#some of you who have stuck around for a long time will recognise two of em

[luvgavii]

color me jealous - (pg8)

summary: jealous pedri featuring rúben mf dias ;) (model!reader)

dedicated to all the pedri girls <3

You were smiling at your phone while you sipped on the expensive champagne, replaying your Instagram story over and over again, the imagine you posted of the flowers your boyfriend sent to your dressing room before your modelling show never failing to spread a smile to your face. But of course, your happy moment had to be interrupted.

Turning on your heels, a strong scent of perfume met your nose as two arms wrapped tightly around you, the elder woman air kissing your cheeks.

“you were absolutely beautiful up there, y/n!” The lady, one of whom dresses you wore tonight spoke in an elegant voice yet thick accent you could only recognise as french.

“thank you! the dress was beautiful,” you smiled brightly, the woman giving your hands a squeeze, whispering another few rounds of praises before disappearing somewhere in the gallery to mingle with the rest of the stuck up, posh people. You knew you had to join them, but your thoughts were filled with one person only.

You looked around, your eyes scanning every table, every single corner of the big gallery for Pedri, yet you could not spot him anywhere.

A frown crept to your face, a thousand thoughts filling your mind.

‘did he leave early?’

‘why would he leave before coming up to you, kissing you and telling you he’s proud of you?’

‘maybe he had a football emergency?’

‘football emergency this late?’

“I saw Pedri outside taking a phone call a few minutes ago,” the familiar voice of Rúben Dias came from behind you, making your eyes widen as you whipped your head around, meeting Rúben’s warm smile and eyes.

“Rú? What are you doing here?” You asked, a chuckle escaping your lips as you went in to hug the tall man.

Rúben laughed, wrapping his arms around you before speaking, “As if I’d miss out on seeing you on that runway,” his smile could almost reach his ears as he looked down at you.

While any other girl would absolutely melt under Rúben’s eyes, you always made sure to keep a respectful distance, first because you had Pedri who was your person in every possible way and second because you didn’t want to fuel into Rúben’s flirting too much. You were loving the attention, though.

“thank you! I appreciate it,” you smiled, you were happy to see him, the last time you two had hung out was a long time ago when you were modelling in England, but the Man City player always seemed to have some interest in you, even before you started going out with Pedri a few months ago.

You and Rúben have always been friendly, sure, he was always playful flirting with you, but whatever attraction you had felt for the portuguese has quickly disappeared when you met Pedri. As soon as Rúben had posted a picture of the two of you at the gala, arms wrapped around your shoulders as your hand rested on his chest, the fans and media went wild.

It didn’t take long for the fans to figure out where the location of the after party of your modelling agency took place, and while Pedri was on the phone with his manager, he couldn’t help the frown on his face when the fans a few feet away were chanting Rúben Dias’ name.

You met Pedri almost six months ago when your best friend insisted on going to a Barcelona game, and while you didn’t know much about football at the time, your interest was quickly growing when you saw the man who wore number 8. With the help of a friend of a friend, who happened to be married to one of the players, you stuck around long enough to meet them after the game and you and Pedri became inseparable ever since.

He was confused as to why in the world there were people holding Man City jerseys, chanting the name of another football player, until he checked Instagram and saw the photo that was now on every gossip page. People were speculating, asking if you and him had broken up so short after hard launching your relationship and Pedri hated that more than he liked to admit. He hated being in the spotlight with things like these but he hated even more the way Rúben fucking Dias held his arm around you.

Back inside, you were laughing at whatever Rúben had said, your head falling back and your nose scrunching in that adorable way Pedri always said he adores.

Pedri, Pedri, Pedri, Pedri, your mind repeated over and over again.

Your eyes met across the room, his brown eyes softening when your gazes locked. His eyes hid some kind of harshness in them, and you could immediately tell that there was something bothering him, and that something happened to start with an ‘R’ and end with an ‘úben’.

While it was morally wrong to fuel Pedri’s jealousy, you couldn’t help yourself and keeping your boyfriend on his toes wouldn’t hurt.

Your palm pressed against Rúben’s bicep as you leaned up to whisper something in his ear, Pedri’s eye twitching while he watched from afar, wondering what the hell you could’ve said that got Rúben smiling so brightly. He clenched the glass of whiskey harder in his hands until his knuckles turned white and for a second Pedri considered calling Gavi to help him commit murder, knowing his best friend would definitely help dig away the body.

“you’re really trying to tick Pedri off, huh?” Rúben laughed, making you chuckle and making Pedri picture his murder in graphic detail.

“he’s really sweet, I like it when he gets a bit rough and jealous sometimes,” you laughed, shaking your head at Rúben, your eyes meeting the familiar chocolate brown orbs.

“what, like, throw you to the wall rough?” Rúben raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t help the smile that spread to his lips.

“no, not like that,” you laughed knowing you were not about to discuss your sex life with Rúben, at the after party of your show.

“mi amor?” you heard the soft, familiar voice calling out for you, both you and Rúben turning to see Pedri.

He looked almost sad, and you couldn’t help the pain in your chest when you saw that disappointed glimmer in your boyfriend’s eyes which was probably because you barely got to see him after the show. The quicky in your dressing room before hitting the runway was good tho.

“can I talk to you for a second?” Pedri dragged his voice, his eyes falling from Rúben to you, not caring how rude the other football player might consider him, “alone.”

You nodded and bid Rúben goodbye, thanking him for coming. Pedri was still a golden retriever, so even if he was slightly pissed off because you paid so much attention to Rúben, he still shook his hand.

“looking forward to that friendly,” Rúben said with a slight tease in his voice, making Pedri clench his jaw, he barely recognized himself, he was never this jealous.

“I’m looking forward to rearranging your jaw—“ Pedri muttered under his breath as you and him walked away, his words caused you to laugh and hit his shoulder.

“can you not? he was nice to you,” you chuckled, stopping in a secluded spot in the gallery.

“by flirting with you all night? damn, we have different definitions for ‘nice’,” Pedri huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked you in the eyes.

Jealousy, rage and so much love and affection was in them. No matter how much you annoyed him, Pedri never seemed to be able to lash out at you and that was the greenest flag you could think of.

“you did that on purpose didn’t you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow when you smiled cheekily, your arms wrapping around his waist and your chin resting on his chest, “you’re so annoying,” Pedri mumbled when he realised all that overly friendly stuff with Rúben was an act.

“you love meee,” you chuckled, laughing at Pedri’s narrowed eyes, knowing he was either plotting your murder or thinking of how to get you back.

His lips curled into a grin, his nose rubbing against yours as he spoke against your lips, “too much, mi estrella.”

[bethfuller]

✤ old character designs for my upcoming comic project ✤

[littlemsshoney]

Hannibal falling in love

It is ridiculous how wrapped around your little finger he was.

From the first moment he laid eyes on you he found his new fixation. Every time you were in the same room with him his gaze was fixed on you, observing silently every detail, getting to know you before you were even introduced.

Of course he would be very careful, almost suspicious of any new person being added to his social circle. For a man obsessed with his social image he had to be cautious of any potential competitor and you were just lovely. So charming, well educated, funny, and polite.

He found you unusually enchanting. Of course he recognised your beauty but there was something less superficial about you that just pulled him in.

The feeling was known to him yet very rare as it never seemed to have a happy end. He knew he tended to be quite intense with his emotions and that never ended well so he promised himself it wouldn’t be that way with you.

It wasn’t long till you happened to be invited to the same dinner parties through common friends. How could he not observe you when you were sitting opposite of him only a few centimetre out of his reach? Every time you happened to talk he found the perfect opportunity to study you, the way you spoke, the way you smiled, the faces you made when you found something funny, stupid or ridiculous. You tried to be discreet not to offend anyone but he noticed, he noticed and he loved every expression your precious face made.

If you happened to sit next to him he would already know what perfume you wore, what scented shampoo you used everything. (And he wouldn’t mind doing some personal research about you beforehand)

With every joke of yours he found himself truly laughing and when you spoke his inner monologue quietened and he didn’t have to pretend to be listening because he actually did.

For a man like him who spent most part of his life stuck inside his head, building fortresses against the cruelty of people you quickly broke down everything while having him feeling so comfortable and at ease with you. You had him hooked.

Of course he noticed the way other people looked at you. Women and men with their envy and lust and he wouldn't be jealous if he only knew you were his.

During his sessions he found himself unable to focus on anything, his mind just replaying every conversation you two had over and over like a broken radio. Almost every night he was awake at the most unholy hours, his mind unable to rest and stop thinking about you. That was when he knew it was inevitable.

His insomnia and love for you he treated with writing love letters and sonnets, making sketches and drawings of you as he imagined you, all of them hidden and locked in the drawer of his office and his heart too.

Now not only were you dominating his every through but his whole life too.

He would take notes into his head of your interests and would say all the perfect things to keep you interested. What were your hobbies? Art, literature, music he would become an expert for you. He knew everything from Taylor Swift's latest album to the full analysis of your favourite poem. He would do and learn about anything you liked and was passionate about, just to keep you talking to him with that sparkle in your eyes. He could do it for hours, days and every minute for the next of his life.

I hope you don’t share your affections with anyone special because if he found out which he would, they would be the next missing person in town or worse.

When you became used to him and you got to know each other better he found his chance to invite you to one of his special dinners. Only that one would be even more special as you would be the only guest hence having his sole interest. He had one whole evening to amaze you with his culinary skills, deep, meaningful conversations about art, philosophy and life. At the end of the night he had you feeling it too.

And when the time came and you became his you and the whole world would see just how smitten he is.

He laughed with every joke, he listened to you carefully and everytime your name was mentioned he couldn't help but smile. Any little things that caught your eyes you would have and if you asked for the moon itself he would find a way to give it to you.

He didn’t mind, he actually loved it. That was love for him. He wanted to be your loyal servant and your beloved and feared god all at once. Could you give him this and he would give you the world.

If you didn’t however return his affections or god forbid you betray him that would be a very different and tragic(for you) story.

[aphroditesmoon]

Hiiii! Love your clarisse oneshots ^^. Could you possibly do one where Fem!reader is the daughter of Hades and has a hellhound as a pet that absolutely adores clarisse? Reader also has a similar personality to clarisse, loves to fight and has a big pride but only lets her guard down around Clarisse.(also possibly has her own electric weapon of your choice)Thank you!!

creatures of the night

clarisse la rue x fem!hades'cabin!reader

warnings: none

a/n: sorry this is so short, hope u like it<3

wc; 1.1k

You would never consider your relationship with your father as better than anyone else's relationship with their own parent in camp.

But when you had been claimed by Hades as well as being gifted a long black javelin with gold wrapped around the sharp edge on the same night you arrived at camp Half Blood, it seemed well established to everyone else and including yourself, that your father acknowledges your existence proudly.

Being one of the people in the small list of forbidden children, had created a fearsome reputation around your presence, and honestly speaking, you enjoy the privileges that come with it.

Although it was hard making friends considering your less friendly personality, some campers stuck by your side anyways. Those who bore you enormous respects and had been intrigued by your mysterious air instead of intimidated.

One of them being the infamous child of Ares, Clarisse La Rue.

Beautiful, strong and hot headed, Clarisse La Rue.

The two of you are often compared as the two sides of the same coin. Your personalities differ from eachother in many ways, but when it came to your goals and aims, you both are usually on the same team.

It's safe to say that you are less hostile than Clarisse. You prefer to keep to yourself whilst she prefered to assert dominance onto the other campers. And yet you are the more feared than her.

Clarisse is commonly brutal and unrelenting, but you usually saved up the worst of your tricks for when necessity calls for it. For now, intimidation worked well enough.

What's funny enough, is how Clarisse herself had a certain trepidation when she first befriended you. She learned soon that you were just another demigod girl just like she was, glory aside.

One of the instances where she felt that she had truly seen you as you are, all the facade dropped down, was when you first introduced her to your hound, Cerberus.

Your father had gifted him to you for your 15th birthday. It was one of yoir proudest moments in life. Demigods are almost never cared for that much by their parents, and so to have your coming of age be recognised by your father was a huge thing.

"Is that not the same name as Hades' own three headed hound?" She asked, staring at it for afar from the corner of your bed.

"I know, that's why I named him that." You explained to her as you're sat criss-crossed on the floor, scratching the beasts' chin.

Cerberus, once he deemed Clarisse as not a threat, rolled down on the ground on his stomach.

"Look at him, such a good boy." You were distracted by your new pet all day, ignoring your poor girlfriend who had come over to your cabin to spend time with you. "He's almost as tall as you." Clarisse spoke sarcastically, picking you on your height.

"That's not a fair observation. Most things are almost as tall as me." You responded, still not looking up.

"Are you just gonna keep standing there staring at me?" You asked her finally, realising just how weird the distance between you two were.

Clarisse was hesitant, frowning at your pet like he was some sort of threat. "I...think I'm good here." She muttered loud enough for your ears. "Oh, come on."

Clarisse shook her head as you complained about her irrationality. "Look at him, he's friendly." And he was, Cerberus had warmed up to you quickly and have not shown a single tendency for violence against your girlfriend.

"Come and say hello to him, Clarisse." You called out to her again.

You hear her sigh from the other side of the room. After a few more minutes pass, her footsteps grow louder as she moves nearer to you.

Clarisse squats down to meet Cerberus and flinched as he lifts his head up to sniff her. You reached for her hand, trying to get him to smell it. She pulls her hand back at first, but after a few more pulls, Clarisse relents and lets the hound give her knuckles a lick. "That tickles." She mumbled under her breath.

"He likes you, see." She gives a resigned look, like she's just going along with what you're saying. "No, I'm serious, look at how nice he's acting." You nudged your head towards Cerberus' head, encouraging her to give him a pet

Clarisse braves herself to give him a few strokes on his ears and found that he particularly likes that notion. "I guess he's not that bad." She admitted at last, pulling out a smile from you. "I told you."

"So what is he then? Some sort of guard dog?" She inquires. The gods would gift their children with tools that can be used, never something useless, like a domesticated pet. And from the looks of it, Cerberus is definitely not meant to be a some cute little friend.

"I don't know." You answered honestly.

"It's not like my dad does a lot of talking to me, but he gave me something from the underworld, something that's set as a reminder of him and his place above. I'd like to view it as some sort of stepping stone. Like I'm one step closer to him because of Cerberus."

It's not surprising that your end goal is to follow on your father's footsteps, no one really knows what the real secret to make their godly parent to care about them is.

It is often assumed that glory was the key, and yet, the best fighters in camp a

re usually the ones who resent their parents the most. You often prayed and hoped that you wouldn't ever have to cross that threshold.

"I'm sure he sees it that way too." Clarisse offered kindly. She knew all too well how much it meant to be noticed by their absent fathers, even if so slightly.

She slso knew deep down that even if your father refused to notice the lengths you would be willing to go for him, she did. And she would break the world in two for you if your father wouldn't. And you would do the same for her.

Clarisse leans her back against the lower frame of the bed, a small smile on her face as she watches you scratch the hound's chin whilst kissing the spot in between his eyes.

It is truly rare to catch sight of either daughters of Ares or Hades' being as gentle and playful as this, and Clarisse is grateful that these kind of intimacies are reserved for small private moments.

That same night, as she sleeps with her arms around your waist, Cerberus laying down by the foot of the bed, Clarisse realises that she would do anything for the bond between the two of you to prevail.

[ellecdc]

perhaps r works as a vet or with a wildlife protection agency etc and brings a horse to farrier!remus and he just falls for her bc he sees how much she cares about the horse and her gentle nature and it soothes him 😋

this has been stuck in my mind since my original post re: farrier!Remus so I finally took a stab at it! thanks for the prompt, I hope I did it justice! <3

A Horseshoe for Luck

Farrier!Remus Lupin x Veterinarian!reader who consults with Remus on a case [1.3k words]

CW: fem!reader, situation inspired by a horse who was lost for a few years and when found had severe overgrowth of his hooves (happy ending), don't look too closely at the plot if you're a Horse Girl (gn) thank you xx

Remus heaved in a sigh as he pulled down the long gravel driveway to his latest appointment. 

He’d known there was a new vet in town, which came with a certain level of relief and a certain level of concern.

The rural coasts of Wales were no doubt hurting for Veterinarians (and service providers in general), but the communities were notoriously closed-knit and standoffish to ‘outsiders’ and were completely incapable of keeping newcomers around for any amount of time.  

Every new vet that this village saw came from the city, and every new vet left after a measly year-or-two long stint max. 

He couldn’t necessarily blame them; sometimes it took a local to manage the locals, but this left him with a certain level of distrust.

Too many times has Remus been called upon by the new city-sent vets just to be spoken down to or dismissed entirely because they believed that they knew better.

So, though he knew this vet would probably be much the same - some young, newly minted vet fresh out of school who had accepted the first available job they could find - he also knew that his area was in desperate need of a vet, and that he also had a job to do.

So he dutifully parked his truck and opened the cab to retrieve his tools when a frazzled looking tech approached him.

“You must be Mr. Lupin! I’m Hannah, I was the one who spoke to you on the phone.” She offered quickly. 

“Just Remus s’fine. Was this a wild horse?” He asked, not interested in smalltalk as he followed her towards a large barn. 

“No, not originally at least. The owners have been looking for him for two years and finally found him with a wild herd - managed to bring him back in.”

“Is he sound?”

“His hooves are in horrid condition - the doctor has done a preliminary check on the rest of him but would really like to get him some relief for his feet before she does anything more to him.” 

“And who are they?” He asked as he passed a couple standing outside of the barn doors.

“The owners.” The tech - Hannah - offered quickly. 

“Have they not seen their horse?” He asked, noticing that the tech hesitated before turning down the run where he could hear some activity. 

“They have, but they were very anxious and excited to be reunited with him. The doctor felt that for an animal who has spent the last two years in a wild herd, it might be best to keep the area calm. I - erm, well, are you calm, Mr. Lup- erm, Remus?”

Remus let out a snort and nodded quickly. “Yeah, I’m pretty calm.”

Hannah smiled in relief as she turned the corner which exposed a large brown and white paint horse secured in cross ties. Standing at his head where there should be a stuffy city vet in a crisp white lab coat barking orders at various techs and stablehands was simply a woman (a very beautiful woman, Remus had to admit, though didn’t feel it was entirely professional to recognise), wearing dirty activewear with her hair messily pulled back and a stethoscope thrown over her shoulders as she murmured quietly to the horse. 

Remus almost felt bad for the horse when Hannah interrupted your conversation with it to introduce you to Remus. 

You accepted Remus’ handshake quickly without the usual stuffy-city vet hesitation to check for clean fingernails (he worked with the likes of sodding barn animals for christ sake, give him a break) and a warm smile that actually met your eyes as you looked into Remus’ (and into his soul, he was sure). 

“Thank you so much for coming, Remus. I’ve heard great things about you since I’ve arrived, I’m only sorry I haven’t had a chance to make your acquaintance until now.”

“I’ve been eager to meet you as well.” Liar, Remus scolded himself immediately; though, had he known the new vet had been the likes of you? Well, maybe he would have been more eager. “So, the poor lad’s got some major overgrowth?” He asked as he looked at the horses hooves instead of admiring your figure like he’d much prefer to be doing.

“I can’t tell if there’s lameness because of an injury or if it’s just his instability on these hooves of his so I figured a trim was our next best step, but what do you think? Is there something I’m overlooking?”

Remus managed to mask his surprise at your collaboration with a simple farrier (versus what would have usually been orders given in a bored tone before the vet fucked off further into the barn only to come out in the end to inspect his work) by doing a walkaround as he felt the horses legs. 

The horse seemed somewhat tense at the attention he was receiving, but quickly calmed when you began massaging around his neck and murmuring to him in a low, dulcet tone.

Fuckin’ hell, Remus was jealous of a horse. 

“No, I think you’re quite right. Let’s get him onto more balanced footing and then you can work your magic.” He offered after his inspection, earning him a beaming smile from you in the process. 

“Are we shoeing him?”

You tilted your head as you looked over at the horse as if waiting for him to respond. “What do you think?” You asked Remus instead. “A horseshoe for luck?”

And though Remus knew that you knew the shoes would really just provide more strength and protection for the equines hooves, he was not one to deny himself a chance at luck, so he quickly agreed.

“Do you mind an audience, or would you prefer if I left?” You asked then as you backed away from the horse to allow Remus to set up.

He normally preferred solitude; he was in this business because he, admittedly, found the company of animals far more enjoyable than that of humans, but he couldn’t deny that he wasn’t quite ready to have you leave his company yet. 

So you sat - on the dusty, straw strewn flooring - as you watched Remus work; polite conversation inching further and further away from business as the job progressed. What started out as him asking how long you’d been out of school, what made you want to study veterinary medicine, ended up with what brought you here of all places.

“Peace…solitude. I wanted a quieter pace of life and to live somewhere where I could know the people around me instead of just knowing that there were people around me; does that make sense?” You asked then, allowing your head to loll to the side as you considered him. 

“I think so; don’t usually find people running here though…most are running away.”

“Looking for a quicker pace of life?”

“Something like that.” He agreed as he finished up one hoof and moved onto another. 

“But not you?”

“Not me.” He agreed.

“Why’s that?”

Remus paused at that, chancing a look at you and finding that to be a horrid mistake because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to return to his work when you were smiling at him that sweetly. 

“I wanted peace…solitude. A quiet pace of life where I could know the people around me, I suppose.” 

Your smile grew subtly at his rephrasing of your previous words. “Fair enough.” 

The trim seemed to do the trick; the horse no longer showing any lameness in his legs as Remus watched you lunge him around the dusty arena alongside the very happy owners. 

“What do you think, Remus? Did he look good?” You called to him as you handed the lead to the owners. 

“Looked perfect.” He responded simply. 

The horse, you, the rural coast of Wales now that you were here.

He found himself suddenly very happy to have a new vet in town, and hoped to all hell that you outlasted the many vets that came before you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drabble Roulette: Andy - Public Sex

Hey hey! This weekend (July 6 -7) I’m going to be playing drabble roulette! I’ve curated a list of characters, tropes, AUs, and kinks and I’m spinning the wheel! Hopefully I can do this once a month as a little writing exercise.

Character: Andy Barber

Warnings: this drabble includes noncon, cheating, public sex. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Explicit, 18+.

You yawn as you hang your towel over the bar. Work trips are exhausting. You have even less time yourself and with it goes all your energy. In those few hours you have, you try to enjoy them. 

You’re over reading. Too stagnant. So, you finally decide to venture down to the hotel pool and swim a few laps. They’ll tire you out enough to fall asleep and get some of the kinks out from those uncomfortable conference room chairs. 

Thankfully, you’re the only one who got the idea. It’s offseason for most hotels. Kids are in school, parents are stuck in offices, and only those on the road take up the vacancies. You bask in the solace as you sit on the edge and dangle your legs into the water. 

You slide down slowly, adjusting to the temperature little by little. You walk deeper into the pool, dipping down so your shoulders are beneath the surface. You spread your arms and take a breath. You put your head under and pull through the water with your arms, kicking to propel yourself further. 

You lose yourself in the familiar motions. You touch one end, bob up, take a breath, and turn back the other direction. Back and forth, back and forth.  

You latch onto the lip of the pool to steady yourself. You cling to it to keep from sinking under as you paddle at the deep end. The chlorine dries your nose hotly. 

“Long day?” A voice echoes in the airy empty space. 

You didn’t notice the man. He’s still dry as he stands at the other end of the pool. Your fun is spoiled. You won’t go, you’ll just have to share. 

“Mmhm,” you hum back. 

He walks along the edge, eyeing the water. You think you recognise him. He might be one of the faces you passed at the continental breakfast bar that morning. You see so many it’s hard to remember. 

He’s tall and his shoulders and arms are rounded with muscles. He wears black shorts and turns to face you, showing off a lined stomach and buff chest. You plunge back under and start another set of laps. When you take another break, he’s doing the same, arms cutting up and under. He’s faster than you. 

He passes so close you feel the water move. You quickly make distance as you fall into another cycle; shallow to deep, shallow to deep. When you come again, you can’t spot him. You don’t look very hard. He doesn’t matter. 

You veer off to the side of the pool and hook your arms over the edge, crossing them as you hang from the tile. You lower your head and even out your breathing. You are suitably tired. 

Before you can lift yourself up and over, the water splashes behind you. The man grips the slightly raised lip on either side of you and raises himself up. He crushes you against the side as he does. 

“Woah, what the--” 

“Work trips are lonely, huh?” He grits as he nuzzles your crown. “Nice to unwind?” 

“What are you doing, you creep?” 

“Shh,” he hushes you and surprises you as he loops his thick arm around your neck, “don’t wanna draw too much attention.” 

“Hey, you--” He flexes until you can’t speak. 

“Come on. Two strangers, passing in the night...” 

You pull on his forearm and kick your legs. He pushes into you, grinding his pelvis against yours. Where your toes barely touch, he has his feet planted flat. 

“No rules on the road,” he purrs along your ear.  

You tug on his arm harder, “get off--” 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he pulls his other hand from the pool, the glint of gold on his finger flashing in your vision. He feels along your side as he crowds you against the tile. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.” 

You whimper as his hand tickles along your stomach and his fingers creep along the top of your bikini. You push your elbow back and he grunts. He's not deterred. You dig your nails into his wrist. 

“I’ll scream--” 

He tightens his arm again and tuts, “you’ll be begging for more."

He snarls and shoves his hand down your bikini. You puff out desperately and wriggle, unable to free yourself of his grasp. You should have just stayed in your room and finished the damn book. 

[targaryenluvs]

hiiii okay so I had an idea for like Coryo x little sister where she’s about 12 years old and she looks just like her mom and Coryo, Tigris, and Grandma’am just love her so much BUT she somehow ends up in the hunger games s a tribute and she becomes like besties with Wovey, Reaper, and Lucy- plus she’s giving Coryo a heart attack every five minutes especially during the bombing- finally during his peacekeeper era when he finds out they were evicted she was taken from their custody and so when he comes back with the plinth fortune and all that she just runs up and is all cuddly with him and he’s like “u know what fuck custody paperwork” and just snatches her back home- thank u sooo much💗

SAFE AND SOUND

pairings: coriolanus snow x younger!sister!reader, lucy gray x younger!sister!reader

summary: somehow you’d ended up in the games, snow and lucy would do anything to keep you safe.

warnings: murderrr, possessive/selfish thoughts, child endangerment, cheating, rude ass corio, fluff in the end nd a little happy fam, deter from og storyline, protective lucy and snow, family dynamics, theyd do anything to make sure you’re okay

a/n: i did change the story line a little!!

the drones were whirring about you.

people were being knocked down as lucy grabbed you and ran to safety. “keep with me baby girl!” she shouted as you ran, your legs ached but you knew what would happen if you stopped.

coriolanus couldn’t breathe until you were safe. which is why he exhaled a long and heavy breath when you and lucy settled into the vent again. everyone around him was quiet for once, they laughed at all the tributes except you. they all loved you, every time coriolanus brought you around their horrible personalities and stuck up selves melted away with your adoring smile and sweet voice.

reprieve, or so you thought, came in the form of the large tube in front of you. but based off of lucy’s face you knew something was up, and as wovey walked towards it you couldn’t help but shout and cry for her.

“down goes wovey!” thank god. coriolanus thought. that idiotic girl was impulsive and silly, she shouldn’t have lasted as long as she did. she almost killed you with her stupidity, brung you along to her execution as you cried for her to stop.

you’d survived. somehow.

in the history of the games there had only been two victors. so far.

but at what cost? your brother had been sentenced away to district 12 and the only other person who shared any understanding for what you went through was no where to be found. in the wind, gone.

so you did what you thought best.

you ran.

all the way to twelve and the comfort of your dear older brother.

he was going insane. he’d lost you and lucy. sejanus was god knows where and probably planning something illegal. he was stressed the fuck out and all he wanted was a hug from you. for you to put secret braids in his hair when you thought he was sleeping, for you to kiss his cheek every morning before rambling on about school.

the place was alive as she sang. everyone danced but coriolanus stared. he’d found one half of the puzzle. lucy looked amazing and he found himself relaxing at the sound of her voice.

you’d peeked through the window. the noise had drawn you to it. it was your first day alone, ever, and in the worst district. you were scared beyond measure but soon to be saved as you caught a glimpse of lucy twirling on stage, her eye-line drawing you to corio.

the hug from behind caught him off guard but had his mind spinning as he recognised the small hands gripping oh so tightly at his waist. the bracelet he’d made so long ago and the smell of roses, which for once wasn’t himself, and hadn’t been for a while.

“y/n.” he breathed out as you laced your arms around his neck, “i came from the capitol. i hate it corio. they took me away from our family and put me with some random family. i don’t like it, i miss you. please, don’t take me back.” you cried as he lifted you up, resting on his hip as he made his way outside, lucy following in tow as she wiped away tears after seeing your sweet face.

the lake was quiet and tame, slow waves lapping at the jetty and land as you lay curled up in corio’s lap, lulled to sleep by lucy’s melodies. and whilst the trio of you all had no idea what the future held it all didn’t matter in this moment. you felt happy, and you hadn’t felt it in so long. corio and lucy were your family, and you loved them.

corio had done horrible things in his life, the second you were drawn into the games nothing else mattered besides keeping you safe. those horrible things were known to few, one of them being the songbird to your left.

and no would ever tell you these things.

all that mattered?

you were safe and sound with them, they’d made sure of it.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Wild Nights || CL16 {1}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x songstress!reader Summary: After getting dumped before your wedding you decide to take your best friend on your honeymoon instead and end up having a whirlwind romance. Warnings: 18+only, NSFW, smut, oral, angst WC: 2.3k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Epilogue

The memories of last night ran through your mind like a montage that was powered by a strobe light, disconnected images and snapshots that blinded you and left your head aching. You blinked against the bright sunlight flooding the bedroom you didn’t recognise and tried to suppress the groan of pain that came with the hangover you rightfully deserved.

You had drunk far too much but you deserved to let go and have fun. Getting dumped right before you were meant to be married definitely gave you a free pass to go wild so you kept the booking for your honeymoon in Monaco and took your best friend instead.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath as you spotted your iPhone on the bedside table and found the battery dead. 

A soft snore had you freeze and you slowly turned to the sound with a racing heart as another memory resurfaced. The back of a head full of lush, thick dark hair rested on the pillow beside you and your eyes trailed down his spine to the curve of his ass that was obscured by the sheet hanging over his hip. 

Angry red lines marked the otherwise smooth skin of his back and you remembered the pleasure of that moment. It had been the first time in a long time that you hadn’t needed to fake the orgasm that rippled through you. You had forgotten the feeling until you had collapsed light headed among the fluffiest pillows you had ever laid your head upon and fallen into the deepest sleep in weeks.

You slipped quietly from the bed and tiptoed across the carpet, collecting your bra and panties along the way until you found your dress in the living room. You bit your lip as you skirted around a broken vase, remembering how - shit, what was his name? - how he had picked you up with surprising ease and sat you on the side table between the desperate kiss you were locked in. The shattering of the glass hadn’t even fazed him when your ass had knocked it off. 

You looked around the apartment as you crept to the front door, hoping to find some indication of a name, but the high end place must have been an AirBnB because there was nothing personal anywhere. The only notable item at all was a beautiful Steinway Grand Piano that you were envious of, wishing you had a few minutes to run your fingers across the ivory keys. 

The thought of playing the piano drew the whispers of a memory that you couldn’t quite clutch.

Arthur? The name rang a bell but you shook your head as you unbolted the door and grabbed your clutch that was waiting beside it. There had been an Arthur at the bar but you didn’t think it was him in the bed. There were a lot of guys there last night, a lot of names to remember, hopefully Bea could fill in the blanks when you found her. 

Your cheeks burned as you walked through the heart of Monaco, trying to figure out where your hotel was in the maze that was the city. You stuck out like a sore thumb among the men and women out enjoying a sunny Saturday morning and you swore some of them even pointed your way as you passed by. 

This took the walk of shame to a whole new level. 

Finally you reached the hotel and as a bonus you found the keycard had survived the night and was tucked inside your clutch along with your lipstick. Your luck seemed to be turning around as you took the elevator to the honeymoon suite and pointedly ignored the tv screen set to welcome Mr and Mrs Wallace.

The shower was running so you went straight into the bathroom, not even knocking since there was no need for privacy among best friends. “Bea, I just had the best sex of my life and I don’t even know his name.”

The water shut off and the steamed shower door swung open to reveal someone who was definitely not your friend. “Oh my god,” you gasped as you spun away. “Who are you?”

Bea stepped sleepily into the bathroom rubbing her eyes with a groan, “Shhh, my head is killing me babe.”

“Bea,” you whispered as you grabbed her shoulders and kept your eyes above them since she wore absolutely nothing. “There’s a naked man behind me.”

Her eyes darted over to the man who had at least wrapped a towel around his hips. “Oh, yeah, isn’t Monaco great?” 

“Are you going to introduce me to your friend again?” the man asked with a charming smile.

“Again?” you asked with a frown.

“We met briefly last night.”

“At the bar,” Bea explained, though it didn’t really help considering there were a lot of bars. “Y/N, this is…Pe…ter?”

You were a terrible friend for feeling relieved that she wasn’t sure of his name either and you exclaimed, “Thank god, I’m not the only one. What the hell happened last night? I half expected to find a tiger in the bathroom.”

“And instead you found a lion,” the stranger winked. “It’s Pierre by the way.”

“Stallion more like it.” Bea dragged her eyes over his body before holding her hands up in front of your face, her palms about 9 inches apart and nodding. “Seriously.”

Your jaw dropped and your eyes drifted down her body before you could stop them. “Where did you put that thing?” 

“Where didn’t I,” she fired back with a husky laugh before dragging you from the bathroom and jumping back into the only bed in the suite. “Tell me everything.”

“I only remember little bits, well, and one not so little, definitely not that big though,” you pointed out as you nodded your head to the man collecting his clothes from around the room. “Please fill in the blanks.”

“Oh that’s easy,” Bea laughed as she snuggled back into the blankets, tugging them all the way up to her chin. “We met Pierre and his friends at Casablanca.”

“Casablanca?” you couldn’t remember the name.

“Yeah, they had an open mic night.” You screwed your eyes shut knowing what was surely to come as Bea continued. “I signed us up and we fucking killed it, babe.”

You fell back into the pillow that held a masculine scent it hadn’t the night before and groaned at the new information. 

“You were really good,” Pierre complimented as he pulled his shirt on and pulled his phone from the pocket of his dress pants, turning to Bea. “Can I get your number?”

“Why?” she asked with a laugh. “We’re only here for a few more days, you don’t have to try to let me down gently. I won’t cry into my pillow because you didn’t call.”

He seemed a little shocked at the rejection and you thought maybe he actually had wanted to keep in touch but he recovered with a smile and pulled his shoes on. “In that case, I’ll let you ladies enjoy your afternoon. Bea, it was a pleasure.”

“That it was,” she said with a whimsical smile that told you it was an understatement. Her eyes trailed after him and she didn’t snap out of it until the front door clicked shut. “I think I love it here.”

“You just love hot guys,” you corrected.

“And this city is drowning in them, and they are probably all stinking rich too.” 

Bea reached for her phone on the nightstand and you remembered that yours was dead so you plugged it to charge in before scooting closer to her. You figured you could watch a few mindless Tik Tok clips with her  before dealing with the day ahead.

A few clips turned to dozens and you were in fits of laughter at a compilation of fails when Bea swiped up and you heard a familiar voice. Bea screamed and shoved the phone on your face, her finger pointing to the likes. “Holy shit!”

You grabbed her phone as the short video started again and saw the camera was mostly focused on the man who was playing the piano beside you. “It’s him,” you gasped as you showed Bea. “That’s who I went home with last night.”

“Woah, nice! He’s a stunner. I always told you, piano players and gamers are the best in bed. Something about those fingers…”

“Shhh, you horn dog. I need a minute of quiet.” You rubbed your temples as you were flooded with freshly recovered memories.

—

You side eyed Bea when you heard your name called out and the MC shielded his eyes from the stage lights as he searched the crowd.

“She’s right here!” Bea shouted and pushed you forward, the heels unsteady under your feet after all the shots you had taken. 

“I hate you.”

“You love me, now let’s go.”

Bea took her place at the upright piano while you grabbed an acoustic guitar that had seen better days from the stand and adjusted the height of the microphone stand. You were acutely aware of the crowd as you checked it was in tune and turned to Bea to see if she had a song chosen. 

She leaned towards the mic set up on a boom above the keys and gave you a wink that instantly made you suspicious. “I wouldn’t be your best friend if we didn’t dedicate this song to that piece of shit ex.” 

You grinned at the idea of slating him and heard a few cheers from the crowd that told you you weren’t alone in having a shitty ex or maybe they were fans of Olivia Rodrigo. “I guess that means we’re playing Traitor.”

Your fingers strummed the opening notes and the self consciousness faded away as you fell into the meaning of the song, letting all the hurt and anger fill your words. 

The bar emptied as the crowd shifted away from alcohol and filled the dance floor, their bodies swaying to the rhythm. Suddenly their voices joined yours as the chorus came to an end. “Guess you didn’t cheat, but you’re still a traitor.”

Your eyes lingered on a group of guys that seemed centered around one who stared back at you, his eyes swimming with emotions you knew intimately. His eyes held yours as he raised his bottle in the air, saluting with the camaraderie that came with the shared pain and you couldn’t help smiling back through the heartache.

The song had ended but when you made your way off the stage the MC had blocked it and asked the crowd if they wanted to hear another. The screams had reverberated the stage floor and Bea had already said yes, going so far as to ask the crowd for a song request. 

“The angstier the better,” she said. Quite a few shouts for Adele came up and she pointed at a young woman. “I love Someone Like You, but unfortunately I don’t know how to play it.”

“Arthur does!” One of the guys in the group said as he pushed his friend forward. 

“No I don’t, Charles plays all the sad songs,” Arthur said as he elbowed the man next to him, the man who you hadn’t been able to look away from since he raised his drink to you. 

—

“Charles,” you murmured as you remembered moaning the name, your fingers laced in his hair when he went down on you. 

“What was that?”

“His name is Charles,” you repeated as you pointed to the handsome man playing the piano, his eyes remaining focused on you the entire time. 

“Oh yeah, it’s all through the comments. He’s some racer or something, I dunno, never heard of him.” She shrugged and swiped off to the next video. “So are we going to lounge around here all day or hit the bars?”

Your stomach protested the thought of more alcohol and you shook your head. “Is there a third option?”

“How about the beach?”

“I can manage that, I’m just going to shower while my phone charges.”

“Good, you reek of hot sex and I’m lowkey upset you haven’t given me any juicy details.”

“The audacity,” you gasped as you thumped her with your pillow. “This whole apartment reeks of sex and my pillow smells like a french Chad. See, sniff it.”

“I’ll take that,” she said with a smirk before burying her face on the pillow and inhaling dramatically. “You have lived vicariously through my sexual adventures, sexventures if  you will, now it is my turn. So, spill the tea.”

You groaned as you covered your face but she wasn’t going to let you off that easily and she pulled them away. “He was amazing, and I’m not saying that because I was drunk because I remember everything after we got to his apartment.”

“I already gathered that much, I need details.”

“Okay, well, he ate pussy like a champ, honestly, I didn’t even have to ask - he just wanted to, and I actually came.”

Bea snorted and buried her face in the pillow to scream before looking up. “Babe, that’s what real men do, he who must not be named was just a lazy asshole who never took care of you like he should’ve.”

“Jesus, I didn’t realise this was what I was missing out on all those years.” You shook your head ruefully and sighed. 

“Forget him, you’re moving onto better things, fitter guys, and plenty more orgasms where that came from.” She leaned forward and pushed you almost off the bed. “Go on, my little whore, go shower so we can get out of here. You’ve made us girls proud.”

“You’re so fucking weird,” you said with a shake of your head as you made your way to the bathroom. 

“Normal is overrated!”

Click here for part two.

Tagging: @alwaysclassyeagle

[helen-with-an-a]

The object that stood in the way of a World Cup pt. 4

Hi. So here is part 4. (The next part will be the final part of the full story with an epilogue/side story type thing, too) Big thanks to @lyak12 for helping me out once again <<3

Ona Batlle x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Epilogue

Flashbacks are in italics

TW: bad mental health, suggestiveness

Description: Ona and R have a long-awaited argument, and R begins to heal

Word count: 3.9k

You had been given the ok from the physios to start rehab a few days after your breakdown. Alexia had told Lucy all about it, phoning her as soon as you were asleep. The pair had cleaned your flat, so there was no trace of what had transpired. Alexia was convinced the trigger had been your physical recovery. Why would she not think that? She had no reason, no way, of knowing that something was seriously wrong with your mental health. She had only known you in Barcelona. She had never seen the way you smiled so brilliantly or the loud laugh that used to brighten anyone’s day. She had only seen the small smirks and quiet chuckles. Lucy had known you for longer, though. And she was so concerned.

“Ok… and here is the changing room. Your stuff is in your locker so just get changed and head on over to the pitch, yeh?” The woman showing you around was kind. Even despite this kindness, the 19-year-old you was terrified. It was your first day at a senior England camp and everything was quickly becoming too much. You nodded at her and moved through the door. The room was nice – clean and tidy with the faint smell of floor cleaner. You recognise some of the names on the cubbies, and you couldn’t believe yours was in the mix. These were living legends. And now your name might be among them.

You came to a stop in front of yours. Even with the name on the top, you knew it was yours. It was the emptiest. You looked at the ones next to you and gawked when you saw who it was. BRONZE. Holy shit. You would be next to Lucy Bronze. It was becoming far, far too much for you. You were 19. Why would anyone want you to play for England? Ok, you had a fantastic season. Yes, you had been involved in some capacity with every goal your team had made this year so far – whether that be the first pass to start the charge, a precise cross into the box, a direct assist, and occasionally making the ball ripple into the back of the net yourself. But this … this was England. This was the Lionesses.

“Hey, you’re Y/N, right?” A northern accent broke you from your spiral. You couldn’t speak. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. God, you were pathetic.

“I’m Lucy, it’s nice to meet you.” She extended her hand. It was warm and soft and rough. “Don’t worry about anything, yeh. I’ve got you.” She smiled as you shook her hand. She could see the panic in your eyes. She could see the fear of the unknown. “You’re gonna do great, kid. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t deserve it.”

Ignoring Ona was easier than you thought it would be. At least initially. Pre-training activation for the team started at 10. But your daily physio appointment started at 9.30 meaning you were often in and out of the changing room before she had even stepped foot in the building. You weren’t allowed near the weights or machines for the first few weeks of rehab, so you didn’t really need to go near her during the gym sessions. When you had to start doing exercises with more than just your own body weight, you found it easier to pretend she didn’t exist. She was often hanging around Lucy and some of the younger girls in the squad, but you stuck to those on the injury list. At first it was just you and Frido, and then Jana joined and then Mapi and Alexia. You had your own group of friends who could understand the physical aspects of rehab. You didn’t like to acknowledge that you were hyper-aware of where Ona was at all times. Lucy had recognised fairly quickly that something must have happened between you and Ona. You two were like magnets with opposite charges; as one readjusted, the other did, too. What had happened to your relationship? She thought back to Derby days; the way you were so in tune with each other was unique, to say the least. Your chemistry on the pitch was electric. You always knew exactly where the other was. She thought back to the warmups, half-time and post-match huddles. You were always next to each other. You were always touching in some way. So, something serious must have happened to make you behave this way.

“Lucy,” You bounded over, escaping the red side in favour of hugging the woman clad in blue.

“Hey, kid.” She laughed as you wrapped your arms around her shoulders. “Ready to lose?” She challenged teasingly.

“Oh, please. You ain’t gonna get anything past us. Me and Oni have some solid tricks up our sleeves,”

“Don’t give all our secrets away,” Ona joked as she came to stand beside you.

“I would never, Oni. This is derby day. We will crush them to smithereens!” You leaned into her as she traced lines across your back. You had never mentioned to Lucy that you had a girlfriend or a crush, but she could see from the way you behaved that something was going on between you. You chatted away to Lucy, Keira, and some of the other City Lionesses before Ona whispered in your ear.

“Nosotras deberíamos volver” You smiled and nodded.

“Alright, later losers. Don’t cry too hard when we win.” You laughed and waved, interlocking your fingers with Ona’s as you headed back to the United Players.

Match days were the only time you allowed yourself to wonder. When you were sat in the stands, watching the matches with the rest of the injury squad, you finally allowed your eyes to roam. How did she manage to look so good? Ugh, this was torture. Her strong rippling muscles, her freckly skin, her braid, her look of concentration — she was perfect in every way.

I don’t even know why Barca wants you, honestly. You're not good enough. Of course, she would think that you weren’t good enough. She was phenomenal. She was truly world-class. Her speed was unmatched, her technical abilities were flawless, her dedication unprecedented. And then there was you. Someone who had to stay late to work on extra drills and practice your skills. Yes, she frequently volunteered to stay with you – to work on them together. But she didn’t need to do it. You did. Or at least that was what you believed.

As she started to head back to the changing rooms, Ona looked around for you. Baggers had told her a joke that she wanted to steal to hear you laugh. She quickly scanned the group but quickly realised you weren’t there. She completed a full 360 before she heard the methodical thwacks of someone kicking a ball hard.

“Amor? Home time, no?” She called out to you from the side-lines.

“You go ahead, Oni. I want to work on some free kicks and stuff. I missed the last one at the match, so,” You called back, already readjusting the mannequin figures to make it harder for yourself. She frowned at your response. Yes, the ball didn’t go into the goal following a free kick that you took in the match on Saturday. But you weren’t the problem. You had sent an amazing cross into the box, Alessia’s head had made contact with it, but Spencer’s hands had pushed the on-target shot away. It was excellent goalkeeping; even Ona had to admit that. But you saw it as your failure, not the keeper’s success.

“Amor, you don’t need to practice. You’re fantastic at set pieces.” You rolled your eyes at her statement.

“Oni –”

“No. If you want to practice, that’s fine, but you don’t need to.” She placed her hand on your cheek, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I want to,” You answered her.

“Ok… vamos. We’ll do it together, sí?”

You didn’t know that you were all Ona could like about. You were consuming her thoughts in a way that should have scared her. But it didn’t. She had tried to approach you a few times, but you always seemed to move away before she got anywhere near you. She considered that as rejection. You didn’t want her in your life anymore. And she had to accept that. No matter how much it hurt her. No matter how many times she had cried over old photos of you on her camera roll. No matter how much she longed for you. She had made you hate her. She had made her bed, and now she must lie in it. So, she said, watching you from a distance. She stayed in a corner of the gym, as far away as possible from you, so you weren’t uncomfortable. She would often stare at you from the corner of her eye under the guise of looking out the window. You were looking fantastic. The muscles were slightly smaller, closer to what they were in Manchester, but that was to be expected – you weren’t allowed to even walk for more than a few minutes for many months. You had gone back to your ‘regular’ clothes – still fashionable, but you looked happier, more like yourself. But on the rare occasion she was able to look in your eyes, she could see the mental war that was raging in your head. She hoped it was because you wanted to return to football, but she had an inkling she was at fault.

You were finally on the grass again. Soft yet firm grass, slightly damp from the morning dew. There was coldness in the air, even for Barcelona. The slight nip caught at your skin as you waited for the trainer. You had come down earlier than you needed to. You took your boots and socks off and pushed your feet into the ground – taking a moment to really appreciate this moment. It had been a long 7 months since the tackle. You hadn’t spoken about the Incident with Alexia since it happened, but that was fine. You were still broken, but you were slowly getting there. You think. You were still quiet; you didn’t like going out anywhere with the team, and whenever you were alone, your thoughts still drifted back to Manchester. You didn’t think that your mind was hindering your rehab – but it was. You weren’t as optimistic as you once were, and that reflected slightly in your progress. You were mostly on track with the plan for your return, about a week behind where you wanted to be. But that was ok; that was normal. Alexia, Frido and Mapi had promised you that it didn’t mean anything. You weren’t scared it could happen again. You wanted to be on the pitch more than anything … well, that bit wasn’t quite true. There was one thing … person … you wanted more than football, but you couldn’t allow yourself that pain.

“Estás lista para correr?” Your personal trainer, Margarita, asked.

“Sí. Más que lista.” You slipped on your boots.

“Bueno. Let’s start slow, sí. Just a gentle jog to the cone.” Margarita instructed.

Running again was wonderful. You could feel the underused muscles slowly coming back to life. With every step you took, the storm clouds in your head began to look less dark and broody. As your session progressed, you realised your fitness wasn’t what it once was. But you knew that it would return. You wouldn’t allow it not to. The session was short for you. A lot of breaks followed by stretching and more running, slowly increasing distances and speed. You weren’t allowed near a ball just yet, but you were itching for it. You had been given a taste of your past life, and you wanted and needed more.

“Ok. I think that’s enough for today. You can head back inside.” Margarita called to you as you took deep gulps from your bottle. You threw her a thumbs up and helped collect the equipment you had used.

Your studs clacked against the concrete as you walked back inside. You heard another set joining you but thought nothing of it. You didn’t turn around, too much on a high from finally running again.

“You were looking really good out there today.” You froze. That sweet, rich, caramel voice. Had she really just said that to you? After everything? Ona knew it was a risk to approach you, but she wanted to tell you how much improvement she could see. She genuinely thought you would be better once you made your return.

You scoffed.

“Qué ocurre? Estás herido? Necesito ir al fisio?”

You saw red.

“You didn’t think I was good enough before, so why would you think so now? Isn’t that what you told me? You couldn’t understand how Barca would pay so much for me. I wasn’t good enough.” She was stunned into silence. She had said all of those things to you. That day in Manchester will forever be here biggest regret. “Did everything we were mean that little to you? Did every word you said to me mean nothing? Just something to keep me strung along?” You were crying now. Ona had only seen you cry once before the World Cup.

Ona had just come back from coffee with Laia and Leila, when she heard short, sharp gasps.

“Amor?” She called from the hall. You couldn’t respond. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. You didn’t need to explain what had sent you into a spiral. She knew exactly what was running through your mind. “Mi amor. You are having an ataque de pánico. You are ok. You’re safe. I’ve got you. Te tengo. Eres todo para mí y más” She said confidently, pressing kisses to your hair as your tears soaked her shirt.

“I gave everything to you. I let you into my heart in a way no one else had. I laid my soul bare for you, and you broke it. You broke me, and I’m terrified that I can’t be fixed. You broke me in ways I never thought possible.” You were shouting, your voice echoing down the empty corridors.

“Oni …” She kissed down your neck, lips biting purple marks down your neck. “Oni … as much … as much as I want this. You’ve, we’ve… we’ve been drinking.” That didn’t matter to you. You had only had 2 drinks and she had half of the second one. She’d nursed one drink all evening, bar the sips she’d stolen from you. You wanted her so badly, but you’d never been with someone that way before.

“I only had one. I want this. Te deseo. If you don’t want to that’s fine. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. We can do as little or as much as you want. But I’m not drunk. I promise.” She leaned back to look in your eyes. Your black bralette left a lot of skin for her to gently run her hands across. It was safe, comforting. This was Ona. Oni. Your Oni.

“It’s just … I’ve never … um … I’ve not …” You blushed hard. Ona understood what you were trying to say. She would be your first, if you let her.

“That’s ok. We don’t have to -” she began to reassure her.

“No, no. I want to. Please. I really want to. But I don’t want you to be disappointed.” You looked away.

“You could never disappoint me, mi amor.” You were always so kind, always looking out for others over yourself. “If you would let me, I would love to go further with you. All the way if you allowed me to.” The love in her voice was evident. She just wanted to take care of you in the way you deserved. “Deixa'm estimar-te.” she whispered against your chest.

“I don’t speak Catalan.”

“That’s okay. We have all the time in the world for me to teach you.” She smiled as you pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. You shivered slightly. “I thought you said you didn't get cold?”

"I'm not cold."

"Deixa'm estimar-te."

"I still don’t speak Catalan." You whispered as you tugged her to you.

You were a mess. You threw your hands in the air as you began pacing. “And yet, after everything you put me through, everything you said to me. I am still devastatingly addicted to you. You meant the world to me, and you threw me away like I was nothing. You hurt me so much that I don’t think I can ever be whole again, and still, after all of that, I am still hopelessly and absolutely in love with you.” Ona was crying, her face red, tear tracks running down her cheeks. You had to leave. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t. You had to leave.

You rushed back around the corner and straight into arms that felt so familiar.

“Easy, kid, easy.” Lucy’s voice soothed. You clutched at her; your eyes were filled with tears. She just pulled you to her and let you bury your face in her neck. You sobbed for what felt like hours – Lucy was becoming concerned with how many tears were still falling. Eventually, you slowed down. You weren’t calm. You still had tears falling steadily, but you weren’t sobbing.

“You don’t have to tell me, kid. But I think you should tell someone. That … what just happened … that’s not … that was almost a year’s worth of feelings being let out.” Lucy had moved you to against the wall. You were still in her arms, a safety blanket for you that offered so much protection.

“I … I don’t know where to start.” You answered honestly. Everything was a giant mess in your brain. Doors to rooms in your head that you had previously sealed tightly shut were beginning to open and you were sure what to do.

“Wherever you feel most comfortable. I’ve been concerned for a while now. Something happened to you before you came to Barca—why don’t you start there?” She smoothed your hair, her nails lightly scratching.

So, you did. You told her everything. It took a while. You cried some more. She cried some more. But eventually everything was said.

“Listen, kid. … I can’t imagine what this past year has been like for you. That seems genuinely horrible. I think you need to talk to a professional and regularly. You’ve had a lot of emotions, and you will need help, proper professional help, in processing them.” You nodded. It was something that Alexia had said to you early on in your rehab, that she had emotions that she needed help dealing with, and the club had a great psychologist on hand. “I also … I also think you should step back from football for a little while. Go home, go back to England. Have a bit of a break; let yourself heal properly without the added stress of rehab.” You weren’t a fan of stopping football, but you couldn’t deny the sound of going home was appealing.

A week later, you were on a flight to London. You had cleared it with Barca. They were giving you a month to do whatever you wanted. After the month was up, they wanted you back in Barcelona, but you didn’t have to train or even consider football if you didn’t want to. You wanted to get better. You wanted to get better for yourself.

Ona was not doing much better. She had told everything to Aitana and Alexia, who had found her in the changing room showers, the water running over her fully clothed body. They had helped strip her of her wet clothes and took her home. She didn’t deserve their kindness – she was a horrible person who had hurt the best thing that had ever happened to her in ways she didn’t even think was possible. Alexia had given Ona a week to wallow in bed. After the week, she was forced to at least make it to the kitchen. Eventually, Ona agreed to go to the counsellor as well. Ona wanted to get better. She wanted to get better for you.

When you first arrived in London, you were still very much a broken shell of your former self. But with time and love, you began to become whole again.

England had dreary skies and warm hugs.

England had frigid temperatures and proper roast dinners.

England had Lessi with her loud laughs and ever-present optimism.

England had Tooney with her constant jokes and sarcastic comments.

England had Mary with her quick come backs and gentle teasing.

England had Leah with her potato smilies and plain ham sandwiches.

England had Beth with her constant conversations and excitable nature.

England had helped heal your heart.

You had thought you would have felt dread or anxiety as the wheels touched down in Spain. But you hadn’t. You were surprisingly neutral. Walking back into the Barcelona training ground didn’t cause fear to strike you. You had daily chats with the psychologist, to begin with. She helped you work through your emotions, from everything from your first goal as a child to how you felt when the Doctors told you what happened in Australia. You spoke about the happy times with the Lionesses, your dark days when you had thought the lowest of yourself. Eventually, you spoke about Ona. You spoke about every emotion she had caused – happiness, sadness, anger, fear, overwhelming joy, love. You were encouraged to write a letter to her – although you didn’t have to send it.

Oni. Although I’m not sure I should call you that anymore.

I was encouraged to write this letter to you to process my emotions. So that’s what I’m doing.

You hurt me in ways I never imaged anyone could hurt me. What you said that day echoed what I already thought about myself so having you confirm it – even if you didn’t believe what you said – it really screwed with my mind. Whilst your actions caused me to spiral, I can’t blame you fully. I didn’t tell anyone. I kept my emotions bottled up. I am owning that much at least.

But I am still in love with you. I don’t think I’ll ever not be. The happiness and love I felt when you were around me was unlike anything I’ve ever felt with anyone before, or since. I would like to try again with you … maybe. I want what we had in Manchester. But with everything that has happened between us, I’m aware that can’t happen. As of right now, I want to at least start with a friendship. I want to start a fresh. So, I’m reintroducing myself.

Hola, I’m Y/N. I play defending midfield for Barcelona and England. I used to play for Manchester United. My favourite colour is purple, and I hate tomatoes. My favourite number is 17 and I prefer hot chocolate over coffee or tea. I prefer the summer over the winter, but I love when I can hear the rain on a window, especially if I’m warm in bed.

I was am hopelessly in love with a girl, and I think she loved loves me too, but I know that if I want to get back into a relationship, I need to work on myself first.

Forever yours, Y/N

Aaaa. So there will be a pt5. (and probably an epilogue type thing too). Hope you enjoyed it.

[chiefdirector]

Waiting | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six

True to his word, Tim held back and stayed in an unmarked vehicle down the street from the house that the cartel were using as a basis of their operation. It was the same one that Tim and (Y/N) had raided only three years prior. Even he could admit that it was almost poetic that it was on this property, three years ago, his and (Y/N)’s fate had been decided by Regina Diaz, and it would be here that their fate would be unsealed. It had come full circle, almost anyway: Tim was in no position for a premature celebration. So he and Chen watched and waited as they had been told to do.

“Tim…?” Lucy said, timid as she was when she had first become his rookie. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, boot.”

She pulled at her collar, trying to pick the right words. She knew that Tim could be prickly and defensive at the best of times, so today his guard would be up tenfold. However, she could also see right through the walls he worked so hard to keep up. “You know, it’s okay to be nervous. Considering how drastically things have changed these last few days.”

“Why would I be nervous? I trust (Y/N), she’s smart, she has survived this long.” 

“Then why haven't you put your wedding band back on?”

Tim didn’t respond, instead he turned away from Lucy’s concerned looks and towards the house. The rest of the team assigned to the raid had not shown up yet, they weren’t scheduled to come until the primary watch team gave the command. The primary team were in a van on the opposite side of the street, parked only a hundred yards away from him and Chen. They were almost directly in front of the house, waiting to see if any form of action began before the police troops arrived. 

If Tim had been in that van like he had wanted to have been, he would have seen a figure in a dark hoodie move around the side of the house and down the patch of grass that leads to the backyard. He would have flagged it up as suspicious, he would have recognised the hoodie as one of his own, the one that (Y/N) always stole from him. He would have noticed her entering the grounds.

“I didn’t-” Tim started, stopping when the words got stuck in his throat. He looked back to Chen who smiled softly, nodding her head to allow him to continue. “I didn’t put the ring back on because if this goes wrong today, I don’t think I would have the strength to take it off again.”

—--

As the sun began to go down, the radio in between Tim and Lucy finally sounded out with Harper’s voice as she gave the order for the operation to begin. Within seconds, police officers from multiple Wilshire divisions appeared, some on foot and others in their shops. Two SWAT teams approached shortly after. Their synchronised movements were something to gawk at as they silently fell into formation to breach the property. From where they had parked their car, Tim could see Lopez, West, and Nolan leading the front of the operation alongside Sargent Grey.

It didn’t take long for the signal to breach the property, when he heard the command go out of the radio, Tim held his breath for a second before closing his eyes. In all of his years on the force, or even before during his time serving in the Marine Corp, he had never felt so nervous, so out of control. 

“Tim, you need to breathe, it’s going to be okay.” Lucy placed her hand on her Training Officer’s shoulder. His eyes snapped open. In that moment, Lucy saw something change in his eyes, the panic that encompassed him only a few moments prior had disappeared.

“You don’t know that.” 

“Yes I do. You got the best cops in the city going in there right now. It will be okay, you have to trust that.”

“How can I? Last time we were here, we thought it was okay. Look what happened!”

“Tim, they will call us in when they have secured the place.”

Bradford turned to respond but was interrupted by the sound of bullets being shot. Instinctively, the two patrol officers reached for their weapons in case they needed to pursue anyone. Moments later, the radio rang out again. This time it was Lopez speaking. “I need multiple RA units to my location. We have casualties, three not conscious, not breathing; we also have one identified female, police detective, gunshot to shoulder, not wearing a vest. She is conscious and breathing.”

Before Angela had finished giving the report on the radio, Tim was out of the car, sprinting towards the house, gun still in hand. His mind was going a mile a minute, he knew that everybody who was a part of the bust today would have been wearing a bullet-proof vest. The only police personnel who would have been without one would have been (Y/N). She would not have had the resources to get one beforehand, she would have gone in without one. 

Air got stuck in his throat as he breached the property line and burst through the front doors. He barely noticed Chen running behind him as he began to sweep the property for (Y/N). It did not take long for him to find her. 

She was surrounded by multiple cops, some were searching for something that could aid her until the RA unit arrived, others stood back watching her from where she was crumpled to the ground. Tim barged his way through the crowd, falling to his knees at her side. He barely registered Angela next to him, holding some scrap material into (Y/N)’s shoulder to stop the bleeding.

His eyes darted all over her form, looking for more injuries. He didn’t notice anything major, except from a few scratches on her face. He then focuses on her shoulder, he couldn't see the wound under Angela’s hands but he saw how her blood had spread down her arm and soaked into her jacket and shirt.

He tentatively reached down to move the hair spread across her face, “Hey baby. It’s okay, I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.” He tried to reassure her, but as the words spilled from his mouth he knew that his words were for him also, to remind himself that she was here, that she was real. He was not going to leave her side, not now, not ever.

(Y/N) slowly turned her head to face her husband as she heard his voice for the first time in two years. He looked older, the lines in his face had set in. The crease between his eyebrows had grown, but his eyes were the same. She never thought that she would see them again, she never thought that she would see Tim again at all.

“Tim…” (Y/N) tried to speak but her words were cut off by blood rising through her throat. She choked it back down again with a pained expression. Before she tried to speak again, her eyes rolled back into her head as she succumbed to unconsciousness.

Part Six | Part Eight

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424

Tags are open :)

[auspicioustidings]

Bannockburn

Summary: Your boyfriend Johnny has come home in a strange mood, and you are about to get your shit rocked at Bannockburn.

Technically, if you squint, a sequel to Savage set just over 700 years later. Like I will perhaps write a proper sequel at some point, but you can blame Bunny for this one.

Words: 3.6k

CW: CNC, smut, implied character death

You were getting nervous. You were getting really nervous. There were two Johnny’s and you never knew what one you were getting when he came home from a mission. Most of the time you got your Johnny, sweet and loving and tackling you to the bed with a laugh while he showed you how much he missed you. But sometimes whatever happened out on mission got his blood up. Whatever he usually did to get himself settled and out of war mode didn’t take. Sometimes you got the Savage Johnny, the one who heard your English accent and became more animal than man. The one who went into such thick Scots that you hardly understood what he was growling into your ear as he took you. 

Usually you knew what Johnny you had the moment he walked through the door. Not this time. This time he seemed like he was boiling with energy under the surface, but he kissed you nonetheless and ate dinner with you and held you as you slept. When he got you both up and packed into the car the next morning for a trip you had the sense to at least be a little worried. Now, hand held in his as you listened to the guide, you had some inkling that you might be in for it. 

“Now King Edward the second invaded as a result of Bruce’s demand to his people to recognise him as their King. He summoned 25,000 infantry and 2000 horses, the largest ever army to invade Scotland. Bruce only had command of 6000 men.”

You could feel the blood draining from your face as the guide went further into the background of the battle. Around about the time she briefly mentioned how Wallace had been hanged, drawn and quartered, limbs displayed in different cities, just shy of ten years before the Battle of Bannockburn, you absolutely knew what Johnny you had on your hands. And this Johnny? There was nothing you could do to save yourself from this Johnny. This Johnny was taking in every word, ready to punish you for your ancestors' transgressions against his. 

You were trying to pay attention, but your eyes were darting around trying to pinpoint any little nooks that might spell danger if he got you in them. Only that was dangerous in itself, because the first time you felt your attention drift from what was being said Johnny had let go of your hand and moved to instead hold you firm by the back of the neck, fingers massaging a little too hard in warning. That got you to pay rapt attention to all of it, to the whole history of the Scottish wars of Independence as it related to Bannockburn. 

It was strange sometimes, you and Johnny. There were times like now when you would be learning about the history of your countries and it felt like some long forgotten memory. There were times when you met his Lieutenant and swore you knew him from somewhere. Like there was some ancient part of you that trusted them when they fought together to watch each other's backs. No matter what Johnny you got, you held such a deep love for him that it scared you sometimes. Your heart twisted as they described what the battle would have been like for the soldiers, the sights and sounds and weapons. It must have been awful. 

You were stuck on it. Stuck on the image of a Johnny with a sword on the battlefield. That was your mistake, zoning out and just following along when he led you out to the grounds. Only when you had been walking for a while did you realise how far you were getting from the safety of a building full of people.

“Where are we going?”

“Dinae pay any attention at all did ye? Must naw have been interesting tae ye learning about how my people battered yours when they tried tae grind us intae nothing.”

“No, I was paying attention. Of course I was” you said, trying to be meek and quell some of his building fury. 

“Couldnae even hunt a bunny without some English noble claiming it wisnae our right. Punishing us” he ranted before turning to you with a feral look in his eye. “Cannae stop me from hunting one right now though can they? Ye going tae run for me wee bunny?”

Fuck. He looked ready to tear into your throat with his teeth. You felt every bit a prey animal, eyes darting around to find a way out of this. The woods. There were woods here. That was where he had been leading you while you had been busy getting stuck on the idea of him as some ancient warrior fighting to the death. Gillies Hill. The guide had told you about it, how the Scottish had made their camp here. It was where they had attacked from.

And it was where you found yourself sprinting through, heart pounding. Your logical mind knew it was a mistake, you running only meant he could chase. You should have just stayed where you were, tried to talk him down. You were stumbling and tripping, trying to get your bearings as the woods became dense around you. Every snap of a twig or sway of a branch sent you darting away in the other direction until you were shaking from exhaustion and no small amount of mounting terror.

You had never been hunted like this. Johnny had been rough with you before in the warmth of your own home, had fucked you into the bed like he was trying to mould you permanently to him. But this was a different creature entirely. This was the monster under the surface that you only caught glimpses of, that you never thought you would meet face to face. The woods were silent of another human, had you managed to escape him?

“Yer naw even trying little bunny, ye want me tae catch ye is that it? Slut.”

His breath was hot on your ear and you choked on any response you had tried to come up with. How had he gotten right behind you without a sound? You were running again, tripping and scraping your knees but clawing your way back to your feet to keep going. The little summer dress was not suited for this, but at least you were wearing boots. At least Johnny had told you to wear boots this morning. 

It was with a sickening dread that you realised he had planned this. He knew you would be running from him, knew he wanted you in a dress for easy access but boots for fleeing into the woods. At least you knew that your Johnny was still in there somewhere, enough to care about you not breaking an ankle. Not enough to care about breaking you in other ways. 

“Aww wee English princess got her knees all scraped up? All yer kinfolk are going tae ken how ye love getting on them for good Scottish cock when they see the marks. Wee whore down in the dirt fucking gagging on it, crying over how much ye love it.”

You couldn’t properly tell what direction his voice was even coming from. The shame of his words was flooding you with a sickly humiliation that only increased when your body reacted differently to how it should have. When you throbbed with need for him. 

“I’m not! That isn’t what’s happening!”

You were flustered and scared and needy and felt like you were yelling at nothing as you kept catching sight of him on your periphery only to turn and find nobody there. 

“Naw? Slick is practically running down yer plush fucking thighs princess, bet yer clenching down on nothin’. Dinnae even have tae catch ye dae I? Could just wait until ye come crawling tae me, begging me tae claim ye. Fucking pleading for it right here, right where my army celebrated before decimating yours.”

His words sent a shiver up your spine. Out here felt removed from time, it really did feel like you were betraying something by finding yourself drawn to this savage. By imagining that his prediction would prove true, that you’d beg for him. You couldn’t, it would be too much, too shameful. So you kept stumbling through the woods even when the deep tenor of his voice rang through in a mocking little song.

God he had translated this for you once. Told you that brose and butter was a euphemism, that it was about fucking a girl full of cum. It had made you blush and laugh at the time when he playfully sang it over to you now that you understood the meaning, but now? Fuck now it just scared the hell out of you with how the words were tinged with a promise. This was hardly playful, he really meant to hold you down and shove himself inside you out here in the woods where anyone could walk by. 

“We can’t! John please, not here” you pleaded, pausing to try and find where he was. “I… you were gone for months, I’ve not…”

He had made you promise before he left that you’d save yourself for him, wouldn’t even put your own fingers inside yourself while he was gone. And you hadn’t. Fuck you would be so tight now, not ready for him to take you hard. Had he known even then that this was the plan?

“Maiden are ye? Scared it’s going tae hurt, princess? It will, did they naw teach ye that we’re animals? We dinnae treat wee English lassies the way yer own men would. Ye’ll get treated the way ye should, like a fucking whore. And ye’ll take it won’t ye? Ye’ll take it wherever I want tae give it tae ye.”

Fuck, you were starting to slip away to whereever he was. You were starting to feel less like yourself and more like the poor English maiden being hunted by the enemy. The bunny being hunted by the hound. Starting to drift away into pure animal instinct, pure fear and arousal. You could hardly breathe now, feeling tears prick at your eyes.

“Please…” you sobbed quietly, not even sure what you were begging for.

And then he was there, towering over you and wrapping a hand around your throat, thumb beneath your chin to tilt your head and force you to look at him. 

“Wonder whit they’d think of ye begging so pretty for the enemy. Cannae help yerself can ye?” he said, as if fascinated by you, slipping his other hand up your dress and under your panties. “Fucking English slut. Y’er dripping.”

Your reaction to those words was violent and unexplainable. It made your legs shake and your pussy clench painfully hard. It was confusing how much it affected you, causing such a flood of wetness that Johnny noticed, his pupils dilating as he squeezed at your throat and laughed when that made you whimper and claw at his hand. He only kept on squeezing until you were starting to see stars.

“Dinnae fucking move princess.”

The pressure of his hands was gone in an instant and the flood of oxygen made you dizzy. There was no time for you to recover before he was on his knees in the dirt, treating your pussy like it was a mouth and sloppily kissing it over your panties. The press of his tongue was insistent and overwhelming, like he was trying to bully it past the fabric. When he ripped at your waistband with his teeth the lace tore. 

He continued his attack like he truly was a wolf sinking his teeth into a fresh meal, completely ruining your underwear until the mangled scraps fell to the floor and left you bare. Your hands were woven into his mohawk and you tried to pull him away, earning a growl that reverberated into your bones and a heavy handed smack to your ass before he assaulted your clit with tongue and teeth and spit. 

You felt yourself clench so hard that you almost felt nauseous. Fuck. You were trying to keep some sense of self, trying to remember that you were out in public and he was some feral version of the man you loved who was saying horrible things to you and promising he was going to hurt you. But there was a creeping haze taking over, turning you dumb for him. 

It wasn’t even something you had been aware was happening when you came on his tongue. It was just sensation, just the desperate need for more. The primal desperation to be fuller even as he pushed his tongue into your over sensitive hole while your walls fluttered through the pleasure of that high.  

“Please, need you.”

“Aye, that right? Needy wee slut.”

You were too far gone to notice that while he was rough in getting you onto your back in the dirt, one hand was gentle in cradling your head to make sure it landed softly. 

“Use those pretty wee words. Ask me for it the way ye’d ask a good English man.”

Ask me for it the way ye’d ask Simon.

When all you could do was wriggle underneath him and whine he grabbed the neckline of your dress and yanked it down to let your breasts spill out, slapping hard at one and making you howl. 

“They naw teach ye how tae talk proper ye wee slut? Ask fucking nicely.”

“Please, please I want you inside me.”

“Aye, can tell that princess. Whit else?”

“Want you to cum inside me.”

“Good fucking girl, wisnae so hard now was it?”

He didn’t take any of his clothes off, just fished his hard cock from his jeans, hooked your knees on his shoulders and pressed into your wet heat in one fluid motion. You both groaned as he bottomed out. It had been so long, you were so fucking tight around him. 

“M’so full, thank you thank you ,m’yours, need you. Fuck, ah. Made for you, it’s so much” you rambled, incoherent in your bliss. 

“There she is, needed this naw? Needed my cock deep in this tight wee English cunt. Cannae be a person without it, it’s whit ye were made for. Fucking built tae be on yer back with yer legs open for me.”

He stayed like that for what felt like forever, the fullness pushing any coherent thought out of your head. Fuck he was so deep like this, with you nearly folded in half. It felt like you were choking on his dick. You were clawing at the dirt by your sides so hard that you thought your fingers might bleed, but he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head before they could.

You were so cock drunk that you were only distantly aware of the look in his eyes now, the almost obsessive adoration as he took in how you looked pressed into the earth like this, dress rucked up from the bottom and pulled down from the top, palm print visible from where he had slapped at you, knees by your ears, hands pinned over your head and yet despite it all so blissed out you were salivating and babbling at him how you needed him.

When he pulled all the way out to the tip and then slammed back home you choked on the wind being knocked right out of you. It only encouraged him as he started to fuck you hard and deep, taking him time to make sure every thrust settled him so incredibly deep inside of you that you were floating. 

“Braw wee creature aren’t ye? Feart of me and gagin’ fer it anyway. Dinnae fash bonnie, gettin’ yer hole proper.”

You knew vaguely that he was close because you could hardly understand what he was saying. You were so unable to do anything in this position, no leverage on your arms and legs that you could use to pull him closer. 

“Inside, need it inside. Please, please ah!” you cried, no shame left in so as you begged like a bitch in heat for him to cum inside you. 

He shifted and sped his pace, nailing that spongy spot inside you that was making your vision black out with every thrust. You’d have marks on you from the buttons and zipper of his jeans. You’d have marks on your throat and your wrists, on your tits. He needed more, he needed anyone to take one look at you and know who you belonged to.

“‘at’s it, take it. Fuck. Good lass” he groaned as he sunk his teeth into your throat and your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you came, clamping down on his cock.

He jackhammered into you, forcing his way in while your pussy tried to force him out. The tight heat of it was too much and he growled and stilled after one more brutal thrust had him cumming deep inside you. He collapsed on top of you, the painful stretch from being folded as you were a delicious burn with the extra pressure forcing you to stretch further. 

You stayed like that for a while, both panting. Only when you were slowly coming back to your senses did you feel a sharp pain in your back from what must have been a particularly jagged stone. Ah, you thought you were probably bleeding on it, feeling something sticky. 

“Bannockburn” you breathed out softly.

The pressure was off of you almost immediately and he let go of your wrists and kneeled up, pulling out with a soft sigh leaving both of you at the feeling. He was quick to tuck himself in before his hands were back on you, gentle this time, fixing your dress and rubbing at all the spots he had marked.

“C’mere bonnie, ye did so well. Hurting anywhere I need tae look at?”

He looked at your back when you told him, laying soft kisses of apology on you as he cleaned it up. You used to tease Johnny for the little first aid kit he always had strapped to the back of his jeans whenever you went out, but it was coming in incredibly handy. Your panties were toast and he sheepishly tucked the remnants of them into his pocket before getting you to unsteady feet. 

“Creeping Jesus, I’ve made a right mess out of ye” he said with a bashful sort of grin, doing his best to try and fix your hair. 

“Hmm, s’ok” you replied, still a little hazy. 

He kissed you soundly and then gave you an absolute squeeze of a cuddle before scooping you into his arms in a princess carry.

“Let’s get ye all tucked up in the car then we can have a bath and dinner when we’re home eh?”

You nodded and nuzzled into his chest to get comfortable. He would take care of you, he always did.

–

John MacTavish didn’t know how he got so lucky. Not any woman would be softly dozing off in his arms after what he had just put you through. Fuck you were beautiful all of the time, but when you were like this? Fucked out and marked up but achingly soft for him in the afterglow? Jesus, he loved you. He would love you forever, through lifetimes. 

He’d explain obviously, he should really have warned you how hard he was going to go, that should have been pre-negotiated. But he had been so wound up. Fucking Simon Riley and his little comments about you, winding him up by putting thoughts in his head about how demure an English man could get you. It should have just made him laugh and shove at him, instead it made his blood boil and his cock hard and he had taken it out on you. You had let him, you always did until either of you thought it wasn’t safe. 

He paused on his way out of the woods with you, considering waking you so you could see the little glade he had come upon. It was pretty as anything, almost felt like hallowed ground with a giant stone right in the middle. Something about it called to an ancient longing within him. Fuck. He wanted to marry you out here. Was that ridiculous? Maybe just post orgasm stupidity.

Still as he settled you in the car and took you home so he could love you properly, he thought maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

–

“Fuck, Johnny.”

Simon Riley was an Englishman through and through. Everytime he stepped into battle it was to strike down those who would oppose his King and country. Yet he had left the battlefield. He had tracked into the woods, to where he knew MacTavish had crawled off to die. He found him leant against the stone that sat in the centre of a glade. Of course this is where he would want to die. Not on the battlefield, but here. The place he had married you. The place they both had.  

“Ye come tae watch it for yerself Si?” Johnny said with a laugh that turned to a hacking cough. 

“Course. Been trying to kill you for years, not about to miss it.”

Simon sat next to him, both of them looking at the sunlight filtering through the trees. It was peaceful here. Maybe in another lifetime they would not have been enemies. Maybe in another lifetime they could have been brothers.

“Ye’ll look after her until I can find her again?”

“Always.”

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 0.3 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

You meet an old friend of your professor’s, you learn some things about yourself. Tomorrow is going to suck.

warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity. warnings to be added on a chapter by chapter basis. 18+ minors dni

…

Bradley was born in the South. Shitty little town on the cusp of North Carolina and Tennessee. He doesn’t remember much about it other than his neighbors shooting at tin cans in the morning and his cousin Lucas, four years older than him so maybe eight at this time, teaching him how to catch lightning bugs. After that, after his dad hadn’t returned from what was supposed to be just a six month deployment, they went back West.

He remembers California. His grandmother’s mid-century three bedroom with two orange trees and a lemon tree in the yard. His cousin Jessica, only two years his senior but twice his size back then, pinning him down on that almost artificially green grass and squeezing lemon juice on his grazed knee. He remembers learning to ride his bike alone at that house, out of pure spite after watching a kid on his baseball team learn the skill with his father on a sunny day at the park down the street.

He remembers being so angry in that house. He hated Jessica, he hated that his Mom let his grandmother parent him. He enjoyed the citrus, and the sun, and the freedom to ride his bike as far as his legs would let him. His mother hadn’t been super attentive back then. She was angry too. But never with him. When she could manage to look him in the eyes, she would stare for so long, and remind him how much she loved him. It didn’t happen too frequently in that house.

After his grandmother’s house, then there was Phoenix. His first big city. He spent a stretch there from middle school until the end of his freshman year. He did okay there, but he hated the desert. He loved the person that his mother was while she was there. Working again for the first time since she had been pregnant with him, it felt like she had been reborn. He had missed her so much until they had gotten to Phoenix. It was there that he had found out what had really happened to his father.

Engine failure. Freak accident. Nothing ever found to bury. It hadn’t felt like the closure he had wanted, but it was something. He was grateful for the answer nonetheless. He started to resent his father a little less, now knowing that it wasn’t his fault. At this age, Bradley had wanted to write draw for comics when he got older.

By eighteen, he didn’t recognise anything about that short kid that stuck to his mother’s shadow in Phoenix. By eighteen, he had grown a foot and a half, he’d lost his mother and he was back in that fucking mid-century with the lemon trees. Only for a month, and then he was at basic training. His early twenties belonged to the government, and after that — after he was out, it all belonged to Natasha.

“Natasha.”

“Bradley,” She beams, her arms extended as she walks confidently towards him and drapes them around his shoulders. He hugs her and turns his head. She smells so much more expensive now than she had that first summer. He misses when the backseat of his car smelled like her, solely her. “You look so great. I’m so happy to see you.”

It’s unclear whether this is true. He never really knows where he stands with her. They should hate each other after everything that’s happened, everything they did. But, nonetheless, his arms still fit just as securely around her waist as they had almost a decade ago. It still feels so right. But it would be wrong for him to tell her that he’s missed her.

He has — he misses her constantly. But not her, not this woman that’s in his arms now. The girl from the beach who kissed the scar on his shoulder and told him that he didn’t have to keep on making himself so miserable. God, he misses her.

“Your hair is shorter.” He says it without thinking as she lets him go. Shit, this was what they had argued about last time. He always does this. He reaches out, taking the dark locks between his fingertips and exhaling. “I like it. It looks grown up.”

It’s not untrue. He likes the style, and it does look grown up. It’s just not what he wants of her. Not that Natasha has ever cared about that, and he still adores that about her now.

Classier now than she had been then, she gives him a polite smile and a curt nod rather than calling him an asskisser and smacking his chest. Her lips aren’t glossed, they aren’t matte, they sit somewhere between in a perfect shade of burnt rose. They quirk softly at him as she studies the same face she knew so well.

“Where are your students?” She asks him.

For the most part, his students are already headed downstairs, dressed and beyond curious about this party that Bradley was talking about. It hadn’t been on the itinerary and they’re excited that Bradley wants to introduce them to his friends.

There’s just one of his students that, as usual, isn’t following the crowd. You’re sitting on your twin bed, tapping your foot anxiously against the carpet as Malcolm chats along on the other side.

This room is less dusty. A twin bed with blue striped sheets and your suitcase at the foot of it. The window wide open, Robin’s palms had spent the afternoon braced against the wooden framed window as she leaned her top half all the way out of it to look outside. It’s sunnier here than Turin. Cleaner too. It feels infinitely further from home, somehow.

Hearing his voice should be calming you down but if you have to listen to one more detail about how his golf season is going then you might just start gnawing on your nails again. A habit your mother had trained out of you early on. One of many.

“And then that idiot snapped the driver clean in half! — Titanium my ass, those things were costume jewellery in club form.” Malcolm rattles away.

You hate golf. The sport itself is tedious and you’ve grown to associate it with being lectured by your father. Sitting in the buggy with a good book or a friend with good gossip though — that’s a sport you’re willing to invest your time into.

“So, I tell him—“

There’s only so much of this story that you can bring yourself to listen to, truly. It’s rare that you interrupt him. Your mother wouldn’t dare interrupt her husband, but your husband-to-be is nicer than hers. Your life won’t be like hers.

“I’m really nervous about this party, Mac.”

You’ve had this conversation before. Back in December. You’re only reminded of it because he laughs, just like he had back than.

“Honey, you’re going to have a great time. I know it.”

God, you’d gotten so wasted that night. You don’t even remember getting home. It was someone’s birthday, maybe Miranda’s. With limited drinking experience, a new dress and surging confidence, you’d had high hopes for the night.

You had woken up alone and in your childhood bedroom, and Malcom hadn’t returned your calls for three days. Reassurance from him now doesn’t exactly make you feel much better.

“You there?” He prompts.

“Yes.”

“Honey,” His voice is so warm, fond and almost teasing. You can see his smile behind your eyelids, imagine him reaching out and stroking your jaw with the tip of his index finger. “You’re alone there, right?”

Brows knitting closer together for a moment, you glance around you. Robin left a while ago. You’re definitely alone.

“Yes…?”

“When we’re on our honeymoon, and we’re laying in bed together — I’m going to want to hear all about my new wife’s wild life before she was all mine, alright?” He tells you, and suddenly there it is. The comfort that you were looking for. You close your eyes and his voice envelops you like a hug. “Go out there and make some memories. I love you.”

Savouring his voice like the last bite of a rich cake, you take a few moments and exhale softly.

“I love you too.” You tell him. The longing in your voice translates, crossing the Atlantic without issue. You smooth your dress out across your knees. “Now stop thinking about our honeymoon, we’ve got to make it to the wedding first.”

“Well, if you’d like me to think about our wedding night then—“

“Malcolm, you animal.” You scoff, and he grins in response, offering a breathy chuckle. Both of you know he’s not half as bad as he could be. You’ve seen his friends. The kind of misinformed animals who grope at their girlfriends chests and drool over their backsides — you’d never marry anyone who thought like that. “I should go. I’ll call tomorrow.”

You’re not walking with any kind of urgency after the phone call. You know the time, you’ve just got no real desire to be there. Glossed wood under your fingertips, carefully crafted molding bracketing the ceiling, the floors hardwood and dressed with neat, cream coloured runners.

This place is somewhere you would actually consider staying. A long shot from the dingy hotel back in Turin, this place seems a little out of Bradley’s trip budget. The cream runner is plush enough to pillow the sound of your footsteps, allowing you to pass along the halls almost silently.

Silently enough that you’re able to round a corner and bump almost right into a woman exiting a double-doored suite. You adjust yourself quickly to stop yourself from actually hitting into her, taking a few steps back, blinking as you take in the stunning white of her dress.

It has a deep drape in the middle, revealing deep olive skin, and ends just above the knee, revealing toned long legs. She’s not that tall, just slender enough that she seems longer. Stunning in a way that renders you quiet for a moment.

“Sorry! Didn’t hear you coming, you’re like a little mouse.” She’s smiling at you, and she’s American. Your lips press together into a polite smile.

“Sorry.” You murmur.

Dark brown eyes feel heavy as they start at your heels, powder blue sandal things, then trail your calves, examine the skirt of your dress and take their time roaming upwards. You’ve been looked at like this before, but never by a woman. You squirm under her gaze and force yourself still.

She’s stoic, poised — so classy. You envy her immediately, wondering if her mother was as cruel as yours could be, if it all paid off and that’s why she’s like this now. She doesn’t move and so you don’t either. You mirror her unintentionally. Lips pursed into a soft, polite smile, shoulders squared and spine straight.

“You’re one of Bradley’s students.” She tells you. Not a question by any measure, just an acknowledgment. She doesn’t give you time to answer either. She just tells you your name, then watches the way your face changes to discontentment. “He told me about you.”

If this is supposed to please you, it doesn’t. You know that whatever he has said won’t have been kind. It wasn’t. And yet, Natasha’s smiling at you anyway.

“Walk with me.” It’s an instruction by anyone’s measure, and you comply easily. She’s impressed, but not surprised. She had known from her conversation with Bradley that he must have pissed you off pretty well for you to have lashed out and hit him this morning. Well-reared young ladies aren’t known for socking guys in the nuts.

You’re quiet, pliant — seemingly waiting for some kind of approval from her. She knows that she looks different from Bradley now, that they don’t look like they could have ever loved each other. She wonders if you wrote Bradley off the first time that you looked at him. She wouldn’t blame you if you had; she had too.

He hasn’t ever dressed his age. When she knew him he was primarily shirtless, rarely wearing shoes, usually covered in sand. Some kind of sun kissed, sea-salted teenager who was actually twenty-four. Now that he’s an adult, he still doesn’t dress like an Ivy League professor should.

Bradley hates being told that first impressions matter the most. He thinks it’s bullshit. Every woman who has ever fallen in love with him hadn’t liked him at first glance. Maybe that’s why he’s so laid-back, so aloof.

“He’ll grow on you,” Natasha decides, shoulders straight and her chin pointed in front of her, her hair glossy and falling behind her shoulders. You know immediately that she’s talking about Bradley, you’re just uncertain as to why. She glances across and looks you over once more. “You’ll get used to him, rather. He won’t always be so annoying.”

“How do you two know each other?”

Natasha smiles. Looks across at you, lips quirked like there’s some kind of inside joke on her lips that you aren’t privy to. “Just old friends.”

“Do you work in history too?”

“Don’t call Bradley’s class history,” She corrects you quickly, still smiling. “But, no, actually. My husband and I are in the hotel business. I hear you’re getting married too.”

This brings you to a complete stop. Natasha can see the confusion on your face, standing there and wondering why you could have possibly been the topic of conversation long enough for her to know this.

“Anyway, did he tell you about the trip out to the other side of the lake tomorrow?” And with that, she’s done sharing — and you just have to live with that. It’s a kind of conversational power that you strive to have. You want what she has. Or, in this moment, you believe you do.

She leads you in, but you quickly lose her at the party. It’s hers. You notice this first when you catch glimpses of her shaking hands, like everyone in this room’s just waiting to meet her. Then, you see her picture hung behind the bar. Her and a handsome man with dark hair, their arms around each other and beaming, pictured standing out front.

This place belongs to her and her husband. She must be pretty fond of Bradley to let him come back year after year. You think that now, but you’ll grow to know that that’s not true. She hates him in a way she hopes you’ll never know.

It’s tough, being at a party so similar to the ones you’re used to, and being stuck with people that you truly wouldn’t rescue from a burning building. You sit opposite for a while too long, listening to their boring chatter, sipping on a glass of wine — just the one — you don’t want Natasha to think you’re sloppy.

Then, you make the mistake of speaking up. Just a comment, you barely remember it was, but Robin decides that it was dull. And then, she turns her attention to you.

“Y’know, I’d like to be a fly on the wall when you and Ashworth are getting down and dirty,” She leans back against Luke’s chest and swings her legs across his. He leans in and mumbles something, maybe for her to ease up on you. “I just can’t imagine you…”

Robin trails, then cocks her head like a spaniel. You try to straighten out whatever hurt expression must have given you away, but it’s too late. This was a bad idea, you should be halfway across the room, stuck to Pasquale’s side like a scared child.

She sits up quickly, eyes blowing wide open in excitement, “Holy shit — you’ve never fucked him!”

Quickly, the group acts in unison — a sharp look in her direction, and then their heads whip in your direction. The silence lasts seconds, too long, strange amongst the bustle of the party.

Exactly as fast, you’re sitting there, cursing your father’s name. Surely no grade is worth this ridicule.

Robin leans forwards, lips quirking up into a dimpled grin, “Have you ever fucked anybody?”

“Oh, grow up.” You bite back. They watch as you throw yourself upwards and storm away from them. Their laughter comes in whoops from behind you, you walk as far and as fast as you can until it finally drowns under the music. Out of the events hall, down one of those long, carpted hallways and into double glass doors.

You push at their wood frames and let them clatter shut behind you, stepping out into the fresh, evening air. There’s a chill to it that’s even more sobering than being made fun of by your peers. You cross to the stone railing of the balcony, bracing your palms against it and letting out a deep breath.

Ridiculous, really. That if you’d just laid back and parted your legs for the man you love, or even some loser that may have come before, they think that you would be different somehow. Fucking ridiculous. That she thinks encountering the male form makes her any different from you. You know intimacy. You’ve seen the man that you love cry, you’ve seen him delighted and you know his fear.

All she knows is physicality. That’s the easy part. She knows nothing like the things you know.

Movement in your peripheral breaks you from your grumpy stream of consciousness, making you lift your head and making you privy to a secret that you have absolutely no business knowing.

Bradley and Natasha stand on the balcony opposite you. There are four, bracketing the courtyard below. It’s not well lit out here, but not dark either. You can see them well, illuminated through the glass panes by the hallway light inside.

His hand’s on the back of her thigh, nudging her dress up ever so slightly. It’s not doing anything too incriminating, but for some reason, your brain fills in the blanks for you. You can picture it so clearly. His hand disappearing under that dress, her slender frame fitted against his broader one. Them, together.

Her plump, reddened lips parted and breathing his name. His brows knitted together, cheeks flushed and his skin hot, blushing and stretched taut across his muscles.

Briefly, your brain reminds you of where you are, and who this is — and what you’re seeing, and you almost move. Like cement has dried around your ankles, you’re stuck there, half perched behind a stone pillar, eyes trained in on the view seriously.

You think of her husband. You think of yours. You could never betray Malcolm like this. The elegant, intelligent woman from the hallway earlier fades in your mind like red wine splattered on a white rug. She’s not who you thought she was. He’s exactly as awful as you’d hoped he would be.

Just wait until the Dean hears what Bradley gets up to on these trips.

His other hand abandons her hip, coming up to clasp firmly around the nape of her neck. There’s a sharp, strong tug and she’s closer, his tongue is in her mouth and she hums against his lips.

You’re so caught up in him for a moment that your eyes almost forget to follow the movement. You’ve thought about this before. How Malcolm would touch you. If he would be gentlemanly and slow, or brash and sudden. If his fingers would sprawl the length of your nape like Bradley’s do hers, extending up into her dark roots and curling deeply into a fist.

Finally, you blink and catch the movement. Her manicured, slim fingers trailing downwards along the blue striped shirt covering his stomach, onto the khaki of his shorts. Her fingers extend and curl too, and suddenly you’re much more of a voyeur than you had intended to be. She squeezes her hand around the length of his manhood and you instinctively take a step back.

And yet — you can’t look away. It’s shameful to realise that you’re more intrigued by what’s before you than you had thought you would be.

All of those deep kisses, crawling into Malcolm’s lap, letting his hands explore under your shirt — nothing has felt quite as scandalous as this. Your eyes are fixated on her hand, on the outline through his shorts and the groan that she draws from his throat.

It moves forwards like a routine, he presses her backwards into the wall and pushes his hips forwards into her palm. As this happens, as her back touches the stone, they’re interrupted. Abruptly, enough fo make them pull away like they’ve been shocked by static. Not by you.

Abigail twists the handle on their side and swings the door open, flushed and stumbling. You had been looking right that way and hadn’t even noticed her rushing down the hall. “Bradley!”

Bradley turns and looks at her quickly, putting some distance between himself and Natasha. The moment has passed and been forgotten, both of them appear to be watching Abigail at first, concern coating their warmed features.

“Zoey’s throwing up.” She hiccups at the end and wobbles. Bradley takes a moment to just stare. Each year he regrets not making this a seniors only opportunity, and winds up dealing with some nineteen year old who got fucked up on cheap wine.

The vein in his throat strains. Perhaps embarrassment, from almost being caught. Shame, from kissing the girl he has tried to stay away from for almost a decade now. Frustration, from how badly he had wanted to go further.

The chill has disappeared now. You’re not cold anymore. You’re warm. You’re glad that you don’t flush the way that he does, or you’d be given away. Eyes on you, it’s a distinct feeling — especially when that person is staring. If your skin flushed half as much as Bradley’s does, Natasha would know just how badly you had wanted to keep watching.

Curiosity, you tell yourself. It’s just something new, exciting. It’s not the way his hands flexed in her hair, the way his jaw ticks now as he tries not to look at her again.

Natasha stares across at you, standing still, almost as statuesque as the pillar beside you. She knows that you just saw that entire thing. She glances across at Bradley, and finds that your eyes have widened when she looks back at you again. Her reddened lips quirk as Bradley rushes away from her, amused by you and the scared little look on your face. You think she’s going to tell him that you were watching.

Then, you straighten out your features and lean your palms forwards, calm. You’re going to tell her husband. Her smile just grows. You’re so much like her.

Bradley spends his evening arguing with one of Natasha’s employees about the cleaning fee for the stained carpet, and routinely checking on Zoey to make sure she’s sobering up.

Natasha’s on his mind the entire time. He’s not sure he’ll ever get over it. He’s still so angry with her. He feels it in the way that she kisses that she’s still pissed off at him too.

By the time he’s headed to bed, it’s almost three, and his mood is plummeting. His hand curls around the handle and he pushes the door to his room open, freezing in the doorway.

“Luke! God fucking damnit!”

Luke scrambles, knees slipping against the sheets as he tries to cover both himself and Robin. He’s over her, they’re both clearly naked — Bradley has already turned his head away, trying not to scream.

“Shit, I — I waited til 2am, and you hadn’t come back to I figured—“

Bradley doesn’t give him a chance to finish, slamming the wooden door shut again. He stands there in the hall, pinching the bridge of his nose for a few seconds, trying not to lose his shit.

Natasha’s probably wrapped up in her husband’s arms, secure in the knowledge that she made the right decision — that Bradley wasn’t ever going to give her this.

He glances from one end of the hall to the other, his gaze landing on the room next door. Pulling the master key Natasha graced him with, on the condition that he wouldn’t abuse his power, from his pocket, he turns and lets himself into your room.

You bolt upright in bed. It’s dark, so really he can only see your silhouette. He waves you off and closes the door behind him. It’s not like you don’t know what’s going on next door, you’ve heard every squeak of the mattress for the past twenty minutes.

“Don’t say a damn word, Mrs. Ashworth. I’m going to sleep, and in the morning, every single one of you owes me an apology.”

“You can’t just—“

He stops walking and even through the dark, you can feel the seriousness in his stare. He unbuttons his shirt and kicks off his shoes, then slips into the other twin bed.

Silent, laying on your back, you allow yourself one glance over at him. His bare shoulders, chest, extended from the blankets. He’s still wearing his shorts. You swallow softly, thinking about Natasha’s hands on him earlier, the way he’d pushed so eagerly into his touch.

“Stop staring at me.” Bradley tells you sternly.

“I wasn’t!” You bite back, turning sharply away from him and pulling your covers up to your ears. The second that your eyes are closed, all you can see is his hand inching up under her dress once again. You sigh. “It’s not my fault that Luke’s getting laid and you’re not.”

Bradley doesn’t answer.

…

@thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard @cherrycola27 @sugarcoated-lame

[ladyofthebears]

To add this this whole Jace discourse I just want to say this:

I am the result of an affair my grandmother had with a native american man whilst my pappy, who raised me, was in Vietnam during the war.

As a white passing mixed kid, i was not called names often. I was looked down on, i was treated like an outsider in my own family, sneered at with whispers spread behind my and my brother’s backs.

I have been called a mongrel only a few times but i vividly remember the first time it happened.

I was small enough that my brothers could still trick me into thinking i was adopted because of my pale skin and light hair. After a family gathering (of my Pappys side of the family), i asked how everyone in the family knew we were our father’s children immediately.

My brother smiled very sardonically at me and sprouted something about him and our other brother sticking out like sore thumbs. I was confused, because they knew i was my father’s daughter as well, despite how i looked. I asked why they ignored us and were mean and looked at us like grandma looked at the dead snakes in her garden. He laughed at me and said

“Guess life is just harder for filthy mongrels like us”

I remember that phrase so vividly. And maybe my brother meant it to be joking, but those words stuck with me for years. Stuck with me through puberty when i wore even PALER foundation and put blonde streaks in my hair. Stuck with me as i grew up further in a racist religion that specifically makes indigenous people out to be evil. I remembered it when i finally started interacting with more native people in college to reconnect, remembered it when a white girl told me that “if i wanted to be taken seriously as an Indian i should dye my hair black and start tanning”

Those words have haunted me for a long time and they have only helped to make me despise myself and how I came to be.

I hate being stuck between two things- i hate looking white and having all the unfairly given privilege it grants me over my brother. I hate how i am seen as a pretendian for trying to interact with my culture. I hate knowing i can never get tribal affiliation because of the affair.

I know i have immense privilege because of how i look, but those words still haunt me. Because at the end of the day, thats how i see myself at my lowest moments.

I know that on twitter there is major discourse about Jaces words and actions.

And while yes, this is a fictional show, Jaces struggle is one i am intimately attuned to. I said things and did things i regret looking back out of anger for my own situation, i acted in immature and childish ways. But at the end of the day, i can look back and recognise that because i lived through it, and grew through it. I was constantly confused and hurt and torn between differing worlds and families and peoples and it took me a long long time to come to peace with it.

I am still not fully at peace with it.

So- while you may criticise the writing all you want, please realise that Jaces hurt and anger are feelings that can be very very real for some people. Jace, is obviously a fictional character who doesnt have real world feelings. But your mutuals, the people who see your post on discover page are, and your words about a fictional character can hurt them too.

I am not saying mince your words and center your world around sensitive snowflakes- i am saying, have some empathy- even if it is for a stupid fictional character. Because maybe along the way, you can find empathy for other real world people too.

These were the kids that were made to feel like dirty mongrels.

[la-petite-lapin]

Double the Love | Part Eight

Double the Love masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x female civilian!OC Word Count: 2.1k Series warnings (may change between chapters): 18+ Minors DNI, angst, mentions of death, mentions of violence, excessive swearing, mentions of sexually explicit content, self doubt, OC has anxiety, poor communication, polyamory, M/M/F, FMC is (once again) bad at feelings

The morning after

The next morning, John calls.

Simon and Johnny have left to get some food shopping in, allowing me some much needed time to decompress. I woke up this morning feeling... I don't know. Conflicted. Confused. Like the consequences of getting myself into this - whatever this is - are finally starting to land.

"Hey, Tali," John says softly, and I can hear voices talking in the background. A woman, not Marcella, and a man who sounds fairly pissed off. It takes me a minute to recognise that it belongs to Gaz. "How are things on your end?"

I blow out a long breath. "Everything's okay."

There's a pause. A long pause. An I-know-that's-bullshit kind of one. "Talia, come on. It's me you're talking to." When I don't immediately spill my guts, he adds, "If you won't tell me what's playing on your mind, at least talk to Winslow. Marcella, even. Or, if it's something that the boys have done, try and talk to them about it. They're far more understanding than they look."

My heart stutters in my chest. That's part of the problem. And, to add to that, I don't even know what's wrong.

In the past few days, I've gone from not wanting any sort of relationship at all, to wanting nothing more than to have both of them tell me that they want me. Not even that they love me - God knows that it's far too soon for anything that serious - but something. Any sign that last night was more meaningful to them than a couple hours of mindless fun with a brand-new toy.

But I don't know how to ask. And I don't kind I'm strong enough to handle the inevitable rejection. Not when I've grown to consider them as friends.

"I would... if there was something wrong," I grumble back. My eyes flicker around the empty apartment/ Maybe having some more company around would be a good distraction. "Can you and Kyle come over again, please?"

I can hear the smile in John's voice as he replies. "We're a little busy at the moment, but I'm sure we can sort something out for the weekend. We could watch some more of those God-awful military movies Gaz likes to rip apart."

I snort out a laugh. "Perfect."

We say our goodbyes and John hangs up, muttering something about an 'incident' that he needs to deal with. But, before I can put my phone down, I catch a glimpse of a missed call and a text message from Winslow, all while I was on the call with John.

WINSLOW SLOANE: Call me xx

I'm calling her number before I can even think about it, a sense of panic gripping my chest as I raise the phone to my ear. What if she'd been in an accident? What if she was hurt? Stuck somewhere in a foreign country with no way of me getting to her...?

"Hey, honey," Winnie says immediately, answering on the third ring. Her voice soothes my frayed nerves, so much so that I almost let out a sigh of relief. Just hearing her makes me feel lighter than I have all day.

"I'm so happy to hear your voice." It's only been a matter of days since we last spoke on the phone, but it feels like it was a lifetime ago somehow. Thank God she only has two weeks of her France trip left before she's back home again. "How's Paris?"

Winnie lets out a breathy laugh. "It's been... interesting to say the least. But it's part of the reason why I called." The cold feeling of realisation slides in as she elaborates, "It looks like I might have to stay a little while longer. Just while I help them sort some stuff out and tidy up some loose ends."

My heart seizes at the vagueness of 'a little while longer'. "Okay. How long is that looking?"

"Um... maybe an extra week."

"Oh." It's the only word I can think of.

"I know, I know. I'm really sorry, Tali," Winnie says, and I can hear the genuine sadness in her voice. "I'll be back in time for Alex's birthday though, I promise."

My gaze trails across to the calendar hanging up beside the kitchen. Just under a month. In four weeks, he would have turned thirty.

We would have thrown a big party; which would have pissed Alex off to no end. He would've grumbled about it for months, complaining that he's a private person, which is just a code word for boring, but secretly loving that I'd gone to the effort. Just like his twenty-first.

My heart aching in my chest, I say, "It's okay, Win. You've got to do what you've got to do, and I have the guys here to keep me company." There's a beat of silence, so I follow it up with, "And I'm going back to work, which I've strangely missed."

We both laugh at that.

"Anyway, how've you been?" I can hear Winnie settling in on the other end of the line. I find it more amusing than I care to admit that she's still so invested in what's going on back here while she's living it up overseas. Despite it being a work trip, I've seen her Instagram posts. She's thriving over there.

"I've been good. But there is something you might be interested to know."

Winnie giggles. "Oh? Please enlighten me."

A mischievous grin forms on my lips. "I slept with them. Both of them."

There's a long stretch of silence. It's a pause so long that, for a minute, I think the call might have dropped.

"Winnie? You still there?"

She coughs, spluttering for a second. "Still here. Just stunned into silence because... wow! You really did it? With both of them? How did that even work? What was it like? I have so many questions, Tali! You can't just drop a bomb like that than and not expect me to have questions!"

A laugh slips past my lips, dissolving into a burst of laughter. "It was something new. But it was fun. They didn't take everything all serious and alpha like some guys probably would. They made it fun, we laughed about stuff, and the aftercare was perfect."

"10 out of 10 would recommend then?"

"I would," I reply, letting myself smile. Despite all of the conflicted feelings I have about what happens now, it doesn't in any way diminish how unwaveringly happy I feel thinking about last night.

We talk a bit more - mostly about all of the interesting people Winnie has met in Paris, the new places she's seen, and all the restaurants she's tried - before she has to go. We say our goodbyes and I promise to call her in the morning on my way into the office. Not long after, I hear the sound of the spare key turning in the lock, and I look up to see Johnny nudging the front door open.

He's beaming, a broad smile on his face and two overflowing shopping bags in his hands. Simon follows him into the kitchen, carrying the other three. He nods to me on his way past, a black surgical mask covering the lower half of his face.

"Want to help us with the meal plan, princess?" Si calls out from the kitchen.

Huh?

I follow them through into the kitchen to find Johnny leaning over the counter with a piece of paper and a pen, as Simon dutifully unpacks the bags. Johnny takes one glance at the questioning look on my face before offering me one of his most charming smiles. "Me and Si were talking. Did'nae think it's fair for ye to be doing all the cooking, not when ye're going back to work now. And we eat most of it."

A frown forms on my lips. "I didn't complain about it."

Si turns around now. "We know, but we don't think it's right. You do a lot for us already, darlin'. Just let us do something for you."

I try not to blush as I fold my arms across my chest. "Fine. Okay."

Johnny grins. "So, what do ye want on Monday?"

After dinner, we settle in to watch TV in the living room. I fold myself into my armchair, letting Johnny and Simon cuddle up together on the sofa.

It's hard not to keep glancing over at them; even harder to hold back the un-earned feeling of jealousy that keeps nipping at my heart. They're a couple. They're allowed to act lovey-dovey in the privacy of their own home.

Home. Thinking about that makes it even worse. At some point - when all of their army drama blows over - they're going to leave.

Logically, I know that. I know that me, them, and Winnie can't all live in this two-bedroom apartment together, but it still stings. It's irrational, and I know it.

I watch as Simon runs his fingers through Johnny's hair - the Scotsman all but asleep with his head in his partner's lap - as I swallow down the growing resentment. Bitterness coats my tongue, and I swallow thickly.

Simon looks over, because of course he does, with a questioning look of concern. Mask-free, it's all too easy to see his expression now. It almost hurts to look at his face; to know just how beautiful he was.

I shake my head and close my eyes, kicking myself for being so stupid about this.

We're all grown-ups. We agreed to have sex. It was one night.

But then why does my chest burn when I think about them, like someone's trying to squeeze the life out of me?

"You alright, love?"

I nod, my eyes still firmly shut. Why did I do this to myself? Let myself have a taste of the one thing I can't have from them?

"Hey, love," Simon calls again, voice laced with something I can't place. "Open your eyes for me, yeah?"

So, I do. I open my eyes and level him with the blankest expression I can muster. "I don't feel well. I'm going to go for a walk," I say, thankfully giving no hint of my emotions. "I'll be back before midnight."

His hazel eyes harden. "Not on your own you're fucking not."

I wince, but something in my resolve strengthens. "You can't tell me what I can and can't do."

"I'm not telling you what to do," he growls. "I'm saying it's dark out, it's cold as fuck, and I'm not having you out there alone surrounded by a bunch of creeps while I sit in here like a lemon."

We stare at each other for a long, long time.

Uncharacteristically, he breaks the silence first. "Just let me put Johnny in our room and I'll come with you." He nods to the dead-weight of a completely knocked-out Johnny's cheek resting on his muscular thighs.

My temper flares. "I didn't invite you."

I can feel Simon battling his anger from here. I also get the distinct impression that if I was anybody else - other than Johnny - I'd have already received the bollocking of my lifetime for being so damned difficult right now.

"The only way you're leaving this flat tonight, princess, is if I'm with you," he grumbles, hazel eyes dark and unwavering as he pins me with a glare. A glare that tells me Ghost is back. "I'll lock you in your room to keep you safe if I fucking have to."

I match him with a fierce glare of my own. "Why do you fucking care?"

That seems to take him aback. His eyes soften, the harsh line of his mouth pulling down at the corners, making the scars around it all the more apparent. "Of course I care."

"But why?" A hollow laugh slips past my kips and I spring up from my armchair, starting to pace in front of the TV. I'm completely aware that I must look borderline hysterical as I look at him with wild eyes. "I'm just one of the many, many women you two have fucked. Why do you care if I want to go walking at night? If I cook dinner?"

Simon's frown deepens. "That's not what this is. You know that."

"Really?" I gesture wildly to Johnny, who's still blissfully unaware of what's happening. "All night you've been cuddled up, while I've just sat here and... and watched you. Do you know how much that hurts? After last night when you made me feel so fucking included? And now you're back to making me feel like an outsider." The words spill out of their own accord, frantic and rushed as I feel the tears start to roll down my cheeks. A broken-sounding laugh bubbles up from my throat. "I've spent all day telling myself I wouldn't do this because it's so fucking embarrassing. It was one night, and now you're both going to think I'm crazy."

Si stares back at me and the expression on his face is so heartbroken that it hurts. "I... we didn't know you'd see it like that."

My heart cracks in two inside my chest. The tears pour even faster as I glare down at my slipper-covered feet.

How could I be so reckless? I've just ruined everything.

"Tali, can you come here please?"

My eyes trail back to Simon. To his hand patting the tiny space on the sofa beside him - the side not occupied by Johnny, soft snores pouring out of his mouth like cats' purrs. My feet carry me across the room. I slot myself into the gap beside Simon, trying not to let any part of my body touch his. Preparing myself for whatever it's not you, it's us speech that is inevitably coming.

a/n: hey guys! hope you've enjoyed part 8 :) sorry that it ends on a bit of a cliffhanger, but it was getting quite long and I try to stick around 2.5k words to make it flow better i'm aiming to have part 9 out by the end of next week, but I won't make any promises just yet <3 - much love, lapetitelapin

[cringefail-clown]

I'm so fucking invested in your turnabout au I'm going to explode please just like ramble if you up to it

hoo boy lets do it

so atm my favourite part of the au to think about is post scratch bro and his relationship with hal, post scratch roxy and what dave would think about him. like for example i don't think he'd be this big superstar like post scratch dave was in canon, his work against the condence would be much more subtle. i imagine him working much more closely with roxy and grandpa jake - its not clear in canon how much dave, rose and jade collaborated together, they for sure were in contact, but its honestly up to interpretation. those three in the au would probably work very closely together, maybe roxy and dirk could help jake with building up skaianet - dirk as an engineer and rox as a programmer. they'd also have their own gigs on the side, roxy would sure as hell hijack crocercorp with malware every chance she got, and dirk would have some obscure websites that'd spread propaganda against condence under the veil of weird puppet stuff and insane chatbots. he'd probably write some kind of this universes detective pony parody book and get it published and it'd become one of the most recognisable pieces of literature documenting the takeover of the troll empire and the rebellion against it

(some quick designs of hal and bro i pulled outta my ass)

honestly he'd probably become some sort of vigilante batman-esque figure in this universe?? he'd show up unexpected, blow some crockercorp warehouses and disappear into the night. and after hal joins him when he builds him a body the media would paint them as some sort of twin antiheroes lmfao

oh man and hal. it'd go simialrly as it was in canon, dirk would fuck around and copy his brain at a young age and they'd HATE each other at first. like dirk would feel responsible for creating hal, and hal would resent the shit outta him - like how dare he be the one who gets to keep the body and hal must be stuck in a pair of glasses, trapped with no means of escaping? but they'd start working together when they find out about dave and the future to ensure their lil bro has the best chances of survival, and in time they'd bond over it and their shared work against condy. they'd come up with a plan so that hal goes into sleep mode until the arrival of the meteor (bc no way in hell dirk would make hal go through hundreds of years of lonely existance, watching as humanity slowly ceases to exist and unable to do anything about it, he'd go nuts).

and the day finally comes when dirk would have to go face the batterwitch so he'd put hal in the apartment and they would tell each other one last goodbye and dirk would put hal in the sleep mode. and hal would wake up like only seconds passed, not years upon years, only the vast ocean streching as far as his eyes could see behind the dirty, dusty windows, and he'd know his one brother is long dead, gone while facing the enemy he was destined to lose against but had to do it anyway, and the other one moments from crashing into the waters below on a meteor sent by some insane video game that creates new universes. he'd sit there for a while, reality slowly sinking in, and he'd probably desperatly wish like he hasn't in years, to be human again and to mourn his losses the human way, because as advanced as his robotic body was he haven't thought about updating it with some goddamn tearducks.

on a lighter note, imagine dirk crunching numbers for three days straight to figure out how much food he'd have to stock in the apartment to make sure dave doesn't grow up malnourished, desperately googling "how much calories does an *insert age* year old need". he'd be banned from every supermarket in at least two states. he would walk into the store and employees would start weeping at the sight of him. i think about it a lot

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ┃ Next ] part 3

Most of Simon’s days were the same. It felt as though he was trapped in a monotonous loop, unable to break free. He would wake up before sunrise, take a quick shower and go to the gym, where he worked out, while ogling at women who enjoyed running on treadmills and wearing revealing outfits that showcased all their best assets. Afterwards, he treated himself to a delicious meal at his favourite restaurant and then went for a stroll, taking a long way home. His day would end with him ordering some inexpensive takeout, sitting in the living room, watching low-cost television, and chain smoking before going to bed.

This was his routine, and yes, it was drab. However, he should have stuck to it instead of abandoning it, since there were only five more days left until Simon would get to see you again. Unfortunately, you were stuck in his head, and no matter how much he tried to distract himself, and divert his focus to something else, nothing worked. So, instead, he started spending all his free time holed up in his office.

Initially, he continued to search for your presence on the internet, saving all your pictures, taking screenshots of your posts and snooping on your friends’ profiles. When he grew tired of it and struggled to find something he hadn’t seen already, he decided it was time to kick it up a notch.

Simon wanted to follow and observe you for an entire day. He believed that by doing so, he would learn about your typical schedule, including when you woke up, where you went, who you spent time with, and, most importantly, where you lived.

At first, he felt disoriented and bewildered, unsure of where to look for you. However, eventually, he realised that revisiting the spot where you first spoke would be a good starting point. Of course, initially, he had to spend two lengthy days traversing all the streets near the coffee shop, keeping his eyes wide and ears open, in hopes of seeing you again, and… Then, one early morning, he spotted you strolling – or rather, running – down the sidewalk.

With each gust of the harsh wind, your hair swirled and twisted in the air, obscuring your vision. Your nose and cheeks were a bright shade of red from the chilly weather, and with every step, you stumbled over your own feet, letting out curses as you accidentally stepped into a cold puddle. Simon couldn’t help but notice that you seemed in a hurry, likely running late to somewhere important.

Throughout the day, to maintain his cover and ensure that you remain unaware of his presence and the fact that you are being stalked, he never walked on the same side of the street as you. This way, when you glanced over your shoulder, he had a chance to abruptly disappear from sight. And one time, when he wasn’t quick enough to do so, and your eyes grazed by his frame, he swiftly concealed his face and pretended to be deeply engrossed in a phone conversation.

But to his surprise, you failed to recognise him. In that moment, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that you didn’t remember him. However, the more he thought about it, a hint of disappointment settled within him. Was he really so easily forgettable? Was he the only one who felt the spark between you two after your lovely conversation at the coffee shop? He refused to believe that. Simon concluded that you were simply oblivious to the world around you, lost in your own thoughts, and that you probably didn’t even get a good glimpse of him. Hence, to you, he must have appeared as just another unfamiliar face in the crowd.

Once or twice — Simon had lost the count — absentmindedly, you crossed the street, without bothering to spare a second to look left and right. In those moments, when the cars would zoom past, he wanted to dash towards you, pull you back to the sidewalk and scold you for being so careless.

As he continued to stalk you, a sudden realisation struck him. It was like a light bulb had turned on in his mind, instantly illuminating his thoughts with absolute clarity.

You need to be protected.

You were too naïve, too innocent, and incapable of taking care of yourself.

You needed someone like Simon by your side — you didn’t realise it yet, but he was convinced that he could be the answer to all your problems. And, based on what he could overhear while listening to your phone conversations, it was obvious that you had a lot on your plate.

You strongly disliked your job. You were paid in pennies for long hours of work. The scheduling was always a mess. Your colleagues were a pain in the neck and constantly got on your nerves. On top of that, your boss was extremely overbearing, disregarding your personal boundaries by flirting with you and lacking the ability to keep his hands to himself; a few times you were tempted to break his fingers, but managed to restrain yourself. However, despite all of this, you were trapped because it was the only way to earn a living: this was the only place, which wasn’t too far away from your home, that had a job opening and was willing to hire you.

He also discovered that you were pretty forgetful. This became clear when, for the third time that morning, you answered your phone and started apologising to someone on the other side of the line, assuring them you were on your way and would be home soon.

Home.

You were heading home.

Simon’s eyes widened, and the satisfaction and relief mixed together, washing over him, permeating every fibre of his being. He was concerned that he would be stuck following you around the city for the entire day. You didn’t have a car, and not once you had taken a bus or got in a taxi, which was great because he didn’t lose track of you. But, as the day wore on, he grew tired and bored with walking around. Whenever you entered a building, he didn’t dare to venture inside, unwilling to risk being spotted by you. So, he was forced to endure the frigid weather, which only added to his discomfort, with his fingers turning ice cold and numbing from the freezing air; the harsh wind sent shudders down his spine, causing his body to feel stiff.

You lived in a run-down house in a sketchy neighbourhood. Every one of Simon’s senses seemed heightened as he trailed behind you, unable to fathom your sense of safety while walking down these streets alone. This was not the right place for you, and all he wanted to do was whisk you away right then and there because you deserved so much more. You deserve to live in a safe neighbourhood, in a big house with a lush garden and a huge backyard. Simon could imagine you spending your Saturday mornings lazily, lounging outdoors in a comfortable chair, drinking hot tea and reading a book.

When you disappeared inside your home, he crossed the street and positioned himself near a tall tree, which provided him with shade, hiding him in its shadow. There were not a lot of passersby, so he didn’t attract anyone’s attention. But he still kept an eye out for noisy neighbours who might have nothing better to do than sit by their windows and spy on everyone who dared to set foot in this neighbourhood.

Simon wondered if you lived alone. Probably not. Your house, with its faded colour and overgrown front yard, appeared old and neglected. The property was quite big and he couldn’t fathom you owning it, so perhaps you were renting it. Do you live with roommates? Or was this your parents’ house, from which you still hadn’t moved out?

So many questions, and so few answers.

Enduring any kind of condition was second nature to Simon, who had been trained as a soldier. Spying was part of his work, and he was damn good at it. But even for someone as adept as him, there were limits, and he had to draw a line somewhere. It was time to call it a day. He had had enough of the cold that was seeping into his flesh, causing his skin to turn to ice.

He was already walking back, lazily dragging his boots across the concrete and smoking, when a car drove down the street. It stopped in front of your house. Simon came to a sudden halt, whirling around just a little too fast and causing the cigarette to slip out of his fingers. A man got out, closing the door with such force that the sound of it alerted the whole neighbourhood of his arrival.

Simon squinted and for a moment, as he was waiting for the stranger to turn his head so he could see his face, he stopped breathing. His heart raced with anticipation. Matt. Simon instantly recognised him from the photograph he had seen on your profile.

Why was he here? Did he come to see you? And if so, why?

He stood there, as if glued to the ground, unable to tear his gaze away as Matt marched to your front door and rang the doorbell. Seconds later, you showed up and greeted him with a warm smile as Matt embraced you. In that moment, time seemed to freeze, and you captivated Simon’s attention. He noted that you had changed your clothes; now, you were wearing shorts and a simple grey shirt. Is this how you always dressed when you were hanging around the house? Simon smiled.

He couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to wake up on a Sunday morning, around noon, walk to the kitchen and find you, making a cup of coffee for him, dressed like this. He envisioned your eyes lighting up after you turned around and found him leaning against the counter, admiring you. As your lips would curl into a smile, you would step towards him, wrap your arms loosely around his shoulders, get on your tiptoes and…

Simon snapped back to reality, feeling the icy breeze caress his cheeks. He blinked twice, desperately hoping that his eyes were deceiving him, but they weren’t playing tricks on him. Matt and you were gone, and the front door was shut. He knew Matt hadn’t left and was inside your house now because his car was still parked in the driveway.

If Simon had allowed his impulses to control him, he would have marched across the street, kicked the front door, and forcefully dragged Matt outside by his hair. Thankfully, he possessed enough self-control to restrain himself. However, there was one nagging thought that disturbed him and caused him to grow furious. Matt didn’t deserve to be near you: he didn’t deserve to look at you or to talk with you. Hell, Matt didn’t even deserve to be in the same room as you, much alone breathe the same air.

The realisation hit Simon like a ton of bricks - he had to act swiftly and craft a meticulous plan to ensure you would belong only to him. Of course, he understood he had to be smart about all of this, too, and that it was going to be a long game, demanding both patience and persistence. It may take time to reach his goal, but Simon had an abundance of it.

You are going to be his. Only his. He just needed to keep himself grounded and refrain from doing something harsh. From now on, his every action had to be carefully calculated. And although he hated the idea of turning around and leaving now, he had no other choice. But walking away, knowing your house was disappearing behind him in the distance, wasn’t difficult since he knew would see you again soon.