Bimbo!reader and Soap who have their weekly catch up in the mess hall because they’re both messy, too charismatic for their own good, and know everyone’s business.
You had to tell someone all the tea people kept spilling to you because everyone thought of you as the cute baby who would give cute and a little ditzy advice. Which you did, but you couldn’t hold yourself back that one day while joining Soap on his very rare smoke break. You’d usually be sat in his lap, but he was over agitated today, just needed to hear your voice. See that little brain of yours work.
You thought he wouldn’t even give you a proper reply, probably give you a reply Price did, ‘It’s best to keep it to yourself baby.’
“No, Shannon’s not seein Carmichael.” He breathed out, smoke lifting in the air.
“But Carmichael told me they dating were last week!”
“Yeah, but Shannon just went on a date with some fuck on the weekend. Told me they were, quote, ‘meant tuh be’”
“Sayin that before comin out the storage room with Carmichael yes-ter-day is a choice!”
“Yesterday?!”
And you hit it off from there. Both giggling and whispering up a storm. You two had everyone wondering what the hell you two were on about. You two couldn’t dare to look at each other during debriefing. Wide eyes, The Office style head turns coughing down laughter, and of course zipped lips as soon as someone got too close or entered the room.
Which was a probelm when you and the rest of the 141 got home, you two were stuck together gorilla glue. Gossiping and showering, both silent and watching when Gaz would enter the kitchen and immediately continuing conversation when he left. Soap even whistling to fill the silence. You and sneaking from Prices room to gossip to the crack of Dawn— it got so bad, Price had to get to the root of it.
“Okay you two, no more gossiping unless you explain it properly to the rest of us. You’re leaving us out if anything.”
You raise an eyebrow, “Or, are you just eager for some tea?”
“[+].” Simon, Kyle and Price deadpan.
You raise your arms in defense, a giggle leaving you.
So you and Soap spent the night drawing out a full diagram of all the drama happening on base. The other boys exhausted, still a little confused,
“When does it end!?” Gaz groans in annoyance, rubbing his temples.
“Well this is just the beginning.” you nod, looking at the large diagram like an evil mastermind.
“ ‘Avent even gotten t’ the center of all this shite.” Soap nods.
“ ‘Nd wot might that be?” Simon blinks plainly.
You and Soap share a knowing look, smirking devilishly.
shut up. imagine bimbo reader finding some dumb brute, thinking that’s all the love she deserves:( and soap finding her at the same bar, draped around that dude’s arm.
bimbo reader deserves a happy ending idc :(((
c/w: mistreatment towards reader, slightly misogyny, groping, happy ending for reader and johnny <3
he’s devastated when he sees you, sees what’s become of the beautiful girl he once had. that bright, charming smile looks like it’s being forced onto your face every time the dickhead your with makes some degrading joke about you in front of his friends, roughly nudging you when you don’t laugh
his arm is snug around your shoulders, one hand groping your chest. you try and squirm from his grip, clearly embarrassed from this treatment but he just tugs you further into his side, whispering something in your ear which makes you stop moving instantly
when you stand from the table, he raises his hand and slap you on your ass. the smack echoing through the bar and making you stumble in your heels. he shoves some cash into your hand and nudges you towards the bar
the fake smile on your face drops once you’re away from your new man, nervously shifting on your feet at the bar as the bartender clearly ignores you for some girl he’s trying to chat up instead of serving. johnny downs the rest of his drink before excusing himself from his table. he stands a few feet from you next to the bar, where you don’t see him
“oi, the lass is waiting!” johnny calls out to the bartender, who immediately rolls their eyes and walks over to begrudgingly take your order. you turn to johnny, prepared to thank the random stranger who helped you. but your small smile drops when you see him
“oh… it’s you. thank you.” you mumble, looking down at your feet. johnny frowns, shifting nervously on his feet
“no problem, hen. how’re ye? ye look good…” he says and his throat suddenly feels dry. you look like you don’t want to talk to him and it eats him up inside. your eyes flick back up towards him, looking up at him through your long lashes
“thanks. so do you…” there’s an awkward silence between the two of you and your grateful when the bartender finally places a beer in front of you
“ye drink beer now? ye always used to cringe when I offered you a sip of mine…” johnny chuckles, recalling how you used to refer to it as bread soda or something silly like that
“it’s not for me, it’s for my boyfriend. I left my purse at home and he doesn’t wanna pay for one of my ‘silly cocktails’.” you say with a small frown, shifting on your feet
“I’ll get ye a drink, doll. whaddya-“ johnny starts, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet but you grab his wrist to stop him
“you don’t have to do that. I have to get back to- oh.” you begin protest until you look over to your table to see some girl sat in your boyfriend’s lap, his hand planted firmly on her ass. johnny sees your lip wobble and his heart absolutely shatters in his chest
he knows he has no room to talk, he broke your heart and he’ll regret it for the rest of his life. he knows he was pathetic and he should’ve stood up for you. when he let you go, you took all the light in his life with you. he missed you terribly all day and dreamt about you every night
he hears a small sob escape your mouth before you turn on your feet, rushing to get out of the bar and away from him before you fully break down. johnny curses under his breath before running out after you
he finds you around the corner of the bar, hugging yourself as protection from the bitter midnight chill. he takes off his bomber jacket and drapes it over your shoulders when he comes up behind you. you jump and let out a little squeak, wiping your eyes when you turn around and notice it’s him
“I’m okay.” you sniffle, “he does this sometimes but he always says sorry and he’s really nice to me for the next few days!”
johnny doesn’t even know what to say to you for a second, settling for a quiet ‘oh, darlin…’
he pulls you into his arms, letting you cry against his chest whilst he pets over your hair. he presses a kiss to the top of your head, his strong arms slowly swaying you from side to side. “I’m such a fuckin’ dick, bonnie. shoulda never let ye go.”
you sniffle, “thought I wasn’t smart enough.” johnny shakes his head, hugging you tighter to his body. his big hand soothing up and down your back
“I’m clearly not the smart one if I make stupid decision like throwing you away, love. what kinda idiot am I to have given up the most amazing girl, eh? take me back, please, bonnie?” he pleads, pulling back slightly to be able to cup your cheeks and wipe your tears away with his thumbs,
“under one condition…” you sniffle, your lip jutting out in a pout. johnny nods his head eagerly, clearly ready to fulfill whatever major quest you’re going to give him
“anything, bonnie. anything for ye…” he says, his thumbs gently running over your cheekbones
“you go back inside and get my purse. I left it on the table and it’s my favourite one. and it’s got my juicy couture lipgloss in it.” you say, making johnny let out a a quiet chuckle, his eyes lightening up when he realises he’s got you back. he leans forward and places a few sweet pecks to your lips
“course.” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his car keys. “go wait in the car and i’ll get it.”
you nod and trot off, heels clicking against the concrete of the pavement on the way to his car. he watches you until your safe and in the car before heading back inside. he saunters over to your table and grabs your purse, tapping your now-ex boyfriend on the shoulder
“oi.” is all he says, waiting until he turns to face him before landing a heavy punch to the guys face, knocking him backwards. he doesn’t say anything else, tucking your purse under his arm and stomping out the bar and over to his car. a smirk on his face when he sees you clap in excitement when you see him holding your purse <3
summary: simon riley faces his biggest challenge yet: taking care of your spoiled little dog while you’re away. and he might have more in common with her than he thinks.
a/n: based on my evil little dog because I think simon would actually adore her. idea has been stewing for awhile but this post gave me the kick to sit down and write it. would love to hear your thoughts!
She’s a mean little thing, your dog.
Mouthy, terrible with strangers, mostly untrained, fiercely protective of you.
And on a few of those counts, Simon Riley can relate.
She is also pampered, spoiled, and the thing you love most in the world.
He made a grudging sort of peace with her long ago on account of that, but the memory of her attempting to sink her teeth into his ankle the first time he met her is one he won’t forget. She hadn’t come close, and he feels in retrospect it had been a kind of warning shot.
He brought her jerky next time he came round yours and passed it to her in tiny bites under the dining table, which seemed to earn him ambivalence, and, more importantly, your approval. Your delight.
Since then, there’s been a sort of truce between them, the wary respect of the mutually interested. The mutual interest being your continued happiness.
It’s an odd relationship to have with a dog, but when he witnesses her growling and glowering at every other man on the street when accompanying you on her evening walk, creating a bubble of space between you and them, he understands that she likes him, tolerates him, as much as she can.
He can understand that.
The urge to keep you safe.
That, and she’s a good alarm bell, if she wouldn’t exactly be good in a fight. He can’t begrudge her protectiveness of you. Another commonality.
One evening in early spring, you ask him to watch her for you. It’s the first time that you’ll be the one away and not him, even if the stint is much, much shorter. “I’ll be gone for just over twenty-four hours,” you say all in one breath, “to help my sister with her move. If you can’t, I understand, I just thought—”
“I’ll take care of her, love.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to waste your time.”
It strikes him as odd, but he doesn’t mention it. Nothing he’s ever done for you has been a waste.
But this is the thing you struggle the most with. Asking for help. Accepting it. An independent streak that bordered on isolation. And all he knows to do is offer himself to you, slip into your orbit as you have into his, the rest of it comes uneasily, uncomfortably.
“It’s not.”
“Okay.” And your voice is strangely soft. “Thank you.”
Three hours into his dog sitting stint, he and the dog execute their truce by going on a walk. It seems to Simon that she’s looking for you, as they walk down the quiet suburban street, the outskirts of London where the neighborhood folds seamlessly into something much less metropolitan.
A familiar bubble springs up around him and the little thing at his feet trundling along at an even pace in a sparkling pink harness. People swerve to avoid him, a few even turn around or cross the street, but he notices within seconds that they aren’t looking at him for once, but the dog.
It’s a little funny.
Hilarious, actually.
“Got a reputation, do you?”
She growls at a person who dares to pass too close, and the noise is startling in how terrible it is, like it belongs to a much larger dog. She doesn’t lunge or tug at the leash or make a move at anyone, still they keep their distance. She clears a nice little path in her own right.
At the entrance to the park you usually frequent with her, she pauses at the gate, evaluating the plethora of children and other animals within.
Too many of them at this hour, Simon thinks, eyeing the swarm on the path ahead.
Poppy huffs. Simon does too.
She glances up at him with a look that seems to say, I will not be going in there.
You have a habit of speaking to Poppy as though she is a person. A habit that Simon has picked up, too.
“Exfil sound good?”
She turns and marches back down the road.
Fair enough, he thinks, following behind her. He doesn’t want to walk through that either.
At home in your flat once again, she allows him to wipe off her paws before disappearing into your bedroom in a blur of black and white fur.
He follows and lies next to her on your bed, and she only rumbles at him a little.
A soft, cloudy gray light slips in the window, rain begins to tap at the window. Your flat is comfortable in a way nothing else in his life is, filled almost to the brim with things, books and lamps and plants and color. He won’t sleep, but he likes the content feeling he gets lying there, the scent of your detergent and perfume clouding around him. He watches the ceiling, painted a cerulean blue, speckled with gold, and listens to the rain, the sound of Poppy’s soft breathing.
The sun slips slowly downward, a pale line on the wall that treads into shadow.
Everything feels warm, soft, safe.
It chafes.
He gets up to check the front door is locked.
Poppy follows a moment later.
The next morning.
It’s been exactly eighteen hours and six minutes since you left when he realizes the little bugger hasn’t eaten anything. For the better part of the morning, she has remained aloof, perched on her favorite chair beneath the window that overlooks the road, engaged in what can only amount to a staring contest with him from his place on your couch, shoulders against the wall, door and window and dog all within view.
It’s seven minutes after that that she primly rises from her perch on the chair, pounces to the floor, pads over the rug, and retches delicately onto the hardwood, all while looking him in the eyes. Slick yellow bile that pools in a perfect circle and sticks to the pristine white fur of her chin.
Not on the carpet though, he thinks, too civilized for that.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters.
She growls halfheartedly when approaches and reaches down to tuck her tiny body under his arm and clean her up at the sink. “If something is wrong with you, we’re both dead,” he tells her seriously when she’s safely beneath a blanket on her favorite chair once again.
She looks placidly back at him and licks her canines. Maybe you’re dead, the look seems to say.
Well, she’d probably be right about that.
Between the two of them he knows who’s done for.
Simon sighs, goes about cleaning the sick from the floor, and then does a quick search on his phone, just to confirm his suspicions about the little demon.
Sure enough, the bile is a sign she hasn’t eaten.
The bowl of kibble he’d placed on the floor the night before, is untouched.
He glances at Poppy, prim and proper on her throne in the corner by the window, an unusual curl of sunshine spearing through gauzy curtains.
She looks back at him with big, sad eyes, head cushioned on her crossed front paws, and sighs dramatically, wriggling firmly into the pillow behind her.
The dog.
Is on a fucking hunger strike.
He doesn’t blame her.
He’d much rather be with you than him, too.
“Right,” he says slowly. “You have to eat somethin’.”
She closes her eyes and huffs, rooting down further into the pillow with a little shiver.
With a grunt, he goes to the kitchen pours a new cup of kibble into the bowl, palms Poppy one handed and sets her directly before the bowl. She stands and stares before prancing away, curling into an oval on his usual spot on the couch.
And Simon is keenly aware that his usual tactics of interrogation and coercion are not going to work here.
He goes to the kitchen and rummages around your fridge and cabinets, looking for something meaty, something you’ve treated Poppy to before. He comes up with a package of chicken, a can of carrots, frozen blueberries, white rice.
Twenty minutes later, he presents a bowl of unseasoned cooked chicken and carrots to the dog on the bloody couch, who pointedly turns her nose up at it.
For the better part of an hour, he tries any number of combinations of food. The bowl becomes a mess, and he feels a sense of unusual desperation slipping over him like a second skin.
His fingers itch toward his phone, but what kind of man is he if he can’t take care of your dog, can’t get your dog to eat while you’re away? What does that say about how well he can take care of you?
“What kind of dog doesn’t like chicken?” He asks the dog in question. “I don’t even eat this fucking well.”
She cracks one eye open and curls into herself.
He tries treats next, and strips of jerky, just to get something in her stomach, but those too are rejected in rapid succession.
Frustration creeps in.
So does a vague sense of worry, visions of you finding your dog sick and starving at his hands, smile fading, disappointment coloring your features. Resignation. You ask him for so little.
The day ticks into the afternoon. He thinks of calling the vet just down the road where Poppy gets her annual checkup.
Not a second too soon, his phone buzzes.
A string of numbers on the black screen that he recognizes as yours.
“What’s wrong?” You ask as soon as the video call connects.
Not even a hello, just a twitch of your brows, a shine of scrutinizing eyes.
He hates that. Hates how you seem to read him like a big, open book. Despite the mask, despite how still and silent he is, you always know and have always been able to tell.
Loves it, too, but he’d never admit to it.
He spies masses of cardboard boxes behind you, and can hear your sister and her husband somewhere in their new home.
You close the bedroom door, and the voices fade as you sit.
“. . Nothin’.”
“Liar.”
He hesitates. You tilt your head, that stern little quirk of yours that you used on unruly patients in the base hospital with impunity. “Well?”
“She won’t eat.”
“Poppy?”
“Poppy,” he confirms.
You bite your lip, like something is funny. “What?” He makes an effort not to bark the question.
“Can I see her?”
He props the phone up at the edge of her blanket nest she’d painstakingly dug out on the couch. For the first time since you left, she wags her wail, perks up, her tongue lolls pink out of her mouth. “Oh, hey, little girl,” you say, “Are you making Simon work to feed you?”
Her tail slows a little, and if dogs could look guilty, cowed and embarrassed, he swears this one fucking does. “He’s trying to take care of you,” you say seriously. “Don’t be stubborn. I’m gonna tell him how to feed you proper and you’re gonna eat, aren’t you?”
She whines and lowers her head.
“Yes, you are, my terrible girl,” you coo, voice made of affection.
He picks the phone up, waits for orders that don’t immediately come, and clocks the nervous way your mouth curls at the edge. You chew at the inside of your cheek.
“Listen, I didn’t think she’d get this way with you. If you don’t want to deal with her, I can call—”
You can. . .what? Call someone else to fill in for your partner? To feed your dog?
He ain’t that useless. At least, he hopes he isn’t that useless to you.
“I’ll do it,” he says with all the grit required of muscling through a particularly grueling operation.
“Simon,” you laugh. “I’m just saying, you didn’t sign up for this. It’s a lot to ask. I can call someone else to—”
“I did sign up for it.” You bite your lip. “Got to feed her by hand or somethin’?”
Your smile turns pained. “Well. . .”
Simon thinks of all the choices that led him to his moment. The first time he saw you on base, bringing you tea when you overstayed your shift, shuffling injured into the base hospital for some minor injury during training when he never had before. You treated him like everyone else, even when he didn’t speak. You were never afraid of him, and he thought he wanted everyone to be afraid of him. The first time he saw the photo of Poppy you kept on your desk, your cheek squished against hers.
He peels off one glove, sits heavily on the couch with your tiny, impossible dog, and holds out a handful of kibble, which she delicately begins to eat without any fuss, one kernel at a time, from his bare palm.
Her fur is soft against his fingers, her nose warm and moist.
He half expects her to nip him though they moved past that long ago, but she seems content to eat from the cup of his scarred hand.
It takes nearly an hour to get through the whole bowl. If there’s too much kibble in his hand she won’t eat it. The exact number of little pellets that she will accept being in the bowl of his hand, he learns after trial and error, is eleven.
“I’m really sorry,” you keep saying from where you’re watching propped up in Poppy’s blanket nest, a small smile on your pretty face, the point of your chin cupped in your hand. “I didn’t think she’d get this way with you. I would have asked otherwise. She hardly ever does it with me anymore—”
“That’s all right, sweetheart.”
“Is it actually?”
He grunts, lets the thought of how he’d do anything for you slip to the back of his tongue and roll uncomfortably down the column of his spine. The knowledge settles like lead in his stomach. Warm lead, but lead all the same. “. . .Yeah.”
“I owe you, Si,” you hum. “Seriously.”
“Don’t owe me nothin’.”
Poppy finishes the last bit of kibble, contentedly licks her chops, and climbs gracefully onto Simon’s lap. She turns three circles and then settles down with her eyes closed, head pillowed on his thigh.
“Ah,” you say softly. “Look at that. I always knew the two of you would get along eventually.”
“What are you on about?” He runs a hand over her fur. She makes a peaceful noise that slips and hums against the rough skin of his hand. “We’ve been friends since the beginning.”
“Simon Riley with a friend,” you say softly with a little laugh. “Shock, horror.”
“Comedian, you are.”
“Thank you for taking care of her.”
“Mean little thing.”
“No,” you say, “Just territorial and wary of people that aren’t hers.”
“Suppose I’m one of ‘em now.”
“Suppose you are,” you say, still watching him with that look he loves and hates, the examining one that sees all, everything, too much. “She’s just like you after all.”
He thinks of their bubble of space on the sidewalk, her protective streak and her sharp little teeth. “Wouldn’t say that.”
“Sure you are,” you say, “How do you think I got you to come around to me? Holding out my hand, and waiting.”
That leaden warmth in his chest seems to grow heavier.
He wishes you were there, because he’d lift the mask and kiss you; he’d let you cup his jaw in your tender hands.
“You have a bad habit of attractin’ people with bad attitudes.”
You giggle. “I should go. We still have a lot of unpacking to do. I’ll see you this evening.”
“Me and Poppy’ll meet you at the station.”
“I'll be okay. Don’t have to do that.”
“We’ll see you at the station.”
“Okay. ‘Course you will. Love you.”
Before he has a chance to process what you’ve said, the call ends. He’s left with your serene dog, and the sense of having won something.
After literally forever I updated my masterlist and my requests are open! I do go back to work the next couple days so don't worry if I answer at a snails pace. They'll probably be more in a headcannon style for now while I hop back into this. We're just gonna have to see how this goes. :))))
Description : Zuko x oc Dahila, Goddess of the Sun who was sent by the spirits crosses paths with Ursa, who changes her life forever.
Note : I started this fanfic in 2020. This chapter was in my drafts so I am posting it now. I'm still unsure if I will continue with the story. Hope you all enjoy regardless. <3333
Warnings : fluff, angst, eventual smut (in aged up chapters).
꧁𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑇𝑤𝑜꧂
꧁𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑇ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒꧂
6 years later
(I aged everyone up from now on unless I do flash backs)
Things didn’t get much better at the palace since Dahlia’s injury. Ozai was becoming more ruthless as the years went on. But Dahlia recovered fully much to everyone’s surprise which made suspicions float around the palace of her abilities. Between Iroh and Ursa all the rumors were shut down. They’ve worked so hard to protect her even going as far as not telling her of her abilities for them to fail. But when Ursa left after Azulon mysteriously died, something in Zuko changed.
Dahlia and Zuko stayed close but Zuko was distant since Ozai’s been putting even more pressure on him than before about Mai. And this absolutely crushed Dahlia to the core. Mandatory dates were the usual and Dahlia found herself alone most of the time considering most of their plans were canceled. And worst of all Dahlia knew the engagement was coming soon.
Zuko and Dahlia’s birthdays flew by and Zuko was finally ready to join his father in a war meeting. And thanks to Iroh that dream came true.
Zuko entered their grand war room with pride radiating off of him as he took a seat near his father.
“The Earth Kingdom defenses are concentrated here, a dangerous battalion of their strongest Earthbenders and fiercest warriors. So I am recommending the 41st division.” the general says
“But the 41st is entirely new recruits. How do you expect them to defeat a powerful Earth Kingdom battalion?” another says
“I don’t. They’ll be used as a distraction while we mount an attack from the rear. What better to use as bait than fresh meat?” the general sneered
“You can’t sacrifice an entire division like that. Those soldiers love and defend our nation. How can you betray them?” Zuko speaks up surprising everyone in the room.
This angered Ozai saying Zuko’s outburst was an act of disrespect and could only be resolved by an Agni Kai.
Everyone filed into the Agni Kai room. Dahlia followed close behind Iroh absolutely scared to death for Zuko. Once everyone settled down Zuko arrived and took his stance to fight. But when the general revealed himself, everyone was shocked to see Ozai smirking down at his son. It took everything in Dahlia not to scream so instead she pulled on Iroh’s sleeve. “Everything will be fine..” he said trying reassure the both of them.
Zuko dropped to his knees, “Please father, I only had the Fire Nation’s best interests at heart. I’m sorry I spoke out of turn,” he said frantically
“You will fight for your honor,” Ozai said stepping closer and closer. Dahlia closed her eyes and hid behind Iroh.
“I meant you no disrespect. I am your loyal son,” he pleads again
“Rise and fight Prince Zuko,”
“I won’t fight you,”
“You will learn respect and suffering will be your teacher,” and as soon as he said that Zuko’s strained scream could be heard echoing throughout the room. Iroh looked away while tears fell uncontrollably down Dahlia’s cheeks.
By refusing to fight Zuko was banished and could only return to the Fire Nation if he brought the Avatar, who had been missing for 100 years, back to his father.
Iroh and Dahlia couldn’t move, they were too shocked. But once the crowd filed out Dahlia ran to him wrapping her arms around his limp body and then something amazing happened. Dahlia’s eyes and tattoo started to shine a brilliant red, just like the night of the lunar eclipse blood moon. Iroh was amazed by the sight being that he’s never seen her powers at work.
Soon her light started to fade and she laid slumped over Zuko. Iroh rushed to the two, not even sure of what he just saw. “Dahlia, Zuko? Are you okay?”
Zuko’s eyes opened, his eye stopped bleeding for the moment but scarred very badly. Iroh’s mouth dropped when he had a realzation, “She healed you,” he said picking up her tattooed hand. “How is that even possible?” Zuko croaked out
“There’s no time for explanations right now Zuko. I have a plan. Let’s get ourselves packed up to leave,” Iroh says quietly hoping no one just seen what happened. “You-you’re coming with me?” Zuko whispered. “Of course I am. And so is she.” and they left it at that.
Iroh gathered up some guards to take a chance on joining Prince Zuko on his journey. Their first order was to get Dahlia to the ship safely along with all of her belongings and the on ship nurse would take care of the rest.
Once the ship sailed, Zuko was hot on Iroh’s tracks. “Are you going to tell me what the hell happened back there?!” he shot at him angrily. “It’s a long story Zuko..” Iroh trailed off. “Well I have time. Tell me everything.”
“She’s the Goddess of the Sun,” Iroh starts, “Your mother found her.. she believed she found her for a reason.. and I vowed to protect you both until the day I die”
“Does this mean she can actually bend? How is this even possible!” Zuko shouted standing up hastily from his seat.
“Zuko calm down. She doesn’t even know yet. I plan to tell her tomorrow when she wakes up,”
ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ
Zuko finally returned to his new bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed. His mind was racing from everything that transpired that day. And he was dreading looking into a mirror to clean himself up.
He huffed and trudged to the en suite bathroom. Looking up at his bandaged face, a single tear let out from his now “good” eye. So much happened today, how would he process it all? He started by removing the bandage. A slight hitch hit his throat at the sight of how much his face looked different now. Would Dahlia even recognize him when she woke up?
2020: This ones a lil shorter but I feel like what I’m writing next would be best for the next chapter! Let me know what you think and suggestions are always welcome! Requests are currently open!
Note: This is my first fic in literally 4 years so I’m real rusty. This was inspired by another post, if I find it I will link. I'm more of a Ghost girl but for some reason this scenario keeps screaming Price to me.
Masterlist
Heels clicking, perfume wafting, and pure femininity shining around her. It intimidated the fuck out of Price. The second she set down across from him for the interview, his mouth went dry. A sweet, soft bunny like you didn't belong here. No, no, this was bad. How the hell was he going to tell her no? The innocent smile spreading across her lips, excited for the job opportunity, was like ammunition to Price's lonely heart. He stared at her lips too long. Fuck, when was the last time he got off—
"Captain Price?" you say too kindly, pulling him out of his awkward stare.
He comes back to Earth and coughs, "Right, tell me about your past job experience and why you think you would be a good fit for the job." He falls into his professionalism quickly and tries to listen. Something about being an assistant for someone, being proficient in all productivity suites, and blah blah blah.
When the idea of hiring a secretary came up, Price was against it. The suggestion that he couldn't keep up with his team's paperwork between missions felt like an insult. He figured he'd just hire a kind older woman to appease the higher-ups and call it a day. But the idea of you being his secretary was a whole different story. If he went through with hiring you, it would certainly dig his grave. Your young, carefree nature tugging at his jaded mind. She shouldn't be around men like us, scarred and rough.
His mind didn't win the fight; his cock did. You were hired.
On your first day, you couldn't help but be nervous. Eager to please, you pick up coffee for everyone on the team. Arriving at the office before everyone else, you delicately place down each cup at their desks. Then you reach Price's office. He's already here? You knock softly on the door to no answer. Your brows furrow, and you turn the knob, peering your head in. Price's large form splayed over the small loveseat, fast asleep, and legs dangling off the armrest.
Your features soften at the realization. Sinking down into a squat, she softly prods at his bicep. "Captain," she tries gently, and his eyes snap open. "Jesus! Fuck, bon' you scared me." He says, breathless. Your cheeks heat at his reaction, but you blurt out, “I got you some coffee,” and lift the cup between them. He eyes the cup in your hand and then takes it from you. He sits up and starts towards his desk, which looks like a bomb went off.
“Organized mess,” he nods at it and grins at you. The sight of it immediately drove her up a wall. The urge to fix it was overwhelming.
The weeks wore on easily for you, color-coding files and coffee runs. Falling in place with cheeky banter amongst the team. Captain Price worked hard, sometimes sleeping in the office. But he wasn’t very demanding on you, though very disorganized. You made your way through your list of ‘improvements’ to his filing system. Physical and digital. It was a mountain of work in itself.
She couldn’t admit to herself that she was smitten with him. The dirty thoughts she took home with her needed to stay a secret. But when he accidentally grazed his fingertips against hers here and there. It sent a strike of heat straight between her thighs. Laying in bed at night, daydreaming about those big, rough fingers stretching her weeping pussy out. She was fucked.
Price was struggling all the same, cursing himself for hiring the minx. She’d strut in with her barely office-appropriate attire, and that’s all it would take for his dick to strain against the zipper of his pants. The swell and curve of her breasts and hips daring him to make a move and pounce. She knew exactly what she was doing. He just had to prove it.
Soon enough, a mission came around, and she could finally tackle that god-forsaken, messy desk. Wielding a coffee and a garbage bag, she went to work. Finally scratching the itch that had been bothering her for weeks. In her time with the Captain, she noted his non negotiable’s. His favorite cigars and root beer candies placed delicately in the right-hand drawer. A coffee maker slyly bought on the military’s dime tucked against the window for his convenience. She sat back and took a breath.
Price’s mind always returned to his little secretary while he was away. He wondered if she missed him. He was counting down the days until he heard her heels clicking, the sweet smell of her perfume scrambling his brain again.
When he finally returned, he’s greeted with her hovering in front of his office door. “It’s nice ta’ see ya’ again, bird,” he says coolly. Trying to hide the nerves stirring in his stomach. You play with your fingers and look up at him. “So, I did a little somethin’ while you were gone. You gotta promise not to be mad.” His brows furrow. “What’d ya’ do, love?” He curses himself. Not with the fucking nickname slipping out. It sends heat across her cheeks, noted.
“Well,” you open the door and reveal the tidied office. Probably cleaner than he found it. You step behind the desk and point to each drawer, “Old files, current files, reference files. And this,” you pull open the right-hand drawer, “is your essential drawer. All your stationery needs and happiness needs.” You tease at the end.
His whole world stops for a second. She did all this for him? His eyes stay locked on her. His pretty little secretary remembered his root beer candies. Is he that far removed from affection that this gesture makes his cock jump? “Tryin’ to win some brownie points, love?” He teases and steps forward. Your breath hitches and you press your behind against the edge of the desk. “Um, well, your desk, it was really hard to find the files and—”
A shit-eating grin spreads over Price’s face. He’s caught her. And judging by the blush crawling up her neck, she feels it too. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, halting you from saying anything more incriminating. He takes another step forward, barely an inch away from touching.
He raises his hand and allows himself to graze the apple of your cheek with his knuckle. You blink a few times, wondering if this is even real. His lips feather over the curve of your ear, “You tell me to stop if you don’t want this,” he whispers, and shivers sprinkle down her spine. You let out a breath.
He places kisses down your neck slowly, and you crane your head back easily. He hums against your neck in approval. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” He nips at your neck. “Yeah,” you breathe out in a whine. The sound nearly sent him into overdrive, hooking his hands under your thighs and setting you up on the desk. You finally allow yourself to grab onto his neck, no turning back now.
He grins devilishly and dips down to attack your lips, a grunt humming against your teeth. This was pent-up behavior, animalistic, and it thrilled you. His tongue forced its way in, claiming and taking only was his objective. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, and you greedily grind up into his hardness. A soft moan slips through your lips at the action.
His brain snaps and he tugs up your skirt to your waist, sinking his fingers into your panties.
“Fuckin’ mess for me,” he seethes, circling his finger around your clit, earning a yelp. “Gotta be quiet, love. Don’t wanna get caught, yeah?” You nod and watch as he strips you down. The cold air sending your nipples to attention. His hands take them in a rough grip, shoving them together, sucking down on the sensitive nerves.
“So good,” you whine and widen your legs. He smiles and releases his lips, sinking down to his knees to be eye to eye with your soaking pussy.
It was quite the sight, you bare for him on top of his desk. Needy and writhing. Better than any fantasy he dreamed up.
He teases his tongue slowly against your opening, making you squirm. A smirk threatens to form on his face, but instead he dives in. Losing himself in the sweet taste of your slick.
“John,” slips through your lips. The first time using his first name instead of Captain. It makes him double down on his efforts, slipping his fingers into your walls and pumping.
The added stimulation starts your climb to your orgasm. Fighting back the urge to grind into his bearded face.
“Com’ on, love, I know you’re close,” he encourages, and you let go. Crying out and grinding down into his face, riding out your orgasm.
He pulls back with a grin, standing back up to lay another rough kiss onto your lips. Steadying himself with his hand gripping the base of your throat. Your back straightens, latching onto him greedily. He pulls off his shirt and shoves his pants down hastily. His throbbing cock bounces out at attention. It makes you salivate.
He grabs it by the root and rubs the tip against your clit, his eyes meeting yours for permission. Your hips buck impatiently with the nod of your head.
He chuckles, “Impatient, I see,” and sinks the tip into you, slowly adding inch by inch until you’re stuffed full. Both of you let out a relieved moan.
“My pretty fuckin’ girl,” he grits through his teeth. Your tight walls strangle his cock, threatening him to cum right then and there. He starts to move, rolling his hips up perfectly to make you weep.
He leans your back down against the cold desk. Hooking your leg over his shoulder. Pounding deeper and deeper. You cry out, and he shoves his fingers into your mouth.
“Ye don’t want the boys to hear,” he smiles while you moan dumbly around his finger. Cock drunk. He moves his other hand to rub harsh circles around your clit. Bordering on overstimulation.
“Such a good girl f’ me, love,” he’s nearing his high, and he knows you’re close too. Taking his pace to a new level, reveling in the way your breasts bounce up and down. Proud of how well you’re taking him.
Your second orgasm hits you like a train, and you bite down harshly on his fingers. The taste of iron hits your tongue. He grunts at the action but allows himself to cum finally. His cock pulses his load into your hot heat.
He presses his forehead against yours and pants heavily, “Your fuckin mine now, pet. Nobody else’s.” You nod back eagerly. You’re exactly where you want to be.
Hello friends, I think it has been maybe 3? years since I have posted. Things picked up in my life and a sunk into being a lurker on this account. The overwhelming support and love for my writing did not go unnoticed. I used to write to a large audience on a different platform years ago which was pretty successful. I never expected the response I have received in my writing as an adult. I'm hoping to pick back up on writing. It is honestly crazy to think of how different my life is now from the last time I sat down and wrote. I was 21 and still living at home. Now everything is totally different. I am inspired again although I fear I may not have the same flair in my wording as before.
I know literally nothing is that serious and I can start and stop at anytime. My grammar is ass but I'm really really hoping that a spark fires in my mind again. I really would love to pick this back up again.
Anyways, if you have made it this far or supported me in anyway THANK YOU!
Now onto the meat and potatoes.
I'm not exactly sure I will be picking back up on Goddess of the Sun. Or any ATLA content. I have to watch the new movie and see if I can continue on. Currently I am looking to write for COD. I have an idea brewed up I just need to start.
Any friendly feedback is welcome. -Dahlia
ps. I found a draft for Goddess of the Sun chapter 3. Let me see what I can do
It’s something I’ve noticed over the past two years of using this site. It was gradual, imperceptible at first, something that most would brush off as a silly concern, or fault Tumblr algorithm for. While it’s true that Tumblr’s engine leaves a lot to be desired, I’ve noticed that even popular blogs have started to dwindle in terms of interaction or motivation. There could be a lot of reasons for this, but the biggest two I’ve noticed, experienced myself, and asked fellow writers about is this: (1) content being stolen, and (2) lack of feedback or interaction. I’ve never seen any logical person defend content being stolen, so I want to address point 2 instead.
Lack of feedback and interaction. I’m not saying this on my behalf so much as I’m saying this for friends and smaller blogs who have lost motivation to write. I was looking at my yandere writing blogs list the other day and noticed that a good majority of them no longer write. I usually update the list every few months, and by that point, more and more writers have stopped writing entirely. This isn’t a problem confined solely to the yandere fandom; in fact, there’s less writing blogs in general these days, especially ones that are active. I used to run a very popular BNHA blog with some friends, but that dissolved after our content was stolen and our followers stopped interacting as much. Out of our 8,500 followers, we hardly got 0.015% notes (~128 notes) on an average post. Tumblr is to blame for the lack of eyes seeing our posts, for sure, but that also means that at least 128 people saw one post and didn’t leave a comment or ask. We were considered a big blog; imagine what it’s like on a small blog.
My friend recently made a post that summed this up perfectly:
“I’ve seen people say “Be grateful that people even lurk on your page.” and, while I get the message they’re trying to say, it’s more dismissive and hurtful in my opinion. Like you’re saying, “Oh your writing is mediocre, you should be grateful people even LOOK at it.”
Me personally? I’ve heard the argument that AO3 is a better place to post fanfics, and while that might be true, I’ve had friends experience firsthand the lack of interaction there too. I’ve heard the argument that interacting with some writers is intimidating (me included). I’ve heard that argument that followers might be too shy to interact. I’ve heard the argument that writers should write for themselves and not for views / likes / reblogs / etc, and while that’s ideal, it’s not sustainable for everyone. What works for one writer won’t work for another, but you know what will? Interaction.
That comment or ask that took you 2 seconds to write? We remember it. That reblog with the compliments in the tags? We remember it. Every single ‘named’ anon we get (heart anon, sunflower anon, etc)? We remember them. And the best part is? It’s actually easier to do these things on Tumblr since you have the option to send anonymous asks or make a sideblog specifically for reblogs! Trust me, whether the lack of interaction is the cause of a lack of motivation or what have you, every writer appreciates feedback (don’t be shy to offer some critique or compliments) or even a simple keyboard smash with some emojis. Even sitting down for 5 min a day per week to comment on your favorite writers’ new pieces makes a huge difference. Personally, since Tumblr’s activity feed is beyond terrible and I have over 1,500 posts, I don’t always see new reblogs or comments on my content; asks though? Always see those, can never go wrong with those. If you don’t want to reblog or leave a comment, then you can never go wrong with an anonymous ask.
As my wise friend says: writing is an art, and in order to improve that art, we need other people’s eyes to see what we don’t.
For the sake of every writer (past, present, and future) on this platform, please share this post.
Fuck I’m at a fencing tournament and literally a minute after I reblogged this my dad told me that he talked to the point people and I’m probably going to win a medal.
I need to follow up to say I reblogged this last night, and this morning I got some of the best news of my life, like, a life dream come true news thing.
FUCK, I though it was just another lucky meme but LISTEN. Since a week ago I was waiting a phone call to confirm me if I got a job or not in my university. I reblogged this yesterday’s night “just for fun and because I don’t want any bagel to be mad with me”, and today’s afternoon, while I was losing my time as always, the professor I was supposed to work with called me and asked me for my personal information to start working with her.
Last time I reblogged this, I was complaining to my mum how I never got to go on walks alone. Then, she legit said to me, “well why don’t you go down to *censored*?” Which she’d never let me do before. I had three hours. In a place half an hour from home. It works.
…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment
likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post
i don’t think people really get how little feedback fanfic authors actually get? like the effort to reaction ratio is so abysmally skewed here that a fic nearly 50,000 words long takes an entire year to amass like. 16 comments. someone reblogged a fic i wrote at 4 am and tagged it with a 5-word compliment and i can’t stop thinking about it, not because it was so nice but because half the time you post a fic you’re going to hear nothing and anything feels like so much
fandom culture is so, so good about giving artists the credit they’re due, but we gotta start doing that for writers too. you’ve got no idea how much people put into their stories and get maybe a handful of reblogs and a dozen-odd kudos. that’s not enough. writing is an endurance sport and y’all need to start giving fic writers a reason to endure it and improve their craft. encourage writers like you encourage artists. reblog fics, leave tags, leave comments, acknowledge that these stories do not just spring into being for your entertainment.
every single damn writer i know feels like half of their readers see them as a machine. that’s gotta change.
reblog and make a wish!
this was removed from tumbrl due to “violating one or more of Tumblr’s Community Guidelines”, but since my wish came true the first time, I’m putting it back. :)
holy fuck, I didn’t expect this to work, I was like psh, whatever it’s just a quick reblog, but I wished my Dad would actually respond back to me AND HE FUCKING DID A FEW DAYS LATER, I GOT A FUCKING TEXT FROM MY DAD TODAY WHO HASN’T SPOKEN OR RESPONDED TO ME IN MONTHS HOLY FUCK WHAT IS THIS MAGIC IT WORKS.
WTF OKAY SO THIS SHOT ACTUALLY WORKS BECAUSE WHEN I WISHED, I HAD WISHED MY CRUSH WOULD LIKE ME BACK AND GUESS WHAT? I HAVE A BOYFRIEND NOW. WHAT THE HELLLLL?????
ok I’ve said this before but IM DOING IT AGAIN THE FIRST TIME I SAW THIS, MY WISH DID COME TRUE SO I REBLOGED AGAIN AND SAID IT IN THE TAGS BUT THEN I WISHED FOR SMTH ELSE AND IT LITERALLY LITERALLY HAPPENED LIKE A COUPLE DAYS LATER WHAT THE HELL SO NOW IM WRITING THIS HERE FOR YOU BC I DONT BELIEVE IN THIS CRAP BUT STILL IT’S AN AWFULLY BIG COINCIDENCE
THE BOY I FELL I LOVE WITH LEFT TO TRAVEL THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD AND HAS BEEN GONE NOW FOR 3 MONTHS. WE HAVENT SPOKEN SINCE BECAUSE I DIDNT WANT TO MAKE HIM FEEL TRAPPED TO ME AND NOT ENJOY HIS TIME SO I WAITED FOR HIM TO CONTACT ME FIRST. I SAW THIS ON A PARTICULARLY LOW DAY WHEN I WAS MISSING HIM SO MUCH I CRIED FROM THE PAIN, GUYS I REALLY LOVE HIM, SO I THOUGHT MEH WHAT THE FUCK, AND WISHED HE WOULD JUST LET ME KNOW HE WAS OKAY.
SO I WISHED FOR AN IMAC THE LAST TIME I DID THIS AND A WEEK LATER MY MOM SURPRISED ME WITH AN IMAC. HONESTLY SHE DIDNT EVEN KNOW I WANTED ONE, I DIDNT TELL ANYONE, IT WAS AN EARLY XMAS PRESENT. Wow this works
