#bun is based and correct

[stormvanari]

"Ah-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-M!"

Concept sketches of an Extension Corps slinky whose tongue rolls the letter E and often has trouble getting in information. There is also a running gag where she usually, according to Ecks and Ten, “ruins the moment.”

In battle, Koni supports allies by switching her “stat channels” (giving random stat boosts), springy boots to make critical hits and annoying dodges, and summoning a two-headed pet of hers that functions like a double ball-flail to swing crazy with.

plot spoilers below cut:

Outside of battle, Koni is a head radio operator for the Zok Troop and doesn’t tag along with the EC in-person since she is always cooped up in Fortress Zokket. But above relaying information to Zok Troops and the Extension Corps, Koni wishes to explore the outside world.

After Reclusa’s fall, Koni retreats to Lottacoins Island and, although she wasn’t welcomed well at first by its Concordians, managed to get a job there. She now refers her pet as “emotional support” whenever Koni brings it to work and is asked why.

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

Half the floor is tiled! Now I have space to put all my bullshit so I have room to tile the other half!

Anticipating stupid questions and comments so you don't have to waste both our time typing them out:

Sure, whatever weird eldritch bullshit you think about this normal arse room makes you super perceptive. Ooooh it's dark outside maybe there's a face in the old chicken coop spoooky. Yes I'm standing next to the glass door (creepy for some reason) to take this photo woooooo. Oh no my low ceiling is gonna getcha!

Yes I'm doing the half tile thing at the bottom instead of putting the skirting boards back. This is because it makes cleaning easier (so many of my decisions come down to what would be easiest to clean) and acts as some waterproofing protection against the plasterboard walls given that the room is at a slight slope. If you think it looks too much like a bathroom or whatever other stupid reason you have for disliking it then you are objectively wrong, my decision was correct and my design taste is impeccable.

I haven't tiled the whole back wall yet because I'm eventually gonna get Ceiling Man to put a doorway there. No point in putting up tiles that he's going to have to knock down again.

I wanted more of a clay tile look, maybe something in brown or terracotta, but unfortunately I suffer from a condition known as Web Serial Author and thus have a limited budget. I chose these tiles based on the sophisticated interior design rule of "holy shit they're the actual size I want (rare at bunnings) half the price per metre of everything else available". If I decide I hate em in a few years, I'll paint em. I might love them like this; it's impossible to tell until the furniture is in.

My tiles are SUPER even and perfect. If you spot any misaligned tiles then fuck you, you're seeing them wrong. I'm so good at tiling.

Yes I know one of the lightbulbs on the wall is blown. I haven't been down to Bunnings in person to get a new one yet.

The one on the ceiling is not blown it's just not switched on so don't @ me about it.

I think this website is making me paranoid about follower responses.

[ghstyles]

Mules - FWFW Extra

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WC: 3.8K

Based on this ask

FWFW Masterlist

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"This is exactly what I'm talking about," Y/N said, her voice tight with frustration. "You're not even listening to me right now."

The tension in the estate was palpable, thick enough that it felt like another presence in the sleek kitchen. The late afternoon sun slanted through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the hardwood floors and illuminating dust motes that drifted between them like silent observers to their conflict.

Y/N stood near the kitchen island, arms crossed defensively over her chest, her hair pulled into a messy bun that spoke of her rushed morning. She wore leggings and an oversized Oxford University sweatshirt, comfortable clothes for the long day of lectures and study groups she'd just endured. The dark circles under her eyes betrayed her exhaustion, but the fire in them was unmistakable.

Harry paced near the windows, running a hand through his already disheveled hair, his jaw set in that stubborn line Y/N knew all too well. He was dressed in black joggers and a faded vintage t-shirt, his feet bare against the cool floors. Despite the casual attire, the tension in his shoulders and the tightness around his eyes revealed his own fatigue.

Harry stopped his pacing, turning to face her with exasperation written across his features. "I'm standing right here, Y/N. How am I not listening?"

"Physically being in the room isn't the same as actually hearing what I'm saying," she countered, uncrossing her arms to gesture emphatically. "You've been somewhere else entirely since I walked in the door."

Harry's expression darkened. "That's rich coming from you," he shot back. "You've barely looked up from your textbooks long enough to have a proper conversation with me in weeks."

Y/N's eyes flashed with indignation. "I'm trying to complete my degree, Harry. You know how important that is to me."

"Of course I know," he said, frustration evident in every line of his body. "Just like you know I'm in the middle of finishing an album. That doesn't mean we can't make time for each other."

"I have been making time!" Y/N insisted, her voice rising slightly. "I'm here now, aren't I? Despite having a mountain of reading to get through before my morning seminar."

Harry scoffed, the sound harsh in the tense atmosphere. "Yeah, you're here physically. Just like you accused me of being a minute ago. But your mind's still buried in those books."

Y/N felt a surge of defensive anger. "That's not fair. I came straight here after my last lecture instead of going to the library like I'd planned. I rearranged my entire study schedule to be here tonight because you said you missed me."

"And then you spent the first hour on your laptop answering emails from your study group," Harry pointed out, his green eyes flashing with hurt beneath the anger.

"It was twenty minutes, tops," Y/N corrected, though she knew even as she said it that the exact time wasn't really the point. "And you were on the phone with Mitch discussing track arrangements when I arrived, so don't act like I'm the only one bringing work into our personal time."

Harry ran both hands through his hair this time, his frustration evident. "That was different. The call was already scheduled—"

"It's always different when it's your work, isn't it?" Y/N interrupted, her voice tight with emotion. "Your career takes priority because you're Harry Styles, but mine is just something I do between seeing you."

"I never said that!" Harry protested, genuine shock crossing his face. "I've always supported your education—"

"In theory," Y/N cut in. "But in practice, you get irritated every time I can't drop everything to accommodate your schedule."

Harry's expression hardened. "That's bullshit and you know it. I've rearranged entire tour dates to work around your exam schedule."

"Once," Y/N corrected. "You did that once."

"It was twice, actually," Harry said, his tone clipped. "But who's counting, right?"

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, both breathing slightly harder than normal, both aware they were teetering on the edge of saying things they might regret.

Y/N was the first to break it, her voice softer but still tense. "This isn't about keeping score, Harry."

"Then what is it about?" he asked, spreading his hands in a gesture of frustration. "Because I thought we were arguing about not seeing enough of each other, but now it seems like we're arguing about whose career is more important."

Y/N sighed, some of the fight leaving her as she leaned back against the kitchen island. "We're arguing because we're both stressed and tired and taking it out on each other," she admitted reluctantly.

Harry's posture softened slightly at her concession, but his expression remained troubled. "It's more than that," he said, taking a step toward her. "We've both been stressed before without tearing into each other like this."

Y/N looked down, studying the pattern of the hardwood floor as if it might hold answers. "I know," she said quietly.

Another silence stretched between them, less hostile but still heavy with unspoken emotions.

"When was the last time we spent more than a few hours together?" Harry asked suddenly, his voice gentler than before. "Not just physically in the same space, but actually together. No work, no school, just us."

Y/N looked up, meeting his gaze with a small frown of concentration. "I don't know," she admitted after a moment. "Before midterms, I guess. So...three weeks ago? Maybe longer."

Harry nodded, as if her answer confirmed something for him. "That's the problem, isn't it? We're not really fighting about your studies or my music. We're fighting because we miss each other, but we're both too bloody stubborn to just say it."

The simple truth of his words hit Y/N with surprising force. She felt something tight in her chest begin to unravel, replaced by a wistful ache that was somehow both better and worse.

"Maybe," she acknowledged, not quite ready to fully concede the point despite recognizing its validity. "But that doesn't change the fact that we both have obligations we can't just ignore."

Harry moved closer, stopping just out of arm's reach, his expression softening further. "I'm not asking you to ignore them," he said. "I would never want you to compromise your education, Y/N. I know how hard you've worked for it."

Y/N's shoulders relaxed slightly at his words, some of her defensive posture melting away. "And I don't want you to compromise your music," she responded, equally sincere. "I know how much the new album means to you."

Harry took another step forward, close enough now that she could see the flecks of darker green in his eyes, smell the familiar scent of his cologne. "So if we both understand that, why are we fighting?" he asked softly.

Y/N gave a small, rueful smile. "Because we're both tired and stressed? Because we're both stubborn as mules? Take your pick."

Harry's lips quirked in response, the first hint of a smile since their argument began. "Both," he decided. "Definitely both."

Y/N felt her own tension continue to ease, though a lingering frustration remained. "It's just...hard," she admitted. "Seeing everyone else in my program going out for drinks after class or having study groups at each other's flats, while I'm trying to cram everything into specific hours so I can fly to New York or LA whenever you have a few days free."

A flash of hurt crossed Harry's face. "Do you resent that?" he asked quietly. "Having to arrange your life around mine sometimes?"

Y/N shook her head immediately. "No," she said firmly. "That's not what I meant. I choose to make those arrangements because I want to be with you. I just...sometimes I feel like I'm failing at both being a good student and being a good girlfriend. Like I'm always shortchanging one for the other."

Understanding dawned in Harry's eyes. "I know that feeling," he said. "When I'm in the studio until 3am, I feel like I'm neglecting you. But when I take a day off to be with you, I feel like I'm letting down the band, the label..."

"Exactly," Y/N nodded, relieved he understood. "It's like being constantly torn, never fully present anywhere."

Harry closed the remaining distance between them, reaching out to take her hands in his. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and sincere. "For picking a fight instead of just telling you I've missed you."

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words, but her stubborn pride wasn't quite ready to surrender. "I'm still mad at you," she informed him, though the heat had left her voice.

Harry's lips curved in a knowing smile. "No you're not," he countered softly.

"Yes I am," Y/N insisted, trying to maintain her frown despite the way her heart was already softening. "You accused me of not caring about our relationship—"

"I never said that," Harry interrupted gently.

"You implied it," Y/N persisted.

Harry's smile widened slightly. "I implied that I missed you," he corrected. "Which isn't the same thing at all."

Y/N opened her mouth to argue further, but before she could speak, Harry released her hands to cradle her face between his palms, his touch gentle but firm.

"I miss you," he said simply, his green eyes serious despite his smile. "Even when you're right in front of me, I miss you. I miss the way you laugh at my terrible jokes. I miss watching you fall asleep with a book on your chest. I miss the way you hum in the shower when you think no one can hear you."

Y/N felt her resolve weakening, but made one last attempt to hold onto her indignation. "Harry—"

But he didn't give her a chance to finish. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his thumbs gently stroking her cheekbones.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against her skin.

Before she could respond, he moved to kiss the tip of her nose, then each of her cheeks, punctuating each touch of his lips with another whispered apology.

"Harry," she protested weakly, her hands coming up to grasp his wrists, though she made no real effort to pull his hands away from her face. "I'm trying to stay mad at you."

"I know," he murmured, pressing a feather-light kiss to the corner of her mouth. "You're very stubborn that way. It's one of the things I love about you."

Despite herself, Y/N felt the corners of her lips beginning to twitch upward. "Stop that," she ordered, but there was no real conviction in her voice.

Harry grinned, clearly sensing his victory. "Stop what?" he asked innocently, before pressing another kiss to her temple. "Telling you I love your stubbornness?" Another kiss, this one just below her ear. "Or that I love the little crease you get between your eyebrows when you're concentrating?" A kiss to her jaw. "Or that I love how passionate you are about your studies, even when it means I get less time with you?"

Y/N tried to maintain her stern expression, but she could feel it crumbling under his assault of affection. "You're impossible," she informed him, even as her fingers uncurled from his wrists to slide up his arms.

"Impossibly in love with you," Harry agreed, the simple sincerity in his voice making her heart skip a beat despite the cheesiness of the line.

He continued his campaign, pressing soft kisses to every part of her face he could reach—her eyelids, her cheekbones, the corner of her mouth again—each one accompanied by a whispered apology or endearment.

Finally, Y/N couldn't hold back any longer. A reluctant smile broke across her face, the tension in her body fully dissolving as she melted into his touch.

"There it is," Harry murmured triumphantly, his own smile widening at the sight of hers. "The most beautiful smile in the world."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile remained. "You're so cheesy," she accused, her hands sliding up to link behind his neck.

"Only with you," Harry replied, pressing one more kiss to the corner of her now-smiling mouth. "And only because it works."

Y/N laughed softly, finally admitting defeat. "Fine," she conceded. "I'm not mad anymore. But I still think we need to figure out a better balance."

Harry nodded, his expression turning more serious though his hands remained gentle on her face. "We do," he agreed. "And we will. Starting now."

He released her face to reach into his pocket, pulling out his phone. With a few quick taps, he activated something and then placed the device screen-down on the counter beside them.

"What are you doing?" Y/N asked, curious despite herself.

"Setting an alarm for eight o'clock tomorrow morning," Harry explained. "Until then, no phones, no laptops, no textbooks, no songwriting. Just us."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "I have a lecture at nine," she reminded him.

Harry nodded. "I know. Plenty of time for me to make you breakfast before you go."

The simple domestic promise made Y/N's heart swell with unexpected emotion. "What about your session with the producer?" she asked. "I thought you were supposed to be at the studio by ten."

"I'll reschedule," Harry said with a small shrug. "The album will still be there next week. Right now, this is more important."

Y/N felt the last of her resistance melt away, replaced by a wave of affection so strong it almost overwhelmed her. "I've missed you too, you know," she admitted softly, finally voicing what they both knew had been at the heart of their argument all along. "So much."

Harry's expression softened, his eyes warm with understanding. "I know," he said simply. "Me too."

He leaned forward again, but this time instead of the playful kisses he'd scattered across her face, he captured her lips with his own in a kiss that was deep and unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world. Y/N responded immediately, her arms tightening around his neck as she pressed closer, pouring all the longing and frustration of the past weeks into the connection.

When they finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Harry rested his forehead against hers, his hands settling at her waist.

"For the record," he murmured, his voice low and slightly rough, "I'm still as stubborn as you are, and we're definitely going to have this fight again."

Y/N laughed, the sound free and genuine this time. "Probably next week," she agreed, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Definitely next week," Harry confirmed with a rueful smile. "But maybe next time we can skip straight to the part where I kiss you until you stop being mad at me? Save us both some time and energy."

Y/N pretended to consider this. "I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "I kind of enjoy the part where you grovel a bit first."

Harry's laugh was warm against her skin as he pressed another kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Noted," he agreed. "More groveling, then straight to the kissing."

Y/N smiled, feeling more content than she had in weeks despite the lingering awareness of deadlines and obligations waiting for both of them tomorrow. "Deal."

As Harry drew her closer for another kiss, Y/N knew they hadn't truly solved the underlying issue. Their schedules would continue to conflict, their careers would continue to demand their time and attention, and they would almost certainly have this argument again.

But in this moment, with Harry's arms around her and his heartbeat steady against her own, none of that seemed to matter quite as much. They were stubborn and argumentative, yes—but they were also deeply, undeniably in love. And for now, that was enough.

---

Later that evening, they lay tangled together on the couch, a half-eaten pizza on the coffee table and some film neither of them was really watching playing quietly on the television. Harry's fingers traced lazy patterns along Y/N's arm where she was tucked against his side, her head resting on his chest.

"We should go away somewhere," Harry said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. "After your exams and before the album promo starts. Just a week, somewhere quiet."

Y/N tilted her head to look up at him, a small smile playing at her lips. "Define 'quiet,'" she requested. "Because your idea of a quiet getaway last time involved a yacht and three staff members."

Harry had the grace to look slightly abashed. "That was different," he defended. "It was your birthday. I wanted it to be special."

"It was special," Y/N assured him, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "But maybe this time we could try something a little more...secluded? Just us, no staff, no paparazzi boats circling offshore?"

Harry's expression turned thoughtful. "I still have that little place in Jamaica," he suggested. "It's private, right on the beach. No staff except a housekeeper who comes in once a week, and she's incredibly discreet."

Y/N considered this, trying to picture the location from the few photos Harry had shown her. "That could work," she agreed cautiously. "But only if you promise not to spend the whole time on the phone with your manager or the label."

Harry placed a hand over his heart in mock solemnity. "I promise to limit all work calls to one hour per day, maximum," he pledged.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Half an hour," she countered.

"Forty-five minutes," Harry negotiated, his lips twitching with amusement. "And I'll throw in a massage for every minute I go over."

Y/N pretended to consider this carefully. "Make it a proper massage, not one of those that mysteriously turns into sex halfway through, and you've got a deal."

Harry's laugh rumbled through his chest beneath her ear. "No promises," he said, his hand sliding down to rest at her hip in a way that made his intentions quite clear. "You know I have poor self-control where you're concerned."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Fine," she conceded. "Forty-five minutes of work calls per day, and I'll take my chances on the massages."

Harry's smile widened into a grin. "Deal," he agreed, sealing it with a quick kiss to the top of her head. "Jamaica it is, then. First week of June?"

Y/N nodded, already mentally rearranging her study schedule to ensure she'd be completely free by then. "First week of June," she confirmed. "God, that feels like forever from now."

"Seven weeks," Harry said, his voice softening. "We can make it seven weeks."

Y/N sighed, snuggling closer against his side. "I know," she agreed. "It's just hard sometimes, being apart so much."

Harry's arm tightened around her, his chin resting gently on the top of her head. "Yeah," he acknowledged quietly. "It is."

Another comfortable silence fell between them, the film continuing to play unwatched in the background.

"I'm proud of you, you know," Harry said after several minutes, his voice thoughtful. "Watching you go after your degree, seeing how hard you work. Tt's incredible, Y/N. You're incredible."

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words, a different kind of warmth than the physical heat of his body against hers. "Thank you," she said softly. "That means a lot."

"I mean it," Harry insisted, as if she might doubt his sincerity. "I know I get frustrated sometimes about our schedules, but I never want you to think that means I don't support what you're doing. Your education is important not just to you, but to me too."

Y/N propped herself up on an elbow to look at him properly, touched by the earnestness in his voice. "I know," she assured him. "And I feel the same way about your music. I'm so proud of what you're creating, Harry. Even when it means I have to share you with the rest of the world."

Harry reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his expression soft in the dim light of the living room. "The world only gets parts of me," he told her quietly. "You're the only one who gets all of me. The good, the bad, the stubborn, the jealous. All of it."

Y/N felt her throat tighten with emotion at the simple truth in his words. "I wouldn't have it any other way," she whispered.

Harry smiled, drawing her down for a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened, his hand sliding into her hair to cradle the back of her head. Y/N melted into him, all thoughts of schedules and obligations and future arguments temporarily forgotten as she lost herself in the familiar heat of his touch.

When they finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Harry rested his forehead against hers, his eyes serious despite the smile playing at his lips.

"Seven weeks is a long time," he acknowledged, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "But we've got tonight. And maybe tomorrow night, if you can spare a few hours after your seminar?"

Y/N nodded, already mentally rearranging her study schedule again. "I can make that work," she agreed. "And maybe Saturday morning? Before you head to the studio?"

Harry's smile widened. "Definitely Saturday morning," he confirmed. "I'll make those Belgian waffles you like."

Y/N laughed softly, settling back against his chest. "Now who's trying to bribe whom?" she teased.

"Is it working?" Harry asked, his hand resuming its gentle stroking along her arm.

Y/N pretended to consider this. "It might be," she admitted. "Especially if there's fresh berries involved."

"Berries, whipped cream, the works," Harry promised, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Whatever it takes to get a few more hours with you."

Y/N turned her head to capture his lips in another brief kiss. "You don't need to bribe me," she assured him softly. "I always want more time with you. That's kind of the whole problem, isn't it?"

Harry's expression softened into something tender and vulnerable. "Not a problem," he corrected gently. "A challenge, maybe. But one worth figuring out."

Y/N nodded, settling back into the crook of his arm with a contented sigh. "Definitely worth it," she agreed.

As they lapsed back into comfortable silence, the film continuing to play unwatched before them, Y/N felt a sense of peace settle over her that had been missing for weeks. They still had a lot to figure out, schedules to balance, compromises to make, future arguments to navigate but in this moment, wrapped in Harry's arms with his heartbeat steady beneath her ear, she was exactly where she wanted to be.

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Taglist: @mysunflowerposts@lydiasfalling@panini@ell0ra-br3kk3r@donutsandpalmtrees@sunshinemoonsposts@angeldavis777@fangirl509east@maudie-duan@indierockgirrl@harryssunflower17@lizsogolden@daphnesutton@spinninc@behindmygreyeyes@wheredidmyeyesgo@matildasatellite@drewrry@inlikea-coolway@jerseygirlinca@nosebeers

[reputationfairy]

ommmmg can u write something with nicolas being a new dad x reader wife 🙏🙏🙏 maybe them visiting his family during a short trip and him being sooooooo daddyyyy 😭😭 after seeing him in those GH pic with this baby …. 🥵😮‍💨 i just need a dad imagines with him since there isn’t any

❝Juno❞

─⋆♡ summary: You’re married to Nicholas Chavez and you bring your newborn baby to meet his grandparents.

─⋆♡ warnings: pregnancy, postpartum depression, fluff, allusions to sex but no smut, Daddy!Nicholas Chavez, Y/N used a few times, 1st person POV. as always i’m always learning so correct me if i missed something!!

─⋆♡ an: based on this ask & shoutout to that person because this was super sweet to write. there’s no public info on his parents and i felt weird looking for it so here’s some Chavez grandparents content. since this may be your introduction to me, i do write in first person, just inserting Y/N. 2nd and 3rd person are absolutely insufferable to me and make me wanna die. with that being said, i’m glad there’s no shortage of those fics on this website. my masterlist is the pinned post on my profile and i hope you all enjoy this imagine! ★ ˙ᵕ˙ liv

The journey to Nicholas’ grandparents’ house is filled with quiet anticipation. We haven’t visited in a while, not since Colette was born. I can’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness at the thought of introducing Colette to her great-grandparents, Nick SR and Betty. Nicholas always speaks of them with such affection, often recounting tales from his childhood spent at their cozy home. They were instrumental in raising him, and their influence is deeply ingrained in who he’s become. Now, I’m eager to see how they’ll respond to our little family, especially to me as a new mother.

The sun is high in the sky as we pull into the gravel driveway, which crunches under the tires. The house is a charming, white colonial-style home with flower boxes beneath the windows, bursting with vibrant blooms. It looks like something out of a postcard—quaint and welcoming. Nicholas squeezes my hand as he turns off the car.

“You ready for this?” he asks, his brown eyes twinkling with excitement.

I smile, though my heart races. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I respond unwilling to let his hand go for the last time.

I eventually gain enough strength to go a second without touching him. We both step out of the car, and I unbuckle Colette from her car seat, carefully lifting her into my arms. She’s dressed in a soft, pastel onesie with tiny flowers embroidered on the front. Her big espresso colored eyes, so much like Nicholas’, blink up at me as she squirms a little in my hold. I kiss her soft forehead, breathing in that sweet baby scent that always seems to calm my nerves.

Before we even reach the front door, it flies open, and Betty appears on the porch. Her face lights up in a radiant smile as she hurries down the steps toward us. She’s a small woman, but she moves with surprising speed and agility, her silver hair tied back in a loose bun.

“There she is! Oh, it’s about time!” Betty exclaims, ignoring Nicholas entirely as she comes straight for me and Colette. Her arms are wide open, and she pulls me into a hug, careful not to crush the baby between us. “You, my darling, look even more beautiful than the last time I saw you. And this precious girl…” Her voice trails off as she gazes at Colette with shining eyes. “Oh, she’s just perfect.”

I laugh softly, returning her hug. “I’ve missed you, Mrs. Betty and thank you.”

Betty steps back, her hands still on my arms, her attention fully on Colette. “No, thank you! You brought another little angel into our family,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “You’ve made me the happiest great-grandmother.”

Nicholas, standing off to the side, grins as he watches the scene unfold. “Hey, Grandma,” he chimes in, clearly amused. “Good to see you too.”

Betty waves a hand in his direction without even glancing his way. “Yes, yes, Nicholas. We’ll get to you in a minute.” Her eyes shimmer as she reaches out to gently stroke Colette’s chubby cheek. “She’s absolutely precious,” she coos. “She looks just like Nicholas did when he was a baby.”

Just then, Nicholas’ grandfather steps out onto the porch, his tall frame casting a shadow as he approaches us. His blue eyes light up when he sees me holding Colette. “Well, if it isn’t our favorite girl,” he says with a warm grin, pulling me into a quick hug before peering down at Colette. “And look at this—another beauty in the family. You’ve done well,” he adds, giving Nicholas a nod of approval before clapping him on the shoulder.

“Well she is 50% of me so…” Nicholas’s twinge of jealousy for his favorite girls peeks out.

“Oh, hush, Nicholas,” Betty replies, waving a hand at him dismissively before turning to me again. “Come on, dear, let’s get you inside. You must be exhausted after the drive. And you must let me hold this precious girl as soon as you’re settled.”

Inside the house, the smell of freshly baked bread wafts through the air, mingling with the scent of herbs and flowers. The living room is cozy and welcoming, filled with family photos and knick-knacks that speak of years of love and memories. There are pictures of Nick as a little boy, his brother, and even one of us on our wedding day.

Betty leads us to the couch, offering to take Colette for a little while so I can rest. “She’s such a calm baby,” Betty remarks as she cradles Colette in her arms. “I remember Nicholas being a little firecracker at this age—always kicking and fussing. But you, my dear, are an angel, aren’t you?” she coos, her voice full of love as Colette blinks up at her.

Nick Sr. settles into an armchair nearby, watching with a contented smile. “Betty’s right,” he says, his voice warm. “Nick was a handful. Always running around and getting into trouble. I don’t know how we managed to keep up with him.”

Nicholas chuckles, settling beside me on the couch and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Yeah, I’ve heard those stories a few times.”

“I bet you have,” Betty says, her eyes twinkling. “But look at you now—such a wonderful father and husband. We’re so proud of you.”

My heart swells at their words, and I feel a wave of gratitude wash over me. It’s clear how much they love Nicholas and how deeply they cherish their family. Their affection extends to me as well, making me feel welcomed in a way that eases the nervousness I had felt earlier.

Betty carefully passes Colette back to me, and I can’t help but notice how her eyes linger on us—on the way I hold my daughter, the way Colette nuzzles into me. After a moment, she glances at Nick Sr., sharing a look that seems to speak volumes.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Betty says suddenly, rising from her seat with a bright smile. “We have something to show you.”

She disappears into another room, returning moments later with a large, leather-bound photo album. She hands it to Nicholas with a wide grin. “These are pictures of you when you were about Colette’s age. I thought it’d be fun to compare.”

Nicholas takes the album and begins flipping through the pages, his eyes lighting up as he sees the photos. “Oh wow,” he says, pointing to a picture of himself as a baby, bundled in a blanket. “Look at that, she really does look like me.”

I lean over to see the photo, and sure enough, the resemblance is striking. Colette has inherited her father’s dark hair and expressive eyes, and there’s something about the way she smiles that’s undeniably Nicholas Chavez.

Betty beams. “She’s got that same spark in her eyes that you had. And those cheeks! I could pinch them all day.”

I can’t help but smile as Nicholas flips through more photos—Nicholas as a toddler, covered in mud from head to toe; Nicholas on his first day of school, looking serious and determined; Nicholas holding a toy sword, pretending to be a knight. It’s clear that his grandparents were there for all of it, capturing every moment with care.

“Look at this one,” Nicholas says, laughing as he holds up a picture of himself as a toddler, sitting in a high chair with spaghetti sauce smeared all over his face.

Betty chuckles. “You loved spaghetti. Still do, if I remember correctly.”

As we continue to flip through the album, Betty excuses herself and motions for me to follow her into the kitchen. I hesitate for a moment, unsure of what she wants to talk about, but her kind smile reassures me.

Once we’re alone, she turns to me, her expression soft and full of understanding. “I just wanted to tell you that you’re doing a wonderful job, Y/N,” she says, her voice gentle. “Being a new mom is hard, and it can feel overwhelming sometimes. But from what I’ve seen, you’re handling it beautifully.”

I feel a lump form in my throat at her words, the unexpected kindness bringing a surge of emotion. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “It’s been… challenging at times. I have moments where I wonder if I’m doing it right.”

Betty reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it gently. “Those moments of doubt are normal. Every mother feels them. But you have such a natural way with Colette. She feels safe and loved with you—that’s the most important thing.”

I nod, blinking back tears. “It’s just… sometimes I feel like I should be able to do more. I get so tired, and Nick’s been amazing, but…” I trail off, stopping myself from revealing my biggest insecurities.

Betty’s eyes soften even more. “It’s okay to ask for help, dear. You don’t have to do it all on your own. If you ever need anything—advice, a break, someone to talk to—you can always come to me. I’m here for you, and so is Nicholas. We’re all family now,” she offers.

Her words wrap around me like a comforting embrace, and for the first time in a while, I feel a sense of relief. “Thank you,” I whisper, grateful beyond words.

Betty smiles and gives my hand another gentle squeeze. “You’re doing wonderfully. Just remember to take care of yourself too, okay?”

I nod, my heart swelling with appreciation for this woman who has welcomed me into her family with open arms. As we walk back into the living room, I feel lighter, the weight of my doubts lifting just a little.

Nicholas looks up as we enter, his eyes softening as they meet mine. “Everything okay?” he asks, his brow furrowing slightly in concern.

I smile, feeling a warmth spread through me. “Yeah,” I say softly. “Everything’s perfect.”

As the afternoon fades into evening, Betty leans forward with a warm smile, her hands clasped in her lap. “It’s been so wonderful having you all here today,” she says, her eyes soft as she looks between Nicholas, me, and Colette. “Why don’t you stay the night? It’s been far too long since we’ve had a full house, and we’d love the chance to spend more time with you.”

Nicholas turns to me, his voice gentle as he asks, “What do you think? We don’t have anywhere to rush off to, and it would give me a break from driving back tonight.”

I hesitate for a moment, weighing the offer. I think about Colette’s bedtime routine, the packed bags in the car, and my own exhaustion. But as I glance around at the warmth of the house, Nick’s grandparents’ eager faces, and the calmness that seems to settle over everything, I feel myself relax. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a change of scenery, and the idea of spending more time here—surrounded by family—sounds like exactly what I need.

“That sounds wonderful,” I say, smiling at Betty. “Thank you. We’d love to stay.”

Betty’s face lights up, and Nick Sr. nods with a wide grin. “Perfect,” he says. “We’ve got the guest room ready, and I can set up the bassinet in the guest room next to it. It’ll be like old times, having a little one in the house again.”

Betty stands, already making her way toward the kitchen. “I’ll put some tea on for later. You two make yourselves at home.”

Nicholas squeezes my hand, a smile spreading across his face. “See? It’s going to be a nice, quiet night—just us, Colette, and the best grandparents ever.”

The evening unfolds comfortably from there. Betty and Nick Sr. share stories about Nick’s childhood over cups of tea, their voices light with laughter and nostalgia. As the night deepens, we finally make our way to the guest room. It’s cozy and inviting, with a soft bedspread, and warm lighting.

Colette falls asleep easily after nursing, making for an easy bedtime routine. Nicholas and I kiss her on the forehead goodnight once we’ve got her situated in the bassinet. We separate briefly to prep for bed and when I’m finished, I crack open the door to the en-suite bathroom.

Nicholas looks up from a script, setting it to the side of the bedside table. My feet patter over to him and he pulls back the duvet for me to climb in. “I’m so tired,” I note as I slide between the sheets.

He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me closer to his body. “I know, baby. Maybe my grandparents will watch her in the morning so we can sleep in,” he theorizes lowly, but I can still feel the bass of his voice rumbling from his chest into my back.

I sigh, letting my eyes flutter closed. It’s been an emotional day, and I’m ready for sleep. “It’s okay if they can’t. I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he breathes out with his lips kissing my ear one last time.

My body lets me drift into sleep, hearing nothing but Nicholas’ breathing and the faint sound of crickets outside. But that peace is eventually interrupted by the familiar sound of Colette’s soft cry filling the quiet room.

I blink awake, momentarily disoriented, unsure of where I am. The dimly lit room feels unfamiliar, and for a brief, groggy moment, I can’t remember how we ended up here. But then the memories come rushing back—the visit to Nick’s grandparents, Betty’s kind words, the warmth of the evening.

With a heavy sigh, I sit up in bed, my body aching with fatigue. I haven’t gotten nearly enough sleep, and Colette’s cries, though soft, feel like they’re pulling me out of the little bit of rest I’ve managed. The sheets feel cold, and for the first time tonight, I realize Nick’s arms aren’t wrapped around me as they usually are.

The bed dips beneath me, and I hear the soft thud of feet padding across the floor. “Shit,” Nicholas mutters under his breath as he comes into view. I lift my head, watching him groggily fumble with the baby monitor to turn down the volume.

His chocolate tinted eyes meet mine in the dimly lit room, his face softened with a sleepy smile. “I got it, baby. Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, his voice thick and gravelly.

I don’t resist as my head falls back onto the pillow. Nicholas tucks the duvet around my shoulders, his touch warm and reassuring, and leans down to kiss my forehead before slipping out of the room.

As my eyes flutter shut once again, I can’t help but feel immense gratitude for him—for understanding, for seeing me. Nicholas has always been an amazing partner, but since Colette was born, something has deepened. Maybe it's the way he’s embraced fatherhood, those tender daddy traits emerging in him day by day.

I don’t know how long I drift in and out of sleep before the bed dips once more. This time, I turn over to face Nicholas, only to find him kneeling on top of the duvet, cradling Colette in his arms. He gently rocks her, and his brown eyes, full of apology, meet mine. “I'm sorry, babe,” he says softly. “She’s hungry, and I checked the fridge and my Grandma must’ve given her the rest. We’re out of pumped milk,” he gives his valid reason for disturbing me.

With a tired sigh, I push myself up, scooting back against the headboard. “It’s okay,” I reply, motioning for Nicholas to hand Colette to me. “It’s not your fault I don’t pump fast enough for her.”

Nicholas shifts closer, still kneeling, his eyes warm with reassurance. “It’s not your fault either, baby girl,” he says tenderly. “You’re doing everything right. She’s just got my appetite, that’s all.”

Nick’s words bring a smile to my face as I take our little girl in my arms, feeling the love and support that radiates from him. Colette’s small body relaxes the moment she’s nestled in my arms, and I adjust my position to help her latch on. Instinctively, her tiny mouth finds its way, and I feel that familiar pull as she begins to nurse. The room is quiet now, save for the soft sounds of her feeding and the gentle rustle of the duvet as Nicholas shifts beside me, sitting back in his spot where he just laid.

The weight of exhaustion still presses heavily on my body, but there's something calming about this moment—something intimate and grounding. Colette’s little hand rests against my skin, her tiny fingers curling and uncurling as she nurses. Despite the tiredness, I feel a sense of peace wash over me.

Nicholas watches us, his expression soft and filled with admiration. He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, his touch tender. "You’re amazing, you know that?" he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath in the dark.

I smile faintly, my heart swelling at his words, but before I can respond, he continues, his eyes never leaving mine. "I don’t tell you enough how much I love you... both of you." His gaze flickers to Colette, his eyes warm and full of adoration. "Watching you with her... seeing how strong you are, how much you give every day. You’ve made me the luckiest man in the world, Y/N."

His words sink into me, wrapping around my heart like a warm blanket. The weight of my earlier guilt begins to lift, replaced by the quiet assurance that I’m not alone in this. We’re a team, navigating the highs and lows together.

"I love you too," I murmur, my voice thick with emotion as I glance down at Colette, her soft breaths steady against me. "And I’m so grateful for you. I couldn’t do this without you."

Nicholas leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead, lingering for a moment as if sealing the promise of his words. "You’re the best mom, you know that? And she’s lucky to have you," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my skin.

I close my eyes, soaking in the warmth of his presence and feeling the steady rhythm of Colette’s nursing. In this moment, the exhaustion, the doubts, and the guilt of my postpartum depression fade into the background, leaving only the love we share—the love that brought Colette into our lives.

Nicholas settles back into bed beside me, his hand resting gently on my leg, a silent reminder that we’re in this together. And as Colette’s soft suckling continues, I let myself fully relax.

Once Colette finishes nursing, her tiny body grows limp in my arms, signaling she’s drifted back to sleep. I carefully adjust her, cradling her small frame against my chest. Nicholas is still sitting beside me, his hand never leaving my leg, his eyes filled with the kind of tenderness that makes my heart swell.

“Do you want me to take her?” Nicholas asks softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

I nod, and with practiced gentleness, he scoops her up and places her between us on the bed. Colette barely stirs, her little hands curling up by her face as she nestles into the space between us. The sight of her lying there, so peaceful and content, brings a soft smile to my lips. My body involuntarily slides down and I stoke her cheek with the back of my finger.

Nick lays down with his head propped up in one arm, the other sliding around me. But as I gaze at Colette sleeping peacefully between us, a small wave of anxiety creeps in. What if we roll over onto her during the night? My breath hitches slightly, and I turn my head toward him.

Nicholas immediately senses my concern and shifts closer, his hand coming to rest gently on my cheek. "Hey, don't worry," he says softly, his voice reassuring. "I’ve got her. We’ve got her. I won’t let anything happen." His thumb brushes against my skin as he speaks, his gaze steady and full of calm. "I’ve read up on this, remember? She’s safe with us. We’re light sleepers, and we’re both hyper-aware she’s here. I’ll make sure we’re careful."

I nod, though the worry still lingers. Nicholas leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear. "You won’t roll over on her. I won’t either. Trust me, baby. And if you’re still worried, I can take her back to the bassinet,” he assures me.

I glance down at Colette, her tiny chest rising and falling, completely at ease between us. There’s something comforting about her being so close, something I don’t want to give up. "No," I say softly, shaking my head. "I want her here with us. I just... I get nervous sometimes,” I admit to him, the concerns laced with my postpartum depression symptoms.

"I know," he murmurs. "But you’re not alone in this. We’re doing it together, okay? She’s safe. We’ll keep her safe,” he promises.

His warmth and the calm assurance in his voice help to ease the anxiety a little, and I let out a slow breath. I snuggle closer to him, nestling my head in the crook of his neck. "Thank you," I whisper.

Nicholas kisses the top of my head, his hand stroking Colette’s tiny arm before returning it to my waist. “I used to dream about this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “You, me, and a baby… just lying here like this, all together.” His eyes shine in the dim light, filled with a quiet wonder. “I’d imagine what it would feel like, how perfect it would be. But this... this is even better than I imagined.”

His words sink deep into my chest, filling me with warmth. I glance down at Colette, her chest rising and falling steadily between us, and I feel a wave of contentment wash over me. “I’m glad too. It’s everything I didn’t know I needed,” I whisper back.

Nick’s thumb rubs gentle circles over the exposed skin on my side, and for a while, we lie there in comfortable silence, both of us watching Colette sleep. I feel the weight of his arm around me, the warmth of his body, and I can’t help but think about our future—about the life we’re building together.

After a while, I glance up at Nick, my voice soft but curious. “Do you ever think about… having another one? Another baby, I mean.”

His reaction is immediate. His brown eyes light up, the glint of excitement undeniable. He grins, that boyish, playful smile I fell in love with, and there’s no hesitation in his voice. “Oh, absolutely. I thought one of you was cute, but two though? Didn’t think I could handle it. But now that I’ve experienced it, I want three of you as soon as possible,” he rambles.

I laugh softly, both amused and surprised by his enthusiasm. “Three of us, huh?” I ask to clarify he’s not drunk on love.

“Yeah, babe,” he says, his hand moving to stroke Colette’s tiny hand before trailing over my arm. “We could start trying as soon as possible. I mean, why wait? We make great babies together,” he jokes and I stifle a laugh to not wake up our sleeping child.

His grin turns mischievous as he leans in closer, his voice dropping a little lower. “We could even try out some freaky positions this time… you know, spice things up.”

I roll my eyes playfully, shaking my head at him, though my heart flutters at his words. “That’s all you, God bless your dad’s genetics,” I tease, eyeing him with a smirk.

Nicholas chuckles, clearly enjoying my response, but there’s a seriousness in his eyes too—a real desire to keep building this life together. “I’m serious though,” he murmurs, his hand moving to rest on my waist. “I want more of this. More of us. I want a whole bunch of mini versions of you running around, driving me crazy in the best way.”

His words hit me in a way I wasn’t expecting, and I feel a flush of warmth spread through me. I lean closer, letting my fingers trace over his arm. “You’re really ready for another one, huh?”

Nick’s gaze locks with mine, intense but full of love. “Yeah, Y/N. I don’t just want another one. I want a whole football team of kids with you. As soon as you’re ready,” he says firmly.

I bite my lip, considering his words, feeling the quiet excitement bubbling up inside me. “I might just let you lock me down tonight,” I tease, my voice soft but playful.

His eyes darken slightly, that same spark of mischief flickering in them. “Oh, baby, don’t tempt me,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a lingering kiss against my lips.

I pull back slightly, laughing against his mouth. “Let’s not rush it,” I whisper, even though my hormones are raging at the thought. “But... I do love the idea of growing our little family,” I add to soften the blow of sex denial.

Nicholas grins again, his arm pulling me closer as Colette sleeps peacefully between us. “Then let’s make it happen,” he says softly. “One more baby… and then another after that, we can talk again. I just know I want it all with you. Every first word and every first day of school, my love.”

I smile, resting my head on his shoulder, letting the warmth of his words and the future he envisions wash over me. “One step at a time,” I murmur, though the idea is already taking root in my mind, the thought of more little ones filling our home with love.

As we lay there, cuddling around Colette, the future feels wide open—and incredibly full of promise. The room is quiet, the soft hum of the night surrounding us, and as we lay there, I feel the steady rise and fall of Nick’s chest beneath my palms.

“Goodnight, baby,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear. I smile softly, my body already succumbing to sleep as I whisper back,

“Goodnight, Nicholas. I love you,” I murmur, never getting tired of reminding him.

“I love you too,” he replies, his voice full of warmth and certainty. “Both of my girls.”

With that, the last thing I feel is the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of Colette’s breathing between us, and the overwhelming sense of love that wraps around the three of us, pulling us into the soft cocoon of sleep.

The next time I stir awake, it’s to the feeling of the sun shining on my face. Nicholas’ familiar presence is next to me, his body relaxed as he leans back against the headboard. I can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the slight rustle of pages as he quietly reads. For a moment, I let myself enjoy the comfort of having him close.

But something is wrong.

I don’t feel Colette.

The tiny body that was nestled between us is gone, and in an instant, a wave of cold panic floods my chest. My breath catches, and my heart starts to pound, my worst fear bubbling to the surface. Oh God, did I roll over her? Did we…?

My eyes snap open, and I sit up abruptly, frantically scanning the bed. My hands reach out, patting the mattress in blind desperation as my breath quickens. Where is she? My mind spirals into worst-case scenarios, and my pulse races faster with each second I can’t find her.

Nicholas looks up from his script, his brow furrowing as he notices my panic. “Y/N, baby, what’s wrong?” His voice is calm, but I can hear the concern lacing his words.

“Colette,” I breathe, my voice barely a whisper as the fear clutches at me. “She’s not here, Nick. I—where is she?”

Nicholas immediately places his script aside and sits up, reaching for me. His hands find my shoulders, grounding me. “Babe, she’s fine,” he says gently, his voice steady, though I can see the alarm in his eyes as he realizes why I’m panicking. “Grandma has her. She came in earlier to take her so you could rest. She’s with her now, probably showing her off to her knitting group. Everything’s okay.”

I stare at Nicholas, the rush of adrenaline still coursing through me, but the words slowly sink in. Colette isn’t in danger. She’s not here because Betty took her.

I let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand to my chest as the fear begins to ebb away. “I thought… I woke up and she wasn’t there. I thought we—” My voice falters, not even wanting to finish the thought.

Nicholas pulls me into his arms, holding me close. “I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve woken you to tell you, but you looked so peaceful, and I didn’t want to disturb you,” he apologizes profusely.

I nod against Nick’s chest, the tension finally loosening from my body as I cling to him. “I just… that’s what I’ve been afraid of, rolling over her in our sleep,” I admit.

“I know,” Nicholas murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “But I would never let that happen. I swear that to you,” he adds.

I take a deep breath, letting the warmth of his embrace steady me. My pulse slows down, and the overwhelming panic that had gripped me starts to dissipate, leaving me feeling drained. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have freaked out.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Y/N,” Nicholas says, his hand gently stroking my back. “You’re a mom. It’s normal to worry, but I’ve got you. I’ve got both of you.”

I pull back slightly, meeting his eyes that are full of understanding. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice still shaky but filled with gratitude.

Nicholas smiles softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Get some more rest, okay? Grandma’s got Colette covered.”

I nod, feeling the last remnants of panic finally fade. I glance at his script beside him and give a tired smile. “You’re memorizing lines this early?” I pry.

He chuckles. “Just passing the time until you woke up. But you come first,” he vows.

I sink back into the pillows, the warmth of Nicholas beside me a comforting presence now that the fear has passed. As I close my eyes, the world feels right again. Colette is safe, Nicholas is here, and I let myself relax fully for the first time since waking up. The panic has faded into the background, leaving only the steady hum of reassurance from my husband beside me.

[hoe4sports]

“Take my heart, dont break it”

Alexia Putellas x reader

A/N: You voted and picked Alexia. This is a series based on Myles Smith song called stargazing. No triggers. P2 here.

The fresh Barcelonian air was flowing into your hotelroom as you found yourself sat in the frame of the window m next to one of your teammates, Alexia Putellas. You were both sitting together in silence with your eyes closed soaking up the morning bliss. The sun was slowly waking up as the gentle rays felt like a warm cup of cocoa in December by the fireplace with a book and a blanket. Not too warm, not too cold. You were taking in all the fresh salty air you could possibly fit into your lungs before exhaling through your mouth. It felt blissful, peaceful; like a morning mindfulness class. You could smell the gentle strawberry scent from the tea Alexia had made you when you got up in time for sunrise. You and Alexia had known each other forever. You grew up with her and Alba next door and you had religiously played football with Alexia for your whole life. You did it all together: High school, college, Barcelona and the national team. You sat together on buses and flights. Even though she was entitled to her own hotel room as captain; she still wanted to partner up with you.

“Can I interrupt your peace?” Alexia asked as you opened up your eye to see her still in the same relaxed position with her eyes closed. “If you must” you said as you giggled. Alexia sighted. “No, no, go ahead big al” you corrected as you looked out on the beach below the hotel.

“I’ve been having some issue with Olga; she seems spaced out. She’s there, but she isn’t really there. It’s strange, I don’t really understand and she keeps insisting that everything is all good. I dont honestly know what to do.”

You could sense the tension in the room as the Catalan poured her heart out to you. It was like thunder from a crystal blue sky. They seemingly had the picture perfect relationship. Amazing vacations. Nice cars. Fancy dinners.

“It’s just, I know it’s selfish but I can’t stop my mind from wondering if she is cheating on me. She’s always on her phone, and she deleted her location off of the life360 app.”

You spent a second figuring out what words Alexia wanted to hear and what she needed to hear. It was clear as day that you needed to knock some common sense into her. Who would cheat on one of the hottest women in the world of football? Nobody could ever be able to commit to adultery without anyone taking notice of their famous girlfriend.

“Ai, Ale. Do you want me to tell you what you want to hear or what you need to hear? Pick your poison capitana.”

You looked over at her. She was still sitting in the sun in the window while taking on the fresh air. Her chest rhythmically rising. Her brown eyes were still closed and her blonde hair was up in the messiest Lucy Bronze style bun you could imagine making the sight of her almost wanting you to giggle.

“Hm, buena pregunta…Tell me what I need to hear.” Alexia said softly as she opened up her eyes to look at you showing off her worried grin. Her body language changed. Like she was getting ready for a fight.

“Estúpida, Olga loves you! She adores you. She practically worships the ground you walk on. You need to talk to your girlfriend, and you need to tell her what you told me.” You finished as you looked at her with an attitude.

Later that day at practice, you were doing drills with Claudia. It was evidently warmer now, and you had popped off your shirt to avoid getting overly warm. You kept passing the ball at the right time in the right height to help Claudia with her first touches. It was always fun working with Claudia. Her humor was incredible and if her humor didn’t do the job; her infections laugh would. As you passed the last ball to Claudia, she ended up whacking the ball senseless and the ball went flying into the open field. It caused you to laugh hysterically as Claudia flopped down on the grass. Claudia was a vibe; you got along so well and she’d been like your little sister.

The next practice begun at the gym, and it was individual programs. You, Alexia, Claudia and Ingrid has the same program for the day meaning that you partnered up together. You noticed that Alexia seemed distracted. At first, she had placed the weights in the bench press without securing them causing them to go flying off the pole. The next situation was when she tried filling her waterbottle from the water cooler and she overfilled in for a good 10 seconds before she caught the little spill. The last situation was when Claudia was doing squats and Alexia was supposed to be spotting her right side as you spotted the left. The weights were a little heavier than what Claudia normally lifted so you expected her to need assistance. After four lifts, Claudia went for the fifth and it caused her to fail. You grabbed the pole from the left side as the younger girls hands were wobbly violently to hold up the other side of the pole. Alexia didn’t caught on. “Alexia” No answer. “Alexia for fucks sake, help!” You yelled causing Ingrid to shove her away to help you with the spotting.

In the warderobe that afternoon after everyone left, you decided to stay behind and talk to Alexia again. Alexia liked taking her time in the shower so it wasn’t uncommon for her to be the last woman standing. You approached her as she stepped out of the shower with only a towel wrapped around her lower half leaving her chest open.

“Ale, you have been distant. You could’ve caused an injury. What’s going on?” You crossed your arms as you stood in front of her with a stern look on your face. The feeling you had wasn’t something you could shook away easily. You just couldn’t act in situations that maybe had happened. That wouldn’t be fair to Olga or Alexia.

“Ai, Y/N, it’s just hard. I’m in my head and Olga is too busy to talk. I cannot shook the feeling I’m having in my gut. But I need to trust Olga, right?”

You nodded. Olga hadn’t done anything that wouldn’t give her chance to explain herself. For all Alexia knew, this was all just a big misunderstanding.

Olga was amazing, you knew her from before her and Alexia started dating, and they were perfect for each other. Olga was always so perfect, almost to the point where it annoyed you. Olga was picture perfect and rarely looked out of line or did Alexia wrong. Alexia’s observations were however not unlikely. A few weeks ago you went to a new restaurant with Claudia, and you could’ve sworn you saw Olga with another woman. You couldn’t be sure though because you had excused yourself to the bathroom to get a better look, but when you got out of the bathroom; The mystery woman was out of sight. Quite frankly, she had also been out of mind.

That was until now however, but it couldn’t have been Olga. Olga was sweet, genuine and had a heart of gold. You couldn’t wrap your mind around what Alexia had said, but you could also not tell her that you might saw Olga. You were having an internalised conflict of trying to decided whenever to tell her or not. You didn’t want to seem pushy and like you didn’t like Olga, but you didn’t want Alexia’s heart to break either.

At least, that was the lie you continued to tell yourself.

[holyblonded]

I love azulita and I love how olga exist around azulita like a wounded puppy and alexia amused at the interaction between olga and her sister

— yesss okay. when azulita was a little kid, she used to copy everything olga did. if olga wore her hair in a bun, azulita wore her hair in a bun. if olga said she hated tomatoes, azulita swore she did too, even if she had never actually tried one.

— olga was the first person who ever did azulita’s hair properly. she sat her down one summer day, detangled it with a kind of patience azulita hadn’t known before, and braided it while they watched a disney movie. azulita didn’t stop smiling for hours.

— they used to build pillow forts together when olga would visit LA. olga would pretend it was “their base,” and they’d sneak snacks in and whisper secrets to each other. azulita would cling to those memories whenever olga wasn’t around.

— olga always called azulita “mi chiquitina” when she was younger. azulita pretended to hate it by age 10 but secretly loved it every time olga slipped up and used it.

— one time, olga missed azulita’s birthday. she sent a video message and a huge care package, but azulita didn’t open it for days. she was so mad, she refused to even watch the video. when she finally did, she cried herself to sleep with her phone still playing olga’s voice.

— olga used to sneak her into bars of chocolate and little notes in her old backpack, especially when she knew azulita had a rough week. azulita would pretend like she didn’t care, but she kept every note in a little tin box under her bed.

— olga always felt guilty for not being able to take azulita in sooner. she’d lie awake at night sometimes wondering if azulita would’ve been softer, happier, if she’d had someone stable all along.

— when azulita finally came to live with her, olga tried to act like she was in charge— strict rules, curfews, chore charts. but one look from azulita’s exhausted, unimpressed face and she folded like paper. alexia teases her about it constantly.

— alexia loves watching the two of them interact because it’s like watching an old cat and a stray kitten learning to live together. azulita snaps, olga flinches, and alexia just sits there, amused, sipping her coffee.

— azulita acts like she doesn’t need anyone, but the first time olga tucked her in after a nightmare, she didn’t complain. she just let it happen, eyes wide and tired, like she was still trying to believe this version of olga was real.

— they fight like hell sometimes, full-on screaming matches over dumb things like the dishes or curfews, but the second someone else upsets azulita, olga’s ready to throw hands. loyalty runs deep, even if it’s messy.

— they don’t say “i love you” out loud very often, but azulita makes olga coffee in the mornings when she’s had a long night, and olga makes sure azulita always has her favorite cereal in the cabinet. it’s enough.

— the first time azulita called olga “her sister” without flinching, without correcting it to “half-sister,” olga had to turn away so azulita wouldn’t see her tearing up.

[starryeyedwolves]

Vendetta

The pub was already buzzing when Sirius returned to the table, two pints in hand. He set one down in front of Remus with slightly more intensity than was probably necessary, a storm brewing behind his eyes.

“Alright, Moony,” he said, slapping the table, “tonight, you’re going to absolutely destroy the competition.”

Remus blinked, looking up from the trivia sheet with an amused arch of his brow. “I was planning on giving it my best, yes.”

“No, no. I mean, full obliteration,” Sirius said, sliding into his chair and leaning forward like he was about to explain battle plans. “We’re not just here to have fun. Not anymore.”

James, perched on the edge of his seat with a beer in hand, snorted. “What happened? Did someone insult your jacket again?”

Sirius glared toward the bar. “That guy over there. The one with the stupid man-bun and the pretentious scarf. He told me our team doesn’t stand a chance. Then he laughed. At me.”

Lily glanced toward the bar, then back at Sirius. “And now you’ve declared war?”

“Obviously.”

Peter sighed. “You realize trivia night is meant to be low-stakes, right?”

“Tell that to scarf-boy,” Sirius muttered. “He basically dared us to lose.”

Dorcas leaned in, looking intrigued. “Did he actually say that?”

“Well… no. Not exactly. But the way he looked at me—it was full of judgment. I could feel it.”

Marlene burst out laughing. “So, your vendetta is based on vibes?”

“Hostile vibes,” Sirius insisted. “And now we have to win. No excuses.”

Mary, flipping through the previous week’s trivia results, grinned. “I’m in. If only to witness this absolute carnage unfold.

Remus rubbed his temples, but his mouth was twitching with suppressed laughter. “I suppose I can channel my inner academic warrior. For the sake of honor.”

“And for my pride,” Sirius added, dramatically placing a hand over his heart.

Lily reached over and patted Sirius’s arm like he was a particularly excitable dog. “Well, if we’re going to war, I want snacks. And a battle strategy. And maybe matching t-shirts.”

“You’re enabling him,” James said.

“I’m married to you. Enabling poor decision-making is part of the package,” Lily replied with a grin.

Across the pub, the scarf-wearing man sipped a fancy-looking cocktail and let out another loud, self-satisfied laugh. Sirius' jaw tightened.

“We’re taking them down,” he said again, more to himself than anyone else.

The rounds were smoother than expected. Remus was in his element, answering questions faster than the quizmaster could read them. By the time the scores were posted, ‘The Marauders’ were leading by a wide margin.

Scarf Guy’s team—unimaginatively named ‘Quiztopher Nolan’—was in second. He looked irritated.

Sirius was nearly vibrating with excitement.

The trivia host, who had clearly been doing this every Thursday night for the last twenty years, adjusted her glasses and addressed the room. “We’ve got a tight race between two teams. So, in the spirit of competition—and because I enjoy watching pub rivalries—we’ll be doing a head-to-head lightning round.”

Gasps and murmurs spread through the room. Remus looked toward the host, then at Sirius, who was now grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Go on, love,” Sirius whispered, “show them what that pretty brain of yours can do.”

Remus chuckled, stood, and made his way to the front. The opposing team sent Scarf Guy.

The lightning round was savage. Question after question was hurled with no mercy. Remus, calm and unshaken, delivered correct answers with surgical precision. Scarf Guy was holding his own—barely—but he was starting to sweat.

Back at the table, James was recording the whole thing on his phone. “This is gold. We should make a documentary.”

Marlene leaned forward, eyes wide. “He’s a machine. Look at him go!”

Dorcas whispered, “I think I’m developing a crush.”

Lily rolled her eyes fondly. “You all sound like teenagers. Let the man focus.” Then she added with a smirk, “Although I wouldn’t mind borrowing his brain for next week's crossword.”

Sirius didn’t even glance at them. His eyes were locked on Remus with a mix of awe and pride.

Then came the final question.

“In Greek mythology, who was condemned to hold up the sky for eternity?”

Scarf Guy paused.

Remus didn’t. “Atlas.”

The host raised her hand. “Correct.”

The table exploded in cheers. Peter nearly spilled his pint. James whooped. Lily threw her hands in the air. Mary and Marlene high-fived with wild grins. Sirius stood up, beaming like the sun.

When Remus returned to their table, Sirius pulled him into a dramatic kiss, dipping him slightly like they were in some cheesy black-and-white film.

“You’re ridiculous,” Remus murmured against his lips.

“And you’re bloody brilliant,” Sirius replied.

“To Remus!” Peter cried, raising his glass.

“To Remus!” the group echoed.

Lily leaned across the table and added, “And to revenge-fueled trivia! May it always be this entertaining.”

Scarf Guy sulked his way out of the pub shortly after. Sirius toasted his retreat.

Later that night, as they walked home wrapped in coats and scarves, Sirius kept sneaking looks at Remus like he couldn’t believe he got to marry someone that smart.

Remus, ever the quiet one, just squeezed his hand and smiled.

That night, tucked beneath their duvet, Sirius lay on his side, still wide awake with the remnants of adrenaline buzzing through his veins. Remus was reading, his glasses slipping down his nose, his hair mussed from Sirius’ hands.

“You know,” Sirius murmured, nudging him gently, “I meant it. Watching you tonight? Utterly intoxicating.”

Remus snorted, turning the page. “I answered trivia questions, not performed an erotic dance.”

Sirius rolled closer, nudging Remus’ book down. “Same effect, honestly.”

“You’re being absurd.”

“Maybe,” Sirius said, pressing a kiss to Remus’ jaw. “But you’re my absurdity. And tonight, you made that guy look like a clueless fool in front of a full pub.”

Remus set the book aside, finally giving Sirius his full attention. “You’re very fixated on this guy.”

“I’m fixated on you.”

Remus gave him a fond look, then reached out to run fingers through Sirius’s hair. “You’re such a sap when you’re not busy declaring trivia war.”

Sirius grinned, resting his forehead against Remus’. “Only for you.”

Outside, the city was quiet and still, but inside their little flat, wrapped in the comfort of soft sheets and gentle affection, everything was warm.

Trivia night was over. Victory was sweet. But this—the slow, quiet certainty of loving and being loved—was even better.

[gghostwriter]

I feel terrible for asking when your requests are closed bur Holy shit this is my real life and I need some loving.

I have a court case soon about putting a p*do in jail that I dobbed in, I'd live to have the team with me in court. I don't have to talk on the stand since he's already pled guilty but if we don't have a hang judge he'll most likely get home detention and on the Registry. My friends and I are hoping for jail bur yeah, I'd love to have the team soothing my anxieties as he doesn't know it was me that dobbed him in (I met him once) I need some loving and reassurance. Like I'm glad I got him done in but still seeing it go down I'm just messed up

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Trope: Established Relationship; Fluff and comfort Word Count: 0.9k A/N: Anon, I hope this brings you comfort! I also want to personally say that you did the right thing and I know it took a lot of courage to report that sick sick man to the authorities and I’m so proud of you. Do let me know the outcome of the trial and I’m hoping the case was assigned to a hang judge for harsh punishment. Main masterlist

Sentencing. // Spencer Reid

You dreaded to be here. Here being standing outside the judiciary building as the reason why burdened your chest like a twenty tonne weight making it hard to breathe. The anxiety was wafting out of you in waves—you wanted to vomit or pass out or both from the idea that there’s a fifty percent chance of justice not being serve. The numbers were wrong, you knew, but you were not your genius boyfriend who can chatter off the correct statistics based on government reports. You were just you—a regular civilian who took the courage to report a crime and do stand up for the victim. Spencer was proud of you and the grit it took to stand up for another specially for the young but here, right now, you felt anything but brave. 

A hand slid into yours, making you jump in fright.

“Spence?” You questioned your sanity then. It was a weekend and although that meant no work for him, his phone had rang and the both of you parted ways at the subway, him going to Quantico and you going to the court trial. So the idea that he was here, standing beside you seemed too ludicrous. A figment of your strained imagination possibly before his cedar wood perfume registered in your mind. “Are you real—I mean, what are you doing here?” 

He squeezed your hand. “I called back Hotch and he convinced Strauss to give the case to the other team. You’ve been nervous for the past few days, picking on your nails—” bringing up your hand to see the nail beds dry and pink “—biting on your lips—” touching them as he observed the faint teeth marks “—and not being able to focus—” pushing away a stray lock of hair that escaped your haphazardly tied bun. “—I want to be here for you and remind you that you did the right thing.”

“I know that. It’s just—what if the judge assigned to the case doesn’t give a harsh sentence? What if he just gets registered as a sex offender and walks?” 

“According to the statistics, 87% of convicted rapists are incarcerated while 13% receive a probation sentence. Pedophilia is also widely considered as one of the most egregious crimes by the system and the fact that he has already pled guilty gives a higher chance of imprisonment,” he rattled off as his own way of comfort. 

For some, the daunting two digit number minority seemed big, and it is, but you trusted his insight especially knowing his own experiences in the field of protecting the weak and capturing the sick.

The numbers had it’s desired effect, lifting a bit off the weight dragging you down. You pressed your lips together and took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s go.” 

He squeezed your hand three more times—a silent communication between you two that meant I love you as he pulled you in the assigned court room. 

You occupied the last few rows, noting the family members of the victim also in attendance and although Spencer had calmed a bit of your nerves, each tick of the clock mixed with the palpable tension in the confined space had you shaking your knee in agitation. All of this combined made you unaware of the multiple presences that slid behind your bench. It took Spencer letting go of your hand and turning his head to bring you back to the present.

You swiveled, curious as to what had caught his attention, and breathed a sigh of relief.

It was the rest of the team.

Hotch reached out to squeeze your shoulder while Dave did the same on the other. Derek and Emily gave you a nod of encouragement and sweet smiles from JJ and Penelope.  It made you want to tear up to feel such love, support, and reassurance from Spencer’s chosen family. 

Unsure on how to put your gratitude into words, you gave a brief smile before turning back to the front as the judge entered the bench.

Bang.

Bang. 

The gavel echoed, effectively silencing any chatter of the audience.

Court was officially in session. 

———

The twenty tonne weight that sat on your chest lifted as the judge sentenced the accused to fourteen years in prison with no chance of parole. The scene of each family members of the victim crying and hugging each other in elation and relief made the steps you took worth it. Children deserved to hold on to their innocence for as long as they could and they warrant the protection from any concerned adult and the system.

Stray tears escaped the confines of your eyes as Spencer placed a kiss on your forehead before leading you out of the building, all decorated agents in tow.

“Hey Rossi, we should have dinner at your house to celebrate,” Emily cheekily suggested once everyone was out on the steps. The same steps you were hyperventilating on a few hours ago.

Dave scoffed. “Fist of all, it’s a mansion and second of all, what is it with this team inviting themselves over?” 

Derek laughed. “Aw c’mon man, we know you’d love to host us. JJ can bring Will and the kids and Hotch can bring Jack. It’ll be fun plus Y/N—” nodding in your direction “—deserves a good Italian dinner after all of this, don’t you think?”

Dave took note off all the members nodding their heads in agreement before sighing. “Fine, I’ll whip us up some Bolognese pasta, our Bambina’s favorite over here. Come by at 7pm sharp or else I’m locking the gates.” 

Everyone cheered and soon parted ways, promising to see each other later on, leaving you and Spencer leisurely walking to the subway station.

He squeezed your hand again three times and smiled. “You make me so proud of you. So so proud.” 

“Thank you for being there with me Spencer,” you squeeze in return. “I really appreciate it.”

“Anything for you, love. Anything at all.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[caitchercatlady]

The Promise of Forever

-3rd Year Version

Inspiration song: Made You Feel My Love-Adele

*note: I decided not to include Lilia in this post because I felt it wouldn't feel right. I see Lilia has that father/grandfather figure who wouldn't be interested in a teen student character (even as MC approaches marrying age). Please forgive me.

Trey Clover

"Is everything alright, (Y/N)? You haven't reached for a cinnamon bun yet. What's--Oh, that! (Snicker) I knew it was around here somewhere. Oh, no. It's for you. Go ahead. You're really quiet, (Y/N). Do you not like it? What is it for? (Chuckle) To start the rest of our lives. (Laugh) So is that a yes?"

Cater Diamond

"Nope, you caught me at the best time, cutie. I was just finishing a little something for you. Wanna see? Pretty impressive, yeah? Well, I'll let you know a little secret. All these pictures spell out a secret message. Yuppers. Betcha don't know what it means. (Snickers) Of course, I want you to figure it out. I know how smart you are. (Gets down on one knee as you end up figuring out the collage.) You can never pop the question without the ring, you know."

Leona Kingscholar

"What do I want to do today? Ugh,, you know you can't thrust these questions onto me. I know it's our free time, and I'd rather not use it on thinking. How about you give me an easy question? What's the quickest thing I can make a decision on? Two things. One, you already know, and two, sleeping. You don't know the first thing? Hmph. Maybe this will help you remember. Based on the look on your face, I don't have to pop the question, do I, your future royal highness?"

Vil Schoenheit

"My beautiful one, it's been a long night. We've barely had time to ourselves. Yes, the praise I've received is more than warranted, but I believe my best achievement is yet to come. My dear, you must be tired. Have a seat and allow me to show you what I mean. (Pause) It is what you think it is. If you marry me, I shall show you what I must take to be the best husband in Twisted Wonderland and of your heart."

Rook Hunt

"Mon trésor. I have an urgent discussion that I hope you'll engage with. Will you lend ton oreille? Wonderful. I have un problème that has been itching me from top to bottom. You see, there is something so beautiful that I want something for my own, but it's selfish to keep a beautiful thing for yourself when the world should admire it. Trickster, what should I do? (Pause) I can be selfish once, eh? I suppose I should make my one selfish moment of weakness count, correct? Ma belle, indulge in my selfish desire and be one with me. That is my greatest wish."

Idia Shroud

"Hee! Sorry! I was gonna come out of hiding eventually. Oh, uh...I should've known you'd recognize the suit. Well, uh, I was...thinking, and I...wanted to see if it still fit. I hope that's not weird. It's not. Oh, ok. Then, I thought...maybe we can...walk outside? Uh...no...I'm gonna start using the tablet less. Anyway, do you wanna--Oh! Uh, yeah, let's...go. (Mutters) I was not expecting this. (Outside) Yeah, that's quite the light scattering in the sky there. (Mutters) Just as I hoped for. (Aloud) What? Nothing! Well, not nothing, but uh...It's a little scary be be because I...I never did this. I'm not perfect and...and...and I'm not ideal, but I...I love you, and I...I want you...forever. Will you...accept me?"

Malleus Draconia

"Shh, it's late. We must be quiet. Come. Follow me. We are going to see the moon. Yes, but you haven't witnessed the moon yet. There. The moon is in its utmost perfect position and form. Not everyone witnesses such a sight in the late of the night in their lifetime. Do you remember how we discussed our futures together? How we will share our lives together? I have never been able to share this kind moon with anyone before now. Not that the chance hadn't presented itself. More rather, I wasn't sure I was ready. Now, that I'm ready for us to watch this moon together a two, I propose that we watch this moon forever as one. May you take this ring and be the bride of my heart, Child of Man?"

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

He’s mine || Billy the kid x oc!reader

Summary: Mrs Riley’s affection for Billy does not go unnoticed by you, or anyone for that matter. There was hardly competition because unlike her, you weren’t married and sworn to another man, but Mrs. Riley just needed a little push over the edge and she would be done for. What you didn't expect however, was that you would be there at the scene of her downfall.

Warnings: slightly dark oc! mention of blood, shooting, oc sorta manipulates Billy, possessiveness, guilt trapping, violence, mention of dead body

Wc: 4,712 this is a loooong one, longest one ive ever written lol.

A/n: Sofía does not back down when it comes to getting what she wants is all I gotta say 😃 also it's sorta long because I'm basically retelling some of the scenes from the btk episode but with sofia in it so..

Divider by @pommecita

In Mr. Murphy's sprawling house, the air buzzed with animated conversations, and the linger familiar scent of alcohol and smoke added to the vibrant atmosphere. You and Billy navigated the lively gathering, your hand on Billy's arm.

"There he is," A voice murmurs softy, pulling your attention away from Billy. "Billy! Come here." John Riley, Murphy's right hand man, beckoned him over for a chat. You could sense the hesitation within Billy but Mr. Riley persists. "I would like to introduce you to my wife," He rests his hand on the woman's waist. She looked no more than 3 years older than you, her hair elegantly arranged in a bun as she showcases her pearly white smile.

"Honey, this is the fella I was telling you about, this is Billy the Kid," Because of how tall Billy was compared to majority of the people here, Both Mr. and Mrs. Riley had to gaze up at him. "Billy belongs to The House now. This is Irene," John gestures to his wife.

Watching the entire ordeal by his side, you saw a glint of desire in Irene's eyes. "Howdy," Billy tips his hat nonchalantly, sporting a bored expression as Irene extends her hand out for a shake. Your gaze drifts around the room, noticing eyes already fixed on you as your hands delicately squeeze Billy's arm.

"So, you're a cowboy, are you?" She grins broadly, the smile stretching from ear to ear, her hand lingering on Billy's just a beat longer than deemed necessary for a married woman with high status like her. "Oh, he's an outlaw, baby," Mr. Riley corrects his wife with a sly smile. Leaning in, he murmurs into her ear, "This man's wanted for murder."

Irene subtly inches closer to Billy, her voice gentle and soft, "Well, it sure is nice to meet such a handsome outlaw." Her eyes carefully trace his features as Billy, feeing a tad bit awkward, manages a brief, but tentative smile, then glances towards Mr. Riley. "Billy," He bids him goodbye, tension already simmering, and he draws Irene along with him, her gaze remaining fixed on him.

"I don't like her," You assert boldly as Billy smiles, he loved it when you were up front with him. He turns to face you, his hand gently on your waist while the other finds its place at the base of your neck. "Me neither, sweetheart. She looks like trouble, and I don't want that," He reassures you, affirming his unwavering loyalty.

"Hey Billy," James Dolan interrupts his conversation with Jesse. "Uh, we've, uh, set up a little fun thing for you to do," he says, fixing an intense gaze on Billy. You set your glass down, and Jesse glances at you. "See, everyone here, they want to see what you can do with a gun, hmm?"

At the mere mention of guns, Billy's gaze shifts to the floor, and he leans back on the table behind him. "They've all heard the stories." Jesse uncomfortable shifts as you observe Dolan, "Murphy thinks it would be a great idea for you to give 'em all a little- you know- demonstration." He playfully slaps Billy's chest.

"Yeah? No." Billy says flatly, turning to leave before James firmly grips his arm "Okay, okay, Billy." He shakes head, his hands resting on his hips. You narrow your eyes at him, not liking him already. "I see you don't understand how the wicks. We're paying you a whole lot of money, so if we ask you to do something small for us in return," Billy's head drops, "we expect you to do it."

"Now, come this way," He gestures, anticipating Billy's compliance. Instead, Billy stands his ground, "I don't feel like doing that," You glance between Billy and James who kisses his teeth and beckons for a man named Jimmy.

Jesse turns around to face the table, pouring himself a glass of alcohol before extending the offer to you. A subtle shake of your head declines the offer, but Billy eagerly accepts, tossing his head back with a satisfied expression. James whispers into another man's ear, Jimmy you assume as he then continues to tell Billy how he should do this little, to show everyone how good he was.

"You can do that for us, yes?" Jimmy holds Billy's shoulder, his gaze on the floor once again. "And if you agree there, Billy, we got you a little gift, hmm?" James adds as he opens a wooden box revealing a gleaming double action revolver.

You weren't an expert on firearms but the subtle widening of Jesse's eyes before he averts his gaze signifies the weapon's quality "It's brand new. Very expensive. We think you're gonna like it," Jimmy adds as he and James stare at Billy.

Billy's gaze shifts from the gun to the two men standing before him. A momentary hush envelops the room before his eyes meet yours and Jesse's. A sigh escapes him as he sets his glass down.

Billy picks up the gun, inspecting it, before toying with it, eliciting gasps from those around the room. He then tucks it in his gun belt, pouring himself a reasonable amount of whiskey and downing it in one determined gulp. You approach Billy, placing a reassuring hand on his forearm as he wipes the corner of his lips.

"You sure you wanna do this?" You gently ask him, already knowing his reluctance. "What choice do I have, Sof?" He mutters before he's urged to move on.

"Ladies and gentleman, our friend Billy here's gonna demonstrate his gifts as a gunslinger and the reason why we hired him to protect all of our interest. Yeah?" Major Murphy's voice resonates with authority as Billy loads the gun barrel.

You stand alongside Jesse, a tantalizing sip of alcohol hovering at the edge of your lips as you observe the unfolding spectacle. Just a few feet away, Irene grips her satchel, her eyes wide with anticipation. "Come on, Billy!" Murphy exclaims, his applause echoed by the enthusiastic claps of those surrounding you.

Billy wipes his mouth, clearing his throat before fixing his gaze on the targets ahead. The initial shots are a breeze, a mere warm-up for someone of Billy's caliber. In a lightning-fast span of three seconds, all five glass bottles shatter, eliciting an eruption of applause from the captivated crowd.

You smile to yourself, you knew Billy was very skilled, this ordeal demonstrating it even further. He returns to the table where a range of guns were displayed. There's a palpable tension—anger, annoyance, perhaps both—etched across his features.

The stress of the last couple of days working for Murphy, threatening people out of their own homes, has left its mark on him. Night after night, Billy sought solace in you, pouring out his emotions as you offered him nothing but a listening ear and a comforting embrace.

In a swift motion, he removes his tie, choosing another revolver with a sense of purpose. The murmuring crowd hushes as Billy cocks the firearm, once again targeting cans on the ground—now more challenging to spot and precisely aim at, but not for Billy.

With each bullet making contact with the tin, a collective flinch ripples through the crowd, including Mrs. Riley. Unfazed, Billy seamlessly transitions to a rifle. He fires a few shots at a measured pace before seamlessly shifting into a rapid sequence of shooting, cocking, and repeating.

The tension in the crowd palpably escalated as Billy's anger became increasingly evident. The wooden backdrop itself caught fire amid his repeated shots, casting a fearful hush over the onlookers, the only audible sound being the ominous crackling of the flames.

You maintained a composed stance, your gaze unwaveringly fixed on Billy. He, too, remained motionless, likely processing the chaotic scene unfolding. A swift glance at Mrs. Riley revealed her frightened demeanor. Billy wiped his mouth, setting the rifle down, and approached you. Without a word, he took your hand, pulling you along as your eyes briefly connected with Irene, navigating through the subdued crowd.

"You okay, Billy?" You gently ask him knowing he was still fired up from before. He was sat on the bed, arms resting on his thighs with his legs open. You slot yourself in between them as your hands run through his hair, a tender attempt to soothe him.

He tilts his head back, his hands roaming around your back and down your . "You still seem stressed," You frown as he stares at you quietly, though the glint of mischief was still evident in his eyes. "I can fix that," You whisper against his lips before he kisses you aggressively, hungry, starving for more.

~

The saloon buzzed with the clinking of glasses and the shuffling of cards as Mrs. Riley sauntered in. Her eyes, keen with mischief, spotted Billy at the table, surrounded by others as he was deeply engrossed in the poker game, his attention fixed on the cards in his hands.

"Hey there Irene. Come to join in?" Sam says as Mrs. Riley smiles, "If you'll have me, Sam," As she approached, she ignored the way your hand rested on Billy's thigh as your eyes stay focused on the cards in his hands. Mrs. Riley couldn't help but cast a flirtatious glance his way, something that Billy doesn't catch on, but you do, and Charlie, who was seated on your other side.

"Good evening, gentleman," Her high pitched voice greets as you supress a subtle eye roll. True to their gentlemanly nature, they all reciprocated with polite greetings, Billy even taking his hat off as you remained silent. You silently threw daggers her way.

Your dislike towards the woman started from the second you caught her eyeing Billy when she sat beside her husband in the carriage. Even with Billy’s hands on your waist and the close proximity between the two of you that was more than platonic, it didn't seem to deter her away—drew her more in perhaps.

Undeterred, Mrs. Riley leaned in closer to Billy, her words tinged with flirtation. "My! It's Billy the Kid, isn't it?" She purred, a blatant expression of infatuation adorning her face, her smile captivating display aimed directly at him.

Billy's gaze finally shifts toward her for the first time since she stepped into the saloon. "Yes, ma'am," he responds politely, offering no more than a slight smile before his attention returns to the worn wooden table before him. You gently squeeze his thigh, and as his eyes meet yours, a silent understanding passes between you.

"Do not call me that," Irene interjects abruptbly. "It makes me feel old, and I am not old." She states, exhaling through her nose."I didn't mean to suggest you were," Billy quickly backs himself up.

Your gaze shifts to Charlie, and a subtle exchange of glances circulates the table. "I'm really so happy to see you, Billy," she utters, a faint smile playing on her lips, her voice lowering ever so slightly. The weight of her words hangs in the air, and Billy, in response, squirms uncomfortably in his seat.

You extend your hand gracefully above the space between you and Billy, a subtle bridge in the air. "Sofía Del Tobosco," you introduce yourself, your voice carrying the weight of confidence. Yet, she meets your greeting with a blank, unwavering stare, leaving the air between you tinged with an intriguing tension as the others on the table watch on.

"We haven't properly met, I'm Billy's-" "Aren't you Dulcinea's little sister?" With narrowed eyes, you retract your hand, an awkward silence settling over the table, "I'm good friends with her ya know," Mrs. Riley giggles, leaving you to decipher her intentions at the mention of your sister. A simple hum escapes your lips as you inhale sharply, shooting an annoyed look to Charlie, who quietly chuckles.

"Wanna start a new game?" Sam cuts through the silence. Irene gracefully declines the offer, "Oh, no. You go on. I'll watch," she smiles. "Good," you mutter under your breath, a quiet comment that only Billy and Charlie seem to catch.

Mrs. Riley gracefully raises a wine glass, "Here's to you, Billy," she toasts, her gaze unwavering as she lifts it to her lips. Billy's expression remains inscrutable as he watches. The corners of his lips hint at a subtle upward twitch before he speaks, "Well, we should get going."

You gladly agree with Billy as you get ready to leave, "Gentleman-" "Oh, no. Don't go," Irene cuts him off as Billy freezes, "Stay." Despite being on your feet, you cross your arms, fixing her with an irked expression. "Walk me home later?" She nervously proposes, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

Your lips part in astonishment at her words. There was no way she asking that from Billy when clearly, he has a girl by his side. Billy's eyes flicker towards you, a subtly nod indicating his loyalty. Mrs. Riley persisted, "Please, Billy?" Just as you open your mouth to respond, Sam beats you to it.

"I'll walk you home, Irene," Sam says, diffusing the tension in the air. The relief on Billy's face is palpable as you gently touch his bicep and he glances at you. He bids farewell to the table, and you follow suit, exiting the saloon with Billy. His hand extends behind him, finding yours as he pulls you along with a certain urgency, knowing what the rest of the night would entail.

~

Amidst the haze of smoke and the lingering scent of alcohol, Jesse and his gang sprawled across the room, resting a chaotic atmosphere. You were making small talk with the people around like the mannered young woman you were.

Your keen eyes wandered around the room before landing on Mrs. Riley, who was making her way to Billy. You narrow your eyes, “Has she learnt absolutely nothing?” Your words spat out with an unmistakable tone of annoyance. Charlie lets out a subdued chuckle, shaking his head as he swirled the glass of alcohol in his hand, a wry smile playing on his lips as he watches Billy and Irene.

"Hello there, Billy," Irene came up behind him, a huge grin plastered on her face. "Mrs. Riley," he politely greeted her, a trace of urgency in his tone, "I wanted to see you. I really—I want to talk to you. I need to." Her words were slurred. Sensing trouble, Billy discreetly scanned the surroundings, his eyes discreetly seeking you.

"Uh- maybe now is not a good time," He made a move once his gaze fixated on your silhouette. "Oh no, definitely now. I have something to say," Irene interjected, pulling Billy back with a subtle sigh escaping him. "Get me another drink, will ya?" Her request carried an undertone of desperation, a silent plea to retain his focus.

Billy surveyed her, noticing the telltale signs that she had indulged in one too many drinks. "Sure," he bobbed his head before moving to find a servant holding glasses full of alcohol. "Gracias,' Billy thanked the woman with a smile before he redirecting his attention back to Mrs. Riley.

She gracefully retrieved the glass from his hand, her fingers delicately lingering on his before she flashed a captivating grin, taking a sip. "What did you want to say?" Billy, with a subtle furrow of his eyebrows, gently steered her back to the purpose of their conversation.

Mrs. Riley gulped. "I want to tell you about my husband," she began, and Billy couldn't help but notice a subtle shimmer in her eyes, dulled by the influence of whiskey. "What about your husband?" Billy questioned, a hint of confusion coloring his expression, uncertain where the conversation was headed.

"I- I hate him," she confessed, punctuating her words with another gulp of whiskey. At the abrupt confession, Billy's gaze eagerly sought yours once again. "You can't even imagine," She shook her head, her voice trembling. "Maybe this isn't the place to talk about this," Billy pointed out as he nervously looked at the people around who could possibly be listening.

There was silence in the air as Billy's words manage to sink into Irene's head. "No," she utters softly, delicately placing her glass on a nearby table. "Light my cigarette, will ya?" She gazed up at Billy, who sighed but complies, retrieving a packet of matchsticks from his pocket and igniting the end of her cigarette.

From afar, you were silently raging inside as you watch the two interact. You knew Mrs. Riley's affection was more than friendly, oh it was more than that. "I feel like I'm going to be sick," You mutter with an eye roll, fishing out a cigarette from your purse.

You move the end of the joint to a nearby candle letting it ignite as you take a few deep drags, eyes glued on Billy and Irene. "Thank you," Irene said lowly, her eyes looking off to the side before she directs her gaze back at Billy. "You know, you're very good-looking, Billy,"

Billy wets his lips, casting his gaze downward, an air of discomfort lingering in the unusual tension between them. "Can we go somewhere? I like you," she murmured, drawing nearer with a drop in her voice.

Billy knew what she was trying to do and he wanted nothing of it. He locks eyes with you for a fleeting moment, your silhouette veiled in smoke, a clear sign of your annoyance. "I don't think that's a good idea," He firmly says as Irene's hopeful expression drops. "Please. Please, Billy," She pleaded. There was something uneasy about how she was begging him.

"I told you I hate him. I have to get away." Mrs. Riley persisted as Billy's eyes search hers. He ignored the unsettling feeling in his stomach, "No. I'm sorry, Mrs. Riley." She pursed her lips before she lightly shook her head, her eyes closing for a brief moment, an acknowledgement of his rejection.

"Never mind," She giggled softly to herself, "It's not your fault," Irene gave Billy a smile before it drops slowly as if something inside of her was sinking. The two of them stood there for a couple of seconds before Billy felt her lips on his.

"What is she doing-" You stub your cigarette on the table, ready to storm off in Billy and Irene's direction before Charlie subtly interjects, his arm forming a barrier in front of you. Your eyes were wide in shock after witnessing the unexpected kiss. "Did you see that? Tell me you saw that, Charlie," you exclaimed, shooting him a pleading look.

"Yes, yes I did. But causing a scene won't help, besides, I think someone else could do that," Charlie whispered in your ear, prompting you to give him a puzzled look as your nails dig into his arm.

Charlie cocks his head to where Mr. Riley was, a few feet away from the two, standing with a few other men. You smirk to yourself, imagining the havoc you would create when you redirect Mr. Riley's eyes to Billy and Irene kissing. Charlie removes his arm from in front of you as you straighten up.

Seizing the moment, you deliberately raised your voice, "Is that Mrs. Riley with Billy?" The words echoed through the room, catching the attention of those nearby.

Mrs. Riley's husband, mere feet away, overheard the commotion. Anger flashed in his eyes as he turned to witness the scene, realizing his wife's inappropriate proximity to Billy. Without a word, he stormed out, following Mrs. Riley into the night.

You push your purse into Charlie's chest, "Watch this for me, will ya?" You gave him no time to answer before you were already moving away from him. You made purposeful strides to follow Mr. and Mrs. Riley, leading you outside.

"Hey!" You hear John's voice yell loudly as you hastily conceal yourself around the corner. You peeped from the corner as your eyes widen; John had a firm grip on Irene who was whimpering. "You fucking, lousy fucking bitch." He seethed, his hold on his wife unwavering.

"What do you mean?" Irene fired back, "I saw you in there, with Billy," John lowered his head as Irene shut her eyes. "I know what you were doing, You was trying to get him to fuck you, because you're a little fucking whore!" He taunted her, violently shaking her slender frame.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Riley seemed the slightest bit drunk. Sensing the intensity, you quietly moved to another spot to hear them better, "I'm tired. I want to sleep," Irene pleaded helplessly, pulling away. Her once-neat bun now betrayed signs of disarray.

"I've had enough of you. Do you understand?" John forcefully pulled her back towards him, and Irene released a pained groan. "You're a fucking embarrassment. You're always out there in heat. It's fucking disgusting and I've had e-fucking-nough!" He yelled in her face.

Part of you wanted to go out there and confront him, but what would that do? Your gaze involuntarily fell on the revolver snug in his gun belt—John Riley, a man not hesitant to use it, especially if he discovered you eavesdropping on their private dispute.

"So have I!" Mrs. Riley yelled back, making you slightly jump at the suddenness of it. "I've had enough of you; I hate you!" She roughly shoved him off of her, stumbling as she walked away.

From where you were hiding, you could see what she was doing. What she was reaching for in her garter. A revolver. Swiftly turning, she cocked it and fired, the shot lacking precision. Her lack of aim resulted in wounding John's upper right arm, and you instinctively covered your mouth to stifle a gasp, your eyes widening in shock.

Meanwhile, Billy had been searching everywhere for you. His search for you led him out front of the house where the unmistakable sound of a gunshot pierced the air, prompting his head to whip in the direction of the noise.

Against the wall, you pressed yourself further, a silent witness to the unfolding chaos. In a single, fluid motion, Mr. Riley drew his gun, the metallic click resonating in the tense atmosphere before a decisive shot rang out. Her body dropped to the floor where you saw a clear view of the blood pooling around her body.

Your hands covered your mouth in both shock and horror. Trembling with fear, you couldn't tear your eyes away. At the echo of a second gunshot, Billy sprinted to the side of the house. The urgency became palpable – you needed to leave, immediately. Peeking cautiously around the corner, you saw John's back, hunched and vulnerable, as he clutched his wound.

You quickly slip out before you bump into a hard surface. Your eyes widen in shock as Billy stares down at you, his eyebrows knit in confusion yet his gaze reflecting genuine concern. Before he can question about your unexpected presence, his attention shifts behind you to where Irene's lifeless form lies sprawled on the ground.

His gaze then locks onto John, who winces in pain. "She's dead!" Billy instinctively pushes you to safety behind him; your breathing is quick and shallow, your chest heaving with rapid breaths. Billy's gaze remains fixed on Mrs. Riley.

"What did you do?" His voice turns cold, and the unmistakable sound of him cocking his gun follows. "Billy!" you whisper-yell, hand urgently tugging on his shirt. "She shot me! She tried to kill me!" John points to his bleeding wound, your fear lingering despite Billy's protective stance. "Now, get me some fucking help!"

"Hey, hey, hey, hey!" James Dolan rushes in between the two, "what the hell is happening?" Billy's aim at John doesn't falter. "You're friend killed his wife." You flinch when John's yell rang through your ears, "She shot me! Look at me!"

"Okay, okay, just.... Billy," Dolan puts his hand on Billy's arm, lowering the gun, "Billy, put it down, all right?" Billy complies but hesitates when he puts his gun back in the safety of his belt. You clutch onto Billy's arm as pulls you into his chest, relief flooding through you as he holds you tightly.

"Hey, go fetch the doctor, huh?" You hear James yell. Unbeknownst to you, Billy's eyes stayed glued on Irene. His lip quivering slightly. There had been so much life in her just a couple minutes before, and now, he stared at her lifeless body, blood soaking into her dress.

As his hand moved to caress your hair, his eyes snap to James and John. James was ushering John to go back inside so that he could help him until Billy interjects. "We need a fucking sheriff!" He yelled, as you felt the vibration of his chest in your entire body as you clung to him even more.

"Billy, Billy please, take me out of here," You pull his face down in between your hands as he gazes at your desperate eyes. "Just, just get out of here!" James instructs the onlookers. Billy brushes the sweaty strands that framed your face back. "Sh, it's okay, 'm right here, sweetheart," He pulls you back into the warmth of his chest as you let out a choked sob.

~

“What were you doin' there?” The question, anticipated and inevitable, lingered in the air. Placing your cup on the kitchen counter, you turned to face Billy, his eyes fixed on you, awaiting your response. His expression, an enigma.

Exhaling through your nose, you crossed your arms, eyes drifting to the plant in the corner of the room. "I just wanted to check if she was okay, stumbling around the house drunk, Billy," you lied, leaving the part out where you saw them kissing and discreetly letting Mr. Riley know of the inappropriate behaviour his wife was partaking in.

Pushing off the counter, you approached Billy, your feet closing the distance. His legs, too long for the table, faced you, stretching out.

"Then Mr. Riley came, so I hid... And then it happened," you explained, shrugging. A sigh escaped your lips as you settled beside him, your hand offering a comforting squeeze to his thigh.

Billy scrutinized your features, finding sincerity in your eyes, yet sensing an underlying truth—you didn't truly care about Mrs. Riley's death. Your behaviour around her proved it.

"I just can’t stop thinking ‘bout it," Billy admitted, fingers toying with the mug handle before him. "Of course you can't, Billy-" You were cut off as Billy spoke, "She was even begging me! Fucking begged me to take her somewhere, away from him."

You bit your lip, containing your reaction to this new revelation. Irene begging him to take her away? Mr. Riley's accusatory words echoed in your mind, You were trying to get him to fuck you

"I-I should’ve done something. If I had taken her somewhere, she'd probably be alive right now," Billy stammered, and you moved to cradle his head, ushering him to stop. "Billy. Billy, stop." You spoke calmly, though turmoil brewed within.

He blamed himself for Irene's death, carrying the weight of responsibility for her demise, a fate she brought upon herself by flaunting more than friendliness—brazenly, in front of her husband.

"It is not your fault that Irene was murdered, okay?" you reassured him as he fell into silence. "Still, takin’ her somewhere could’ve helped-" "Stop!" You abruptly shouted, making Billy flinch in your grasp.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath before releasing your hold on him, and Billy stared at you in shock. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I just-" You halted, inhaling again to gain your composure.

“Do you really think nothing bad would’ve happened to either you or Irene if you did take her somewhere? Billy, Mr. Riley would not have taken it lightly if he found out you did take his wife somewhere,” you reason with him.

Billy nodded slowly. "Yeah, you’re right." You gave him a tight smile, patting his thigh. "I should probably get going, Jesse wants to meet up with me." Billy stood, adjusting his hat, and you rose from the seat.

"Okay, be safe." Approaching him, you smiled up, and he slipped his arm around your waist. "I love you." Leaning in, you replied, "I love you too," your lips meeting in a tender connection.

[avatar-anna]

Margaritaville

based on this tiktok that i saw today!

Young Dad! Harry x Young Mom! Reader Universe

"Why the hell is my daughter dressed as a margarita?"

Y/n stared down at the group of boys sitting on the floor of her hotel room, watching with glee as Simone teetered around as a tiny cocktail.

All five boys looked up at her, a mix of emotions on their faces ranging from deer in headlights to the picture of innocence. Harry stood up from the floor and walked over to Y/n, his lips immediately finding her cheek for a quick kiss. He could tell she was mostly surprised, not really mad—at least he hoped. Dressing Simone up like a margarita didn't seem like a terrible idea when Louis approached him with the idea. It seemed harmless. Now he wasn't so sure.

"Just a bit of fun," Harry promised. "And look she loves it."

"She loves the attention," Y/n corrected. "She's two! She can't—Is that salt on the rim?"

"Mommy look!"

Y/n's attention swiveled to the toddler in like green. Simone's hair was pulled back into two tiny buns on the top of her head, each one adorned with a little green bow. She was sporting a huge smile, clearly happy to have her father and all her uncles fawn over her. Because of their busy schedules, she didn't get to spend much time with the members of One Direction, but when she did, the boys treated her like a little queen.

"Wow, melon!" Y/n cooed, not wanting to spoil her daughter's fun.

"I'm a marita!" Simone said, not quite getting the name right.

Y/n's grin was wide, but Harry could see right through it. He knew he was in for it later. For now he was safe, but when he was alone with Y/n? Perhaps a Simone-sized buffer was necessary the rest of the night. He was not above using his daughter's cuteness to get out of a lecture.

"Who made you this awesome costume?" Y/n asked, her voice light.

"Uncle Louis!"

"It was more of a joint effort, really," Louis said from his spot on the floor. When Y/n shot him a look, he was quick to go back to studying the pattern in the carpet.

"You look amazing, my love, but maybe we should change into your other costume for trick-or-treating?"

"I like this one!" Simone declared.

Y/n fought the urge to sigh deeply through her nose. She could only imagine the stares she was going to get walking around with a tequila toddler. But if her daughter was happy, she saw no reason to spoil the fun. The last thing she needed was a tantrum over a wardrobe change.

"Okay, Simone. Margarita it is," Y/n said. Then she turned to Harry's bandmates. "Isn't there a party you should be getting ready for?"

The boys were quick to scramble to their feet. Each of them said their goodbyes to Simone, kissing her cheeks and the top of her head. They said goodbye to Y/n too, murmuring their apologies as they filed out of her small hotel room. Y/n tried to suppress her grin, but it was difficult. She kind of liked that the boys were slightly afraid of her.

"I'm sorry about this, really. The boys got excited and she wanted to wear it and—"

"It's fine, H, promise," Y/n said sincerely. She knew the boys meant well. "It's just...I already get the stares, you know?"

"I'll get her to change," Harry insisted.

"Don't," Y/n said, shaking off her negative thoughts. She sometimes got caught up in what people thought when she and Simone were out together. Maybe walking around with her toddler dressed as a margarita would cause more stares, but her daughter was happy, and it wasn't like she even knew what it was anyway. It would be a funny story to tell in the future. To Harry, she said, "Let them stare. If she's happy, I'm happy."

Y/n grinned, the initial surprise and annoyance at the margarita costume wearing off. It was rather cute. And, "It's really well constructed."

"Louis was planning this for a while, I think," Harry said while both of them admired the craftsmanship of Simone's costume.

"You have a costume for tonight?" Harry asked when they were mostly alone. Simone began playing with her costume, running her hands over the bowl that surrounded her with great interest.

Y/n shrugged. "Not really. I bought cat ears and was just going to call it a day. As for you..."

Walking over to the unused bed in her hotel room, she pulled back the comforter and worked the loose sheet off. Harry gave her a knowing look before she tossed the sheet unceremoniously over his head. The sheet stopped at his shins, revealing dark jeans and a pair of scuffed boots, though the shifting beneath told Y/n he'd probably crossed his arms.

"Now no one will know it's you under there."

"I can't see."

"We'll cut holes before we go," Y/n said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Watch her while I draw on some whiskers, will you?"

Beneath the sheet, Harry rolled his eyes. He pulled it off and sat back down, whipping his phone out to take as many pictures as Simone would let him. She smiled and posed for some, but her attention didn't last long. Harry and Y/n both loved to take pictures of their daughter, but she was usually an unwilling participant.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, love bug?"

"Why did Uncle Louis say maritas will give me a baby sister?"

Harry's head bent as he tried to hide his laughter as Y/n shouted from the bathroom, "I'm gonna kill him!"

[miasmaghoul]

Dessert First

Kinktober '24: Day 1 - Foreplay

Pairing: Swiss/Cumulus

Rating: E

W/C: ~1.8k

Contains: flirting, intentionally cheesy and mostly food-based banter, making out, groping, heavy petting, fingering without penetration, (Cumulus has a big clit pass it on)

Huge shoutout to @kroas-adtam for this year's prompts!

“You're so fuckin’ pretty.”

Cumulus blinks, leans back to look out the hotel bathroom door with a raised eyebrow. Swiss grins at her, offers a wink and a little finger wave. He's laid out on his side on the bed closest to her, head propped up on one hand, the picture of relaxation in a pair of worn flannel pants and nothing else. Cumulus looks at her reflection in the wall-sized mirror; she's fresh from a too-hot shower, face still flushed and curls pulled up into the messiest approximation of a bun she could manage. Dressed in an old pair of Aether's boxers and an oversized tee, toothbrush still in her mouth, she can't imagine pretty is the word for her right now. She gives him a soft snort as toothpaste dribbles down her chin, but Swiss doesn't seem put out in the least. 

“I mean it,” he assures as she spits into the sink, rinsing with a handful of water. She hears the mattress creak, the dull thud of footsteps on low-pile carpet, and as she straightens up strong arms loop around her waist. “You're gorgeous, Lu.” Swiss plants a kiss on top of her head before resting his chin there, smiles at their reflection, and it's so infectious that Cumulus finds herself smirking too.

Read the rest below, or on AO3!

“Sweet talker,” she accuses, and Swiss doesn't even try to deny it. She sighs, letting her head rest against his broad chest. Breathes in the fading aroma of his spicy cologne and the lingering remnants of the joint they'd shared before her shower. A moment of quiet peace, interrupted only by the distant hum of the air conditioner. 

A moment is all she gets, of course - this is Swiss, after all. It's no surprise that his hands go from holding to fondling, a broad palm pressing into the softness of her belly and skilled fingers teasing the curve of her hip. Cumulus gives the back of one hand a gentle smack, rolls her eyes as she goes back to brushing her teeth. 

Swiss, never one to be dissuaded, occupies himself with the self-imposed task of feeling up every inch of her he can reach. Her stomach and hips, her thick thighs and unbound breasts. They may sag without a bra, but she's yet to have any complaints. Least of all from the ghoul at her back, whose half-chub is currently pressed up against the cleft of her ass while he cups her tits through her shirt. 

“So warm,” he muses, stubble grazing her throat when he leans down to kiss behind her ear. “Startin’ to think I should've joined you after all.” Cumulus rinses one more time, shaking off her toothbrush and tucking it into its case as Swiss casually rolls her stiffening nipples between his fingers. 

“It's not my fault you couldn't take the heat,” the ghoulette smirks, reaching for her nightly facial moisturizer. “You know it's boiling or nothing.”

Cumulus gasps as she squeezes some cream onto her palm, a response to Swiss dragging the tip of his tongue down her throat. He follows it with a nip to the spot where it meets her shoulder, and Cumulus shivers as she applies her lotion. 

“‘Scuse me for not wanting to turn to soup.” Swiss tucks a finger into the collar of her tee, tugging it to the side to trail kisses down to her shoulder and back again. He presses his nose to her skin, taking a deep inhale. “You smell like…what is that, cupcakes?”

“Vanilla, coconut and shea butter,” Cumulus corrects, but Swiss isn't exactly wrong. She knows she smells good enough to eat - insists on it always - and judging by the way Swiss throbs when he sniffs at her, he agrees. The ghoulette snorts. “Y’know," she teases, wiggling her ass just because she can, "you're awfully hard for a guy who said he'd be asleep before I even got soaped up.”

Swiss grunts, gives her nipples a pair of firm plucks that make Cumulus gasp. 

“Can you blame me when you look like this?” 

One hand remains on her breast, but the other moves to rub slow circles into her belly. It drags her shirt up, exposes pale skin decorated with the prettiest stretch marks. His fingers slip under the fabric to trace a pair of them, ticklish, soft flesh twitching under his touch. Cumulus bites the inside of her cheek to hold in the sound that tries to escape her, resting back against his chest with a soft sigh. 

“I bet you say that to all the ghouls.”

Swiss smiles at her in the mirror, cheeks dimpled

“You callin’ me easy?” 

She flashes him a grin, tongue poking between gapped teeth, and a quick burst of want flows through her pelvis.

“No, I'm calling you a slut!”

Swiss gives her the most offended look, but it's betrayed by the sparkle of mischief in his eyes. It's a shimmer the ghoulette is all too familiar with, and with a giggle Cumulus reaches up to poke him in the cheek. 

“C'mon, playboy,” she coos, “it's past our bedtime.”

The ghoulette squeals when, with unnatural speed, Swiss’ groping hands move to spin her around at the waist and hoist her up onto the vanity. He spreads her thighs and crowds in close, Cumulus’ tired eyes going wide as toiletries fall over all around her. Swiss plants his palms on the countertop, leans in until they're nose to nose, and when he licks his lips it's the ghoulette's turn to throb. 

“What about my midnight snack?” 

Rough fingertips find her leg, drag over the exposed skin of her knee and along her plush inner thigh. Swiss’ eyes never leave hers as he slides them upward, digits disappearing into the leg of her boxers. 

“Don't want me to go to bed hungry, do you?” He leans in closer, until she can smell the weed on his breath. “Cupcake?”

Swiss winks, clicks his tongue, and Cumulus’ eyes flutter when his probing touch finally reaches her most tender of places. A single finger teases her folds, Swiss’ cock visibly flexing in his pajama pants when he finds the beginnings of slickness there. The ghoulette lets her shoulders sag, reaching up to get small, soft hands on his chest. 

“Cupcake, huh?” 

Cumulus’ mouth curls up at one corner as her fingers glide through his chest hair. Manicured nails scratch over muscled shoulders until she can cross her arms around Swiss’ neck, and the ghoulette's lips part when he circles her clit with the tip of that slippery digit. They're so close now, Swiss’ mustache tickling her upper lip with every passing breath. His other hand moves to caress her cheek, knuckles tracing the soft line of her jaw, and Cumulus licks at one when it follows the curve of her lower lip. She lets her legs fall further apart, gives Swiss space to slip a second exploratory finger between long lips, and the pair of them groan when her clit twitches.

“Well, you have been a good boy tonight,” she lilts, low, and a dark spot blooms near Swiss’ waistband. “I suppose you deserve a treat.” 

The ghoulette closes the gap between them, and Swiss has his tongue in her mouth before their lips even meet. Not that she minds, of course - it's easier to suck on that way. 

She loves when Swiss gets like this; it's slow and decadent, messy in the best way. Cumulus hooks a leg around his hip and the ghoul groans into her mouth, oh-so-gently pinching her clit. She shivers with every touch, dragging her nails across his shoulders until she can get both hands in Swiss' hair.  

All the while, Swiss’ probing fingers grow slicker and slicker. He doesn't slip them inside, not yet - just takes his time petting from her clit to her pucker and back again until every part of her swollen sex slips through his fingers with no resistance. Only then does he break the kiss, still holding her face, a string of saliva stretching between their reddened lips. 

“You're so wet,” Swiss rasps, as though she can't hear the evidence of that herself. Can't feel the dampness soaking into her boxers, no doubt leaving a sticky spot on the stone counter below. Cumulus huffs, leans in to give his lip a tug with blunt teeth. 

“Of course,” she trills. “The best part of a cupcake is always the frosting.”

She's sure that the way Swiss drools and humps the edge of the counter is involuntary, but it still makes her stomach swoop. 

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, voice gone thick. “Can never have enough, myself.”

The very tip of one digit teases her entrance, and Cumulus lets out a soft oh. 

“Sometimes I just eat it with my fingers.”

The ghoulette sighs when Swiss pulls his hand away entirely, dragging the backs of his fingers along her thigh and leaving a shiny trail behind. He holds them up to the light, stretches her slick between them, and Swiss’ eyes roll back when he licks them clean. 

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he moans, unabashed, and if Cumulus wasn't wet before, well…

“Plenty more where that came from, sugar,” the ghoulette breathes, buzzing all over. “You shouldn't let it go to waste.” 

Swiss doesn't need to be told twice. In no time he's gotten her out of those boxers and dragged her ass to the edge of the counter, kneeling before her with those glorious thighs hugging his ears. The ghoul looks up at her with dark, hungry eyes, and her fat clit pulses.

“Go on, baby,” she murmurs, sinking her fingers back into his tight curls. Cumulus’ other hand wanders up her shirt, finds a taut nipple to play with as Swiss reaches around her legs to spread her open with both thumbs. “Do a good job and maybe I'll let you turn me into a Twinkie instead.” 

She winks, Swiss’ entire body spasms, and with a deep, deep groan he sinks his teeth into the meat of her thigh. Sucks in a mark that she can already tell will be the loveliest shade of purple come morning. He laves at the dents his teeth leave behind, staring only at the place she's gone all pink and puffy. Her clit stands at attention, so stiff the hood has slid back nearly all the way.

“If you do,” Swiss rumbles, kissing up to the crease of her hip, gaze heavy, “then I can lick out the cream filling.” 

The ghoul’s golden eyes flash, and Cumulus throbs hard when his unglamoured tongue rolls from his mouth. He drags it through the damp curls surrounding her twitching length - so big and excited now that Swiss could probably suck it like a cock if she asked him to - and when the forked tip of that devilish tongue grazes the base it throbs so hard her thighs shake. Cumulus sags back against the mirror, crosses her ankles behind Swiss’ back, and gives him her darkest eyes and sweetest smile. 

“Only if you promise to feed it to me after.”

[ryin-silverfish]

I had a question about Nezha and how he might be characterized in a JttW story (specifically one that draws from Black Myth Wukong, with the common vision of Nezha being physically a perpetual child), and was directed towards you. I'll quote myself verbatim. I was thinking about how one might characterize Nezha for a story, and would appreciate any thoughts or corrections. I haven't read Investiture of the Gods yet, and probably won't for a while, but just going off what we see in JttW and some of the reading I did, this is what I came up with: When Nezha starts out there seems to be a fair bit of recklessness, carelessness, and bloodlust to his character. This ends up getting forcibly dealt with via his agreement with his father, and probably just over time a bit, but while he may become more responsible, as seems to be the case in JttW, the bloodlust and free spirited-ness are really just pushed down. Therefore, I tend to imagine him as being kind of grouchy, a bit stuck up, and a bit of a stickler for the rules, that last one mainly because he has to be, and if he has to obey that stupid oath to his father, than everyone else has to follow the rules too, damnit! But, he also has the repressed bloodlust simmering below the surface and coming out at odd moments, scaring people, which would explain why his father gets frightened of him for a moment in JttW, when Nezha rushes in front of him while he's without his pagoda. On the flip side though, Nezha is also described as a protector of children, so I like to imagine that, while he hates being treated like a child himself, at least by adults, he does like and understand children, and can do a genuinely good job interacting and taking care of them, even talking on their level if the situation demands it, and there's a real compassion and goodness of spirit there that will come out if just given the right opportunity. What do you think?

Well, JTTW Nezha's backstory is kinda barebones, but also: I think the biggest difference between FSYY Nezha and JTTW Nezha is that the latter wrecks the Dragon King's place THREE DAYS after his birth.

It's very much based on the Grand Compendium of the Three Religions' Deities (shortened as SJSSDQ) that inspired both JTTW & FSYY Nezha.

And in the SJSSDQ version, he's already a powerful immortal under the JE before he's ordered to reincarnate to rid the world of demons, thus he's able to slay a bunch of dragons 5 days after his birth.

(I honestly don't think you can apply human development trajectory to gods and immortals, especially with the whole *Property Destruction and Dragon-slaying after 3 days of birth* thing, but that's just my personal opinion.)

Oh, and his "protector of children" thing is very much a later folk religion development. In JTTW as well as FSYY, and even prior to these 2 vernacular novels, he's very much a fierce martial guardian deity known for his prowess at vanquishing demons.

Fun Fact: the Li Zhuowu illustrations of JTTW actually don't depict Nezha with his iconic twin buns (he also looks a lot more like a teenager in these illustrations):

Also, in JTTW, the pagoda isn't exactly dropped on Nezha and used to forcefully subdue him.

The Buddha just gives Li Jing the pagoda and asks Nezha to call (the Buddhas) on the pagoda as his father from now on, and it seems to be a pretty peaceful solution——though Li Jing is still terrified that Nezha will pick up the "revenge" hobby again the moment he doesn't have his pagoda on him.

I personally like the take where Nezha just, doesn't really care about Li Jing anymore, because from his POV, he barely knows Li Jing in the timespan of 3 days, not to mention having an actual father-son relationship.

His vegeneance towards Li Jing is the same as if a random stranger tries to kill you bc you are too much of a menace, and you are forced to kill yourself as a result——still a giant asshole move, but without much personal elements.

Another fun fact: after JTTW Nezha is resurrected by the Buddha, he subdues 96 caves of demons first before trying to kill Li Jing.

...My very unserious crack HC is he rushed out of Vulture Peak to throw hands with Li Jing immediately after resurrection, but lost his way bc he has a bad sense of direction, and beats up all these demons while trying to find his way back ("I'm just asking for directions! Can't they stop trying to kidnap or eat me for one damn second?")

Giant tangent aside, I think JTTW Nezha's other big potential differences in characterization are 1) he's a pretty thoughtful and clever guy, despite still having a bit of an impulsive reputation, and 2) he cares a lot more about his siblings and is probably on better terms with them than FSYY Nezha.

Like, in JTTW Chapter 33, he's the one who suggests to JE that they use Emperor Zhenwu's Dark Banner to cover up the heavenly bodies and create the illusion of the sky disappearing, instead of literally sucking up the sky into a container (which is impossible).

During the Lady Earth Flow Arc, Li Jing straight-up forgets he has an adopted mice daughter, while Nezha remembers who she is, as well as her three titles/nicknames (Golden-nosed White Mouse Spirit, Half-Guanyin, Lady Earth Flow).

Like, she's practically a stranger whose adoption is pretty much her one-sided act of gratitude (for sparing her life), instead of a decision made by Li Jing or Nezha, and the latter still remembers her.

I feel like JTTW Nezha is totally the kind of brother who'll spoil Li Zhenying, and even though Jinzha and Mucha still don't come back that often because of their work, their brotherly relationship is likely a lot stronger.

Also, their mother is still around in JTTW, as suggested by the short exchange between Mucha and Nezha in Chapter 42, where the former asks Nezha to go back and greet their mother, since he's on urgent business and doesn't have the time to pay his courtesy until after he's delivered the 36 blades.

[jedipoodoo]

A Bun In The Oven (Echo x Reader)

Notes: No warnings, pregnancy reveal, food mention, Fives is a goofball, Echo loves you v v much, based on this pregnancy reveal.

You should have known that he wouldn't understand the turn of phrase. Clones had very minimal sex education, you knew, but now that he had discovered the burnt bun, it was too funny to back out.

"Honey, why would you leave a single roll in the oven?" Echo sighed and used some tongs to take the offending pastry out of the oven. Echo had insisted on cooking dinner for you, and you honestly thought that he would check the oven before preheating it.

"It's not a roll, it's a bun." You corrected him, running your hands over your decidedly flat stomach (for now, at least)

"What's the difference?" Fives asked. He was never one to pass up free food. Echo smacked his hands away with the tongs.

"Okay, why would you leave a single bun in the oven?"

"You know, I'm starting to see where you got your name from, babe."

Fives cackled, and Echo smacked him again with the tongs.

"Echo, what did you pull out of the oven?"

"A burnt roll."

"Not a roll!" Fives crowed.

"Okay a burnt bun!" Echo sighed, "Honey, are you feeling okay?" he patted your forehead to see if you had a fever. "

"I'm fine, Echo," You giggled, "We have a bun in the oven."

Echo blinked slowly. "I just pulled it out."

Your head fell forward against his chest as you shook with laughter.

"Okay, what have you done to my riduur?" Echo accused Fives, wrapping his arms around you to hold you upright.

"Nothing, I swear!" Fives waved his arms insistently.

"Echo," You placed your hands on his shoulders to balance yourself. "A bun in the oven is a way of saying that someone's pregnant."

His eyes went wide, and in his sudden silence you could hear Fives trying to muffle his squeals.

"Echo, we're having a baby."

Echo's hands rested on your hips, "Really?" he whispered.

You nodded.

"You're pregnant?"

You nodded again.

With this confirmation Echo wrapped his arms around you and swept you off your feet. You threw your arms around his neck as you both laughed for joy.

"I'm gonna be a buir!" He boasted to Fives.

"I'm gonna be an uncle!" Fives whooped for joy and tried to hug you both, but Echo shoved him away so that he could hold you for a moment longer.

He took your face in his hands and kissed you, surprisingly gentle for the excitement he'd just displayed.

"How far along are you, cyare?"

"Just a few weeks. I went the medicenter yesterday to get confirmation."

You glared over at Fives, "Usually couple wait a little longer before they tell other people."

Fives shrugged, "You know it's physically impossible for me to be more than 100 meters away from Echo at any given time."

He gave you a gentle hug, "I promise I won't tell anyone unless you guys say so."

"Thank you, Fives," You kissed his cheek.

Fives grinned, and then lunged at Echo, wrestling him to the floor.

"You sly mir'sheb! My vod, a buir!" He caught Echo in a headlock, ruffling Echo's perfectly gelled, regulation hair.

"You know tubies don't care about a sleep schedule, right? How're you supposed to get the regulation eight?"

"I...hadn't figured that out yet," Echo gasped for breath.

You laughed, wondering if this would be the life of your future child. Would you and Echo be able to give them a sibling or two? Would you be able to provide them a shelter safe from the war?

Any worries you had were promptly squashed by the laughter of Echo and his brother as they wrestled on the floor of your apartment. How could you doubt how wonderful your life with Echo could be when this was the glimpse of your future?

"Fives, I would appreciate it if you refrained from taking out the father of my child before they're born." You said, reaching for the plates and cups to set the table. Echo did say he wanted to cook for you tonight.

"Do you know if it'll be a boy or a girl?" Fives dropped Echo like a hot blaster, and Echo leaped to his feet, running over to the kitchen to shield himself behind you while he finally got back to the meal prep.

"We won't know for a few more months," You said, absently running a hand over your stomach. Echo watched the movement for a moment, and held out his hand, silently asking permission.

You nodded, and Echo placed his hand on your belly, holding it there for a moment as if he could feel the baby that could hardly be bigger than your eyeball.

"If it's a boy, we could name them after one of the Dominoes," He said with reverence.

You resisted the urge to make a face, "I know you love your brothers, babe, but I refuse to name my newborn child "Droidbait"."

"What about DB for short?"

"No."

"I call dibs on Hevy!" Fives said.

"You've never even met a girl!" Echo sighed.

"Too late. I got dibs. No take backs."

You laughed as Echo rolled his eyes. He turned back to chopping the vegetables, and you helped mix them in the pot.

A few minutes later, he leaned over and whispered in your ear, "What about Fives?"

"Are you making enough for him?"

"No, for a baby name. Naming our kid after him."

You gave him a deadpan stare. "You really want to stoke your brother's ego that much?" you nodded over to Fives, sprawled out on your couch and flipping through holochannels.

Echo suppressed a snort. "I guess not."

You kissed his cheek, "Don't worry babe, we've got eight months to figure it all out."

[its-not-a-pen]

—Terracotta—

Ok so I visited xi'an during my trip back to china (3 months ago?), and this idea popped into my head during the 9h train ride back to shangdong. I am of course 100% projecting my own love of the terracotta army onto Qin Shi Huang, in reality he did not care for this pit of mud statues depicting lowly commoners. In fact, no one ever bothered to write about it and they were lost to history until 1974 when some farmers digging a well stumbled upon them. But it's exactly the reason I'm so fascinated by them. QSH's tomb has not been excavated, and although I have a running joke about cracking it open--mercury vapors be damned--none of the riches inside will ever enchant me as much as the chance to see the face of a person who lived during this time.

Notes under the cut:

#1

the title Qin Shi Huangdi means "First Emperor of Qin" and was given to QSH by later historians. He actually called himself the Shi Huangdi, "First Emperor", and that is the title I've gone with here.

in English the other kingdoms are translated as "states" (i guess to avoid confusion?) but in chinese they are very much kingdoms.

The terracotta warriors used thousands of craftsmen, many of whom were slaves from conquered kingdoms. From a storytelling perspective I thought it would be more streamlined if there were two main artisans who reported directly to QSH.

QSH's clothes are based on the overly complicated courtly regalia. which has 12 symbols that only the emperor is allowed to wear

Notice how this hat is ROUND at the front??? Well I CERTAINLY DIDN'T. HAD TO REDRAW IT!!!!!

the stripped shirt is based on this Chu woman figurine. Clothes were fairly unisex during this time and I thought it was a nice fit.

#2

Paperwork: writing was done on books made of bamboo slips. Anecdotally, QSH had an impressive work ethic and would read 100 bills every night.

Bronze Goose lamp: ok this is actually a Han dynasty lamp pls forgive me. I saw this bad boy at the xi'an history museum and it's bewitched me body and soul. The goose neck is hollow and connects to a reservoir of water in the belly, which minimizes smoke and cools the lamp.

QSH is remembered as a brutal tyrant and brilliant statesman, but I wanted to present a more human version of him here. Bored, tired and drowning in work he refuses to delegate. His new empire is balanced as precariously as everything else on his desk.

#3

The attendants standing behind him are holding little wood tablets called hu for taking notes. Their brushes are tucked into their hats/hair, inspired by Han dynasty custom. (You'll see me using Han stuff a lot. Their cultures were very similar to Qin, since it was only a few hundred years apart).

So I had a slight breakdown trying to find the correct hats for the eunuchs, and ended up redrawing everything the night I was due to publish. Closest thing I could come up with was a reference to a round-style Han Dynasty hat which evolved into this square Jin hat. Yes, this is a cry for help .

#4

the wheeled platform is 100% made up, I tried to come up with a plausible way of getting a bunch of figurines into the palace.

#5 & #6

Painted terracotta soldier

How were the terracotta warriors made

The General: Fun fact, I got to see this guy in person!

#7

The Epic Wide Shot was inspired by some Tang Dynasty terracotta figures I saw at the xi'an museum!

#8

THIS KNEELING ARCHER. ARGGGGG. He use to be my favourite guy. I even went into the pit and drew him IN PERSON. the archers inexplicably have their hair buns on the OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE HEAD. So because of him, I DREW ALL THE HAIR BUNS WRONG!!!! REDRAW!!!! PAIN AND SUFFERING!!!!

#10

Qin was famous for it's very long, thin swords. They were more useful as status symbols than actual weapons, as QSH knows from personal experience…

#11

QSH'S Tomb hasn't been excavated yet, but high levels of mercury have been detected in the soil, making the historical accounts of quite plausible.

[mrozzoosstuff]

𖥻 𝗢𝟭 ┆𝙂𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙨 𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙩 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ★ ₊ ˚⟡

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐋 ➠ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴜᴛʏ

/̵͇̿̿/'̿'̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ༄

HEREFORD, UK

Task Force 141 Base - "Fort Viper"

12:26

The common room wasn't busy - just lived-in.

Soap lounged on the worn-out couch with a half-eaten protein bar in one hand and setting down a mug full of coffee with the other. Gaz stood near the small counter, poking at the old kettle like it owed him something, trying to make some tea. Ghost leaned against the counter with a file in his hand, quiet as ever, reading through the information from some old mission.

One of the slow mornings where they didn't have to stress about missions, enemies, or training. Just a chill morning.

The door opened with a creak, and Price stepped in - coat damp from the heavy rain, folder in hand.

"You're all here. Good."

Soap glanced up. "We in trouble, or are you just feeling sentimental?"

Price ignored the jab and dropped the folder onto the table with a soft thud. "We've got a possible addition."

Gaz raised a brow, leaving the kitchenette and taking a step toward the table. "Another one? Thought we weren't taking rookies."

"She's no rookie." Price opened the folder, revealing a set of personal files- half of them were erased with black ink.

In the upper left corner of the file was a photo. A Woman. About mid-twenties to thirty years old. Pale with sharp features. Snow-white hair pulled back in a tight and low bun, and dark -dead- eyes stared into the camera.

"Nikova Darya Dragunova. Callsign: Lynx"

"That's a mouthful," Soap commented quietly, setting the protein bar down. Then, his head snapped up. "Wait-"

Silence.

Gaz moved first. He walked over slowly, looking down at the photo like it might bite. "No way. I thought she was a myth."

"Worse," Ghost said, putting away the file in his hand and taking a step closer to the table

Price looked at them all, calm and even."She's real. Former Spetsnaz. Left Russia under... not so diplomatic circumstances."

Soap leaned forward, his interest piqued."I heard a story that she knifed some warlord in the throat with his own spoon or something."

"That was a fork," Gaz mumbled. "And I think it was in Libya."

"Classy." Soap said with a nod, impressed.

Price sighed before continuing. "She ran a black ops unit deep in Russia operations. Never showed up in mission logs. No official rank. No clearance trail. No public record. Just... results."

"They say her name was scrubbed from every file but one," Gaz added. "Even GRU was afraid of her."

"Laswell's meeting her now. Budapest."

Ghost finally spoke, stepping closer to the photo. "What's she been doing?"

"Merc hits. Freelance contracts. High-level sabotage. Some humanitarian shadows, too, strangely enough. She's lethal. But not mindless." The captain crossed his arms, looking down at the open file.

Soap scratched the back of his neck. "So, she's got her own code."

Price didn't deny it. "She doesn't trust anyone. Doesn't want to belong to anyone either. But Laswell thinks she might listen. And if she does..."

"If she does," Ghost repeated, "we better hope she's on our side."

Soap snorted. "Or we're all fucked."

"She's a wildcard." Ghost declared, crossing his arms, boring his eyes into the side of Price's head.

"She's a professional." Price corrected. He lit a cigar. The flame briefly lit his face in the low light. "We need her."

"Fine." Soap shrugged, leaning back against the couch. "What's another emotionally repressed loner with a kill count and a dark past."

Ghost turned to him, giving his a long, blank stare. Scott only replied with a cheeky grin.

"And for the record, if she starts gutting people, I'm sleeping in an armory."

BUDAPEST, HUNGARY

'Nap és kávé'- Coffee shop

09:48

It always smelled like burnt sugar and diesel here.

Nikova sat at a café just off the Danube, the kind that blended into the rest of the city - dim, nameless, quiet. The kind where no one asked questions.

Her coat was too thin for the wind, but she liked the cold. It kept her awake.

She stirred her coffee, though she hadn't taken a sip. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, tracked the movement of strangers like a habit she couldn't kill.

Two men talking too loudly at the corner. A woman with a red scarf, the same one from earlier. Back again. Looping. Watching?

No. Just another local caught in routine. Still - she logged it.

She didn't look up until the chair across from her shifted. A woman in a blazer and wind-chapped face sat down like she owned the place.

"Laswell," Nikova said flatly, lips barely moving. "You're late."

"You're hard to find."

"Or you're just shitty at your job." The Russian mumbled, reaching into her pocket for a pack of cigarettes.

Laswell smiled faintly. "You left quite the trail anyway." She said, ignoring the comment.

Nikova lit a cigarette slowly and practiced. "If you came to arrest me, say so."

"No. I came to offer you a job."

That got a raised eyebrow.

Laswell slid a thin folder across the table. No names on the front, just the ghost of an embossed seal. Nikova didn't open it.

"Task Force 141," Laswell said. "They want to meet you."

Nikova leaned back, smoke curling from her lips. "And if I don't want to meet them?"

"Then finish your coffee. And go back to pretending you don't miss this kind of life."

Nikova didn't answer immediately. Her fingers tapped against the folder in an absent rhythm, her gaze flicking to the street again.

"You want something dangerous done. Quietly." She said it like it was fact, moving her eyes from the file to Laswell. "And you don't trust anyone loud enough to get blood on their boots."

Laswell didn't deny it.

"You know what I've done," Nikova continued, voice lower now, darker. "People like me don't get offers. They get put down."

"You're not just 'people like you,' Nikova. You're better. And you know it."

Nikova's jaw ticked. Compliments were always traps. Especially from intelligent officers.

Laswell leaned forward slightly, speaking quietly. "This isn't Russia. And it isn't Spetsnaz. This is a chance to do something different. Something that might matter."

"I stopped caring about what 'matters' years ago," Nikova mumbled, letting the smoke escape from her parted lips.

"But you still listen," Laswell pointed out. "You still watch. That tells me you haven't stopped wanting to care."

Nikova looked at her for a second and then down to the closed file on the small table, staring at it like it was going to explode any second.

"Do they know who I am?" She mumbled finally.

"They know enough," The CIA agent replied. "They'll know more if you let them."

"I don't play well with others."

"Neither do they."

Nikova exhaled slowly. Her cigarette burned close to the filter, and she stubbed it out against the ashtray like she was stamping out a thought.

She finally pulled the folder closer and cracked it open.

Inside: A few pictures of some old, abandoned training ground. Personnel files of the possible new teammates. A photo of Captain John Price with a red-marked objective site scrawled in pen beside it. And below that, another image - one she didn't expect.

Nikolai Belinski.

Nikova's eyes narrowed.

Laswell watched her carefully. "You'll need to work with contacts in the field. Some are... familiar."

"That wasn't in the sales pitch." Nikova closed the folder and leaned back in her seat, practically glaring at the blond agent.

"It's not a sales pitch. It's reality."

Nikova closed the folder slowly. Her voice came out low, clipped. "I want three things if I say yes."

Laswell nodded. "Name them."

"A clean exit if it goes to shit. My gear and my old weapons - untouched. And I don't share a room."

"Done. But you'll have to share air."

Nikova huffed - something between a breath and a laugh. She rose from the chair, slipping the folder under her coat.

"I'll think about it." The Russian mumbled, setting down a few bills for the untouched coffee on the table.

"You've already thought about it," Laswell called as she walked away.

Nikova didn't turn around.

But her answer echoed in the smoke she left behind.

When she made sure she was out of Laswell's eye and ear reach, she pulled out an old keyboard phone. It barely worked, yes, but it didn't have GPS.

No GPS = No unwanted stalkers.

Clicking at the only saved contact she pulled the phone to her ear.

After a few seconds, the person on the other side of the call picked up.

"Ты тупой? Я же говорил тебе не звонить, если ты не горишь. Ты пытаешься меня убить?" The sharp woman voice cut thru the silence on the other end of the phone call, yet there was a hant of relief in her voice. (Are you stupid? I told you not to call unless you're on fire. You trying to get me killed?)

"Vera." Nikova mumbled to the phone. "Пришлите мне отчет о британской оперативной группе 141. Все, что у вас есть.." (Send me a report on British Task Force 141. Everything you got.)