#he'll have to surprise her with it next time!

[vitoriadior]

Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

The type of daddy

Clark kent is the type of daddy Headcannons

Masterlist <3.

Clark Kent is the type of dad who—don't ask why Superman's nails are pink and purple— he has a little princess at home who's just waiting for her daddy to save the city so she can keep playing princess.

Clark Kent is the kind of dad who cries when you get your newborn baby's vaccine and hears them cry. And not just little tears. This man is crying for real.

Clark Kent is the type of dad who's always in the front row—Ballet recital? He's there with a bouquet of flowers and trying not to cry. Football game? He's wearing a team jersey, his face painted in the team's signature colors, and yelling louder than annoying, gossiping moms ever could.

Clark Kent is the type of dad who sleeps on the floor of his baby's room, next to the crib, your baby's tiny hand sticking out from between the railings, clutching one of his daddy's fingers while they both sleep.

Clark Kent is the type of dad who tells bad jokes, and no one is going to convince me otherwise. What do you call a bear without teeth? What? A gummy bear. Then he'll cry because his teenage kids don't laugh at his jokes like they did when they were kids.

Clark Kent is the type of dad who takes the place of the tooth fairy and Santa Claus whenever necessary. If your kids just lost their first tooth, you'll see him at three in the morning sitting at the kitchen table writing a letter that looks as real and tooth fairy as possible—with pink glitter that will get all over his hands if necessary.

Clark Kent is the type of dad who, at Christmas, your kids are so insistent they want to see Santa Claus that you and he need to put together a home video of Clark dressed as the old man with the white beard leaving presents under the tree. "Why is Santa kissing Mommy?" Your son makes the biggest face of disgust while Clark almost chokes on his coffee—that definitely shouldn't be in the video.

Clark Kent is the type of dad who's definitely watching a braiding tutorial on YouTube because you're not home, and he hasn't the slightest idea how to even do a ponytail. When you come home, your little girl's hair is a mess of braids and pigtails "daddy made my hair!"

Clark Kent is the type of dad who knows the full name of every doll and stuffed animal your daughter owns. To you, she's a black-haired, green-eyed Barbie. He knows perfectly well that her name is Rachel, that her animal is a rabbit, and that she's allergic to airplanes. Also, when he's playing with his daughter, he makes different voices for each doll: the unicorn speaks elegantly, the mermaid speaks very high-pitched voice

Clark Kent is the type of dad who, when his children are teenagers, does his best to play along. Don't be surprised to see him reading Twilight before bed every night just to have something to talk about in the car while driving his teen daughter to school.

Clark Kent is the type of dad who stands in the backyard, shirtless and wearing a cap, making the crib of the baby you're still pregnant with with his own hands because "Nothing's done right these days."

Clark Kent is the type of dad who, if you forget a detail about a princess, will shake his head, squint his eyes, and blurt out, "You don't know a thing about Sofia the First."

Clark Kent is the kind of dad who, imagine him walking up the stairs of your house, with your two 10- and 8-year-old children under his two arms, telling them it's time to go to sleep even though it's 5 p.m. just because he urgently needs time alone with you after you sent him a spicy photo out of the blue

Clark Kent is the type of dad who tells your kid, "Just one more episode of Bluey before bed!" "Yay!" While your child and he know perfectly well that it won't just be just one episode of Bluey.

Clark Kent who doesn't let his children get out of the car until they say "I love you, dad" before going to school.

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[mayegasm]

WRIOTHESLEY HEADCANONS 𝜗𝜚

—the duke of the fortress of meropide. ♡ ©mayegasm 2025 my friend is wrio's baby mama so i had to deliver a banger for her (this is the explaination for the wriothesley content) also this was kinda rushed </3 —afab! reader

SFW 𖹭

—it took him a little while to trust you fully. having such a difficult and aching past, knowing he did the right thing for himself and the possible other children that were after him but still carrying that loss of so called "loving parents".

he'd secretly question everything you did in his head, what exactly was your motive? why were you so drawn to him? well, he learned that you had no true ill intentions, and in return he reciprocated that and gravitated towards you.

—he enjoys your visits to his office a lot, however it's not where he would prefer to see you. he'll take you to tea in the court of fontaine, or anywhere else less... professional for him. you've visited so many times that the guards in the fortress would mistaken you for a misbehaving prisoner.

—picnics! it's one of his favorite forms of a date. something about sitting on a bench or a blanket, enjoying delicacies and cuisine from all over teyvat underneath the sun eases the mind like no other.

—will make up any reason at all to keep you with him. being the duke and often having little to do, as prisoners know not to act up with the fear he has eyes everywhere. but at the end of the day, he's just a normal guy like every other person.

he won't outright beg, but he'll keep it subtle that he wants you to stay. your company is his favorite. you'd share tea and cookies, possibly being inturrupted by sigewinne and her smoothies from time to time.

"have you ever had one of sigewinne's milkshakes? the taste that comes to mind is... what's that flavor... desolation." 𖹭 sigewinne excused herself to tend to patients in the infirmary after inturrupting the intimacy of your visit with him. she had made two smoothies for the each of you, but you noticed wrio hadn't touched his and continued sipping his tea. you took it upon yourself to try it, holding the cup and preparing to take a sip before he slowly pried it from your hands and placed it back on the desk. "don't."

—heavy handed. with his hobby involving strict force through his fists, he's adapted to holding everything with some extra force—including you.

so, when he holds your waist or hips, it'll always be a strong grip. of course if he's too strong on you, he'll loosen up a little.

—he likes when you trace his scars with your fingers, a minor sense of worship. deep down, he likes feeling appreciated and silently praised by someone else.

—he'll pick you up like you weigh little to nothing, it's his favorite way to surprise you.

—he has facial hair but he keeps it shaved. he feels like it ages him a little more than he'd like. but if you find it attractive, he'll postpone the shaving cream and razor for a few days.

speaking on the topic of hair, he has arm hair that he discovered you strangely found attractive. he's never thought about shaving it, nor keeping it. but since you like it, he doesn't have to do anything to it anyway.

—muscles, muscles, muscles. he's bigger in physique on average, which you're such a big fan of. his veins faintly push against his skin, especially on his arms and hands.

you'll see him practice boxing or any other form of working out sometimes, and it's a sight you love—mourning it when you depart after your stay.

—sassy, to a degree.

NSFW 𖹭

—back to his heavy-handedness, he can really grip you up good. whether that be pulling your hair, squeezing your thighs and your hips, his grip remains tight. almost like he's trying to keep you in one place, with him.

expect handprints on your body the next morning, at the very least. but know he means it with love, and will gladly show you that by kissing all of where his hands landed on that beautiful figure.

—he's on the bigger side, an inch or two above average. he doesn't blame you if you struggle a little.

but what if . . .

" WRIOTHESLEY , it's too big-!"

he'll let you get used to it, yes. murmuring dirty praises in your ear as he pushes in bit by bit, plugging you slowly. he's considerate with it, it's not all about his pleasure, now is it?

—bondage is a tricky one. he swings those handcuffs around his finger like they're a toy, and when it comes to sex, they can be.

he'll cuff your hands either together or to the bedposts, restricting your movement. he'll tease you about it, purring nastily in the ear and making sure that little key to unlock them is always in your field of view, almost daring you to try something.

but of course, if you don't like it he won't do it.

—he knows he said that "the less a person sees of me, the happier they will be," he knows. but that doesn't apply to you. he prefers you to see him, to look him dead in the eye when he's indulging in you.

"eyes up, honey." his hand came to your hair, pulling your head up so you met his eyes. you were so blissed out but you looked beautiful. the way your lashes fluttered, your moans slipping from your lips that were puffy from prior kisses. you looked so blissed out underneath him. he smirked. "ain't you a doll?"

—he likes kissing when he's in it. not only to tone down your noises, but he just likes the savory feeling of your lips on his, your saliva mixing with his.

—he loves talking you through it and praising you through sinful purrs in your ear. how you take him so well, how you don't complain . . . so willing no matter how deep or far he goes with you. you deserve it and so much more for taking him like that.

however, he calls you out when you get greedy. pushing back against him, pleading and begging for him to go deeper, faster. you don't call the shots. you're a pillow princess and you'll stay that way unless he advises otherwise.

"easy, baby." he paused his motions, coming to a complete stop. it made you whine at the loss of sensation, just as you were reaching your peak. "if you want somethin', ask. have some manners, pretty girl. you have a voice, don' t you?"

—aftercare is something he enjoys just as much—cuddling up under the sheets after a night full of passion and sex. he'll soothe any external damage he did to your body, a silent apology as he laid soft kisses from your neck above.

he adores the intimacy he shares with you, how vulnerable he could be with you made him content. just, the act of having a bond with someone so strong that you could be so transparent. he adored it, and he adored how he could share that with you.

©MAYEGASM 2025

[wqlfstqr]

◟𖥻 buzzing love : percy jackson

▰▰ pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

Percy is often busy but he looks for ways to reassure his love to her, his favorite one lately is coming back from quests with stuffed animals.

mari talking! oh i hate this but i needed to write something and i want someone to buy jellycats for me, so 😓

Percy's always busy with camp related things, he's always training or helping grover with the new demigods or going on quests. People look for him when they need help. Safe to say, he doesn’t have too much free time during the day.

But that doesn’t stop him from showing his girlfriend how much he loves her, even being so busy, he doesn’t want her ever doubting his love for her.

So he's always planning dates, rushing his activities to make some more time to spend with her, being so incredibly clingy after every quest, hugging and kissing her every time he gets. And if people are sick of their PDA, no one says anything, at least not to Percy's face.

They're having a picnic and Percy has his head resting in her lap, her fingers carding through his hair while she shares a story about her time in new york before coming to camp this summer.

"And my aunt didn’t notice that I stopped so she kept walking and left me there." she tells Percy, and when he raises an eyebrow in that protective way of his, she quickly adds, "Totally not my fault, love, you should've seen that store. Of couse I would get distracted."

"What were they selling?" He asks, always indulging her to talk more. Gods, he loves when she talks.

"Jellycats." When he looks at her confused, she giggles. "Stuffed animals, but like the cutest stuffed animals ever, Perce. I swear. Too bad I didn’t have too much money on me, because I would've brought one."

That's it. She doesn't have to tell him twice. Because Percy already knows he'll be coming back with a jellycat next time.

⋆𐙚 albee bee

She has been feeling down ever since Percy and Grover had to go look for some demigod kid spotted in New York. She's sure no one has noticed, because she keeps mostly to herself the whole time.

After training, she goes back directly to her cabin and curls in her bed, hugging a pillow. Is she being dramatic? Yes, does she miss Percy? Yes.

But it's not only about Percy, this time she's also feeling down because she feels insecure. It's difficult not to feel that way when she can see how Chiron sends Annabeth or even Clarisse to these quests with the boys without even hesitating, yet she's never chosen for it. She doesn't feel like a proper demigod.

And she doesn't tell Percy, of couse, because she thinks she's ridiculous for even feeling this way. But she's sure he still knew something was wrong when he came to say goodbye two days ago.

And now, she's down and he's not even around to hug her and make her feel better. He's not supposed to come back until tomorrow.

Except that suddenly, her cabin's door opens, and she thinks it's one of her siblings until she feels her mattress sink with a new weight. "Hi, love, you awake?"

His voice is barely a whisper, but that's enough for her to immediately sit up to look at him with widened eyes. When she finally realizes he's not some fantasy out of her dreams, she jumps into his arms.

Percy chuckles, his arms wrapping around her waist to hold her close. "Hey, pretty girl." he mumbles as he presses a kiss on her temple. "I heard you've been feeling down lately."

"I thought you weren't supposed to come back until tomorrow?" she asks, pulling back slightly only to look at his face and smile brightly.

"Yes, but we found the boy earlier than expected. Thankfully before the monsters found him, too." he tells her, his hand pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I just had to make a stop in the way to surprise you with this."

He keeps one hand around her waist while his other hand reaches to pull something from behind him, and he holds it up to her. A bee stuffed animal. The cutest bee stuffed animal.

"You told me you wanted one of those jellycats." he explains, and her heart skips a beat. "And this little guy reminded me of you. Bees are small, yeah, but they're powerful. They make the world brighter, just by being in it. Just like you."

She almost feels like crying as she grabs the bee and hugs it to her chest, looking at the tag hanging from it. "It's named Albee." She mumbles, then looks back at Percy with tears in her eyes. "Thank you so much, Perce, it's perfect."

"Anything for you, love." he replies fondly.

⋆𐙚 storm octopus

Percy has been too busy lately, he feels pulled in eight different directions with camp duties, quests, training, new campers and prophecies. Normally, he wouldn't mind.

Except that this has meant that he doesn’t get as much time with her as he would like. He knows she understands, she always does. But still, he doesn’t like it.

That's when he gets Storm the octopus. Yes, maybe he had to sneak out of camp with Blackjack to go buy it, but it's totally worth it.

She's totally worth it.

So later that night, when she's resting on his bed, he suddenly pulls the octopus plushie. "Got this one for you today."

She looks at the plushie, then back at Percy, and he almost chuckles at the surprise in her eyes as she reaches for the blue octopus. "How did you even managed to get this?"

"You already know how easy it's to bribe Blackjack." He shrugs, grinning. "And before you scold me, please let me tell you why I got it."

"Okay, enlighten me." She rolls her eyes fondly, hugging the octopus.

"You know, sometimes everyone needs so much from me that I feel like I need to stretch myself or have eight arms to help everyone." He sits at the edge of his bed, reaching to pull her close to him. "But you're still the center of everything. Every part of me reaches for you. I could have eight arms and every single one would yearn to hug you at the end of the day."

This time, she almost drops the octopus when she suddenly lunges to kiss Percy. "I love you so much." she tells him, eyes full of love.

"I love you so much more, sweetheart." He replies against her lips before pulling away, grinning. "So, how do we feel about Storm? Did you see it's blue? How cool is that?"

⋆𐙚 Persimmon dragon

She gets injured during capture the flag. Percy hates that he was not there to protect her. He hates that he only finds out via iris call while on his quest. And he hates that he's not around to take care of her while she has to rest because of her ankle.

He has made up his mind to find out whoever it was that hurt his girl and maybe make that person regret it. But he knows she'll probably won't appreciate him getting all over protective.

And there’s nothing much he can do being so far away from camp, anyways.

But when it's time for him to go back, he knows what he has to do. Which is why he shows up with a dragon. Well, a dragon plushie anyways.

"Percy, that thing is huge!" She gasps softly, still on bed rest, a cast on her feet.

"Only the best for you, pretty girl." He replies simply, placing the large white dragon beside her.

Percy takes a seat at the edge of the bed, being careful with her as he reaches to push some hair from her face. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here to protect you, love."

"It's okay, Perce, you had important things to do." She smiles at him softly. "No big deal."

But Percy frowns at her words. "You are the most important thing for me." He cups her face and leans to press a kiss on her forehead. "This is why I got you this one."

He takes the dragon to show it to her, she giggles softly, taking it from his hands.

"You didn’t have to." But she's already smiling as she hugs the dragon close to her.

And that smile is everything to Percy. Nothing else matters but that smile.

"I absolutely had to, are you kidding?" He replies in an overly dramatic tone. "You deserve to have a dragon to protect you when i'm not around. A fierce, loyal, brave dragon. Just like the girl I fight for."

The girl he fights for. That's what she'll always be.

⋆𐙚 ricky rain frog

This has been the longest week for Percy, Grover and him had to take a roadtrip to Buffalo to look for some Demigod kid one of the satyrs had located around there.

The catch? The kid had apparently ran off from school and he didn’t come home. They had been following him around New York with absolutely no luck.

And each passing day he missed her more than the one before. So, when they finally managed to get to the kid just before a monster got to him first, Percy was only thrilled about coming back to her.

He barely made it through the whole debriefing with Chiron before he was running through camp, looking for her. He tried her cabin first, but there was no one there. Then the pavilion— still no luck.

Percy's getting desperate until he hears the sounds of swords clashing near the arena. He rounds the corner, and there she is.

It seems that she's finishing her training, the tip of her sword lowered as she caught her breath, with a practice flick she guided her sword into the scabbard at her side, some strands of hair sticking to her sweaty face.

And then he's running. Not walking. Running past the other campers, straight to her. She barely has any time to react before he's kissing her— hands cupping her race like he's afraid she might disappear if he lets go. It's messy, and full of love, and so very Percy, his sea-salt scent invading her senses as he mumbles a soft, "Gods, I missed you" into her lips.

She lets out a breathless giggle. "You didn’t tell me you were coming back today."

"Surprise?" He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, then another into the tip of her nose, and another just below her jaw, almost like he's making up for lost time. "Speaking of surprises."

He barely pulls back, enough to pull the frog jellycat from his backpack. This one is his favorite one: a grumpy-looking green frog.

She snorts as she takes it from him. "Why is he so grumpy?"

"This frog is how i've felt this whole week." He grins, leaning to press another kiss to her lips before he keeps talking. "All sad without your kisses."

"You're so dramatic." She giggles against his lips, her cheeks red.

"Not dramatic at all, love, I've been feeling like that frog the whole week." Percy replies, his hands coming down to the back of her neck to pull her to him again.

He's kissing her like a man starved, as if he hasn't seen her in years, which is how he felt even if it was only a week. "But now that I have the princess' kisses, I'm back to being okay."

She could tell him he's being ridiculous, but before she can even process his words, he suddenly lunges forward to claim her lips with his again. And the frog almost falls off her hands.

⋆𐙚 amuseables val & tina love locks

The next one, she finds it on her bed, nestled against her pillows like it has always belonged there.

There’s no note left with it, and Percy definitely didn’t explain it at all. It's simply... there. Just two plush red hearts locked with each other, their little stitched smiles are ridiculously cheerful.

And she knows the context before Percy even has the time to explain it.

Yet, she still asks when he comes into her cabin moments later. "What's this one for? was there a holiday or quest I missed?"

He shrugs, sitting on her bed beside her to press a kiss to her cheek with a loud mwah. "Do I need a reason to buy something nice for my beautiful girlfriend? I think not."

But there’s always an explanation. Always. And she knows there’s one to this because of the silly smile on his face.

He can barely contain his mystery act for some seconds more before he finally explains, "I just saw it and it reminded me of us. You know, always attached but happy."

She hugs it to her chest. "So it's us."

"Yes, love, it's us." He nods, smiling brightly. "Always destined to be together. Locked in."

And it's perfect. There’s no more explanation for it.

⋆𐙚 extra: amuseables diamond ring

years later.

It's late when she gets home, grocery bag on her hip while she unlocks the door to their apartment. The lights are off, and there's no signs of Percy anywhere, she thinks it means that he's probably running late.

Still, she tries, "Percy?" but there’s no answer. Only silence.

But she doesn't think much of it as she leaves the groceries in the counter and walks into their bedroom.

It takes her a moment to realize, distracted while taking her shoes off, but it's only when she looks up that she notices something's... off.

Their bed is covered. Crowded. With every jellycat he has ever given her. The bee, the dragon, the frog and octopus, the hearts, the ones from the flowers collection he had given her over the years, every single one she has gotten from him for christmas or random holidays. Even that bunny bag charm that she always carries with her on her bag.

Every single one, arranged carefully on top of the comforter, creating a perfect circle.

And in the middle of that circle, there’s one she doesn’t recognize right away. Not until she takes a step closer and realizes— it's a ring.

A smiley, sparkling, ring plushie propped up. Like it's simply part of the collection. But she knows she didn’t have that one before. She knows.

Her shaky hand flies to her mouth, and she looks around as if she's half expecting it to be some kind of joke. But no. She knows what this is.

Finally, she spins around and— there he is. Leaning against the doorframe in a way that doesn’t seem casual at all, his arms behind his back, looking at her like she's the only thing worth looking at in the whole universe.

His voice is a little shaky, a giddy but nervous smile on his face. "So," He nods towards the bed. "Want me to explain the new plushie too? Because I kinda have a question that sums it all up."

Her laugh is slightly choked as she nods, her eyes full of tears.

And he drops to one knee, pulling out the real ring.

[camilla-and-charles]

A Royal Serendipity Part 9

Friday Night, Annabel's Club, London

Annabel's throbbed with its usual Friday night energy—a symphony of clinking glasses, bursts of laughter, and the steady pulse of music washing over conversations. Camilla sat at a corner table with Lucia, Virginia and other friends, nursing a gin and tonic while her friends debated the merits of some new boutique in Chelsea. The velvet-lined walls and dim lighting created an intimate cocoon that normally would have enveloped Camilla completely, but tonight her mind kept drifting elsewhere.

"Earth to Camilla," Lucia nudged her, smirking. "That's the third time you've checked your watch in five minutes. Hot date later?"

"Just tired," Camilla replied, though her flushed cheeks betrayed her. She hadn't heard from Charles in three days—not unexpected given his royal commitments, but the silence left too much space for doubt to creep in.

Virginia leaned forward conspiratorially. "Andrew's been asking about you, you know. He's over by the bar with some Guards chaps."

Camilla's stomach tightened as she followed Virginia's gaze. Sure enough, there was Andrew Parker Bowles in all his uniformed glory, holding court among admirers. As if sensing her attention, he looked up, catching her eye with the confident smile that had once made her knees weak.

"Not interested," Camilla said firmly, turning back to her drink. The words felt true in a way they never had before.

Later, as she made her way to the powder room, Andrew intercepted her in the narrow hallway, his frame blocking her path with practiced casualness.

"Milla," he said, his voice dropping to that intimate register he reserved for her. "You look ravishing tonight."

"Thank you, Andrew. If you'll excuse me—"

His hand caught her wrist gently. "One dance. For old times' sake."

"I don't think that's wise," she replied, extracting herself with newfound resolve.

Andrew studied her face, his expression shifting to something more calculating. "It's serious with him, then? You do realize where that road leads—or rather, where it doesn't."

"I'm not discussing this with you," Camilla said quietly, but firmly. "Especially not here."

Andrew stepped back slightly, his charm hardening into something closer to pique. "He'll marry some virginal aristocrat when the time comes. That's how the game works, Milla. You're too smart not to know that."

The words stung precisely because they echoed her own private fears. But something in her refused to give Andrew the satisfaction of seeing his barb land.

"Goodnight, Andrew," she said with a composure she didn't entirely feel, and slipped past him.

Back at the table, Virginia raised an eyebrow. "Everything alright? Andrew looked rather put out."

"Perfect," Camilla replied, surprising herself with how much she meant it. "I think I'm finally seeing things clearly."

---

Saturday, The Laines, Plumpton

The Sussex countryside rolled past the train window, the familiar landscape gradually replacing London's urban sprawl. Camilla felt the knots in her shoulders begin to loosen as the train approached Plumpton. There was something comforting about returning to The Laines, her parents' home—a place where time seemed to move at a gentler pace.

Major Bruce Shand greeted her at the station, his military bearing softened by the genuine warmth in his eyes. "There's my girl," he said, embracing her before taking her weekend bag. "Your mother's in a state about the garden party next week. Consider yourself warned."

Camilla laughed. "When isn't she in a state about something?"

The drive to The Laines was filled with her father's comfortable chatter about local news and the persistent drought affecting his rose bushes. Camilla half-listened, letting the familiar rhythms of home wash over her.

Her mother, Rosalind, was arranging flowers in the sitting room when they arrived. "Darling!" she exclaimed, embracing Camilla with a cloud of Chanel No. 5. She held her daughter at arm's length, examining her with keen eyes. "You've lost weight. Are you eating properly in that flat of yours?"

"I'm fine, Mummy," Camilla assured her, accustomed to this scrutiny.

"Hmm," Rosalind said, unconvinced. "There's something different about you. You seem... preoccupied."

"Just busy...," Camilla deflected, hanging her jacket on the hallway peg.

"Well, Annabel and Simon are coming for lunch tomorrow. Won't that be lovely?"

Lunch was a relaxed affair, with her father regaling them with tales from his regiment days. Yet Camilla caught her parents exchanging glances whenever she fell quiet or smiled at some private thought. They knew her too well not to notice the change in her demeanor, even if they couldn't name its cause.

That evening, as she helped her mother with the dishes, Rosalind broached the subject again. "You know you can tell us anything, darling. If something's troubling you—or making you happy."

Camilla focused intently on drying a serving platter. "I know, Mother."

"Is there... someone new?"

Camilla hesitated. "It's complicated."

Her mother's hands stilled in the soapy water. "Affairs of the heart usually are." After a pause, she added carefully, "I just want you settled with someone worthy of you, someone who can give you the life you deserve."

The weight of her mother's unspoken concerns hung between them. Camilla simply nodded, unwilling to open a door she wasn't ready to walk through with her family just yet.

---

Sunday Morning, Plumpton

Sunday morning brought the kind of soft, golden light that seemed to exist only in the English countryside. Camilla set out early for a walk, following the familiar path that wound through the nearby woods and fields. The dew-soaked grass dampened her boots as she walked, breathing in the earthy scent of summer foliage.

Lunch with Annabel and her new husband Simon had been pleasant enough, but it had left Camilla with a strange melancholy. Her younger sister glowed with the confidence of a woman whose path was clear. Their mother had hovered, delighting in Annabel's stories of married life and Italian honeymoon adventures.

"You'll understand when it's your turn," Annabel had said, patting Camilla's hand when they discussed some domestic arrangement. The comment was innocent, but it stung nevertheless.

Now, alone with her thoughts, Camilla allowed herself to fully confront the questions she'd been avoiding. What future could she realistically hope for with Charles? Andrew's cutting remarks at Annabel's had merely articulated what she already knew—the Royal Family had expectations that someone like her could never fulfill.

Yet when she was with Charles, these concerns seemed distant, overwhelmed by the intensity of their connection. He saw her—truly saw her—in a way no one else ever had. When he spoke of his dreams, his insecurities, his hopes, she felt the rare privilege of witnessing his true self, unguarded and genuine.

Stopping at the crest of a gentle hill, Camilla gazed across the patchwork of fields stretching toward the horizon. She wanted marriage, children, a home filled with laughter and dogs and muddy boots by the door. Could she have any of that with Charles? And if not, could she bear to walk away from what they were building together?

A pheasant erupted from the underbrush nearby, startling her from her reverie. Watching its ungainly flight across the field, Camilla smiled ruefully. Perhaps there was wisdom in the bird's instinctive response—sometimes you simply had to take flight and trust your wings to carry you where you needed to go.

By the time she returned to The Laines, a sense of calm had settled over her. She couldn't predict the future, couldn't force clarity where there was none. But she could choose to live fully in the present, to honor what she and Charles shared for however long it might last.

---

Sunday Evening, London

The taxi from the station dropped Camilla at her flat just as dusk was settling over London. She felt the city's energy reclaiming her as she climbed the stairs, already mentally preparing for the week ahead.

She had just changed into her dressing gown when the telephone rang. Her heart leapt at the sound.

"Hello?" she answered, trying not to sound breathless.

"It's me." Charles's voice, warm and intimate, filled the line. "I've been thinking about you all weekend. How was Plumpton?"

Camilla curled up in her armchair, cradling the receiver. "Lovely. Peaceful. Though my mother continues her campaign to marry me off to some suitable country squire."

Charles's laugh held a note of tension. "And is that what you want? A suitable squire?"

"What I want," she replied carefully, "is currently hundreds of miles away, performing royal duties and calling me when he should be sleeping."

"Sleep is highly overrated," he murmured, his voice dropping lower. "Especially when I could be thinking about you instead."

"Dangerous thoughts?"

"Increasingly so." The playful edge in his voice sent warmth spreading through her. "I keep remembering how you looked at Windsor, that afternoon in the stables. The way your hair caught the sunlight. The sound you made when I kissed you behind the tack room."

Camilla closed her eyes, the memory vivid between them. "Charles..."

"I return to London on Tuesday," he continued, his voice intimate in her ear. "Could you manage dinner? Somewhere private. I could arrange something in my flat at Buckingham Palace where we won't be disturbed."

There was a moment of stunned silence. Buckingham Palace. The implications hung between them, unspoken but clear. They had been circling this moment for weeks, their physical restraint growing more tenuous with each meeting, but the Palace itself—the very heart of royal life—that was unexpected.

"Buckingham Palace?" Camilla finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Charles, is that... wise?"

"I know a few discrete entrances," he said with gentle assurance. "No one will know. I'll collect you myself in the Aston Martin. Seven o'clock?"

The thought of being driven to the Palace in Charles's beloved sports car, of slipping through secret passages like characters in a spy novel, sent a thrill through her that overrode her initial shock.

"Yes," she said simply. "Tuesday."

"I've missed your voice," he said softly. "Your laugh. The way you see right through all my pretenses."

"I've missed you too," she admitted. "More than I should, probably."

"No," he replied with sudden intensity. "Don't ever say that. What's between us—it may be complicated, it may be difficult, but never doubt its worth."

After they said their goodbyes, Camilla sat in the darkening flat, the receiver still warm in her hand. Tuesday stretched before her like a promise, frightening and exhilarating in equal measure. Whatever came after—the complications, the difficult choices—those were worries for another day. For now, she would hold tight to the certainty that had crystallized during her walk: some connections were rare enough to be worth any risk, even one as audacious as a rendezvous at Buckingham Palace itself.

[floralalchemy]

to that, albedo actually stifles an unexpected laugh — it seems like eula hasn’t changed much either, but there’s some sort of comfort taken in the familiarity of a friend, perhaps making albedo’s actions those of relief in a sense rather then amusement.

“well, you have my word on that. these won’t see the light of day outside of personal use. i don’t take promises lightly.”

as soon as he’s sure he’s got a couple decent photos that include a decent view of the animal too, he starts flicking through, deleting any blurred images.

then before he has the chance to thank her, he finds himself taken by surprise at her offer.

“that’s kind of you… but really, i wouldn’t want to intrude on your space. although it would save me the trip all the way here and back, i suppose.”

which makes it an offer of convenience too, though he has some apprehension that he tries to hide. were she to notice any off behaviour on his part, he might be facing some questions he doesn’t consider himself ready to answer to with most people, friend or not.

“but, maybe… if i decide to spend any prolonged time in the area, then i might consider it. at the very least, maybe i could trouble you with leaving some of my supplies here so that when i do have to make trips back to the city it won’t be with all of my belongings — mostly, it is hard to carry things like an easel along with paints back and forth when i make trips related to my art endeavours."

Albedo goes on and on about one thing or the other. Eula listens attentively. It's good that they're finally getting to know each other without any of their other companions around if even a little bit. "Oh? Sure, why not. I'm holding you to only using them for yourself. Revenge will be mine if I see them anywhere else." She doesn't bother to pose, just gives a small, contented smile as she waits for him to take the photograph.

Maybe it's a mistake to offer this, but it's not as though she hates Albedo. In fact, in her own way, she considered him to be at least somewhat of a friend. Whether or not it was mutual is something else entirely. "...I do live here, you know. If you'd like, you can always stay with me while you continue your research," Though she's quick to hastily add, as if not to seem too invested, "--only if you'd like, though."

[springintosummerxx]

❀ downbad for you ❀

op81 x reader

in which oscar changes in little and big ways. aka oscar's downbad for you

warnings: suggestive, fluff, bit of pining, humour

word count: 1.9 k

masterlist

nicole piastri was not an impatient woman. she raised four kids, all of them talented, intelligent and painfully oblivious in some way or another.

so when oscar had started travelling on his own and barely - rarely - picked up phone calls or checked texts, she learned to wait for him to come to her. very reasonable, in her opinion.

but when she called him, early in the morning hoping to catch him before a sprint race, she was surprised to find that he actually picked up.

"hello?" he asked, tone a little eager and not it's usual monotone.

"oscar," she replied, a little startled.

"oh. hey, mum." he answered absentmindedly.

now she was suspicious, "why are you answering your calls all of a sudden?"

"didn't you call me?" he asked, with that born-nonchalance that made her want to rip her hair out sometimes.

"yeah, just checking in. everything good for the weekend?"

"sure, everything's fine. listen mum, i'm actually waiting on another call. i'll call you again after the sprint, okay? thanks."

then her own son, the one she'd painfully pushed - okay, that was a bit gross, but she was a little offended.

then it clicked.

the question she should be asking, instead of rolling her eyes over her firstborn's antics, is who is he waiting on?

nicole calls hattie next, who answers reliably on the first ring.

"is your brother seeing someone?"

"woah, mum. hello to you too," her eldest daughter huffs, "and yes, i think so."

she nearly jumps up in excitement, "who?"

"that, i have no idea. but he's been answering his texts so quick lately, and he asked me about what flowers were suitable for a first date."

"finally," nicole sighed, and then perking up, "when do you think he'll bring her home?"

lando is staring at oscar as he puts on suncream.

he looks so...serious, squeezing out lotion from a bottle that looks way too tiny in his hands, concentrating on the thin white lines that coat three of his fingers.

"what?" he then is rubbing it into his face, and lando is scared.

"mate, what the fuck?"

"i'm protecting my skin," the australian answers, straight-faced.

he is 100% sure he's never seen oscar put on sunscreen, ever. especially not in the middle of the day, right between filming videos outside.

it's probably a good idea, if they don't want to get sunburnt; oscar, especially, with his pale complexion.

and who is lando to judge? he used to love it when his ex-girlfriend's did his skincare or forced him to exfoliate - wait.

before he can think through what he's going to say, he blurts, "do you have a girlfriend?"

oscar stares at him, and the faint, pink blush that's rising from his neck is enough of an answer.

"oh, my days you do!" he gasps. oscar shakes his head, the corners tipping up despite himself.

lando watches him, half-disgusted and half-proud.

his teammate has an absolutely shit-eating grin on his face, eyes bright. he leans back in the chair, looking dorky in his team kit and a little bit of sunscreen not blended in at his jaw.

lando could say with full confidence, after watching oscar not flinch at turns or crashes, that this reaction means that he is in love.

the first time oscar brings you around (and hard-launches both of you to the moon) is during the miami gp.

the two of you, your smaller hand tucked into the crook of his arm, make your way across the green turf of the paddock.

he's aware of the cameras and eyes; it's kind of hard not to be, but he doesn't mind like he usually does.

it's probably gross and neanderthal, and he will definitely deny it if you bring it up, but he's so proud to have you on his arm.

the two of you met a months ago, in monaco, where you were starting the second year of your doctorate degree.

you were (and are, in his opinion) way too smart for him, drop-dead gorgeous with a dry sense of humour.

although monaco was known for hosting f1 drivers you weren't super well-versed in the sport.

he likes that about you, and even more the way you ask him to tell you about it as you run your fingers through his hair, when the two of you are out on a date in some little cafe.

"okay?" he murmurs, and you squeeze your fingers around his bicep once.

"hmm," he can tell you're a little overwhelmed by the crease between your brows that he smoothes out with his thumb, "m'okay."

the little yellow sundress you're wearing makes your skin glow under the florida sun, and he wants to press his nose to your shoulder.

"it'll get better when we're not-"

"hard-launching at one of your races? you sure go big or go home, baby."

however many times you use that nickname, whether in the early morning when you're bribing him with coffee or hushed as he presses himself into you late at night, it never fails to make him flush.

it sounds so pretty from your lips, so personal and intimate his stomach lurches still when he hears that pet name.

"yeah," he laughs, "can't help it though. want to show you off."

this time, it's your turn to be flustered.

he can't believe someone as put together and elegant as you turns into a pile of mush for someone as unromantic as him.

but perhaps he's changed, he thinks as you twist your mouth and brush a hand over your sun and love-warmed cheeks.

"god, oscar. you can't say things like that. i'm going to turn into a liquid."

"a very beautiful liquid," he offers, his free hand grabbing the yours that's tucked into his elbow.

he moves you to his other side, the one closer to the cafés and motorhomes as more people start flooding into the paddock.

"c'mere," he murmurs, pressing a kiss into your forehead.

normally, he would be against any sort of pda. but you look so relaxed under the sun, skin glowing as you watch him behind a pair of sunglasses that he can't help himself.

oscar hears the shutters of cameras, and he rests his cheek on yours.

"love you," he grins boyishly.

"love you, baby. good luck."

he wants a real kiss, one that makes you whimper the way he likes, but he's pushed his luck enough.

someone from the team leads you to the back of the garage to find a headset.

later that night, when the both of you are laying in bed, faces damp with skincare, he comes across an edit of you on tiktok.

there's some thirst-trappy song in the back and an annoying filter that makes everything a bit blurry, but he watches it three times anyways.

the first clip is of you in the garage, standing towards the back, fingers fluttering over your papaya headset. you look serious (though he thinks you do look a little confused, adorably so) with your eyes locked on the t.v. broadcasting his onboard.

the little skysports banner pops up, citing you as his partner.

oscar piastri's partner, it reads in block letters.

his heart warms in his chest, and he has to rub at it because of how intense he feels for you; you are so much more than that, and he can't wait for people to realize.

the next clip is you with alexandra, who you knew from someone's neighbor. or cousin. monaco was small, after all.

the two of you are laughing, striding with leo between your legs.

lastly, oscar watches with attentive eyes as the videos of you and him together come up.

it's undeniable that you guys look good together; he's smiling more than he probably has, ever, and you look up at him, adoringly as you blend some smeared sunscreen under his ear.

the sound of the tiktok has repeated four times by then, and you slide yourself into his embrace, wiggling up his chest.

he tilts his phone to you so you can see, and you bury your face in his neck.

"help," your breath warm on his skin, "i'm being perceived."

he laughs, pulling you up to kiss him, for real on the mouth, "thank you. for coming with me."

"of course," you say, a little surprised at how sincere he sounds, "anytime, baby."

now it's his turn to bury his face into your neck.

"he's never like this," hattie tells you.

"what?" you ask, smiling as your boyfriend's sister hands you a drink.

"he's so...touchy. it would be kind of gross, if you guys weren't so cute."

"yeah," edie pipes in, sipping her own drink, "it's freaky. unnatural."

"are you talking about me?" oscar asks drily as he slides into the seat next to yours.

frowning at the distance in between your chair and his, he wraps one large hand around the leg of yours and tugs until you're close enough for his to rest his arm to loop behind you.

mae shudders comically, just as edie pretends to gag. hattie hoots in laughter.

oscar, cheeks pink, unabashedly rolls his eyes as his parents take their seats around the table in their backyard.

it's nice seeing him in his natural habitat, teasing his sisters, helping his mum carry dishes to the dining table.

you insist on helping nicole wash up after dinner, and as you dry the dishes she hands you, she says something you don't expect.

"thank you," she tells you, "for taking care of him."

before you can respond, she goes on, "he's never been too good at taking care of himself. you know, he used to put his washing in the oven?"

you laugh, imagining oscar, on the cusp of adulthood, crouched over a oven with wet socks in his hands.

"but i can tell he's been well. so, thank you."

you blush, "i don't think it's anything to do with me."

she snorts, an easy smile on her face as she nudges you with her shoulder, "he's been calling more, he's eating well. i don't think he's been sunburnt or gone without fresh laundry for months."

you hum, "he takes care of me too, and i should thank you for raising a good man."

"i've got to stop leaving you alone with my family members." oscar sidles next to you, peering at his mum.

she brushes your cheek and pats his shoulder before wandering off to find his sisters.

"hi," he whispers into your hair, turning you around so he can crowd you into the kitchen counter.

"hi, baby."

he groans, burying his face into your neck. you feel him press a kiss to your shoulder, and you grin.

"okay?" you ask quietly.

"more than okay," he responds, smile content and squinty, "it's nice. to see you here, with my family. they love you."

"i love them," caressing his cheek, you press a kiss to his nose.

"this is probably weird for them," he hums, leaning into your hand, "to see me like this."

"i'm not going anywhere, so i think they'll get used to you being all gross and down bad."

"not downbad," oscar mutters, wrapping his arms around your waist in a hug and swaying the two of you back and forth, "just in love."

"downbad," you giggle, and he doesn't disagree, not when it makes you smile, so lovingly and soft at him.

maybe he is downbad.

[darling-flora]

so american

oscar piastri x yn!singer x ex! charles leclerc

fc: olivia rodrigo

─── oscar masterlist !

note — (all manips are made by me!!)(LOTS of charles slander so if you are a 16 fan you might wanna skip this one!!) this has been a concept in my mind since May so i hope you enjoyyyyy !! likes, reblog's and comments are really appreciated ❤

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f1gossip

Liked by user1, user2 and 969,944 others

f1gossip Y/n L/n posted a video on her instagram story singing a song she wrote called "Strangers Again".... 👀

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user1 omg men really aint shit

user2 he's such a LOSER i remember the when someone refered to y/n as his girlfriend and he said "the best friend" and the next day were seen kissing...

->user3 like his inability to commit is so unattractive ->user4 reallllll he used to be my favorite driver but he's been moving weird recently

user5 damn he's really like all men 🙃

user6 yk his PR team is gonna make sure he's really public with his next relationship to make it seem like yn is lying 🙄

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yourusername

Liked by oscarpiastri, user1 and 4,169,044 others

yourusername only way to end this weekend 💆🏻‍♀️

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user1 pretty girlll

user2 are we gonna get strangers again on the next album or the deluxe ???

->yourusername neither :( ->yourusername i posted that vid after having it in the drafts for like a month and posted it just to put it out there lol but it's not going to be on streaming!! ->user2 a month 😥 ->user2 well hopefully we get another song like it on the deluxe 🤞

user3 did you play mermaids?

user4 wouldn't be surprised if oscar was wearing team merch

user5 she hated this weekend as much as us 😭

user6 my fav girl

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Liked by user1, user2 and 878,944 others

F1News Oscar Piastri talks about how he dealt with the heartbreaking Australian Grand Prix and mentions Y/n L/n as apart of the reason for being able to keep his head up.

When asked how he’s dealing with picking himself back up after the upsetting Australian Grand Prix weekend Piastri said “I have a great support system around me that’s there to tell me if im being too hard on myself and that [support system] really helped after the race.”

When asked further if Y/n L/n is apart of that support system the Australian driver replied “Of course! She could be across the world about to go on stage and she’ll send me a ‘good luck’ text and [she's] always there for a phone call. She’s one of one .”

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user1 i believe he'll bounce back from that weekend

user2 how long until he realizes he's in love with y/n l/n...?

user3 people are so annoying about him not being overly emotional but it's also why he'll be a world champion one day, him being able to regulate his emotions and come out on top is so impressive

->user4 people being surprised a man is able to regulate his emotions is so funny to me, he's right tho, when you have a support system it can make it so much easier to so through the toughest times. ->user3 he will be a world champ!!! i believe 🙏

user5 that picture of them is so cute 🤭

user6 yn is 100% one of one

user7 im gonna pretend i didn't hear him say he was being hard on himself

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Liked by yourusername, user1 and 1,169,044 others

oscarpiastri 3 down, 21 to go 💪

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user1 21 to get that WDC 😎

user2 wait why wasn't y/n actually at the race if she was in japan??

->user3 she was seen at a recording studio 🤷‍♀️ ->user4 she'll probably go to a few more races before announcing her deluxe ->user2 wait how do we know that??? ->user4 she's been teasing a deluxe for awhile and since she's in the studio it only makes sense

user5 y/n wasn't at the race and he didn't win... noticing

user6 best of luck in bahrain and saudi osc 🧡

user7 r we not gonna talk about the casual date in the middle of the photo dump...?

->user8 LIKE?!??!? ->user9 them soft launching so when they hard launch it wont be such a shock ->user10 waitttttt your brain

user11 slaying and serving x

user12 He needs to be McLaren’s #1 driver

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Liked by oscarpiastri, user1 and 8,181,044 others

yourusername 5 new tunes for ya!!!! GUTS (spilled) out may 2nd!!!!!!

obsessed, girl i've always been, scared of my guitar, stranger, and so american ❤❤❤

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user1 YESSSSSS

user2 OBSESSED IS GONNA HIT I JUST KNOW IT

pinkpantheress omg i cant wait liked by yourinstagram !

user3 sad or happy songs???

->yourusername a bit of both 👀

user4 ohhhhh some of these titles feel sad

oscarpiastri WOOO liked by yourinstagram !

user5 i know a certain someone who's about to get WHACKED

chappellroan  I’m seated. The spotify employees are scared and asking me to leave because it’s ‘not may 2nd yet’ but I’m simply too seated

->yourusername STOPPPP 😭

user6 wait 'so american' is this about a certain aussie??!!?

user7 ready for the deluxe of the century

user8 we WILL be tuning in

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yourusername a little dinner to celebrate GUTS (spilled) being out everywhere nowwwww!!!!!  I made obsessed almost 3 years ago (🤯) and I’m so stoked it’s finally out in the world. I’m so proud of the songs stranger, girl I’ve always been, and scared of my guitar as well and especialllyyy excited about so american. hope you guys dig!!!!!! the GUTS have been spilled!!!!

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user1 YAYYYYY

user2 besties there is something else on our minds right now...

oscarpiastri I do have a personal favorite

->yourusername mhmm i wonder what song that could be.... ->oscarpiastri so american 🙂 ->yourusername i would've never have guessed 😮 ->user3 omg our first time seeing them flirt ->user4 ik they are so cute 😭

user5 ohhhhh this is made for me

user6 wait this fit tho

user7 YOU AND OSCAR??!?!!?

user8 thank you for these songs bestie 🤞

user9 i can't wait to cry to half these songs

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yourusername la la la love you miami !!!!!!!

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user1 world champ loading!!

user2 not the last pic being from when we FOUND OUT....

oscarpiastri 🍾🏆 liked by yourinstagram !

user3 oscar is like a cat getting a bath in the 4th pic

user4 using your own lyrics as a caption, this DIVA 💜

user5 part time f1 driver fulltime y/n's boyfriend

user6 living my dream life holyyyyyy

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oscarpiastri Couldn't have done it without you ❤

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yourusername omg your so cute i love you ❤

->oscarpiastri Love you ❤❤ ->user1 SHUT UPPPP 😭 I LOVE THEM ->user2 parents lowkeyyy

user3 this is so adorable wth

user4 oh he's so in love

irisapatow cutie patooties! liked by oscarpiastri !

user5 HIM TAKING THE PICTURE OF HER?!!??!!? 😭❤

user6 they are SO in love with each other i LOVE ITTTTT

conangray CUTIESSSSS liked by oscarpiastri !

user7 okay so when's the wedding...?

user8 only two in the world 🤞

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[merrinla]

More finds in the cut content. What's interesting is that this is post-game content. I don't know if these are pieces of DLC or an extended epilogue. Rook and Lucanis drink wine in a gondola. In one version, Lucanis refused to be First Talon and left the crows. The Viper arrives to Treviso to hire Lucanis to kill the local Venatori. The lines in the localization file are out of order. I've organized them as best I could, but I'm not sure if everything is correct.

The gondola scene

Rook: What are we celebrating? Revenge? Saving the world? Lucanis: How about a quiet moment? Rook: Is it quiet? Really? Lucanis: If it's not quiet, it's at least clear.

Option: If only the Antaam were gone. Rook: Treviso's beautiful. Too bad it's filled with Antaam.

Option: You're surprisingly romantic. Rook: Who knew you were a romantic? Lucanis: You bring it out in me. Rook: Yeah, yeah. I'm a bad influence.

Option: Let's not go back. Rook: Let's stay here forever. Lucanis: A little. Not forever.

Rook: What? No fancy glasses? Lucanis: That's Caterina's style. I'm more pragmatic. Lucanis: Well, more pragmatic than her anyway.

Option: Learn from your elders. Rook: There's nothing wrong with a bit of class. Lucanis: (Chuckles) I'll remember for next time. Rook: Oh yes. This is so pragmatic. Lucanis: I know.

Option: Casual's better. Rook: Less clean up. Rook: That's why we're having drinks in a gondola instead of the kitchen. Lucanis: Knew you'd understand.

Lucanis: Is it wrong? Enjoying ourselves while the Antaam terrorize our home... (Crow Origin) Lucanis: Is it wrong? Enjoying ourselves while the Antaam terrorize Antiva... Rook: Does it feel wrong?

(apparently Rook moved, causing the boat to rock.) Lucanis: Careful. Gondolas are more fashionable than they are stable. Rook: They're plenty sturdy. Rook: See. Nothing to— Rook: Oops? Lucanis: You were saying? Rook: Sorry. Lucanis: (Chuckles) Classic Rook. Rook: Classic Rook, he'll/she'll/tehey'll never change. Rook: I've made things awkward. Lucanis: I like this side of you. Lucanis: More wine? Rook: I saved the wine? Lucanis: (Laughs)

(Talon's version) Rook: How are you settling in as First Talon? Lucanis: There was some initial... friction with Caterina, but she got over it. Lucanis: She thought I'd do things her way and was surprised when I had my own ideas. Rook: Really? You'd think she'd be the most welcoming. Lucanis: No.

Rook: Have you spoken to Caterina or the others? Lucanis: Letters here and there. We haven't met since the party. Lucanis: I don't want to cut ties. Lucanis: But Caterina needs to get used to the fact that I'm no longer her heir. Rook: Are you used to it? Lucanis: I was never comfortable with the role to begin with. Rook: So, no regrets? Lucanis: (Sigh) Rook: It's a yes or no question, Lucanis. Lucanis: It's not. You've enough experience with regret to know that.

Rook: I respect your decision to walk away. Lucanis: It wasn't an easy decision. Lucanis: It was hard. Walking away. Rook: It was hard watching it. Lucanis: Let's not talk about me.

Rook: It's not an interrogation if you care. Lucanis: Why not? I've been thoroughly interrogated. Rook: (Snorts) Is that how it works?

Option: Your priorities have changed. Rook: You've changed your tune. Lucanis: I am. On what's important.

Lucanis: Rook. I owe you. For my life, my freedom.

Option: Consider it paid in full. Rook: That debt was paid when you helped us defeat the elven gods. Lucanis: No. That was a job. What you've done for me...

Option: I needed a mage killer. Rook: I had selfish reasons. Lucanis: Rook. I'm serious. Lucanis: Whatever your reasons...

Lucanis: The Venatori killed the man I was. Lucanis: You put the fight—the life—back into me. Rook: I... Thanks.

Lucanis: If you need someone taken care of... Just say the word. Lucanis: Your enemies are House Dellamorte's enemies. (Talon's line) Lucanis: Your enemies are my enemies.

Option: You make murder sound sweet. Rook: Awww. That's sweet. And scary. Lucanis: Of course those are the same thing to you. Rook: I was only teasing. Lucanis: How am I supposed to argue when you say things like that?

Option: I'll settle for friendship. Rook: Or we could just be friends? No killing required. Rook: I still care about you—as a friend. Lucanis: Didn't want you to get the wrong idea... Lucanis: We're still friends. Lucanis: If that's what you want... Rook: Appreciate it.

(non romance/friendship version?) Rook: Oh, I'm aware. Just haven't figured out what I want in return. Lucanis: (Chuckles) Lucanis: For a price. Rook: Not sure I can afford you… Lucanis: (Chuckles) I'll give you a fair rate. Rook: What happened to pro-bono? Lucanis: Like I said—a fair rate. (Talon's line) Rook: And you'll charge me... Lucanis: I'm not a Crow anymore. Rates are negotiable. Rook: Still sounds pretty Crow-y to me.

Rook: It's passed sundown. Lucanis: (Sighs) Rook: Time to go? Lucanis: I've business before we return. Rook: What kind of business? Lucanis: Competitive analysis.

Lucanis: Don't worry. I'll collect. Rook: Fun time over? Lucanis: I've business before we return. Rook: What kind of business? Lucanis: Competitive analysis.

Possibly lines from a subsequent quest.

Rook: Business at a Chantry. Not very Andrastian of you. Lucanis: What in our experience together makes you think I'm a good Andrastian? Rook: (Chuckles) Fair enough.

Rook: You sound like you have a plan. Lucanis: Always another mark. Rook: I take it the Antaam are the subject of this so-called analysis? Rook: Why do I get the feeling there's going to be less "analysis" and more stabby-stab? Lucanis: Keeps Wrath content. (Wrath is Spite's previous name?)

Lucanis: Viago said it'd be a fitting spot. Rook: You've proven it's a good spot for an ambush. Lucanis: And you're loud. Which do you think will attract the Antaam?

Meeting with Ashur

It seems as if Lucanis and the Viper were discussing their business, and then Rook came.

The Viper: If you don't trust my intel— Lucanis: I trust your intel and... Lucanis: Fortunate the Rook is here to save the day. Rook: The Rook can detect sarcasm!

Option: Ashur, you shouldn't be here. Rook: This isn't Minrathous. Rook: Ashur, if the Antaam find out you're here... The Viper: I've paid the right people so that they don't.

Option: You two make quite the pair. Rook: The Viper and the Demon. Sounds like a nursery rhyme to scare children.

The Viper: I was just leaving. Rook: Leaving so soon? Rook: You don't have to. Lucanis and I could show you the sights. Rook: There's wine tasting, Antaam assassinating, gambling— Lucanis: Rook. The Viper: Go ahead. I can afford it. Lucanis: (Grumbles.) Course you can. The Viper: You're ruining Rook's fun. Rook: Think about my offer.

The Viper: Should I pay now or— Lucanis: Just go.

Rook: What did he want? Lucanis: Some of us have work to do. Lucanis: It's about time I take care of things at home.

Rook: Who's the mark? Lucanis: Venatori who fled Minrathous after Elgar'nan's fall. Rook: That's why Ashur was here. Lucanis: He's the one who hired me to dismantle the Venatori in the first place. Lucanis: Might as well finish the job.

The most unclear part

Maybe it's related to the quest to kill the Venatori that Viper pointed out.

Rook: Can't take the huge door. Lucanis: The Venatori are inside. Strike from above and we'll take them by surprise. Rook: Above, eh? Rook: Good thing I'm not afraid of heights.

Rook: Not sure why Antivans even build doors. Rook: We never use them. (Crow Origin) Rook: You never use them. Lucanis: We're the Antivan-fucking-Crows.

Rook: We need to be cautious. Rook: If we're not careful, he'll kill the girl. Lucanis: Not if he's dead.

Lucanis: Focus on the self-important bastard. I'll take care of the rest. Rook: They're all self-important—and why do you get so many? Lucanis: Their predictability makes them easy targets.

Venatori: Two, four, six piggies come to slaughter. Venatori: Be grateful. Your meager existence will serve a higher cause. Rook: I'll show you a higher cause right up your— Venatori: (Grunts!) Venatori: Uh—God killer! Right he— Lucanis: Mage killer. Venatori: (Yells in pain) Rook: Lucanis! That's cheating! Lucanis!

Lucanis: Fucking Venatori. Rook: (Sigh) You can take the blood mages out of Minrathous, but…

[heartmix]

Surprise Stream - LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x gamer!reader

Word Count: 1.6k+

Summary: She's a popular gamer who's been on hiatus for 2 years until she appears on her boyfriend's stream with his bestfriend  

Warning: reader is implied not to be British, kissing, swearing, playful bullying

A/N: holy shit the year has been so crazy I haven't had anytime to sit and write. I also haven't written for Lando in so long.

F1 Masterlist / Masterlist

You have been on camera publicly for years. After growing up in front of it since high school and building your own gaming empire, you forgot what it's like away from the media and enjoying something that wasn't pixelated. Two years ago, you decided to take a step away from it all. 

A few years away from the spotlight did you some good. Trying new things, having more time for other hobbies, and overall just living for yourself and not others. It's not like you didn't enjoy the spotlight - you loved interacting with fans, playing video games for a living, and meeting other gamers. All of it was great, but the pressure to put out videos multiple times a week made you lose love for gaming. It turned into a job instead of a passion. 

After meeting Lando, who had a passion for gaming, you fell in love with gaming all over again. To him, it was not only a passion but his escape from the real world. He taught you that it can be fun and that there is no pressure. Gaming shouldn't have to feel like work, it should be something you enjoy. It's entertainment, not an obligation. 

Many late nights, you'd both stay up playing Mario Kart, Tarkov, beating him as Oscar on his racing simulator, and even some indie scary games you got him to play. Sometimes you'd even play with Max if he weren't streaming. 

It was the Monday after a Grand Prix, usually a day when Lando reserved for playing with Max to unwind from the thrill of a race. You saw him setting up his camera, which surprised you. He only brought out the camera once, maybe twice a year. He must still be on a high after winning yesterday. 

"A lando stream and with his camera? You're just feeding your fans." You walked in, placing his water bottle by him, knowing he'll forget to drink it while playing. 

"Yeah, just one of those days." He smiled appreciative of the small gesture. 

"What game are you guys playing today?" You looked at his monitor, seeing nothing but Twitch being ready to launch. 

"Max wanted to play COD for a bit and probably move onto Tarkov." 

"Can I play?" You asked off-handed, but you were met with wide eyes and his jaw hanging open. 

"On stream?" He clarified, like he wasn't sure if he heard you correctly. Being on a stream was something you both talked about, but not sure how soon it could come into fruition. This was a big deal to do it, and to catch you at the moment when you were finally ready, he wanted you to be comfortable with your decision. 

"Yeah, why not?" Shrugging like it was nothing. 

"I'd love that." He smiled, pulling you in for a kiss. 

Soon enough, Lando started to set up your station next to his. He offered you his setup as the view from your station has the view for both of you, and so you would just be in the background as opposed to front and center. Once everything was ready, he turned to look at you, set up comfy on the chair like you were back in your natural habitat. A smile spread onto his face, knowing that you fell in love with gaming again. Enough to show the world you loved it again.

"What?" You said, looking over to him with a raised eyebrow, seeing the goofy, lovestruck look on his face.

"Just proud of you is all."

"I hope you know this is because of you. Without you, I don't think I would ever be in love with this again." 

"I was just there, you overcame it yourself." He brushed it off because he didn't do anything but play with you. But with the way you were looking at him right now, he might be convinced that he did do something. 

"I love you." You smiled, pulling him in for another kiss.

He pulled away just a bit to mumble, "Hmmh, I love you more," before pulling you in again. 

Soon enough, both of you were set up, and he texted Max about the new situation so he wouldn't be caught off guard on camera. When he pressed the live button, you held your breath for a bit. You were ready to be on camera again, but you just didn't want it to take away from Lando and Max. 

"There you guys are. I've been waiting forever." Max's voice pulled you out of your trance, making you chuckle. 

"Oh hush you knob, you're so dramatic." Lando fired back without missing a beat. 

You looked over to Lando's monitor, so you were in more of a better view. When you peeked at his Twitch chat, you weren't surprised to see the views climbing rapidly; however, you were surprised to see the comments. 

IS THAT THE QUEEN??

SHE CAME OUT OF RETIREMENT 

MY TWO WORLDS COLLIDING 

HOW DID LANDO EVEN GET HER ON STREAM?????

THE COLLAB OF THE CENTURY 

Looking over, he wasn't bothered by the chat, instead grumbling with Max. When you nudged him to look at the chat, he was initially confused. He expected everyone to be talking about you, but when he noticed the collab comments, he started chuckling. Both of you forgot that the public didn't know you were together. There was speculation about when you would attend races, but garage hopping didn't strengthen the theory. 

QUEEN, PLEASE NOTICE US!

HOW ARE LANDO AND MAX NOT FREAKING OUT WITH ROYALTY IN THE HOUSE?!

no but seriously how did lando bring her out of retirement 

"Hi guys!" you decided to acknowledge the chat. When that happened, comments were rolling in so fast that you couldn't even read or make out a single word. 

"I think you broke my chat," Lando smirked, looking over to you, making you back away to your setup in shyness. 

"So are you going to introduce her?" Max's voice came through since his chat was also talking about you on the stream. 

"I don't think she needs any introduction, I'm pretty sure we don't even exist to chat."

"So are we going to play or just bicker with each other?" You grabbed the attention of both men in hopes of getting them to stop shining the light on you. 

Soon enough, all three of you were loaded into a lobby. Once the match started, it wasn't like you missed a beat. Calling out to Max and Lando like you guys were in an actual battlezone and getting the most kills for the team. Max and Lando were used to playing with you, so they knew your style, as they might have known you from your videos. 

What you didn't see was the chat going crazy. Commenting on how you seem like your old self, how you're owning both Max and Lando, and how easily you fit in with both of them. 

"Max, 9 o'clock!!" You shouted, seeing someone creep up on him while you were busy getting a kill.

"Whose 9?!" he shouted before being killed. 

"Your 9 you knob!" 

"Why can't you say left like a normal person?" He grumbled.

Without missing a beat, you fired back, "Why can't you survive more than one round?"

"This is bullying."

"BABE YOUR 12!!" You suddenly heard Lando say, but when you looked up, you saw no one. Not even a second later, the kill screen popped up, showing it was from behind, making you whip your head to him. 

"That was 6 o'clock not 12 you muppet!!"

"I got confused!!!"

"I hope you get killed." You mumbled before turning back to your screen.

"Let's retire the military talk." You grumbled, earning a laugh from Lando, and you had no doubt Max was shaking his head. 

 Did she just say knob?

how long has she been hanging around them shes picking up British slang

ahhh bullying max is second nature

DID LANDO JUST CALL HER BABE

BABE HELLO??

NO WAY LANDO JUST SLIPPED

OH SHES GOING TO FREAK ONCE SHE RELAIZEZ 

HE CALLED HER BABE WHILE SHE CALLED HIM A MUPPET

HONOR THEY LOVE EACH OTHER 

"Lando you fucked up." Max's voice came through in a slight panic once the round was over.

"Yeah, I know, I'm not going to try and experiment again."

"Not that, check the chat." You couldn't help but look over, also. Any chance to make fun of Lando, you were going to hop on, but jokes on you this time.

"Oops?" He slowly looked over in your direction, afraid of what he was going to be on the receiving end of. It was one thing to have you on stream, your first stream back at that, but to accidentally announce your relationship live? Oh, he messed up big time.

"Let's just say you are so glad we're live right now. Secrets out, I guess." 

"Someone sleeping on the couch tonight." Max snickered, enjoying what he was hearing. He couldn't wait to watch clips of it later on Twitter and TikTok. 

"I'm sorry. I love you?" 

"Now you're questioning it?" You asked with a raised eyebrow as Max was dying laughing through both of your ears. 

"No, no, no. I love you, I'm in love with you, and I would do anything for you. I'm sorry," he panicked, pulling you closer so he could squeeze you for reassurance. 

"You're so lucky you're cute."

"And that you love me." The goofy look was back on his face, one he knew you couldn't resist. 

"And that I love you." You sighed, trying to hide the smile at how cute the interaction was. 

"You guys make me sick. Can we get back to the game now?"

"Both of you better last a full round with me." 

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - non/con, manipulation, mentions of breeding, and unbalanced power dynamics.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's ecstatic the day his owner, Suguru, brings you home. He's the pinnacle of a spoiled pet, constantly showered in toys and treats and affection, but his owner's a busy man, and he tends to sulk when left home alone. He's had other companions before, another leopard hybrid who nearly killed him before being released back into the wild and a black panther who somehow proved to be a worse influence on Satoru than Satoru was on her, but you're supposed to be more permanent solution, another hosuepet to keep him company when Suguru can't. You're a sweet little housecat, all wide-eyes and raised ears, but still, Suguru wouldn't be surprised if you're begging to go back to the shelter less than an hour after meeting your new roommate.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who falls in love with you immediately. Suguru practically has to keep him in a chokehold while you explore your new home, eventually curling up on your new bed. Satoru's on top of you as soon as he gets loose, purring obnoxiously while he runs his bristled tongue over your cheek. Suguru's half-convinced that your first day's going to end with bloody claws and bandages, but you only nuzzle into his chest and knead at the blankets underneath you. Satoru's a difficult cat to put up with, and Suguru's relieved that you, at least, find him tolerable.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's absolutely massive compared to you. The tips of your pointed ears barely reach his collarbones, and your wrist is only as thick as his fluffy tail. His favorite hobby quickly becomes carrying you from room to room despite your softly mewled protests, and he's not happy unless he's pressed against you as closely as possible. He used to force himself into Suguru's lap whenever possible, but now, he's unbearable unless you're sitting pretty in his. He doesn't even complain when you lose your temper and dig your little fangs (barely half the size of his - a poor imitation of a real predator's) into his arm, just grinning as he tugs at your ears and pinches your cheeks. He's not exactly a wild animal, but he's still at the top of his food chain. You're not quite a mouse, but you might as well be, compared to him.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's calling you his mate after less than a full month. You don't know what it means, often parroting it back as more of a question than a term of endearment, and Suguru just brushes it off as Satoru being deliberately irritating. He keeps it up, though. even after you start refusing to respond to it.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who starts introducing you to new "games". You know you don't stand a chance against him, but somehow, he always manages to goad you into roughhousing, into squirming as he pins you under his full weight. He likes to dangle things above your head, to see how long it takes your instincts to get the best of you before your chest is pressed against his and you're pouting so adorably as you jump and bat at his hand. Sometimes, when you fall asleep mid-grooming session, he'll let his mouth wander lower than it should, and you'll wake up to his tongue lapping over your chest, his face buried between your thighs in a way that leaves you teary-eyed and warm. You've tried to tell Suguru, but you always get embarrassed and end up mumbling something as vague as 'Satoru's being mean to me, again.' In the end, Satoru only ever gets a slap on the wrist and a new reason to tease you, next time Suguru turns his back.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who fucks you whenever Suguru isn't home. He planned on waiting for your first heat (delayed by your shelter suppressants and the stress of a new home), and he knows he's not supposed to, but he just can't get enough of having your smaller body curled up underneath his, your tail thrashing from side to side as he lazily rolls his hips against yours. You tend to whine, at first, to go on and on about how weird it feels and how much it hurts, but as soon he gets his cock inside of you, all those complaints tend to go away. It's almost funny, how easily your stupid little kitty mind gets all hazy and cockdrunk. He always loves you, but he loves you most when you're drooling and purring for his cum, begging him to breed you properly between hitched moans.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's not even mad when Suguru catches him bouncing your half-conscious, fucked-out body on his cock. He wants to be the best possible mate for you, and he couldn't do that if he wasn't willing to show you off <3

[justauthoring]

Necessary Clarification.

Request: Omg can we pls get a sanji comfort fic where y/n is a little insecure bc she notices sanji treats her differently than other girls, she thinks that maybe he doesn’t think she’s pretty enough thinks of her as one of the bros or something. Unbeknownst to her sanji is like madly in love with her and didn’t know to to deal or confront his feelings so when he finds out about her doubts he’s like running to her and putting those bad thoughts to rest. Requested by: Anonymous

Pairing: Sanji Vinsmoke x F!Reader

A/N: Sanji hurt/comfort???? Sign me up!!

Word Count: 2,636

Also, this header honestly doesn't relate to the fic at all but doesn't my man look so good??????

"Here you go, Nami-swan~! Robin-chan~!"

Trying to make your anticipation less obvious, you ignore the way your body instinctively shuffles as Sanji's voice carries across the ship. As usual, there's a sway to his voice as he calls out to the only two other female members of the crew, a tray of drinks in his hand.

Nami, Robin and you were currently sat by Nami's tangerines, chatting and relaxing under the hot sun. There was still a bit of ocean to cover before you all arrived at the next island to reset the log pose, so everyone on the ship was doing their own thing. You knew Zoro was training, as he normally did around this time, while Usopp, Luffy and Chopper were entertaining themselves somewhere on the ship as usual. You couldn't see Franky or Brook, but clearly whatever they were doing was enough to keep them occupied.

Of course, Sanji's "own thing" involved dining and serving the ladies of the Thousand Sunny to his best ability.

The drink he sets down in front of Nami is a bright blue, topped with ice and a straw and looking something sweet. Robin's drink, although milder, looks just delicious. Both drinks are served to the women with a swish and a smile from Sanji, as Robin nods in thanks and Nami oblidges Sanji's wishes with a gentle; "thank you, Sanji-kun."

He admonishes them with a bright grin, and then, finally, turns to you. The lovesick look in his eyes at your two friends softens into something more tame as he meets your awaiting gaze. You try not to make your hopeful gaze so blatantly obvious but by the way Nami and Robin are both watching the interaction, you figure you aren't be so subtle.

The final drink left on the tray is set before you, with a little less florish but still as presented as nicely. Anything Sanji made always looked delicious, so, that fact isn't all that surprising.

"And here you are, Y/N."

Just like that, the hope deflates. It might seem silly (and you know it is), but the lack of an affectionate honorific like Nami or Robin's makes your heart ache. And it isnt just that--Sanji's actions with you are much more serious and done with far less exaggeration.

You've watched, time and time again, Sanji all but bend over backwards for everyone woman he's crossed paths with. It isn't just your crewmates, but strangers and enemies alike. Sanji rarely didn't have heart eyes when a woman was in his sights and even more so was he ever not declaring his love, care and affection all in one breath at them. He'll call them the sweetest names, speak to them with the softest of tones, always filled with warmth.

But with you? He never did.

When he talked to you, he didn't declare his love for you. He didn't have heart eyes. You were always just "Y/N" and nothing else. He still did anything you asked, but it wasn't in the way he did Nami, Robin or anybody else.

You shouldn't care. And you probably wouldn't, if your own heart didn't soar for Sanji. But it did, incredibly and painfully so. You'd felt that way about him since you'd first laid eyes on him, way back when Luffy had first invited you to join the crew.

And although watching him all but drop to his knees and declare his love for a woman not five seconds later, your heart had already chosen him and you'd been unsuccessful in changing its mind.

But clearly, your feelings wouldn't be returned. Sanji didn't even think you pretty enough to treat you like the rest, let alone actually return your feelings.

Keeping your eyes trained on your drink, you nod; "thank you, Sanji." Your voice is small, muffled. You don't see it, but Sanji frowns at the clear upset tone of your voice, but he doesn't express his concern, meeting Nami's eyes whose strangely glaring at him before heading back to the kitchen.

The second Sanji is out of ear shot, Nami is leaning towards you.

"Y/N--"

"You know what?" You cut off before she can even start, suddenly pushing yourself to your feet as Nami and Robin blink up at you in concern. "I'm actually not feeling well. I think the sun is a bit too much. I'm just gonna lay down, I think."

You're standing before Nami or Robin can get a word in otherwise--albeit they try. You purposefully ignore their calls of your name, ignoring the slight pang of guilt at having not even drank the drink Sanji prepared for you.

But, really, if you thought about it, he probably just made it for you because he felt bad otherwise. Not because he wanted to like he did Nami and Robin. And certainly not because he cared about you in any romantic way.

Really, you should just get over your feelings for him. It was only hurting you more in the end anyway.

-

"Nami, I really don't--"

"Just trust me, please?"

Staring back at Nami, you sigh. You could never really deny her when she looked at you like that (or really ever), so you know you've lost even before the words leave your lips.

"Fine," you huff, letting her continue to drag you back onto the Thousand Sunny despite the nerves twisting your insides. Nami hadn't really told what it was she was planning, but you figured it couldn't be anything good.

Especially after she'd all but dragged you with her the second the Thousand Sunny had docked at a new island that morning. She hadn't given you a chance to argue otherwise or for anyone to even aid you as she pulled you off with her.

She'd ended up dragging you to a clothing store. The first one she could find. When you expressed her confusion, she'd made up some lie about wanting to gift you a new outfit for all that helped you'd given her during your last battle.

When you'd reminded her that the two of you had been separated, she'd simply shushed you. And when that clothing store didn't have what she wanted, she'd dragged you to a different one and then another until she was satisfied.

You knew better than to argue with Nami, so you'd simply let her doll you up in different clothes all day.

Now, with the sun setting and adorned in new clothes that seemed far too fancy for someone who lived on a pirate ship, she was dragging you back to the Thousand Sunny without a single explanation.

Your answer, however, is given to you the second her eyes fall on Sanji.

He turns at the arrival of Nami (because you knew his excited smile wasn't for you), eyes twinkling and grinning ear to ear, only to pause sharply when his eyes fall on you.

You feel vulnerable in a way you never had, chest tightening as you watch him take you in.

"Sanji," Nami calls, grinning ear to ear and purposefully lacking the affectionate 'kun' she adds to the end of his name. "Me and Y/N went shopping today."

Eyes flickering from you, to Nami, then back to you, Sanji visibly swallows. "I can see that."

There's the briefest twitch in Nami's jaw, a sharp sigh leaving her mouth as the rest of the crew watches in curiosity. Then, with a bit sharper of a voice, she asks; "don't you think Y/N looks pretty in her new outfit?"

You breath hitches, turning to Sanji as you wait for him to respond.

Only, he never does.

His lips part as if to say something, but no words leave his lips. His eyes flicker back and forth from you, to Nami, to something past you, clearly uncomfortable.

Something aches painfully in your heart.

"Sanji," Nami calls again, this time her voice has a tinge of anger as she finally lets go of your wrist and stomps towards Sanji. "Just what--"

But you stop her before she can finish, grabbing her by the arm and desperately trying to bite back the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes.

"Nami, don't... don't worry about it," you cut in, voice cracking at the end. Both Nami and Sanji's eyes snap towards you, but you focus on Nami, desperately trying to keep what little of your dignity you have left. "It's okay."

"Y/N, you don't--"

"No, please, stop," you all but beg. You know Nami is just trying to help, but it's only making things worse. And Sanji weirded out. "It's clear Sanji doesn't... Sanji is uncomfortable, Nami. So just drop it."

A tear manages to slip past your defenses and the humiliation burns in you.

Nami, parted lips and stunned, stares back at you, unable to say anything. You then realize how the rest of the crew is watching, and the look on Sanji's face as he stares back at you hurts even more.

Without a single look back, you turn and run off the ship.

-

Sanji watches you run off, bewildered.

The entire crew does and silence follows as your footsteps grow further and further away until you're completely gone. And the silence follows for a second more, Sanji still trying to process whats even happened, before Zoro lets out a huff;

"You're an idiot."

Turning to the swordsman, Sanji's eyes blaze; "what did you say, moss-head?" And he moves to step towards him, but he can't even move an inch before Nami is in front of him, the front of his button-up clenched in her fist.

And her eyes burn with anger.

"Nami-swan? What--"

"You absolute idiot!" She cries, eyes blazing as she glances up at him. Sanji's lips part, baffled, as he jerks instinctively away from the rage radiating off of you. "Does your brain just not work? Or is there nothing in there?"

"N-Nami," Sanji breathes, honestly a bit hurt. "I don't--"

"Nami," Robin calls, stepping forward as she sets a hand on the younger girls shoulder. "Perhaps we should--"

"No," Nami argues, shaking her head. "I've tried to be understanding, but now this is really hurting Y/N." She spins back to Sanji, "she's crying because of you, you idiot!"

"I don't understand--"

"You like her, don't you?"

Sanji's cheeks burn instantly, spreading to the tips of his ears as his eyes widen. "I-I--!"

"There's no point denying," Nami cuts him off (again). "We all know it."

And as if Sanji couldn't be any more embarrassed, the rest of the crew adds to her point by nodding. Sanji realizes then it's hopeless, so with a sigh, his head bows.

"I do," he admits, voice quiet. "I really like her."

"Well she thinks you hate her."

Sanji's eyes instantly widen, heart falling to the pit of his stomach.

"Why would--"

"Sanji," Robin calls, distinctively more gentle. "You treat her so different. You don't fall to your knees for her like you do us. Nor do you declare your love for her every other second. If I weren't aware of your feelings for her, I'd think you hate her too."

There's a million of thoughts that run through Sanji's mind then. Racing through them, too fast for him to properly understand. All that's made abundantly clear to him is that he's hurt you.

He's hurt you so bad.

And he has to fix it.

Nami, seeing the look on Sanji's face, finally steps back, letting go of him with a huff.

"Sanji!"

Jumping at the sound of his captains voice, Sanji slowly looks back up at him.

"Go find Y/N!" Luffy smiles at him, extending his hand towards him with a thumbs up. "We'll be waiting for you when you guys are ready!"

-

You know you should be heading back to the ship.

The sun had completely set and the crew couldn't afford to waste time on an island where you'd all already gotten what you needed. It was dark, you were alone and the outfit Nami had bought for you and made you wear was no longer warm enough in the cool night air.

But you were embarrassed. Humiliated even.

How were you supposed to go back and face everyone? Let alone Sanji himself? How could you ever look him in the eyes again after you had made your feelings so abundantely clear and he had made his so as well?

The way he'd just stood there? Staring at you? When you know had it been any other woman he'd have screamed of their beauty to the skies.

Sniffling, you hug yourself tighter, tell yourself you'd head back when you'd cried all the tears you had in you out. Only then would you face that embarrassment--when it was physically impossible for you to cry anymore.

A wave of wind brushes back, pulling a shiver up your spine as you curl into yourself. You're thinking you might have to cry these tears faster or find a shop that's open later, when a jacket falls around your shoulders.

It surprises you, pulling a gasp from your lips as you spin to see who'd snuck up on you.

The last person you're expecting is Sanji.

Tears still streaming down your cheeks, you jump back from you, pushing yourself to your feet as you desperately wipe at your cheeks.

"S-Sanji, I..." But your voice trails becaues you don't know what to say. His arrival here stuns you so stupid and in addition to the tears, you feel like nothing could possibly make this night worse.

"Y/N, I--"

"You don't have to say anything," you cut in, words rushing without thought. "Nami shouldn't have put you in that position and I shouldn't have run off. Luffy probably made you find me, right? I'm sorry. He--... Please, just, I'm fine so--"

"Y/N," Sanji interrupts you, "I don't hate you."

Jerking, your lips are left parted as you blink up at Sanji.

He takes your silence as an invitation to keep going. Hands held in front of him, he steps towards you. "I don't hate you and I don't treat you differently because I think you're... not worth it or anything like that."

Hands falling to your sides, you inhale sharply.

"I... I've hurt you," Sanji whispers, head bowed. "I hurt you and I'm so sorry. The truth was that I didn't treat you the same as other women because... well... the way I feel for you goes beyond how I feel for them."

Brows furrowing, you shake your head. "I don't understand..."

"I like you--no, Y/N. I think I'm in love with you."

Blinking, your breath gets caught in the back of your throat, shocked.

"And I didn't know how to handle those feelings. I've never... felt so strongly about a woman as I have you, Y/N. So I acted indifferent and... well, I hurt you." He lets out a heavy breath, eyes imploring and face sincere. "And for that I'm so sorry."

Shaking your head, you step towards Sanji, pulling his jacket closer around yourself. "No, Sanji, you don't have to apologize."

"But I do," he argues, "for ever making you feel any less beautiful than you are. Or for making you think I... hated you."

In a surge of surprise, emotion and want, you reach for Sanji, taking his hands in yours as you shake your head again. He steps closer to you, moving one of his hands to cup your cheek. "Come back to the ship with me, love. And I can show you how much I truly love you."

Heart soaring at the pet name, you lean into Sanji's touch, nodding.

"I want nothing more."

Smiling gently, Sanji caresses the skin of your cheek. "And Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you look absolutely beautiful."

[plethorawrites]

Imagine Jason Todd, who hates feeling weak and tries to avoid anything that seems frail or fragile learning to love bubble baths because his girlfriend. It starts slow at first, of course, with him learning she likes them and occasionally gifting her some nice soap or salts whenever they fight or he just wants to. Then they move in together and he realizes just how many she takes.

And it wouldn't bother him if it wasn't for how long she spends in the bathroom while he lays in bed at night or cooks breakfast in the morning. When she forgets a towel one day, she calls for him to bring it to her and he, of course does without complaining.

Then, the second he walks into the bathroom he sees her covered in bubbles with her damp hair sticking to her face which was flushed from how hot the water is. He smells the aroma of the vanilla soap that makes the entire, humid room, smell amazing. When she stands up, brushing the bubble from her skin to take the towel from him, his mouth is completely dry.

And she can tell.

So, the next time she takes a bath she asks him to join. 99% of the time, he'd refuse. He hates baths. But sitting in one with her? With her skin slick and soapy, having complete access to her neck...? He caves quickly.

He's surprised by how much he enjoys it—running a wash cloth over her legs or having his hands tangled in her hair to wash it. It becomes his favorite way to relax.

As much as he loves taking care of her, feeling her draw patterns on his thighs or reach up to scratch his scalp is the most precious form of intimacy to him.

The best part, though?

When they're both clean and the bubbles are slowly popping as the water cools from nearly scalding to mildly warm, like a comforting blanket. He'll wrap his arms around her as she leans her back against his chest, her head tilted back on his shoulder and her arms holding his as he holds her.

He'll brush the wet hair off her exposed neck, softly kissing and nuzzling her neck and shoulder, not to rile either of them up, but just because he likes how her wet, soft skin feels under his lips and enjoys hearing the soft sighs and content hums she makes as the water sloshes every couple of seconds when she rubs her legs against him while they're intertwined.

No, actually, that's the second best part. The first is hearing how quiet and sweet her voice is when she says she loves him and how easy it is for him to whisper it back in her ear before kissing her cheek.

[pythonmoth]

cw: flashback, sort of. military inaccuracies. lots of cursing. implied sexual activity but nothing explicit, this pov is just bloody shameless. blood, war, canon violence. author is projecting their own friend group, who cares. everyone's a little shit, including reader. mention of past gaz x price. (author is giggling at this).

× framed traitor f!reader x lt ghost. poly tf141.

word count: +6.4k

Part 10

If anybody had told him he would go through this a few months ago, he would've laughed at their faces.

He's too busy for this mess, really. He goes on a solo mission for a whole month and when he comes back all he knows is that his favorite lass is hospitalized and that Ghost and Soap were involved, and that it's John's fault. He had thought "well, they definitely broke her now", and had laughed in his mind at his silly joke, and then the soldier in front of him told him what had actually happened.

"Tortured. Nails all gone. Capt'n Price ordered it. Big mess".

Not even an hour in since he comes back and he has to see that bastard get away with it, and leave you with the physical consequences of it all. It was enough to make him burst a fucking blood vessel. He couldn't possibly smack John —he did once, and it did not go well for him—, but fuck, he was absolutely tempted, and he genuinely felt no sympathy for his team.

The rest of the lasses are worried about you, bombarding him with questions, but they have nothing to do with it and he does not have the time to stop and talk, so he just lifts a hand and doesn't bother replying as he sidesteps them.

He'll find the time later on.

After he got the doctor to clear a bed for you, he barely had the time to do his entire paperwork. He works quickly so he can be there with you. He can only eat and work, treating the minor injuries he got, work again, and as soon as he's finally free, he goes to the clinic. He can see Ghost and Soap waiting anxiously by the door. Your door.

Kyle sighs as he gets closer. He can understand their feelings, but he honestly can only feel annoyed at their stupid display.

Hell, if they were so worried, they should've refused! The Captain could've chosen anyone else. He knew it was hard and that they had orders, but if he had been here, he would've seriously smacked everyone.

If you had to be tortured for whatever reason, why the hell do it themselves? Isn't that fucking ridiculous?

This team is the most important thing for him, and they simply accepted to torture their favorite lass —the one they've been dating for a year, no less—. Kyle just can't understand that. If the torture had to happen, as the Captain was ordered, they should've refused and forced him to choose someone else.

Everyone's fucking stupid, really.

Not you. It's not your fault that you're surrounded by complete dickheads.

Not wanting to startle them, he makes sure to make noise with his boots, and grips their shoulders to silently force them to sit down. Ghost and Soap are a goddamn mess, both of them trembling, on edge. They're quiet, more than he thought they'd be, considering what they did, but seeing them like that, the guilt clear in their eyes and body language, Kyle starts calming his own anger down. They weren't in the mood to be yelled at, and he didn't feel like lecturing them either. It's enough for him to see how tightly they're holding hands, knuckles white, for him to try and make them feel worse.

He would, but he isn't an asshole either.

With nothing left to do but wait, he sits there next to them, waiting as the Captain's muffled voice comes from inside your room. Just a few minutes later, he comes out, and the three of them bolt up. Kyle's heart trembles slightly as he sees you on the bed, your back to the door.

"Sergeant Garrick" the Captain calls, and Kyle is a little surprised to hear how happy his tone actually is. "She's hungry. Would you mind bringing something? She's okay with you being there".

Kyle nods, patting Ghost and Soap's shoulders in sympathy. Just a tiny bit.

He rushes to flirt with fight the lady at the mess hall, securing a good meal for both of you. He couldn't eat because he was so worried about you, so now that you're awake and okay with seeing him... hell, he'll eat whatever the kitchen lady wants to give him. He'll even take those disgusting rolls of rice the lady loves making.

Anything for you, really.

Half an hour later, hands full with food, he gently knocks on your door. When you don't respond quickly, he peaks inside. "Hey, it's me. Come in peace. Brought you food".

"Gaz" you cry out, rushing to stand up. Kyle feels his heart drop to his feet, eyes wide, and immediately jumps forward, nearly dropping the food in his haste to catch you when your knees give out, hissing in pain as your feet touch the ground.

"What are you getting up for, you idiot?" he scolds, his arms under your armpits to keep you up —it's easier than he remembers from past missions, and he does not like that—, biting the bag of food between his teeth as he helps you to the bed. "Dumbass. Come on".

To keep himself from crying at the sight of your weakened state, he tells you about how he fought the lady at the mess hall, setting the food on the floor only after making sure you're comfortable. You stare at him in silence but he's fine with that, making sure he only touches your arms and shoulders so he doesn't accidentally hurt you.

"You look like shit" you mumble, interrupting him. Kyle looks down at you and, with his heart full of warmth, he grips your nose between his fingers, shaking your head slightly.

"Missed you, too. Now, come on, let's eat. I'm starving" he says, not giving you a moment of silence. He's glad you don't fight him as he helps you settle properly in bed so he can sit next to you. With quick hands, he places the food between the two of you so it's easier to eat.

He talks about his mission, exaggerating it just a tiny bit. He didn't take seventy men down, he took only like... thirty. He also didn't dismantle an entire Cartel on his own, but he did kill anything he saw moving in one of their safe houses and managed to capture the leader alive when she was running from the back. He had a grin on his face —he didn't add that little part— as he managed to shoot her on the leg to slow her down.

He also doesn't tell you his heart was pounding with excitement when he saw the panic in the sicarios’ faces, wishing he could hunt them all.

Just that, really.

Halfway done with his own food, he realizes you're just listening to him talk and haven't eaten more than a single bite. "Weren't you hungry?" Kyle questions, his voice a little muffled as his mouth is stuffed with food.

"I guess. I don't know" you mumble, your shoulders slumping even further.

Kyle reaches out to steal a piece of chicken from your plate and takes a bite, munching happily as he starts talking again, mouth full. Gratefully, you don't realize he slowly starts feeding you the bites he steals, filling your mouth and watching you chew.

He can't have you fall asleep for another three goddamn days without taking a bite, so when he manages to trick you into eating more than half of your meal, he relaxes.

He has no intention of treating you like a victim, even if part of him wants to just cradle your face and protect you from whatever is gonna happen in the future. He doesn't think you're weak, you're just... hurt, so he stays the same. At some point of his rambling, your head lands on his shoulder. Kyle watches you sleep, his lips curling up as you drool on his uniform. He gently moves the food from the bed, making sure you stay comfortable resting against him.

Careful not to wake you, he lowers you on the bed and gets the rough hospital blanket over your shoulders. He tries to step away so you can rest properly, but one of your warm hands curls around his wrist in your sleep, so Kyle just drags a chair with his foot very carefully, and sits right next to you until he also falls asleep, his head on your bed.

You sleep for so, so long he's nearly afraid he gave you food poisoning.

Dr. Wilson catches him on his way to the bathroom, and sends him to wake you up. He takes just two minutes for himself and rushes back to your room. As he gets closer to you, your arm squishing your face as you drool against it, he smiles. You're snoring, your eyelashes sticking together, and you look so ridiculous he can only stare for a little moment, cursing himself for not bringing his phone. He never uses it, but now this is a wasted opportunity.

Eventually, he does wake you up, helping you prepare for the exams they'll have you take.

The art of tricking you into eating... he's a master at it, already. It brings him no happiness to use tricks but it works, and he'll take it for now.

While the medics check on you, he catches up with John.

Ghost and Soap are nowhere to be found, probably in the smallest corner in the barracks drowning in their own misery, but John looks like he wants to either kill everyone or himself. Maybe both.

"I know I fucked it up" John tells him. Kyle watches as he pours himself a drink, which... he technically shouldn't, but neither of them says anything about it. "This is my responsibility. Hell, if she decides to leave the team, I won't be bloody surprised."

Kyle keeps silent, the resentment towards his own team slowly building, even if he tries to bite it down. It's hard not to be angry at them. They didn't even give it a single day, didn't even wait for him to arrive. This whole situation is just bullshit.

"At least we can agree on that. That's a first".

"Can I ask you to—"

"I ain't convincing her that you weren't absolute dickheads and didn't rush the situation, John" he cuts him off. "You fucked up".

John gives him a warning look, but only sighs, nodding and gulping down the rest of his whiskey. "Well, then. We've got work to do".

On the third day of you being awake, Kyle is there when the Captain tells you you're leaving the next morning. He doesn't miss the way your shoulders tense slightly whenever you look at Ghost and Soap, or how your eyes go warm whenever you look at him. If this had been another time, he would've been jumping up and down just because you're looking at him this way, but right now, it's slightly... hurtful?

Maybe that's not the word.

Annoying, definitely, in a way. He doesn't want to be a replacement for Ghost and Soap, and Kyle knows you're not that kind of person, but maybe you're doing this subconsciously. A traumatized mind can do a lot of shit to a person. He just wished…

Something else. Perhaps.

That night before you leave, he is the only one who stays with you, as he had the past few days. Kyle's just surprised you decided to actually share the bed instead of having him sleep on the floor. He totally eats it up, however, smiling brightly as you giggle, glad that his good energy is making you happy before sleeping.

With your head nestled against his chest, your arms gently curled between the two of you as he holds you lazily, one of his hands caressing your hair, he wishes he could stay like this. You seem so peaceful, so distantly different from the person he saw a few days ago that it's just perfect right now. It's comforting and warm, and as you two relax, the conversation slowly turns from idle gossip to a bit more serious, finally reaching Ghost and Soap.

No. Simon and Johnny, he corrects himself.

"You don't have to forgive them. Fuck them. I hope you remember that" he mumbles against your hair. Kyle makes no attempt to subdue his anger, not wanting to hide that from you. "Maybe you'll learn to understand why they had to do it, but that doesn't mean you have to be cool with it".

"And I'm not" you mumble back, shaking your head as you shift, looking up at him. "It's hard to just... look at them and not think of it. It happened like a week ago, anyway, so I can't be blamed. Right?"

"Fuck no. I'd say you give them hell a few months" he reassures you, nudging you slightly. It's enough to bring a smile to your face. Kyle keeps his arms loose around you, as you keep on shifting, restless.

"I don't know. I understand, I guess. I can't say I wouldn't have done the same in their position, but... I don't want to think about that right now".

"Of course" Kyle hums, his hand gently rubbing on your back. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.

It's warm, and it's nice. Your breathing is slowly calming down and he knows it won't take long for you to fall asleep. It is pretty late, after all. He's lost in his head for a while, wondering if he should take your things to the truck while you're asleep or if he should do it in the morning when you're getting ready to leave. It takes him a moment to realize you're staring at him. Kyle raises an eyebrow, playfully poking your back.

"What do you want? Is there something on my face?" he asks, moving so he can look down at you properly, his eyebrows furrowing, a feeling of worry growing in his chest.

When he shifts, trying to get comfortable as your eyes follow him, you surge forward, pressing your lips to his.

Kyle's heart stutters a bit, his eyes slightly wide as he looks at you when you pull back not even a second later. His body is frozen, half lifted from the bed.

"I'm sorry. I'm really-"

He cuts you off.

Of course he'll cut you off if you look like you're about to burst into tears if he dares flinching away.

It's a soft kiss. There's nothing but calm and affection in it. Kyle's fully aware of why this is happening, of the need for comfort that's definitely growing in your brain. He keeps it gentle, even if your breathing is ragged, even if your arm wraps around his neck. He sooths you with it, and he hopes it helps. He's okay with it.

Kyle welcomes it, calming his heart. He... also doesn't mind it. In the slightest.

Its only when he cradles your face, feeling the warm tears over your heated cheeks, the kiss slowly becoming salty, that he pulls back. He holds you closer, letting you cry into his chest, pressing another soft kiss to your hair. It takes a while for you to calm down, but Kyle just holds you through it, caressing your back, your hair.

It's you who breaks the comfortable silence.

"Are you angry?"

"What? No. Why would I be?" Kyle asks, genuinely confused. Your question feels so anticlimactic he nearly groans.

"Because I kissed you?"

He hums, his hand never stopping where it's caressing your back. "No. I'm not mad. It was a good kiss." You groan instead, hitting him on the ribs with your elbow. He laughs, patting your back so you settle against him again. "Nothing wrong with kissing your mates".

"Shut up!"

"Fine, fine. Well, look" he sighs, reaching out to the lamp so he can turn it on and look at you properly. "I think you needed that, and maybe I did too. I don't think I'm a replacement, either. Or am I?"

"No!" you shriek, your face heated.

He won't tell, but his shoulders relax as you reassure him. Kyle doesn't mind kissing the nerves out of you, but he's glad to see the genuine glint in your eyes.

"Then that's fine. Just kissing the mates goodnight".

"Garrick!"

"All I'm saying" he says, grinning down at you, and placing a hand on your head, "is that a kiss can just mean that. Did it feel good? It helped?"

You purse your lips, frowning at him. "Yeah".

"Then that's alright. Don't question it much".

"Should've asked. I'm sorry".

That makes him grin, his chest warm. "It's cool. Just don't do it in front of the rest. They wanna kiss their mates, too, but they need alcohol for it".

"What? You'd be embarrassed?"

"No. You would be, though".

"Why? It's not like- ugh!"

He playfully grabs your face, not letting you move, and kisses your cheek loudly, making you laugh for the first time since you woke up. He manages to keep your good mood, not letting you dwell on whatever that kiss could've meant. At some point, he can't keep up with your energy, and slowly falls asleep, his mind filled with contentment, and warmth.

Saying goodbye to you for nine long months was one of the hardest things he's done. Kyle doesn't like being near Ghost or Soap or the Captain when there's a big hole missing. It's their fault you're missing, and he knows his annoyed looks convey that. He's professional, but it takes him a while to get along with them again. Mostly, he's forced to.

Ambushed.

During a mission, they get caught in enemy territory. Kyle's not sure how it happened, just that it was just too fast for anybody but him to react as two cars suddenly burst from fucking nowhere. He manages to jump out of the way, but the rest aren't so lucky. When they drive away at high speed, no doubt suspecting they're all dead —or will be, anyway—, Kyle gets up and checks on the rest, knowing they have to move. If they want to survive so close to the enemy's base, they need to rush.

"Fucking hell, they got your leg" Kyle grunts, helping Soap up. His bulky leg is dripping onto the ground, his uniform soaked in just a few minutes, but he looks focused. Maybe a little too much, but that'll have to do.

John has a wound on his left shoulder, but he can walk for now, so it's only Ghost and him that ain't hurt. It's their job to find quick shelter so they can treat Soap and John before rushing back to their camp. It's not easy but Kyle manages to find an abandoned small house that isn't armed to the very core with bombs. They all ignore the old bodies in the place, especially a smaller one in the back.

It's impossible not to take a moment, all of them freezing as the clothes of that smaller body rustle with the harsh air. Suspended in time, however the kid met their end.

In silence and not wasting another moment, they walk inside as carefully as they can.

Kyle and Ghost do their best, treating Soap and John for an entire night, but they can't stay there. So they risk it. Ghost drags John, who looks extremely lightheaded from the blood loss, while Kyle carries a bloody Soap on his shoulders. It's a long, long walk back to the camp, especially with the enemies so close.

Kyle says goodbye to you in his mind.

You should be here with the team, but he's also glad you aren't. At least you get to live on.

Fortunately, he gets the opportunity to feel silly for being so worried not even two hours later when they make it to their hidden camp. Once they're all in their jeep, however, he sees Ghost slowly passing out, just now noticing his uniform was darker than usual.

That's fucking blood.

"Do I have to do everything in here?! I'll skin you all if you die!" he growls to himself, knowing the rest aren't even conscious or interested in his anger. Kyle pushes the jeep to it's limits, the team bouncing off the seats slightly, and the hot air making his eye twitch.

It takes him a few hours to be back, worried out of his mind. He's the only one who didn't get hurt, and that's fucked up. He gets to help his team but at what cost? If they die, that's on him for not being fast enough, for not being good enough at his work. For being too focused on his own safety instead of looking out for his team.

Ghost's side is fucked, Dr. Wilson tells him. Of course, she doesn't use those words, but that's pretty much what she means. John's shoulder wasn't actually damaged, there was no fracture, but he lost a lot of blood. Same thing with Soap. It had been a close call, in any way.

Kyle spends the next five days making sure Ghost is comfortable, the drug-induced comma he's forced into fucking up his planned Months of Hatred. He really had planned on pulling faces at them when not in immediate danger, on going as far as ignoring them, but because he had been pissed at the three of them and his mind didn't instantly click to treat them as a priority, they're all hurt. He wasn't good enough and he will never forgive himself for that.

Because of him, you could've lost them all.

Dr. Wilson insisted he doesn't have to be here, but he can't just leave them alone again.

The sunlight coming from the windows, he sits right next to Ghost, rubbing his own face in profound desperation. He doesn't have the heart to text you. He wouldn't even know how to tell you in person that your dear Ghosty and Johnny got hurt, but texting or calling is not his strongest skill so it's out of the question. He would only make you worry even more.

Besides, you weren't talking to them, as he'd gathered from their conversations, so he doesn't think you'll miss them much.

At least, he forces himself to think like that.

By the time Ghost wakes up, the first thing he asks for is his phone. Kyle only gives him a look but he quickly brings it. He gives him space, knowing he'll probably want to be alone when he texts you. Kyle hears his grunts of pain stopping, and then his voice going all soft.

Ah, a call, then.

Pretty soon after Ghost recovers, by the fourth month of you being away, one night Soap suddenly rushes over to the Lieutenant, and Kyle would be damned if he didn't understand the little tears clinging to the sergeant's curly eyelashes. Really, he doesn't even feel guilty anymore. They both seem so happy, now out of danger, the love of their lives is texting them back and he's actually very happy for them.

Even John seems a lot better, seeing these idiots happier.

No matter how hard Kyle tries to fight it, he loves these idiots. Even the people closest to you might hurt you, and you'll hurt them sometimes.

It's been nine months.

Despite his better judgment, Kyle's managed to text you every now and then, and, even though it pains him greatly, he takes your calls if you text him beforehand. At least two days before so he can be ready for it. Kyle would rather die than to willingly call someone; if it's not an order, he just can't be bothered. But this is you, after all. Kyle makes an exception for you.

Now that everyone's getting along a lot better, nearly the same as it used to be before this whole bullshit situation, Kyle does spend time with them, having drinks by the bar or just in John's office. Everyone clearly needed that, because they get drunk ridiculously quick. Including him, honestly.

"Ya know, I've never asked" John begins, sipping his whiskey as he turns to Ghost and Soap. "How did y'all get together anyway? If you're gon' be explicit, I don't wanna hear it, though—"

"None of your business" Ghost grunts, taking the mask off, since it's only them. It's not like it's the first time, anyway.

"Shut your mouth" Soap says, waving a dismissive hand to Ghost. He sips his whiskey and grins at John. "It was pretty funny, actually".

Kyle remembers that day perfectly.

Over a year ago, he had realized the moment you and Ghost first started dating. It wasn't super obvious, nothing really changed, not even when you thought nobody was looking, except maybe that Ghost was extra touchy. He also pretended not to see the little marks on the Lieutenant's back whenever they changed.

Good for them, he thought.

The little dates you shared weren't a secret, either. Whenever you had the time, Kyle saw you walking into the common area to watch a ridiculous movie, or a show, or whatever. He could barely hear it from the kitchen if he happened to need a drink, anyway. All he knew is that, at some point, Soap joined the movie nights.

At first, Kyle thought it would be a problem because, to him, it was painfully obvious the sergeant had a thing for Ghost, but if you two were together... where did that leave poor Soap? Eventually, Kyle himself ended up joining a few movie dates, out of boredom really, and, one night, after enduring two long hours of the heaviest sexual tension he's ever felt and trying to pretend he wasn't more interested in whatever was happening behind him instead of the actual movie, he just drops on the carpet and pretends to sleep as he listens to you talk.

"Dunno... is it wrong?" you murmur after a while, sitting on the couch right behind Kyle.

"Hell if I know" Ghost grunts back.

The silence is thick with something, but Kyle would rather die than to get up and miss whatever is happening. He breathes slowly, but not so much that he doesn't seem to be asleep.

"Every time he looks at you with those silly eyes I kinda just wanna..."

"Smooch him?" Ghost snorts quietly, earning him a smack on his arm. "What, you wanna kick him instead?"

"Both, I guess" you admit slowly, and Kyle can't help but grin.

Really, the army is fucked up. Everyone's together for so long that the lines between romance and friendship sometimes get blurry. Hell, Kyle himself had a thing with John for nearly a year. That did not happen, if anybody asked them, and they never brought it up after they decided to break it off. They're still a little petty, however.

The credits roll slowly, an obnoxious song playing as Kyle listens to Soap's soft snoring where he's curled next to him in the carpet, by Ghost's feet. It's funny, though, he's sure the sergeant is also pretending to sleep. Soap's one hell of a snorer. That's cutesy snoring.

He calls bullshit.

Sure enough, when you very quietly admit that you wouldn't mind if dear Simon was interested in little Johnny, and Simon admits he's actually smitten by the sergeant, Johnny sits up so quick he nearly kicks Kyle in the face.

"Wait, say that again".

And when their conversation turns a little too serious, too bloody personal, Kyle stops pretending and absolutely bolts away, earning a few snickers from the three of them.

Little shits knew he was listening.

The road to your house is a little too... exciting. You've been talking to all of them by texting and calling, and they could see how much you've improved in therapy. The therapist wouldn't tell the Captain much, and he told them even less, but you were doing better, and that's all that matters to them. Soap's nearly bouncing off the seat, Ghost's hand on his thigh to keep him still. Kyle's riding shotgun and the Captain's driving them. Unfortunately, driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole, and they all have to sit through the Captain's music for the whole ride.

It isn't so bad, but it's something Kyle's father would listen to.

... He decided not to think too hard on that a long time ago.

The city is pretty calm, and Kyle likes that. He can tell the rest are excited to be back, both because of you, and because this is the smallest city they've ever been in —where they didn't have to kill anybody, that is—. Not even fifteen minutes into the city, the Captain is already parking outside your house.

Kyle goes first, knocking on your door, the Captain right behind him, his steps calm, but he notices the other two faltering behind them, as if scared, hesitant. He can't blame them at all, it's been a while they since also saw you in person, but right now, he's only focused on seeing you again. Your face through the screen isn't good enough, and he's terribly excited.

He has to knock twice, but as soon as he sees you he wraps his arms around your middle, grunting happily to feel your weight back in place, no longer too light. He carries you further into your house so the rest can get in as well.

"Hey, sweetheart. Looking good" Kyle hums, beaming at you, pressing a soft kiss to your cheekbones before letting go of you.

He watches as you say hi to the rest, but there's something in your behavior that has him sharing a look with John, and when Ghost takes his mask off, Kyle can see the worry in his face as well. Okay, so they'll go slow. He meets Soap's eyes and they both nod. They'll be as careful as possible, not wanting to startle you at all.

That proves a challenge.

With everything happening to you, and probably triggered by their presence in your safe place, your home, you're snappy and terribly annoyed at everything they do. Not him directly, but you can't handle his touch, so Kyle keeps his hands to himself for now.

And, naturally, he had to take the initiative yet again. Everyone's so goddamn awkward, so watching a movie is way better than just staring at each other in silence. Soap and the Captain offer to buy snacks, so that leaves him with Ghost and with you.

Yippee, seriously.

Fortunately for him, you're less anxious now that there aren't so many people in your home and immediately crave his touch. He hugs you and checks on your fingernails, making sure you didn't anxiously bite them off again.

Kyle kisses your cheek, your hair, making sure you're feeling better, and grinning down at you when you give him grateful smiles. He barely notices Ghost shifting, uncomfortable. If he said he doesn't feel guilty, that'd be a lie, but you need him right now, so he doesn't stop to explain Ghost what's going on. Not that he knows himself... not really, anyway.

A while later, the Captain and Soap are back, and you're looking so much better. You're enjoying your sour candy, making Kyle eat them to giggle at his despair —he hates those things—. Soap and Ghost throw some annoyed looks in his direction, but you don't seem to catch them, probably protecting yourself from any kind of anxiety by just focusing on Kyle alone.

But then, Soap kinda fucks up.

Getting more crisps from the kitchen, he accidentally drops a plate, the shattering sound making even him flinch. You get up so fast you end up smacking Kyle on the face in your haste of getting away. He pauses long enough to watch Ghost hesitate, and then rushes after you. Kyle finds you easily in the guest room. You're on your knees, shaking so much he wonders if you're breathing at all, and he can see your hands gripping the rough carpet. He dives for you, not closing the door in case you panic even more and hugs you tightly.

It's like you can't process his words for a few moments, until you suddenly go limp on him. Kyle's deeply worried for a second, but then you're speaking and he feels his heart beat again.

Now, he won't lie and say he doesn't feel a little, really, just a tiny little bit used when you seek his lips again, but he puts aside his own feelings to give you what you need. It's not about him right now, it's about what you need.

So, really, imagine his fucking surprise when you shut his smart ass with a proper kiss. He's so startled he can barely keep up with you, his mind spinning with contentment. Maybe he's enjoying this a little too much, but just this once, he decides to indulge himself.

Your warm hands cup his cheeks, the kiss deepening so much that Kyle can hear the harsh smacking of your lips as they sloth together. With his arms around your middle, pulling you closer and closer until your front is completely flushed against his, your hands find the back or his neck, of his head, and he sort of... just melts. Kyle let's out a shaky exhale that makes you pull back for a moment.

He stares at you with half-lidded eyes, feeling your nails dig slightly onto his skin. "I'll be damned" Kyle mumbles quietly.

Neither of you do or say anything for a long heartbeat, only breathing each other in, staring.

Then, he just can't hold back. And apparently, neither can you.

Well, fuck him. What the fuck.

It's only after a while, when neither of you can breathe anymore and the fierce need seems to slowly melt away, that Kyle finally pulls back, panting heavily against your shoulder, a hand gripping your hip. He's seriously fucking glad you have the decency not to question why he's shifting away from between your legs even if he doesn't let go of you.

He doesn't think he can stand that question right now.

"I'll be damned" Kyle murmurs, repeating himself.

The only thing that keeps him sane right now is that you burst out laughing, clearly flustered. He laughs, his cheeks aflame as he helps you up.

When the whipped cream touches his face, he just can't stay still anymore, his mustache quivering as he holds back his laughter. These ridiculous kids don't hold back at all, filling his face with whipped cream and placing more and more gummy bears on top. Finally, he opens his eyes and stares directly at you, your giggles stopping immediately as you rush to stand up, trying to escape him.

Price grips your arm swiftly and pulls you closer, holding you against him as he uses your face as a napkin, rubbing the whipped cream all over your cheek and hair, your screams of delight filling your house, the rest joining immediately after, even Ghost's amused huffs make it to his own ears.

Its a little messy, but he can only grin brightly, seeing you happy enough that you're no longer avoiding Ghost and Johnny. He doesn't bother questioning why Garrick is all over you. Really, at this point he's just happy you're content.

After a few hours of playing around, of getting teased for pretending to be asleep, you invite them to sleep over.

Price wasn't expecting that, but he doesn't say no. Neither do any of the other idiots, not that it's a surprise, and, while the others get ready to sleep in the guest room, their voices loud and actually happy for once, he gently pulls you aside over to the kitchen, away from possible eavesdropping.

"What's up?" you ask, your hair still a little wet where you had to wash it, just like his damp beard. Price grins down at you.

"Are you okay?"

"Hm? I am. Why?"

You look so confused as to why he's asking such thing that he almost believes you. He does, just a little bit, mostly because the therapist did tell him you're doing better now.

"You panicked on me just now" Price says anyway, his eyes inviting, hoping he doesn't scare you off again. However, you only give him a small smile.

"I was terribly anxious I was gonna be scared of you, that I ended up... kinda forcing myself into being scared? If that makes sense. My therapist's been helping me realize a few things" you mumble, rubbing the back of your head.

Price places a hand on top of your head and nods. "As long as you're okay. If you change your mind about us sleeping here, I'll drag them out".

The smile you give him, the dismissive wave of your hand, tells him enough. Still, he waits a little bit.

"It's fine" you reply. He blinks when you flick his nose, actually grinning. "I'll also lock my door, and I have a few knives under my pillow. That helps".

"Fair".

It's pretty late when Price hears Garrick walk into the guest room, even if they're all still awake. Ghost and Johnny only give him a look, but say nothing, carrying on their conversation as usual. They've been looking a lot better than they had when they left before the whole whipped cream prank, so that's something positive, at least.

As Garrick gets closer, Price sees the little gloss on his lips and he has to bite back a smirk.

Kids these days, really.

You had excused yourself after a while, yawning for nearly an hour until you decided to just go to bed. Garrick followed after you not even ten minutes later.

He didn't know what to make of it, didn't know if he felt annoyed or not, but Kyle gave him a not a word look, so Price only gives him a smirk.

Well, then.

Now with everyone curled on the bed, legs half-dangling from the mattress, Price sighs loudly, making the rest turn to him.

"If I lose my team over this... new generation's type of relationships or whatever the fuck is happening here, I will skin you all alive".

"Noted".

"Copy that".

Ghost only looks at him, and shrugs, flipping onto his back before closing his eyes. "Price and Garrick fucked".

That makes Price gap in complete disbelief, turning to look at Ghost when Johnny bursts out laughing, Kyle burying his face in his hands. "Why are you even saying that? That did not happen, don't know what you're talking about. I just think it's ridiculous to—"

"Oi!" Price snaps at him, frowning, feeling just a little bit offended. He doesn't even want to know how the hell Ghost knows.

"I saw you with her" Ghost says instead, cutting over Johnny's laughter. Price sighs, turning to Garrick, who's staring at the pair. "We both did".

Johnny sighs deeply, his laughter dying out, one of his arms under his head. Everything is quiet, Garrick's breathing slow, his face unashamed but a little guarded. Eventually, Johnny speaks up. "It's cool".

"Is it?" Garrick asks, blinking at the two of them.

"If she's happy, it's fine" Ghost replies instead, rubbing his face.

"Doesn't mean we'll stop fighting for her, though".

"Fine by me" Garrick hums, shrugging.

Price stares at them in complete silence, listening to them talk about this as if they were discussing the fucking weather. Shaking his head, he turns his back on them and pretends he can't hear the slowly warming tone from Johnny when he talks to Garrick.

Ah, he should retire.

-ˋˏ✄——————————————————

Masterlist | Part 11

Buy me a coffee

im having the time of my life, birds are tweeting outside, the woodpeckers are going insane, my cat's on my lap and my old pup is by my feet, tf141 is a loving polycule (price is like a father to reader so not w her, but the rest? *shrugs*) and im tired of pretending it isn't.

gaz calls price "john" when he's either pissed, worried or content.

» why gaz (nearly) taking down an entire Cartel isn't as ridiculous as you might think it is: that's happened here in México before.

there is someone we call "El Marino Loko", a crazy mexican marine; he and his team didn't care for sicarios' human rights. they would beat them up, would force them to wear women's clothes, would make them kiss each other, humillation in general yk how it is. they never took prisoners :) the government and the mafias themselves wanted that marine dead, but he disappeared.

he's still alive, as someone's personal guard but nobody truly knows *twirls hair* there's no way to know how many sicarios he killed, but he and his team killed hundreds if not a thousand (or more). that's pretty hot, if you ask me.

anyway, since it's just gaz I couldn't say he killed a hundred alone, but definitely a few. follow me for more interesting facts that emilia pérez could never tell ya lol

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @kukavittu @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @rayrayyio @diseasedclitoris @alex1011sdzfgh @thebumbqueen @hyunjaebaby @jillvalentinesrealwife @sodavrr @kneelforloki @vioxsoo @l4vstrr @leon-thot-kennedy @t3a-bag @dotmistbird @littlezarp @eclipsedcherry @codeseven @babydoll-143

[luveline]

Jade can I please get a chatty af yapper sunshine girlfriend with Sirius?? Like May be someone tells her she talks a lot so she's super quiet around him cuz she's worried he'll get annoyed and break up with her but poor Sirius he misses his chatty girl and just angst with fluff

thank you for requesting! fem, 1.4k

James Potter means well. Honestly, you don’t think he has a mean bone in his body, so you try not to take it to heart. 

Unfortunately, your attempts to do so don’t work. They really, unquestionably don’t. By the time you’re outside of Sirius’ flat that afternoon, James’ small comment is all you can think of. 

“You’re so chatty I’m surprised you don’t run out of breath,” he’d said. Not without love. You’d bumped into him in Sainsbury’s and ended up talking for ages about one thing or another, you know him well, you’d even say you were friends, though he’s of course Sirius’ friend rather than your own. “But I’m the same. God, Sirius used to hate how much I talked, he’d be sick of me. I think I numbed him to it over the years.” 

You can’t imagine it. Sirius and James are best friends. With Remus, they’re the most in love threesome of friends you’ve ever met, and it’s nice; it makes you very proud to have a boyfriend who cares for others as deeply as Sirius cares for them. It’s like a constant demonstration of how he’s a good man. 

But you’d never stopped to consider that they weren’t always so seamless, and you’ve regrettably never considered that your constant talking is something that could put him off. 

You talk to Sirius about everything. There isn’t a word to describe the excitement of having someone waiting to listen to you every single night. You could tell him every detail of a day down to what colour socks you wore and you know he’ll sit there listening with his hand on the small of your back, or his fingers twined between yours. You’ve never felt so loved as to be able to just talk about everything and have him talk back. 

But… what if, this whole time, he’s been wishing for a little bit of quiet? 

What if eventually, the talking becomes too much? 

He must be with you for a reason. You aren’t holding the poor guy hostage, he acts like he’s mad for you ninety percent of the time (while the other ten percent is spent sleeping on your shoulder). 

Like now —you knock his door and you can hear him scrambling up from the sofa, the sound of a book dislodged or a remote hitting the rug, you’re not sure. The door yanks open and Sirius smiles at you, pulling you in through the gap with a familiar hand on your hip. 

“Hey,” Sirius says, tucking you against his side, “hey, did you get lovelier over the weekend?” He shoves the door closed and gives you a hug with one arm, pausing in the hall. “Sorry I couldn’t see you. I don’t think we should miss another weekend.” 

You have a lot to tell him. It’s been ages since you spent nearly three days apart, but James’ conversation stays at the front of your mind. 

You decide to be less overwhelming, but not less loving, curling your arm behind his head to pull his cheek down for a kiss. “I don’t think so, either.” 

Sirius tilts his head away from you in an invitation for more kissing. 

You’re at home in his flat. You take off your shoes and hang up your jacket. You change into a pair of jogging bottoms with loose legs and let him hoist you onto his bed for a few stolen kisses, though he isn’t propositioning you, and you end up laying across his bedspread with one of your legs in his lap as he tells you about his days without you, his thumb sliding with pressure down your calf. 

“Mostly I wished I’d asked you to come over anyways, even if it was just to sleep together at the end of the day. Maybe next time we can do that?” he asks. 

“Of course we can.” You smile at him indulgently. “I’d come over for twenty minutes if it was all I could get.” 

“Or I can come to you,” he says, “even if it’s just twenty minutes.” 

He smiles, a beaming thing, and leans down slowly for a soft kiss. 

“So,” he asks, his breath on your lips, “how was your weekend? Lonely?” 

“So lonely,” you tease lightly, eyes fluttering closed as he continues his massaging of your leg. “But it was okay. I missed you, really, and didn’t do much else.”

“No?” he asks. 

Your voice takes on a shine as he squeezes your knee, “Missed your hands.”  

“I missed your everything.” He grabs for your forearms and pulls you into a sitting position. “But everything was okay?” he asks more seriously. 

“Everything was fine.” 

He raises his eyebrows, but eventually lets them relax. “Well, okay. Good, sweetheart, I’m glad it was okay.” 

He persuades you into the kitchen to sit with him as he makes dinner, refusing to let you help, and yet insisting you be there in the same room, as though you’d like to be anywhere else. Sirius makes your favourite of his usual rotation, offering you spoonfuls for tasting, gaps of silence stretching as he struggles to find new conversation. You start answering his questions but remember time and time again that Sirius could become totally sick of you. He might already be. 

Sirius puts the food on a low heat and washes his hands. He wipes them dry, but when he takes your face, dampness lines the inside of his fingers. 

“I’d like for you to tell me what’s wrong,” he says gently, stroking at the line of your startled frown, “before it gets worse. Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Please don’t, lovely. If I’ve done something wrong, please tell me. I want us to last forever, and we can’t do that if you won’t tell me when I upset you.” 

“It wasn’t you,” you say instinctively, then regret it. 

“So someone has?” he asks, still so gentle as his hands coast down your neck like he’s sculpting you, coming to rest on the slopes leading to your shoulders. “You can tell me anything. You don’t have to keep it to yourself… please.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Sweetheart.” He frowns deeply. Couldn’t look more upset. “Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

You chew it over, not wanting or willing to cause ructions between Sirius and his oldest friend. “Well, I saw James today at the shop, and… we were talking about you…” 

He waits. “And?” 

“And he told me you– you don’t like talking. That you didn’t like talking, that James used to make you sick of it. So I know I talk too much and you’ve never made me feel like I shouldn’t, but I guess I got into my head thinking you’d get sick of me, too.” 

“When we were younger I didn’t like much of anything.” He curls an arm behind your neck to hold you in place, but it’s not a dominant sort of movement, only protective as your noses inch together. “Did you ever read that poem by Bukwoski? Let It Enfold You?” 

“What?” 

“I’m not very good at explaining myself. I thought if you knew the poem, you’d–” He laughs near your cheek. “I hated everything. It wasn’t James’ fault. He did make me sick of it sometimes, but I just wanted to hide from everything.” He breathes out slowly. “I’ve never wanted to hide from you. I can’t get sick of you. Do you get that? I can’t get sick of you. Listening to you is the best part of my day, you’re my personal chatterbox.” 

“Chatterbox,” you repeat teasingly. 

“You could talk for Wales,” he says. “And I love it, I don’t want you to stop, because I’ll never be sick of it.”

“I don’t want it to be some secret resentment.”

“I don’t resent you for anything. I knew exactly who you were when we met and I love it.” He takes your face again. “I love it,” he repeats. 

You steal a little kiss against the corner of his lips. “What was the poem?” you ask. 

“I’ll find my book, and you can read it to me. What do you think?” He takes a slow kiss as you had in the same place, words like honey. “I miss your voice.” 

He’s basically pleading. It’s not like Sirius to plead, but you pull it out of him. 

“Can I have my dinner first?” 

“The one I made while you deprived me?” he asks. “Yes, if you must.” 

He takes another kiss, but you’re happy to give it. 

[hanasnx]

x gon' give it to ya.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: @fuckmyskywalker introduced me to the concept of talking to a pussy i think via an anakin smut post and it changed my life so i'd like to dedicate credit to the idea. WARNINGS: fem reader | sex in the suit | deadpool calls himself daddy ironically and talks to your pussy.

A deep groan reverberates from low in DEADPOOL's throat. "Baby, I can't believe how good you look right now, seriously never looked better." he praises, commending the space between your legs as she's stuffed full of every inch of his dick. Another inexplicable thing about his mutation—he grew.

"'Talking to my pussy again, Wade?" you scoff, amused and breathless as you rock back on him, tossing a glance at him over your shoulder. Your spine is in a deep arch over the bed, and the nine inch heels you're wearing are the only reason you're able to compete with his height bent over like this.

"She needs to know what a good job she's doing otherwise she'll get discouraged. Poor thing needs a lot of love." he refutes your judgement, however playful, lovingly stroking the flesh of your ass with his glove. "Give us some privacy, please. Jesus." he tsks, shaking his head at you while you bury your face in the mattress. If his dick wasn't yanking your brains out along with it, you might have more to say. He turns his attention back where your bodies conjoin. "Thank God I put zipper on this thing. Who knew a onesie would be such a hassle to take a piss in?" The sounds of the room are filled with him running his mouth and your cunt's wet responses when he pulls out and shoves back in. "Now look at us." A particularly moistured sound squirts out, and he laughs knowingly, like your hole's said something entertaining at a tea party. "Zipper makes it too easy, you know? We've gotta stop meeting like this, maybe next time we can just sit and talk—"

"Wade!" you giggle, banging your fist onto the mattress. "Just fuck me, already!"

"Don't worry about her, she's just jealous." he tells your cunt, "You and I have something special, don't we? 'Specially when Daddypool says to christen the suit." A wave of wetness wells up from his comment, and he gasps in pleasant surprise. "Oh, you like that, you dirty thing. Next time I crotch-shot a bad guy he'll smell you all over, is that what you want, you freak? C'mere, I'll give you something real to leak about." Big rough hands grip on your hips, slamming into you so hard your ass ripples from the effect, and your happy pussy gargles around the dick it chokes on.

[zyafics]

GIRL WITH THE SIREN SONG | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Blurb)

Pairing – Rafe x Mermaid!Female Reader

Summary — Rafe doesn't know how to act when your singing attracts everyone's attention.

Word Count — 1.8K

Content — fluff, protective!Rafe, jealous!Rafe, Sarah acting like a know-at-all (she's lowkey right), enchantment from siren songs, you acting clueless, and occasionally talking to sea creatures. A continuum of this and this.

You’ve been living with the Camerons at Tannyhill.

You have your own room, your own bed, but each night, you sneak into Rafe’s. You don’t understand the human normative of it being scandalous, you see it as an innocent gesture. Because he’s your mate.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Rafe asks softly into your hair as you snuggle against his chest, head resting on his skipping heartbeat. “Is the bed not good enough?”

“It’s fine,” you say.

“Then why do you keep coming into my room?”

Rafe doesn’t mind it, truly. If he can have it his way, he'll have you here every night. But he did it because Sarah suggested it—that you need your separate space, your own sanction outside of Rafe. What Sarah doesn’t understand is that it’s not normal in merfolk culture.

“You’re my mate,” you answer simply, drowsiness coating your words as you yawn against his chest, eyes fluttering to sleep. It’s always easiest to find slumber in Rafe’s arms, and within a few minutes, your breathing evens out, heartbeats slows, and you knock out.

When he rises the next morning, as always, you’re gone. The first time it happened, it scared him. Did you run off somewhere? Leave? He never finds you in your designated bedroom—though, the chances of that are low—and he doesn’t see you in any of the common spaces at Tannyhill. For a bleeding second, he thinks you truly have left.

But when he does find you, it’s on the beach of his estate. Chasing seagulls along the sand, kicking grains in the air, and talking to something.

You tell him it’s the fishes who have come to visit you.

He thinks you’re going insane again.

“You have to show her around Kildare,” Sarah declares, flipping through her morning magazine. “She’s talking to sea creatures because she has no friends.”

That isn’t true. “She has me.”

“Sure, and that’s all the companion she needs,” Sarah drawls sardonically, taking a sip of her glass.

Somewhere, deep down, Rafe knows his sister is right. He refuses to admit to her face, but it’s lonely at Tannyhill. Especially since you rarely join Sarah and her adventures. It doesn’t help that Rafe sometimes leaves you alone to your own devices, needing to help his father at Cameron Development or entertaining his other ventures.

But Rafe doesn’t like the suggestion. He doesn’t like the idea of you going out, away from this protective bubble he made for you. To keep you safe. Yet, he knows it’s necessary. Especially when he comes after you and sees no fishes, no turtles, no sea creatures in sight for you to exhibit such a claim.

You tell him it's because Rafe scared them and they swam away.

After that morning, Rafe suggested a party. Summertime hosts a lot of events, and nothing is more of a Kildare tradition than their weekly bonfires on the beach. It took little convincing to agree, with the stipulation that Rafe joins you.

He does. There’s no way Rafe’s going to leave you alone, and after you get ready—slipping on a bikini set that shows off every inch of your body, with a sheer sarong wrapped around your hips—he takes you to the bonfire.

It’ll be fine, Rafe convinces himself. It’s not like you’re going to be alone; you’ll be with him, in his arms. There’s nothing of danger.

He forgets how captivating you are.

Because when you arrive, all eyes are on you. You don’t realize it yourself—too entranced by the raging ten-foot bonfire in the center of the gathering, fuming dense heat and smoke in your direction. You’re surprised by the magnitude of the human population, sitting on logs, slipping on plastic cups—causing you to scrunch your nose—and having this rhythmic beat coming from large , black boxes that seem to project magic.

At first, the night started off slow. You in Rafe’s arms, introducing yourself to strangers, while he occasionally sips from a glass bottle (you refuse to hand him a plastic cup) while you engage in enthusiastic conversations about human culture.

But sometime later, it all vanishes. The battery to the stereos died, and there was a stilted, eery silence on the beach. Someone suggested a little song around the fire, and while it’s supposed to be taken as a joke, someone else targeted you—asking if you knew any songs to share.

You tell them you only know songs from your pod, these little melodies your people sing while traveling the high seas. They thought you were a nomad, and asked for you to sing one.

So, you do.

And it enraptures the entire audience.

Because you don’t sing a simple tune, a hummed sound in the ocean currents, you activate your siren song, the type to lure men off their boats and make them susceptible to your bidding. It starts with a small group, a handful of guys around you, circling, but as you sing, the crowd grows in magnitude. All men—even ones with girlfriends—ditch their partners to flock to you, to hear your voice, to see you.

It’s a mesmerizing sound.

But it makes Rafe jealous.

He knows it does. All these men have their attention on you, their sights on you, their salivating desire for you; it’s predatory. It makes Rafe tick, because you are no longer his little secret, his little mermaid, kept in his pocket, safeguarded in his arms. You are known, and perceived as the woman with the beautiful voice; the voice that can make any man drop to his knees.

At some point, the song ends, and Rafe thinks he can excuse taking you away from the crowd. But the people cheer—swinging cups in the air, demanding another song. You giggle under the spotlight, firelight shadowing your delicate features, in a way that almost reveals a set of fangs.

You start a new song, another whistle against the wind. Just as alluring, just as deadly.

That’s when Rafe had enough.

He grabs your arm and hauls you off the solitary log, pulling you away from the bonfire, away from the beach. He’s walking so fast, you can’t keep up, feet scrambling to catch ground, to find stability, and your brows furrow with thick confusion as Rafe takes these long, stifled steps towards the parking lot.

“Wait, wait,” you murmur, trying to catch your breath. “I can’t—”

He doesn’t listen.

He persists, trekking along the sand, moving across dried seaweed and driftwood with vigor. It isn’t until you’re trying so hard to match Rafe’s pace, to no avail, that a soft sob rips from the back of your throat, thick with emerging tears.

Once Rafe hears that faint noise, he stops. He releases your wrist and turns around, discovering your crestfallen expression, your eyes brimming with sparkling tears, and the most sadden pout paired with an utter look of confusion.

You exhale softly, scanning Rafe’s tensed features.

“What…” You start slowly, “What did I do wrong?”

Rafe says nothing.

“Are you mad at me?” Your voice croaks as if you can’t stand the thought of him being upset at you. It cracks at his walls, at the hard demeanor he tries to project, and his heart eases.

With a clenched jaw, Rafe glances back to the dispersing crowd of men—disenchanted, now murmuring with sounds of confusion on why they gathered together in the first place.

“Why were you singing?” He demands.

“You don’t like it?” You ask.

“No, I—” He rubs his jaw, a frequent habit he’s been doing since your arrival. “Do you see how those men look at you?”

“Of course I do,” you answer, normally, detached, as if there’s no problem with that.

“And you’re fine with that?” He scoffs.

“It’s a siren song,” you explain. “Of course, they’re going to be entranced. That’s the power of the lure.”

He remembers in his readings about this concept. The way sirens lured sailors to their deaths by the ballad of their voice. But he didn’t think it was still relevant. Of course, he doesn’t really know anything when dealing with this lore—this fusion of reality and fantasy.

Yet, it still doesn’t make sense.

If it’s meant to enchant all the men—why didn’t he get affected? Why didn’t he fall into a spell? Why didn’t he come to her? All he felt was a grating, nauseating feeling hollowing out his chest, thickening his lungs, at the idea that he has to share you and your voice with the rest of the island.

“Why didn’t it affect me?” Rafe asks lowly. He can’t believe he’s playing into this nonsense, this mythology, but it’s the only frame of reference he can work from. “If it’s a siren song, it’s supposed to lure me too. Why didn’t it?”

Your lips curve, as if you’re finding entertainment in his dubiety. Underneath the weight of the moonlight, it comes again, the sharpened row of teeth that he believed to be a reflection of his imagination.

“You’re my mate,” you declare, referring to Rafe as that term once more. “Mates aren’t affected by siren songs.”

“What—?” Rafe’s truly at his wit’s end. “What is that? What does that mean?”

“Do humans not have mates?”

“Do you mean friends?”

You shake your head delicately, taking a step towards him. “It’s a companion for life,” you explain, “Merfolk often travel in pods, but they break up when they hunt. Mates don’t. They’re always together, always bonded. That’s you to me.”

He’s trying to synthesize this into normal terminology. “So a boyfriend?”

“No,” you shake your head. “A mate.”

He’s clearly not getting it, and he’s too frustrated tonight to find the right answer. But, from what you’re saying, it implies that he means something valuable to you. Something precious. That settles the weight in his chest, tames the irritable side of his emotions, and calms the roaring ember of jealousy.

“Alright,” Rafe says after a long beat. “I’m heading back to Tannyhill, you comin’?”

You nod. There’s no way you can stay without your mate; that’s unsightly. Rafe extends his hand for you to take, and upon recognizing human customs, you do.

With contact, Rafe pulls you back towards him, towards his side, and you evenly walk to the parking lot where he has his car.

“If it bothers you, I’ll stop singing,” you say as Rafe wraps an arm around your shoulder, shielding you from the brisk nightly wind of the Atlantic Ocean.

“No, don’t,” Rafe enjoys your singing. In the morning, as you talk to your sea creatures; before bed, as you clean your teeth. He likes the soothing element of the sound. Music to his ears.

He just doesn’t like sharing.

“Just don’t sing to anyone but me.”

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