#and the marching and salute bit

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

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[juletheghoul]

JULES! It's currently 12:30am and I can't stop thinking about your Marcus gladiator fic. I need to scream this at you.

Picture this:

They are back in Rome. They are in the baths, public or private. I personally picture public ignoring the fact he would definitely get his own bathing area being a successful General but I digress. Someone has had a bit too much wine and gets a little too handsy and rough with his girl. That pisses him off so now he has to take a statement right? You can't touch what's his!

So he calls her into the water with him and has her continue the bathing while sitting on his cock before just eventually destroying her. Bonus points if he makes stoic eye contact with the offending party that started it all.

I cannot get this idea out of my head and I just had to share this with you.

Take care~! ❤️

Nonny - you really came for my fucking throat with this one... 😍😍😍 like... I stared at this with my jaw on the floor - what a mind you have... okay lets get into it

smut under the cut - 18+ and don't read more if you aren't into exhibitionism (not beta'ed and barely proofread lmao)

Series masterlist

---

The campaign was finally over, for now.

He'd marched into the city with his legions behind him, and the streets of Rome roared to herald their victor, the famous, brutal, but efficient, General Marcus Acacius.

He waved, and made the appropriate salutes to the city, but he was sparing with his smiles, his eyes scanning even here in the safety of Rome's breast, for anything that might threaten his safety. You watched him from your place behind him, along with the other slaves that had followed him and his soldiers off to war, invisible in his shadow to anyone but him, and a few brazen few who had decided to test his boundaries. They had been forgotten however, the only thing that occupied your mind, was him.

His first stop had been his villa, to settle his household. It was all very cut and dry, his staff knew to keep his house in order in his absence and they did so, enough that he hadn't even spoken more than a few words while he made his way through. While he set about getting settled in, you did the same, moving silently through his halls towards your modest quarters. The road had been long, and you thought that you could probably get away with bathing, and taking a few moments to yourself, trusting that now he would be well attended to.

You barely got your bearings when he cleared his throat at your door.

"Apologies Dominus, did you want for something?"

"Gather your things, we go to the baths."

-

The baths, strictly speaking, were for everyone. There were certain ones however, like the one you were in now, that were privately owned. This one, was owned by a member of the Senate and friend to the Roman army, and as such, was populated by a few other soldiers, and their attendants.

Marcus spoke very little by nature, he was a man who kept his words as close as he did his coin. He said even less when confronted with raucous laughter, and men who couldn't seem to keep their dignity when taking a cup of wine.

His jaw clenched as you both settled into the warm waters of the baths and you set about washing the march and the war and the violence off of his skin, sitting behind him to rub the knots from his shoulders while ignoring the ever increasingly loud soldiers around you. One of them, was the same that had tested his patience in his tent, and by the way he kept eyeing Marcus in front of you, had forgotten the lesson.

"The oil, girl." He spoke low over his shoulder, and you belatedly realized you'd left the oil he liked with the robes when you'd undressed.

"Yes Dominus." WIth haste, and not an ounce of shame, you rose up out of the water and went to grab the vial, finding it quickly, but before you could make it back to him you were cut off.

"I can see why you like this one General, I can see why you're so greedy with her." The same soldier stands in your way, his hands grabbing at your waist. The wine in his cup spills onto your naked skin and for a moment you're afraid he'll paw at you further but within a moment he's as still as a statue. That's when you notice, the deathly hush that falls over the whole place.

You look up into the soldiers face and his eyes are as big as plates, a small dagger pressed to the apple of his throat, the point just deep enough to draw blood. You hadn't heard him come out of the water.

"This is the last warning I give you, the next time you put your hands on what's mine, you will die." His voice was a whisper, but it echoed through the room. "Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

"Ye-yes, Yes General." all humor had gone from the man, and when Marcus had pulled away, all taste for wine had as well.

Wordlessly you followed Marcus back into the water, but instead of sitting in front of you, he pulled you to sit in his lap, keeping his eyes on the spurned soldier.

"I want you sitting like this." His hands settled on your hips and you felt the way he hardened beneath you, "Continue." He spoke low, but clear and kept his eyes focused, daring anyone to question him.

You did your best to focus on washing his hair, on rubbing the oil into the skin of his shoulders and his chest, but his hands wandered, grabbing at your ass and fitting his cock between the lips of your sex, drawing out your arousal and making your pulse quicken. His lips descended next, pressing softly to your shoulder while his eyes remained fixed. WIth a move, he slid his cock inside, pulling a moan from your lips, it only served to bolster him, making no move to conceal what he was doing and you knew it was part frustration from being at war, and driving home his point.

He said nothing, but he didn't need to.

People watched him take you there, in the water, and they said nothing. Any modesty you had, and shame had been worked out of you long ago and now, all you felt was pleasure. Both at him bouncing you on his cock, and at him having taught the soldier a lesson on your behalf. You ignored the part that sang the sweet song of ownership. You were his, and he relished the fact.

"Dominus-" You all but moaned into his ear, "May I have your gift?" You bounced on your own now, holding onto his neck, pressing yourself tightly to him.

"Yes Girl, it's yours, take it." He grit out the words, his eyes finally finding yours. You sped up, using your buoyancy to your advantage, clenching around him on the downstroke and when you felt his hands tighten around your hips you knew you had him.

"May I have your mouth, Dominus?" You watched his lips as you bounced, and he smiled a tiny smile before claiming your kiss with the same ardor that burned in your veins.

His tongue licked into your mouth and within a moment you felt the first spurt of him, deep inside where he liked it to be.

After a few minutes you made to move but his hands held you tightly. You took a look around, but unbeknownst to you, the baths had emptied and you were alone.

"I did not feel you flutter, and I am not yet clean."

---

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[angelltheninth]

Alien Needs

Pairing: Miles Quaritch x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, mating cycle, size difference, rough sex, tail shenanigans, alien anatomy, size kink, being manhandled, dirty talk, creampie, blowjob, titfucking, fingering, breeding kink

Word count: 2.6k

Ao3

A/N: The Avatar movies really awakened everyone's inner alien fucker.

Quaritch wasn't someone to just vanish without a trace, not one to hide away when he comes across a problem, and certainly not the one to leave others to speak for him. It made no sense that you were speaking to your fellow scientists right now instead of him.

"And why exactly can't I see him? I'm his girlfriend, if there's something wrong I should be the first to know." You knew where he was, just down the hall, just a little more and you'd get to find out what's been happening.

If only this idiot moved, "I understand that ma'am. However the Colonel is going through some... unexpected side effects of having an Avatar. Nothing dangerous I assure you, it just might be best for him, and for you to leave him alone for now."

"I'm going to talk to him, thank you very much." You walked right past the man, leaving him a little flabbergasted before he tried to stop you.

"But ma'am, he's really-" His words died on his lips when you shot him a glare sharper then any knife, "The room is unmonitored as per the Colonel's request, so please signal us if you need anything." He straightened up and saluted you, his face a few shades paler then before.

You marched up Quaritch's door and pressed the button to slide them open. The sight wasn't that uncommon actually, other then the room being a complete mess, his bed more then anything else. But otherwise seeing him pace back and forth, looking deep in thought wasn't that odd.

His shoulders tensed when you stepped inside, followed by his entire body as he spun around, his face contorted in a snarl, muscles bulging as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

"Didn't they tell ya to stay out of 'ere?" He didn't sound quite like himself, more raspy, deeper, like he'd been screaming for hours. Based on the state of the room and the amount of sweat that he was covered in maybe he has.

"They did. I wanted to hear it from you. There's something wrong isn't there, with you Avatar?" You locked the door behind you, isolating the two of you from the world outside. You didn't particularly like spending a lot of time in here, it seemed so barren, too white, with the only dashes of color being from the window, the clothes and of course Quaritch himself, who was currently a very big splash of color seeing as he was only wearing loose witting combat pants.

You noticed that there was no belt and that the buttons were completely undone. Something must be really wrong if he couldn't even be bothered to get dressed right.

"It's natural apparently. For the Na'vi, so they said there's nothing ta worry about. Still I feel like if I was warned of a god damned mating cycle I might have reconsidered this whole thing." He snickered and ran his hand down his face and chin. "They never tell ya everything it seems like."

"M-Mating cycle?" You blinked slowly at him, letting his words sink in. "When did that start?"

"Bout three days go I think. Been feeling extra horny for a bout a week though. Now it's like-" He growled in frustration, "Fuckn' annoying as hell. No matter how much I yank it I just can't seem to calm down." There wasn't an ounce of shame in his words. Not to your surprise, he's been like that since you met him.

You bit you lip as you imagined him crouching down on his bed, pumping his cock in his hand without it going soft at all. Quaritch inhaled sharply, his pupils narrowing. You felt small under his gaze, you were small, half his size now, but this made you feel like you were his favorite food on display and he was gonna pounce on you any moment now.

"There anything I can do to help?"

"Help? Ya wanna help me with this? Look at me!" With no hesitation he pushed his pants down to reveal his cock. He was easily the size of your forearm, with the bulging deep blue head leaking with copious amounts of white cum. You can't even imagine what the inside of his pants looks like right now, "We're not compatible right now sweetheart."

Fuck. You could maybe, maybe take half of him. And that is a big maybe. Anything else would be dangerous. But by god did you want to see how far you could push that cock, how much of it would fit inside you, how it would fill you up.

"Why don't we give it a try? I've got more then one hole you know?" You beckoned him in a soft, sultry voice, your jacket and shirt abandoned on the floor, followed by you unzipping your skirt and clicking off your heels, coming to stand before him in your black underwear, his cock ending almost at the same height as your mouth. The perfect height.

"I am intimately aware of that fact. Ya could barely take two of my fingers last week, ya really think you can handle me now?" He towered over you, his eyes shining even in the brightly lit room. "I will break ya." He hissed with a hint of a smile. His thumb pushed into your mouth and you could taste the faint hint of his cum, it tasted different than a human's, stronger, but not overwhelming. "Ya really wanna do this? I can't guarantee I'll be able ta hold back, I can barely hold back now."

"You forget that I'm a scientist too, this could be an interesting experience, I could learn a lot." You placed both hands one behind the other on his thick cock, following the throbbing deep purple vein up and down.

"Volunteering yerself for it, yer a slut for science aren't ya?" Quaritch purred as you ran your hand up, down and around his cock, making sure to leave no spot unattended for long, "No, yer my slut now. Ya can have all the fancy diplomas ya want but the only thing yer good for is being a fuckhole for me."

Usually he only descended into dirty talk when he was beyond horny for your pussy, which must mean that he'd been like this for quite a while as he said. "I'm here to take care of you. That's my job. So I'm merely doing my duty."

"Not yet ya ain't." His hand could crush your skull if he applied enough force yet he only used enough to move your head to the big tip. You could barely get him past the head before your gag reflex hit. Lucky for you it was sensitive just like a human's so you could focus your mouth and tongue on it while making up for the rest with your hands.

Quaritch hummed in approval as you swiped his cum in your mouth with much gusto. This was an adjustment for him as well, had all these new instincts that he had no idea what to do with, how to properly manage them, especially ones like these. He was happy you were helping, even if he wasn't the greatest with words you could see it in his eyes. His nearly predatory looking eyes.

You pushed closer to him, pressing his cock between your boobs, the white spilling onto them, he was like an endless fountain of cum. He could probably paint you completely white with it. The thought was making a stain on your panties, urging you to bob your head faster, lick at the slit at the tip and make him tremble.

"Enough. Won't waste anymore seed." He growled, "Fuck. Why do I wanna... shit... gotta breed ya sweetheart. Breed ya good." He tilted and held you back by your hair, your mouth and chin stained with thick cum, "Gotta make ya ready."

He ushered you along to the bed and let you lay down after which he crawled toward you like a lion to it's prey, his toothy smirk matching.

"Show me my prize." His breath tickled your stomach as he kissed his way down stomach. He made short, almost no work of your underwear, tearing them to shreds in a blink of an eye. He smirked looking at the wetness pooling between your legs and seeping onto the sheets, mixing with the drops of his cum. "One or two?"

"One please." Two would be too much at once, you tried before when he bend you over in the med bay and it fucking hurt. Something light and fluffy tickled your pussy lips, followed by a smooth, firm press over your clit. You looked down to see Quaritch moving his tail over your cunt.

"Learned a few new tricks. Turns out this thing has plenty of uses." He leered at you smugly, circling his middle finger around your entrance. His tail lightly slapped on your clit right as he pushed his finger inside. "Way too tight. Need ta stretch ya out more first."

You nodded along, spreading your legs in response to give him an easier access to you. He hummed, wrapping his large blue hand on your hip to angle you up before he pushed his thighs under you, angling your pussy upwards.

This allowed you, and him, to have a perfect view of him fingerfucking you, the only things obscuring it for you being his tail rhythmically tapping on your clit, sensing ripples through your already quivering cunt. He pressed his finger close to your entrance, looking between it and you, asking a silent question which you answered with affirmation moments after.

Another finger entered you on the next thrust, certainly easier then before, your walls already slightly looser, making lewd squelching sounds as he pulled them in and out, your arousal smearing along your thighs and his hand. "Should I make ya come now?"

"Now. I wanna come now." You mewl twisting your fingers into the ruffled pillow.

"Do ya? After ya went against orders and decided to came in here when ya weren't supposed ta? I don't think ya earned an orgasm. Fucktoys don't get a say, they only get used." His tail trailed across your leg and wrapped around your left ankle, applying the tiniest bit of pressure. "Sadly for me, they don't exactly make fucktoys for the Na'vi. So I'll settle for your many holes instead."

"Wait... how long does your... mating season last?" You tried to think clearly, the scientist in you trying to take in as much information as possible through your current horny mindset.

"Hell if I know. I do know that, since yer already here, I want ya here with me. Let me take care of ya sweetheart. Take my fucking cock and I'll make ya feel so good." He bended his huge body over yours, looming you between the bed and himself, not in a trapping way but rather in a protective one. His hands pressed on both sides of you, his forearms bracketing your head.

You moaned at the intrusion of his broad cock at your pussy hole. As his cock came to a stop he was not even half way in, which made him growl in frustration. "I'm sorry." You cupped his face and gave him a soft kiss.

"Don't be. I can still fuck ya just fine." He gritted through clenched teeth. He was burning up, anxious and irritated but bent on fucking your brilliant brains out no matter the obstacle, very similar in him completing his missions as a soldier. "Feel that?" He pulled back and thrust back in, his cum already making it easier for you to take him. Makes you wonder just how much of it he has in him.

You clenched around him, inviting him deeper while fully knowing you couldn't take him. Yet somewhere at the back of your mind you wanted to, you wanted to be broken and taken by him.

"Take ya, break ya, breed ya. I can do it all sweetheart." Your eyes widened upon seeing him smirk, "What? Did yer words slip out? Already crazy from my cock I see. This is just the start." His sharp fangs grazed your throat, sending pleasant shivers down your spine while he propped himself up with his legs, his hands firmly grabbing your hips, "So easy for me ta put ya in any position I want. Do ya like look at my cock fucking your slutty little cunt?" You nodded without hesitation or humiliation as a thought entered your brain.

You knew that the Na'vi ponytails were sensitive, that they hooked them up during sex. It was probably why Quaritch was so deeply frustrated, he couldn't get that sweet release, that feeling. So you reached to it, wrapped it around your hand and made eye contact with him.

Quaritch looked between you and your hand, "What do ya think yer- Oh! Fuck!" He roared in surprise and ecstasy as you pulled on the ponytail, his cock twitched wildly, leaking more cum, "Holy shit yeah. Do that again." The command was strained, spoken breathlessly.

"Yes sir." You joked but it clearly had an effect on him, almost as much as you discovering his new weak spot did. You tugged and pulled him closer. "It feels good, I'll be sore tomorrow but, fuck me harder."

"Tomorrow? I ain't letting ya sleep. No, I'll spend every waking minute dumping my cum into yer womb. Just watch, I couldn't care less if it's impossible I'll get ya round with my seed. Leave ya drowning in my cum and begging for more loads." Those words, those promises made your pussy quiver around him, you whimpered and nodded along, wordlessly begging him to deliver on those.

He was nothing if not a man of his word.

With a room shaking roar he emptied his thick, creamy seed into your slobbering pussyhole, flooding your walls with it. Not enough yet, you tugged on his ponytail, hard, watching as his eyes rolled back into his skull and almost making him lose control as he hammered away into your cunt, his fingers squeezing and leaving bruises on your hips, "Take it, take it, fucking take it sweetheart."

The white cum pooled under you and gushed all over Quaritch's abs as your body snapped tight like a string, your stretched and abused hole clamping down around the tip as your orgasm rocked through you. "All of it Miles, I want all of it. Make me come more, breed me." Hearing you echo his desires back made him grin, once again making you feel small before him, under him, "That's right. I want you to make good on your promise. Even if my body can't take it."

"Oh ya can take it alright. I'll make sure of that. I'll fuck ya until dawn, ya can bet this sweet pussy on that." He pulled back, frowning as his cum leaked out, "What a fuckin' waste. Need to keep this hole plugged it seems." He flipped you over on your stomach and pulled your hips up, emboldened by your squeak of surprise as he pushed the tip back inside, "There we go. Ready for round two?"

"A-Already? But I'm still so- ah!" He pushed forward, scraping your sensitive walls, making you throw your head back in pleasure and ball your fists into the sheets in pain. "Sensitive."

"But you can take more. I know you can. I promised you all night sweetheart, and I intend on making good on that." It was bound to be a very long night ahead, one no doubt filled with mind-numbing pleasure for you both. Which was a bit of a problem as you did actually intend on making observations during this. Oh well, you'll just have to keep repeating the process until you get it right.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

The meta text of Vaggie hating when people don't use her name or try calling her by another one THEY think she should use, bc they think her name is too vulgar or demeaning or too silly not to joke about -> and then parts of the fandom doing the same thing, is honestly really hitting home in a queer way

here's a character who we know wants people to use her chosen name.

we know she does because she corrects Adam to his face "Actually, it's pronounced Vaggie" drawing a hard line of NO between the old name he gave her with that soft G and the one her girlfriend uses for her now

her exasperation even during the battle, answering Pentious's call out of Vaggatha but still also tiredly pointing out "Not my name", and

ironically. The second miss-naming hurts me more than the first

the Adam thing makes me hate the guy on a personal level, with his stupid smug little "Hmmmmmm- no. Anyway-" saying Vaggie isn't ALLOWED to name herself something new as if he has any claim over her, as if her name has anything to do with him after he abandoned her

But the Pentious thing almost hurts worse for how well meant and casual it is. How familiar that is.

Here it's coming from a friend and the misnaming is a sign of affection from him, a show of respect. He's not calling her the purple female anymore. This is Pentious and his tick of getting polite and formal when addressing people he likes, him snapping his earnest salutes, him as we saw earlier that episode with his shy "Miss Bomb" towards Cherri.

And the way Vaggie just kinda rolls her eye and takes it from him while still clearly not liking it...

She used to wear a uniform that made her almost identical to the other Exorcists around her, she was given her old name by the man in charge of her, a name based on how useful to him she was, she's still got all that soldier stuff marching through her head making her grab for her spear and leaving her with no idea how to get people to bond other than throwing them bodily into a warzone

It just makes sense that the woman she's in a long term happy relationship with be so normal about her chosen 'vulgar' and 'inappropriate' name

Being together that long means Charlie probably knows this specific frustration her girlfriend has and cares enough about her to just say "Vaggie" like its nothing. Or maybe she just thinks, duh, of course she'll use the name Vaggie tells her to use

Maybe Charlie being that kinda person is part of what Vaggie loves about her in the first place. The amount of trust Charlie places in people, just by default

Because there could be good and bad reasons Vaggie's using a version of her old name after leaving that life behind

She could be doing it to remind herself of the shit person she was and feels she has to still make up for being, it could be tied to her self imposed new life purpose of helping make Charlie's dreams come true, it could be Vaggie keeping part of something she hates (herself) so she can feel a bit of "deserved" pain over it even when she was too scared to admit her past to anyone else- a sneaky way to always be reminded of it by the new people in her new life anyway

but that's her choice. People are allowed to make bad decisions for themselves

there's that ethos of the whole hotel and redemption plan again, Charlie's dreams and ideals swinging back into action even when Charlie maybe doesn't know it

what's the idea of redemption or personal change other than accepting that people CAN make choices for themselves? They can even make shitty ones, and that's not a reason to drop them forever or take the choice away like they don't deserve it anymore

What's the permanent extermination of souls other than saying they forever lost the right to say what happens to themselves?

a gay woman is calling herself after vag while switching out her soldier gear to wear miniskirts and giant as fuck hair bow ribbons while kissing and cuddling her girlfriend. Maybe it's cringe. Maybe it's camp. Even if Vaggie obviously isn't meant to be literally trans, it's that deliberate choice thing again, a kinda switcheroo from Adam naming her Vagina just bc it's something that he likes for how it makes him feel good, to Vaggie saying no this is MY thing now.

The Vagina to Vaggie thing is the difference between putting a name on someone else verses taking it for your own.

and Charlie affirms that choice, that right of Vaggie to be called the name she choses, no matter WHAT it sounds like or how awkward it makes some people feel

like, if someone in real life told you their name was Vaggie, would you use their name for them?

Would you accept feeling a bit weird for their sake?

Or would you do what happens so much in real life, when people who care still think they know better or feel like someone being who they are infringes too much on their own sense of comfort or even on that person's own safety, and with all the good intentions and love in the world, someone hurts someone else without understanding that they're evening doing it.

Like Pentious

Who is really and truly Vaggie's friend. The guy she got off to a rough start with but ends up rooting for, shoving her gf out of the room so he can talk to his own crush in peace. He dies to try protecting his friends, including her, and she misses him when he's gone

and he still thought he was doing a nice thing by calling her the more 'normal' sounding "Vagatha". Either because he assumed Vaggie couldn't really be her full name, or thought she deserved better

Charlie doesn't think Vaggie needs a better name

Charlie says her name all the time like it's her favorite word ever, if only because it belongs to the woman she loves

i feel a lot of things about that.

[bigassmoonchild]

Lost and Found

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: The results came back, the pregnancy results. You fear losing Simon, even after your talk and he holds you close. Things slowly go back to normal, but by god was Simon starting to smell a little too good. And the scent was coming from his door.

Content Tags: Angst, Almost Pregnancy Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Simon Communicating, DROPPING THE L WORD (leprosy), Simon likes compound drama, Mentions of Masturbation, Use of Pet-Names, Teasing, No Use of Y/N, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha! Ghost

A/N: I'm working one day a week because they only need me one day a week. I might quit, ngl. Anyways, I'm getting better! Not as sick! I'm going to figure out at better way for people to navigate the maple syrup series, but you know the drill. Content under the cut and asks are open!

Part 1 | Previous, Next | Headcannons, Masterlist

The next few days felt incredibly slow. You'd worked on a bit of paperwork before heading back to your rooms and sitting in your nest, going through the clothes you were intending to give back to Simon because the scent was growing stale. As you were folding one of the last hoodies, a knock on your door made you pause.

Opening it, you saw a soldier standing outside. He gave you a salute before looking down and reading off of the paper he was holding.

"Your presence is required in room 62B. Please be presentable and there within the half hour," he handed you the paper and marched away. Glancing at it, they were requesting you for more questioning based on the hearing you'd been part of.

Shit.

You stood and dug through the wardrobe you had, pulling out a few of your better shirts and pants. At this point, you didn't really care what you wore. So long as it wasn't dirty and didn't have any rips or holes.

Reading the door numbers down to 62B, you took a deep breath before entering, nodding at the few people who were sitting, glancing past Price. You sat, folding your hands on your lap as the people across the table looked at you. They shifted, glancing from the door to you for a few minutes.

"We're just waiting for Riley, you needn't be so stiff, Doctor," you looked away from them, finding Prices eye before looking the other way. You just wanted to get this over with, they hadn't even notified you about your test, so the fact that they only told them about it was weird.

The door opened, and all you could smell was Simon. Leather and tobacco, hints of the gunpowder used on base came through. It smelled muskier, though, and as much as you could smell it wasn't sweat. Not like normal.

He sat beside you, not looking in your direction. The people in front of you shifted the papers about on the table, looking between each other. They didn't say anything for a few minutes.

"The pregnancy test came back," you heard Simon scoff beside you, a quiet 'no shit' coming from him. You rolled your own eyes, glancing down to the carpet under you. It was old, probably older than you.

The man cleared his throat. "It came back positive, at least at first," you looked up, brows furrowing. "After a few minutes, though, it turned negative. We did a few more tests and they eventually came back negative. Conclusively," you closed your eyes, head tilting back.

Why were you feeling so disappointed? Were you actually somewhat excited about having a pup, even if Simon didn't want it?

"Although, they did find some hormones synchronous with what is called a 'false pregnancy'," they explained, reading off of the sheet they had.

You glanced up, watching as they tried to find a way to explain it. "My body had hormones, probably from a fertilized egg that never attached properly, and it left my hormones thinking I was pregnant. They never cleared my body, so my scent and body was changing to prep for the pup," you explained, playing with your fingers.

So close, and yet you were so far from having a pup. You could almost smell distress on Simons scent, but you didn't want to go into the specifics. You couldn't think of his normal scent, not with how deep in your head you'd become.

You could faintly hear them explaining the outcomes, faintly heard a few 'probable cause for the attack' and a few other 'nothing is being pressed,' and finally you came to.

"We're considering this almost exactly the same as if the Omega was actually pregnant," they explained. "So you're getting off on just about the same as a slap on the wrist, but don't think we won't add this to your file," and you stood, turning and walking out.

There was nothing you'd realized you wanted more. A family. A pup to care for and watch grow and eventually maybe, just maybe, add more to your little family.

But no, you didn't have the luxury of that. No, you weren't allowed to have your family, your Alpha had been so mad at you and possibly didn't want you sometimes.

Alpha doesn't want a broken Omega.

You had to fight the tears you could feel building, jaw locking in place as you found yourself moving to your room. A few more halls, one or two more turns and you'd be able to curl up in your nest and hope to God that your Alpha would still want you.

As you went to close your room door, something stopped it from closing. You turned to figure it out, slightly pissed off that it happened. Simon.

"I'm sorry," you could feel tears starting to run out of your eyes, felt him pulling you into his chest and sobs tearing out of your chest. "I'm so sorry," you were muffled by his chest, hands grasping at his shirt and holding tight. You could faintly hear the door close, your legs moving with him as he dropped you back into your nest.

Simon pulled you into his chest, hands running along your back. Your hands never left his chest and you could hear him murmuring into your hair.

"S'alright, lovie, s'alright," he whispered, arms wrapping around your back to pull you in as close as he could. It felt like everything was back to normal but nothing was. Everything was changed but nothing was at the same time.

For what felt like hours, you laid there, grasping at Simon to stay where you were. He rubbed at your back and chuffed into your ear, your tears slowing and sobs breaking into hiccups, breathing slowing as you laid there.

His hands stopped, albeit slowly, before pulling you back to look at him.

"Y'alright?" He asked this time, wiping your face dry. You nodded, then shook your head before dropping it back onto his chest.

"'m sorry, Simon," you whispered, his hand finding your back and resting there. "Failed you," you added finally. He hummed in confusing, head lifting to look down at you.

You swallowed, closing your eyes. "Lost the pup," he shook his head, squeezing you a little. He ran his hand down your arm, rubbing it slowly.

"Didn't lose anything, lovie," he whispered. "Your body was just confused, it's not your fault," you wanted to argue with him, wanted to tell him he was crazy. You lost the pup, and he should get rid of you.

He kept murmuring loving words into your ears, telling you how good of an Omega you were, how much he cared about you. How much he adored that you were his and didn't want to leave.

"Love you, y'know that?" He whispered, hours having passed since the two of you found yourselves inside your nest. He slid you into his hoodie within the first hour, let you lay there and inhale his scent.

You hummed, fighting sleep. It hadn't hit you what he'd said, not yet at least.

"Love y'too," you whispered into his neck, breathing slowing as you were falling asleep. He loved you, Alpha loves you, your head snapped up. "Huh?" Simon barked out a short laugh, pulling his mask from his face as he looked at you.

"Y'didn't hear me?" You blinked slowly at him, smile slowly spreading on your face. His voice grew softer, eyes drifting away from you. He seemed almost, nervous. "Y'forgive me?" He whispered, hands tightening on you.

You nodded, dropping your head on him. "Thought you would've thought of me as a bad Omega," you whispered. "Thought I'd lost you after I said I might be pregnant, then again when they told us I wasn't," he shook his head.

He gave a humorless laugh. "Never lost me," he said. "'m not good at emotions," he started, looking down at you briefly. "Never was, never will be. I want to try, though, try and make sure you never feel like that again," he spoke into the side of your head, pressing his lips against your head.

You swallowed thickly.

"Thought I lost everything," you whispered into his neck, closing your eyes.

You glanced at your new squad, looking them over.

"If you don't want to be led by an Omega, leave. Get out, I don't want to see your face," you said, glancing amongst them. "If you don't like that I'm leading you, get the hell out. I don't want to see you, if you're going to cause problems, get out," you said.

No one moved, looking down at their boots and away from you. Nobody said anything, it all remained quiet. You smiled, arms crossed as you watched them stand still.

You crossed your arms, glancing amongst them. "The only problem I've ever encountered is you guys not understanding what it means to be a soldier. Combat medic, combat comes first," you told them. "Which means you're a soldier first,"

You sighed deeply, rubbing the migraine out of your temples. They were the worst group you'd ever had. They seemed to not have any knowledge on anything medical, and even less knowledge about combat awareness.

"Bad day?" Simon asked, placing a tray of food in front of you and putting his own on the side of your desk closest to him. You groaned at him, dropping your head down.

You glanced up, watching him pull the mask off of his face and place it next to his food, scooping some of it into his mouth. You snorted softly, watching him.

His brows raised in questioning. "We went from me absolutely despising you just a few days ago to you eating in my office," you laughed softly. "Anyways, I have the worst squad ever," you groaned and he paused his eating.

"They saying things?" He said, moving to stand and you hushed him, hands gesturing for him to sit back down.

In the few days since you two had been cleared back to work, he had made it a habit to bring you at least two meals during your shift. Usually lunch and dinner, which he had at the same time as you, quite thankfully.

You'd grown to begin telling him tales of what happened, whatever drama you could find that happened throughout the day. Oh my god, Simon, apparently Amanda now has an Alpha? And he works on another force, I think something air, you told him the first night.

Surprisingly, he was really interested in what was happening around base. Today, though, he appeared a little more out of it. He seemed slightly off, watching you closer and staring down Alphas who walked by you when he just so happened to be near.

It was weird, but you hadn't put too much thought into it. You were finally back to a normal, something the two of you were putting together. Maybe it was just his new normal, but you weren't going to ask questions.

He stayed quiet, giving you a few murmurs of agreement or interest at all of the new things you'd discovered. Once the two of you finished, instead of sitting with you until you were finished to walk with you back to your room he grabbed your trays and walked out, giving you a short murmur about needing to workout or something.

It left you a little confused, but you weren't going to mention it. You knew this took up a lot of his own time, and you knew that he would want to spend some time on his own to relax.

You felt the same way, but something was off and you could tell. By the time you finished putting away the last paper into its file, it was nearing 10 at night. You walked to your room, bag in hand as you watched the door numbers slowly shrink to your room number.

As you entered it, you'd been expecting to see Simon there, but maybe tonight he just wanted to relax in his own room and take some time to chill out. You understood, and found yourself slowly going through the motions of your nightly routine, some part of you hoping he would walk in right before you finished this part. Then it became this part, then the next.

Eventually, you were curled in your bed, lights all out while listening for movements outside. You found yourself waking up the next morning, groaning as you turned off your alarm clock. Simon never came to your room, but that was okay you told yourself.

It was fine, because everyone needed a moment to themselves here and there. So you began your routine, getting something small to eat as you walked through the clinic, checking on people who had come in overnight to be treated for something.

You ran your training, having the squad work on taking care of those who were harmed and trying to tourniquet them.

"I'm bleeding out, help me! Aaah! It hurts so much, I'm writhing in pain!" Soap was all too pleased to help you with this. Gaz was helping as well, but had stopped his acting to roll on the ground laughing at him. It seemed to work just as well as Johnny's screaming and writhing.

Shutting your eyes tight, you had to hold yourself silent to keep from laughing too hard or distracting everyone. Even as your back was turned, you could hear little squeals coming from Johnny, but as you opened your eyes you saw Ghost watching from a distance.

Gesturing him over, he shook his head and turned back to his own training group, leaning over to shout at someone. You sighed, turning around to watch the group once more.

"Steph, no, that tourniquet is way too tight, I can see it from here. You're cutting the blood flow off, not his leg,"

At lunch you grew a little worried when Simon didn't show up. He had been making sure to bring you food (and letting you watch him eat) every lunch and dinner. Sometimes it was breakfast instead of lunch, but he hadn't come during breakfast.

It took you a few moments before you decided to try and find him, but everyone you spoke to had turned away from you, telling you that it was in your better interest to leave him alone. When you found Gaz again, you pulled him to the side.

"What's up with S- Ghost?" You asked and he looked away, grimacing a little. "Go on, tell me. I'm his mate, it's not like he's doing something that would kill me," you said, brows furrowing as he didn't say anything.

You gestured for him to tell you. "He's been really violent today. Look outside, there's more people running than usual, and his temper is getting the better of him," he whispered, looking around like Simon would jump out of nowhere.

At dinner, when Simon didn't show up you found yourself walking the compound to look for him. To find out where he'd gone, or what was wrong. He wasn't anywhere you'd expected him to be, not the gym or field.

Walking to his room, it was a few halls before when the scent hit you hard. Leather and tobacco, some hints of the gunpowder used on base. You walked a little closer, musky tangs of something just entirely Simon breaking through.

Standing outside of his door, you stared at it. Hearing long groans and whines, huffs of your name. Trying the door, it was locked and everything in the room paused.

A bang on the door made you jump back before leaning in. "Simon?" You whispered, trying the doorknob again. He whined at the sound of his name coming from you, and you could hear nails on the door.

"Please," he whispered back, voice muffled by the door. You could hear another bang on the door and you gave a little laugh.

"Y'gotta unlock the door first, Alpha," a growl came from behind the door.

Next

Tag List:

@sae1kie @shinebright2000 @zechie-spams @itsmadamehydra @smiley-roos @enrapturedbythemoon

If I forgot you, please send me a message, reply or ask. I apologize for any mistakes in the Tag List, I'm trying to get it all organized.

[skipper1331]

Jealous Jessie // Jessie Fleming

a/n: based off this request. Hope you like it.

"Ella!" you shouted as you started running towards the Manchester United player. As you jumped on her out of joy, she caught you. In a matter of fact her hands ended up at your bum to hold you up. Jessie not liking the view in front of her - that some girl had her hands on her girlfriends bum. Glaring at Ella and you, thankfully you were back on the ground, she marched over, her arm snuggling around your waist - a silent statement.

When Ella smiled and greeted the brunette sweetly, the green-eyed monster disappeared as fast as it had appreared. "Hi" she mumbled, cheeks red as her shy persona was back. You looked at your girlfriend, not understanding what or if something was wrong. Something felt off.

The three of you talked for a little bit until the first fans were allowed to enter the stadium. "I‘ll see you later?" you asked the young lioness. In respond, she pressed a sloppy kiss to your cheek as she hugged you in the Ella-Toone-Style, "sure sure but don‘t cry when we smash you" she laughed loudly before walking back to her own team.

Jessie‘s chest grew tight, seeing the united player kiss your cheek, the green-eyed monster back.

"Is everything alright?" you asked as the two of you walked back in the tunnel. Looking around, the midfielder grabbed your waist, pushing you to the nearest wall. "Wow-"

"You‘re mine" her lips smashed against your own before she shoved her tongue down your throat. Her hands roaming over every inch of your body, finding a rest on your bum, her property - not Ellas.

Your whole mind was spinning, what had gotten into her? this dominant side was new.

Jess was shy, quiet and reserved in everyone's eyes but not with you. It's like her persona took a turn, she talked a lot more, grinned more and even though she was an athlete, she was a lot more active (in more than one way). Her personality became more extroverted. She could be her true self with you.

When she pulled away, both of you were out of breath, "mine" not giving you the chance to react, she took your hand, guiding you to the changing rooms. Her jaw was clenched, orbs seemed dark - lust sparkling through her body.

In the locker, the canadian acted like she normally would. She smiled sweetly at everyone who looked at her, minding her own business as she changed in to her gear. Meanwhile you were a stumbling mess, tripping over your own feet as you tried to compose yourself.

"Ouch! What was that for?" you hissed at Millie as she gave the back of your head a smack, "don‘t be all lovey-dovey with Ella and then end up like this" she gestured to your body, refering to the blush that covered your cheeks and your mind which was spinning. "Be serious!"

"Yes ma‘am, sorry ma‘am" you joked with a serious look on your face while you saluted. Unknown to you, the small canadian heard your conversation. The word lovey-dovey stuck in her head.

By the love of god, Millie didn‘t mean any by it, she knew the lioness and you were close friends and due to not being able to see each other every day, the day you played against one another was shared with your goofiness. Though with Jessie as your girlfriend (unknown to everyone) the word lovey-dovey made her mind spin, jealousy worse. Jess wasn‘t per se a jealous person yet the touchiness with the Mancunian didn‘t feel right. Not at all.

A growl was written over the sweet girls face as she stared at the floor, blankly.

The whole warm up, she didn‘t talk to you nor looked in your direction. Every now and then, she glared at her opponent, the reason she felt weird and possessive.

Jess was in the starting line up, the same as you and the midfielder of United. The brunette was standing in front of you while your eyes burnt holes in the back of her head, why didn‘t she talk to you? It was like Jessie was a changed woman, the sweet girl turned into a stone cold hearted one. She looked majestic in a dominant way, glowing like a desired woman.

To be honest, If the two of you were at home, her clothes would‘ve been gone by now and your own? she would‘ve ripped them off the second Tooney had touched you.

As the kick off whistle blows, Chelsea was pressing high yet playing a safe game. Jess was playing the match of her life, her foot connecting perfectly with the ball - her passes on point as she got assist after assist. Yet she hadn‘t had enough, the smile Ella would send you or the small talk she would have with you at injury breaks annoyed the canadian. The last straw broke when Ella pressed her body against yours from behind as United had a corner. Wrong move.

At half time the score line was 3-0 for Chelsea. 3-Jessie-Assists.

United got desperate. In their attempts to try something new or score, they lost the ball. Ella always losing the ball against Jess in a 1v1. Ever so often, Jessie would challenge Ella with a tackle - not hurting her in any kind of way and most of the time getting away with it - never a card. Each time, the young lioness would argue with the referee after again landing on the grass.

It wasn‘t until the 80th minute that she got a yellow card. The United player running towards her as the canadian snapped in a manner of the match. She couldn‘t explain how or why but as she saw the Mancunian sprinting towards her, her mind threw her back to the situation earlier and then to another scenario, the two of you walking down the streets of Manchester holding hands as you secretly kissed in some random alley. Her imagination had run wild.

Long story short, the brunette sticked out her feet for Ella to stumble over it.

"What the fuck is wrong with ya, mate?" she yelled, already up again as she shoved Jess. The Blue back in her shy and small persona as she apologized several times, "i‘m sorry, i‘m sorry! I- I didn‘t mean to" she mumbled.

As you walked up to the red devil and your favorite blue, they were already back at acting friendly, "nah we good" Ella smiled, going back to her position. But still, Jess got her yellow card. Your eyes questioned the behaviour of her as she finally looked at you - not answering your silent asked question.

Fuck, Jessie looked hot with that new look.

Your body was on fire, just looking at Jess in action made your knees weak, heart swoon and mind hungry as you couldn‘t think about anything else but Jessie laying naked in your bed.

The game ended in 4-0 win, the icing on the cake with Jess scoring as her hard work paid off. The girls cheered for the canadian, celebrating the game of her life.

You were more than proud.

All the attention on her was something the girl didn‘t like though, quickly changing the topic as she walked to the fans, other girls swarming out as well. You watched Jessie with hungry eyes, "come with me" you said to her as she stood by herself as she already took a lot of pictures and signed many shirts.

Back in the tunnel, you searched for a quiet place, finding one in the storage room. "You oka-" she couldn‘t even finish her sentence because your lips were already on her own. Your hands tangled in her hair, slightly tugging on it, hips grinding against each other in need.

"You‘re so hot" you mumbled against her lips, the brunette smirking at your bothered state.

A whine escaped your lips when Jess pulled away, her hands gripping your waist as she turned your position - yourself against the wall.

"Don‘t you dare to go near Ella again"

It wasn‘t a real threat, no inch of her body toxic in any way, but for now and the rest of the day, she had to have you for herself and her pleasure.

"Fuck yeah" was your only reply as she was back kissing you, gentle moans leaving your mouth. Pulling away, she purred in your ear "keep that for tonight" just as it was about to get more than just heated.

The good thing was that the two of you didn‘t need to leave the house tomorrow and there was no way in hell you would.

Jealous Jessie was something you didn‘t know you would ever experience but wow, maybe you should make her jealous more often.

———————

[namism]

alternate universe | portgas d. ace

➳ categories: marine ace au, gender neutral reader

➳ word count: 1.4k

➳ notes: if this fic does numbers, i might consider writing a full-length story ❤️ title came from this underrated banger -> even in an alternate universe by ysanygo

In another universe, Ace is a member of the Marines and you are his colleague from the same division.

In this universe, specifically, Portgas D. Ace, the son of the wanted Gol D. Roger in another timeline, is an exceptional Marine with a driving passion for his work and a renowned hatred for the pirates that conquer the seas. In this universe, you are Portgas D. Ace's secondhand, who later become a Commander under Captain Ace's leadership.

The admirable grit of your duo is one thing that the Marine upholds. Ordinary soldiers look up to you, while Admirals respect the dedication that you two put in maintaining the Marine code of conduct. There is no one else like your pair.

Lately, however, a few oddities have caught your attention.

"Hey. Take this to Garp's quarters."

You spin on your heel as you feel a leather bag poke your ribcage. Standing beside you is your black-haired freckled partner, whose Marine uniform is yet again unruly and not a bit presentable for the title he holds and the respect he receives. Grabbing the bag from his hold, you point at a mysterious stain on his uniform.

"What's that?" you question.

Ace follows the direction of your eyes, landing on the collar of his inner dress shirt. "Uh, this? Dunno. Got it somewhere from a battle, I guess."

You roll your eyes.

"Sure. Just another one of the dark stains that you get from a battle without the sight of blood," you deadpan. Ace's lips morph into a sheepish smile. "I know what that is, idiot."

"He-he, just checking. I thought you wouldn't notice," comes his excuse.

"Everyone notices the scent of grilled meat on you, Ace. A food stain is no different." You shake your head. "Anyway, I'll catch you later. Garp's office, you say?"

"Yeah. He should be there."

After saluting to your Captain, you march to Vice Admiral Garp's office that is located in the far west wing of the base. On your way to his office, you encounter an unpleasant sight between a horde of your men and the Vice Admiral himself.

In the far end of the hallway come the marching crowd toward the where you just came from. The Vice Admiral, with his giant and brawny build, pokes out from the crowd as he walks side-by-side of what seems to be a lanky man in his 40s, his hands restrained by a pair of handcuffs made of Seastone.

As they approach, you ask one of your men in the frontlines.

"What's the meaning of this?"

The man salutes.

"Commander. We are taking the possessor of the Memo Memo no Mi to Impel Down. We must sail this evening under Admiral Fujitora's orders."

You look past the soldier to inspect the man in question. Vice Admiral Garp washes him out by a ton with their height difference, as well as the muscular composition of their bodies. His hair is matted and unkempt, and his clothes are ragged and baggy. He has his head down as he saunters with the group, like he's afraid of being seen in this feeble state.

As he comes close, however, he raises his head, then looks at you.

"You have an interesting life," he says. Vice Admiral Garp and the Marines who hear this look at him, surprised that he has spoken since his arrival this morning.

"Me?" you ask in disbelief.

The man grins odiously.

"You're the great first mate of the Spade Pirates." Stopping in his tracks, he chuckles. The Marine behind him barks an order to continue walking. Your vision darkens. "You're— you were a great pirate."

Your men look at you, some in horror and some in anticipation of your response to the strange statements. You grit your teeth.

"What the hell are you talking about?" you growl. "I was never a pirate."

He laughs.

"Of course not, but in your first life, you were."

Your look hardens into a glare. Garp yawns, and with a forceful push of the man's shoulder, he orders him back to walking forward.

"Stop yapping, get moving! I'm going to miss my nap time," he yells. The Marines follow suit. He then notices the bag in your hand. "Good timing, Commander (Y/N). Just in time for my departure. I'll see you in a few days."

The Vice Admiral claims his luggage.

"You're going, too, Vice Admiral?"

"The jerks up there said I must," he says.

You nod. "I see."

You go back to your post as you part ways with the pack. They transport the handcuffed man to the coastal area of the base, where a heavily guarded Marine ship is docked and a Seastone cell awaits the Devil Fruit user in its lower deck.

On their way to the coast, Ace runs into Garp, his grandfather, and decides to tag along to oversee the progress of the mission. Before the shaggy man is taken away into the ship, he speaks to Ace in a wary tone.

"Be careful with the power you hold, Fire Fist," he tells the Captain, leaving the young man disturbed as the ship prepares to sail away.

Deep in the night a couple of hours later, you reunite with Ace in the mess hall for dinner. As usual, he comes back to your table with three plates loaded with different dishes, not accounting for the seconds that he will be taking later.

With some of your men gone for the recent mission, you and Ace sit alone together at a table.

"Did you know that they were on that mission?" you ask him.

Ace chomps on a rack of ribs, the barbecue sauce staining the corners of his mouth. "What mission?"

"The one with the weird guy," you say. "Uh, I'm assuming you saw him. Old guy, messy hair, looks like he hasn't taken a bath in a month?"

"Oh." He swallows. "I saw him. He was weird. I'm glad I didn't have to deal with that."

"Weird, huh? Did you talk to him?"

"He told me something about fire and a fist." The Captain laughs. "It sounds ridiculous. No wonder why he's going to Impel Down. Something must be wrong in here."

He taps the side of his head with a finger. You snort.

"He spoke to me as well," you admit. Ace looks at you through his peripheral vision as he picks up a bowl of mashed potatoes. It's heated and well-cooked, just the way he loves them. "He told me I was a pirate in my first life. Can you believe that?"

"I do," your partner chirps.

You glare at him.

"Not the time for jokes, Ace. He said that I was the first mate of the Spade Pirates, or whatever that crew is." You look down at your food, feeling the heat waves hit your face. "Is there even such a thing as the Spade Pirates?"

"We can figure that out now that Garp is gone," suggests Ace. You look unamused. "Just kidding, he-he."

After dinner, you retreat to the barracks. You change into a set of pajamas and slip under the covers of your bed. As soon as your eyelids close, you drift off to a deep sleep.

"Come with me," he tells you, flashing a smile that you have never seen before: lips tight, eyes soft. Strands of his wavy black hair blow on his face as the sea breeze comes and goes, covering his freckles and his smile of sincerity.

"I can't leave Dadan alone." You tell him. He frowns. "I'm sorry."

"She'll be safe with Luffy. Now, come on!"

He tugs your arm toward the shore, where a small boat floats on the water with a thin sail and a couple bags of food that pool around the mast. He hops in the boat. He wears his trademark hat on his head, an orange cowboy hat with a rim of red beads and two smileys in front.

"There's room for one more person and some luggage!"

"I'd rather not, Ace," you say firmly.

Ace purses his lips together. "Are you scared?"

"Uh, no? I told you, I just can't leave this place."

He rests one foot on the edge of the boat. Leaning toward you, he says, "Come with me, please. We'll travel the Grand Line together, and in a few years, maybe we can recruit Luffy into our—"

"Your pirate crew," you finish. "I-I get it, but I can't. I'm not fit for that kind of life."

"You'll be my first mate."

You sigh.

"And what will your pirate crew be named as, Captain Ace?"

He laughs heartily, his bright white teeth showing as his eyes form into crescents.

"The Spade Pirates."

[2frosty4you]

Crushing on You [Soldier Headcanons]

Soldier x Fem!reader | 427 words | Masterlist | Ask/Request

Big thanks to the no.1 solider lover (my gf) for beta reading and helping me add some stuff to this <3

╒═══════════════════╕

➼ Either he falls in love INSTANTLY or he doesn't at all.

➼ Soldier is Soldier, he isn't going to waste time with someone who doesn't like America, can't fend for themselves or can't bounce off of his energy.

➼ If you're strong, can fend for yourself and he saw you snap a mans neck, great! he's super in love.

➼ But if you ALSO love his raccoons he is proposing on the spot, with the head of an enemy spy.

➼ When he starts to like you, you will know instantly. This man has no shame in shouting confessions across the battle field, mid rocket jump and landing in front of you with both of his legs broken.

➼ Scout would attempt to tell you that soldier is in love with you, and you'd sigh and just say.

"I know"

➼ He'd charge into the enemy team, yelling his battle cry and will return to you with many trinkets (BODY PARTS) (pls accept them)

➼ If you get killed on the field he'd get revenge so fast, and march over to you with the head, salute and rocket jump away.

➼ He NEEDS you to celebrate the 4th of July with him, he'll give you clothes caked in the American flag, force you out to watch the fireworks and sit around as Engie and him tend the barbecue.

➼ If you love his raccoons (which you must) hell get them into the base even if medic is yelling at him as they invade the medbay because they bit scout 36 times (and counting)

➼ Soldier is kind of easy to fluster.

➼ But its in his own kind of way, if you're pocketing him he'll be all flustered and proud of himself in being worthy of a pocket.

➼ But if you're just aiding him in team wiping, keeping the enemy corpses in place as he decapitates them. Well he'll be burning red when you offer to help him with his strange hobby. (even carrying some back if he cant hold them all)

➼ Will follow you around, like some rabid guard dog

➼ Takes you to a real American bar, think a large ox head on the wall. American flags on the wall. He'd order the most disgusting beer and you'd sit beside him until another man comes up trying to get your number.

➼ It literally no time he breaks that bottle and dives at the man, starting bar fight after bar fight (you two are banned from so many bars, like SO many)

╘═══════════════════╛

Posted 5.03.2024 Tag list: @therobloxmafia

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Good Girl

So this has been the long awaited ‘Kinky Ron’ fic requested by @ronsparky which sparked the whole creation of the discord chat with @malarkgirlypop. It is finally here and will most likely be in two parts of people want to see what happens. I’m sorry this fic took so long Jess but I hope you like it. Warnings: sexual images, swearing, Winters being awkward, kinky Ron, themes of war

Bastogne had been cold but Haguenau wasn’t much better. The wind bit fiercely at her face, freezing the tip of her nose and chapping her lips as she marched, head down, hands balled into fists. She couldn’t believe it. How was it when something went wrong it always seemed to be her damn fault? It’s not like Easy was her company, she was just a Corporal for Christ's sake but for some reason known only to God, Ronald Speirs had it in for her and regardless of the situation he would call her for a little chat.

Her boots sounded loudly up the corridor, snow and mud flaking off on the rotten wooden floor. First Sergeant Lipton greeted her with a small smile from beneath his mountain of blankets, his voice weak and shaky as he told her to take a seat.

“Just stay calm, Y/n. I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seems.

“That’s easy for you to say, Sir,” Y/n reminded him of the last time Speirs had called her to his office and Lipton had nearly lost his head to a flying plate.

Heavy footfall from the left caused Y/n to stand, her hand swiftly saluting the three offices as they entered the room. Winters and Nixon nodded at her before heading out, still deep in their conversation and leaving her with Speirs who looked as though he was about to blow his top.

“Y/l/n, with me. NOW!” Y/n trailed along like a dejected puppy, her head hanging low as she waited for the onslaught that was to come. Speirs slammed the heavy, oak door behind her but she didn’t jump. This exact situation had happened enough times that it barely phased her anymore.

“Corporal, why do you think I’ve called you here?” Speirs asked, leaning against the desk in the centre of the room. He had his overcoat off and the sleeves of his jumper rolled up, revealing the bulging veins of his arms as he glared at her.

“No, Sir,” Y/n replied innocently and she noticed the very subtle change in his eyes. She was in for it now.

“Well funny enough I didn’t expect to find one of the finest medics in the company having a snowball fight with some of the replacements. We’re in a war zone for fuck sake. You’ve been through Bastogne, I’d have thought you could have been trusted, could have been relied on but…”

“Sir, it was just for a few minutes. We were back from the line by our billet. The boys are homesick, Sir.”

“HOMESICK. FUCKING HOMESICK! How long has it been since you’ve seen home, Corporal,” he demanded, his eyes wild and his jaw shaking with the effort to not explode.

“Nearly two years, Sir,” she muttered, toeing her boot into the floor.

“And how long has it been for them? Two weeks? If anyone should be homesick it’s us. The Toccoa men. The men who have been through hell and back and are still fighting. I rely on you to set a good example and if I can’t trust a medic. Well, who the hell can I trust?”

Y/n picked at the cuff of her frayed uniform, “will that be all, Sir?”

“Yes, you may go.”

Y/n saluted the Lieutenant before heading to the door, she was pulling it closed behind her when Speirs spoke. “Do you want a drink?”

“I’m sorry, Sir?” Y/n raised an eyebrow as she peaked around the edge of the door.

“A drink? I managed to find some half-decent whiskey that Captain Nixon had yet to drink. Would you like a glass?”

Y/n wasn’t sure what to say, she wanted to get the hell away from his harsh glare as soon as possible but she was also curious. Why did he suddenly want to have a drink with her? For all Y/n knew he couldn’t stand the sight of her.

“Ummm, alright. Thank you, Sir.”

Y/n took a seat on the dark, leather sofa to the left of the desk, cautiously on the edge in case she was mistaken and needed to make a run from an angry Lieutenant.

“Here,” Speirs hesitantly passed her a glass of the amber liquid and she took it gratefully, the alcohol burning her throat pleasantly as it slipped down. She hadn’t had good alcohol since the celebration when Easy received their jump wings. The rest of the time it had been lukewarm, foamy beer.

“So, how are you holding up?” Speirs watched her from afar, his dark eyes boring into her as he waited.

“I’m fine. Thank you, Sir.” How else was she supposed to reply? She couldn’t exactly tell him how much she hated the God-awful hell hole and could wait to be back somewhere that was warm and allowed her to feel her limbs once more.

“Good. That’s good.” Speirs swirled the orange liquid around his glass, having not taken a drink yet and instead glared at the liquid as if someone gave him a sour aftertaste without consuming it.

“Sir, is there something you wanted to discuss?” Y/n wanted answers, there were only so many times she could avoid his eye contact and swallow nervously.

“Not especially. I just… wanted some company.” Speirs admitted, turning to look out of the window onto the deserted streets below. Y/n sat very still, her eyes tracing over his frame, strong shoulders tensed, large hands leaning splayed against the window frame.

“I can feel you watching me,” Speirs spoke in a hushed tone but Y/n knew he heard her small intake of breath. “I always know when you're watching me.”

“Sir, I…”

“Don’t deny it. I watch you too, you know. I watch when you stock supplies, I watch you when you throw back your head and your eyes crease as you laugh. I watch you more than you realise.”

By this point, Speirs had turned to face her and Y/n didn’t know whether to be flattered or terrified as the lieutenant approached her.

“Sir?” Y/n couldn’t help the unsteadiness of her voice and her eyes grew wider as he knelt before her, his hands tracing up her thigh.

“We can’t deny ourselves of human touch, Corporal. Desires of the flesh”

“Lieutenant Speirs…Sir… I,” Y/n gasped as his hand slipped up further under her jacket, fumbling with the belt that secured her trousers. With his body hovering over her, Y/n couldn’t remember how to breathe, the air entered her lungs in short, sharp gasps as she felt his fingers travelling along the soft flesh of her stomach.

“Please,” she whispered, feeling completely pathetic but no longer able to care. “Please just touch me.”

“Oh Darling, I thought you’d never ask.”

Y/n wasn’t sure what happened next, the order of events was a blur but soon enough she was moaning into Ron’s neck, her hips rolling in time with the rhythm of his fingers against her clit. She withered beneath him, nails wracking down his clothed back but Ron didn’t seem to notice. The knot in Y/n’s stomach was tightening and she could feel her thighs beginning to shake with the effort of controlling herself from reeling off a string of profanities when the door flung open.

“Speirs, could you…” Lieutenant Winters stood frozen in the doorway, the apple in his hand long forgotten and his cheeks blushed the colour of the hair on his head. He gulped and Y/n felt herself trying to clamp her legs shut and move away from Ron but the grip he had on her hips was firm and unwavering.

“Yes, Major Winters?” Speirs asked as if he wasn’t seconds away from giving Y/n the orgasm of her life.

“I’ll come back at another time,” Winters shook his head avoiding eye contact with Y/n and pulling the door closed softly behind him. Y/n felt herself let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and glared up at Ron who was just smiling smugly at her.

“Ron, I swear to God…”

“Now, now or I’ll forget to play nice,” Ron winked at her and Y/n thought she could fall apart just from that one action. Her mouth snapped shut and Ron snickered, “That’s what I thought. Good girl.”

Tags: @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @sharpshootershifty @liberteuniteegalite @msmercury84 @mayhem24-7forever @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @lena-basilone @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @whollyjoly @bucky32557038ww2 @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike @malarkgirlypop

[rosewaterandivy]

hit the lot and skate

summary: so, noted. eddie and first impressions do not mix.

a/n: for your consideration, enforcer and all around brawler, eddie “the reaper” munson. he’s my disgusting lil meow meow and i love him! big up to @jo-harrington for entertaining this headcanon and letting me spiral. 🥹

Eddie is late, again, like always, and shuffled unceremoniously to the press room by Hop, the team manager. He’s got one hand splayed against Eddie’s back, all but frog marching him through the double doors, grumbling all the while.

“You’ll be late to your own damn funeral, kid.” He mutters, shoving Eddie toward the single chair at the table. “Just, play nice, okay? It’s pre-season and I’d rather not have to pay a fine. Think you can swing that?”

“Aye, aye, Chief,” Eddie says with a wink and sarcastic two finger salute.

He leans back in the chair, idly sipping from his gatorade bottle every so often while barely answering the reporters questions. It’s mostly just shrugs and raised eyebrows from The Reaper, as they’ve come to expect.

“Munson, why are you here if you’re not gonna answer any of our questions?”

“Wow, wonderful delivery as always, Ace!” He cracks his knuckles and rests his elbows against he table, leaning forward toward the assembled mics, “And it’s simple, really. I’m just here so I don’t get fined again.”

The gathered press sigh and throw up their hands in dismay— couldn’t even get him to bite by mentioning Carver and the brawl last season. What was the fucking use?

Eddie, pleased with himself, sits back in the chair and takes a long pull from the bottle. Most people just assume it’s water or Gatorade. Maybe, on occasion, a nip of whiskey.

But the reality is so much worse than that.

The press begin to pack up, and Hop feels a migraine coming on already. He’s pinching between his brows and completely misses someone approaching Eddie.

The Reaper watches in interest. A mystery woman with a murder-strut beelining right for him. Probably one of the newer reporters in the rotation. Thinking she can corner him and get a quote— amateur.

But instead, she ignores him completely and grabs his bottle and squirts a stream of liquid into her mouth. Eddie’s eyes nearly fall out of his skull. Hop, looking up, is too late to warn her of the mistake she’s just unknowingly made.

His water bottle concoction is an open secret among the team— a lotta Mountain Dew cut with a bit of milk. Mountain Dilk, if you will.

The press, now wise to the situation, has already pulled out their phones to record the interaction. Voices murmuring under their breath, not loud enough for Eddie to make out what’s being said.

People seem to recognize her, whoever she is.

And the woman in question, simply sets the bottle back on the table and pauses to gargle that shit before spitting it right back into Eddie’s face.

“That is fucking vile.”

All he can do is cock his head and blink, milky green droplets clumping on his eye lashes.

“Not a swallower, huh?” He asks, wiping his upper lip. “Gotta say, not a good look for a WAG, sweetheart.”

A slow smile creeps across her face. She huffs a soft laugh, and then: “Y’know Munson, sense has chased you your entire life, but you’re faster.”

She crosses her arms casually beneath her breasts, inadvertently pushing them up and sending Eddie’s blood due south. Her mouth twists as she eyes him up and down, assessing.

“Uh, thanks?”

A scoff and roll of her eyes, “Coach.”

“What?”

She steps toward him, slow and steady. Her head grazing just beneath his chin, Eddie has to glance down to maintain eye contact.

“That’s Coach to you, Munson.” She pokes him in the chest, a filed nail directly to his sternum, nods to Hop and turns to leave. “On the rink in five,” She tosses over her shoulder, “Lace your skates and grab a bucket.”

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (16) Experiment

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 16) This chapter will make little sense if you haven't read chapter 15.

Summar: John tells the residents in 221B, Liwia included, what he experienced at work that day. Sherlock can barely keep his hands off John when he tells the tale...

Sixteen Years Old

It was clever of Liwia to turn to us for help the summer her grandparents visited London. After only a couple of days at home, she texted me one late evening that she couldn’t stand another minute in the presence of her prejudice family members. I told her to bring her belongings to school the next day, and that she could come to Baker Street with me that afternoon.

Papa’s reaction when I told him and Dad that Liwia was coming to stay later that day, earned him a stern look and rebuke from Dad.

“A bit not good, Sherlock!”

“What? It is an experiment having an outsider living with us. It’s never happened before. How will the dynamic change? Do we have to provide different kinds of food? Is she allergic? How’s her sleeping patterns? It’s fascinating, John!”

Dad threw his arms in the air and gave up further pestering, while I tried to hide my smile, quite unsuccessful.

***

It all turned out just fine, though. Dad and Papa welcomed Liwia warmly, and I was thankful that they didn’t add fuel to the fire by telling her about their own experiences with bigotry, but instead asked about school, her lacrosse matches, Polish food, travelling and her girlfriend, Bella. Liwia wisely declined the proposal of a game of Cluedo. 

(I must ask her someday if she’s still traumatised after witnessing me and Dad fighting over Scrabble.)

***

When the tables turned, Dad was in the middle of it by just being his wonderful self. He was at work and had said his goodbyes to his last patient for the day when he heard raised voices from the waiting area. A male voice sounded threatening, or maybe accusatory. It worried him that Sarah was alone out there, so he stepped out of his office to investigate.

An elderly man, holding his left arm to his chest with his other arm, was crimson in the face with anger and pain. He was accompanied by a familiar man Dad realised was Liwia’s father. The latter tried to reason with the man, who only could be Liwia’s grandfather, in Polish, but he was brusquely cut off with what sounded like a command. Dad recognised a military man when he saw one, straightened his back and went into battle like the brave man he was.

“What seems to be the problem, Sarah?” Dad inquired and looked sharply at the two men in front of her.

A relieved sigh escaped her, and she breathed his name reverently.

“John, this gentleman…”

Said “gentleman” interrupted angrily.

“No woman. Want real doctor. Man,” the elderly man spat.

It was time to bring in the heavy artillery, Dad thought. 

“Rank?” he commanded.

“Kapral,” the man said instinctively.

“Corporal, I am Captain John H. Watson, also a real doctor. My office. Now!” he ordered, turned on his heel after the other man had saluted him, not without effort due to his injured arm, and marched back to his office with a satisfied smirk on his face.

***

“Get a grip, Papa,” I scoffed after Dad had told us the story.

He all but drooled and I could see his fingers itched to grab on to Dad to snog him senseless. For once, he had the decency to refrain, presumably out of courtesy for our guest.

“You gave Dziadek a lecture in why women are as capable and valuable as men?” Liwia asked incredulously.

“I did,” Dad said matter-of-factly. “Asked him what his mother would’ve thought of his behaviour towards Sarah, linking it to you while I was at it. I took a chance there, but quite a few men of his generation, put their mothers on a pedestal, and they’re also terrified of them, which proved to be correct.”

“You’re a wonder, John,” Papa beamed and couldn’t resist any longer, but gave Dad a searing kiss.

I rolled my eyes, but Liwia just looked dreamily at the two men. She told me later that she was in awe over how freely they showed their love for each other.

***

The next day, we were all in for quite the surprise. Nana called upstairs that we had visitors. Liwia and I were watching Pride and Prejudice, Papa was tidying up the kitchen table after an experiment, and Dad was in the shower.  

When Liwia’s father and grandfather stood in the doorway, she froze, I stopped the film, and Papa emerged from the kitchen to greet our visitors.

“What are you doing here?” Liwia whispered to her father.

“Your Dziadek wants to apologise,” he retorted. “And to meet Rosie and…”

“Dzień dobry,” Papa greeted in Polish and extended his hand to the elderly man.

He looked sceptically up at Papa, who towered over the smaller man. Eventually his good manners won, and he shook Papa’s hand. Papa and Liwia’s father shook hands as well, and that’s when Dad turned up.

“Hello, again,” he said casually, as if it was a frequent occurrence to have his former patients visiting.

“Captain. Doctor,” Liwia’s grandfather stuttered quite bewildered. “Who sick?”

“No one, I hope,” Dad answered and snaked his hand around Papa’s waist. “I live here.”

***

Miracle of miracles; that encounter changed everything, so in the autumn of my sixteenth year, Liwia and I went to Poland with her parents to visit her grandparents. They apparently considered me family now. 

A big party was planned because of our visit, and their flat was filled to the brim with people. In the kitchen, Liwia’s grandmother, her sisters and Liwia’s mother cooked all sorts of Polish delicacies. They were loud and cheerful and constantly made me taste the different sauces, ragus and soups. I just knew a few words in Polish, but it didn’t seem to bother them that I was unable to understand most of what they were telling me.

The entire affair was casual, chaotic, and vibrant. It was the next best party I’d ever been too. Dad and Papa’s wedding topped that list obviously.

***

Our visit to Auschwitz and Birkenau the next day, stood in stark contrast to that joyous day, but that’s life for you. Filled with all sorts of different emotions and experiences.

Also available on AO3

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @raina-at

Further tags in the replies

[mcx7demonbros]

Devildom Public Holidays

Summary: headcanons of a list of public holidays celebrated in the Devildom.

C/W. Suggestive in Asmo’s birthday part.

First, Devildom didn’t use the word “holiday” for their public celebrations and days off until very recently. The reason was because “holiday” came from the word “Holy Day”, which means Christian religious celebration days such as Christmas, Easter, Whitsun, etc.

However, the exchange program changed that. The Devildom now uses the term “holiday” but with much secularized meaning only. The same is applied to any holiday they adopted from the Human World.

Fixed holidays

January

January 1 - New Year Day

Two-day celebration: New Year Eve & New Year Day

The Devildom adopted this holiday from the Human World one year after the first year of the exchange program ended, per the request and desire of MC.

Celebrations are not different from the Human World. There are fireworks, parades, singing & greeting each other “Happy New Year”, etc.

February

Sadly, no day off, except weekend 😔

March

March 11 - Birthday of Lord Beelzebub, Avatar of Gluttony and Lord Belphegor, Avatar of Sloth

Three-day celebration: March 10 - March 12

Demons of Gluttony are allowed to eat more food while demons of Sloth don’t do any manual work during the celebration.

Demons usually hang the sign of Gemini ♊️ on the door(s) of their houses during the celebration.

Twin demons born during the past year are given a special demonic blessing by ministers of Three-Legged Crow god.

April

April 9 - Birthday of Lord Leviathan, Avatar of Envy

Three-day celebration: April 8 - April 10

Demons of Envy and otakus participate in demonic services in honor of Ruri-chan and other anime/manga girls.

A three-day game tournament is held in honor of Levi.

Navy parades on Devildom rivers and seas. Salutes by cannon are also performed on large ships during these occasions.

For the Navy, the celebration lasts until April 11, one more day than normal demons.

May

May 15 - Birthday of Lord Asmodeus, Avatar of Lust

Three-day celebration: May 14 - May 16

This day is dubbed by many demons of Lust as “Fuck Day” and they don’t just say, they do the deed. However, traditionally, this day is associated with freedom to express oneself and the positivity of carnal desires.

Beauty brands usually gives out discount and sale off during the celebration.

June

June 6- Devil’s Day and Birthday of Lord Lucifer, Avatar of Pride

Seven-day celebration: June 1 - June 7

Devil’s Day is considered one of the most important celebration in Devildom. It’s like a new year to its citizen.

Carnivals, fireworks, parades, cannon salutes are held many times during the celebration.

Devildom’s Classical Music Association holds a yearly musical performance and opera in honor of Lucifer on June 5, the day before his birthday.

Devildom’s Painter Association even has its members to paint a peacock and put the works in a contest to see who can paint the most beautiful peacock of the year.

Walking on the streets of Devildom, you may occasionally see demon children dressing up as chess pieces. Weird, huh.

July

Sadly, no day off, except weekend 😔

August

August 22 - Butler’s Day. Birthday of Lord Barbatos, the Royal Steward

Three-day celebration: August 21 - August 23

It’s decreed that demon nobles and others with servants allow those who serve them to take three celebration days off. The reason is because butlers, maids and others have served their masters throughout the year, without taking a day off as servants still serve their masters on other holidays.

September

September 10 - Birthday of Lord Mammon, Avatar of Greed

Three-day celebration: September 9 - 11

On this day, demons of Greed usually choose to show their generosity by buying Grimm chocolate and candy and give them to demon children.

Money lenders reduce the money their debtors have to pay a little bit today.

Many demons of Greed have the habit of keeping the first Grimm coin they made as a keepsake to remember the first time they got their hands on hard-earned money. Many of them also have the “devotion” to kiss the gold coin once a year on Mammon’s birthday, believing the act would bring them more money in the future.

In honor of Mammon, demons also don’t shoo crows away and even feeding them.

October

October 20 - Birthday of Lord Satan, Avatar of Wrath

Three-day celebration: October 19 - 21

Book discounts and sale off are frequent during the celebration.

Devildom citizens feed and play with cat, believing they will help them avoid many annoying hassles.

Demons of Wrath even let cats put their paws on their heads, believing in its soothing effect. I mean, it works on their Avatar, right?

October 31 - Birthday of Lord Diavolo, Crown Prince and future King of all Demons

Four-day celebration: October 30 - November 2

Many public celebrations with parades, fireworks, gun & cannon salutes, etc.

Demon nobles and high officials hold small balls or parties at their residences to honor Diavolo. The reason why the balls or parties are small is because most demons can’t attend too many of them during the celebration period and they must be inferior compared to the main large ball held at the Demon Lord’s Castle on Diavolo’s birthday.

November

November 1 & 2 as a part of Diavolo’s birthday celebration period as said above.

December

December 9 - Cursed Day

One day celebration

The day Solomon was born. Most demons believe Solomon to be a wicked human and the ultimate villain and/or an agent of Celestial Realm. So they take this day off to curse and insult him. Diavolo never approves this day to begin with but monarchs have to let their people have their way.

Many revenues build Solomon’s statues for this day just so demon citizens can slap, hit, punch, kick, put a curse on or spat on them. The statues are fixed by the local government in early December every year to prepare for this day again.

Diavolo had prohibited this celebration before the exchange program started because it would be offensive to Solomon in particular and repulsive to other exchange students in general. But the decree only works in the capital and surrounding areas. Many demons persist in having their way in many places.

December 25 - Christmas Day

Nine-day celebration: December 24 - January 1

The day Christ was born. But Devildom adopted the holiday without its special religious meaning.

Christmas trees, presents, Santa Claus, etc.

The reason the celebration is so long is because it coincides with end-of-the-year break.

Movable holidays

Your birthday 🎉

Your own birthday

The Seven Lords and the Royals take the day off to celebrate with you. And since all the government officials don’t work on this day, I guess it’s as good as a day off. Yay.

Other days I guess are probably off in Devildom but I currently have no headcanon or info.

King’s Day - The Demon King’s birthday

Festival of the Three-Legged Crow God

Founding Day - Commemorating the Founding of Devildom

And pretty much any other human holidays, depend on your background.

[trensu]

So this was originally a little ficlet i added to @gyroshrike's EXCELLENT angel dust fanart. You should check it out IMMEDIATELY. Anyway, I ended up writing it out into a proper fic so I could post it to ao3 here. and i thought i might as well make it its own tumblr post as well since the fic is done already. Enjoy!

“What do you mean no?” Cherri asks, annoyed. “This is the fifth fucking outfit you’ve shot down.”

Angel doesn’t know why he thought Cherri would be helpful on this shopping trip. He forgot that Cherri’s idea of fashion involves singed tops and torn up bottoms. He snatches the clothes from Cherri’s hands and throws them back on the rack.

“Ya keep pickin’ slutty clothes!” Angel replies, also annoyed. 

“That’s because you are a slut, bitch.”

Angel gives her a two fingered salute because he’s fucking cultured. Cherri cackles and flips him off in return. Angel marches to the other end of the store to the rack full of boring colors like navy, gray, and black. They don’t go with his coloring at all. It’s the only rack left he hasn’t looked through in the entire store, though. Cherri follows behind him, purposely shoving racks and mannequins to make a mess as they go.

“Well, I ain’t tryin’ ta look slutty this time,” Angel says as he aggressively inspects the rack of clothing.

“Good luck getting that cat in bed after your date,” Cherri snorts.

“It’s a first date! Husk ain’t like that,” Angel says, feeling a bit offended on Husk’s behalf. “He’s a gentleman.”

“Yeah, the drunk arsehole is a total gentleman,” Cherri rolls her eye. 

“He is about this kinda thing. He’s a classy guy, okay? So I’m givin’ classy a try,” Angel insists. He reaches the end of the rack with nothing to show for it. He growls. “Fuck this place, it ain’t got shit. Let’s go.”

“Fuck yes! About fucking time,” Cherri cheers.

After blowing off steam with Cherri, Angel sneaks back into the hotel. Not that he’d done anything wrong; he just doesn’t want to bump into Husker at the bar after the spectacular failure of a shopping trip. He’s stressed because he was running out of time to get an outfit together. He knows he gets catty under pressure. (Ha. Catty.) He doesn’t want to risk getting catty with Husker.

Once inside, Angel wanders the upper levels for a bit until he is absolutely sure that Charlie was nowhere around. He knows Charlie would be overjoyed to help but she's about as subtle as machine gunfire when she's happy. Angel wants his future upscale look to be a surprise for Husk.

Since Charlie can’t be considered, Angel is left with one last option. With extreme reluctance, he makes his way to Charlie’s room. He makes sure not to show anything but confidence and charm when he knocks on the door.

Vaggie opens it with a scowl.

“Angel. What do you want?” Vaggie asks in that flat yet annoyed tone she was so good at doing.

“Heyyy, Vaggie. Ya know that redemption thing Charlie always yaps about?” Angel starts. Vaggie’s scowl deepens, so Angel continues before she could say anything. “I was thinkin’ I should change up my look, so I ain’t so sexy and tempting. Looking like a prude is a virtue, ain’t it? You’re the biggest prude I know! Wanna help a fella out? For redemption and sh–uh, stuff?”

Angel bats his eyes at Vaggie, channeling his ‘I’m a sweet, naive virgin, please take advantage of me’ character. It’s a very popular character in his line of work. He is much better at that than at looking innocent but he figures it’s basically the same thing. Vaggie glares at him. Okay, slight miscalculation on Angel’s part, then.

“No,” she says, and tries to close the door. Angel catches it with two hands before it shuts completely.

“Wait!”

“I’m not helping you with whatever porno you’re doing,” Vaggie says. 

“It ain’t for porn!” Angel says. He’s not exactly insulted that Vaggie assumed it was a porn thing, but he’s not not insulted either. He’s got a life outside of porn, sometimes!

Vaggie stares at him. It’s an expectant stare. It’s a stare that clearly says Angel has to give her a reason to not harpoon him with that spear she carries everywhere. (It’s also super judgemental but that doesn’t offend Angel since Vaggie looks at everyone except Charlie judgmentally).

A small jolt of embarrassment hits him. He wishes it was a porn thing now. 

He doesn’t want to say it out loud, this tiny frail chance Husk gave him by asking him out. If he says it out loud, Vaggie will scoff. She’d roll her eyes and ask him why he’s even bothering to try. Does he really think anyone would seriously want to date a cokehead pornstar? This is a pipe dream and Husker will get fed up with him so fast.

(Vaggie wouldn’t say any of that, a part of Angel knows. Those were Valentino’s words, but he’s so sure that Vaggie must have thought it at least once. Everybody must think that about him at least once).

The longer he stays quiet the more Vaggie’s glare softens until she starts to look genuinely concerned. And, fuck, Angel can’t have that. He’d die (again) if Vaggie felt sorry enough to be nice to him. He pastes on his smile and keeps his tone girlfriend-ly.

“I got a hot date, Vaggie, that’s all,” Angel says. “Wanna try somethin’ a little different for it.”

Vaggie is not convinced by his nonchalance which makes Angel wonder if he’s losing his touch. His acting skills are second to none! She should be eating out of the palm of his hand with this performance! Instead, she marches out of the room and waves him along.

“Follow me,” Vaggie says in her drill sergeant voice that makes everyone who hears it straighten their spine and find themselves already halfway to a salute.

Angel learns that Vaggie approaches clothes shopping with the same tactical focus and determination she approaches any mission, which is weird but whatever. She stealthily leads him to the nicer side of town into a more upscale shop than Angel is used to. She marches through the shop without bothering to ask Angel for his input on anything. Still she manages to pick out a few outfits that went well with his coloring and in his size. Angel has never appreciated her observational skills more.

“Try these on and show me,” she demands, piling her pickings into both sets of Angel’s arms and shoving him into a dressing room.

Angel complies without protest. He sashays out of the dressing room like a supermodel four times before Vaggie nods in satisfaction on the last option. She actually smiles at him.

“This one. You’ll impress your date with this one,” Vaggie says without a hint of irony.

Angel smiles back and thanks her enthusiastically. He ignores how he hadn’t recognized himself in the mirror in any of the outfits. He ignores how uncomfortable the clothes feel on his body. The clothes are classy, just like Husker prefers. That’s what matters.

–

When Husker shows up at his door for their date, he does a double take.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Husk asks, confused.

Angel starts to lean flirtatiously into his space, a salacious come on right on the tip of his tongue. He catches himself halfway and quickly straightens himself with an awkward laugh.

“Just somethin’ I found in the back of the closet,” he lies through his teeth.

He’d devoted time to doing his makeup just right and making sure the clothes were crisp and clean. He still feels uncomfortable in them but all things considered, Angel thinks the final product came out pretty good. The way Husker looks at him now makes him wonder if he overestimated his looks for once.

Husk’s eyes narrow as he studies Angel. His gaze trails Angel top to bottom. It doesn’t feel very sexy but Angel supposes the point is to not look like a whore so this means he succeeded, right? 

“Sure,” Husk says, notes of confusion still in his tone. “You ready to go?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course!” Angel stutters like a moron.

“Alright,” Husker says after a beat.

Husk gives Angel another suspicious look, shoulders tense and wings pulled close. Something shifts in his expression that Angel can’t read. He’s afraid it might be disappointment. Husker shakes out his wings and offers Angel his arm, which Angel accepts with relief.

“So, where ya takin’ me, Huskie?”

Husker tells him about a little place with good food, better drinks, and a live jazz band. As they walk out of the hotel, Angel almost cozies up against Husk, so tempted to rub his cheek against Husker’s furry ear. He catches himself again and over-corrects by pulling away from Husk until their linked arms are the only point of contact. Husk stumbles a bit with the weight shift. He shoots him another indecipherable look. Husker opens his mouth to say something but appears to change his mind and snaps it shut.

That’s okay, though, right? Husker wasn’t much of a talker anyway! Angel fills the silence between them with nervous babble. Angel is normally very good at conversation but tonight he keeps having to stop and restart mid-sentence when his stories get crass. Being crass is not good first date behavior. Husker grunts every now and then but it’s clear he’s only listening with half an ear. It doesn’t help Angel’s nerves at all.

The date goes downhill from there.

Husker finds them a booth when they arrive at their destination and helps Angel order their food and drinks. He points out several he thinks Angel will like.

Usually, he and Husker can pound back alcohol like nobody’s business. They sometimes make a game of it and those nights are some of the best Angel has because he gets to see Husker soften and relax in his company. However, Angel is an affectionate drunk and Husk has had to nudge Angel away more than once those nights. Husker is always sweet about it now, with gentle hands and amusement in his eyes. Husker always helps him back to his room afterwards like a perfect gentlemanly escort. Despite that, Angel can’t help feeling a bit stung at the rejection each time.

Tonight, he only orders one drink. He knows he can’t be getting too handsy with Husk on their date. He’s sure it would annoy him. He doesn’t want Husker to regret asking him out. With his focus strictly on keeping up his good behavior and watching his alcohol intake, Angel barely touches the food Husker recommended to him. 

Husker keeps shooting him these looks that make Angel anxious. With each glance, Husker slinks deeper into his taciturn demeanor. Of course, Angel overcompensates with his babbling. At one point, Husk has to shush him during the jazz show. Angel clacks his jaws shut in shame, because he knows how much Husker likes jazz and here he is ruining the experience for him. At least Husk is nice enough to hold Angel’s hands throughout the rest of the show, though he probably only does it to keep Angel from fidgeting too much.

When they leave the joint, Husker doesn’t offer his arm again. He doesn’t even walk very close to him. Angel's stomach churns so much, he’s afraid if he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll puke the two bites of food he ate earlier.

They’re halfway back to the hotel when Husk clears his throat. His hands are in his pockets as he trudges on, keeping his eyes on the crumbling sidewalk.

“You didn’t have to say yes,” Husk says, not even glancing at Angel or faltering in his steps as he speaks. Angel, on the other hand, halts in confusion.

“What?” Angel asks, not sure what Husker was talking about but the tone of voice made his stomach drop. Husk sighs, stopping in his tracks to finally look up at Angel. His face was closed off in his standard apathetic frown.

“When I asked you out,” Husker says, his tone going to his usual bored gruffness. He hasn’t used that tone towards Angel in a long time. Hints of panic start crawling up Angel’s veins. “You didn’t have to say yes.”

“What?” Angel asks again like a fucking idiot. He hopes he doesn’t sound as shaky and pathetic as he feels.

Husker’s voice goes flatter though his tail has started to twitch uneasily.

“You should’ve said no if you didn’t want to…be with me. We woulda been fine.”

“Huskie–”

And at last some of that soft, hidden sincerity crept back into Husker’s voice. Only a little bit, but it’s there.

“I’d still be your friend, Legs,” Husker says, gazing into Angel’s eyes and sounding painfully honest. “I wouldn’t abandon you over that.”

“No! I-I–”

Husker looks away with a bitter grin. Angel’s heart cracked at the sight.

“I’d need a day or two to lick my wounds, but I knew it was a long shot anyway. I woulda come back,” Husker shrugs when he finishes going for nonchalance, but his wings are once again curled protective and close, making his usual slouch look less like carelessness and more like defeat. Husker doesn’t wait for Angel’s response, instead choosing to continue walking back to the hotel.

Angel stands in place, floored by how badly he fucked up. He notices his breathing becoming erratic. He does his best to do the calming breathing thing Charlie taught them all. It works well enough to get him running to Husker again though Angel still feels unsteady and insecure. Most of him is screaming to fucking book it in the other direction because fuck, fuck, Angel hates feelings. But Husker also hates feelings and he basically threw up his guts at Angel despite it. The least Angel can do is return the gesture, right? He owes Husker that much.

“Husker, wait!” he shouts. 

Husker’s posture becomes more guarded but he doesn’t acknowledge Angel’s call. Angel catches up quickly (Husk can’t go too far too fast with those short legs, Angel thinks, helplessly fond despite the anxiety). Dodging around Husker’s wings that quiver with tension, Angel grabs the crook of his arm to bring him to a stop and place himself in Husk’s way. He lets go quickly at Husk’s glare but somehow manages to stand his ground.

“I did want! Husk, I wanted ta say yes, I wanted ta go on this date so much,” Angel says desperately, feeling a telltale burning around his eyes and hating himself for it.

The tension in Husker’s body breaks free as his patience caves to his temper. His wings flare open and his tail whips side to side aggressively.

“Then why are you acting so fucking fake? With the clothes and you treating me like I got the fucking plague! I thought we were done with that bullshit,” Husker snaps furiously.

“Cuz I wanted ta…I wanted ta be good for ya, Husk,” Angel chokes out, shoulders slumped in defeat. “You like classy. I wanted ta be a good, classy sorta guy for ya. I-I fucked up. I always fuck this shit up. I don’t mean ta do it.”

Angel stares at the poor excuse of a sidewalk they’re on, blinking back tears. Husker doesn’t say anything for a long time. Angel nearly loses his nerve and turns tail when Husker speaks again.

“You fucking dumbass,” Husk says. 

His voice is deep and warm and fond, the way it is on their drinking nights together. Angel’s head snaps to Husk at his words. That cocky little smirk– the one Angel first saw after Husk had pulled him out of his self-destructive spiral at the club and realized that if he wasn't careful he'd lose his heart to the guy–has replaced the angry slant of Husk’s mouth.

“Hey!” Angel protests with a cautious smile. Husk rolls his eyes.

“Don’t expect compliments if you’re gonna act stupid,” Husk says and offers his arm to Angel. “You’re already classy enough for me, Legs.”

Angel takes his arm and looks down at him slyly.

“But not good, huh?” Angel tries to tease but Husker doesn’t take it.

Instead, Husk looks at him intensely and says firmly, “If this redemption shit the princess keeps talking about ain’t total bullshit, you’d be the one to make it.”

“Oh,” Angel says, stunned, then adds to cover how hard it made his heart beat, “Husker, ya big ol’ flirt. I betcha say that ta all the pretty boys.”

“Fuck you,” Husk grins at him. Angel bats his eyes and lets his voice go all breathy.

“Oh, yes! Please, daddy,” Angel simpers. He adds a loud moan for good measure. Husker throws his head back with a rough, loud laugh. Angel knows immediately he wants to hear it again forever.

By the time Husk drops Angel off at the door of his room, the pair of them have relaxed significantly. Angel opens the door slightly to peek in on Fat Nuggets. After he makes sure his Nugs is sleeping soundly, Angel catches Husk’s sleeve before he could make a sneaky escape.

“Hey, Husk, can we get a do-over? A new first date? I want ta do it right next time.” Angel asks shyly. The corner of Husk’s mouth quirks up, making his golden eyes crinkle in a way that makes Angel’s heart melt.

“Depends,” Husker says with that charming smirk. “You gonna wear that stupid outfit next time?”

“Oh baby,” Angel says, plastering himself against the door frame in one of his sexiest poses. “I’m gonna wear my sluttiest dress for my handsome kitty. Everyone’s gonna wish they were you when they see us togetha.”

Husk snorts.

“When you put it like that…”

“You can put it wherever ya want, daddy,” Angel flirts. He’s only half-joking but he keeps his hands to himself to keep things light. Husker rolls his eyes in good humor.

“A do-over sounds good.”

Angel drops the pose instantly, beaming at Husk.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Angel’s heart flutters at the small smile that accompanies Husk’s assurance.

“Next week?”

Husker nods in agreement.

“Great!” Angel said, probably a little too enthusiastically.

Before Angel canlose his nerve, he dips down and presses a light, meek kiss on Husker’s cheek. When he pulls back, Husker’s eyes are as wide as saucers and his wings have puffed up in a way Angel hadn’t seen before. If Angel didn’t know any better, he’d say Husker was downright flustered. And oh god, Angel wanted to make him blush all over. Husker would be so cute in bed.

“G‘night, Huskie!” Angel says quickly and slams the door closed behind him.

After nearly tearing himself out of the uncomfortable clothes, Angel crawls into bed wearing only his boxer briefs. Next time, he thinks to himself in joy and disbelief. I get a next time.

He knows it will be perfect because next time he’ll be himself. Angel. Because that’s all Husker wanted. Just Angel.

He curls up around Fat Nuggets and allows himself one quiet, happy squeal.

[thelampisaflashlight]

A Lack of Engagement Pt. 4: To Have and to Hold

[Previous Entry: Here.] Below the cut.

Rain is sleeping on the couch.

More accurately, he's laying on it, very much awake and contemplating his life and the decisions that have lead him to this point.

But, physically, mentally, emotionally... He's sleeping on the couch.

Swiss taunts him about it.

Asks him how he managed to get in trouble with Dew this time.

Truth is, Rain put himself out here.

He'd given Dew the bed, knowing even if he could sleep anywhere, HE was the one that deserved to be ousted from their bedroom, even if it had been Rain's to begin with.

Dew's allowed to be upset.

Just as much as Rain's allowed to... do this.

Avoid the situation.

Avoid Dew.

Swiss tries to get him to open up about what happened during their date after getting his fill of tormenting him, but Rain rolls onto his side, facing the back of the cushions instead.

"That bad, huh?" Swiss remarks, sitting down by Rain's feet, "Dew not like your surprise?"

"...I'm just..." Rain sighs, looking over his shoulder at his friend, "I don't know why Dew... Swiss, why does Dew like me?"

"What?"

Rain sits up.

"What about me-" he pokes himself in the chest, "-made Dew fall for someone like me?"

"I... You expect me to know something like that?" Swiss asks, looking terribly confused, then sits back, thinking, "You two must have had a pretty serious fight if you're wondering about stuff like that..."

"...He doesn't want to talk to me." Rain confesses, drawing his knees up to his chest, "I said something hurtful and... Honestly, I don't think I can walk it back, even though I feel like... I don't know."

His mouth wobbles a bit.

"I dunno, I don't want to lose my best friend..." he sniffs, and Swiss pulls him into a hug.

"Aw, buddy, I'm sure Dew will forgive you, but just in case, what did you say so I can know if I need to be stopping Dew from hitting you or helping him?"

Rain stiffens.

"Uh..."

Swiss slides his arm up slightly, around his neck.

"Awfully quiet there, Raincloud."

"Uhhhhh..." Rain laughs nervously, "...I plead the fifth?"

Swiss pulls him into a headlock.

"Sorry, man, I know that's code for 'I fucked up and I know it', so I have to do it."

"Do wha-HAH!" Rain squirms trying to escape Swiss' hold as he gives him a noogie, "HEY!"

After a minute or so, Swiss releases him, and Rain holds his head in his hands, groaning.

"Go talk to your husband already." he says, patting the water ghoul on the shoulder, "Exiling yourself to the couch is just gonna cause more problems. C'mon, up, up!"

Swiss pulls him to his feet, brushing him off.

"Now march off to that bedroom, get into bed, and tell your husband you're sorry for being a major ass!"

"I'm going, I'm going-" Rain grumbles, wandering off down the hallway, pausing to look back at Swiss, who salutes him, then does an inverted cross on his chest and then a prayer gesture, "-You stop that!"

"Not on your life!"

Rain rolls his eyes and continues down the hallway.

Worst case scenario, he enters the bedroom and Dew kills him on the spot, best case scenario, he's asleep... lukewarm scenario, he's awake and not so murderous that he won't let Rain climb into bed.

Reaching his bedroom door, Rain pops it open just a crack to see if he can locate Dew, but finds the room dark, save for the glow of the power cable on his laptop, which he usually nudges a book in front of at night to keep it from shining in his face when he sleeps.

In the dull glow, he can make out the vaguest silhouette of something people shaped on the bed; Dew is tucked into the farthest corner of the mattress, his body curled around something, either fast asleep or close to it.

Stepping inside, Rain shuts the door behind him and makes his way over to the bed.

He lingers there, watching Dew shift in his sleep, he's wrapped around Rain's pillow, holding it close.

Rain feels guilty.

Without turning on the lights, Rain rummages through his dresser for his pajamas, and slides into the on suite to get changed, before climbing into the bed beside him.

He starts off on the very edge, not wanting to disturb his sleep, but at some point, after laying there for what feels like an eternity, Rain rolls over closer to where Dew is, and reaches out, tugging at his midsection and pulling him into the curve of his body.

Dew makes a little noise of discontent, but settles shortly thereafter.

Pressed against him like this, Rain feels... strangely soothed.

He breathes out and allows his eyes to drift shut, chin resting on top of Dew's head.

"'m sorry..." he mumbles.

"...I'm sorry, too."

Rain blinks.

"...You're awake?"

"Couldn't sleep... felt lonely."

Rain frowns.

"I'm... Dew, I'm sorry I said what I said earlier." he admits, "This is all just... a lot. Not you, but, going from friends to this... It all feels like it's going a bit too fast, like I don't have time to process what's happened, or how I feel about it all... and I know it's my fault."

"Kind of, yeah." Dew replies with a yawn.

"Yeah? Aren't you supposed to comfort me and say it's not my fault and that you forgive me?" Rain jokes, but when Dew begins to move in his hold, he thinks he's messed up again, "I-"

Dew rotates so that he's facing Rain, coming practically nose to nose with him due to how close they are.

"I can forgive you for getting us into this mess, but I'm not gonna say it's not your fault. Both of us tested the rumor, and you may have heard about it first, but I went along with it. Fuckin'... it takes two to tango." Dew says, "And, yeah, I'm upset about what you said, but, I dunno... laying here, thinking about things on my own, I'd rather have my heartbroken then lose my friend... even if it's my friend who's breaking my heart."

"You... really like me that much?" Rain asks, and Dew headbutts him slightly, "Ow..."

"I do, have for a long time now... Sorry if that's weird."

"It's not weird... I have..." Rain pinches his eyes shut, "I have feelings for you, but I know they're not the same. It's... Fuck, this is awkward."

"You don't have to force yourself to tell me..."

"No, it's... Dew, you make me feel..." he clears his throat, "...Physically speaking..."

"You don't feel attracted to me?" Dew offers, and Rain panics.

"No! No, I think you're fucking hot as Hell!" he shouts, and they can both hear the chorus of annoyed hisses through their door.

"Quiet down!" someone groans, "We don't wanna hear it!"

"Satanas, you two need to get a room in your fucking room..." someone else mutters, muffled by the walls around them.

"...So, you ARE attracted to me, just not... emotionally then?" Dew concludes, "...Okay."

"Okay?"

"I mean... I like you, and I'm pretty sure if we fucked right now it'd really mess me up, because feelings and shit, but... uh... good to know." he says, clicking his tongue, "...You would fuck me though, right?"

"In a heartbeat."

"...That's too slow."

.

.

.

Rain lies awake, a surprisingly chill Dewdrop snuggled into his chest, tail lazily slapping against the blankets now and then.

As long as it's stuff like this, being with Dew... it's manageable.

He can do this.

They already did this before they wound up in this situation, so it's not a big deal.

Except is absolutely is.

If Dew didn't have feelings for him, would they have gone further than this by now?

Was it a mercy that Dew loved him enough to keep them from ruining their friendship?

That Rain has the common sense and decency to realize faking it just to get into Dew's would be wrong, and that even the idea of trying something like that -no matter how much he wants to explore their bodies together- disgusts him beyond all belief?

Rain huffs.

He'd never do that to Dew.

Especially if Rain knows he needs it to mean something.

That if it's HIM, Dew wouldn't be able to get over the hurt of being used like that.

He's more worried about losing his friend than getting his dick wet quite frankly.

But...

Rain bites his lip.

...Someone really needs to tell his junk this is not happening.

Lying here pressed against Dew's body is making it hard to keep his body from reacting, the stimulation is... it's not a lot, but, come to think of it, Rain hadn't gotten laid in a while now, and that dry spell is really making asses of pillows, if that makes any sense at all.

He could seek out someone to sleep with, but, he's also not sure what their -the versions of themselves in this world or whatever it is- boundaries are in terms of cavorting outside of their relationship.

He's not sure if it would raise any red flags to his packmates if he approached one of them for sex, or if their bond was more like that of Cirrus and Cumulus, who explicitly stated the openness of their relationship -save for being emotionally exclusive- before beginning to date.

The uncertainty is enough to keep him cozy in their bed, but another part of him, a small, odd little facet of himself he didn't know existed, wants nothing else but to be with Dew, even if it's cuddling just like this.

Weird.

[intern-seraph]

brief wip preview of my general lilia vanrouge/human general reader fic. in which u are snarky and a wee bit flirtatious and he thinks you're the most annoying creature to ever live. too bad he has to capture you alive!

cws: blood and injury, near-death experiences

You're dying.

That's one thing you know for certain. The other? You've lost. As you struggle to keep yourself awake, you watch your soldiers drop one by one around you. A ragged cough rips through your chest and splatters across the crushed flowers you lie atop.

A shout from nearby calls your attention, but you can barely muster up the energy to move more than your eyes. The shadow cast over you is familiar, however. Your second-in-command. She cries out your name, dropping to her knees and reaching for you. With tremendous effort, you lift your hand to stop her.

"No. Leave me," you say, weak but authoritative.

"No! General, we can't abandon you! You'll be —"

"I'm already going to die. Don't… don't waste your energy." You fumble with the medallions attached to your gambeson. Then, with trembling, bloody fingers, you press the one representing your rank into her palm. She sobs as you urge her to curl her hand around it. "Take this and go. Order anyone still alive to retreat."

Shaking her head, she tries to thrust the medallion back into your hands. "I won't leave you here!"

"Leave! That's —" another wet cough, splattering blood over your armor "— that's an order. Make sure that, hah, that some of these men make it home."

Finally, her face steels with resolve. She nods and rises again. Wordlessly, she salutes you.

And then you're alone again.

The air stinks of blood, both fae and human. You can taste your own filling your mouth. Since the day you joined His Majesty's army, you knew that you would die on the battlefield. What a pity, though, that it's in such a total, bitter defeat.

"What a pleasant surprise."

The voice makes your heart thud in your chest. With the little strength you have left, you try to push yourself up on your elbows. The sharp edge of a fae blade pins you in place. You follow its ornate green length up to meet the masked snarl of its wielder.

"Vanrouge," you murmur. You crack a smile that's rendered grotesque by your bloodied teeth and bruised face. "I should have known this was your work."

He presses the blade harder against your skin. "You look more pathetic than I ever thought you would."

"H-hah, you think of me that often?" The edges of your vision are starting to darken. "'M flattered."

The blade lifts away, and you collapse onto your back with a painful thud. Vanrouge crouches over you, his knee on your chest and his palm pressed to your throat. "Unfortunately for you, I need you alive."

The heat of healing magic strikes your skin. You cry out with the sudden searing sensation, feeling every single inch of your wounds knitting back together. By the time he’s done, tear tracks run down your cheeks. He hasn’t even healed you completely; it’s just enough to keep you alive. You convulse with a hacking cough, and Vanrouge steps away to avoid the spatter of bloody saliva. “Fuck, you didn’t have to make it… shit… make it hurt that much… and here I thought we were friends.”

You can hear the sneer in his voice when he snaps, “I would never be ‘friends’ with the likes of you, human.”

“You wound me.” You laugh. Immediately you regret it, and you dissolve into hacking coughs again. “Shi-i-it… your men did a number on me…”

Of course, Vanrouge ignores you. He manhandles you onto your stomach and wrenches your arms behind your back, binding them in thick, coarse rope. You don’t bother fighting back. You know when to pick your battles. When he pulls you up to your feet, you stumble for a moment, cursing under your breath as your leg threatens to give out completely, but manage to keep your footing. Even as he forces you into an unsteady march, you keep your bloodied grin plastered on your face. His soldiers shout and jeer at you, but give you both a wide berth — the Shadow General terrifies even his own men, it seems.

You don’t get a chance to take in your accommodations for the journey to the Land of Briar’s capital city. The blood loss finally overtakes your adrenaline, and everything goes black.

—

The first time you faced the Shadow General was several years ago, when you were a fresh-faced footsoldier in His Majesty’s army. You were marching to meet up with the rest of the King’s army to aid in a siege. On that fateful night, you made camp in a quiet copse of trees. None of the other soldiers in your squadron had been expecting Vanrouge to emerge from the woods like a wraith, his monstrous mask paralyzing some of your younger comrades on the spot with terror. The fae’s ambush was short and bloody, leaving only half of your squadron clinging to life. While the few magic-users scrambled to remember their healing spells, you stood strong against Vanrouge, himself. For a moment, he’d pinned you to a tree, and you stared directly into those soulless, unblinking eyes. Some kind of manic energy must have overcome you, because when you opened your mouth to pant for breath, instead you choked out a few raspy words:

“Isn’t this… a little intimate?”

You didn’t need to see his face to know that he was repulsed. He dropped you immediately. While you crouched on the leaf-litter and wheezed, he called for his soldiers to withdraw. Then, without looking back at you, he vanished into the night. You never told your surviving comrades what happened, or why he spared you your life. You still don’t know, yourself.

—

You wake up in a haze of pain and exhaustion. Around you, everything is dark and blurry. When you try to sit up, your ribs threaten to pop out of your chest, and you flop back with a frustrated huff. Damn him for only healing you partway. You’ve been stripped of your armor and dressed in a kind of hospital gown. The fabric is thin and irritates your skin if you move too much, but that might just be the medicine you can feel seeping into your healing wounds. All things considered, you’re far more intact than you would’ve expected. They haven’t even bothered to put you in chains, although that might be less of a courtesy and more knowledge that you don’t have the strength at the moment to actually move. Nearby, a heavy door creaks open. You try to crane your neck towards the sound, but only succeed in straining what can only be a torn… something.

“... jesty, I respect your judgment, but again I must ask why? I’m needed on the front lines, not here.”

“Lilia, you know this human better than any of my prison guards. And this may be a much-needed break from your regular duties.”

“A break?”

His tone of voice makes you wince. Surely his Queen would punish his cheek?

She laughs, her voice rich and deep. “Yes, a break. You are sorely in need of one, if your soldiers’ reports are to be believed. This should be suitably calm while keeping your mind occupied.”

“If by ‘calm’ you mean ‘insufferable,’ I suppose you’re correct, Your Majesty.”

[queenkeesi]

The Study Abroad

---

Eden Academy’s eighth-grade class was under siege—not by any external force, but by the dark, oppressive cloud surrounding one of its most prominent students. At fourteen, Damian Desmond had always carried himself with an air of superiority, but now, something had shifted. He was a storm waiting to explode, his anger simmering just below the surface. His disheveled hair hung a bit longer than usual, and the deep, dark bags under his eyes gave him a brooding, almost monstrous look. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and his presence was suffocating.

“D-Damian… could I borrow your pencil sharpener?” Grace asked cautiously, her voice barely audible, as though speaking too loudly might set him off.

“Hmph. Use your own,” Damian growled, not even bothering to look up. His hand hovered over the paper, gripping his pencil tightly as he glared at the half-finished sketch in front of him. His frustration was bleeding onto the page— jagged, angry lines slashed across the paper, but it wasn’t art. It was the outward expression of the chaos in his mind.

Every movement, every word from those around him felt like an annoyance. They didn’t understand the pressure, the weight of everything he carried, and they couldn’t see how close he was to snapping.

Grace quickly backed away, her face pale as she avoided eye contact.

Across the room, Emile and Ewen watched the exchange nervously.

“He’s been like this all week,” Ewen whispered, his voice trembling. “I can’t take it anymore. Every time I talk to him, it feels like he’s going to explode.”

“Yeah,” Emile agreed. “Bossman’s usually tough, but this is different. It’s like he’s... on edge.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud voice from the back of the room. “Damian, are you done with the scissors yet?”

George Glooman marched up to Damian’s desk, completely unaware of the tension in the room. A collective gasp rippled through the class as everyone watched in horror.

Damian’s hand clenched around the scissors. Without even looking up, he tossed them onto the desk, the metal clattering against the wood. “Take them.”

George blinked, confused by the sharpness of Damian’s tone. “Uh, thanks... I guess.”

As George backed away, Becky Blackbell leaned back in her chair, watching the scene unfold with amusement. She wasn’t scared of Damian like the others were. If anything, she found his mood swings entertaining.

“You’re really making life hard for everyone, you know that?” she said casually, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“Shut the hell up, Blackbell,” Damian growled, his eyes narrowing.

Becky smirked. “What’s got you so worked up? It wouldn’t have anything to do with Anya having the time of her life in Francian, would it?”

Damian’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Becky was right, but he wasn’t about to admit that out loud.

She reached into her bag, pulling out a crisp white envelope and waving it in front of him. “Oh, by the way... this just arrived this morning. Air mail. Guess who it’s from?”

Damian’s eyes flicked to the envelope, his stomach knotting. He already knew. “I don’t care,” he muttered, looking away.

Becky grinned, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh really? You don’t care that it’s from Anya? She says hi to everyone, you know. But if you’re not interested...”

In a flash, Damian snatched the envelope from her, ripping it open before she could say another word. He unfolded the letter with trembling hands, bracing himself for what he was about to read.

---

Salut Becky!

C’est tellement amusant ici en Francian! I’ve been here for just a few days, but it feels like forever. Yesterday, we saw the Eiffle Tower, and Arnold insisted we eat escargot. It’s disgusting, but he says it’s “très authentique.” Pfft.

Oh, and I got my new uniform at L’Académie Royale—Arnold said I looked “lovely.” Can you believe that? We’ve been taking tours, and everything here is so grand and fancy. L’Académie Royale is a little like Eden Academy but way more extravagant. The uniforms have these gold buttons, and some kids wear hats bigger than my head! It’s all very “impressive,” Arnold says. I dunno. I think it’s just... fancy.

The teachers have these thick accents, but I think I’m getting used to them. Honestly, I think my Francian’s getting better, too! I keep mixing it in without even noticing. Arnold keeps calling me “Froggy” because of how much I’ve been using Francian. I think it’s funny! Anyway, we have more sightseeing to do tomorrow. Can’t wait to tell you all about it.

Je dois y aller maintenant. Say hi to everyone! Au revoir!

Anya

---

Damian’s grip on the paper tightened. His eyes blazed over the parts about Arnold Crowley. “Froggy.” “Lovely.” Crowley had always used that ridiculous nickname, but hearing that Arnold had called her “lovely” in her new uniform made Damian’s blood boil. And worse, Anya found it all funny, giggling along as Arnold complimented her and made jokes.

He wouldn’t outwardly admit that Anya was always lovely no matter what she was wearing.

It was just like Crowley to swoop in and make her laugh with that stupid nickname, something he’d been doing since their first year. Froggy, a stupid play on the letters of her last name, Forger. And for some reason, Anya thought it was hilarious. She had always loved that dumb nickname, laughing every time Crowley used it. But Damian had loathed it from the start. She wasn’t some frog. She was more like a princess, though he would never say that out loud.

---

The memory hit him suddenly—the moment Anya had told him she was going to apply for the study abroad program.

It was lunchtime, two months ago. She had approached him, her usual bright smile lighting up her face, her eyes gleaming as she twirled a lock of her rose-pink hair. Damian had tried not to stare, but it was impossible. She always seemed to carry a warmth that made everything else fade into the background.

“I’m gonna apply for L’Académie Royale,” she’d said with excitement, practically glowing. “It sounds amazing! We get to go to Francian for three months. Think of all the places we’ll see!”

Three months in Francian. The words hit Damian harder than he wanted to admit. She was really going to leave. L’Académie Royale wasn’t just some ordinary school—it was basically the Francian version of Eden Academy. Every year, only two eighth graders were chosen for a three-month intensive language immersion. Damian had never even considered applying. Why would he? Regardless of his own average marks in the subject and his lack of interest in it, his family’s name made it impossible. His brother Demetrius had tried to apply once, and his application had been immediately rejected for security reasons. If Demetrius couldn’t go, what chance did Damian have?

But for Anya, things were different. Damian already knew—deep down, he knew—that she would get in. She was brilliant at languages, even if she didn’t fully realize it. Best in their year. Arnold Crowley had his diplomat parents to give him an edge, but Anya had done it all on her own. Her Francian was far better than she gave herself credit for, and she would get selected. He had no doubt about it.

And she would leave him behind.

The realization hit Damian like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t just that she was leaving—it was that he could never go with her. He would always be stuck here, bound by his family’s name and its never-ending expectations. Anya was going to see the world, and he… he would remain trapped.

He knew she’d be accepted. There wasn’t even a question. And the worst part? He couldn’t stop it.

The knot in his chest tightened, and before he could stop himself, his instinct to shield himself from the pain kicked in. He scoffed, letting the words tumble out harshly. “Yeah, right. There’s no way you’re getting in. Your Francian sucks.”

Anya’s bright expression faltered. Her smile faded, and her shoulders slumped slightly. “What? No it doesn’t… I’ve been practicing a lot.” Her voice was softer now, unsure.

Damian felt a sharp pang of guilt twist in his gut. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He hated seeing that look on her face. But he couldn’t take it back now. He forced himself to shrug, trying to keep his cold exterior. “Whatever. You’ll just embarrass yourself.”

The disappointment in her eyes stung more than he expected. Anya blinked, her usual confidence dimming. She looked almost… sad.

Before she could respond, Arnold Crowley swooped in like he always did, a constant thorn in Damian’s side.

“Don’t listen to him, Anya,” Arnold said smoothly, throwing Damian a smug glare. “You’re great at Francian. Way better than Desmond over here.”

Damian’s jaw clenched, but he stayed quiet. He wanted to snap back, to tell Crowley to shut up, but instead, he just turned away, unwilling to let anyone see how much this conversation was affecting him.

It wasn’t really Anya he was mad at. Not at all. It was the fact that she could apply for something like this and actually go. She had a freedom he could never have. His family’s name, their legacy—it all came with too many restrictions. Even if he wanted to go, his father would make sure he stayed behind. The Desmond name was a prison he could never escape.

As he had walked away from Anya and Arnold that day, Damian couldn’t shake the image of Anya’s disappointed face. He wasn’t angry at her. He was angry at the reality that Anya could travel, while he would always be bound to the expectations and responsibilities of being a Desmond.

---

Without a word, Damian handed the letter back to Becky, his face flushed with frustration.

Becky raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Wow, you’re really mad, huh? It’s just a letter, Damian. You know she’s gonna come back, right? Legally, she has to.”

Emile and Ewen, sensing the tension, quickly chimed in.

“Yeah, Bossman, it’s just three months. She’ll be back soon,” Emile said, trying to sound reassuring.

“Right,” Ewen added nervously. “She can’t stay in Francian forever.”

Becky, still smirking, added, “I mean, you’re worried about Arnold, but don’t forget about those Francian guys too. I mean, have you seen the footballers from there?”

“Yeah, they’re definitely more attractive than Crowley’s dorky, goofy self,” Emile added.

“Not helping...” Ewen whispered, looking at Emile with wide eyes.

Damian’s pencil snapped in his hand, a mixture of anger and anxiety bubbling inside him. Crowley was bad enough, but now he had to worry about Francian guys? They probably thought they were all charming and sophisticated, whispering compliments in fluent Francian. The thought of someone like that charming Anya...

He slumped in his chair, his eyes unfocused as his thoughts drifted. The Desmond name came with too much baggage, too many restrictions.

Damian had been abroad before—but only with his family. Every time, it was a carefully planned, meticulously controlled operation. He wasn’t free to explore or enjoy himself like a normal person. It was all about maintaining appearances, staying under protection, and doing what his father expected.

He could travel within Ostania—he’d flown by helicopter to places others could only dream of visiting. But going abroad, alone, or with friends? That was impossible. Even his brother had failed at that.

There was that one time, last winter. Anya and her family loved taking the train to Frigis—a tradition they had started when she was just a kid, visiting the festive markets as the snow fell. Becky had even tagged along a few times, and Damian had overheard them talking about it, about how maybe next time, all five of them could go. The idea had sparked something inside him, a fleeting moment where he thought maybe, just maybe, he could join them. He had even asked Jeeves about it. The butler had listened, then politely informed him that he would have to escalate the request to his father’s team.

Not even a minute on the phone later, the answer came back—a firm “no.” Too many restrictions, too many complications. He had swallowed the disappointment, forcing himself not to react.

It would’ve been so simple—just a normal train ride with friends, like a normal person. But nothing was ever simple for him.

“It’s fine, Bossman. Who even wants to go there anyway?” Ewen had tried to downplay it, but Damian had seen the disappointment flicker in his eyes.

“Yeah, way too cold!” Emile had chimed in, offering a forced grin that felt hollow.

But Damian knew the truth. They had wanted to go. If it hadn’t been for him, they could have. It was because of him. The weight of his name had crushed a simple trip with friends before it even had a chance. But he buried the sting deep down, as he always did, pretending it didn’t matter. Pretending it didn’t hurt.

Damian’s thoughts drifted back to Anya. Her voice echoed in his mind, that light, cheery tone that always cut through the seriousness of everything around them. She had a way of bringing brightness to even the dullest situations, and as much as he hated to admit it, he missed that. He missed the sound of her voice, the way her hair bounced around her face when she was excited, her unshakeable positivity even when things were tough.

And now, she was out there, in Francian, having the time of her life—without him.

But even when she was gone, Damian couldn’t help but try to find her. Anytime he saw something similar to that soft, pink color of her hair, his heart would skip for a second, only to be hit with the reminder that it wasn’t her. A scarf in the hallway, a book cover, a flower—anything remotely that shade would make him think of her. And he hated that it did.

Even when she wasn’t here, she was everywhere.

Becky’s voice cut through his thoughts. “God you’re really brooding… She’s coming back, Desmond. You’re acting like she’s gone forever, stop with the dramatics.”

Anya would definitely come back, but he would never be able to go with her when she’d leave again. That was the harsh truth. Every time she left, he’d be stuck here—stuck in the confines of Eden Academy, tied to his family’s rigid expectations. He’d always be the son of Donovan Desmond, forever bound by the responsibilities that came with his last name.

No spontaneous adventures for him, no carefree trips to Francian, no moments of wandering foreign streets with someone like Anya. His life wasn’t his own. It belonged to the Desmond legacy, and the more he grew, the more he realized how much of a prison that truly was.

And now much Anya wasn’t like that and wouldn’t want to be like that.

Anya could go wherever she wanted and she would. She had the freedom to explore, to see the world, to come back with stories about new places, new experiences. But Damian? Damian would always have to stay. Stay behind. Stay obedient. Stay chained to his family’s ambitions.

Being a Desmond wasn’t a privilege. It was a curse.

“Bossman?” Emile asked hesitantly.

Damian straightened up, his expression hard and unreadable. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though the war inside him was far from over.

—

Exactly three weeks and two months later:

Damian had been counting the days. Not that he’d admit it to anyone—not to Emile, not to Ewen, and certainly not to himself. But every single one had been marked in his mind, ticking down to this day—the day Anya Forger would finally return from Francian. He thought he’d be ready. He’d prepared himself for weeks, thinking about what he’d say, how he’d act. He thought he’d be in control.

But now, standing frozen at the gates of Eden Academy, he wasn’t ready at all.

It had happened by pure chance. He’d been walking through the courtyard, lost in his usual swirl of thoughts when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of that specific rose color. His heart stopped mid-beat—it couldn’t be… could it? Surely she would wait until tomorrow. But there she was, walking toward him, and in that instant, it felt as if the world tilted, the ground beneath his feet falling away. Everything else faded, narrowing to just her.

Anya Forger was gorgeous.

It wasn’t just her hair—though the soft, rose-pink hue still made his chest tighten the way it always had—but now, there was more. She was taller, more graceful, as if all the childlike edges had softened into something more mature. And her eyes—those big emerald eyes—seemed to shine even brighter now, like they held an energy, a spark, that made Damian’s stomach twist. She looked so… different.

Her uniform from L’Académie Royale was unlike anything Damian had seen her wear. Gone were the stiff, formal black uniforms of Eden Academy. Instead, she wore a soft sky-blue blazer with plaid pleats running through her skirt, which flared slightly above her knees. The uniform had a neat, tailored fit that gave her a refined yet youthful appearance. There were subtle details too—the hint of checkered plaid in the blazer’s lining, the pleats of the skirt swaying softly with her movements, and the white knee-high socks paired with polished shoes that made her stand out even more. It was all so perfect.

But it wasn’t just the uniform that caught Damian’s attention. Anya seemed to radiate something—an effortless warmth and brightness, a quality that made her feel like she was from another world. Her smile, so natural and familiar, made Damian’s pulse quicken. She was different, yet still… Anya.

“Hey, Sy-on!” Anya’s voice cut through the hum of the courtyard, her tone just as light and playful as ever, but now, there was something else—a new kind of confidence he hadn’t expected.

Damian’s breath hitched. She was right there. She hadn’t even realized how much he’d missed her—how much he’d thought about this moment. He missed the way her voice softened his rough edges, the way her presence seemed to make everything around him lighter. How could she be standing so casually in front of him after all this time?

“A-An… Forger.” His voice cracked slightly—he hadn’t meant for it to. He’d almost said her name out loud. The words tumbled out awkwardly, completely abandoning his usual calm exterior.

Anya laughed, her voice ringing out with that familiar brightness, and it hit him hard—the sound he hadn’t heard in months. “Bonjour, deuxième fils!” she twirled lightly, showing off her new uniform with a grin. “What do you think?”

Damian’s mouth felt dry as he tried to respond. “Y-yeah, I guess it’s… okay.” But inside? Inside, he was a mess. She didn’t look ‘okay.’ She looked… stunning. More mature, more poised, but still glowing with the same energy that had always drawn him in. He felt the sudden, sharp urge to reach out and touch her—her hair, her hand—anything, just to know she was real and not some dream his mind had conjured.

“Just okay?” Anya teased, raising her eyebrows as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers brushing gently against the pink strands. Damian’s eyes were drawn to the movement, the way the sunlight caught her hair and made it shimmer—just like her eyes, so bright and alive.

He caught himself wondering what it would be like to touch her hair, to feel those soft strands slipping through his fingers. Or even… He shook the thought away before it could fully form, but his pulse wouldn’t settle. Why was he thinking like this?

“I-It’s just… different from Eden’s,” he managed to say, his voice barely steady. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, threatening to betray the whirlwind of emotions he was barely holding together.

Anya smiled, seemingly unaware of the storm swirling inside him. “It feels strange being back. Everything’s still here, but it doesn’t feel the same, you know?” As she spoke, she reached out, lightly touching his arm, her fingers brushing against his sleeve.

A spark shot through him. The simple touch made his pulse quicken, catching him off guard. Her touch felt different. It was like her hand had left a mark, lingering on his skin even after she pulled away. He wanted more. Her nails were longer now, painted a soft, shimmery color—something small, but it stood out to him. She seemed even more feminine now, not that she hadn’t before, but there was a new grace in the way she moved and spoke that hadn’t been so obvious before she left.

“You… really have changed,” he blurted out, the words slipping through before he could stop them. He wasn’t just talking about how she looked. She felt different to him—someone he wanted to be closer to, in a way he had never let himself think about before.

Anya blinked, her smile turning thoughtful as she glanced at her hand, then back at him. “You think so? I hadn’t really noticed,” she replied with a casual shrug, like it didn’t even matter. That was the thing about her— she was completely unaware of how much she’d changed, how much she stood out, or how utterly beautiful she was. She had no idea how much Damian noticed every little thing about her.

Damian swallowed hard. “Y-yeah, I guess,” he muttered, feeling his face grow hot.

“Well,” Anya chirped, giving him a quick wave, “I’ve gotta go find Becky. See you around, Sy-on!”

And just like that, she was gone—her hair bouncing lightly as she walked away, her glowing form disappearing into the distance.

Damian stood there, rooted to the spot. His heart was still racing, his mind a jumbled mess of thoughts and feelings. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected her to look like this, to seem so different and yet so… Anya. Most of all, he hadn’t expected how much he’d missed her—or how much seeing her again stirred up feelings he had never truly let himself feel before.

For the first time, he let the thought in. He liked her. He really, really liked her. Maybe more than that. His mind betrayed him, flashing images of touching her again—or even leaning in to kiss her, an urge so foreign to him that it made his stomach twist.

He’d always known there was something about her, but now, he understood. He wasn’t just thinking about her as Anya Forger, the girl who made him laugh and frustrated him to no end. He was in love with her.