji: Goodness gracious. That cunning nature of yours hasn’t changed one bit. What a pity. It’s your job to perform the “Lessons of the Guardian”, and that’s something you should take pride in. I should hope you'd adopt an attitude more befitting of a member of the royal family. To begin with, you’re always so-

Leona: Tsch. Here we go again with the damn lectures. It doesn't matter whether or not I go around actin' like I'm royalty. It's not like anybody cares.

Kifaji: ….Lord Leona, you really shouldn’t say something like that. Well then, I shall go ahead and accompany Master Jack to the hotel.

Leona: ‘Kay, sounds good.

(Kifaji departs)

Leona: …….. Wait a sec, Kifaji. We’ll go with ya.

Episode 2-3

Leona: Here we are. This is Sunset Villa, the hotel ya’ll are gonna stay at.

Grim: Holy cow! Talk about luxurious!!! I wish I could live here forever!

Leona: It’s the most high-end hotel in the entire country.

Lilia: What a magnificent place this is. Any patient should be able to recuperate in peace here.

Vil: Ah, Kifaji’s come back.

Kifaji: I’ll go ahead and begin my report now. I have taken Master Jack to the room we prepared for him, and I’ve also made arrangements for a personal doctor and nurses to look after him.

Leona: Nice work. Alright, now we need to go look for you-know-who.

Vil: And just who would that be?

(The camera pans around the room and then Kalim appears)

Kalim: Hey! You guys made it.

Leona: Perfect timing. We were just lookin’ for ya, Kalim.

Kalim: Hm? Is something the matter, Leona?

Kifaji: ….Don’t tell me!?

Leona: Kalim, you gotta enter the Catch the Tail tournament.

Everyone: !?

Kalim: Huh? Me? You mean join your guys’ team?

Leona: Yup. There’s three players to a team, but Jack ended up passin’ out from the heat so we’re a man down.

Kalim: Oh no! Is he okay!?

Leona: Yeah. But at this rate, Vil and Lilia aren’t gonna be able to compete in the tournament at all. We need one more player.

Lilia: Hmm. You're correct, however…

(Vil, Leona, and Lilia huddle together and start whispering)

Vil: Are you sure about this?

Leona: I know, I know. Compared to Jack, Kalim’s a pretty cruddy athlete. But havin’ him on the team is better than getting disqualified. Just think about it for a second. We got Yuu, who hardly knows anything about the world; Grim, who doesn’t listen to a word anybody says; and Jamil, who’s lord knows where right now. We pretty much got no other choice but to have Kalim join us.

Leona: So whadya think, Kalim? Your “buddies” are in a real jam here… You’ll help us out, right?

Kifaji: You stop right there!

Leona: Huh?

Kifaji: Master Kalim was formally invited to our country as a guest of the state. It is out of the question for him to take part in the tournament! He could get injured! If something were to befall him, the repercussions of such an incident would rock the peoples’ trust in the state.

Leona: Humph. You’re as stuffy as ever. Listen, Kifaji. All I’m tryin’ to do is enjoy my homeland’s festival with my school friends. I can’t even begin to tell ya how much Vil and Lilia have been lookin’ forward to competing in the tournament. And Grim and Yuu - they came all the way out here just to cheer on their friends. Wouldn’t it be a real shame if we turned them away now and just sent ‘em packin'?

Vil: My, what kind words. You’re moving me to tears.

Leona: Besides, if they don't get to compete, poor Jack’s gonna end up blamin’ himself for everything. I’d never wanna put my precious Kouhai through somethin’ like that.

Vil: Oh, and he even mixed in some concern for Jack!

Lilia: This loquacity is quite unlike him.

Leona: So what’ll it be, Kalim?

Kalim: Of course I’ll join you guys! I’d never just stand by if you’re in trouble. Besides, this Catch the Tail stuff sounds really fun.

Leona: Awesome, then it’s settled!

Kifaji: Nothing is settled!!

Leona: Oh, come on, Kifaji. You heard him, didn’t you? Our dear guest of the state himself, Master Kalim from Scalding Sands, said he wants to compete with us. Letting him join is what a member of the royal family should do, as a show of good faith an’ all.

Kifaji: Ack…. You always had quite the way with words. How I wish you’d employ such talent in other endeavors!

Leona: Stop stickin’ your nose into other people’s business, would ya? Anyways. Kalim, you gotta keep this a secret from the other Scalding Sands guests that are here. Especially Jamil.

Kalim: Huh? But why?

Leona: Jack’s just about drownin’ in shame right now ‘cause of this whole mess…. It’d be awful if everyone found out about it, don’t ya think?

Kalim: Yeah, you’re right. Okay, I won’t tell anyone!

Vil: ….If Jamil were to catch wind of this, no doubt he’d do everything in his power to put a stop to it.

Lilia: He might just end up fainting from shock when he sees Kalim step out into the arena tomorrow.

Leona: Now that everything’s cleared up, we need to start gettin' ready for Catch the Tail. They prepared outfits for ya'll to wear during the tournament, so go to your rooms an’ get changed.

Episode 1

Episode 2 (Part 2)

Episode 3 (Part 1)

Episode 3 (Part 2)

Episode 3 (Part 3)

Episode 4 (Part 1)

Episode 4 (Part 2)

Episode 5

#leona kingscholar #lilia vanrouge #vil schoenheit #kalim al asim #jack howl #twst spoilers #twst #twisted wonderland #tamashina-mina #my tl

[band--psycho]

Harvey Specter x Reader - The Best Way To Spend A Rainy Day

For my dear friend @malfoys-demigod who requested this drabble for my 3.6k follower challenge! 💛

Prompt - Everyone should dance in the rain at least once in their lives (Prompt in bold)

I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Y/n was completely entranced by the droplets of rain that were falling from the darkened sky.

The pitter patter sound they were making on the window pane was so soothing that Y/n couldn’t help but smile as she let all of her muscles relax and just enjoy the calming moment.

Life at the firm had been so hectic lately, Y/n couldn’t remember the last time she actually enjoyed a quiet moment like this. 

Memories of her youth flashed through her mind; from a time where she was carefree and didn’t care what people thought about her. 

She didn’t know if it was down to the nostalgic memories floating in her mind or if it was just because she wanted some relief from the stress she’d been feeling, but all she wanted to do right now was go outside and dance in the rain. 

“Sweetheart,” Harvey began, walking over to her with a mug of tea. 

He knew how much stress she’d been under and all he wanted to do was pamper her, but before Harvey could finish his sentence Y/n was walking to the door. 

“Y/n where are you going?” He asked, setting down the tea on the kitchen counter. 

“Outside,” she replied simply, like it was the obvious thing in the world. 

Harvey’s eyes narrowed in confusion as he stated to her, trying to work out if she was serious or not, “It’s raining outside.”

And it certainly wasn’t a light rain either, there had been weather warnings on the news for most of the day.

“I know!” She beamed excitedly, only adding to Harvey’s confusion. 

“Oh don’t tell me the great Harvey Specter has never danced in the rain,” she continued, stepping away from the door and towards Harvey. 

“I can honestly say I haven’t,” Harvey answered, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth  as his heart fluttered in his chest

Y/n's smile could make any bad day good.  

“C’mon,” she whispered, interlocking her fingers with his and tugging him towards the door.

“Y-n?-” Harvey repeated again, but once again he was interrupted by Y/n. 

“Everyone should dance in the rain at least once in their lives,” she explained to him; as she bounced on the balls of her feet. 

“How many times have you danced in the rain?” Based on how excited she was, he knew that this certainly wasn’t the first time she’d done this, but it was the first time he’d ever heard of her doing it, which was odd given how long they’d known each other. 

“Whenever I could,” she laughed, pulling  Harvey  out the elevator as soon as the doors opened and into the rain outside. 

If this had been any other person, Harvey would never have thought of doing this, but he’d dance with Y/n in a thousand rainstorms, if it meant he got to see that beautiful smile on her face. 

#harvey specter #harvey specter imagines #harvey specter imagine #harvey specter x reader #suits imagine #suits harvey specter #suits harvey specter x reader #suits harvey spcter imagines #suits harvey #harvey suits #harvey specter suits

[aectpen]

Warmth - heeseung x reader

m.list

pairing: lee heeseung x reader

genre: angst with happy ending

synopsis: you and heeseung see each other for the first time since you moved away and he became an idol

words: .9k

you took a stroll around the neighborhood you grew up in. you haven’t seen this familiar scenery in 5 years ever since you moved across the country. you remember that day like it was yesterday. you had come home from school exhausted, only to find your parents sat at the table with distressed expressions on their faces. turns out they had been quietly struggling with making ends meet. causing you all to have to move in with your grandparents on the countryside.

you felt tears welling up in your eyes, recalling the memories you made in this place. It made you feel like a kid again. even the air felt nostalgic. You could almost see your younger self running to the playground with your friends.

“yn? is that you?” you knew that voice from anywhere. it was lee heeseung’s mother.

lee heeseung, before he became a hot shot idol, was your very best friend. you two did everything together. your parents joked about you guys growing old together, that was just how inseparable you were. when you moved, you both were devastated, but promised to keep in touch. as the years went by, the communication became rare. it went from frequent calls and texts to calling and texting when big things happen to wishing each other happy birthday to complete silence. you haven't even texted him in almost 2 years.

“yes, its me. it’s so nice to see you!” you rushed over and gave her a warm hug. this woman acted as a second mother to you. she always treated you like the daughter she never had.

"you've grown up so well. your mother told me you've become pretty, but wow you are beautiful." she pinched your cheeks. "you have to join us for dinner. i won't take no as an answer."

you were hungry, and heeseung doesn't even live with them anymore, so this couldn't hurt.

dinner was running smoothly. his parents and brother created small talk involving recent news in our lives.

"i actually am moving back in the area with a friend for work."

"so, we'll definitely be seeing more from you, right?" his mom asked. "oh of course, i missed your food."

you were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

"i'm home!"

shit.

"heeseung, hurry, we have a surprise!" his dad shouted.

you absentmindedly straightened your clothes and stood up. you knew that Heeseung had quite the glow up himself. you love his group and frequently check up on what he is up to. even if your friendship grew stale, you always will feel the same about him.

feeling the same about him includes your secret decade long crush on him. you were the type to never, by any means, reveal that you had a crush on someone in fear of rejection. you painfully watched as he had girlfriends over the years and openly told you about his crushes.

heeseung’s reaction to you standing at the table was questionable to say the least. he had wide eyes but an unreadable expression on the rest of his face. his lips didn’t even twitch, making the situation very awkward as you held a half smile.

he didn’t say a word and sat down at the table. the air became unbearably thick. everyone silently eating, but you. you didn’t have an appetite anymore. before mentally preparing yourself, you apologized and said you have to get home to let your roommate in as she forgot her keys. a total lie.

you headed over to your childhood comfort place, the park. you sat on the swings and slowly swung back and forth. you didn't expect heeseung to run to you and hug you, but definitely didn't anticipate him ignoring you. it made you confused and feel like shit. you didn't do anything wrong. the both of you slowly cut communication, no one was at fault here, but time.

you heard a creek next to you and looked over to see heeseung on the other swing.

"i'm sorry."

you didn't respond for a while. "i understand. i'm sorry too." you understood that he may have felt overwhelmed by the nature of you meeting with him again.

"i just didn't know what to say. i didn't expect you to be there. i missed you." he continued swinging beside you.

"i know. your mom suggested i come over and i was kind of hesitant at the idea of seeing you that. i didn't know how i'd react." you stopped swinging and turned to face him. he looked comfortable in his oversized hoodie. you wanted so badly to just hug him. "i'm happy for you Heeseung. i'm glad you're living out your dream."

"i love you." he looked over at you, a singular tear gliding down his cheek, shining in the moonlight. this caught you off guard. he opened a floodgate of tears you held back for the years you have been apart. you got up from the swing and wrapped him in a hug, snuggling your face in the crook of his neck. "i love you too, heeseung."

the both of you pulled away, staring at each other wordlessly. he reached for your cheek and caressed it with the pad of his thumb. "you're so beautiful." the butterflies in your stomach were restless. You couldn't stop the grin from reaching your face. "you know, i've had a crush on you forever."

"yn, that would've been nice to know earlier than now." he laughed. oh how much she missed his smile.

his thumb still on your cheek, he slowly pulled you in for a kiss. the warmth you felt was unrivaled. your lips moved together as if they were meant to be. harmonious, and full of love.

you were definitely coming around more now.

#lee heeseung #lee heesung x reader #heeseung #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen x y/n #enha x reader #kpop idol #kpop #enhypen heeseung #enhypen imagines #lee heeseung imagines #heeseung enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #kpop imagines

[depressedbagpipe]

Golden (King Caspian x fem!reader)

Chapter I - Voyages at Dusk, Treaders by Dawn

Words: 3404 Warnings: some angst and misogyny i guess (?) not too much plot for now, this is just the set up ;) A/N: alright, here it goes. i actually had a breakdown and deleted half the fic before posting so idk how to feel about this. i really hope you enjoy this fic, and I'm sorry for taking so long :( ALSO i haven’t proofread this 😇 Taglist: @sskhair, @sassyandclassyx, @thefictionalgemini, @glimmering-darling-dolly, @just-levyy, @noortsshift,

Series Masterlist

Dawn. Warm and alerting, bathing the clear sky in orange and red and pink and all sorts of sweltering colors I could imagine. The sea below the cliff was calm and shone with such intensity that it hurt to look at. Yet the scenery was beautiful. The wind hugged me and the sun’s rays welcomed me like an old friend. The top of the cliff was showered in green, the grass moving with the breeze, alive and inviting. Summer was finally here, and it cast large and nostalgic shadows over the ruins of Cair Paravel. Nature had taken over the stones once again, covering the past in colorful present. The altar where the thrones of the Kings and Queen of Old used to be remained intact, as if magic itself wanted to bathe the pedestal in power. Power that came and left, but also power that remained. 

Laughter reached my ears. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Giggles and chuckles grew stronger until a pair of short arms wrapped themselves around my legs.

“Mumma, come play with us!” a little boy’s voice demanded, and the happiness in those words finally snapped me back to reality.

With a grin, I turned around, bending down, and picking the kid in my arms, earning a loud howl from him as I spun us. Before either of us could get dizzy, I put him back down, lovingly moving away one of the dark strands of hair that fell over his dark eyes. He looked a bit too much like his father, to no one’s surprise.

Speaking of, he now stood next to me.

“Having fun without me?” Caspian asked in a teasing voice, throwing an arm over my shoulders, using his hand to stroke the exposed skin of my –his– shirt.

I looked up to him. The wrinkles by his eyes were just a tad more prominent, but the same lively spirit adorned his irises. He looked somewhat taller, with his young naivité turned into experienced serenity. He carried himself like the king he was, and yet his lips still turned upwards by the right corner first, kind and amused, as they did when I first met him. His tanned skin glowed in the late afternoon sun, and despite having been married for years, he still managed to make my heart soar.

“Never, Dada!” the kid giggled, still grabbing my legs. 

Caspian laughed as he threw him over his shoulder. “Unfortunately, young man, we should get going back to the castle. It’ll be dark soon.”

The boy complained. “But I wanna stay here! I wanna listen to the stories Mumma tells!”

His annoyance didn’t last long, for Caspian quickly used his advantage to shake the boy in the air, earning loud chuckles in return.

I wanted to follow them, I really did, but my feet seemed stuck to the ground. I saw Caspian walk away, yet I couldn’t move. Something was anchoring me to the top of the cliff, and the only thing I could do was stare as the love of my life seemed to disappear before my eyes.

Again, I know I should’ve been scared, as the world around me seemed to crumble once more. I waved my arms around, my hands flexing trying to grab the air with trembling fingers, anything to keep me afloat. Another breeze engulfed me, equally as warm as the sun that was rapidly setting over the horizon. Out of instinct, I closed my eyes, allowing whatever that was to take me to wherever I had to go. Right before everything ended, a familiar voice resounded on the inside of my skull, bringing back that same serenity I had always felt at the top of that cliff.

Soon, my dear.

I woke up with a start. I immediately frowned as I stared at the ceiling, tracing the lines of the wood at the top of the high-posted bed, analyzing the details in the engraving as I usually did when I couldn’t fall asleep. That had not been the first time I dreamed about Caspian, and what could possibly be our son, but it had been the first time Aslan had made himself known. It had been three years since we last saw him, right after Caspian’s coronation and the Pevensies’ farewell, and despite knowing he was always around, hearing him for the first time after that long only intrigued me. Beautiful, amazing, scary, and anxious things happened during the first three years of Caspian and I’s ruling over Narnia, yet Aslan had never shown up before. I wondered what his message meant too. 

I pondered for a few minutes, still lying on the comfortable bed. The quietness of the room, which was starting to fill with light, made me realize I was alone. I raised my head slightly, looking around the room hoping to find Caspian hunched over some papers in a small desk we kept by the balcony, but he was nowhere to be found. 

My frown got deeper, and I finally sat down and took a look at the state of the room. Our suite at the castle was huge, bigger than any room I had ever owned. The high ceilings and big windows provided warmth and security. Back at Cair Paravel, I had insisted on a rather modest room, but that was no longer fit for me, or us. I was surprised that Caspian wanted to stay in his childhood castle; he always spoke about his home growing up, and how dark and moody it always was, but after a leap of faith and several peace treaties later, the sun seemed to be always shining over the old Telmar. Because the sun always shone over Narnia.

Yet my favorite part of the suite was the balcony; overlooking the kingdom with the sea at the horizon, with the ships docked at the harbor and the peaceful waves that blended with the sky. I know it wasn’t Cair Paravel, and it would never be, but different didn’t mean worse. Narnia prospered under Caspian’s rule, and I, the newly appointed queen, had had the chance to see the land flourish and rise from its ashes.

I was now outside, staring at the view, looking at the sun slowly climbing its way up, as well as the citizens living right under us starting their days, happy and undisturbed. My heart clenched a little, thinking about how much Lucy would enjoy the view, but I shook my head. I couldn’t think about them now. I couldn’t know if I’d ever see them again, at least in Narnia. As much as I loved remembering the past, I had to focus on my present to succeed in my future. 

And my present was now talking rather loudly outside the big wooden door to our suite. 

“But, your Majesty…”

“Nonsense. She’s my wife first, I’ll take care of this.”

“Let us help, your Majesty!”

I scrunched my eyebrows at the voices and flinched when the door opened a bit too loudly.

“My love?” Caspian called out.

“In here!”

His footsteps were rushed and heavy as he suddenly appeared before me on the balcony. 

“What are you doing up? You heard the doctor, you should rest!” he took me in his arms and gently guided me back to the bed, sitting me down on the mattress and taking my face in his hands, inspecting every detail.

I laughed. “Cas, I’m alright. In fact, I’ve been feeling great for the past few days,” I calmly took my hands in his and put them down. His thumbs automatically rubbed the back of my hands, which didn’t fail to give me goosebumps.

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea…” but I cut him off before he could finish.

“Don’t.”

“Please, my love, I just want you to be alright.”

“I’ll be alright once I have something to do, Cas. You seriously cannot expect me to lay around all day when there’s a world full of adventures out there!”

“Your Majesties?” Edith, one of the maids, interrupted us. “The bath is ready.”

“Thank you, Edith. You may go now,” Caspian looked up but didn’t move from his spot.

Edith bowed to us and left with a troubled expression, and I immediately turned to him again.

“What did you do?”

Caspian tried to look innocent but failed miserably. “Nothing! I woke up early and headed down to the kitchens to fetch you something to eat when you woke up! Then the maids found me and insisted on doing the work but I wouldn’t let them.”

I tried to fight off the smile. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I wanted to do something nice for you. I’ve been worried sick these days and just… wanted to be at your side as much as I can before I leave.”

That alerted me. “What do you mean ‘before I leave’?”

I took my hands away, bringing them to my waist. Caspian was looking at me with a guilty gaze from his place on the ground before me. He spoke slowly, almost testing the waters.

“I don’t think you should come, my love.”

“And why is that?” I raised an eyebrow at him, a bit too defiantly. It was too early in the morning for this.

“I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“So you’re keeping me locked away?”

“That’s not…” he tried to reason, but I wouldn’t let him.

I stood up from the bed, careful not to accidentally hurt him as I walked towards the small en suite, feeling the warm water from the free-standing bath, anything to prevent me from lashing out at him. 

“I don’t wanna hear it, Caspian. I’m coming with you. Now, I appreciate the breakfast but if you’re not gonna join me, I think it’s best if you leave me alone now.”

I usually hated being stern with him, but I was tired of the conversation. I wasn’t about to begin yet another fight about the same topic, knowing it would end in disaster. After a few seconds, Caspian spoke.

“I’ll be at the war room, then.”

He didn’t say anything else and left. I sighed, already feeling bad at our near-discussion, and let myself sink into the water. My eyes closed as I tried not to let the anger consume me. 

It hadn’t been the first time Caspian had suggested I don’t participate in the mission. Ever since I had randomly fainted during a training session he had been treating me like a child. And I understood his preoccupation, because I too worried about him every single second of my existence, but it had been almost two weeks, and I had been feeling fine ever since I woke up after the episode. Caspian had even called every single doctor, physician, and healer in the entirety of Narnia, and the verdict was all the same: I was fine. The day had been hot, and I had been tired, and there hadn’t been anything more to it. Yet now, after months of preparing our sailing around the Lone Islands, Caspian was willing to let me stay behind. And I was not going to let him. Narnia needed its queen.

Walking around the halls of the old Telmarine castle was always one of my favorite activities, and while I would normally stop and appreciate the many pieces of art that decorated the walls, I was a woman on a mission. 

Most of my armor was left at our suite, knowing I wouldn’t be needing it for what was about to happen, but for good measure my dual swords were at my back. Despite bowing and nodding at every person I saw in the halls, the sense of urgency in my steps was enough for them to leave a significant space between them and me as I approached the big doors to the war room. With a final breath, I opened them wide. 

Caspian’s face was priceless. He probably wasn’t expecting me so soon, and I definitely wasn’t expecting him to have a whole meeting without me. All of our counselors and fellow top warriors stood at the round table, where a large map of the entire Narnian territory was displayed for everybody to see. Little figures were being moved by Reepicheep, our mighty and beloved mouse, although he too stopped when I came in.

“Your Majesty,” he respectfully bowed at me, and it was only after he did that the rest of the room followed. 

Ouch. That stung.

“I see you’ve already started without me,” I noted, closing the heavy doors behind me and occupying my place at the other end of the table, facing Caspian directly. “Did I miss anything?”

Thankfully, Reepicheep answered. “Not at all, my Queen. We’re just revisiting the details of the voyage. I don’t think we should postpone it any more, my lords.”

I nodded. “Good. When do we leave, then?”

“Wait…” Caspian tried again.

“I believe the Dawn Treader is ready, so what’s stopping us?”

Lord Drinian, the captain of the first Narnian ship, spoke. “Well, His Majesty thought it better to wait until your health improved, my Queen.”

I glared at Caspian. “My health has been perfectly fine for the past week, Lord Drinian, thank you for your concern. Now I believe, as captain of the Narnian army, I have a say in this mission.”

“Of course, my Queen. And I can assure you, no decision will be made without your approval,” Reepicheep bowed his little head again, bless his heart. Yet the fact that a talking mouse seemed to care more about my word than my own husband did was something I wasn't enjoying at all.

“Then why wasn’t I informed about this meeting?”

Every head turned to Caspian after I fired the question. My blood was already boiling by that point. I didn’t want to place the blame on him, but, after all, he hadn’t even mentioned a meeting in the first place. 

Taking a breath to calm down, I continued. “Again, I appreciate the concern, but from now on, even if I’m on my deathbed, I should, no, I have to be informed about anything that involves my kingdom. I’m equally as useful out there as inside the castle.”

My eyes were glued on Caspian, who hadn’t moved his gaze off me. He could feel my anger, I was sure of that, and it was taking everything in me to not lash out completely in a room full of people. I didn’t want to give them another reason to think lowly of me as it was.

“Very well,” Caspian said at last, not without taking a big gulp at first. “Let’s begin, then.”

“I can’t believe you did that,” I closed the door to our suite with a loud bang.

Caspian flinched before me.

“I told you, I’m sorry!” he threw his hands up. “I don’t know how many times I’ve said that!”

“It’s not about what you said, Caspian, it’s about what you did! What you keep on doing, as a matter of fact!”

He lowered his voice, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Do you understand how hard it is for me?” I yelled. I knew I was letting the anger on him, but I couldn’t seem to stop now. “How hard it is to wake up every day and try twice as much to be taken seriously?”

“What do you mean?”

I sighed. “I’m not a queen, Caspian. I’m a joke.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is! I told you how life was back in the days with the Pevensies! So many people in court wouldn’t hesitate to question my worth every time I took the wrong step. It took years to show everyone I was as capable as any other man. It didn’t even matter I was knighted by Aslan himself! And now?” I walked to the balcony, suddenly in desperate need of air. Despite the high ceilings of the room, I was suffocating. “Now, I know that everything I do is being scrutinized. I can’t afford to spend a day in bed because now I have an entire kingdom to look after. I can’t miss a meeting, I can’t miss a training session; I really can’t give anybody the chance to believe that I’m not worthy of being a queen.”

A single tear fell from my eyes, but Caspian brushed it away with delicate fingers. He put his hands on my shoulders, making me face him.

I didn’t want to look at him after that, but he raised my head with a finger, pinning his dark eyes on mine.

“You, are worthy of every beautiful thing in the world, my love. You have nothing to prove to anyone. I know what you’ve done and what you’re capable of, and I love you with every beat of my heart. And most importantly, you know what you’ve done and what you’re capable of. So what if you miss a few meetings? Or a mission? You are my queen, you are the queen of Narnia. Nothing’s gonna change that. And I wouldn’t have anyone else by my side, not even given the choice.”

More tears kept flowing from my eyes.

“Then why am I always this insecure?” I spoke, almost in a whisper. 

Caspian smiled softly. “Because you’re human. And you have emotions, and this is no easy job, and you’re right. I don’t know what life looks like for you, and I’m sorry for keeping you away from the chaos downstairs. I thought I was doing the right thing. Now I know that I can’t keep you locked away, no matter how afraid I am of something happening to you.”

“Is that why you did it?” I asked, putting my hands over his.

I intertwined our fingers together, a habit I quickly picked up after being married to him.

He nodded. “Do you know how I felt when I saw you lying there, pale and rigid?” He moved a strand of hair behind my ears, and his gaze turned slightly darker.

I shook my head. I remembered the feeling, the gnawing knowledge that my legs were giving out, and praying I wouldn’t fall too hard on my head.

“My whole world stopped. You weren’t moving. And nobody knew why. It was a scene I had already seen once at the How and I had made a promise to myself that you wouldn’t ever be in that situation again… And there you were, on the bed, five doctors surrounding you and not one of them could say what was wrong. And I don’t care that I didn’t move for a whole day, left my duties to someone else, and just sat by your side waiting for you to wake up.”

I was frozen in place. I didn’t even know what to feel anymore. All my anger suddenly dissipated, leaving longing, confusion, and guilt behind. I had been a bit too focused on my own discomfort that I hadn’t even thought about what Caspian had felt when it all happened. Even though I had been the one to drop dead in the middle of the courtyard, he had never left my side, going as far as making me breakfast despite not knowing a single thing about cooking. 

“I…” I began, but he cut me off again. He somehow always managed to read my mind.

“And hey, I know what you’re thinking. It’s not your fault, okay?” Caspian said. “I don’t want you to blame yourself. I should’ve asked you first about what you wanted. And there is no way that I’m leaving without you now. I need my right hand, and I need my wife. Luckily for me, you’re both.”

I smiled. A genuine smile for the first time in hours. “Wherever you go, I go.”

“Together,” Caspian affirmed.

I brought his face to mine and kissed him, properly. The last few days we had shared quick and almost timid kisses, usually on Caspian’s behalf, probably not to hurt me. And every single doubt, fear, and hesitation was thrown out the window when his arms embraced me fully, keeping me impossibly close to him. His beard tickled my face, and my fingers got lost in his mane, a little tamer and lighter than it had been at first. His fingers trailed the light wool patterns of the shirt I wore, and I swore at that moment that no matter what came at us, I was always going to fight for him, and for us. 

We pulled back at the same time, breathless and smiling.

“We leave at dawn, then.”

Next chapter

General Taglist: @angiewhoohooo, @azaleaniath, @mishaandthebrits, @celestialcharles

#prince caspian x reader #prince caspian #ben barnes x reader #narnia fanfiction #narnia #prince caspian movie #prince caspian fanfiction #chronicles of narnia #prince caspian x you #prince caspian x y/n #narnia imagines #bagpipe writes #silver series #golden series

[lefluoritesys]

Deinfluencing DID? Cool

TW: injuries, dissociative seizures, fainting, general health problems, medication, abuse, forced switches, religion, burdning things down, mentions of rape

Our room is a mess, dirty laundry everywhere, clothes are not hanged up and thrown on our bed, we haven’t cleaned our table, and barely ever vacuum or clean anything else. Why? Nobody wants to do it, plus we have ADHD that's interfering eith daily tasks as usual.

Our host forgot to tell our partner system they sprained our wrist. They sprained it January 30th. Told them, by accident, on July 11th.

Speaking of sprained limbs. Our co-host & persecutor-caretaker sprained our foot because they were stupid and weren't looking at where they're going. Resulted in missing a step on the stairs. They got a yelling lecture from our host (very loving lecture), and what did they do? Called the thing we had to wear on our leg "foot prison." Nothing else.

We got sick... I wanna say 2 days ago (memory issues). How did we do that? I don't know. What are we gonna do about it? Idfk, why are you asking me, we have like one medicine we take, but other than that-

Whenever people tell us that we're a minor and shouldn't be researching/reading stuff involving sexual topics, our sexual alters' immediate response to it is "if they wanted us to act like a child, they shouldn't have let us get raped when we were 4."

We suspect we have dissociative seizures. When things around us are overwhelming, we can very well just faint. Still conscious but unable to move or speak. Everything we hear during it will be forgotten. And those of us who are not host and co-host can faint because simply being in the body for too long is overwhelming.

We forget to take our meds that prevent us from fainting fully. Teenage thing, but our blood pressure drops unexpectedly, and we might pass out. Does the threat of literally dropping in the middle of the day, for which we had previously gotten admitted to the hospital, work? No. It's not happening rn, so-

Outer world is being run by 5-6 people (alters) who are not equipped for the outer world shit. Dealing with parents? No. School? So-so. Basic biological needs? Who needs those, am I right? /j

A while ago, we found a spider near our room, and we are all, collectively, terrified of spiders. Who did we push to front to deal with it? Our co-host, who hates/is scared of them more than all of us combined.

We have a factive of our mother in the system who fused with a Ballora fragment. Like, yk, the person who potentially abused us most in our lives is their source. She's currently in inner world therapy and is actively getting better. And we are learning to separate her from her source.

When we first figured out we were a system, our host was so stuck and so determined to find out more about our alters, we had to force switches to happen, and for a while thought we were actually faking. I'm aware that that's exactly what DID/OSDD is supposed to make you feel like, but others literally could not front sometimes without being physically forced out. Moreover, we didn't even know how switches were supposed to feel. Everything felt fake. How did we accept it? Pushed through (quite literally) and focused more on the exciting parts of it, rather than sad.

Speaking of first figuring our about our DID, we filmed many videos of our switches when we felt them coming, and alters introducing themselves via filming. We are now looking at them and both cringing and feeling nostalgic.

We still sometimes want to be a smaller system because it feels like it would have been simpler, and we would love to have all members of the system get along. But we also know our brain created us the way it did for our survival, and our nostalgia about "simpler days when we only knew 4 people" is a romantization. This is the first time we have actually had a semi-stable environment in 2 years.

The only one who celebrates the body's birthday is our host. Everybody else has their own birthdays either from source or made-up. We still celebrate them. Today (September 14th) is, in fact, one of our alters' birthday.

Our host and co-host have a child-parent relationship (respectively). A while ago, they were in co-con, listening to a song. Our co-host was holding our host to their arms in front piggyback style, was hugging them and rocking them back and forth. Why? For comfort. Because they're family.

Are we all collectively doing schoolwork? Nope, lmao. Doesn't work for us like that, we simply don't have memories of most things we studied since like 4th grade, can't get them either. Our host used to do all the schoolwork, but they got so much trauma from school and homework that now our co-host is in charge of it. And only them unless it's Japanese. And even then, it's a big maybe. Nobody wants to, so we created a schedule that works for us and our switches when it comes to studying.

Did I just have to look up where I was going on the metro because I realized I have no memories of it other than autopilot, and I am doubting whether I wanna leave on the right station? Yes. Yes, I did. Am I gonna be fronting when I reach the destination? Nope.

A while ago we burned down an inner world kingdom. Why? Idk, we just didn't like it. Who cares anyway?

One of our prosecutors bought premium on one of the apps we use, and they didn't get in trouble for it only because our host liked it. We're still using it to this day.

We have a system quote book.

Everybody in this system is pagan. I might be the only one not, and even that's a big maybe.

We really wanna watch Elemental but can never get around to it. Also, Nimona, although we have a good reason to postpone watching it.

We haven’t brushed our teeth in 2 weeks. Did yesterday like once. When's gonna be the next time? Who knows? :D Hygiene issues are real.

On Halloween, we're probably gonna watch FNaF Ruin the entire evening-night with our sibling.

Our ex-host is so unhinged that we have to watch them whenever they front like a hawk.

We are not a perfect system. Any blog you see, no matter how real it seems, doesn't reflect day-to-day experiences systems have. Most posts, generally, are made with strong emotions in mind, or for aesthetic purposes, or for venting purposes. I repeat what has been said before a million times: don't trust everything you see on the internet. People are real, but they are not going to let you know anything personal about them.

Honestly? Not sure why I wanted to make this post. Not gonna give you a reason either because I don't know it.

I am currently going to get cocoa and push our co-host to study. Have a good day, y'all. ✌️

-sexual protector

#did #did system #osdd system #osdd #system #dissociative identity disorder #other specified dissociative disorder #system stuff #system things #did osdd #osdd 1a #osdd 1b #complex dissociative identity disorder #did positivity #osdd positivity #system positivity #plural positivity #deinfluencing

[lilisouless]

I try to respect people that don’t like the ending of ruin and rising, but it’s hard cause most of them tend to ignore factual things and fill in the information with their bias.

Cause other than Alina losing and missing her powers, also I don’t really like Leigh’s reasoning for it, but people say that it undoes her character development and, first: powers are a physical thing , they are not related to character.

The the other is “she is sick and lonely just like she was at the start of the book” at the start of the book she was not respected nor believed she was worthy of that, at the end she is loved by the people that know she is alive and respected by everyone else (the ones not on the anti grisha crowd). Also she felt unloved by people that weren’t Mal, at the end of the book the fact that the grisha still wanted her around after losing her powers pretty much made her realize she was loved for herself, not just as a weapon or a symbol.

I’ll let aside the sick part because i don’t recall her being told to be sickly, i assumed she was healthy since the reason of her being sickly not using her powers and she was told to work plenty.

The lonely makes me laugh because, first: in real life actually that’s pretty much how it works after you get married l you get your own place where most of the time you are around only with your partner, kids if you have, and coworkers, while your friends you see them not daily on a non regular schedule unless you live near them. Like, most people live with their partner, not their friends, that’s how marriage works.

But even then, she is far from lonely, not only Mal is there , Misha is too young to be leaving soon, she also spends time with the kids , in RoW they are not around because she didn’t want to endanger them. Also it is told that Nikolai and the grisha actually do visit her often and writes to Genya on a regular basis. She is hardly lonely.

Also people say the lonely argument on the same breath they complain about Mal being revived, when we’ll, he was revived so she wouldn’t end up lonely cause,unless Leigh says otherwise one day, i think she’d go back to fix the orphanage, regardless if Mal was brought back or not. Let me tell you that other author would have just killed Alina off, here she was given a chance to keep living away from the pain of the war. Cause the theme was never “powes rule!” it was how war destroys people, to the point even the people that scape it, like Alina and Mal, don’t get out unharmed, they lost something very dear to them and do their best to live with the aftermath. Also, by this point the darkling has been revived three freaking years after his killing on a ritual i still don’t understand, so you will have to get over Mal being revived by now.

Also, she doesn’t spend all her alone time being nostalgic about her powers, other than working she finds joy in painting. People only focus on the ending about Alina’s powers but not that she started doing maps for the army and ended up doing paintings for herself and the kids that once were like her.

Like, you can dislike it, but i haven’t seen arguments against it that don’t contradict the canon , if get if you don’t like it you won’t read it often or try to remember it. But you can double check if you are going to say why it’s a bad ending and then give reasons that contradict what’s actually told.

I have said many times that i wished she kept her powers, my problems with that are Leigh’s external reasoning (which I am very skeptical on ) but it’s far from bad writing or undoing her whole journey: she is one of the few characters allowed to somehow have the chance of getting back the childhood she lost (compared to Genya,Inej or Kaz). The good things she did are still there, the things she learned are still there, going back to where she started would be her on a place she holds no power and feels marginalized, where she ended up on a place she is in charge and loved.

#alina starkov #netflix shadow and bone #leigh bardugo #grishaverse #ruin and rising #grisha trilogy

[skinnytuna]

to me there are two emotions at each extreme of experience, and they are mostly the same.

at the bottom pole…

a dull boredom.. listless.. anxieties weaving in and out. unmotivated. a vague directionless sense of Desire but no will to choose or pursue. quickly giving way to worse and more inward versions of itself.

this is wrong, im wrong, everything ive ever done is wrong, the future is wrong and worst of all i haven’t a damned thing to do about any of it. dead. unmoving. pessimistic almost by default.

at the pinnacle…

a rapturous, sublime melancholy. a quiet joy with the distinct awareness of its own ignorance, its own temporeity. nostalgic but for the presence. a yearning fondness for what is not yet past but soon will be.

a deep consideration of the future and past value of this moment. that this is what you lived to see, and what you will live to achingly remember.

but they both ache.

two days ago i was on a mountain under the hot sky. i was listening to a song i’ve listened to thousands of times in thousands of places since i found it on bandcamp ten years ago. two chords, alternating, no cadences. the wind was gently pushing my clothes around. my calves were killing me earlier in the trek but the pain lessened the more i warmed up.

my friends and loved ones were scattered around the rock face in various levels of awe at the horizon.

i felt that sublime melancholy. i remembered the memory i was in. i remembered feeling that feeling with those same people before. i thought about how many times i’ll get to feel that feeling before i die. i thought about how many of these people i will still get to feel like this with in 5 or 20 years, and how many will have gone their separate way by then.

a lot of people fear a life unwell-lived. a life with regrets. to be honest it’s not something i think about much. my long term and short term memory, generally speaking, are catastrophically bad for someone with a mostly-healthy brain.

i know this because a lot of times i will react to something i had already reacted to once before in the same way i did it the first time, and i won’t remember, but someone else will, and we laugh about it.

but it makes the nostalgia thing funny. because i will probably forget that evening on the mountain. and i’ll need someone to remind me how it went.

but i never forget the feeling.

#the song is lately by exist strategy #my trip to georgia was nice #i love my wife very much

[twilightmalachite]

2wink Album Release Commemoration Solo Live MC Segments

Characters: Yuuta, Hinata

Translator: Mika Enstars

"Both Yuuta-kun and I’s solo songs have a strong message of “let’s keep on moving forward!”, but… Don’t you think both songs shine with their own individuality?"

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Time: MC①

Hinata: “Kuu! Chuu! Kuuchuusen!”

Yuuta: “Now is a free-for-all of rave reviews~! ♪ That was our first song, Twinkle Kuuchuusen!”

“Though I was a tad nervous about how the choruses would go since they were written specifically for the album—”

Hinata: “But there was no need to worry! Thanks to you all, it was fun to sing and it felt amazing~! ♪”

“Everyone here at the venue~! Thank you for coming to our commemorative album release live today!”

Yuuta: “Today’s live show will be ruled by 2wink from toe to tip!”

“To express our everyday gratitude for all those who support us, we will be doing “this and that” to show our appreciation~!”

“…Well, Aniki will be. ♪”

Hinata: What do you mean, “this and that”?! That’s way too much!”

“We’ll do our best to liven things up as we usually do! …Well, “usually” might not be the right word, but stay with us to the end, ‘kay~!”

Yuuta: “Now, our next song, Swee2wink Love Letter. With a love letter from us, we’ll a smile to your face…♪”

Time: MC②

Yuuta: “—That was our second song, Swee2wink Love Letter. Did our love letter reach your hearts?”

“…Huh, is it that shocking that I went out on stage by myself?”

“I took a shortcut and slipped on out while Aniki’s looking around for me. …Kidding~! ♪”

“No worries! I’m your scheduled MC appearing right as planned, here to introduce himself!”

“Anyhow, hello again! I’m Aoi Yuuta from 2wink!”

“What did you think of our latest album? Were you able to feel 2wink’s potential?”

“I made this album together with Aniki, with all sorts of our feelings and thoughts put into it.”

“I’d be happy if we could convey our growth through our songs.”

“But for this moment, please let me have you all to myself!”

“Next up is my solo song. A WAY OF LIGHT—Right now, please look at me.”

Time: MC③

Yuuta: “That was A WAY OF LIGHT by Aoi Yuuta.”

“The path you take forward on your own is steep. It’s uneven, and pitch black.”

“But I want to keep moving forward and to keep trying, without stopping. I don’t want to have any regrets.”

“Everyone, if you have a goal, don’t hesitate to take on the challenge!”

“It’ll be alright, if you work hard, surely, you will find your way.”

Hinata: “Uu~… It’s hard to come out when you’re saying something so “heartfelt”, Yuuta-kun!”

“Or rather, that’s on purpose, isn’t it? It has to be a strategy to monopolize the MC role! I can see right through you! ☆”

Yuuta: “You got me there! As a prize for seeing through my ruse, I’ll let you introduce the next song, Aniki.”

Hinata: “Hooray~! It’s not like I’m actually getting anything, but I like it when it sounds like I get a prize! ♪”

“Here’s our next song! Grasp victory, with Fighting Dreamer!”

Time: MC④

Hinata: “That was Fighting Dreamer by 2wink!”

“We performed this song around the time we held Twin Peaks.”

“How nostalgic, remember the Meat Bun Eating Contest? We ended up getting a buncha offers from big-eating programs because of that, you know!

Yuuta: “Yup. But apparently our agency said no, saying that we’re “not that type of idol”.”

“If we had accepted it, maybe there could’ve been a world where we were sold as the “big-eating twin idols”! ♪”

“...By the way, Aniki. You haven’t introduced yourself yet, have you?”

Hinata: “Oh, you’re right! I nearly forgot! Thank you, Yuuta-kun! ♪”

Hinata: “Hello, I’m Aoi Hinata from 2wink! Are you enjoying the live~?”

“…Ahaha, thanks! We’re starting to reach the homestretch, but let’s make things even more exciting!”

“Next up is my solo song, GO-AHEAD SIGNAL! Are you guys ready? Now, let’s jump on out together!”

Time: MC⑤

Hinata: “That was GO-AHEAD SIGNAL by Aoi Hinata! Did you guys like my solo song?”

“Both Yuuta-kun and I’s solo songs have a strong message of “let’s keep on moving forward!”, but…”

“Don’t you think both songs shine with their own individuality? My song is like daytime when the sun is shining, and Yuuta-kun’s song is like dusk when the stars begin to appear in the sky.”

“What do you guys think, comparing the two songs? If you liked them, let us know on social media!”

Yuuta: “And let us know how you felt about the live, too~! ♪”

Hinata: “Huh? What are you doing in that outfit, Yuuta-kun? Isn’t your turn over?”

Yuuta: “Heheh, we don’t get to wear our personalized outfits that often!”

“I figured it’d be a great opportunity to let everyone see us both wear our personalized outfits. It’s a special one-night-only service…☆”

“Now that we’ve received some huge cheers, let’s move onto our next song!”

“Please listen; Turbulent Storm by 2wink!”

Time: MC⑥

Hinata: “That was Turbulent Storm by 2wink!”

“Hmm? The venue’s going wild…”

“Oh, I get it! Surprised by our outfits?”

“This is the outfit we used for our Repayment Festival live. It’s a school event of sorts, so this is probably the first time a lot of you are seeing it live!”

“…We look nice in the calm vibes it gives? Ahaha, thank you~! ♪”

“I like the outfits we wore for Twinkle Kuuchuusen, too. We can wear all sorts of outfits now, compared to our debut.”

“Not just that. We’ve been able to release a new album, we’re now able to perform all on our own—”

“And we were able to have our long-awaited namesake program, 2×2!”

“And it’s all thanks to everyone for supporting 2wink. Really, thank you! ♪”

“Together with Yuuta-kun, I will continue to keep on moving forward. Thank you for all your support of 2wink~! ♪”

“Here’s our next song! 2×2’s theme song, Love×me⇄monsteR!”

“More selfishly than anyone else, we’ll shine on, peace…☆”

Time: MC⑦

Yuuta: “That was Love×me⇄monsteR by 2wink! Has everyone checked out our namesake program, 2×2?”

“Ahaha, that was our loudest cheer yet today~! ♪ Our viewership rating is 100% here! ☆”

Hinata: “Seems a lot of people look forward to seeing the “friends” Yuuta-kun and I call in each episode—”

“How about next time we do a “Making New Friends” episode? Onii-chan’s worried about your friendships, Yuuta-kun!”

Yuuta: “Eh~, don’t “onii-chan” me. I don’t intend to invite any friend other than Shinobu-kun!”

“Anyways, I feel those who watch our program get excited to watch each episode to see if I’ll invite someone else!”

“That’s why I firmly only call in Shinobu-kun. It’s called strategy! ♪”

Hinata: “Is that what it is~? I have a feeling you’re just making stuff up~…”

Yuuta: “You’re imagining it, “Onii-chan”. ♪”

“Well, let’s take the opportunity to all sing together! ♪ Mischievous Party Time!!, and Sugar Spice Houteishiki!”

Time: MC⑧

Hinata: “That was Sugar Spice Houteishiki! That’s it for today’s live! Everyone, did you have fun?”

Yuuta: “…Ahaha, thank you so much for all the applause! ♪”

“We’re so happy to have been able to see everyone’s smiling faces!”

“Let’s all have fun together again sometime. Goodbye~!”

Hinata: “Bye bye, seeya then~! ♪”

Time: MC⑨

Yuuta: “Thank you guys so much for the encore!”

“Everyone’s cheers reached all the way backstage! ♪”

Hinata: “All your passionate feelings reached us! We also felt we hadn’t sung enough!”

“If they want us to sing this much, we have no choice, don’t we, Yuuta-kun? ♪”

Yuuta: “That’s right, Aniki! ♪ Let’s all enjoy the final song together! Here’s 2wink, with—”

Hinata & Yuuta: BRAND NEW STARS!!”

Time: MC⑩

Hinata: That was BRAND NEW STARS!! Everyone, thank you so much for coming to our solo live today!”

“I’m so happy to have gotten an encore~! It really encourages me to keep doing my best! ♪”

Yuuta: “For us 2wink, today’s live is an unforgettable day for us.”

“We 2wink are still growing! We’ll keep shining even more, so please continue to support us, okay!”

“This was 2wink’s Aoi Yuuta…”

Hinata: “And 2wink’s Aoi Hinata!”

Hinata & Yuuta: “Goodbye, ‘til the day we meet again~!”

[ ☆ ]

story directory

#2wink #mini #translation #yuuta aoi #hinata aoi

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

“So this is your College,” she says, without turning around. They haven’t spoken in—well, long enough to forget just how solid his presence feels, but not so long that she doesn’t recognize his step. He still stomps like a mammoth and drags his feet. Worse in the snow, always.

He comes to stand beside her, a professional distance from his shoulder to hers. “Impressed?”

It’s certainly meant to be impressive, at least—the stonework polished, gleaming; the towers academically tall. He’s had banners put up in too many places with a symbol she doesn’t doubt he designed himself. Waste of runework to shield that much delicate embroidery from the elements; they’ll be moved indoors well before Frostfall, she thinks to herself. “I noticed the statue.” He preens, the way his chest puffs out visible out the corner of her eye. Twitching a smirk, she says, “Funny you didn’t have it made of yourself, though.”

“Of course it’s—”

“Fellow they got to do it instead is obviously much too handsome.”

He splutters, tugs in irritation on one thick braid of his moustache. “You don’t have anything meaningful to say?”

“Hm.” She feigns deep contemplation. “What did you leave out of this one?”

“I didn’t leave anything out. If you’re here just to insult me, Ulfsild—”

“Someone’s got to remind you that you’re only a man while you’re signing your byline in titles, Archmage,” she says, light as the flakes freezing on her eyelashes. She breathes slow into her palms, curls the warmer air around her face to melt them again. Her fingers twinge. “And no one else seems particularly keen on doing the job. Kitchen?”

“It’s got a kitchen. You don’t like the title?”

“Makes you sound like a pompous ass, which is accurate, but I hadn’t thought you wanted everyone to know. Living quarters?”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Library?” When he doesn’t answer, she barks a laugh, incredulous, and turns to look at him at last. He’s staring very pointedly at the central building and not at her. “Did you not put a goddamned library in your school, Shal?”

“There are plenty of shelves. Why would anyone borrow a book when they can just keep it for future reference—”

“You are going to kill me,” she says cheerfully. “I’ll laugh myself to death one day when you forget something important in your grand old quest to pluck down the stars. Watch, you’ll go to show off how easily you stride from here to Hammerfell in a single step, ready to revolutionize magical travel, and you’ll leave behind your own head because you didn’t think to cast down instead of up.”

“At least I’d have done it. More than some can say.” He’s silent for a moment, snow dusting his beard. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he’d oiled it just recently. He never did it this early in the week, though.

But. Well. Routines change just as well as people do, she supposes. She spells off the ache in her knuckles—comes back quicker than she’d like, these days—and shakes out her hands. Folds her arms and studies him. She needs to see his face for this part. “I read your piece on integrating runework during construction.”

He has the audacity to not so much as twitch a greying whisker at this. “Found it riveting enough to come discuss in person, did you? Nostalgic for old times?”

“I want my notes back.”

“You took,” he says evenly, “all your things already. Thirty years ago, you’ll recall.”

“You just happened, then, to remember exactly how I explicated the energy renewal process in layered stone—”

“Evidently, yes. Believe it or not, Ulfie, you do leave an impression.” His voice is dry. He flicks her an amused look, crosses his arms in perfect mirror of hers. “I’ll make a footnote in the reprint if it’s rankled you so much.”

“Footnote! You used my diagrams, Shal. From—” She shifts her jaw, finding it tight. She still spits sparks when she says the name, and the familiar static tingle in her teeth feels a warning. Instead, she takes a breath. “At least spell indeko right, you old fool. There’s no c.”

“What? Yes there is.”

“There’s not.”

“I’m not having this argument again.” He starts for the iron gate. “Come inside if you’re done and we can talk about anything else.”

She puts out a hand. He stops abruptly at the lock of the gate yanking into place with a horrible metal sound. “That’ll rust if you aren’t careful,” she says with a nod. “You really don’t ever learn, do you?”

He tips his head back, staring bleakly at the sky. “Let go of the gate.”

“Give me—whatever you kept. I told you I don’t want you using my notes. You put it at the wrong stage anyway, and I hope it was only in the paper and not in the construction here—though if you’re just going to give this one away to the first devil to dangle a promise in your face then maybe it doesn’t matter so much whether it stands or falls—”

“Let go of the gate,” he turns; “you’re going to break something.”

“Like you can’t put it together again,” she snaps.

“You know what I meant.”

Her hands are shaking. She doesn’t let go. “Swallow all the stars you want, Shalidor, but don’t pretend you’re here with the rest of us on the ground.”

“You don’t have to be on the ground. If you weren’t so damn myopic—” He cuts himself off, lifts a hand to sever her grip with a twist of his middle finger and his thumb, leaves her hands burning and claw-curled, rigid. The way he’s looking at her has her swallowing sparks again, running her tongue over her teeth. “Come inside. Stay here and do something great instead of theorizing yourself to death. Or at least let someone look at your hands. Is it worse?”

She huffs out a breath at a spasm in her palm. Stands up straighter. “You know we can’t work together.”

“You don’t even want to try?”

“No, Shal.” Shaking out her hands and tucking them into her sleeves, she closes her eyes for a moment. “I hope this one works out, I do. You don’t need me for that.”

He laughs. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t think so.” Gesturing to the gate, he says, “You’re welcome to search my rooms if you like. You won’t find anything in your hand, though, I promise.”

She doesn’t put much stock in his promises. Exhaustion presses at her shoulders: too much, again. She ought to go. Come back when she’s not dragging threads of magicka, fraying at every edge. But that would give him time to rearrange, so she shifts her jaw instead, makes her voice light. “Haven’t even seen the grounds and you’re inviting me up to your rooms.”

His eyebrows lift. “If you like.”

“Is the tall strapping statue model up there?” His face contorts—and despite herself, she feels her mouth pull into a grin.

#writing tag #Ulfsild #pops a bottle of champagne but it's actually just apple juice. WIZARD DIVORCE #not *necessarily* canonical but I liked exploring the dynamic here so. hands it to you #many many many years from now Kharish is in the courtyard staring at the statue like 'PLEASE explain about your ex-wife.' #she comes inside and tells Urag that didn't work bc the only thing that happened was she got the distinct impression the statue is wrong??

[nights-flying-fox]

Leo Blues

Leon (Future Leo) realizes that his younger self is feeling a bit blue and decides to help him feel better.

I wrote half of this months ago and the other half today. Shoutout to my friend @little-banjo-frog for giving some ideas and helping with the fic!!! :D

This is part of an AU but you don't really need to know context. Just that Future Leo is back to past, and maybe some other family members, and he is hanging out in the lair with others.

Oh also this is inspired by @tmnt-event-blog 's prompt (basically what motivated me to finish it haha)

Word Count: 2530 ☆ Fandom: rottmnt ☆ Warnings: a very brief implication of death/losing someone close ☆ AO3 Link: Here!! ☆

Leon knew himself well. Not himself himself, but his younger self. Leo was a younger version of Leon after all, and Leon knew what it did mean when he sulked away from everyone. 

Today Leo was less chatty, he didn’t leave his room other than to get breakfast and join his brothers to help them with some things. These two things were more than enough to tell Leon his younger self was in a bad mood. 

That is exactly why right now Leon was on his way to Leo’s room. He didn’t tell anyone else, since he knew how he used to be around on such days. Always hiding his negative emotions and keeping it to himself. Not wanting to share the hurt and make anyone else sad. Leon was worried that he wouldn’t talk to him either, but he had to try his chance. What were your future selves if not to help you when needed, right? Ignoring the 'annoying them till they start throwing stuff at you' part, of course.

He knocked the wall before opening the curtain and entering Leo’s room. As he expected, he found the boy sitting on his bed with legs crossed, his phone in his hand but his eyes blankly staring at the ground. Leon wasn’t even sure if he heard him coming. He most probably didn’t, considering how he flinched when Leon put his hand on his shoulder and sat next to him. 

 “Hey, pequeñin ,” He said as he kept his voice low and smiled softly. 

 Leo gave him a confused look before smirking. “Hey, anciano .”

 The older turtle rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He wasn’t here to jokingly bicker with his younger self. “Haven’t seen you around a lot today.”

 “Eh, got stuff to watch and catch up.” Leo shrugged.

  Lies. “Ah, so feeling blue , huh?” Leon stated the fact, but not without smirking at his word choice.

 “Blue suits me well after all.” Leo replied casually, with a wink and matching smirk. 

 Leon felt himself relax a bit, at least his younger self felt comfortable enough to open up with how he was feeling to him, even if it was in the form of joking. “Has no one ever told you being this blue is too much?” Leon asked.

 “I thought you’d know the answer already, considering we share the same sixteen years of the past.” Leo answered.

 “Heh, you’re right. How did I miss that?” 

 The two sat on the bed for some seconds, enough for Leo to slowly lean towards his bed frame and for Leon to come up with a quick plan to repaint Leo’s mood. 

��As he got up he said “I’ll be right back, and don’t worry I’m not bringing anyone.” to Leo. The other was quiet, only watching him leave. 

 Leon’s first destination was the living room. The last place he had seen Leo’s tablet (which he probably had forgotten to pick it up yesterday). Entering in, he saw it was still on the same spot as before. The room was empty, nobody other than Splinter who was enjoying his usual commercials. Leon smiled at the nostalgic scenery. No matter how long passed since he returned to the past, he still couldn’t get used to the fact he once again was back at home. Back to the casual chaotic life he had before the apocalypse. The little simple things would forever make him feel warm. 

 After picking up the tablet, he walked towards his next destination: His room. Or rather his, Future Mystic Hands’ (they really needed a shorter ‘official’ nickname that both Mikeys would accept) and Case’s room. He took the extra blankets (Mikey Two wouldn’t need them anytime soon) and left. 

 Next up was the kitchen, which was the final room to visit before returning to Leo’s room. As he came close to the entrance he heard the chatter. Casey, Donnie and April’s laughter filled the kitchen. The three were sitting on the chairs, mugs of three different kinds of drinks on the table. Casey was the first one to notice him: “Hi Sensei!”

 "Hey Case," Leon ruffled the boy's hair as he walked by him. Casey grumbled in protest, but Leon could see his grin. What a hypocrite. 

 "Will you join us Big Blue?" April asked with a smile, "Mikey's made hot cocoa."

 "Sorry guys, got other plans." 

 "What other plans?" Casey questioned, raising a bow. 

 "Finally catching up on some TV series." He answered.

 "All by yourself?" April asked.

 Leon got two mugs. "Yeah, myself and I." 

 "I see, you mean you and Leo ." Donnie pointed out. "And here Future Boy was telling us some future stories." 

 Leon turned to squint at Casey. "What kind of future stories?"

 "Ummmmm…" Casey looked away. Bad sign. A very bad sign.

 "Nothing you should worry about." April said and sipped from her cocoa.

 "Somehow this makes me worry even more." Leon deadpanned. Then he turned back to what he was doing.

 Donnie smirked, "You'll most likely find out soon anyways." 

 That could only mean an embarrassing story. But hey, two could play that game. "Well, maybe you'll find out more future stories too." 

 "Oh ho ho, tell us all of them man." April sounded excited to learn more embarrassing stories. Leon couldn't blame her, there were a lot of crazy silly things going on even in the doomed future.

 "Maybe not all of them." Casey chipped in, looking with somewhat pleading eyes to his sensei. 

 "Perhaps." Leon replied, meanwhile finishing with preparing the tray with the snacks, leftover pizza and hot cocoa mugs. "But not yet."

 "Leaving us at cliffhanger?" April huffed.

 "I didn't even start saying anything."

 "The trailer was enough." 

 Leon grinned, "Soon in the lair… stories from the future." He said dramatically.

 "Three V.I.P. tickets, please." Donnie said after sipping his probably way too sweet coffee. "For the premiere."

 "We accept payment with story sharing." Leon smirked.

 "Deal. Junior shared plenty." 

 "Sweet."

 Leon turned to look at his protégé. Casey watched with confusion. Then Leon realized that the boy didn't know– or rather didn’t remember. "Do you remember cinemas, Case?" 

 "Yes?" His eyes shined brightly the moment he connected the dots, "Oh!" 

 "...Future didn't have cinemas." Donnie announced his own findings as he thought out loud. "I hadn't considered that."

 "I believe you guys can fill him with some culture of the present?" Leon asked.

 "Of course, there's so much for the Future Boy to discover!" April got her arm around Casey's neck and pulled him closer. Casey smiled, putting down his mug of tea to side hug her. 

 It was good to see the boy had gotten better at being relaxed. Being always on alarm was a hard habit to break from after everything he went through. 

 As the three began talking about all the places and things his future lacked, Leon left the kitchen and headed back to Leo's room.

 The boy was now under the blanket. Leon could tell that he still was on his phone from the subtle light. 

 "Hot cocoa delivery," Leon announced. 

 "Mikey's?" Leo asked from the spot he was in.

 "Yep."

 He peeked and then reached to him, "Gimme!"

 Leon gladly gave him one of the mugs. "If you come out we can share the snacks."

 This perked Leo's interest a bit more. He squirmed out of the blanket, no more laying on the bed. He noticed the rest of what Leon collected on his short trip in the lair. 

 Leon took his place next to him and wrapped the blankets he brought around them. He placed the snacks and pineapple pizza between them, and the tablet in front of them. "What do you wanna watch?"

 Leo shrugged, "Dunno." 

 Good thing Leon was still a Leo. He knew what his comfort movies were and he could use this to his advantage. “Kung Fu Panda?”

“Sure. Are we doing a marathon?” Leo asked.

“You bet. After all, it has been a while since I last saw them.” Leon grinned. He barely could remember the movies, or the days he would watch them with his family thanks to Donnie, in the middle of the apocalypse. He really hoped they could do that again, just not in an apocalyptic situation.

Leo looked at him, with a glint of sadness. He quickly looked away towards the screen. “You better plan watching Secrets of the Scroll too, then.” He said. Voice completely normal, as if it wasn’t him who was hiding under blankets a short while ago.

“You know I will.” Leon hummed. He hadn’t missed that look, and he would help himself. “Before that… is there something you want to talk about? You seemed like you wanted to say something a second ago.”

He seemed uncertain for a moment, “Ah, no. Nope.”

“Are you sure?” Leon knew that this was a lie. “Because whatever you say, stays between us.”

“Yeah, yeah… just…” Ah, there it was. “Remember last night’s patrol?” He said a bit quietly.

Leon nodded, “Yeah. Didn’t you guys end up kicking Stockboy’s butt?”

“Yes… but…” Leo pulled his legs towards himself. “I almost failed.” He whispered.

“But you didn’t.” Leon pointed out, urging his younger self to talk.

“But I almost did!” Leo repeated. His hold on the mug tightened.

“And why is it a problem?” Leon questioned, genuinely. He wanted to know why Leo found it such a big problem.

“Because the last time I failed, everyone I loved almost died .” 

Leo sounded so tired, and equally panicked. And Leon couldn’t even blame him. Not when he did the same thing. Not when he did lose them. Not when he froze once he heard the words.

Leo took a breath, “Sorry, I… I didn’t mean to. I…”

Leon looked at him. The boy he once was. So young, sad, broken… Unfairly punished by a cruel fate. And never ever let himself relax, to be seen weak. Especially after the apocalypse. After losing so much. After becoming a leader, responsible for whatever is left. This boy had almost experienced it. He almost had the same life as him. And even though he managed to escape the hell, he still was suffering from it. Even though he literally had sacrificed himself, he had given his everything to save everyone, he was still hurting thinking of what could’ve been. Of what happened.

And, oh, how unfair that was.

  He put his mug aside, then gently took the mug Leo was holding from his hands (who looked at him confusedly) and put it next to his. Then he pulled the boy into a tight hug. “It is okay, Leo.” He said, voice small but powerful. “It has passed, everything will be alright.”

“But what if I make another mistake? What if everything goes bad again, because of me ?” Leo responded, his voice trying to stay strong but clearly close to breaking.

“You will make mistakes.” Leon said. “You will make so many of them. Just like I did. Even after everything that happened. Even when I was a leader.” He pushed away the memories full of pain, regret, and shame that creeped from the back of his mind. He had learned to accept them, once he had time to recover and focus on himself. Or rather he was learning to, it was a hard process to return to what you had locked to survive. He didn’t want Leo to do something similar, or let his fear destroy him. “And you know what? It is amazing that you make mistakes. It means you are trying something new. You are trying to be better. To learn. That you realize them means you are trying to learn from them.”

“And what if I don’t have time to learn from them the next time I make a mistake?” Leon knew Leo had shut his eyes and was doing his best to not let everything out, to not break in front of him. He was holding Leon tightly too.

“You will have time. Trust me.” Leon affirmed. “After all, what is important is the fact that you are trying. You aren’t giving up. You are trying to be better. And I am so proud of you.” He broke the hug and looked at his eyes. “I know you think otherwise, but you are actually a much cooler dude than me. You are even teaching me new stuff every day.”

Leo smiled a bit, a shaky one. “How so?”

“You were the one to remind me what I always fought for, you are the one to remind me who I was– or rather, I am .” Leon smiled at him. “You are beating yourself up for something impossible, and while I know it is hard to not to do so, I also know you are strong, Leo. And you are never alone.���

And with those words, Leo finally let himself relax and smile. Then Leon saw as tears fell, right before Leo hugged him tightly. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t really have to. Leon knew how much it meant to be reminded of having someone by your side even at the worst times. For someone to confirm even when the world felt like it was ending (which was not an unfamiliar concept for both of them, sadly) things would turn out well. So he held the boy, until he stopped crying and shaking, letting everything out after who knows how long.

When Leo broke the hug and sat, leaning to Leon instead of his bed, Leon patted his head. “How blue are you feeling?” He asked, handing back now luke warm hot cocoa. Somehow, they hadn’t gone cold, which to be honest was weird.

“Less than before.” Leo smiled. “I never had thought I’d end up getting hugs from my older self, but here you are.”

“Isn’t it insane?” Leon replied with a smirk.

“It is.” Leo grinned. Then he added. “Thank you.”

“Don’t even mention it.” Leon replied. “Now drink your cocoa and get ready, because I want to watch Kung Fu Panda.”

Leo grinned. “Sure thing, old man.”

“No, even after those hugs? You are cruel.” Leon teased.

“Those are just facts.” Leo smirked. Then he sipped the hot cocoa, “Mmm, this is good.”

“I bet it is.” Leon said as he sipped his. Oh, it was even better than he remembered it to be. “It really is…” He nodded. He had missed this so much.

“So are we watching the movies or..?” Leo asked, a fake hastiness in his tone.

Leon laughed, “Yeah, let’s start.” He grinned as he opened the movie.

He didn’t think much of it, but he was grateful for Leo. He wouldn’t ever talk about it, but those words he told his younger self? He needed to hear them too. He had forgotten them. He may have had his family back, but still sometimes it was hard to remember things weren’t always bad. That things would be okay in the end, and that he wouldn’t ever be alone.

So in the end of the day, both blue masked turtles had ended up feeling better– or as they would call it, less blue.

#if there any typos well. its 2 am so lol #rottmnt #nighty writey #rottmnt fanfic #rottmnt leo #rottmnt future leo #rottmnt au #rottmnt leonardo #tmnt #save rottmnt #unpause rottmnt #i also dont know spanish so if those words are wrong please correct me/tell me #ok now i shall sleep love you guys bye #let's grab a slice together #lgast au

[mephinomaly]

[TL] BIOHAZARD/Chapter 5

[ This post uses Ois~su ♪ ]

Time: That night

Location: In living quarters of the AIIE experiment grounds

Rei: Uwaa, we’re having a sleepover with all of UNDEAD~♪

Fufu. The SS preliminaries was the perfect opportunity for one, but Kaoru-kun was thrown into a desert and separated from us.

I’m happy that the four of us can have a sleepover together peacefully– gah!?

Koga: ...

Rei: Koga? Don’t throw an omanjuu at me? Is this your way of telling me you want to play?

Koga: Stop bein’ so happy-go-lucky, vampire bastard. The hell you mean, pajama party.

Rei: Oya, how nostalgic. Could this be that you want me to call you ‘wanko’ for the first time in a while?

Koga: I ain’t callin’ you that for nostalgia purposes, I’m insultin' you.

Rei: How troubling. Please don’t take your frustrations out on me.

We’ve all given our consent to take part in this experiment.

We can’t complain now, can we?

Koga: We was basically forced to? If it hadn’t been us, it woulda been like, Ra*bits who haven’t done nothin’ wrong.

Then we’d hafta live with the knowledge that them lot are now the victims whilst we watch from the sidelines.

It’s better for our own mental health to just do it for real, right?

‘Cos I don’t like this at all. Don’t forget that.

Kaoru: Ahaha. It’s definitely a little off putting and shady sounding, but it makes for an interesting story, right?

AI idols and stuff– no, technology and science in general has come a long way. Really, it’s like an old sci-fi movie.

If this was just a movie, or even just someone else’s problem, I think it could have been a lot of fun.

Adonis: I also don’t feel great about this but I am interested in terms of the development of science and technology.

This is the future we thought of when we learnt about Voc*loid and drawing AIs, and it’s becoming a reality right in front of our eyes.

We’re now living in a near sci-fi world that people from the past could only imagine.

It’s like a dream, whether that’s a good or a bad thing.

I’m excited.

Kaoru: Ahaha. That totally has the vibe of a boyish heroic novel.

I don’t particularly like that sort of thing either. At the end of the day, I’m still the son of an academic who reached for the sea in search of romance and mystery.

Adonis: I also dislike jumping into areas I don’t know about.

Rei: If we think realistically, if we had refused to take part, there was the likelihood of RhythmLink turning their backs on us.

I suspect they would be rather unpleasant in the matter.

This is a necessary step so we are not thrown to the side. The compensation is rather impressive, and, in simple terms, profitable for us.

Well, we made quite the sum of money during the SS, so we have some to spare.

If an experiment such as ‘AI idols’ is successful, implemented, and announced to the world, won’t they look to us as we were the test subjects? Doesn’t that make this all worth it?

Koga: But this doesn’t solve the problem we’re havin’. They’re just killin’ time, it literally has nothin’ t’do with our situation.

This better not turn into a goose chase, wastin’ time runnin’ ‘round lookin’ stupid.

Rei: Umu. We should all brainstorm some ideas in order to solve the root of the problem, as Koga said. Fortunately, we have been blessed with plenty of time to do so.

Kaoru: Mmm… I was kinda on guard when they said experiment, but if they’re just asking us to stay the night here?

Rei: Umu. We will be given medicine, which will cause us to sleep for about half a day. In that time, via the devices connected to our heads, data will be collected and compiled.

During the time we are not asleep, we will exercise to prevent our bodies from weakening, and eat to keep up our energy levels. Let’s all get on, the four of us.

The testing period will last approximately one week. During this time, any other forms of work are banned, as the extra stimulus may skew the results.

Our phones will be confiscated, and we will be separated from the outside world.

Kaoru: Kinda feels like being a prisoner or a hospital patient… Welp, this’ll be easy money if all we’ve got to do is laze around.

Rei: Umu. I suppose we can take it easy. We will be paid regardless as to whether the experiment produces useful results or not, so it’s not a complete waste of time.

Fortunately, this location is better than a hospital or a prison.

Look, there are some cards and board games we can use to kill time. Let’s play until it’s time for us to sleep.

Koga: Ain’t you bein’ too relaxed ‘bout this whole thing?

Rei: That’s a good thing, is it not? I’ve been acting unusually mature since my youth, so I do not have many experiences like this. Such as having a sleepover with friends of the same age—

That’s why. I can’t be sure of the future, but I know I am very happy right now ♪

[ ☆ ]

Chapter 4

Chapter 6

#ensemble stars #enstars #translation #rei sakuma #koga oogami #adonis otogari #kaoru hakaze #mephi's translations #undead climax #biohazard

[cvsmixnaya]

jab we met

pairings: armin x desi!reader

pronouns: she/her

summary: y/n forces makes armin watch a movie called ‘jab we met’ which is a huge part of her childhood.

cw: none!!! just pure fluff

a/n: ik the summary sounds pretty shit but bare with me here. guys i beg you all to watch this movie. it played such a huge role in my childhood like i used to watch it all the time😭. trust me, give it a go. lsn to this song which is from the movie. it’s amazing anyways ENJOY!!!

“I still can’t BELIEVE that you haven’t seen this movie yet!” Y/n walks into the living room while bringing snacks for her and Armin.

Armin just rubs his neck with his hand while looking down slightly embarrassed. “I mean- I never grew up with all of this so i guess that’s why i never saw it.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now cause we are watching it right now.” Y/n says as she sits on the couch and looks for the movie on netflix.

Armin decided to ask, “What’s so special about this movie anyways? I-i’m not trying to offend you! I just wanna know why you love this movie so much that you’re making me watch it”

Y/n looks at him with a small smile. “Armin, this movie right here, was a huge part of my childhood. I’m not even exaggerating when I say I used watch this movie 4 times a day when I was a kid. Not just that, I would enact all my favourite scenes with the action and everything. Dude, Kareena Kapoor had such an iconic character and Shahid Kapoor oh my GOD HE WAS SUCH A CUTIE!” Y/n explains while fangirling like crazy.

Armin laughs softly at his girlfriend’s behaviour. He might as well give it a shot. The movie started and Y/n was so focused even though she already knows what happens she felt so nostalgic as if she was child again.

He loved seeing her like this but he knew he couldn’t stare too long cause he had to watch the movie or his girlfriend will kill him.

During the movie, Y/n would enact her favourite scenes by saying the dialogues with the action and the couple would just laugh at themselves.

After sometime, Y/n’s favourite song from the movie ‘tum se hi’ starts playing and she gets so excited. She starts yelling the lyrics happily and Armin just looks at her with heart eyes.

The scene came up where the character lifts the love interests while they’re in the rain (my favourite scene🥹)

Armin decides to let Y/n have this moment by lifting her and spining her the same way the scene does and she felt so happy.

He put her down and looked at her full of love. He realised at that very moment this is why he loves her so much.

He loved how happy she looked at small things like this. How she would talk about her culture and made sure he didn’t feel left out. The way made him try things and got so happy when he liked it. it was the small things that made him fall in love.

They lovers stared at each other until Y/n leaned in and kissed him. it wasn’t lust or hunger. it was full of love, adoration and passion.

They pulled away slowly. Movie still playing in the background. He kissed her nose slowly and gently while whispering “I love you”

Y/n gasps softly and a smile crawls onto her face.

“I love you too. Thanks for making this so special. You liked it right?” She asks him.

“I did. I loved it so much. I see why you love it so much. Obviously I’ll never feel the way you did when you were younger but I’m so glad I got to know how you feel.”

Both of them sat on the couch to finish watching the movie. cuddling under the blankets and they both fell asleep after the movie ended. None of them bothered to get up but it’s ok. They created a night that they couldn’t forget.

#Spotify #aot imagines #aot #aot x reader #attack on titan #snk x reader #shingeki no kyojin #armin alert #armin x reader #armin fluff #armin arlet x reader #armin x y/n