#'SOME things should NEVER be talked about or if you HAVE to they can ONLY be done THIS specific way or else you should KILL YOURSELF'

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Co Parents To Lovers Again (part 3)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: fluff, smut this is the last part so I hope you enjoy it!!

part 2

It would be an understatement to say that Charles was over the moon when you and Louise showed up in the paddock on the race day. He was so delighted and happy that he had a hard time hiding it, and everyone present could see it.

He didn't separate from Lou, and he thanked you several times for bringing her and for coming with her telling you how much that meant to him.

Of course, you both attracted the attention of all the media, knowing that tomorrow the main news on the internet will be how Charles' ex-girlfriend appeared with his daughter in the paddock for the first time after a full year since the breakup.

The cameras were everywhere, but having learned from previous experiences, you decided to ignore them and pretend they didn't exist. All you were focused on was giving your daughter an unforgettable weekend and supporting Charles as well.

Lou got hungry so you and Charles decided to get her something to eat at the Ferrari hospitality. Lou didn't know what she wanted to eat, so Charles decided to leave his things at your table, including his phone, and said he would go with her to the restaurant to choose. While Lou went with Charles, you sat down at the table and scrolled through your phone waiting for them to come back.

“Am I seeing things or is it really y/n?” A very familiar voice asked you, making you look up from your phone.

“Carlos!” You smiled from ear to ear as you stand up to hug him.

“It’s been some time since I’ve seen you in the paddock. How come you’re here?” He asks curiously.

“Lou had a hard time accepting that she wouldn't be spending this weekend with her dad, so...yeah, here we are.”

“Oh man, he’s gonna beat my ass on the track today..” Carlos says shaking his head.

“What do you mean?” You laugh a little unsure of what he’s talking about.

“He always gives 110% on the track when Lou is there to support him, I can only imagine what it’ll be like today when you are there too.”

The two of you started catching up talking about what was new in your lives, what wasn't, and so on, until Carlos commented on Charles and Lou's relationship, saying that he really loves spending time with her and that he talks about her nonstop.

“She loves spending time with him too, he is her soulmate I’m sure.” You commented.

“And what about you? Is he your soulmate too?” Carlos asked catching you off guard.

Both you and Charles were close to Carlos and he pretty much knew everything about you and your relationship. He was also very angry with you when you broke up because he thought it was a bad decision and that you should have worked on your relationship and not give up on it so easily.

“I-I..” As you were trying to think of an answer to his question, at that very moment the screen of Charles's phone, which he had left on the table in front of you, lit up.

What caught your attention wasn't the notification he received, but your eyes got stuck on the wallpaper on his lock screen. It was a picture of you and Lou that Charles had taken shortly after you had given birth and came home from the hospital. You were lying on the bed and Lou was lying on your chest while you kissed her head.

It was a picture that was very dear to both you and Charles, and he had it as his wallpaper since the day he took it, and what surprised you the most was that he still had it to this day. Even though you were no longer together, he never changed it.

Carlos noticed what you were staring at and he basically took it as an answer to his question although he had already knew it.

“Uncle Carloss!!” Lou screamed with her mouth full of pizza as Charles carried her in his arms over to the table where Carlos and you were sitting.

“Hola, hermosa! Did you get hungry?” Carlos chuckled squeezing her cheek.

“Out of all the possible foods you can think of, my baby chose pizza.” Charles laughed sitting her down on the chair next to you.

You were completely lost in your thoughts and didn't even pay attention what the three of them were talking about. All you could think about was the picture you saw on Charles's phone and how you were getting closer to confessing your still deeply held feelings for him.

And of course today was just as Carlos said it would be. Not only did Charles beat Carlos’ ass on the track, but he also beat all the other drivers by proudly and deservedly taking P1. He couldn't let the win slip through his fingers in front of the two most important people in his life so he fought extra hard for it today.

When it was time to celebrate, your eyes filled with tears at how proud you were of him. First he celebrated with the team, then his eyes searched for you and Lou.

“You wanna congratulate daddy, baby?” You asked her and she nodded excitedly.

You pushed your way towards Charles with her in your arms and when you reached him he instantly hugged her and kissed her on the forehead.

“Good job, daddy!” She said.

“Thank you, baby. This one was for you.” He told her kissing her once again.

“Congratulations, Charles. We’re really proud of you.” You say softly smiling at him tears threatening to run down your cheeks.

“Thank you, y/n. Thank you for being here.” He said looking deep into your eyes.

The cameras went crazy over your family moment, closely capturing every interaction between you. It won't be until the next day when you see one of the taken photos of the two of you that it will become completely clear to you how your eyes are betraying you and showing how deeply and obviously in love you are with each other.

When the day was coming to an end, you didn't stay in the paddock any longer, but immediately got on the plane and flew to Monaco, all three of you together. Lou was completely exhausted and when you landed she was already asleep. Charles didn't offer but instead insisted on driving you to your apartment no matter how tired he was.

Charles, carefully so as not to wake her, carried her in his arms into her room and put her to bed. He kissed her goodnight before closing the door and going into the living room thinking he would say goodnight to you too.

“She’s sleeping like a log.” Charles chuckles quietly as he stands in front of you.

“Poor thing, she was so tired. She passed out as soon as we sat in the plane.”

“But I'm glad you came. Both of you. It really meant a lot to me to have you there.”

“I’m glad too. We had a lot of fun. Maybe we can come again sometime.” You say making him smile.

“Anytime you want” He says feeling that the conversation is slowly coming to an end. He wants to continue it so bad, but he knows that both of you are tired and with a heavy heart he has to leave, even though he would rather lie in bed with you now and hold you close to him all night.

“Okay, I’m gonna go now. It’s getting really late.” He says running his hand nervously through his hair while you bite the inside of your cheek so desperately wanting him to ask you if he can stay. “See you soon, yeah? Good night”

Before he turns around to head for the door, you decide that enough is enough. There have been so many obvious signs by now that it's not over between you and that you're still madly in love with each other that you don't want to waste another second being stubborn, but rather surrender to the moment and finally enjoy it.

“Or you can stay the night here..you know..i-if you want to” You blurt out stuttering the last part.

He turns slowly towards you. His expression is unreadable until he places his hands on your cheeks and asks you “Do you want me to stay?”

Without much hesitation, you nod your head and quietly say “I do.”

Initially, it was as if you were afraid to approach each other, as if you were afraid of each other's reaction even though both of you were hoping that the desire was mutual. Then his lips slowly and cautiously began coming closer and closer to yours.

At first, your lips just brushed, pulling back a little, and then they connected into a long, passionate and deep kiss that you both had been eagerly waiting for.

You felt like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders as you let out deep breaths in relief you didn't even know you were holding in.

Things were moving quickly and you didn't waste any time getting to your bedroom. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he picked you up and without breaking the kiss, carried you into the room and laid you down on the bed.

Exhaustion was long forgotten when you took each other's clothes off and started kissing every part of each other’s body.

“I missed you, I missed you so much you don’t even know” He said into the kiss, barely catching his breath from the intense excitement he felt.

“I missed you too, Charles” You half whisper as he pushes into you and one tear rolls down the side of your face.

It felt so good. He felt so good inside you, fit so perfectly like he was made for you. He wanted to make love to you, to show you how much he cares about you so he kept going on and on making your legs shake so many times throughout the night, kissing every inch of your body, pulling you closer to him to calm you down, breathing in your scent and getting lost in your eyes.

“I’m gonna cum, baby” His voice trembled as he rested his forehead against yours and pulled his cock out of you cumming all over your stomach, hands free, then pushing himself back in and wincing.

You fell asleep with him holding you close all night. His arms were hugging you so tightly, as if he was afraid that if he let go even just for a second, he would wake up and it would all be just a dream.

The morning sun's rays didn't let you sleep past eight, so you spontaneously woke up together still in the same position you fell asleep in.

“Good morning ma cherie” He said with a kiss to your lips.

“Morning baby” You smiled caressing his cheek with your thumb. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm, very well” He murmurs against your skin. “And you?”

“Me too. I haven't slept this peacefully in a long time.”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Yeah” You glance at the clock out of the corner of your eye and see that it's almost time for Lou to wake up. “Oh shit, Charles you need to leave, Lou is about to wake up” You say nervously, which completely confuses Charles.

“What? What do you mean I need to leave? Why can’t she know that I’m here?”

“It's not that she can’t know it’s just that I want us to take it slow this time. I'm afraid of screwing this up because it feels so good and so right and I don't know if I could handle us hurting each other again.” You sigh as you explain your reasons to him. “And most of all, I don't want to break Lou's heart.”

He pauses for a moment to think about what you just said and realizes that it makes sense and that you're right. “Okay, baby. Don’t worry we’ll take things slow to make it right this time.” After all, he just wants to fulfill all your wishes and wants to make you happy with whatever you want. “So when do I get to see you again?” He asks and you laugh at his silly question. “What?” He asks confused.

“It's funny that you ask me that. You can see us whenever you want. It's just for a short time until we see how things develop and then of course we'll live together again.”

“I can’t wait for that.”

Soon he got out of the bed and got dressed. He kissed you barely breaking away from you before heading out of the bedroom. The door to Lou's room was open and so he walked slowly on his tiptoes, not wanting to wake her up.

But he realized that was in vain when, passing by her room, he heard “Daddy?!” He stopped in his tracks, squeezing his eyes shut and cursing quietly under his breath.

She’d already seen him and he couldn't leave now or get out of the situation in any way, so he decided to go into her room and say good morning to her.

“Hey, baby. Good morning”

“What are you doing here?! Did you sleep here?!” She didn't know what to ask him first from how happy she was that it was morning and he was there.

When the two of them appeared at your bedroom door, it was clear to both you and Charles that from that moment on, you were all living together again.

“Hi there” Charles said holding her in his arms and looking at you.

You didn't say anything, you just covered your face with your hands and started laughing before you uncovered the quilt and said "come here, both of you"

@charlesgirl16 @aleatorio1234 @teamnovalak @watermelonslut @diaryofarandomkid @sunny44 @tempo-rary-fix @ggaslyp1 @janeh22 @seonghwaexile @seasonswinter @itgirlofthecenturysposts @ricciardosredbull @amz824 @sarx164 @seonghwaexile @landossainz @little-miss-naill @taygrls @sturmatt @myescapefromthislife @stylesmoonlight12 @st4rgirl-ellie @eloriis @sillyfreakfanparty @rebelliousneferut @kahhorri @hard4ndsoft @weekendlusting

[pricetagged]

Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?

The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins 💖 entirely unedited, abrupt ending

________

For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.

His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.

Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.

And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.

The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.

It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.

It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.

Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.

He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.

You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"

"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"

"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"

He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"

And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.

And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.

A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.

Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.

He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.

Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.

Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..

________________

This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.

Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral 💖

[keferon]

Eh okay so. My brain is absolutely cooked so you will probably just have to ignore the linguistic fuckups

Jazz and Prowl learning to communicate because language barrier is a thing >:D

Previous part

Jazz sometimes thinks that somewhere along his career path he lost the bar separating normal from...well...everything else.

After all he's seen, heard about, and done, he's not sure exactly how to measure what's weird and what's normal. He has..the general idea.

His own. And it's so convoluted and fucked up that he'd rather jump into a volcano than try to explain it to anyone else. Jazz thinks the little colorful aliens around him are weird as hell. He thinks they sound weird, he thinks they look weird, and he thinks he must be going crazy.

And then this big black and white robot catches his eye and Jazz's first thought is not "what the fuck??"

His first thought is

"Thank God! Someone's normal!"

Whoever this guy is, he sounds like he knows what he's doing. And most importantly, he looks just like Jazz. Well, not exactly. But close enough. After all, Jazz knows that his organization wasn't the only mech maker on the entire planet. Other countries were making Mechs too, and Jazz hadn't seen even half of them.

But he can recognize a giant robot when he sees one, okay?

The thought that another mech could be an alien doesn't even enter his mind.

So used to the constant presence of huge piloted robots around him, he looks at this one and clings to its appearance as something familiar and easily explainable. His brain says, we know how this works. There's a robot and inside the robot there's another person. It's the way it's always been. The sky is blue, the grass is green and the robots are human-piloted. It's that simple.

The guy takes him to the far corner of the room and says something. Jazz…doesn't understand..

The mech's face contorts in a surprisingly believable display of concentration. How...who built this robot? How could they make it frown?

He hears something else being said to him but again can't understand a word. Why won't this pilot get out of the mech to talk to him? Jazz doesn't have his communication frequency but surely they could at least shake hands. There must be some reason. Maybe something wrong with the air? Is it dangerous to be outside? This guy should know better, he's been here longer than Jazz, it seems.

(Damn it, whose idea was it to make a mech with a face, it's so distracting)

He rushes to activate the external speakers, because he and this guy obviously speak different languages, but it never hurts to try, right?

"So uh, I don't think you can understand English?"

Mech frowns again, trying to pick up on something familiar in a language that's apparently new to him. But finds nothing. Jazz lowers his horns sadly.

Oh well. Fuck. As if being stuck in an unknown place with unknown creatures wasn't enough, he can't even talk to anyone! How is he supposed to get out of here? Which way should he even go?

The mech waves his hand to get his attention and then pulls out a tablet and a stylus from..where ?

Jazz somehow manages to overlook the fact that the tablet is made to fit the mech's size. His head is still feels a bit…off..after that portal thingie.

"Charades it is then."

____________________

An hour and a half later, Jazz finds himself staring intensely at the screen in front of him with a surprisingly neatly drawn chart on it.

"So uh. Motion."

The other guy nods and starts drawing a walking mech. Then something that looks like a very unusual car. Then a submarine. Jazz gets a little lost looking at how skillful he is with the stylus.

Honestly, he's a good artist!

The guy points to the sketch of a walking mech and says

" Motion."

Then points to the drawing of a car driving and the columns of the chart.

"Motion-rotation" he points to the car again.

That must mean "driving" huh? Jazz nods understandingly.

Mech moves his finger to the submarine.

"Motion-Water."

Ah, it must mean swimming. Jazz nods once more, feeling like a wind-up dummy repeating the same motion a dozen times.

The mech makes a quiet humming noise and then points to the chart

"Motion. Sky."

And then gives Jazz the stylus?

Uh, what is he... Oh, he wants Jazz to figure out what it means.

"Motion" and "sky," right?

Jazz takes the stylus? Pencil? Thingie.. and very carefully draws out a crooked scribble of something only remotely resembling an airplane. The mech arches an eyebrow and looks like he wants to laugh.

Jazz shrugs awkwardly and tries to add windows to the airplane, but ends up making it look more like a severely fucked up caterpillar.

Mech snorts.

Jazz kicks him in the leg.

The airplane begs for a merciful death.

Jazz didn't really expect to get into a language class but he has to admit that whatever language he's learning now is a surprisingly easy one. It only took the other dude half an hour to show him the basic concept and from there it became a game of associations.

There were simple definitions. Like size, quantity, speed, emotion and so on.

There were signs that automatically turned the whole sentence into a question or a statement.

There were modifiers that Jazz defined in his head as positive and negative.

Positive speed - fast.

Positive size - large.

Positive direction - forward.

Positive time - future.

There were also basic words for senses, emotions and whatnot, also with modifiers.

Mouth-positive - to speak

Brain-positive - to think, but negative-brain-do-positive - to learn.

Huh.

And it's so neatly organized that Jazz wondered if this language was designed specifically to be easy to learn.

Let's see....

Mouth - positive, effort - negative.

"Easy to speak."

The guy nods contentedly and starts talking back, while pointing to the appropriate columns of the chart to make it easier for Jazz to understand.

"Creation-positive. Purpose. Person-negative-knowledge. memory-positive-effort-negative."

Jazz frowns, concentrating on his finger.

Oh. Created. For those who don't know it. Easy to learn.

He was right. The whole thing is waaaay too awkward to write poetry but learning it is a delight.

Jazz leans over the chart.

All right, well, let's see.

“Name. You. Question?”

The other guy smiles and pokes at the chart

"Me.Motion-sound-negative.Negative-eyes-positive-someone."

Walk quietly. searching?… Sneaking?

Oh, it's not "to sneak" it's "to prowl"

"Prowl" nods affirmatively. Jazz smiles at him and looks at the chart again. Okay. How to say “music”?..

“word-knowledge-negative.”

He stops to make a gesture with his hands, as if playing an invisible piano while humming a tune.

Prowl nods

“Sound-positive-positive-hearing.”

Jazz chuckles

“A whole two positives eh? Okay then. Uh. You don't look like you listen to jazz....so..”

“Me. Name. Sound-positive-positive-listening.”

Prowl raises his eyebrows. (Jazz is jealous, he wishes he had eyebrows too.)

“You're a musician?"

Jazz quickly shakes his head while simultaneously muting the outside speakers to a barely audible level and turning on one of the songs on his playlist.

Prowl twitches in surprise when he hears the melody.

Jazz waits for the intro to finish playing and then points to himself

“Creation-negative..uh..Sound-positive-positive-hearing. Jazz. This...”

He pats himself lightly on the chest.

"..is me. Jazz."

Prowl straightens up slightly

“Oh, you're not a musician, you're the music.”

Jazz nods cheerfully

“Yes yes!”

“Jaaz?”

“No no. Jazz.”

“Ah. Jazz?”

“That's right.”

Prowl draws a portal on the screen.

“You teleported here. What happened?”

Jazz hangs back, trying to construct an answer in his head. Good thing Prowl seems to have infinite patience

“So, I uh. What was 'fight'? Movement-pain-positive? I fought these things...”

He takes the tablet from Prowl and draws a crooked blot with a bunch of tentacles on it. Then thinks for a bit and adds big teeth and a lot of eyes. He's not really sure how to draw those eyes properly, so he just scatters them randomly around the monster area.

Prowl doesn't seem to be that amused by Jazz's drawings anymore, in fact, he suddenly becomes very somber.

“Quintessons.”

He pokes at the monster

“Name-Quintessons. Number-question.”

How many?

Jazz scratches the back of his head

“So uh...a lot?....number-positive-positive-positive-positive-positi...you get the idea.”

To be convincing, he dramatically spreads his arms out to the sides depicting something very large.

Prowl looks alarmed.

And unconvinced.

“How did you survive?”

Jazz laughs pretentiously

“Ask them how they survived.”

Prowl makes the “you can't be serious” face. Jazz isn't quite sure what exactly is confusing him. Mechs are designed to kill Quintessons, aren't they? Judging by his movements, this pilot must be damn good at controlling his mech, and that kind of guys usually fight on the front lines.

He decides to put that thought aside for later. There are more important things right now, like...oh shit, where is he even going??

Jazz leans over the chart again

“Uh. Right. Question-we-move-up-place” Man, how to specify... “Knowledge-negative?”

Prowl, linguistic gods bless him, understands him and starts gesturing over the chart in response

Okay. Ah. I-move-up. Planet-creation-positive.

'I'm heading home' or 'my home planet'.”

Jazz instantly perks up.

“Oh that's great, I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to go there too.”

Prowl is speaking in a language he's unfamiliar with, so he's definitely from another country, but hey, who cares as long as it's on Earth, right? He just needs to get there and he'll find his own way from there.

He watches the space debris flicker by outside the window. Even the stars are unfamiliar, Jazz can't find any constellations he knows.

One of the little purple creatures says something and Prowl steps aside to chat with them. Jazz leans back and settles into a more or less stable position. Then does the same thing, but with his real, human body. Hell, his head still feels really fucking weird after that teleportation.

He opens the comm channel and just listens to the static for a couple minutes in the faint hope that the engineering department will find a way to contact him.

Nothing.

He sighs.

“1061 on the com. In case there's any way you can hear me...ah shit. You guys won't believe what happened...”

[kisses4reid]

scare | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,, (part 1)

synopsis - you’re in a relationship with some one else and have a pregnancy scare, both your own reaction and spencer’s makes you realise that you’re not happy.

genre - bau!reader x spencer, friends to lovers, multi-part, pregnancy scare, reader has sort of a douche bf, one sided love (at first), angst and fluff

warnings - pregnancy talk, mentions of sex, unhealthy relationships, stress, sickness

w/c - 1.4k?? take a guess cause that’s mine.

a/n - i’ve got 9 weeks free. yeah, i have a job. and yeah, i have about 6 other hobbies i enjoy. but am i gonna make promises i can’t keep about writing more?? yeah. i am. here, enjoy. (pls lemme know abt mistakes it’s rlly late at night rn.)

The plane whirrs, small chatter from Morgan and who you assumed to be Penelope over the phone humming along with the music you try to distract yourself with. It isn’t working.

Because every song has its own special and quirky musical instrument that happens to sound like a message notification. And you keep getting your hopes up.

Your left leg started to bounce, your fingernails found their way to your anxious teeth. And Spencer noticed.

He noticed about halfway through the case, when you stopped talking as much, started drinking an influx of water, started discreetly taking pain medication. At first, he thought it was a simple stomach bug, and he knew your stomach didn’t agree with a lot of travel. But then you started getting nervous.

Spencer glanced at you a few times before moving, sitting next to you (attempting to be discreet). He can’t be discreet though, because every time he’s around you, his body does this weird thing where it can’t decide whether it should be instantly calm or instantly more nervous. Your presence stopped his fidgeting hands, his tired thoughts. But god, when he looked at you, it’s like his heart wants to see you for itself.

And right now his heart hurt, why were you scared?

You barely noticed Spencer sit down, usually you would, but your phone was annoyingly blank, silent. You turned it off and on three times, and re-entered the plane’s wifi password five times.

And now your stomach was grumbling, and not in the way that those nice small sandwiches can help out with.

“Are you okay?”

You jumped, taking your earphones out and staring at Spencer surprised. You laughed nervously, quietly, “Spencer! Sorry. Yeah, I’m fine.”

His warm eyes searched yours and for a second you could ignore the tight feeling in your chest. It made you think back around 8 months ago, when Penelope, your childhood best friend and now co-worker, created a pros and cons list for both Lloyd, and… Spencer.

It was unprofessional and inappropriate, especially when you decided to listen because you had nothing better to do. And especially when she started making some good points.

He squinted his eyes, and you sighed.

“Sorry, I’m just a bit antsy. Feeling a bit… off.”

You felt sick, and stressed, and like your thoughts were going to be the cause of your death. Because you’ve never been sick like this. And to your overworked brain, it only meant one thing.

Spencer’s a great profiler. And although the team collectively agreed to not profile each other, it becomes hard for Spencer when the girl he’s in love with is so obviously in distress. Even worse when he can’t be the hero.

“I can leave you to sleep if you want.” He says, getting up to leave.

“Oh, no. That’s okay. Honestly, I think sleeping would just make it worse.”

Ah, right. Travel sickness, Spencer thought. He gaps his mouth slightly and nods. He relaxes into the couch and looks over to you, heart picking up slightly as pieces of hair fell from your loose ponytail.

You looked over to the table he was previously sat at, the book you gifted him last Christmas open and nearly finished. You smiled to yourself, but it was bittersweet.

“You’re actually reading it?” You asked, looking back at him with slight surprise.

“Of course. I’ve read it 6 times already, it’s a great pallet cleanser- Just like you said in that Christmas card!” He smiled childishly, like he was recalling the first snow.

“I know right! It’s so simple but interesting, I mean I’ve only read it three times but to me I always found it to clear my head.”

Spencer angled himself towards you, “Did you know that the author actually interviewed his daughter’s teachers to see what ages teachers were more invested in compared to class sizes? He said in an interview that depending on a students intelligence, there’s an underlying emotional connection made between student and teacher,” he took a breath, “It plays into the intelligence to ego ratio that so many people claim isn’t true. Which I’m not trying to say you have a big ego, or that I do-“

You waved you hands, “Woah, woah. Why would I think you’re talking about me?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Well, you’re very intelligent.”

“Oh!… Thanks for thinking I’m intelligent, or smart.” You shrugged, “But I think you insulted yourself. You don’t have a 187 IQ for nothing do you?”

“You remembered my IQ?” He laughed nervously. His smile warms your chest like a candle. Like that candle he got you randomly in April, after you mentioned your favourite one being used up by your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend. Ugh.

You smile falters for only a second, “Of course. You only mention it to every person that second guesses you.”

He nods and smiles, “Must be my ego.”

You laugh, subconsciously bumping your shoulder with his. But- Jesus. Your stomach is queasy.

“Hey, uh, do you want some travel sickness pills?” He reached over for his satchel but you grab his forearm and smile as convincingly as you can.

“No, no. We’re landing soon, but thank you.”

You’re overreacting.

That’s what he said. When you texted your boyfriend of a year and a half that you thought you were pregnant he said, You’re overreacting. Two words, two hours after your first text, on his day off.

Maybe you are. You started feeling sick on a slightly more gory case, it’s lasted ever since the case started, you get travel sick as well.

The headaches are from the computer screen and stress. The stress is from fatigue. The fatigue is because of the lack of sleep. The lack of sleep is because of the headaches.

Why do you always do this? Always thinking that there’s something wrong with you. Always being the biggest person in your own life, selfish.

But… what if?

There’s a sudden squeak from behind you, and you instantly snapped out of it. You took a deep breath and looked at your surroundings. You were at your desk, standing, the strap of your bag clutched in your hands - god, your knuckles were white. Your eyes darted in surprise and confusion, and you jumped once again when Spencer spoke into the silence.

“You okay?”

“Um…”

You didn’t look back at him, only looking down at your shoes and taking a deep breath. You plastered on a smile despite the bile collecting in your throat.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve gonna go, the bus leaves at um…”

You took out your phone. He didn’t even respond to your text asking him to pick you up.

“I’ll drive you home. But uh, I gotta pick up some groceries. I hope you don’t mind.”

He curved to your desk and gently took your bag from your hands, glancing at the way you traced your knuckles and how the leather strap now had slight wrinkles in it. He smiled, warmly. And he started walking like you rejecting the idea wasn’t an option.

Which is wasn’t, because he knew you too well.

“Well, a cucumber actually has 3% more water than watermelon. So if you really want a refreshing snack, cucumber is your man.”

You smiled and raised your eyebrows in interest. He’s had many vegetables and fruits in the basket, not a lot of protein. Explained a lot.

My man, you thought with a smile.

My man, you shivered.

“I don’t like cucumbers.” You said like it was distraction, and he nodded, picking up some kewpie mayo as he you around to the next aisle. He glanced at you,

“I know. You say it’s tasteless. I like it.” He shrugged.

“I know.” You smiled, and he smiles back.

God, you wish you could bask in it, the warmth. But your chest was still tingly, and your heart hadn’t stopped aching ever since you got excited about an email notification.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay? I noticed you’ve been tense for like… a week.” He grabbed some pasta sauce and put his hand on your shoulder to turn you around - you obviously looked too far into your own head.

“Yeah, just feeling-“

“Y/n.” He turned to you, stopping your venture into the dairy aisle. His eyes were hard, worried. The fluorescent lights swayed slightly. A worker walked by the end of the aisle with a trolley full of food.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t,” he lifted one arm, wanting to rest his hand on your upper arm, to help you, “Don’t say sorry. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I have been feeling sick. That’s true. And I’ve been stressed and, thinking a lot. A lot.”

It felt weird to nearly tell Spencer about your relationship problems. It was like complaining to a doctor about healing crystals. It was like a slap in the face. Maybe that’s why you never did tell him about it, because it was facing your fears.

It was the pros and cons list made by Penelope.

But I’m overreacting.

“It’s nothing.”

Spencer sighed. You had that habit, of nearly opening up, and then shutting the door just as he was about to walk in.

You heard his sigh.

“Okay. I gave Lloyd my car because he has the day off, and he likes going to his friends houses on his days off. And, I told him something that should probably freak him out. But he doesn’t really care. I don’t think he really cares, about anything. At least about me.”

You started walking, because holy shit you’ve never said that out loud before, and Spencer followed you,

“Y/n, if you want to tell me something-“

“I think I’m pregnant.” You stopped, and started picking at your fingers, acting as if it was admitting to not knowing your left and rights, or that you don’t really like coconut.

His eyes widen, and his heart drops. It was like his worst nightmare coming true- jesus, how could he even think about himself right now? The girl he loved felt trapped with a man she thought might be the father of her baby.

Spencer gulped, “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

You looked at each other, scared, you more than him. And then you cringed,

“God, I’m sorry Spencer. I shouldn’t have said anything-“

“No- Y/n, it’s fine. I’m glad you told me-“

“I haven’t even, like, taken a test yet-“

“Wait so-”

You spun on your heel and looked at him exasperated.

“So… let’s go get some tests.” He said (he hopes) calmly. He was really trying, to pretend to be calm and collected. That’s what you needed, a clear head to replace yours.

He paid for everything, even the 5 pregnancy tests and the over sized lollipop you put in the basket to ease your nerves later on.

The moon was high, you were about three hours late to get home now, and your head was attacking itself with rambles and aches and honestly, you were sick of it.

You shivered, huddling in your jacket and drawing only slightly closer to Spencer. His silence was like a hook, drawing you in closer and higher and taking every word you had been thinking that day to the tip of your tongue.

You looked up to him. His hair fell into his eyes, the breeze reddening his cheeks slightly.

It’s Spencer. You’ve known him for nearly 6 years, but it feels like you’ve known each other for ever. You know everything about him, and he knows everything about you. Well, not everything. He doesn’t know how you feel in your own apartment, how every anniversary had been forgotten even when it was the ‘1 year’ mark, how you felt like you were raising an over grown child who could drink.

He knows you’re strong, but admitting all that? I’d look weak.

You have looked weak in front of Spencer. He stayed overnight in your hospital room, he held you when you watched a little girl die, he wiped your tears when you watched a sad short film during your break.

You couldn’t hide anything from him.

“I don’t think I’m pregnant- Well, I mean I might be, but there’s a very low chance,” You started, Spencer’s jaw clenched for a millisecond, “I’ve just been feeling sick and… it could be because of stress from work, or just general stress- like, I don’t know.”

Spencer moved the grocery bag to his other hand.

“Kids are great, don’t get me wrong. Some people don’t get the chance to have kids. I mean…” You gulped, and Spencer finally looked down at you. But now, all you could do was stare at the car park’s concrete floor. Speaking out loud was like clearing your brain, the fog was lifting. “Lloyd doesn’t want kids. I do, at least in the future, not right now. I just hope it’s not with-“ You cut yourself off, and slow down a bit. Spencer matches your pace.

I just hope it’s not with him.

He gulps, and clears his throat, looking down at you with understanding eyes, “With everything that’s going on.”

“Yeah… yeah. You know, my job, my…” It’s no use lying to Spencer. He knows. He’s known, for a long time.

Your chest was tight, and you made eye contact with the pregnancy tests lying on top of Spencer’s groceries. The thought of going home, rushing to the bathroom, avoiding your boyfriend who was already waiting angry, made your throat close up. Because only now, when you were three hours late from work and ignoring his one attempt at a phone call, Lloyd texted, ‘I think you need to calm down.’ It was a bare minimum, and finally Spencer could see you realizing it.

No, ‘Wre you okay?’, ‘What’s making you think this?’ ‘Where are you?’

No. He was making you out to be the crazy one, the one to be over thinking, over bearing, too much.

You were confused. To put it blankly. And scared. And questioning your life decisions. And honestly you just wanted to curl up in a ball and to have Spencer make you bad cucumber salad at his warm apartment.

You looked up to Spencer but he was already looking down at you, reaching for his keys and nodding, “You can come to mine, it’ll be okay.”

taglist (open) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna @laurakirsten0502 @cultish-corner

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

64 / 4.1k / soap soulmate au, final part

...

"You doing okay?"

Hearing Graves’ voice knocks what little breath you had out of your lungs. It's been months, but that's him. Your old boss. You never thought you'd hear his voice again.

"I've been better," you say finally. "Been awhile."

"Yeah, it has," he says. "Wish you'd've called me to catch up sometime, rather than under the circumstances. You don't sound too banged up. They treat you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"I didn't ask how you feel. I asked if they roughed you up."

You feel your own temper shorten in response. "I need you to call KorTac off."

There's a pause. You can imagine his frowning face, the way he's thinking that one over. "I'll take that under advisement," he finally says, but you can tell he's not going to do what you ask of him. "Puttin' me in a predicament here, kid. You're giving those boys a hard time, and here I thought I was helping you out. Paying your bail, so to speak."

"It’s more complicated than that."

"Always is. Let’s just have you dropped off back on base with us. You can clean yourself up and we’ll talk."

He waits for your crisp yes, sir, but it never comes.

He speaks again. "You got somewhere else to be?"

"I can't go back."

"Can't or won't? You got something you ain't tellin me, soldier?"

"I said I can't go back. And I'm not your soldier anymore. You're not my boss. I don't work for you."

"You know Shadows don't leave one of our own behind. Not to rot in some CIA prison cell. So lose the attitude," he says, voice like iron. "This ain't a good time to play games, kid. You're comin' back with me because I spent a pretty penny on you. You owe me. You have your personal business, fine. Come on back to base and let's talk this out face to face before you go makin' any hasty decisions."

You're so frustrated it's hard to form words. You should be grateful. You know that. Graves doesn’t pretend to care about his men. He cares enough to lead from the front. But you met your soulmate, and you can’t act like it didn't change you. You need to make things right. You also can’t exactly tell Graves you kind of sold him out.

"Hey. Focus up." He doesn't raise his voice to a command. Still, the order is in his voice, and you have been long trained to follow your commander's orders. Then he sighs. "What happened to you, kid?"

"You betrayed the 141. You killed innocent people in Las Almas, looking for them."

You can almost hear his jaw working behind his clenched teeth, the muscles in his face tight. He does not allow this kind of disrespect. "You think I like what I had to do? General Shepherd's orders were clear. We followed them. 141 did not." He huffs out a sigh. "I didn't enjoy it. But that's the job. You of all people know that."

You swallow. "You told us they were our brothers. You killed innocent people, Commander. Johnny said he saw you do it--"

"Johnny?" Grave's voice rises. "You on a first name basis with Soap now?"

"We all know what happened in Las Almas," you retort. Your skin goes hot at the way he says Johnny's name. "I won't work for Shepherd anymore after that. I won't fucking do it."

"Don't pull that with me." The warning is written in his voice. This isn't like you. To the Shadows, you’re calm. Cold. You don't lose your temper. You don't talk back. Especially not to Graves. "You think you can walk away at the drop of a hat just because you don't agree with an order? It doesn't work like that. You follow an order, even if you don't like it, even if it pisses you off. You don't get to decide what you think is right or wrong to carry out. When I give you an order, you follow it. That's your job. Your loyalty is with me. Not with the 141."

"I did my job."

"Then act like it," he snaps. "Stop acting like I'm some evil bastard out here. I made the only choice I could. Task Force 141 was not supposed to be there. They knew my orders, and what did they do? They came after my men, went behind my back, screwed us over. We did what we had to. You wanna be pissed at someone? Be pissed at them."

You glare down at the ice, but say nothing.

"You know I'm right." He knows you. He's getting to you. "And you know what else I find interesting? You don't seem a bit surprised to hear me alive." His voice is too casual and sharp as a knife. "Didn't you get the memo? Did no one forward you my obituary, soldier?"

You stiffen. You're not supposed to know he's alive.

"You're an awful liar. Always have been." He pauses for a long moment. "It ain't easy, surviving against the 141 if they want you dead. You know how I managed it, soldier?"

Yes. "No,” you retort. “And stop calling me that. I'm not your soldier. I don't work for you anymore."

"The hell you aren't. Maybe you're not on the payroll anymore, and maybe you're no longer under my command, but once a Shadow, always a Shadow. That makes you my responsibility. And my goddamn headache." Something shuffles on the other end of the line. "You know exactly what I'm willing to do to keep one of my Shadows safe. But if you're so keen on turning yourself in, fine. I'll have you in front of Shepherd's desk first thing tomorrow. Is that what you want? You know Soap and Ghost put Shadows in the ground that night in Las Almas."

"Shadows tried to put Johnny and Ghost in the ground first."

"This isn't about who shot first. This is about you." His voice is dangerously low, but he keeps his temper in check. Then he huffs a laugh. "You keep callin’ him Johnny. Makes my brain itch." Johnny MacTavish. John MacTavish. Yeah, that's it. "I'll be damned," he mutters.

You touch your exposed soulmark compulsively as if to hide it. Most soldiers hide theirs, but yours has always been tough to cover up. He's seen it more than a few times.

"Got you right out from under my fuckin' nose."

Your stomach tightens. You feel too exposed, like suddenly he’s putting the story together--how 141 got in.

"Shoulda known. Shoulda known. You know the military has a registry for this shit. There are rules. What's wrong with you?"

"I made a mistake," you mutter.

That might be the funniest thing he ever heard. And he's heard some good jokes. "You don't make mistakes, kiddo. You never have. That's not how I trained you." He's right, and you know it. "But hey. Guess it's true what they say about it."

"What?"

"Soulbonds. Make you take your best-laid plans and raze ‘em. Full scorched earth.”

“This isn’t about that. I’m making this decision on my own.”

“You think?” He takes a puff on his cigarette. “I don’t. I don't blame you, either. You sure as hell fought it as best you could. Didn't give in to save your own life. If that's not the soulbond making your decision for you, soldier, I don't know what is."

You look up at the sky. For all the time you spent working with Graves, that past version of you might as well be dead. Maybe that’s the grave you’ve been digging. "I can't work for Shepherd anymore. I won't do it."

"You're a good soldier, 86. You were loyal. I still think you're loyal, even if I'm not who you're loyal to," he finally says. His voice is still calm. It doesn't make you feel any better. "You know if you choose to walk away from this, the next time we meet might well be as enemies."

"Then I guess we won't meet again, sir."

He says nothing. Then he lets out a long huff. You really are going to do him dirty. You can hear his scowl. "That's a damn shame, kid. But you have more of a spine than I gave you credit for," he says. There's a tone of reluctant respect to it. That's as close as you're going to get to a compliment from him now. "You're a loose end, then. You'd best stay well out of the way. Mine and Shepherd's. I hope you're not making the wrong choice, 86," he says quietly. "I really hope you're not."

"It’s out of your hands now. And pay KorTac," you add. "Pay my squad. They did their job."

That makes him scoff. "Now why would I do that? You might be a traitor, but you're still my investment. You were worth more on my payroll than theirs, and that’s a fact I intend to maintain."

"You owe me," you remind him.

"Don't push your luck," he warns. "You're an asset. You don’t get the privileges of rank anymore. But, well..." He sighs. You imagine him with his heels kicked back on his desk, cigarette in hand. "I’ll tell you what. I’m in a charitable mood. I'll pay them off. I'm a man of my word when the time comes to pay off my debts. Hell, I’ll even throw in a tip for a job well done." Despite the annoyance in his voice, you don't doubt he'll do just that. "But that doesn’t mean I trust you anymore. I trusted you once, and you went rogue. I let you go now, that means I expect you to keep my secrets. Don't you go singing if Shepherd puts you in a chair. You got that?"

You glance up out of the corner of your eye at Soap, whose hands are still clenched in tight fists at his sides. "If Shepherd puts me in a chair, he's the one who's gonna sing. Not me."

Graves chuckles. "You're a good soldier, 86, but you can't take on an old war dog like Shepherd. Leave that to someone more qualified."

"Like who? You?"

"As I said, you best steer clear. I don't want to hear your name again." His voice hardens, and you hear your old commander again. "Good luck, kid. You'll need it. And give Soap hell."

You toss the phone back to Horangi. He listens to what Graves has to say. Then, eyes meeting yours for a moment, he wordlessly moves out away from the river, leaving you weary with relief. It's over. Finally.

Soap watches him disappear into the trees. Then, he looks back at you, alone and shivering on the ice. You look half-dead, bleeding, and your lips are near blue. He wants to make his way to you, but the ice is scarcely holding you. It won't hold him, too.

"Oi," Soap calls. His voice is rough with anxiety. "Get over here. You're gonnae freeze to death even if you don't fall through."

You blink up at him. Standing in the rising sun the way he is now, he looks like someone’s guardian angel. Yours? You'd like very much to be wrapped in his wings.

You make your way over to the bank, but the rocky ledge up is slippery and icy. Behind you, between the ice where you're standing and the bank, there's a yawning gap. To your left, there's a bridge, but snow has already melted off the surface of the ice, and it looks thin. "There's no way up," you call. "But downriver..."

"No’ a chance in hell I’m going to let you try to cross that," Soap says as he approaches the edge. "You'll be swept away and drown, hen. You're not in any condition to swim, and even if you were, that river's too bloody fast to risk it."

"Then what do you suggest?"

His eyes sweep over the river once more. It's wide; too wide to attempt a jump across. The ice has fallen in, leaving it almost impossible to make it to the bank. It isn't safe. The longer you stand there, the more the ice cracks under you. He admires your guts for putting yourself on the line like that to get back to him, but damn you. His blood pressure has never been higher.

Soap throws off his pack and slings his gear onto the bank. "I'll pull you up."

"But..."

"But nothing." With the adrenaline still pumping through his system, Soap thinks nothing of the risk of the bank collapsing under you both with his added weight. The only thing on his mind is getting you back in one piece. "We both know damn well, if I was the one on the ice now, you'd already be down there trying to help me, so for once, just shut up and let me help you."

Can't argue with that.

He pulls out an ice hook--mountaineering equipment; he was prepared to climb this mission, luckily--and offers it to you.

You toss the grenade as far as you can in the opposite direction. Then you raise your hands to grasp the rope. He's holding the sharp end and giving you the handle. You try to keep hold, but as he lifts, your bloodied hands slip just as the grenade explodes nearby, too close, spiderwebbing the ice with a final crack.

You land hard, break through, and disappear under the freezing water.

Soap has never known panic faster than when he sees you go under.

He dives after you. He has to get you back to the surface before whatever air you had in your lungs gives out. Your survival is his survival.

He finds you in the rushing black abyss when your fingers hook around his sleeve. Wrapping his hands around your arms, Soap anchors you to his chest.

You come to in his arms. You're colder than you ever have been in your life. Your fingertips tingle in pain and numbness. He's carrying you ashore somehow--far downriver, thinner ice--and he ducks into an old cabin with you in his arms.

Soap kicks the door shut behind him and moves into the cabin to set you on the floor, propping your back against the wall. His hands work fast as he pulls out his knife to cut away your soaked thermal clothes and gear. You dip in and out of consciousness until he wads up a fistful of gauze and packs it into your side wound. The sudden pain chokes you. Then a wave of nausea washes over you. You’d like nothing more than to tell him where precisely he can shove that gauze, but you’re too lightheaded.

"You with me, hen?" His gruff voice wavers. "I need you to stay awake."

He gathers you up in his arms and lifts you into his lap. It's a tight fit, wedged underneath the frosty window and between a table and an upturned stool. You register the warmth of his skin on yours and dimly realize he's stripped both of you almost bare, huddling around you to prevent hypothermia.

You soak up Soap’s body heat instantly. He's a furnace, and he needs to be, given the state you're in. He tucks you as close as he can. You're both shivering, but he doesn't care. He can be cold as long as you're warm. His broad body shields you from the drafts leaking into the decrepit cabin.

"No, no, eyes open." He tilts your face up as your eyes flutter. "Don't go passin' out on me."

You gaze up at him in your stupor. Maybe it's the blood loss, but even through your own pain and frustration, he's the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen.

"You have really odd eyes," you mutter. "Like blueberry soft serve."

Oh, you're definitely delirious. Maybe concussed.

But he can't deny the look you're giving him right now makes his stomach flip. The sight of you in his lap, your frost-scorched fingers wrapped idly around his ID tag and staring up at him like he's just pulled the moon out of the sky for you... it's the first time he’s seen you with your guard down.

He swallows and keeps you pressed against his skin. There’s a lot of blood. He can’t tell what’s yours and what isn’t. "You're in no shape to flatter me."

You hum, your fingers dabbing idly at a smear of blood on his chest.

He doesn't move to stop you. Instead, his eyes flick down to your hand. Your fingers leave a trail of sparks over everywhere you touch.

With a soft sigh, Soap catches your wrist. "Quit it, hen."

"Quit what?"

"Teasin'. Makin' me wish you'd put those hands to other uses," he says, voice quiet and rough. It's just you and him in the little cabin. The world is far away. His thumb rubs against the inside of your wrist, trying to bring some warmth back into your skin. "You're in no shape to be feelin' me up, either."

Your head lolls against his shoulder. "Maybe it's the perfect time. Maybe we won't get another time."

Hearing you say that twists his insides into knots. He leans down to rest his forehead against yours. "Maybe you just need to shut up and let me take care of you. Don't talk like that." His voice leaves no room for argument. He tightens his grip on you, pressing you closer as if he can somehow press that into your skin by sheer will alone. "There'll be plenty of times for you to get your hands on me."

"Mm." You tuck into him tighter. You'd be mortified with yourself if you weren't half-dead from blood loss. "Sorry."

He exhales into your hair, pressing chaste kisses there.

You're practically in his lap, the two of you tangled into each other from head to foot in the space under the window. He's surrounded by the smell of you. It's a soothing presence in all that surrounds him.

He shouldn't want to touch you, shouldn't want to take advantage of your weakness--but the thought of having you so open and wanting, of you willingly in his arms, makes something in him ache. Makes the selfish parts of him scream.

"You're a pain in my arse," he says. He focuses on taking inventory of your wounds, brushing over your arms with his touch to assess the damage. "You gonnae bleed out on me?"

You shiver a little as he drags you closer by your bare thigh. "Wouldn't be the worst way to go."

"Oi," he snaps in warning. He slides his hand up your side, checking for bleeding. It’s just as much a caress over your bare skin. He has to ignore how his skin tingles every time the curve of your body slides against his in that tantalizing way. Something in his lower belly tightens. "You don't get to tap out after makin' me go through all this trouble for you. You're livin' through tonight or else."

"Or else what?"

"Or else." He moves his hand up to the base of your throat, his large, calloused fingers wrapping around your neck and tilting your chin up to look at him. He fixes his blue eyes on yours to take in the dazed expression on your face. "I'll drag your arse out of hell and tan it until you can't sit right."

You're too weary to laugh, but you rest your scuffed cheek on his thumb, and it pushes your lips into a smirk. "All for me?"

"Aye. Hell of a lot more trouble than your pretty face should be worth."

You pull free and rest your head on his shoulder again. "Where do you live?"

"Glasgow," he says. "Not sure I should be tellin' you that."

You trace his chest around the chain of his ID tag. So many muscles. "Probably not."

"And what about you? Do I get to know?"

"No. Maybe. If we get out of here."

"Yeah? Well, you're not goin' anywhere with this wound. Bleedin' out, nearly froze to death, and still mouthin' off. No idea how to shut up and be good." He looks down at the injury, assessing how bad it really is in the dim light of the cabin. "You lost a lot of blood. I bet you feel tired." He brushes your hair off your face. "Stay awake a bit longer. The boys'll be here soon."

"I shouldn't," you mutter.

Soap doesn't miss the slurring of your words. He knew the blood loss would affect you, but he was hoping for more time before he had to really worry. "Shouldn't stay? Too late to get away from me now," he says, trying to keep his tone casual. Your skin is too cold for comfort. The gauze in your wound soaking through with blood can't mean anything good. "I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Sure as hell not letting you out of my sight. You've got a lot to repay me for."

You try to keep your eyes open. Every blink is more sluggish than the last. "Like what?"

"Runnin' away and makin' me chase after you, for one. Puttin' yourself in the line of fire for me, second. Takin' a swim in a frozen river. Scared me to death." He presses his lips to the crown of your head, a gentle, chaste touch at odds with the possessive, dominating instinct he can feel creeping into his thoughts. You're vulnerable right now, something he should never want, but part of him wonders if he’d ever have caught up with you without this. "Aye, you owe me. First thing we do once you're patched up? We have a long talk. We have a whole hell of a lot we need to say to one another. And you'll answer every question I ask you."

"I dunno if you'll like the stuff I say," you mutter.

"Hardly matters. You’re plenty keen on spittin’ fire at me as it is. No reason you can’t keep tellin’ me everything I don’t want tae hear."

Another shiver wracks your body.

Soap rubs your arms. "You gotta give your word you stay awake for me, aye? Stay here."

His radio beeps nearby. You huff. "Fine."

"Fine." He leans over to grab his radio and tries to keep an arm around your shoulders to keep you warm as he does. He keeps you cradled against his chest as he responds to Price.

"Soap here."

You don't hear the conversation. Instead, you listen to Soap's voice vibrate through his chest. He speaks to Price in hushed tones, talking about your condition and the team's ETA.

Price has a laundry list of questions, but Soap manages to wrangle them into holding off until they have everyone back on base. No sense exhausting you on a mission that's already been a shitshow. Finally, they're done. Soap lets the radio go to focus entirely on you again. "Still with me?"

"How long do we have?"

"Shouldn't be too much longer," he says. He checks your side again. The coldness of the air has soaked into the wet gauze. You shiver again. It makes something in him ache. "ETA's about ten minutes out."

You pull his lips down to yours and kiss him.

He's surprised, but he doesn't pull back--not from you. He lets you kiss him. Your taste seeps into his brain and turns all rational thought to white noise. One hand cups your jaw with a surprising gentleness, and the other slides behind your waist to keep you against his body. He's gentle--you need to be handled with care right now.

He pulls back before he loses himself in the desire to deepen the kiss. His eyes search your face, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot against your lips.

"You're lucky you're injured," he murmurs. "Or you'd be in a very different kind of trouble right now."

You shiver, but not with the cold. Just that one kiss has you feeling much warmer. You touch your name where it's written on his arm. Then you curl your fingers around the back of his neck and pull yourself closer. "Hold onto that thought for later," you murmur. "Give me something to wait for."

Then you kiss him again.

...

← previous part / [part 13] / epilogue →

part 1 / more Soap / masterlist

thank you <3

[signedaiko]

begging- BEGGING PLEASSEE!!

for a Bumblee Bee x Decepticon reader who’s short like him but more timid than their comrades. Like they mess up on missions, but they can be snappy too and fast like Bumblebee! I imagine him chasing them in a fun cat and mouse and accidentally takes it like a fun game. all scaring the heck out of them as he catches up with a smile. He would start crushing on them and just says things like it’s a fun idea “you should totally switch sides! Join us!” And the reader is all bewildered but wary.

Bumblebee [Animated]

In which the small bot finds a con just about his size that he wants to spend more time with.

Reader is: Gender Neutral | Cybertronian | Decepticon. Romantic.

Bee has a fair few con encounters now that he is fighting for Earth

Usually they were against the likes of Blitzwing, Lugnut, and the odd Starscream

But you were new; you were something that paled in size but made up for in interest

You were mostly known for your ability to distract; that's right, the cons used you as a lure on purpose

You were small, nimble, decently fast, and as Random had once told you;

"You have the face of an Autobot!"

Autobots thought you were an easy target, easy to manipulate, perhaps less smart

But you were dedicated to the cause, and while you hated being bait and preferred your spot on intelligence collection, you were happy to do whatever Megatron wished of you

Usually, it was fine

But recently, the yellow one had gotten too close, and he was only getting better at catching up to you

Telling the cons you were scared was out of the question, but it was seriously concerning how obsessive it had become

Every time you made yourself visible to the Bots, he was racing towards you with a smile and a hand extended, like he expected you to reach out and accept him just like that

More recently, you were worried he'd actually catch you

Racing down a frozen-over river as thick snow slowly fell from the sky, leafless trees whizzing past your vision as your peds left compacted snow marks behind you

He had special wheels made for snow, but you didn't, and he was fast behind you, yelling some more of his pleas

"Aren't you tired of running? I just wanna talk!"

He sounded so young, certainly near your age, someone you could get along with had it not been for the war

But what if it was only a trick? What if he only played this game for his own amusement?

You'd long since called Blitzwing to help get you, since you couldn't fly, and he was on his way, but visibility was low with all the snow, fog, and your distant location

You had to keep running, but Bee was only a few meters behind by now; you could hear the snow crunching beneath his tires

"C'mon! Join the bots! We can race like this more often on real roads!"

He offered again, but you refused

"You make it sound easy; how about you just join the cons?"

You were just as snappy, though

Just as he got on your heels and transformed, digits inches away from grabbing your arm, you jumped up and grabbed onto the wing of the purple and tan jet that swooped down, dragged away from his reach in seconds

He stopped in his tracks and groaned, but his smile never left

"Next time, then!"

Authors Note - This prompt is so cute!!! It honestly reminds me of a Blitzwing fic I read by @vhaos-chaotic-writing that was him being yandere and kinda doing the same!

[hippiegoth97]

Random Spencer Reid Thought #2

A/N: Fucking FINALLY got something written for once. Enjoy some crumbs, lovely readers <3

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, smut, virgin!Spencer Reid, fem!reader, no use of Y/N, fingering, groping, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, dirty talk, rough sex, fluff

Some tags: @rafeyscurtainbangs @loserboysandlithium @hotwritergf @bloodibambiidoll

"Are you sure you're ready for this, Spence?" You ask Reid as you're straddling his thighs, the two of you naked in his bed as you have been so many times before. Although, it's different this time, because he's just asked you to take his virginity from him.

"Yes. I'm ready." He replies softly, sitting up against the headboard, his hands resting at your waist. He's brought you here on many occasions, though up until recently the most you'd do is make out until your lips were sore.

He'd met you at a book shop a few months ago, reaching for the same first edition of some dusty old classic. Sherlock Holmes, maybe, or perhaps even Moby Dick. He doesn't quite remember (and his unmatched memory captures everything), as he was far too focused on the gorgeous, soft hand that brushed against his own in grabbing for the book. A shared laugh soon followed, light and airy, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Your beauty enraptured him instantly, and he nearly tripped over himself to give you his number and await your call to plan a date of some sort. It was so unlike him to do so, it made him seriously question his sanity for an hour or two. But after a conversation with you that lasted hours into the night when he returned home that evening, he was pleased to find he'd made a very wise decision.

Fast forward to the last month or so, and things have rapidly progressed from hand-holding and passionate kisses to touching various naked areas with your hands and mouths. You've been patient, guiding Spencer along each stepping stone towards intercourse, encouraging him, exploring him in every way imaginable. Despite your insistence (and multiple comments he receives from certain coworkers of his), he's never exactly found himself to be attractive. Not really.

He's spent most of his life a full step ahead of everyone else in terms of education and career, leaving him considerably younger than most of his peers. That fact alone has made it rather difficult to experience a lot of 'firsts' in regards to intimacy. He's been kissed before you came along, maybe even felt up a little bit, but nothing beyond that. In all honesty, a part of him is glad to have been spared the awkward adolescent groping and vulgar attempts at playing grown-up, because now he's been able to share all of these amatory encounters with you.

"I want this. I want you." Spencer reiterates as you haven't made any next moves yet.

"I want you too, baby. I just have one more question." You say softly, brushing a wispy hair out of his face before cupping his cheek.

"And what's that?" Reid asks, unable to help smiling as you gaze at him adoringly.

"Do you want me to put a condom on you, or are you okay without one?" You ask, the words sounding a bit more clinical than you'd like. But it's a fair question.

"I-I dunno. Should I?" His brow furrows, unsure how to go about this. He's aware you're on the pill, though that statistically isn't 100% effective. And he may be a virgin, but he's aware of the mess sex can make, and it might spare a bit of cleanup afterwards. He's getting stuck on it now, pondering inside his head as you play with the foil wrapper between your fingers.

You giggle at his momentary trance, shaking your head. "It's only if you want to, Spence. It's not exactly a life-altering decision."

"That's not true. You could still end up pregnant." Spencer retorts, about to rattle off statistics at you about just how many children were born to parents who assumed oral contraceptives were enough. You put a finger over his mouth to stop him, and he sighs when he realizes how intense he's getting about this. He gently moves your hand away, speaking again. "I'm sorry, I'm being silly."

"No, you're not. It's sweet that you're so concerned." You reassure him, giving him a soft kiss. He hums into you, allowing your tongue to slip into his mouth for a moment. You pull away shortly after, taking his breath with you. With your lips still brushing against his, you meet his dizzied gaze. "I only ask, because I want your first time to be extra special. And it'll feel so much better if you fuck me without a condom on." You say seductively, making his pupils dilate with lust.

"Actually, studies show that there's little to no difference in sensat-" Reid's gargantuan mind starts up again, leaving you no choice but to cut him off by taking his cock in your grasp. "-fuck." He mutters, losing his train of thought entirely, his eyes flicking down to look at the scene between his legs. His stiff, ample length throbs in your hand, pearly beads of precum dripping down the side as you lazily stroke him.

"Baby, look at me..." You purr, drawing his gaze to you. "I'm gonna ask you again. All I need is a 'yes; or 'no', okay?" You wait for him to give an understanding nod. He does, as well as letting out one of the filthiest little moans you've ever heard. "Do you want to wear a condom?" You ask, letting his dick fall from your hand for a moment. He whines at the loss, the sound sending a flare of arousal between your legs.

"No. I want to feel you. All of you. Please." Spencer begs, and you could just about melt at the pitchy whimper in his voice. You've noticed he grows rather needy in bed, and it doesn't take much to rile him up. The way he takes everything you give him like a precious gift is so goddamn intoxicating.

"So do I, Spence." You say with a smile, one he mirrors. "Is this position okay? We can do it any way you want."

"This is fine, makes me feel close to you." Reid says sweetly, squeezing your hips a little.

"You wanna warm me up a little bit first?" You ask, longing to feel his touch.

"Of course." He nods, leaning in to press his lips to yours. Spencer always starts with a kiss, no matter what it is you end up doing. It's really romantic, and makes your knees weak every time. You let him lead, allowing his tongue to dominate yours in a fervent dance. His hand leaves your waist, trailing along your supple skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. His long fingers brush past your inner thighs, reaching their intended destination without him having to look. He rubs slow circles on your clit, making you moan against his mouth. It doesn't take long for him to venture further, slipping two fingers inside your drenched cunt.

"Fuck, Spence." You moan aloud, the way his fingertips can reach your g-spot so quickly and easily takes you by surprise every time. You grab hold of his cock again, mainly holding it to keep him ready. Although, the sounds you're making and how wet you are seem to be doing that job just fine. The air of the room heats up, growing thinner as the seconds pass. Unabashed moans escape the two of you as you work each other up, building towards the one thing you've both desired for so long. "I'm ready when you are." You say breathlessly, eager to finally feel Spencer inside of you.

"O-Okay." He stutters, nodding his head enthusiastically. He pulls his fingers out of your cunt, bringing them to his lips. He sucks them clean, moaning at the taste of you. "Mm."

"Dirty boy." You tease, making a deep blush bloom wildly across his cheeks. You start to stroke him again, very slowly. You get up on your knees to position yourself over him.

He watches your every move, unable to say a word. It's finally happening. He's going to have sex. With you. Reid feels like a silly teenager with all these thoughts running through his head, but they all fall away the second you bring the tip of his cock to glide through your folds. You share a moan at the sensation, gazing at one another with parted mouths. Hearts pounding in anticipation, breath stolen from your lungs, arousal leaking from you both and mixing together in the indescribable friction. Spencer could cum just like this if he isn't careful.

"Ready?" You ask one final time, just to be absolutely sure that he wants this.

"Yes." Reid nods, trying to keep himself from squirming. You feel so good, and he's not even inside you yet. He's certain he won't last long, but you've already told him a hundred times that it won't be a problem.

You don't waste anymore time, holding his cock at your entrance and gradually sinking down onto him. "Fuck, Spence. You're so big." You moan as he splits you open. He's a bit larger than you've had before, and it's been quite some time since you've done this, so every inch is deliciously stuffing you full.

Reid, on the other hand, has gone completely mute. His mind has stopped working, and all he can do is grip onto your hips with all the strength he has without hurting you. You're absolute heaven inside, if he believed in such a thing. So hot, and slick, and snug, squeezing around his dick perfectly. He finally understands what all the fuss is about. He could just about cry from happiness in this moment. Once you're fully seated on him, your walls constrict out of reflex, which appears to get Spencer's sex-addled brain working again. "Oh, my...fuck- I, um, wow..." He babbles, unsure what to do with himself. His hands fidget at your sides aimlessly, and his expression twists and bends in all manner of ways as he attempts to get a grip on one singular thought.

"Shh, look at me, Spencer." You coo to him, leading his chin with your finger. He meets your eyes, though his own desperately want to roll back into his fucking skull. "That's it, baby. Just breathe, alright? Nice and slow, 'kay?" You guide him through the initial shock, nodding together slowly as he takes deep breaths. "There you go. I'm gonna start moving now, okay? Don't worry if you cum early, and just tell me if you need me to stop." You say softly, keeping things light and low-pressure. The last thing you need is him worrying about his performance.

"Okay." He breathes, chest shuddering as you start to ride him. You lift yourself up, almost letting him fall out altogether, and come back down at the same pace. You do this a few more times, gradually picking up a bit of speed.

"That feel good, baby?" You ask him, rolling your hips as you set a steady rhythm.

"Yeah, so fucking good." Spencer huffs, feeling close already. But he puts that out of his mind, focusing instead on enjoying this with you. "Do you feel good?" He asks, needing more than your vulgar moans as confirmation.

"So good, Spence. You fill me up so well, I'm so fucking wet for you." You admit these lewd thoughts to him, no stranger to being vocal during intimacy with him. Reid enjoys it immensely, adding words to the actions just makes everything astoundingly better. "Tell me how it feels to fuck me, Spencer." You say through a moan, riding him a little bit faster now.

Spencer groans at your increased speed, doing his best to hold back his orgasm. "I-It's exactly what I'd always hoped it would be." He starts. "I can hardly find the words to describe how much I'm enjoying this right now. You've blown my mind to pieces with this perfect fucking pussy." His grip on your waist grows rougher, taking you by surprise. He's following his instincts, leading you with his hands as you bounce on his cock. His assistance punctuates every landing you make, your noises growing louder as pleasure builds inside you. "I can feel you making a mess all over me, fucking soaked." He says, marveling at the drenched patch on his crotch. Your arousal glistens in the light as it's caught on his coarse hair and pale skin. "It drives me crazy to know you're loving this just as much as I am."

"I am, baby. You're so deep, hitting all the right places inside me." You say, speeding up a bit more. Spencer's hands migrate to your ass, squeezing your flesh roughly as he continues to keep up with you. You're surprised he's lasted this long, oddly proud of him for doing so.

"Fuck, you're incredible." Spencer groans, getting dangerously close to the edge again. He'd tell you to slow down, but everything feels too good to stop. Instead, he tries to drag you down with him, starting with diving face first into your tits. His mouth nips and sucks at your flesh wildly, struggling to land where he wants with your ceaseless bouncing. The noises he makes are borderline animalistic, groaning and grunting against your chest.

"Jesus, Spence!" You can't help letting out a breathless laugh at his urgency, picking up on the fact that his end is closer than your own. "You wanna try to help me out?" You offer, eager to feel him take some of the control. He doesn't say anything, just nods and makes an unintelligible sound at you. He thrusts his hips up, following what his primal urges are telling him to do. It appears to be working, given the shocked gasp that leaves your lungs at his effort. He keeps doing it, his mind turning to mush more and more as he fucks into your cunt to meet you halfway. "Oh my god! Yeah, keep doing that." You pant the words out, clinging to him by the shoulders.

Reid grins against your flesh, still biting and suckling while he pounds into you over and over. He's doing it, he's really doing it. He's keeping control of himself, he's going to make it. "Feel so fuckin' good, gonna make you cum, gonna make you scream, I promise...promise, promise..." Spencer murmurs to you, vowing to not give up, even though his balls are screaming for release right now. He has to get you there, if it's the last thing he'll ever do. "Such a perfect pussy, so good for me, so, so wet, fuck-" He groans when your walls constrict around him a bit, almost making him blow his load entirely.

"Don't stop, baby, you can do it, fuck me, make me cum, please, Spence..." You plead as your orgasm builds near the point of toppling over. His filthy mouth and feral actions have set you on fire from the inside out. You knew sleeping with Spencer would be special, and intense. But this is an entirely new level. His craving of you has blocked out all else, leaving him only with the mission to chase release. His, and your own.

"Oh, god, lay down, lay down, I'm gonna cum, gonna cum..." Spencer babbles, attempting to push you over onto your back. You follow his lead, his cock still sheathed inside you as you let him lead you where he wants. As soon as your body hits the mattress, he proceeds to ram himself into you as hard and as fast as he can.

"Fuck! Spencer!" You cry out as he hits an entirely new angle inside you, your ass resting over his knees as he thrusts forward. His hands grip your hips so hard, sure to leave dark bruises once he's through with you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, gonna fill you up, gonna cum deep inside this pussy..." Reid grunts, sweat slicking him down, stomach clenching as he's about lose it.

"Keep going, baby. Don't stop, I'm almost there. Cum for me." You whine as his cock slams into you again and again.

"Fuck!" He nearly shouts when he finally feels it, his balls tightening, bliss washing over him, his hips stuttering as he fills you with thick ropes of white.

All you can do is bear witness as Spencer cums, harder than he ever has in his life. His brows knit together, mouth falling open as he moans so fucking loud. He keeps slamming his cock into you, hoping to pull you down alongside him. Feeling his load spill inside of you, as well as his desperate thrusts sends you tumbling over the edge. "Oh, god! Spencer!" You cry as your orgasm rips through you mercilessly. Your pussy clenches down on Reid's spent length, making him gasp as he keeps thrusting to get you off. You thighs shake violently, stars blurring your vision, hands clawing at the sheets beneath you. It's the most beautiful thing Spencer has ever seen.

You both slowly come down from your high, soaked in sweat and totally spent. Spencer carefully pulls out of you, though you still wince a little. "You okay?" He asks, noting your discomfort.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit worn out." You laugh lightly, crawling over to the right end of the bed to lie down. Spencer joins you, pulling the covers over you both and taking you into his arms.

"Sorry about that, I don't know what came over me." He says, a little embarrassed for losing control the way he did.

"It's okay, baby. More than okay, actually." You reassure him once again, stroking his damp face with your thumb. "I'm surprised you had it in you." You chuckle, and he does, too.

"So am I. I guess you...bring it out in me." He explains, and you nod in understanding.

"And I take that as a compliment." You say with a sleepy smile. "Did you have enjoy yourself?" You ask.

"Very much. Even more than I thought I would." Spencer says earnestly, making your heart skip a beat.

"Me too, Spence. And I'm so happy you chose me to enjoy this with." You reply, leaning in to give him a tender kiss. This night has been the best one of your lives (so far), and you look forward to sharing many more moments just like this one in the future. Together.

[phthalomushroom]

The Family (7)

pairings: modern!mafia!aemondxreader

summary: You had left Kings Landing and the Targaryen family four years ago. Now back and living with your old roommate you realize that the life you had thought you escaped had seemingly been waiting for you. But will the family really let you go? Will the people you left behind forgive you? Can you forget the past and look to the future?

warnings: language, mentions of trauma, shooting, gunfight, injury, angst

word count: 1.2k

note: hi all, apologies for not posting for a bit, life got crazy and I low-key got the ick... as well as writers block... but I will persevere. Enjoy this chapter I will do my best to get back to weekly posts!

You couldn’t get those boxes out of your head. All the baby toys, the clothes, the crib. It was the only thing you could see as you stared at the dark wall across from where you sat on the bed. Luckily, you had texted Baela about the situation and she was on her way with Jace to come pick you up.

A part of you felt bad for ruining their date night but you were NOT going to stay the night here. 

Especially not in this room.

Aemond and Alys’s shared bedroom looked nothing like you would have imagined. Not that you would even think to imagine it- actually you never even thought that they’d actually live together at all.

Even though there seemed to be no evidence of Aemond’s fiancée downstairs, there was plenty of evidence in this room. Pictures of the two together littered the walls, the nightstands, the dresser. Evidence of their clearly real and loving relationship.

And to your dismay it fucking hurt. 

Alys would be a mother to Aemond’s child, she would be the strong wife he always needed and you would be a memory, a brief moment in his life. 

Nothing more than a highschool sweetheart.

A silent, cold anger seemed to fizzle in the pit of your stomach, like a rattling snake setting to strike.

You were just a phase but yet your life seemed to be in danger again. 

Lies were being told again. 

Secrets were being kept again.

The door to the room opened, Aemond coming in with mugs of something steaming. 

“I think I should go.” You crossed your arms, your tone rattled a warning.

Aemond looked up, brows furrowing. He set the mugs on the dresser and put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t care what you want.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

You uncrossed your arms ready to strike. “I’m tired of this shit.”

“What are you talking about?”

It wasn’t a lie, you did feel tired, tired of trying to be an adult and tired of being the bigger person. At some point you were bound to start telling the truth, you needed to. “She’s pregnant.”

He arched his brow. “What?”

You stood from the bed. “I saw the room, the boxes of baby stuff. I saw it all.”

He frowned. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You stepped closer. “Don’t know what I’m talking about? I know that I’m talking about how you fucking proposed to Alys Rivers. I’m talking about how you asked me to marry you and that doesn’t seem to fucking matter anymore. I’m talking about the fact that you got her pregnant and now I’m going to have to fucking live in the same city as you, your wife and your child. And that none of what we went through together matters.” You took a deep breath. 

Why is it not me? Desperately you wanted to say it but you just couldn’t let yourself open up to him all the way yet. Not with the room full of a future that wasn’t yours next door.

He looked at you incredulously. “You… you never wanted this life.”

“But I always wanted you.”

He continued to stare at you, like he was looking at you for the first time since you had arrived back.

You began to feel self conscious, maybe you said too much. “Say something.” 

He rushed forward grabbing your face in his large hands and pressing his mouth against yours. You froze, not processing what was happening until his tongue pushed into your mouth and he tangled his hands in your hair pulling you even closer to him. Your arms instinctively reached up grabbing the front of his shirt as he was finally knocked out of his daze.

His arms moved down your body, grabbing and squeezing at whatever flesh he could find until he picked you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he walked you back towards the bed, setting you down- never breaking the kiss. 

He finally pulled away, allowing you to breathe, both of you panting trying to catch your breaths as you stared at one another.

Too familiar, this all felt too familiar. Your heart pounded as you let yourself fall into old habits. 

His gaze was soft as he reached out to caress your face, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “I will always want you too.”

Your chest tightened as he leaned closer, his kiss gentle this time. But as soon as it started it ended, Aemond pulling away to lean his forehead against yours to take a deep breathe. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your arms.

“But I made a promise to Alys and there’s things I need to take care of before-”

You fully pulled away, moving out from under him to get off of the bed. “What.”

“There are things that I need to do, promises I need to keep in order to-to make sure your safe, to make sure everything is safe and protected.”

You stared at him like he had three heads. “What the fuck are you talking about right now Aemond?”

He moved to get up to pull you to him but you stepped away. “I just need time, just give me time.”

“You had time, almost five years of it and it seems in that time you can’t even get your fucking lies straight.”

“It’s complicated okay, the less people know the better. Just try to trust me, please.”

You stared at him in disbelief. It was like you were having two different conversations. “Is this about business or is this about love?”

“What?”

“Is it business or is it love?”

“(Y/N)-”

“Is it business or is it love, Aemond, that’s all I want to know.” 

“It’s complicated.”

Your eyes burned. Fucking unbelievable. “Clearly. But the only person making it complicated here is you. Why can’t it ever be fucking easy with you Aemond? Why can’t you ever tell me the truth?” 

He tried to get closer to you. “You know nothing about what is going on. What I am trying to fix, what I am trying to build for-for us.” He reached out to take your hands in his. “I am doing everything in my power to make things right, to make us right but I need more time. Just a little more time.”

You shook your head. “She’s pregnant Aemond, you are out of time.”

Your phone chimed with a text, you quickly pulled it out of your pocket. “That’s Baela, she’s here with Jace.” 

“(Y/N)-”

“I am done with the nonsensical answers. I am done with the empty words. I am done with all of it. I never should have come back here, never should have taken that stupid fucking job. I certainly never should have ever let you into my life.”

Tears were beginning to fall now, tears that were long overdue. After so long of bottling it up, after so long of being okay it wasn’t okay anymore. You were broken. You turned to leave, going past the soon to be nursery, going down the stairs, grabbing your bags that you had left and walked straight out of Aemond and Aly’s home. 

When you got into Jace’s car, it took everything in you to not fully break down as Baela turned to you from the passenger's seat and asked you what was wrong. 

You just shook your head and simply said. “She’s pregnant.”

Tag List: @dixie-elocin @liannafae @toodlesxcuddles @watercolorskyy @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @namelesslosers @tssf-imagines @xcharlottemikaelsonx @yourbane @beary-rambles @a-beaverhausen @lightblindingme

[holylulusworld]

Election Time (2)

Summary: You thought he was your forever.

Pairing: Senator!Tony Stark x Wife!Reader, Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: heavy angst, language, wish for a child, betrayal, failed marriage, soft Bucky, pining

Election Time (1)

Election Time masterlist

Bucky’s apartment is far away from your home—or now former home. It looks like he leads a spartan life, with very few comforts and luxuries.

Still, it looks inviting and comfortable to you. There’s almost no decoration but a framed picture of you and him on the artificial fireplace, the “best bodyguard in the universe” trophy, and a plushie you won for him at a fair in his first year of duty.

“I remember that day,” he chuckles. “You didn’t want Tony or me to win a prize for you. He was shocked seeing you rock that water gun.”

“I didn’t think you’d keep it,” you say, and carefully touch the plushie sitting next to the picture frame. You still got the trophy too.”

“It was a gift from you.” Bucky shrugs. “’Cause I kept it. Why would I throw it away?” He stands next to you, dipping his head to watch you play with the diamond ring on your finger. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I—” you fail to answer him. “Honestly, I don’t know what to say. For the longest time, I felt like I was alone in this marriage. Tony was long gone; I just didn’t want to admit he didn’t want to be with me any longer.”

Bucky runs his hand up and down your back, careful to not touch your shoulder. He offers comfort without saying a word.

“What hurts is the fact that he stayed married to me for his career. Bucky, he conspired with my doctor to make sure I cannot get pregnant.” You sniffle. “I feel so violated. That’s… bodily harm. They robbed me of my baby…”

“Y/N,” he murmurs your name. “Please don’t be mad at me, but—” Bucky bites his tongue. He’s unsure about the question swirling in his mind. “What if you got pregnant and heard all this? Would you still want to have a baby with a man like him?”

You drop your gaze and choke out a sob. No. Tony would make an awful father. All he cares about are his reputation and career. He gives a shit on you, and it would’ve been the same with a child. Maybe the baby would’ve been useful in public, but nothing else.

“No.”

“Let’s not do this right now.” Bucky gives you a cracked smile. “You need a rest, and I need to inform Steve that we didn’t get kidnapped or worse.”

“He will tell Tony.” You grasp for Bucky’s hand. “Please don’t tell him. I can’t face him yet. I don’t want to either. If I had a choice, I’d run to the end of the world and never see him again.”

“Steve won’t tell your husband shit. I’m going to explain the situation.” Bucky softly replies. “I swear, not a single word will leave his lips.”

“What if he’s loyal to Tony, not me or you?” You sniffle. “What will happen?”

Bucky gently takes your hands in his. “Y/N, do you trust me?” He asks.

You look Bucky in the eyes and nod. “I trust you with my life, Bucky.” He holds your gaze and squeezes your hands. “Only you.”

“Good,” he whispers your name and hums. “I trust Steve with my life too. If I tell him to not say a word, he’ll do it without asking questions. All he needs to know is that you’re safe with me.”

“Can I stay the night? I need to think about a few things before facing my husband.” You wipe your wet eyes.

“Hey, hey,” Bucky murmurs when you start to cry again. He wraps you in his arms and allows himself for the first time to hold you for a different reason than protecting you. “You can stay as long as you want to. My place is not as nice as your home, but it’s safe, and I got plums.”

You choke out a laugh. “If you got plums, everything is good. Without them, we wouldn’t have made it.”

Bucky reluctantly lets go of you. He nods at you before saying, “I’ll call Steve now. You should get settled in. I changed the sheets, and there’s a clean flannel and sweatpants on the bed. If you want to stay here for longer, I’ll ask Steve to sneak some of your clothes out of your house.”

“Steve, we got a problem,” Bucky inhales deeply before he tells his best friend since childhood what happened this afternoon. “She cannot go home at the moment. We need to cover her tracks and come up with an excuse.”

Steve immediately reminds Bucky of his duty. He won’t rat you and his friend out, but the head of security can’t do much to cover your disappearance.

People will start asking questions soon—especially your husband.

“You are telling me no one knows about my wife’s whereabouts?” Tony yells at the head of security. Steve doesn’t even bat an eyelash. He keeps a straight face, even though he knows exactly what happened this afternoon.

“Sir, the last we know was that you left her behind after the interview. Most of the security followed you, not your wife. Your orders.” Steve crosses his arms over his chest and glares at Tony. “Maybe she wanted to visit a friend, or the car broke down. It looks like her phone died. A dead battery is no reason to call the police.”

“The cops?” Tony snorts. “You think I want to call the cops only because my wife decided to skip the event? What do you think will happen if I report my wife missing? I can forget about the election!”

“I’m happy to hear that you’re worried about your wife,” Steve coolly replies. “I’ll call Barnes, ask him if he knows something. You should get some rest, Senator. I’ve got this.”

Tony watches the head of security walk out of his office. He squares his jaw. It’s the first time you didn’t accompany him. Something must be wrong, and he fears it could cost him the election.

“Steve got this,” Bucky softly says as if speaking to a scared animal. “He will keep the bloodhounds off our backs for a while. This gives you a little time to think about your next steps.”

You give him a sad smile. While Bucky was talking to Steve and went out for a late-night shopping trip, you already made up your mind. You must face Tony and confront him sooner rather than later.

You just don’t know when you’ll find the strength to look your husband in the eyes and tell him that you know…everything.

“Doll, you got to eat something,” Bucky says. He points at the plate he placed on the coffee table. “I know this is a lot to stomach.”

You look at the plate, smiling because Bucky made you smiley pancakes and cut a plum for you. “You cut a plum for me.”

“Uh—sure.” Bucky looks at the food he made for you. He knows about your habit of eating pancakes whenever you are sad. “I removed the stone and thought it’s better to cut it for you too. You know, because it looks better on the plate.”

“You’re a good cook.” You grin at Bucky. “Thank you. For everything.”

“At your service, doll…” He winks at you. “That’s my job…”

Tags in reblog.

[lavellaned]

Actually I think one of the reasons why this game is so awful to get through is how it treats abuse, abusers, and abuse victims.

Under cut due to length of rambling:

First of all, Morrigan. Abused as a child by her mother, Flemeth aka Mythal, learned about the world and how to interact with it in a skewed way. Was treated in a way that no child should be by anyone let alone their parent.

Fast forward to Inquisition, particularly a worldstate in which Kieran is alive. The scene in the fade where Morrigan confronts Flemythal is one of the most important and special scenes in all of dragon age to me.

Growing up through abuse as a child you never think "I don't deserve this", you mainly think things like "Why is this happening to me?" and "Bad things happen to me." You know that these things are bad and make you feel bad, but when your baseline for how you should experience the world is abusive, you don't have the point of reference to think otherwise. And then you grow up. You look back on the abuse through the eyes of the child who experienced it but also through the detached, adult view that you currently have and have to reconcile the two. It's not easier nor pleasant. Getting to the age your abuser was/getting into the position of power your abuser had over you is difficult. Being at that stage and picturing yourself doing what was done to you to someone else is fucking sickening, and then you start to realize "I wasn't the problem, it WASN'T my fault, YOU are the one that's fucked up." But a lot of people can't and therefore the cycle of abuse continues.

But Morrigan does. She straight up tells her abuser "I will not be the mother you were to me." To have a character who survived childhood abuse be able to reach a point in their life where they can take back their personhood from their abuser is pretty damn important, actually. To this day I get weepy just thinking about it.

And then fucking veilguard happened.

Not only does it not matter if Kieran is alive or if Morrigan drank from the well (something that would BIND HER SPIRIT TO HER ABUSER), but Morrigan straight up let Mythal hitch a ride in her. The very thing that Morrigan tried to prevent ever since the first goddamn game? And we're all just supposed to accept and be ok with this?

The only way I can see this not being a complete character assassination of Morrigan is if Mythal just straight up possessed her unwillingly/killed her. Have Mythal use Morrigan as a information receptacle for new players, but also use old players' already-implemented relationship with her as a way to manipulate them. Either way, shit sucks.

Then there's the Crows. You know, the guild who takes children from brothels, orphanages, the streets and puts them through Hunger Games levels of training in which they either die or survive to become a slave assassin for the rest of their life. Not in veilguard. We're all just one big happy family. We rule Antiva, yippee!

Finally, there's Solas. One could argue his entire existence is the product of abuse, and everything that has happened in Thedas is because of it. I think framing his regrets as physical manifestations that want to kill him is a really interesting narrative choice. Unlocking the regret murals was one of the very few parts of this game that invoked a strong emotional response from me, not just because I'm an unapologetic Solas Enjoyer but because the implications are heartbreaking.

And then the game has you sit through the most fucking unbearable CBT group therapy session to talk about them with some of the most annoying damn people in Thedas who treat the literal apocalyptic levels of abuse Solas went through for millennia as something like a joke? And we the player are not given the option to challenge this? This game makes the point to force the player to agree with the flippant attitudes brought up from this.

Then brings up the final scene with Solas. Do I think the meeting with Mythal and Solas was handled well? Yes and no, but that's for another time. Solas is so far in the trenches of the trauma of abuse that he will not stop until his abuser pretty much tells him "I'm done abusing you." I think this was good and bad, again another time.

The way Solas interacts with his abuser is the direct flipside of how Morrigan does. You see more than one way someone can heal/not heal from it.

Morrigan, someone with arguable little power in the world, stands up against her abuser unflinchingly.

Solas, described through history as a GOD, someone with unfathomable amounts of knowledge and power, cowers and offers his abuser a literal weapon to kill him with, unprompted.

If this was a good game, it would be about regret but also about survivor's guilt, something that those who survived abuse have to deal with for the rest of their lives. But it's not, because it's a a bad game.

[cherry-smokes]

Winnebago

You and Steve are desperately pining over each other, all it takes is a near death experience and some eavesdropping to finally do something about it before it's too late. Steve Harrington x reader hurt/comfort Warnings: talks of blood, yearning and also this is my first blurb so proceed with caution.

Gruesome. Gnarly. Wrong. Just so wrong. Words flash through your mind, harsh and biting unlike your gentle hands as you tend to his wounds. It’s just not fair.

Steve, the most gentle man you know, shouldn’t have been torn to shreds by those things. You swear you could see the light flowing out of him along with his blood as you wrapped whatever shred of clothing it was that Nancy handed you around his waist.

You figure you should thank her for that. For her help. For granting you all the god given gift that is her mind. You swear you would if you could bear to look at her without feeling sick. It feels so ridiculous to be caught up with unrequited love in times like these. You've never felt more like a teenage girl in your life. When you aren't worried about keeping the gaggle of children you've essentially adopted at this point alive you're worried about Steve being dragged into what you can only consider the pits of hell. It's never ending. First it's the tunnels, then the Russians and now the fucking bats. He doesn't deserve that, he deserves the Winnebago.

The six kids, all probably with the same head of hair and freckles that mirror his. Warm soft eyes, that killer smile. You shouldn't have eavesdropped on his conversation with Nancy, you know that. As you cradled Max's head on your shoulder, ignoring the way her headphones dug into the bone there, you couldn't help but tune out Kate Bush and listen to what they said.

"Except for the six kids part- that sounds like...a total nightmare"

"If only I had some practice"

"I'm sure...it would be easier with some help."

Too caught up in trying to figure out if the sharp stinging pain you felt was coming from your stomach, chest or throat, you missed the way Steve glanced at you through the rear view mirror.

You miss the way he looks at you now. The RV is empty, everyone has retreated outside to prepare themselves for battle. Children all forced into a colosseum of horrors they should have never had to endure. For a moment, he doesn't think about that. He thinks about you. Your gentle hands. You've always been that way with him. He fears every day that he takes it for granted. He wasn't used to gentleness. Not from his father, not from his peers, not even from Nancy.

He looks at your hands, bloody and cracked. He thinks it's unfair. It's cruel that those hands that have only ever given out care and provided warmth have to be exposed to anything other than that. He thinks he would reach into the sun, melt his hands to the bone if it meant he could give you an ounce of its warmth.

"How is that, is it too tight?"

You gently lay your hands around the bandages you've wrapped around him as you ask the question, avoiding his gaze.

Steve shakes his head, soft strands of hair falling onto his face.

"No...that's good. It's a lot better than before, thank you"

He looks at your face as you start picking up the remnants of your care. Bloodied gauze pads you struggle to keep in your hands as they shake. He can't help but reach out for them.

"Hey, what is it-what's wrong?"

You finally look at him. His heart aches a terrible thing as he sees the glassy look in your eyes.

Your voice is soft, if he wasn't so close he probably wouldn't even hear you as you whisper.

"You scared me so bad."

You sound like a child when you say it. Unable to find more complex words to describe how you felt when all you could hear as you ran to him was screaming. When you saw him overwhelmed by those viscous, ravenous creatures.

Steve's hands move desperately to your face. Trying to wipe any ounce of distress away from it like he can't bear to see you look so sad a second longer.

"I know-I know I'm sorry. I'm okay, I'm here right?"

"I just-" Your words get caught in your throat. They come out thick with emotion and Steve's brows furrow together like his in pain. You take a deep breath, trying to ignore the way it makes your chest shake.

"I have this horrible feeling...that we aren't going to be as lucky this time"

"Don't- Don't say that."

Your hands reach up to cradle his own on your face. You try to burn the feeling of him into your memory. Just in case this is the last time you'll be able to feel them. Just in case you're about to ruin everything. You pull his hands away and hold them out in front of you, taking his face in. Bloody, grimy and bruised yet he looks just as beautiful as he always does.

"I heard what you said to Nancy earlier."

His heart sinks a little bit. He isn't sure why. He can't tell if he's embarrassed that you heard it, that you might think it's some stupid pipe dream you would never want any part of. Worse, he thinks about you wanting that. Wanting it with him, and something horrible happening that would tear that possibility away.

"Oh."

"I think if anyone deserves that Winnebago, the road trip...the family. I think it's you. Anyone would be lucky to get that with you."

There's that warmth again. Spreading across his chest and up to his cheeks as he flushes. He opens his mouth, he begs his brain to come up with anything to say but he can't. Not when the sun is setting behind you and he swears the way the light shines into the RV makes you look like an angel.

"I know...that you want that with someone. And I'm so sorry if this just ruins everything and you can't ever look at me the same after this but...I don't want to die-"

"I'm not going to let that happen-"

He doesn't just mean something happening to you. He wouldn't let anything ruin you two. Steve thinks he would wallow in pain and misery forever as long as he got to keep you. He wishes he had words to explain that to you, wishes he had been better in English so he could formulate poems and novels about how he feels about you.

"What if we can't stop it? I wouldn't be at peace if you didn't know. If something happens to me-and if there is a 'better place' out there...I hope I wake up in a Winnebago. On the shore somewhere sunny and warm. I hope you're there...and I hope you're surrounded by kids that look just like us."

He grabs desperately at your face. One of his hands reaching up to brush your hair out of your face.

"Why can't we have that in this life?"

You swear you can hear your heart pounding in your ears. You can feel the blood rushing through your veins and even so close to the possibility of death you've never felt more alive.

"Is that what you want?"

"Angel that's all I want"

You kiss his palms as he rests his forehead against yours. You pray to whatever force is out there that you have done enough good in this life to be granted a moment of peace in the sun when this is all over.

[taurasiscntybun]

But we’re roommates! Pt 2

-College DT x nerdy reader

-18 plus minors DNI

-Warnings: Adult language, anxiety, internalized homophobia, descriptions of foreplay, virginity kink

-2,800 words

Diana’s POV

I shove my headphone over my head, my hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, the curls threatening to escape. 50 cent blares in my ear as I cross through the hallway of the dormitory.

“Distracts me?” I mutter to myself. I don’t understand my weird ass roommate, it’s rare she actually talks to me, even rarer that she comes close. Maybe it’s for the best, if she knew the thoughts I had about her I'm sure she’d never speak to me again.

“Distracts me?” I mumble again, I’m stuck on that, it has to fucking mean something. Why would it bother her if I’m in my sports bra? I wish she wouldn’t walk around in her goddamn tank top and shorts, well not really, I think her thin sleep shirt is my favorite thing she owns. I let out a groan as I picture her, the thin fabric stretching over her tits.

“Fuck” I mumble and shake my head to clear the thoughts. If only she knew how distracting she was, I keep my music blaring so I don’t notice her. I already know today is going to be a waste in class. Not that I give two fucks about my English class, as long as I get a C I can keep my scholarship and keep playing basketball. I should care more, I’m the first in my family to go to college; I’m not gonna flunk out or some shit but I’m happy with getting by. I hate my English class the most, what the fuck am I learning by reading Beowulf and Pride and Prejudice? At least my roomie helps me with English, she’s so smart. I turn up the volume on my mp3 player, keeping my mind from drifting to thoughts about my nervous baby bunny. I wave to a few people as I walk through the green, I don’t know everyone but since my face was on the fucking school magazine everyone seems to know me. Finally I get to one of the biggest buildings on campus, it’s on the other side of the fucking campus from my dorm but at least most of my classes are here. I glance down at my watch and swear under my breath, I’m like five minutes late.

“Miss Taurasi, you do know class starts at nine, correct?” My professor says, a smug look on his face.

“Yes sir, I got held up this morning.” I reply and flop down in my seat, pulling out my notebook.

“It’s five minutes, can he fucking chillax?” I mumble under my breath as he drones on about the oral history of Beowulf. I should be paying attention, I should be taking notes, but I can’t stop thinking about my fucking roommate. The way my hands fit perfectly around her waist, her touching my shoulder, her soft voice saying I’m distracting plays over and over in my head. It means something, it has too; why would my sweaty body be distracting to her? I look up from my blank notebook, realizing.

”Fuck, she’s attracted to me.” I mutter without thinking and a few heads turn my way but I ignore them. Now all I want is my classes to be over so I can get back to my dorm.

“Oh god, shit.” You say and run your fingers through your hair. Your classes start a little later in the day, back to back history classes then humanities. You stare at Diana’s unmade bed and replay your conversation. You had admitted she was distracting, you’d said her body was distracting.

“God she’s gonna think I’m some lesbo weirdo.” You mutter and pace the small space.

”No.. no.. it’s normal to be distracted, she’s hot.” You try and reassure yourself but it doesn’t work, you know deep down that the feelings you have towards Diana aren’t platonic. You want to feel her big hands on you, her lips, her everything, you want to be consumed by her presence. She’s gorgeous, a mix of strong muscles and soft curves that make your mouth water.

“Don’t be weird, it’s fine, it’s fine.” You dress quickly, a tank top and loose cargo pants and hurry out the door for class; your mind clouded with anxiety with before class.

The rest of the day goes by in a droning bore, your classes blurring together as your stomach tumbles in anxiety. When your last class leaves you bolt for the door and race across campus to your dorm. Diana’s day ends before yours but she has practice so it’s fine.

“Calm down, calm down, its fine, she’s at practice and I’m sure she doesn’t even remember what I said this morning.” You mutter as you fit the key in your dorm room door. You swing it open and yelp as Diana looks up at you from her bed.

”Finally you're home, I didn't know when your last class ended.” She says and stands to come closer.

”No it’s Monday, your math class lets out at four and your practice starts at four-thirty, why are you here? It’s five?” You say and shake your head.

“You memorized my schedule?” She asks and cocks her head to the side, her hair is down for once and the dark curls bob as she turns her head.

”I..I..I wanted to know the times you wouldn’t be here, for.. for studying.” You stammer, still standing in the open doorway. Diana gives you a wolffish grin and takes another step towards you, she’s in touching distance now but she feels much closer, her large statue looming.

”Oh yes because I’m so distracting right?”

“Y..your music and..and..” You stammer but she cuts you off by grabbing you and pulling you into the room, the door clicking shut and locking behind her.

”We dont need to have this talk with the door open.” Diana says in a hushed tone, her hands still on your arms.

”And I know, you find me walking around in my sports bra very distracting right?” She taunts, her thumbs rubbing up and down your bare arms, leaving goosebumps along your skin.

”I..I..”

“Why does my body distract you Baby bunny?” She whispers, drawing you even closer.

”I’m not the genius you are but could I be distracting you because you find me hot?” She’s standing so close now you could count the freckles across her face, she looks down at you with a serious expression, something you're not used to. You look up at her slack jawed and you know you're blushing but you can’t stop. You try to think of something, anything to say to her but your mind is drawing a blank.

”Y..yes you..you are pretty but..but lots of g..girls are pretty.” You stammer and try to pull away but her grip tightens to nearly painful.

”Do you look at a lot of other girls?” She whispers and searches your face.

”I..I mean a normal amount, everyone notices pretty girls right? I mean you notice pretty girls right?” You answer nervously and look down. Diana moves one of her hands from your arm to under your chin and she tilts your head up gently to look at her.

”Oh yeah, I notice pretty girls, all the time, but then again I don’t notice boys.. if you understand what I mean. I definitely fucking notice you. You think I’m distracting? Baby I can hardly think when you're around, everything comes out in a rush of word vomit when you look at me with your big eyes.” She’s leaned down to you, your air mingling as her eyes dart from yours to your lips.

“Do you feel the same way baby? Am I right?” Diana says, her tone so hushed its barely audible over the roaring in your ears. The room feels too small, Diana too close, you can’t breathe let alone think. As if she can read your thoughts she takes a step back and lets go of your arms, raising her hands in surrender.

“Tell me I’m wrong, tell me to fuck off and I’ll never bring it up again, I’ll even wear a shirt all the time.“ Her eyes search your face and you can see the quiet vulnerability in her face. You’re frozen, not able to deny how you feel but not knowing what to say either. Diana looks at you concerned and then a look of understanding crosses over her face.

“You’re new to liking girls aren’t you? Or rather new to admitting it to yourself?” Her tone is soft and her gaze warm. She sits on her bed and pats the place next to her.

“It’s ok, everyone’s been there.” You take a tentative step towards her, trying to think of anything to say.

“If you don’t say anything cause you’re scared of rejection, don’t be.” Diana says in a hushed tone and you sit, she immediately puts her hand on your thigh, nothing scandalous just resting on your knee but it was enough to get your blood heating.

“I don’t know why I feel this way about… about you.” You say softly and turn to look at her.

“Are you attracted to me? Do you get distracted by my body because it turns you on? You don’t understand why I affect you… it’s nothing I did baby, you just like women.” Diana says and grins, her touch on your thigh turning teasing as she traced patterns on your inner thigh; the calluses on her long fingers leaving goosebumps under your pants.

“It’s ok, I feel the same way, I want you baby, fuck I want to kiss you all the time, I want you to come to my games in my jersey. I want to devour you.” Her tone dropped as she spoke and she squeezed your thigh for emphasis on the last part. You let out a hushed whimper and she moved closer, her hand moving up your thigh.

“You gotta say something babygirl, I’m not going to keep touching you unless I’m sure you want it.” She starts to pull away and immediately you feel the loss of contact and speak before thinking.

“No please keep touching me. Fuck I want you to touch me please.” You admit and she grinned.

“Thank fuck.” Diana groans and doesn’t give you a chance to respond before pulling you in tight, her lips crashing into yours. You freeze, your body locking up under the foreign touch.

“Come on baby, let go, let me show you how I good I can make you feel.” Diana says and kisses down your neck.

“Don’t think, just feel; you want me to keep touching you? Well I want you to touch me too, give in baby.” She almost begs and her soft suck on your pulse point makes you come undone. You melt against her, and pull her down for another kiss. Your kiss is clumsy and unpracticed but passionate; Diana’s hand comes up behind you and tangles in your hair, tilting your head back as she takes control. She slows your kiss, her mouth moving against yours with practiced ease.

“God you don’t know what you do to me.” Diana practically growls and pulls away a bit.

“Talk to me baby.” She begs and strokes your back.

”Im sorry I..I’m not good at this at uh talking about stuff.” You manage to say and she grins.

“No apologies baby, you don’t need to try, just be you.” She kisses down your jaw and you gasp.

“O..Ok” you say in a breathy tone, collecting yourself a bit.

”I like you, i really like you in a way I haven’t liked another girl before and I didn't know what to do or how to act because i didn't want you to think I’m a freak but then that meant you needed to stay away from me because my like brain stops working when you're around.” Your words tumble out a fast long sentence and Diana pulls away to process your words.

“Firstly I dont think you're a freak, I’m actually super fucking happy that you have feelings for me because fuck I’ve wanted you since you walked into this dorm all wide eyed and excited the first day.” She smiles and pulls you close again, this time in a tight hug, Diana was successfully breaking your walls down, bit by little bit. She waited until she felt you relax in her embrace to speak.

“When you see me walking around in my underwear what are you thinking baby?” She whispers against your hair, her tone low.

”I..I..” You start to stutter in response.

”You tell me and I’ll tell you what I’m thinking when I see you in your cute little pajamas.” She teases, moving her head down to whisper in your ear.

“I..I think about your body and.. and how much I like it and want to touch you. I..I think about your boobs probably too much and your uh sweaty sports bras hide little.” You admit and pull away again, sitting next to her. Diana raises her eyebrows in question.

”My…boobs?” She asks and looks down at her somewhat flat chest.

“Yes yes I think about them all the time, every time I see you without a bra at night or when you walk around after practice. God Diana were you not doing that on purpose?” You ask, you're softening, feeling more comfortable with her now that your crush was out in the open. Diana laughs and shakes her head incredulously.

”I honestly just started dressing in here because it seemed to annoy you and you look so adorable when you're mad but you weren’t mad were you? You were horny?” She hooks a finger in your belt loop and tugs you towards her, forcing your body to angle to her. You blush and look down at your hands in your lap.

“Nah baby dont get shy on me now, you were just telling me how much you like my boobs.” Diana’s hands cover yours and you tilt your head to look at her.

“Do you wanna see ‘em baby?” Her voice drops to a whisper and she looks down at you with heat in her gaze. You suddenly realize yes, you’d very much like to see her boobs and the rest of her.

”Yes, Diana I..I want you.” You say in a shaky tone and bite your lip. She lets out a groan in response.

“Ok , you can have me but fuck that means I get you, I get to really know you, you gotta let me in.” Dianas words came out in almost a plea, she needed you as much as you needed her right now.

“Yes I promise Dee you can-“

”Don’t call me that.” She cuts you off abruptly and you look at her in confusion.

”But everyone calls you that?”

“Yeah but you aren’t everyone and you’ve never called me Dee, I uh I like that you're the only one that calls me by my full name. To everyone Im Dee or DT but you have always called me Diana.” She brings your hands to her lips and kisses across your knuckles; you're left breathless by the reverence in her touch.

”Diana I promise I’ll be myself, I want you, I don’t want to hide from you anymore.” You admit to her as she kisses your knuckles again.

“Thank god baby, now I want to touch you, I want to touch you everywhere, can I?” Diana asks softly and drags her big hands up your arms.

“I wanna show you how much I like you.” Her thumbs hook under the thin straps of your tank top and pulls them down your shoulders.

”I..I dont know what to do, i.. I’ve never..” You stutter and she groans low in her throat.

”Fuck are you telling me you're a virgin?” Her thumbs move in small circles on your shoulders as she looks down at you predatorily.

“Y..yeah I uh have never with uh anyone.” You say quietly, a touch embarrassed.

”But you want me to touch you right? You want me to make you cum dont you baby bunny?” She asks in a raspy tone, dipping her head to kiss down your neck.

“Y.yes Diana p..please.” You say and let your head lull to the side giving her more access.

“Mhhmm you're so beautiful.” She said against your skin, one hand fisted in your hair to gently lean your head and her other hand wandered up your body, teasing at the hem of your shirt.

“Diana please I..I want you to make me cum I… I want you.” You whine and arch your back into her touch, your body automatically knowing what to do. Diana chuckles against your skin and places one more kiss on your pulse point before pulling away.

“Ok baby but first I need you out of these clothes.” She leans down and starts untying your sneakers, her long finger moving deftly as she undoes the knot and slips the shoe off you.

“Lay back, lemme take care of you.” She says softly and kisses your inner ankle sending a buzz of heat through your body. Diana repeats her actions with your other shoe then stands.

[rafaslittleboy]

older & wiser

big brother! sonny carisi x reader

summary: sonny overhears a private conversation between yourself and your older cousin mia about lack of self pleasuring tools and decides to take it upon himself to help you (ft. a dick mould that he got for his first year of college as a joke… but it comes in handy).

warnings: brother-sibling incest, use of small vibrator, clit play, reader isn’t gendered but has clit & vagina, kissing, fingering, sonny uses a very special dildo on you 😉

special thanks to the love of my literal life @noellawrites for editing this majorly for me. love you forever ❤️

Sonny nursed half of a beer can as he listened to his sisters talk, zoning in and out of their conversations. Baby talk, gossip about co-workers, talking about the ‘bad’ stuff their husbands have done (lack of washing dishes, not doing laundry—stuff the husbands should have been doing). Uninteresting conversations, to say the least. Nothing he could relate to.

His own relationship with Amanda had been… not the best. She was a piece of work and treated him like crap most days. Sonny thought being with her could settle some of his own internal thoughts, help him move on from someone that he really shouldn’t be falling for.

“Sonny, be an angel and go n’ tell ‘em both that dinner’s almost finished, you know how those two can be,” his mom told him as she pulled out a casserole from the oven, steam wafting in her face.

Sonny let out a strangled grunt as he sat up and placed his open can on the coffee table. He was getting old and any sudden movement strained his muscles—all those years running around as a detective really caught up to him now that his job is to sit down at a desk all day.

It had been a while since the whole family had come together. So many scheduling conflicts and Sonny’s hectic schedule always changing at the last minute; you never got to see your brother. Still living at home, you never got to see any of your siblings because they were far older than you—your oldest sister was in her fifties, while you were in your early twenties.

“--oh god, Mia,” your voice was heard through the cracked door, and he frowned at first but stayed behind the door to listen in. “That’s so embarrassing!”

“Oh my god,” she gasped, “is this what you use?” and a giggle followed afterwards. “It’s so small!”

Your face burned with embarrassment, “can we put it back now?” and you reached out to grab the tiny matte black vibrator but she held it back just enough that you couldn’t grab it from her hand.

“This is like… travel sized, I bring something like this with me on road trips.”

You groaned again, “please just give it back, it’s making me feel weird seeing it in the light.”

Mia finally gave in and tossed it back to you, “you should get a real one, something that can actually get you off. Like a boyfriend, to begin with,”

“Mom doesn’t want me to date yet,” Sonny hears a drawer open and close, “she says that ‘I’m her last baby and she wants me to do things right because everyone else didn’t’.”

“Like fuck?” Mia said, and he heard you groan. “Come on, it’s your life. She can’t tell you what to do.”

“I know, I know. I just… don’t want to go against her wishes.”

“You know, you could do other things with guys. When I started college, me and this guy jerked each other off—technically, that wasn’t having sex.”

Sonny frowned, he didn’t really exactly want to know about Mia’s sexual escapades and he should have really just told you both that dinner was ready–but something was stopping him. The buried, perverted part of him wanted to hear; but only for what you had to say.

Sonny knew it was weird, having these taboo feelings towards you. He tried to ignore the fact that he had watched you grow up and was still attracted to you. But with you in your twenties and single, he truthfully believed no one was good for you other than himself. That he was your soulmate.

That’s why he kept it all dead and buried. Secretly, behind all of his ADA work and previous detective work, he went against all of his own morals to harbor feelings towards his baby sibling. He was a pervert and he knew it.

“... Maybe,” you exhaled, “I just—the guy I want has a girlfriend, or is about to, anyway. I don’t just want to do something with just anyone. I want him.” Your voice trailed off into something Sonny identified as sadness.

Your reply had Sonny frowning again in thought. Who were you talking about? From the information from his sisters and mother about you, you weren’t seeing or talking to anyone. If you were to tell any of your sisters anything about your personal–personal life, you would always tell Bella. And unfortunately for you, if Sonny wanted to get any information from his little sister, she was the weakest link and would tell him with little pressure.

Who exactly were you referring to? The perverted side of him hoped it was him you liked.

After a while, Sonny decided he had been lingering long enough and was getting hungry. He stood straight and cleared his throat, opening your door.

“What’re you two doin’ up here?” as if he didn’t just listen to your whole conversation.

“Nothing,” Mia said with a stifled smile, “just… small talk,” and then she laughed and you pushed her shoulder in an attempt to get her to shut up. Your face went a few shades darker with embarrassment and you couldn’t make eye contact with him.

“Anyway, mom said dinner’s ready.” Sonny said, “‘ya better get down there before it’s all gone, ‘ya know how our sisters are.”

Mia got up first and her wide smile didn’t falter as she left, ducking under Sonny’s extended arm.

“You comin’?”

“Yeah,” you forced a smile, and half of it was genuine. You got up off your bed and followed down the stairs behind your big brother.

—

For the next few days, Sonny couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He saw you reaching for salad dressing and thought about you using that tiny vibrator to desperately get yourself off. You needed a real cock, someone who really knew how to pleasure you. And he knew it had to be him, your own big brother, as he jerked himself off in his childhood bedroom right next to yours in the middle of the night.

–

“Sonny, hey,” you said softly as you sat up, closing the lid of your laptop and pushing it off to the side.

It was late at night, nearing midnight and you were working on an essay for school before you put it off for too long and had to write the whole paper in one night before it was due.

“Jus’ wanted to check in on you,” he said, and he walked forward and sat down on the edge of your bed. “You uh… you doin’ okay?”

“Yeah, sure, I’m okay.” you reply, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, kiddo. I, uh, I got a gift for ‘ya,” he says, giving you a little half-smile.

From behind his back, Sonny pulls out a wrapped gift, slightly smaller than a shoe box.

“Wh-what—?”

“Jus’ open it, baby,” he urges, placing it in your hands. You follow his lead, pulling the ribbon off and unwrapping the box. You look up at him briefly before opening the lid. What you see inside almost makes your heart stop.

“Dude—“ your eyes widened at the object in the box. a dildo, a really real dildo, staring back at you. it was a deep peach color that faded to a red at the tip.

“Why?”

“…Mia might’ve said somethin’ to me,” he fabricated, it was the only excuse he had, really. And it wasn’t as if you were going to go and ask her, either. “About your… uh… lack of experience.”

“Oh, god,” you put your head in your hands to avoid looking at him. “She shouldn’t have told you anything, I shouldn’t have even told her about it.”

“Gotta tell ya, I’m a little upset.” Sonny placed the toy back inside the padded box and placed it away from you both. You peeked over your fingertips to look at him. “Would’a thought you would’ve come to me ‘bout all this.”

“Well… you’re my brother, I just thought you’d… I don’t know, judge me.”

Sonny tuts, “in my line of work, kid? I’m more approachable than our sista’s.” And he’s right, because you didn’t go to your sisters or your parents–Mia only found out by pure accident and a slip of the tongue.

“I—I guess so.” you say, lowering your eyes to the ground.

When Sonny lifts up your chin with his finger, your eyes meeting his in an oddly intimate gaze.

“I wanna help ‘ya, baby.”

“I dunno, Sonny. You’re… my brother,” you sigh.

“I’ll lock tha’ door, kid. ‘Ya ain’t gotta worry, hm? Jus’ gonna be between me ‘n you.” he hums.

He doesn’t wait for your response, hands moving to your sides and shimmying down your underwear.

As much as you hated to admit it, his touches drove you crazy. He looked at you so tenderly and it made your pussy throb. You never knew that your own older brother could make you feel so sexually charged.

“How’s this feelin’, baby?” he coos, running one finger up and down your slit while his other hand rests on your tummy.

“‘S-s’ good, Sonny,” you whimper, reminding Sonny of all those sweet moments you’ve shared as siblings. And now, you were moving so far away from that.

Sonny watched as your pussy juice dripped onto your bedding, leaving a little damp spot below you.

“Where’s ‘ya lil’ toy?” he asks, glancing at your bedside table.

“Uh–um…” you blush, reaching under your pillow and pulling out the tiny toy he’d seen you and Mia looking at a few days before.

He takes it from you gently, smiling as he goes back down to your pussy. He moves the bullet to your clit and savors your reaction, hips jutting upward as he presses the ‘on’ button.

“oh—Sonnnyy,” you moan, head falling back onto your pillow. Your older brother was making you feel better than you ever had, doing the same exact thing you’d tried countless times before.

Sonny moves the bullet downwards, inching it into your entrance as you gasp and try to keep yourself quiet. He slides it in and you can feel tears escaping your eyes at the blissful feeling of being fucked.

Then, the bullet died. You raised your head just enough to let out a single sob of discomfort, your eyebrows furrowing and thighs falling even further because of said discomfort. Your hips shimmy to get any sort of feeling back on your sensitive bud.

“Hey… s’alright,” Sonny said as he placed it on your nightstand, “I can use my fingers, see?”

Within a few seconds, Sonny had one fingertip on the outside of your underwear and was circling your clit in slow strokes. He heard you sigh in relief due to the brief absence of pleasure in your little bud. His fingertip was firmer than the plastic vibrator, you could feel the difference and preferred his fingers more.

Sonny was loving it more than he expected. Pleasuring you and making you feel good awoke something in him, and he never wanted to go back in holding back his feelings for you.

He used his free hand to turn your face so he could press a soft kiss on your lips, and your mind was so clouded that you kissed him back without a second thought. You let your own hidden thoughts and feelings about your older brother take charge (like they did when you touched yourself, but this time, you didn’t feel disgusted while it happened). Sonny’s lips were soft and by god he knew how to kiss, taking charge immediately and opening your mouth to him.

Sonny swallowed your sound of disappointment when he took his fingertips off your swollen clit and then he swallowed your moan when the same fingertips slid down to your dripping slit, feeling up and down the arousal he caused.

“S’this for me?” he asked against your lips and you nodded, “fuck–yeah, you–it’s for you,” and he smiled at your response. You’re so desperate.

When he reached for the toy, you were disappointed. You didn’t know why you expected him to pull himself out and fuck you; this whole time with him was supposed to be him teaching you how to use the toy he got you.

He placed the tip against you and slid it through your folds, your wetness coating his huge head. He bit his plump lip and his eyebrows furrowed together, now he was really imagining it being his cock–you were incredibly wet and he wanted to swap places with his molded cock.

“Shh, it’s just the head, you can take it,”

Sonny began slowly fucking you with the dildo, bringing it out until only the tip was inside you, to pushing it all the way back in until it barely kissed your cervix.

“That’s it,” he cooed, “just take it, relax…”

He smoothed his palm over your tummy and sprawled out his fingers. Sonny closed his eyes and tried—and he really did try—to imagine it was him inside you, making you make those little noises, making you feel good. To imagine pushing inside you and feeling your warm and wet hole contract around him.

Technically, it was. It was him inside you, making you feel so good.

You were taking his cock, despite it being a silicone copy. You were taking it like a champ, half of it being able to fill you and he knew that if he trained you enough you would be able to take all of it. Maybe that’s another activity he can do with you.

Sonny moved so he was between your legs and your eyes were transfixed to the very hard bulge in his gray sweatpants. Your pupils dilated even more and your mouth filled with saliva, legs spreading just a little more with pure want. You felt your insides throb at the thought of him inside you and you wanted nothing more than his body weight on top of you and his hard cock thrusting inside you until he was satisfied.

Your small hand wrapped around his wrist and he looked at you with soft, yet lust-blown eyes, “can I… can I see yours?”

It was a question he never expected you to ask him. He had obviously worked you up so much that lust had clouded your mind and you asked for what you wanted.

“You sure?” His hand rubs your bare thigh, and you felt the warmth from his palm on your burning skin and all you wanted was more. Your big brother’s fingers inside you again, and your eyes were locked onto the bulge in his sweatpants and your mouth watered at the idea of doing more than seeing it—but you had decorum (what was left, anyway) and you didn’t have the confidence to ask him to put it in your mouth.

“Yeah,” your voice came out as a hoarse whisper and you watched as Sonny’s thick and long fingers went to the waistband of his sweats and pulled down just enough that his cock slipped out and bobbed at the extra room–no longer being confined–and he heard your audible gulp at your first sighting at his very real, very erect cock.

Sonny hoped you didn’t recognise the shape as he held his sex-toy-copy in his spare hand, but he watched as you tore your eyes from it and to his face; “it’s… big,” is all you said.

“Can I touch it?” You licked your bottom lip.

Without answering, Sonny took your limp wrist and placed your loose hand on his cock, your fingers curling around his thick cock and he groaned at the first contact. Your head tipped to rest on his shoulder as you familiarized yourself with his cock, fingers tightening and your fingertips just barely touching.

“I bet you get all the girls and guys,” you smile lazily, eyes half lidded as your teeth bite your bottom lip. You wanted nothing more than for that to be inside you instead.

“Ya’ jealous?” He smirks and rubs the tip of the toy against your opening, sliding it up to your clit then back down again, teasing you.

As you muffle your moan and tug on his cock, Sonny decides that he has to fuck you one way or another—and right then, he wanted to fuck you with the toy. He wanted you somewhat used to having something big inside you before he even thought about convincing you to let him guide his cock inside you and fuck you hard and soft.

“Fuck–jesus, oh my god,” your back arched slightly as he thrust the tip inside you, already pushing you to the edge. He moved his wrist slowly, working you open enough to be able to take the tip of the toy. Sonny had been playing with you for so long that he had your body hyper-sensitive and aching for an orgasm. “Sonny–it’s big–really big–”

Sonny smiled down at you and continued to softly fuck you with it. A soft squelching filled the room and his cock twitched in your loose grip, your fist squeezing down on it lightly when the tip entered you and hit against the spongy spot inside you that you could never reach on your own without an intense arm workout that ultimately failed in the end anyway.

Sonny brought his other hand down to your wet clit and used the pad of his thumb to rub small circles on it, making it impossible to hold the moan that was caught in your throat. It was louder than you thought and Sonny gave you a warning look. Too loud meant that either of you could be caught doing what you were doing and it would’ve been a horrible event to explain.

“Shh, baby… ya need’a be quiet, need’a keep ya tone down. I know m’ makin’ ya feel good.”

You nodded, letting out a really shaky sigh and closing your eyes as Sonny pleasured you. You had to bite your tongue when Sonny slid more of the toy inside you and put more pressure on your clit. “Sonny—” you whined, clenching your eyes shut.

You could feel an orgasm creeping up on you, and it felt different since it wasn’t yourself that was causing it. It was someone else, and more importantly, it was your big brother; The Big Bad ADA. It turned you on more than you’d like to admit, being fucked by a dildo by your own brother while you held his heavy, large cock in your hand and jerked him off the best you could while you were feeling so fucking good.

The pace of the dildo-fucking changed, and you felt it punching inside your wet pussy harder and just a little bit faster and god, you felt so full. You didn’t know how much you were taking of the toy, but it felt like a lot. You wanted to scream that it felt so good, but all you let out was a frustrated, muffled moan held back by your lips.

“Like that, baby? S’it feelin’ good when I fuck ya like this?” His mock-baby-voice and cooing made you feel as if you were a puddle, and you nodded in response. Your hips tried their best to thrust back on the toy, but everything you were feeling was building and building and building into something you couldn’t handle.

You nodded as he fucked you with it even harder and managed to fit at least half of it inside you, leaving a white cream every time he pulled it from inside you and a little damp patch on your blanket with just how wet you were. Your legs shook as he kept it up, his thumb on your clit rubbing hard and fast and the toy punching inside of you had you teetering on the edge and he felt it. Your fist squeezed tight around his cock.

It hit you fast and hard, a few more hard circles from his thumb onto your swollen clit had your tight walls squeezing so hard on the toy inside you, taking only seconds for him to make you cum—hard.

Your fingers squeezed down on his cock as you experienced the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had in your life, little spurts leaving your puffy pussy as he fucked the cock into you. The pressure of your fingers along with being painfully hard and turned on allowed Sonny to thrust into your hand and groan deep from his chest as he came. His hot, milky cum shot from the head of his cock and landed on your thighs, pussy and abdomen.

Sonny slumped down on an arm on top of you, breathing hard as he came down from his high and his cock jerking in your loose grip, getting the last bits of himself out and onto your hot, sweat-slicked skin. He let go of the toy inside you and let the tip stay inside you, your bottom half twitching in the aftermath.

“Christ, kid,” Sonny chuckled, wetting his dry lips. “Ya really wrung me out t’dry.”

You let out a breathy laugh along with him and kissed him, because god did you need it. Need him. In your state of mind, you didn’t care about any consequences. You loved your big brother and you were confident he definitely loved you back.

The kiss was sloppy, drool leaving the corner of your mouth as you moaned into each other. Sonny reached between you to slowly slide the toy out from inside you and used his fingers to touch your very oversensitive pussy, swallowing your gasp.

“Came real hard, didn’t ya?” He smiled against your lips, leaning his head back enough to look into your dazed eyes. You smiled and pushed his face away, “don’t get all ‘high horse’ on me, counselor.”

He kissed you again, “next time, it ain’t gonna be the toy.”

And god, you wanted nothing more than that.

[kaoskuantico]

I hate Act III, sorry. All the second season was too rushed and some characters that didn't deserve a happy ending got it, and those who have been suffering got the worst ending.

Acts I and II were good, but III is the worst.

In case someone hasn't seen Act III yet, ARCANE ACT III SPOILERS

No one cares but here's a list of the things I hated:

Too rushed, I think we needed another season BEFORE this one

WTF Caitvi sex scene IN JINX'S CELL, RIGHT AFTER SHE LEFT. That's so disrespectful and stupid, Vi wasn't in the right state of mind, as much as I love Caitvi, putting that scene there was a mistake

I'm sorry but I also hate Timebomb (I'm a Lightcannon shipper, which is funny because Lux doesn't even show up in Arcane, but one can dream though fanarts)

Jinx surrendering (why we didn't even get a flashback scene?) and being imprisoned like a dog. Yet the enforcers were never punished

Vi not listening to Jinx telling her MULTIPLE TIMES to get out of there, and because of her, Jinx sacrifices herself (yes, I know she's most likely alive. But that brings my next point:)

Jinx not getting a happy ending at all. She lost everyone, right when she was about to get rehabilitated, Isha dies right in front of her. And we didn't get any Sevika dialogue with her, not even trying to save Jinx (Sevika surely didn't know, but at least a scene where she looks for Isha and Jinx???)

The final scene where Vi is only seen with Caitlyn. Yes, I knew they'd end up together and they deserve it, but what about everything that happened? Losing all her family? Learning to fight just to lose everything and everyone? Ekko not talking to Vi at all after the war? Vi not mourning Jinx?

Why make Jayce and Mel be together if they were going to forget about it and act like it didn't happen? (I prefer Jayvik, but that's another story)

Jinx saving Caitlyn, but apparently that didn't matter at all. Jinx killed her mother, yes. But enforcers killed countless of people, including Jinx and Vi's parents. Even if Jinx surrendered, why put her in that isolated jail? That was Caitlyn's grief acting

Honestly I don't know why Isha had to sacrifice herself, I feel it was too unnecessary, just to traumatize Jinx even more and kill Warwick again.

I wanted to see more of Vi, of her life in prison and before their parents died (besides Vander's memories). But they put too much focus on Caitlyn and the Caitvi. As if Vi's entire character is being Cait's girlfriend

Caitlyn (and every enforcer) didn't get punish at all for their crimes. Caitlyn became a dictator because Jinx killed her mother, but countless of children saw their own parents be murdered in front of them, and now they're the bad guys for attacking back? Mind you, at least Jinx aimed her weapon to the Council, the people who oppressed them. But Piltover kills civilians like nothing, putting CHILDREN in jail. At the end, they end up like the good guys, giving Zaun a seat in the Council. When they should have fought for it, making Piltover pay for everything they've done. Which brings my next two points:

Zaun is never set free, it's still part of Piltover

Following the previous point: Caitlyn becomes a dictator, Viktor a cult god who almost destroys the world. But Jinx is so unredeemable???

Vi accepting Cait immediately, as if act I didn't happen. I understand they wanted to make Caitvi canon, but it was too rushed.

The 'good timeline' being like that because Vi died???? WTF the enforcers wanted a name, ANYONE to put the blame on, so the Council could 'make an example'. And now suddenly everything is okay? The abuse from Piltover is gone? But even if that were true, it's sad it would take Vi's death so peace could exist

Cait put Jinx, a traumatized, suicidal and schizophrenic girl in an ISOLATED CELL.

In a more relaxed note, I hate the design of Powder in the other timeline. I have to admit I absolutely love Jinx's design, with her bang and long braids but damn I expected a Powder with a single braid and a better sense of fashion xd

I understand Ambessa was behind everything, she was using Caitlyn recent grief to manipulate her. But she never apologized, her actions can't be erased, she said it herself.

Jinx giving 'her blessing' to Vi to be with Cait. Jinx has been feeling replaced by Cait since season 1 and right when we thought they could resolve this (before Act III), they do this. If anything, they confirm Cait replaced Jinx and that Jinx had every reason to feel like that

Jinx sacrificing herself (yeah, we know she isn't truly dead, but I'm talking about the symbolism) WASN'T REDEMPTION. IT WAS SUICIDE, A TRAGEDY. Just a few hours ago Jinx tried to kill herself six times, she just saw an opportunity to do it again and not making Vi fight for her, because Jinx feels she doesn't deserve Vi. It wasn't heroic, it was a suicide

Singed getting his happy ending. HIM, OF ALL PEOPLE. He created the Shimmer, made it a drug and created addicts in Zaun just so he could keep experimenting. Dude, I get it, you want your daughter back, but at that point you should've just accepted she's gone. Vander is gone, Vi and Ekko are left alone (which brings my next point), Jinx killed herself, Jayce spent days, weeks or months alone in an apocalyptic world, Zaun is still under Piltover's power...And HE gets his happy ending? No consequences? No punishment for experimenting on dead bodies/potentially having killed them, for being in Ambessa's side????

Following point 7, why Vi is only seen with Cait at the end? Ekko is truly alone now, and Vi only has the enforcer who betrayed her and never apologized for her actions with her and Zaun. I get it, they wanted to please Caitvi's shippers, but shipping is not the only thing here (which why I hated Timebomb in the alternate timeline)

I'll probably keep updating the list for a few days.

[hms-no-fun]

Oh yeah the big pickups to work in an office job infuriate me to no end. A whole parking lot full of death machines that have never known the touch of a gravel road or hauled anything larger than a big Costco run. I have a nice lil electric hatchback tho.

the thing is, i always wanted a car. my parents took me on a lot of road trips when i was growing up (i remember a couple years before he died, my dad told me he was very proud to have shown me so much of the country when he himself had grown up poor and could only travel as far as the next job took him), so of course i have in me that quintessential American longing for The Road. in high school, i fantasized about getting into a car and disappearing into traffic, traveling to some distant corner where nobody lived and finding a situation to occupy. god help me, as a teen i bemoaned being born too late and longed for the naive vision of the 60s i'd received from my parents and pop culture and the rusted-over kitsch that dotted the remains of Route 66 (which my dad loved to talk about).

i hate car culture in part because i used to love car culture. it's a microcosm of indoctrinated American patriotism in general. they sell you on the dream, right? the freedom of travel, of expression. i wanted to be the millennial Jack Kerouac, whose work i did not actually read because i was young and dumb and drowning in dysphoria. but as i got older i saw how quickly little bumps and scratches can turn into massive financial burdens, to say nothing of cracked windshields or flat tires. then my mom died and i was given the responsibility of handling her car, a silver scion xb. i was 19, i did not have a license and had next to zero experience driving, nor had i ever had a job before. when i say "given the responsibility to handle her car" instead of "given her car," i mean that i didn't just get her car. like, i had it, i had the keys and no one was around to tell me not to drive it. but in order to get the title signed over to me, i had to go through an insane bureaucratic process of proving that my mom was dead, and that i was her kid, and that i should have the title to the car. this took months of back and forth miscommunication as dated notices were sent and bills piled up. because it wasn't just the car i got, but the debt as well. some $30,000 of it left unpaid by mom, which i was now expected to pay in her stead. my first job was working night shifts at a wal mart stocking the frozen food department, and that was the job where i rode my bike on the highway to get to work. i didn't drive because i didn't have a license, didn't have experience, was terrified of highway drivers, and knew very distinctly that if anything went wrong i'd instantly be in so much more debt (monetary and bureaucratic) than i already was. eventually my sister, a career nurse with three kids and a house, took over the car from me.

nobody understood why i didn't drive that car more. even my mom, when she was still alive, she said "when i was your age, i was dying to get out of the house." i was too! but for all that cars culturally represented freedom, in practice what they came to represent to me was the expected cost of participating in society. i was already sensitive to adults sneering at me for my perceived immaturity (the joys of being a millennial), which only compounded on learning that i didn't have a car or license, that i wasn't proactively joining Clubs or Organizations, that i wanted to pursue the arts of all things, that i wasn't Christian, etc etc etc. i never got out to see live music because i didn't have a car and didn't have money. i didn't get my first smart phone until late 2015. i spent a lot of my college years feeling alienated because i was at least two years older than everyone else (i already didn't want to go to college straight out of high school even before my mom died), still used a flip phone, and didn't have a car. which is to say i was a working class person trying to get by in a middle class institution. and i only got in because i was very good at peddling my sob story for sympathy points. FAFSA loves to finance the odd tragedy, i'm telling you (don't worry, i still had to take on a ton of student loan debt). when i expressed to family that i didn't want a car because i didn't feel safe as a driver, and felt that i shouldn't need to have a car in order to participate in society, they said "everyone feels that way at first, but you just have to get over it. or move to a big city. good luck affording that!" as a related aside, when i told those same people that i liked being in college for the pursuit of knowledge and wanted to graduate towards being a sort of generalist, they flatly insisted that that's not how college works anymore, and that i should instead put my energies towards a Useful Degree that would Get Me A Good Job.

of course they were sympathetic, at least on the surface. they told me these things in a kind tone, the way adults always do when what they're saying boils down to "it's not fair, but life ain't fair." and i've just never been able to accept that. before i knew anything about socialism or communism or materialist dialectics, when i was still very much under the thrall of post-Clinton liberalism, i still felt this deep-rooted conviction that when people said "life isn't fair," they were giving up something. that it was an excuse, an appeal to a higher power, a resignation to the status quo. my experience with cars, by the time i hit 25, was that you bought them for the freedom they promised, and then spent of your life driving that car between one of maybe five locations on the regular and doing very little else. the only time i ever felt free in a car was on a road trip, which happened with vanishing irregularity as all the associated costs skyrocketed in the 2000s. all the other time was spent driving in circles looking for parking, only to balk at how expensive it was. spent stuck in traffic for hours, amid concrete dunes of overpasses tangled with one another like a four-year-old's first try at tying their own shoes. spent angrily judging the poor driving conduct of other people, spent resenting anyone and everyone who inconvenienced their drive, spent rubbernecking at horrific accidents on the side of the road, spent worrying about car payments and insurance payments and how much it's gonna cost to get a tune-up, and then someone breaks in and steals all your stuff and your insurance doesn't want to pay for it, and then you get into an accident and you spend months haggling with your insurance and their insurance in the hopes that someone will maybe pay for the debt you've had to take on in getting your car repaired, because of course professional life doesn't take a break just because your mode of transportation got totaled.

and if i was applying for a job and the employer found out i didn't have a car, i was denied on the spot. i learned very quickly to lie about such things as often as possible. but i also learned that i could only bluff for so long before the lack of a car became a genuinely insurmountable hurdle. which fucked me up tremendously because at no point in my adult life, to this day, can i ever imagine being able to afford all the associated costs of having a car. in many respects, not having a car was the only reason i was able to survive the way i did. it meant i could work part-time while i was in school (with student loans making up the shortfall), share an apartment with two or three or four other people, and just barely have enough to eat the bare minimum and go see a movie sometimes. of course i wanted the freedom all my car-owning friends had, but mostly i wanted it so i could drive out into the middle of nowhere at night and be truly alone. i wanted a car so that i could escape from the frictional sandpaper bureaucracy of american existence... and i knew from experience by then that that's simply not how the world works.

it took me until 2020 to finally move to seattle, one of those mythical Big Cities with Actually Existing Public Transit. and holy shit, it's a revelation! i have better access the place where i live now than i ever have, and it's a freedom that costs SO MUCH LESS than the same would've cost me back home. but i've also lived here long enough now to see all the ways in which our transit system here is deeply flawed and run by the wrong people. i see many of the same forces at play here as i did back home. i see now how car owners and allies to the car dealership fiefdoms of the nation utilize car ownership and road maintenance as a tremendous lever of power. they've deliberately trapped us in this cycle of poverty and personal transportation reliance, and used the money they got from us buying their cars to then buy politicians so that they defund public transit and oppose any urbanist reforms. did you know that much of america used to be covered by street cars and rail lines? if you live in the midwest or on the west coast, your town very likely only exists the way it does because of mass public transit. they were necessary for bringing people into these remote places to create new markets for wealth extraction. once the population in those places was stable, and mass-produced personal vehicles became the norm, the capitalists of those areas deliberately allowed the transit networks to "go bankrupt" (ie they pretended transit is a business and not a utility that pretty much by definition can't turn a profit in a traditional manner) so they could be bought up and liquidated by future car dealers. this is what i think of when i remember my family telling me "that's just not the way the world works."

why? it used to be the way the world worked. why can't it be again? if the current status quo is the result of choices that created economic pressures which shaped the nature of society, why can't we do the same thing again but different? the way things are now is sick. it's unhealthy. the vast majority of microplastics come from car rubber, and what socioeconomic classes do you think are mostly likely to live close to high-traffic roads? it's not rich people, i'll tell you that. it's not the car dealers or the small city councils worried that a bus connection might bring the poors in. when i say "car owners need to be oppressed" i'm talking about these people. suburban supremacist dictators and their sycophantic liege lords whose biggest priorities in life are to keep gas prices low and to maintain their god-given right to never having to see a poor person. i hate these people because i've been sneered at by them my whole life, while they have been personally responsible for many of the same socioeconomic conditions which resulted in the deaths of both my parents, along with many other members of my extended family. i've long since stopped believing in the idea of "death by natural causes." only the rich live long enough to die old. the rest of us die by a thousand cuts borne of neglect. our healthcare is gatekept, our education is gatekept, our transportation is gatekept. freedom is a thing to be bought, and when you don't have money, the next best thing is your blood. you give it up for a piece of something and you convince yourself that it's enough for you. but it is only a piece, and its apportionment is the result of greed and avarice happening in broad daylight all around us. i fully believe that a genuine war will need to be waged against the car barons before this horrendous now can be toppled, and it will be a war because they are aligned with the cops and with capital. this, too, is a microcosm, and in it we see the nature of our struggle for socialism unburdened by neoliberal word salad.

people have made the world this way. and people will make it something else.

[missriddle03]

Title: Can't sleep without you

Parings: Matt sturniolo x reader

Small synopsis: You and Matt have an argument and Matt can't go to sleep without talking to you about it

Time to read: just over 3mins roughly

Word count: 582 words

Warnings: none rrly but angst and slight fluff

Song recommendation: My love mine all mine-Mitski

The silence was deafening even with the tv playing in your room but you weren’t paying attention to the show that was playing. Your hands were placed on your knees feeling some sort of comfort. Matt’s words replaying over and over in your mind with the same tone and the same angered expression.

“You’re suffocating me! I'm your boyfriend not someone you need to protect all the goddamn time”

It was a simple miscommunication that turned into a full blown argument and no matter what you or Matt said to diffuse the situation it made things 10x worse. Now Matt was sitting in his room, whilst his brothers were asleep, as his guilt wrapped around him..strangling his thoughts with how your face looked.

What you didn’t realise was that Matt couldn’t take the guilt so he left his room and got into his car and started driving to your place.

It wasn’t normal to have arguments like this, maybe an occasional row but nothing that would make both of you feel broken inside. You looked at your phone wanting to text Matt but you didn’t want to seem clingy, the tv was still playing so you ended up turning it off and laying your head onto your pillow wanting to fall asleep. Just as soon as you were slowly getting to sleep a knock was heard on your door. Hesitating, you eventually got up and opened the door.

“Matt, what-what are you doing here?” you asked him, however you couldn’t deny you were glad to see him. His hair was ruffled and he wore a white t-shirt under his jacket. Matt placed his hands in his jogger pockets.

“Can I come in?”

You nodded and let him in, Matt sat on your sofa. Silence took over as the awkwardness became more apparent. “I’m sorry,” was all he said but his voice had a bit of a deepness to it. You noticed his leg was slightly bouncing up and down.

“No, it’s okay. We both said things but you were right..I was being too protective of you and I’m sorry for that” you admitted but he shook his head immediately. He wanted to get up and hug you but instead he sat down next to you and that was all.

“Don’t say that..listen, sweetheart I love it when you’re protective of me it shows how much you care. It's just sometimes I can’t understand how I got so lucky, I’m just not used to it” He placed his hand on your knee. You let out a sigh unsure of what to say.

“You mean so much to me, I never wanted to make you upset. Can I hug you?” He asked you. Your eyes look up into his and nod your head, Matt smiles and wraps his arms around your waist: resting his head on yours. “I love you so much, Matt” you finally say.

Hearing your voice made him feel content and that was all he wanted. “I love you too sweetheart”

You placed your hand into his as he placed a kiss on your head. A slight yawn escaped Matt’s lips and an idea popped into your head. “It’s getting late and you’re tired. Maybe you should stay the night..only if you want to” you suggested.

“I would like that very much,” you guided him to your room and put your tv on while falling asleep next to him and the relief of understanding washed over you.

AHHH my first Matt Sturniolo fanfic done!! let me know if you want more! also this is my masterlist if you're curious as to what i write <3