#And just blanked hard on what I was doing!!!

[vixen-flame]

Oh, I was extremely confused until that last post. I didn't know what "sneak feed" meant because your starting paragraph implies that you were just talking about the existence of Meat Alternatives in general, and the fact that they have some ingredients? (I couldn't tell the link till the last reblog.)

If this post was about allergies, then say it's about allergies. Some people may not care about cricket flour, because they're like "well, it won't kill me and it tastes the same. And the fact I had that reveal afterwards was actually a cool experience." Instead you should of been like, "you wouldn't want people to sneakily give you lead flour." or something (I was blanking so hard on poisons ToT).

In the end, just don't lie about what you're feeding others. And always always _always_ disclose what someone is eating _before_ they eat it. They can die. People have died that way. Don't be the asshole who kills someone because you were trying to do a cool reveal. It's never worth the risk.

(I entirely agree with your point, so please don't argue with me as though I don't. I just feel like the way you initially went about portraying your point was very confusing, and that's why you had to clarify in the end.)

EDIT: OH I JUST REALIZED THE "IN FACT..." MEANS THAT THEY'RE ABOUT TO GO ON TO SAY "what you ate just now was a meatless alternative." Still very confusing because why are you hiding the most important part of that quote/experience behind subtext? because without that realization it just sounds like they're talking about how good meatless alternatives are and then they were about to give like additional points or something? Like I thought at first the images were like ingredients that make it taste like meat, and when I realized it wasn't the "in fact..." was long gone from my mind (granted I do have ADHD and memory problems, but so does half of tumblr so)

“Meatless alternatives are getting so good, you should try them! I bet you wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference! In fact….”

Please

Please

Please stop trying to sneak-feed me meat alternatives.

I am willing to prepare and share a vegan meal with you, I’m willing to skip animal products in our group spaces.

Please.

Stop trying to sneak-feed me meat alternatives.

[enhaniki-san]

part-timers!niki x reader part ll ⋆˙⟡

warning: smut

read part one here

the store was quiet the next day, you tried so hard to focus on your task but for some reason, you're annoyed and not carefully aligning the packages.

then a minute later, you're smiling so hard, biting your lips thinking about the little text conversation between you and niki.

niki crouched beside you, organizing the lower shelves where you just threw different items in one row. his right brow raised. "what’s up with you today?"

you looked at him, startled. "what do you mean?"

"i don't know like, what's this?” he said. pointing at the shelf while looking directly at you.

you felt your cheeks warm in embarrassment. "sorry, i just remembered something." you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

niki raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips knowing you're distracted. "uh-huh.”

you both continued restocking and niki broke the silence again. "so… about last night."

your hands froze mid-motion, your breath hitching. "yeah..."

he tilted his head, studying you closely.

"about that... i'm confused" you stammered, your voice going quiet as you continued talking, pouring your heart out but he's not even paying attention. "...and you know, i don't even get what you're saying."

niki glanced over his shoulder, carefully double-checking the surroundings. ensuring no one else was nearby.

"you don't?" he asked.

he locked eyes with you for too long. you didn't even have to say anything. niki leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a sudden kiss.

it was quick, his arms brushing lightly against yours as he leaned closer. your mind going blank, feeling the warmth of his lips.

and when niki pulled back, his eyes remained on you. "what about now?" he asked with a serious look in his face.

you couldn’t help but smile shyly, your heart fluttering as butterflies swirled in your stomach.

niki grinned, leaning in to give you another soft kiss. "still confused?"

you slapped his arms gently. "maybe one more." he whispered, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. totally liking the flushed expression you gave as he pressed another quick peck to your lips, then another, and another.

each kisses are light and playful, like he was trying to draw out your reactions.

you were giggling and all giddy, covering your face with your hands so he can stop.

he pulled your hands away from your face gently. "i like it when you smile like that."

your heart skipped a beat as he leaned in one last time, this kiss softer than the rest, his lips stayed just long enough to make you catch your breath after he pulled back.

and before you could gather your thoughts, one of your coworkers peeked in. "hey, you guys, a customer needs help up front."

niki stood up, looking at you for a moment before turning to leave. "i'll handle it." he said with a small smile as he patted your head gently.

later, you tried to make yourself busy but your hands were trembling slightly, smiling like an idiot whenever you remember what happened earlier.

you glanced at the clock above the register, only ten minutes left until the shift ended. you watched niki as he started to tidy up his area, preparing to leave.

you stood up, realizing it's now or never. "niki?" you asked. "do you... do you want to come over? you know, after work?"

he paused, his eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise before a slow smile spread across his face. "you're inviting me over?"

you nodded. "yeah… i mean, if you want to. no pressure or anything."

he leaned back on his heels, his smile turning into a smirk. "you're cute when you’re nervous."

you glared at him.

he chuckled. standing up while brushing off his pants. "yeah, i’ll come over."

"cool." you said softly, trying to play it off even though your stomach was doing flips.

your heart raced every time niki walks by. you tried not to make it obvious how much you were thinking about him and the fact that he agreed to come over.

and when the clock finally hit the end of your shift, you grabbed your things and waited outside the store. the cool evening air felt refreshing against your warm cheeks as you glanced around, your nerves starting to creep in.

"you ready?" niki's voice came from behind you.

you turned to see him. his hair was slightly messy and the soft streetlights cast a golden glow on his face.

"yeah." you said, trying to sound calm. "let's go."

niki walked close beside you and his arm occasionally brushing against yours, making you look and smile at him each time it happens.

"come on in." you said, stepping aside to let him enter.

niki stepped inside, his eyes scanning your space. "this is nice."

"thanks." you replied, closing the door behind him. but you know damn well that if your place is nice, his' might be nicer. "want something to drink?" you offered, heading to the kitchen.

"sure." he said, following you closely. "i'll have whatever you’re having."

you grabbed two glasses of juice, handing him one before sitting on the couch. niki joined, settling in beside you. the space between you felt far too small, his knee brushing yours as he leaned back casually.

"so..." he started, tilting his head at you, "you were pretty distracted at work today. want to tell me why?"

you sighed. he knew damn well why...

"hey, i wasn't that distracted."

he grinned. "right like throwing stuff onto shelves like you don’t care is totally normal for you."

"okay, fine." you admitted, biting your lip. "i was."

niki shifted closer, his arm now resting along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing your shoulder. "was it because of me?"

you inhaled deeply. his stare made you feel hot. you fanned yourself. "maybe." you finally admitted, avoiding his eyes.

"maybe?" he repeated, his voice teasing and dripping with suggestion. "you're going to have to do better than that."

you turned to him, your cheeks flushing. "fine, then. yes."

niki smiled, his hand sliding along the back of the couch until his fingers grazed your neck. "good." he mouthed. "because i’ve been thinking about you too."

your eyes widened slightly at his confession. niki leaned in, brushing his lips softly against yours.

then after he pulled back, his lips twitched into a smirk and the back of his fingers caressed your cheeks.

you felt confident. you didn't know why but you suddenly felt the urge to admit everything. now that he's here and everything, telling you he's been thinking about you too, you just might push forward.

"can i say something? but tell me right away if you're uncomfortable" you blurted out suddenly. "please?"

niki tilted his head, his dark eyes fixed on you. unsure but he wants to hear it "okay... go ahead" he said, curious.

you hesitated, biting your lip, unsure if you should even say it. but you want him and holding back seems impossible now. "i'm thinking about you last night, right?" you admitted, your voice shaking slightly.

his brows raised, expression changing to a genuine intrigued look.

you shifted nervously, your cheeks burning as you forced yourself to continue. "i mean… i was really thinking about you. and i..." you looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "i touched myself."

your words hung in the air. for a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your own breathing.

niki blinked, his expression blank at first. "what?" he asked. you heard his voice full of disbelief and confusion.

you squeezed your eyes shut. "i'm so sorry, sorry for doing something so weird." you apologized, clenching your hands in your lap. the silence stretched and you finally risked glancing at him. niki's lips slightly parted

"that’s…" niki swallowed hard. his adam’s apple bobbed as he struggled to find the right words.

niki leaned in closer, his fingers brushing against your thighs. "do you think you could… do it again?" he asked, his voice soft but loaded with intent.

your eyes slightly widened, your body felt weird with heat at the implication. "w-what?" you stuttered.

niki's face looked serious, "do it again." he repeated, placing a kiss to your cheeks while his hand softly gripping your thighs. "in front of me."

you're trying to process his words while on the other hand, niki's body responded instinctively but kept his expression neutral, maintaining his cool composure as he waited for you to make the next move.

your mind racing as his words sank in. the idea sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of nervousness and undeniable excitement coursing through you.

"i want to see you." he whispered, then kissed you softly on your neck.

you watched niki crawl in front of you, carefully removing your jeans.

you felt your heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst. the way he was looking at you made it impossible to think straight. niki's face, his lips, arms, and body... the sight's such a turn on.

he then sat beside you again. surge of heat building on his body and blood rushing to the member between his legs. he shifted slightly, hoping you wouldn’t notice the sudden hardness straining against the fabric of his pants but he also hoped that you’d look down and notice the growing evidence of just how much he wanted you right there.

"niki…" you whispered, unsure if it was a protest or an invitation.

he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "come on." he whispered, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just beneath it. the faint kiss sent a shiver down your spine and your body reacted before your mind could catch up.

you tensed as his free hand gently took yours. slowly and deliberately, he guided it downwards. "show me." niki said it with such confidence and desire, sending heat pooling low in your stomach.

your hand hovering as his stayed over yours, encouraging but not forcing.

you looked at niki who's looking down, watching you play with yourself. your hands moved from his neck up to his hair then you gently gripped it. your breath's getting shaky and uneven, chest heaving as you continued.

niki's hands roamed under your shirt, freeing your breasts from your bra. he then capture yours lips in a slow yet hungry kiss.

you pulled back, panicking. "i'm close..." you moaned against his mouth.

niki grabbed your hand from his hair and put it inside his boxers so you could feel how hard you made his dick. he started groaning when you started rubbing it.

TT fast forward after, the sound of your heavy panting filled the room. mingling with niki's.

the air's warm and thick with the aftermath of everything that just happened.

you lay tired in the sofa, your hair sticking to your damp forehead while niki hugged you from behind, his chest rising and falling as he also tried to catch his breath.

a soft giggle escaped your lips, you quickly covered your mouth but the sound only made niki shifted to glance over at you, a grin spreading across his face.

"what’s so funny?" he asked, voice raising in curiosity.

"nothing..." you said, you smiled as you tried to suppress another laugh. "it's just… i don't know like, did that really happened?"

niki chuckled, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. his hair's a mess, sticking up in all directions, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his skin but he looked so effortlessly handsome it made your heart race all over again.

"oh, it happened." he said, smirking. "you need me to prove it again?"

you smacked his arm lightly.

his grin widening as he flopped back onto the sofa, throwing an arm over his face dramatically. "damn, you're a lot of work, you know that?"

you rolled your eyes, turning on your side to face him.

niki peeked at you from under his arm, his smile softening as his locked eyes with yours.

breaking the quiet, you reached out and poked his side, making him flinch. "yuck, you're sweaty." you teased, giggling again.

"like you’re not." he shot back, grabbing your hand before you could poke him again. "wash your hand."

"what the fuck?" you cursed in disbelief.

the two of you bursts into laughter, niki shifted closer, his fingers brushing against yours as he intertwined them.

he grinned, leaning in to kiss your lips before flopping back onto the sofa.

"we're showering together."

a/n: lmao at the fast forward after omg. please read part one here

read snitch - reader x niki

read touché - niki x reader

read touché - niki x reader part 2

[pbuckets-5]

uconns lost player part 2

authors note - hey y’all i’m back

warnings - angst, SWEARING, alcohol, fluff if you squint, smut if you reaaaally look

be prepared

21 - gracie abrams

i see the look in your eye and i’m biting my tongue

the sharp echo of the ball slamming against the wood floor echoed through the gym, each bounce sending a shock through your body. you freeze, clutching your basketball under your arm like a lifeline.

“long time no see,” nika’s voice rings throughout the empty gym, the ball momentarily stopping. another pair of footsteps pad across the gym floor, coming to a stop with an abrupt squeak.

“y/n.” geno’s voice cuts through the charged air like a knife, his words sharp, as if he was about to coach you.

you spin around on your heel, smiling sheepishly. your cheeks flush pink, the two combined gazes making you shrink. “uh.” you start, stuttering. “hi?”

after what felt like hours of hard labor and repeated shots from all over the court, geno finally released you with a slap on the back and a note from him clearing you to the nurse to begin to play again (involuntarily). nika walked out with you, an eerie silence falling between you.

she tentatively reaches out to touch your arm, stopping you in your tracks. you stare at one another for a moment before she speaks up, her voice hoarse from the hours of exertion.

“you know..” she begins, clearing her throat. “paige misses you. i don’t know how she’s going to react when you come back. just, please, don’t pull the bullshit you pulled again. you know that’ll break her.” she pauses, as if she almost regrets what she’s thinking. the silence falls thickly between you, the air charged with unspoken words. “you should really come back to kk’s apartment. it’s where the girls are celebrating.” she pauses after seeing the totally mortified expression on your face. “just.. try.”

and that’s how you found yourself slumped in the front seat of nika’s car, the music playing quietly in the background as she talks about the game. “you would’ve loved it,” she says, a soft, nostalgic smile on her face. “you would’ve dominated.” she says, tearing her eyes from the road to look at your slumped figure. you wondered if she could see your racing heart or maybe even read your mind.

“eyes on the road!” you say, gesturing for her to look back to the car in front of us. “oh gosh!” you say, straightening in your seat. you can’t help the small smile that graces your cheeks, glancing over at your closest hoop buddy.

“i know how to drive, dipshit.” she says, grinning wider now as she pulls into the all too familiar parking lot leading to kk’s apartment.

your heart suddenly leaps, and you realize what the fuck you’re actually doing right now. you’ve just dug yourself a 6 foot hole, and you’re about to jump into it when you step into this apartment.

“fuck.” you murmur, climbing out of nika’s car. you could immediately recognize multiple cars in the parking lot as many that you’ve been in before. you followed behind her like a lost puppy as you stepped into the elevator, counting the seconds until your heart goons into cardiac arrest.

as the two of you step out of the elevator, nika places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “it’s going to be fine. everybody misses you, anyways.” she says, flashing you that grin.

you smile back, trying to ignore there way your stomach twists as you take steps closer to the apartment. you can hear laughter and the bustling sounds of movement from outside, even from down the hall. you trail behind nika, hiding behind her broad shoulders as she pushed the door open.

the conversation falls for a moment, then quickly replaced by cheers.

“how was private torture with coach?” kk bounds over, seemly not noticing you as you fall back, even farther behind nika. you sag by the door, a blank but clearly terrified look plastered on your face.

nika drags you in my your wrist, and you can hear the gasp that echos through the room. all heads turn towards a slumped blonde one, her braids as always perfect and her usual bubbly self dimmed.

kk was the one to save the day, a broad grin spreading across her cheeks as she envelopes you in a hug, her arms squeezing you. “oh my god! i haven’t seen you in ages!” she squeals, squeezing the literal air out of you.

“yeah.” you croak out, wrapping your arms around her. “i haven’t seen you in a while.” you shoot nika a death glare for dragging you here, something that used to be your safe haven but was now a hell-hole.

she let’s go, finally, and bounds to the other side of the room, her radiant energy drawing everyone’s eyes to her. they were all obviously intoxicated, the room scattered with beer cans.

“paige!” she says, and you can feel your heart drop. all eyes turn to you as the color drains from your face, quickly then returning with a flushed hue. this is the closest you’ve been to paige since the accident, and your heart was already pounding out of your chest.

when she looked up, her red-rimmed eyes met yours with a look a pure shock, then betrayal, and then absolute admiration. you couldn't tell if she was mad as hell or proud to see you up again.

a snort escapes azzi's mouth, and a roll of her eyes only confirmed her feelings about you. "the fuck is she doing here?" she hisses, her eyes narrowing down on your shrinking figure.

"azzi." nika warns, her tone sharp and motherly. "enough. she's joining the team again." she says, wrapping a protective arm around your shoulders.

you couldn't wipe the way paige's face contorted at the sight of you. her mouth dropped open in shock, her nose crinkling slightly, something she does when shes happy, her eyes widening. the look was enough to leave you shaken for a lifetime, especially since she was still staring you down with the same look.

annoyance flashed across azzi's face, her eyebrows furrowing in anger. "we did just fine without her. why does she need to come back now? just because paige didn't drop 30 on a few games? it's not like she cared any sooner." she ranted, her voice droning and painful to listen to.

the room fell deathly silent, so quiet that you could literally hear kk's breathing.

your face flushed pink. "i think i'll go." you murmur the first words all night, spinning on your heel and ignoring nika and kk's protests, and azzi's obnoxious laughter.

you shut the door behind you, exhaling deeply and leaning against the wall. you try to calm your twisted stomach, or your racing heart, but that only picks up when you hear the door click open beside you.

a tall, very drunk blonde steps out, her bright blue eyes landing on you. before you have time to react, her lips are pressed against yours, a satisfied sigh slipping past her lips.

your eyes widen, but you don't pull away. this is the sole thought that's starred in your head ever since paige had finally left you alone. you thought that's what you wanted.

your hands slide to the nape of her neck, playing with the ends of her ponytail. her large hands slide down to your waist, drawing mindless shapes through your t-shirt.

"m' sorry about azzi." she mutters, pulling away for a moment, taking a deep breath. "i'm just glad you're back. i missed you." her voice is tinged with sympathy and a mix of desire.

"missed you more." you say.

last thing you remember from last night.

you wake up in a frenzy, peeling open your eyes in a too-familiar bed. "shit!" you hiss, throwing the blankets off you. you scramble the floor for your clothes, picking up discarded items and throwing them on. a rustle from the bed reminds you of what a painfully awkward situation you're in.

paige groans, then gasps, a horrible sound cutting through the silence of the apartment.

"y/n?!"

[its-avalon-08]

the paths we didn't take (cl16)

part4!

multipart story! part 1 part 2 part 3

Summary : Years ago, Charles Leclerc and Y/N promised to let each other go—for his dreams, for her freedom. No calls, no texts, just memories they buried deep. But when fate reunites them in Monaco, old scars and unresolved feelings resurface. Some loves are unforgettable, but can they find their way back, or is it too late?

✦ pairing - charles leclerc x female reader

Chapter 4: "The Ones We Couldn’t Reach"

Charles’ First Formula 2 Victory

The champagne sprayed everywhere, the crowd was deafening, and Charles couldn't wipe the grin off his face. He had done it. He had won his first race in Formula 2, and for a moment, the world was perfect.

The team rushed around him, clapping him on the back, shouting praises, but in the back of his mind, one person was missing. He’d won this for himself, for his family, for all the sacrifices he'd made, but as he stood there, in the middle of the celebration, his heart clenched. He wanted to text her, to tell Y/N how it felt, to hear her voice again, to have her say, “I knew you could do it.”

He pulled out his phone, staring at the screen for a moment, his finger hovering over her name. But then he remembered. They hadn’t spoken in years. They had both moved on, at least, that’s what they told themselves.

“Charles!” a teammate yelled, pulling him back into the celebration. “Come on, we need a picture!”

With a heavy heart, Charles shoved his phone back into his pocket, forcing the ache away. “Yeah,” he muttered, smiling for the cameras. You’ll always be my first love, he thought. But this is the life I have now.

Y/N’s College Acceptance Letter

Y/N sat in the library, her fingers trembling as she stared at the email that had just come through. The acceptance letter. The one she had worked for all these years. The one she had dreamed of when she was still in high school, when the world seemed like it could be anything.

She was in. The prestigious university in New York. The campus. The future she had worked so hard to shape for herself.

She felt a tear slip down her cheek, but she didn’t wipe it away. This was her moment, a moment of triumph. But as she sat there, in the quiet of the library, the first thing she wanted to do was text Charles. To tell him how far she had come, to hear him tell her how proud he was, to hear his voice.

She quickly grabbed her phone, staring at his contact name for a long time. She remembered the way his fingers used to slide over the screen to text her, the way he used to say her name in that soft, familiar way.

But now? Now there was nothing. Just a blank screen.

She set the phone down, sighing deeply. “I did it,” she whispered to herself, but the joy felt incomplete. She wished he was here to share it.

But she had promised herself she wouldn’t reach out. She hadn’t in years, and she wasn’t going to start now.

Charles at the Formula 1 Test Drive

Charles stood on the pit wall, his eyes scanning the track as the sound of the Formula 1 car roared past. His heart was pounding in his chest. This was it. The test drive. The moment that could change everything.

The team had been so supportive, and it felt like a dream to finally be here, but a part of him couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was missing. He knew who it was. It was Y/N.

She had always been there, even when he didn’t realize it. From their childhood to their high school years, she had been the one to remind him who he was. She had believed in him when he didn’t, and now, standing here on the verge of making it to the highest level of motorsport, he wished he could share this moment with her.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he almost jumped. He reached for it, hopeful, only to find it was a message from his teammate.

He let out a frustrated sigh, staring at the phone. He couldn't call her now. It wasn’t right. They had moved on. They had their lives. She had hers, and he had his.

But as the car came in for another lap, he found himself holding the phone, wanting to call her anyway. He imagined hearing her voice again. “You did it, Charles. I knew you would.”

But he pressed the phone back into his pocket, letting the moment pass.

Y/N’s Breakup

Y/N sat on the steps of her dorm, staring at her phone screen. She had just gone through one of the most painful breakups of her life. She hadn’t expected it, but somehow, over the months, it had all fallen apart.

She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t bitter. She just felt empty.

The first thing she wanted to do was call Charles. She needed his comfort, his steady presence, the way he always knew how to make her feel better, how to make her laugh when the world felt too heavy.

She stared at his contact. Her finger hovered over the message box. I miss you, she thought. I could use your strength right now.

But she didn’t text him. She couldn’t.

She had told herself years ago that they would move on. They had to. She had her life, and he had his. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them to drag up the past. So, instead, she just sighed, turning the phone over in her hand. “You’re doing fine on your own,” she whispered to herself, even though she didn’t believe it.

But she tried to believe it.

Charles After His First Grand Prix

Charles sat in the back of the car, the scent of champagne still hanging in the air, the sound of his team celebrating in the distance. He had just finished his first Grand Prix, and he had come close—so close to the podium. The race was over, but the adrenaline still buzzed in his veins.

And yet, there was an emptiness in his chest. He had achieved something incredible. Formula 1, the dream he had been working toward for years, was finally within reach.

But as he stood there, he realized the one thing he wanted most was to text her. To tell Y/N how it felt. To hear her say, “I knew you could do it, Charles.”

Instead, he sat down, exhausted, staring at the phone in his hand. The temptation was there. He could text her. He could reach out.

But he stopped himself.

No, he thought. She has her own life now.

He typed out a message to his teammate instead, letting the feeling of accomplishment wash over him as he pushed the thought of Y/N away.

Y/N’s Graduation

Y/N stood at the podium, staring out at the sea of faces, the diploma in her hand. She had done it. She had graduated with honors from her dream college. Her parents were beaming, her friends cheering, but as she stood there, her heart ached.

She looked out over the crowd, almost expecting to see Charles standing there, watching her. She could almost hear him say, “I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”

But he wasn’t there.

She had promised herself she wouldn’t text him. She had promised herself she wouldn’t reach out. But it was so hard, especially in moments like this. When everything felt so perfect, so bittersweet.

She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the moment where she could share this with him. “I did it, Charles. I did it just like we always dreamed.”

But she couldn’t. She opened her eyes, blinking back the tears, and smiled at her family instead. She couldn’t let them see the pain, the longing, the piece of her heart that still belonged to him.

In the years that followed, both Charles and Y/N continued on their separate journeys, achieving their dreams and living their lives. They stopped reaching for the phone, stopped calling, stopped texting. They never mentioned each other to their friends, as if doing so would break the fragile illusion that they had moved on.

But deep down, in the quietest moments, in their happiest and saddest times, there was always a part of them that wanted to pick up the phone and just say, I miss you.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

taglist : @jenxjar @noam-rosier-icr @prttylight @gluecksbaerchieee

@janeh22 @tobucina @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @weekendlusting

@wisestarfishbouquet @ricciardosheart @leclercdream @sltwins

@vyctorya @mel164  @dazecrea @lol6sposts @raynetargaryan2

@ricciardosheart @leclercdream @sltwins @vyctorya @f1fantasys

[gobeyondthesky]

I almost trip in shock.

The prince? Here? With a cake?

I must have lost my mind… maybe smelled one too many Dusklilies and I’m hallucinating. The image of a prince in his pristine outfit, complete with his little hat, standing in the middle of my living room/room/kitchen, with a dirt floor and an old Merlin’s Magical Goods tarp for a ceiling, was one I never thought I’d see.

Some remaining sane part of me screams “Say something!”, but shock is a funny thing. I’m stiff like late King Corvious’ statue and my mouth as dry as the Hasar Desert.

“Uh— is she dumb?” His Majesty asks.

That brings me back.

“Of course not!” I yelp. Quickly remembering I could lose my head for being rude, I add begrudgingly, “Erm, Your Majesty”.

I can’t remember when was the last time Prince Ellias left the palace. Rumor has it he’s been preparing for his ascension to the throne day and night, working to master his talents — mysterious powers no one knows about. I’ve always thought he’s just a stuck up bitch baby that won’t get his pretty little silk slippers dirty.

Sure, he is beautiful. Gray-blue eyes, sculpted face, silky black hair falling on his face gracefully… but nice? The stories seem to tell otherwise, and I’m confirming that live.

“You don’t seem like a flower girl at all”, the baby says, a sneer on his face. He looks me up and down, pointedly stopping at my empty hands.

The bastard. Like I wanted to do this. Stealing flowers and selling them is easier than stealing and selling anything else. Hells, there’s a house in Puckard Street owned by a blind lady that has a huge garden with all sorts of plants and it’s not like she will notice them missing.

The prince looks back at his advisor, confusion mixed with disdain. The advisor shrugs back, hands trembling a little over some papers.

“She’s the only flower lady in the realm that’s in her 20s and has a birthday today, Your Majesty,” the advisor tries to whisper, nervousness lacing his voice.

To me he says, mustering courage, “the Prince wishes to celebrate your birthday, as a sign of thanks for your service to the realm”.

I don’t buy it. So I stare at him point blank.

The Prince sighs, clearly debating something with himself, his body hunched as if in defeat.

The part of me that cares not for her head blurts out, “What.”

And suddenly, he’s on me.

His lips are trying to find mine and my two brain cells can’t decide between stabbing him with my hidden knife or kissing him and seeing where this is going, hopefully leading to some money. I’m tired of living in this alley makeshift house my mother left me in.

I decide to push him. Instinct I guess.

“You— what the hells is going on?!” I scream pushing with all my strength and the two loafs of bread I’ve had to eat today.

He stumbles back, his advisor catching him. His eyes lock with mine as he says “I will not continue to live with this curse, stop making this harder on yourself”.

The fuck?

Why can’t I have nice things? I mean, it’s my birthday for god’s sake! Where do these people get these ideas from? How can I, a mere flower girl that hasn’t two pennies to rub together, break a curse?

“What in the Hells are you saying?!” I stare back and hard. I will not stand for this.

“It’s your birthday is it not? The prophecy states I must share a love kiss with a ‘girl touched by flowers on the date of her 25th year or the darkness will persist’” he exclaims as if I had to have knowledge of this, because of course, who wouldn’t.

I can only stare in disbelief.

That damned mother of mine. She truly was a witch. And she truly meant it when she said she’d give me “the realm and the world to lead”. I thought she was on something. Balckcapped mushrooms perhaps.

And I, naturally, break out laughing.

The cake is a nice touch, but this is a game I can play too.

“Oh, Prince, I would most definitely kiss you, but this will cost you”, I purr.

The advisor bites his lip and closes his eyes, as the prince squints his eyes and shakes his head. I can hear him mutter to himself, “flower girl alright”.

I smile and mentally start to prepare for the rest of my life.

You are a poor girl selling flowers. Today is your birthday but no one knows. When you return home you find the prince of the kingdom waiting for you with a birthday cake. "Are you sure this is the one?" He whispers to his advisor.

[peppermintquartz]

The 217 is positively chilly when the 118 calls for air support to transport a victim. They're professional about it, but not a single one of the crew even looks at the 118 unless absolutely necessary.

When Bobby attempts to thank them, he gets a blank stare, and then they all leave.

"I think the Antarctic is warmer," Hen remarks.

Buck watches from behind, helping Chimney to put away the Lifepak. He thinks his entire team deserves it.

---

Maddie says, "I got Tommy on a call today."

Buck looks up.

"But I didn't get to say two words to him before his partner took over the line. She was really rude about it too." Maddie frowns.

Buck smiles to himself.

---

Eddie drags Buck to karaoke trivia night.

The manager sees them, then tells them they're not welcome.

Eddie tries to protest. Buck just leaves, hands in his pockets. Waiting outside the bar as Eddie continues his arguing, he sees a familiar figure walks down the block with a couple of friends.

Tommy stops in his tracks when he sees Buck. He smiles at Buck, and Buck returns the smile.

"Hey," Tommy says. "What are you doing here?*

"Being thrown out of Caritas," Buck replies honestly.

Eddie chooses that moment to walk out of the bar. "I can't believe they said we're personas non grata because our presence is upsetting. Upsetting to whom?"

Tommy's eyebrows climb up his forehead. "Hey Eddie."

"Oh, hi Tommy."

Tommy's friends - Chandra and Sally, Buck remembers - tug him along. "Come on, we don't wanna lose our booth."

"Hey, why don't you guys come in with us? Maybe Jessamina will be okay with you both if you're with me."

Eddie drapes an arm over Buck's shoulders. "Sure!"

Jessamina lets Eddie and Buck in, though not without a suspicious glare and a whispered, "Honey, just say the word" to Tommy.

But at the end of the night, when Tommy and Buck are kissing in the booth again after a hard-earned victory and an inspired rendition of "Truly Madly Deeply", Buck supposes that the hostile behavior will stop soon.

It is good to know that people have Tommy's back, even if they're not like family.

He won't want to piss off those friends a second time.

[camzeecorner]

𝙼𝙰𝚃𝚃 𝚂𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙾𝙻𝙾 ₊˚ෆ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄

smut ღ dividers → @bernardsbendystraws ฅ^._.^ฅ

Tossing and turning is all you’ve been doing. At least that’s what it seemed like. You’ve been suffering the same pain all night due to your period cramps. You couldn’t lay comfortably in your bed and it was really starting to bother you. Laying beside you was Matt. You watched as he slept peacefully, wishing you could do the same.

Sighing out loud, you run your hand across your stomach in hopes to sooth the pain. Every time you’d move you’d wince from the pain, it was unbearable. You felt like you were being tortured. Small tears were spilling from the corner of your eyes as you bit down lightly on your lip.

You silently cried as you clutched your stomach, by now you’d accepted your fate. Laying there with your eyes closed you let out small whimpers and cries. Trying to be as silent as you could, in hopes you didn’t wake Matt.

“Fuck are you crying for?” You heard beside you suddenly. You sniffled softly as you turned to meet Matt’s face. Your bottom lip quivered as you pouted. “My stomach hurts.” Your voice soft. Hearing Matt sigh you could hear his eye roll.

By now Matt had sat up, all his tiredness going away. “Why does your stomach hurt..” he asked cluelessly. You looked down embarrassed to bring up the topic in front of him. Cringing at the thought you shook your head.

“It’s nothing..” you whispered. Matt rubbed his temples tired of you already. “If you don’t tell me then I can’t help you.” He stated. You looked at him debating if you should just tell him. Closing your eyes you fiddled with your fingers.

“M-my cramps.. from my period.” You whispered. You looked up at him for a moment to see a blank look on his face. “You take medicine for it..” he asked simply. You nodded your head towards him. You had taken ibuprofen hours prior, which only took the pain away for a good hour.

Matt sucked his teeth as he thought of what to do. He contemplated whether or not this was a good idea. Going against the thoughts telling him no, he sat up completely leaning his back against the headboard. “C’mer.” He spoke softly.

You crawled to him slowly making sure not to be fast. You sat on your knees in front of him waiting for your next demand. “Straddle me” he spoke in an obvious tone. Climbing on top of him carefully you positioned yourself.

Looking at him you watched as he winced. Suddenly feeling his hands grind you down on his cock you let out a soft moan. Placing your hands on his shoulders you steady yourself. “Feeling any better baby?” He asked placing small kisses to your cheek.

You mumbled a slight yes. Overpowered by the pleasure you placed your head on his chest. Feeling him grow hard under you, you bit your lip. Moving against him you moaned, speeding your actions growing impatient. You felt him slightly twitching in his pants. You are eager for your release, you could almost taste it.

You could hear Matt groaning above you trying to contain himself. He was only focused on your pleasure, making sure his baby felt good. “Oh Matt..” you whined against his chest, clutching his shirt in your small hands.

You could feel your stomach tightening, your orgasm itching closer. You moaned louder as you felt him push you down harder. Your legs shook uncontrollably as you came hard on him. Matt followed very closely after you. You could visibly see both of your wet patches on his pants.

You sigh as you finally relax again, feeling all of your pain now gone. Matt always knew what to do. You kissed him lightly, climbing off of him. “You all better now?” Matt whispered as he stroked your cheek. “Mmhm, thank you” you mumbled out.

Matt climbed off the bed ready to clean you up. He grabbed tissues, new panties and a pad. Changing you he climbed back in bed, bringing your body closer to his.

Tag list - @shaquilles-0atmeal @monroesturnns @blahbel668 @mattssluttywaist @jetaimevous @nickysturnss @ribread03 @meatballlover10 @mattslolita @sophand4n4 @riasturns

[revelboo]

Hi! I just read your TFA! Bulkhead short story and was wondering if we could have a few more crumbs? I really like bulkhead and the idea of meeting Sari as you have to will every bone in your body to not run when Bulkhead's looming over both of you.

I love ur work BTW, make sure you take breaks when needed and drink water! Also don't starve :)

Sure!

Time Turned Fragile Pt 2

TFA Bulkhead x Reader

• Heart racing, you follow the giant and shiver as you spot another of them inside the big space. Wondering if you’re going to be allowed to leave again. See the moment the other one notices you, pushing his black and gold frame away from the wall and silently approaching. Your huge chaperone, gestures at the newcomer. “I’m Bulkhead and this is Prowl.” Head tipping slightly at you, the thinner robot lays a hand on the big guy. “Bulkhead, a word?” Flashing a brittle smile at them, as the two move off to whisper about you in a corner.

• “What exactly are you doing?” Prowl asks, voice pitched low as they both glance at you. Watching you wander about, frowning. “Sari needs another human,” Bulkhead mutters, because no matter how hard they try, they’re not human. Don’t really know how to care for her. “She shouldn’t have to only have us.” Shouldn’t be isolated from other humans to spend time with them. Venting tiredly, he rubs at his helm as Prowl reluctantly nods. But Ratchet and Optimus are going to be the ones that really need convincing. And they’re not going to like more humans knowing about them.

• Stiffening when Bulkhead returns, looming over you, and gesturing for you to follow him deeper into the building. Skin prickling, you look around. There are signs that there is a kid here. A small shoe on the concrete floor. A stuffed animal tossed on a counter. How old is this kid? Nine or ten? Younger? Eyes narrowing, you hear laughter. And then he’s leading you into a new space and you spot the little girl sitting on a dirty, threadbare couch that looks like it was thieved from a street corner. And beside her, a yellow robot smaller than the other two with a controller like Sari’s in hand. “Sari?” You call out and they both look up from their video game.

• “Oh, you’re going to be in trouble,” Bumblebee sings out, laughing and sitting up straighter to grin as Sari looks from you to Bulkhead in question. And you kneel on the floor, offering Sari a completely different smile than you’d given him. A real smile that makes you seem softer. Gentler. “Can we talk a minute?” You ask her and Sari looks to him, sliding off the couch when he nods encouragingly at her. Her expression suspicious as you offer her a hand that she doesn’t take. But Sari does follow you out into the hall to talk.

• “Are you okay here? With them?” You ask and the little girl frowns up at you. “With my family?” She counters and some of your tension eases. Because she doesn’t seem frightened or intimidated by them. Family, though? What exactly happened for her to end up with them? Is she homeless? “When’s the last time you’ve had a hot meal?” You ask and her expression becomes guarded. “They feed me,” she says, skinny arms crossing as her chin lifts. Enough, though? Want to pry and ask more questions, but the little girl’s expression is defiant.

• Straightening as you return and then walk right past him, Bulkhead trails behind you. “You’re not going to help?” He asks and you look at him over your shoulder. That open smile is gone again, face blank as you stare up at him. “I’m going to go get groceries,” you say and he follows you to the door and watches you disappear out into the street. Hoping you’ll actually come back.

Previous

[thehollowwriter]

Ayo just wanna add my two cents here

The reason Arcane season 1 was so well written and incredible at show don't tell is because it balanced it with properly explaining things to the audience via character dialogue and whatnot. There were lots of people who didn't understand what was going on because they didn't get tons of exposition, sure, but that doesn't mean show don't tell can't be done poorly nor does it mean plotholes or inconsistency or criticism can be waved off with "show don't tell"

Show don't tell is a writing *tool*. A TOOL to help you tell a part of the story or piece of information in a more concise, less clunky way. It can help you understand characters emotions or feelings without using words. A character doesn't need to sit and say "wow he sacrificed himself for us" because the audience understands that already without dialogue. Show don't tell is an excellent tool when dialogue isn't necessary to understand what's happening.

It is not the only way to tell a story. And you cannot properly tell a story at all without some form of tell. That's how storytelling works.

Plot points and conflicts that came out of nowhere? Random character choices that make no sense? Put of character behaviour? Those are not "It's show don't tell you didn't nust pay attention" problems. Those are basic storytelling problems. It's one thing if some people didn't pay attention to what was being told, but entirely another if nothing is being shown. If there is something that's being shown? It doesn't help if it's hard to find or nonsensical.

Subtext is fantastic, but you are not telling the story well if I have to micro focus on a character's brief expression in the background of a flashback scene to understand a current plotpoint or character motivation. (A bit of an exaggeration, but you get my point). You can't have subtext if there is no text or if the text is impossible to read.

And also subtext means nothing if there's a legitimate plothole or poor writing or lack of character motivation. As op said, the word document is blank! The text is a scrambled mess! Or nobody thought to make sure the text made sense in context of the plot or characters. The text forgot what character it exists for!

Furthermore, sure, while a lot of criticism towards Arcane Season 1 was bad faith and due to poor media comprehension, that doesn't mean every possible criticism is wrong because of "lack of media literacy."

Yes Arcane is great. But it's not above criticism. It's not flawless. And trying to frame people who criticise it as media illiterate or homophobic or whatever is just stupid. Especially since part of media literacy is engaging CRITICALLY with a piece of media.

Show don't tell is a good writing tool, but it's not the only way to tell a good story nor does it automatically make a story good. And just because the last season did subtext well doesn't mean this one did either.

Think about it like this. Can I understand what's going on or what a character is thinking or intends to do without dialogue? If the answer is yes, then go right ahead with show don't tell. If the answer is no or "yeah but only if you look through it frame by frame" then you either need some dialogue or better hints.

Show don't tell only works if there is actually something being shown that can be understood without dialogue. Arcane Season 2 did not do show don't tell well, if they did it at all.

"You want everything spoonfed" sir, the plate is empty. We're starving

"It's about subtext!" sir, the microsoft word file is blank

"The microexpressions!" sir, that was a micro-microexpression

"Show don't tell!" sir, the theater is closing, there is no show

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

Your Wildest Dreams [Soap x Fem!Reader]

Summary: In a mission gone wrong, you and Soap have to hole up in a safehouse, trying to stay warm during the cold Russian winter

Author’s Note: Not me thirsting after Soap for 5.1K words instead of finishing the companion piece I started for Maybe… also, my first ever shot at writing reader-insert! Anyway, here’s a really plot-lacking, self-serving piece for anyone interested

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Modern Warfare

Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence, extremely suggestive, borderline smutty? No actual explicit smut, but let’s call it NSFW to be safe

Shrike /SHrīk/ noun

a songbird with a strong sharply hooked bill, often impaling its prey of small birds, lizards, and insects on thorns

a 10-foot (3-meter), 400-pound (180-kilogram) U.S. air-to-ground missile designed to destroy missile batteries by homing in on their radar emissions

Icy water enveloped you. Pinpricks instantly broke out under your skin, dancing through your blood and your bones. For a blessed moment, your mind went blank. Then, survival instinct kicked in. You kicked your already numbing legs as hard as you could, launching yourself back toward the night sky. Just as you thought your lungs might burst, you broke the surface, gulping in the crisp mountain air. It burned the back of your throat as you bobbed in the current, trying to get your bearings.

What should have been an hour-long intel collection mission had gone to shit in less than a minute. 

You and Soap had been dispatched to a safehouse of Makarov’s in the Russian countryside to gather intel. You were anxious- excited to be out with Soap, nervous about the actual infiltration. Soap’s signature flirting melted that anxiety quickly. It was one of the reasons you enjoyed missions with him so much… and one of the reasons you got so flustered around him.

Tensions with Russia were high, so rather than sending a full team, the pair of you had been dropped off by helo three clicks from the site. You’d go in, get the intel, get to the safehouse, and wait for evac. Barring any immediate danger, you’d be holed up there overnight, hiking out early the next morning to be picked up. Price was unhappy about sending you in without comms or backup, but Laswell was concerned with radio traffic and her sources had told her it would be empty.

Laswell’s sources had been wrong.

You’d taken a long, cold hike up the frozen mountainside to a deteriorating stone building that might at one time have been a castle, but was now little more than half-crumbled walls and hastily built wooden shacks. There had been no indicators that anything was amiss- no footprints in the snow, no pings on Soap’s heartbeat sensor, no noise. Laswell’s intel had seemed good.

Then you’d opened the door to one of the shacks and been met with a full squad of soldiers. They clearly hadn’t been expecting you, and you had the distinct advantage. Before they could react, you’d grabbed the nearest soldier, using him as a human shield while you put him in a headlock. Soap had sprung past you, shooting two others before ducking behind a desk. An overeager and overconfident soldier had fired several shots at you, nearly grazing your arm, but killing his teammate in the process. Soap had lunged at him, baring him to the ground and stabbing a combat knife deep into his throat.

The three remaining soldiers raised their weapons, shouting to each other. You’d killed one with a well-placed throwing knife as you threw yourself behind a table and watched in horror as another launched himself at Soap. You raised your gun, but there was no clean shot with them grappling as they were. Then, you were blindsided by the last soldier. He leapt at you as you tried to line up a shot on his teammate, knocking your gun to the ground and grabbing one of your wrists.

Instinct took over as you wrestled, and before you knew what was happening, you and your attacker were flying through the nearby window. You both rolled down a steep, snowy hill toward a frothing river, each trying to get the upper hand. Before either of you could, you went straight into the icy river, sinking instantly. Luckily, you recovered first.

After taking a moment to breathe, you dove back underwater, looking around for your attacker. He was close enough to reach out and touch, back to you as he tried to get to the surface for a breath of air. You swam toward him, wrapped an arm around his shoulders to hoist yourself up, and stabbed him. Once in the neck, once in the ribs, and then once in the chest for good measure. His body had gone limp at the first thrust, but you couldn’t be too safe.

As soon as his body floated out of your arms, you realized the bigger issue- the current, and the cold. You were already being dragged downstream, the tide splashing over your head and threatening to pull you back under. You swam for the bank, but your progress was minimal. Your muscles were already starting to freeze up. You looked around frantically, desperate for something to hold onto. Just as your fingers met with a sharp rock, you heard Soap’s voice calling your name.

You looked up to see him scrambling down the hill, sliding on snow and loose bits of shale. Blood dripped from his temple and he seemed to be cradling his arm to his chest. You tried to pull yourself out of the water to meet him on the banks, but your muscles refused to work. The icy water was doing its work and you could feel your body beginning to shut down.

“Soap,” you called weakly. He had almost reached you. “I can’t move.”

He waded waist deep into the water, reaching out for you with the arm that wasn’t held carefully to his side. “‘S alright, hen, I’ve got you. Take my hand.” You shakily, slowly, tried to reach for him, barely managing to brush the tips of your fingers against his, and he managed to lean just a bit further out to wrap his hand around yours. He tugged you toward him, and after a moment, was pulling you into his side. “You’re freezing, Shrike,” he murmured, rubbing your arm for a moment. You were shivering violently, barely able to move.

“I am,” you said, teeth chattering. “Your head.” Soap waved you off as he looked around, gaze settling in the direction of the town where you were supposed to wait for evac.

“The intel-”

Soap cut you off, shaking his head. “Forget the intel. Price said if anything went wrong, we get to the safehouse.” His eyes scanned your body, looking for any injuries, as his hand rubbed over your arms. “Are you okay? Can you make it back to town?” You nodded, your violent shaking making it nearly impossible to tell. You reached for his wrist, pressing on it gently. You were no medic, but it didn’t feel broken to you. 

You held his wrist with one hand as the other reached up to wipe the blood from his temple. “You okay?” you asked. He winced as you wiped at the blood, but nodded. You breathed a sigh of relief when only a shallow cut was visible.

“Just a sprain,” he said. He pulled his wrist carefully from your grip and unzipped his jacket, pulling it off.

“W-what are you-”

“You need it more than me,” he said. He walked around behind you, tucking you into the jacket before zipping you up in it.

“You’ll freeze,” you protested. Soap only shook his head, offering a lopsided smile.

“I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

You were afraid your legs would refuse to move, but were so grateful when they didn’t. The warmth that bloomed in your chest at Soap’s sacrifice warmed you more than the jacket itself, although it did keep out the worst of the biting wind. You both trudged through the snow toward the village, teeth chattering and bone-cold. You walked in relative quiet, broken only by Soap’s soft inquiries.

“How’re you holding up, hen?”

“I can’t feel my toes, Soap.” “Hang in there, Shrike. We’re almost to the safehouse.”

As the town came into view, your vision began to swim. You’d been given the safehouse address. Now you just had to find it so you could lie down and bundle up until Price could send someone to get you.

You breathed a sigh of relief as Soap found the house, prying off one of the address numbers to reveal a key. He opened the door, revealing a tiny studio. It took less than a minute to clear- the only room with a door was the bathroom. While Soap dug out the radio system hidden under the sink, you turned the heater on full blast and looked for blankets. You found a pile in a cupboard, dropped them onto the foot of the bed, and headed toward the kitchen in search of a kettle to heat some water.

You only vaguely heard Soap talking to Price through the fog in your mind, something about getting some rest and pickup in the morning. Then, very suddenly, you found yourself looking up at the ceiling, wondering when you’d stopped shivering.

“Shrike? Shite!” You only realized you’d fallen when Soap pulled you upright. “Shrike?” He raised one hand to your neck, feeling for your pulse. He cursed under his breath, muttering in an unintelligibly thick Scottish accent as he hauled you up against his chest. You were vaguely aware of being carried into the small bathroom and deposited on the countertop there. You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting to stay awake. You were suddenly so sleepy.

You opened your eyes when you heard a squelching sound, freezing as you watched Soap strip off his clothes. You’d seen him without a shirt, but only in passing in the halls on base. Never this close, and never with no one around to check your gaze. Nevertheless, you’d memorized his scars the last time you saw his bare chest. He had some new ones since then. You stared at his rippling muscles as he unbuttoned his pants, peeling the wet material off his toned legs, leaving him standing in front of you in nothing but his dog tags and boxers. You tried not to stare at the outline you could see in the fabric as he took one step toward you to stand between your legs. Then his hands were on his jacket, the one you were wearing, pulling the zipper down and your arms out of it.

“Stay with me, Shrike,” he murmured. His hands shook as he unbuckled your tac vest and pulled it off. You raised your arms as he pulled up your hoodie, then your shirt, leaving you i n just a sports bra. You let your own hands rest on his chest as you lowered them.

You giggled, tracing patterns across his pecs and down his ribs. His muscles jumped under your fingertips. “What are you doing, Johnny?”

His cheeks reddened as he glanced up, dutifully keeping his eyes on the task at hand as he hastily pulled off your boots and pants.

“I’m trying to get you warm,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“Checking you out,” you said boldly, arching an eyebrow at him and smiling. You weren’t sure where the confidence had come from, but you’d had a crush on him since day one and you’d be damned if you didn’t make the most of this opportunity. He had just reached up to grip your hips and he faltered for a moment before pulling you down off the counter. He turned you around, walking you toward the bed with his hands on your waist until pulling back the covers. Soap sat, pulling you down between his legs and back against his chest. He pulled up the extra blankets, wrapping them around both of your shoulders. You giggled again, wiggling back against him as his arms wound around you. You couldn’t tell whether he shuddered or whether it was just his shivering. You’d started to shiver again, yourself.

“Stay with me,” he repeated. His body trembled around you, proof that he probably should have kept his jacket after all. His hands rubbed your shoulders, occasionally tracing the straps of your sports bra, and he curled his legs up, bringing yours with them. His knees held yours together and he shifted one arm down to circle your waist, keeping your back pressed to his chest and your hips connected. One hand brushed your hip and he tilted his head so that his chin rested in the crook of your shoulder. His hold on you was tight, but reassuring. You savored the way you fit perfectly in his embrace.

Your bare skin felt numb, even under the pile of blankets.

Everywhere Soap’s skin touched felt scalded. 

“You’re so hot,” you murmured. 

You felt as much as heard when Soap chuckled low in his chest. “I’m actually freezing.” His voice shook when he spoke.

You leaned your head back on his shoulder, turning so that your cheek touched his. “You know that’s not what I meant,” you whispered.

“I know,” he smiled, eyes fixed on some point across the room. “I’m just trying to save you from saying things you don’t mean, so you don’t regret them later.”

When you cocked your head at him, shifting in his arms to better face him, his smile dropped. “C’mon, Shrike, don’t make this any harder than it already is.” Hope flared in your chest like a bonfire. Your mind ran through all the possibilities of that statement, and every one of them suggested attraction to your lovesick mind. You stared blankly at him and he tipped his head back against the headboard, heaving a sigh. “I’m sure Gaz would be none too pleased if I made a move on you when you were only flirting because of hypothermia.”

“Gaz..?” You didn’t understand what Gaz had to do with Soap making a move on you, and you were too confused to focus on either the fact that he said that he might, or that he had just admitted he knew you were flirting with him. Your heart beat wildly in your chest. You barely dared to breathe. 

Soap’s face flamed as he looked away. He had stopped shivering so badly, but his voice still shook a bit when he spoke. “You and Gaz. I know you’re… well, something. I’d never-”

You hadn’t imagined it. Your snort cut him off. “Gaz and I are friends, that’s it.” Now it was Soap’s turn to stare blankly. You fought to speak normally, not with the giddy optimism you felt. “Remember the day Price introduced me to you all? Gaz was the first one to shake my hand, and then he showed me around base? I knew right off the bat that Ghost didn’t trust me and I thought you wouldn’t either, since you two were clearly so close.”

That brought a smile out of Soap. As much as Ghost tried to play it off, the two had definitely become good friends over their time working together. Soap loved to flaunt his position as the resident boogeyman’s right hand, to anyone who would listen. But mostly to the boogeyman himself.

You turned again, snuggling closer into his hold. His arms tightened around you, almost imperceptibly. “Anyway, yeah- Gaz was my first friend. But he’s just my friend. Nothing more than that. You and Ghost are Batman and Robin, Gaz and I are Mario and Luigi.” Soap barked a laugh, and you grinned.

When his cold nose nudged behind your ear, you couldn’t even pretend your shudder was from the cold. You gathered the last of your courage, waning with the arctic chill in your bones, but bolstered by his near-confession. “So tell me, Sergeant.” You’d lowered your voice, turning up all the charm you possessed. “What am I making ‘harder than it needs to be’?” Soap froze, and panic washed over you like water as cold as the river you’d come out of. He hadn’t been confessing anything. It had been nothing more than his usual firefight flirting, harmless and silly and just a little cocky and oh-so-hot and why would you ever think he could actually be interested in you and-

Soap flipped you, one arm around your waist as he lay between your legs, propped up by the elbow next to your shoulder. Before your mind could catch up with what was happening, he leaned down, lips a hairs’ breadth from yours, and hesitated. It was the longest and shortest second of your life. You could feel his warm breath on your parted lips as his eyes scanned your face, looking for any sign of hesitation. You half expected him to lean back up, all mischievous smile and twinkling eyes, and tease you. He knew. He knew how you felt and he was going to mock you for it. Then he leaned down, eyes fluttering shut. His lips brushed yours softly, barely touching, and your mind went blessedly quiet. Your body responded of its own accord; your knees came up, framing his waist and squeezing lightly; one hand went to his bicep, lightly grasping there; the other slid to the back of his neck.

You pulled him closer.

The kiss turned feral in a heartbeat.

The arm around your waist tightened, pulling you half up off the bed, as he let more of his body weight rest against you. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, begging for entrance. You happily gave it. Your tongues slid together, fighting for dominance as you each tried to deepen the kiss even more. You raised a leg, wrapping it around his waist, and he groaned your name into your mouth. When you pulled on his mohawk, his head fell to your neck as he sucked softly on your collarbone.

“Johnny,” you breathed. He swore, lifting his head to kiss you again. He pulled his arm out from under you, running a warm hand across your bare skin from your hip to the back of your knee where it wrapped around him, before wrenching you up against him. You gasped at what you felt. If you’d had any doubt before, there was none now- Johnny was packing. You could feel the heat of him through both your underwear and his boxers. Time seemed to slow as he rocked gently against you, pressing his forehead to yours as your hands cradled the back of his head. He was panting, pressing light kisses against your face. He dropped his head to your shoulder, tucking his face into your neck. He seemed to be steeling himself, trying desperately not to move.

“Not kissing you,” he whispered. It took you a moment to think through the haze of lust and realize he was answering your earlier question. “What am I making harder than it needs to be?” “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Some of your earlier boldness had returned, shored up by his clear physical response. “Only that?” you whispered back.

The groan of your name on his lips was the single most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

“What?” you teased. “That’s all you want?”

He tugged at the back of your knee again, pressing you against himself. You both stifled moans. “You know damn well that’s not all I want. I want you. All of you.” He turned his head, ghosting his lips against your cheek. “I’ve wanted all of you from the moment you asked me why a ghost would need soap.”

You started, turning his head with your hands so you could look into his eyes. “That’s the first thing I ever said to you.” He nodded, gaze unflinching. His eyes smoldered, but there was a softness in them you’d only seen a handful of times over the years. When your brother joined the military, following in your footsteps. When your best friend’s husband cheated on her. When your mother died. Any time you’d cried in his arms.

“T-that was the day we first met,” you stuttered out. Again, he nodded solemnly. He turned his head in your hands, kissing your palm. 

“I knew right away,” he whispered. Soap had laughed, a fully belly laugh, and clapped you on the back. Ghost had rolled his eyes, and you’d hoped his reservations about you would fade. Not only so you could get closer to the devilishly handsome, charming Sargeant who followed his every step. When you didn’t say anything, he released your leg, mumbling apologies and sitting back on his heels. The loss of his body weight and heat, along with the blankets, made you shiver all over again. Johnny didn’t see it- he was running his hands over his face, head hanging. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I had no right, please forgive me-”

You reached out a hand, grasping his wrist to stop him from retreating any further. “Forgive you for what?” you asked softly. His face was pained as he struggled to hold your stare.

“For taking advantage,” he began. But you shook your head, reaching out your other hand to touch his cheek. You didn’t think he even realized that he leaned into your touch.

“You didn’t take advantage of anything.” You scooted forward on your knees, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. You leaned up, kissing along his jaw, before licking a stripe of skin just behind his ear. He trembled under your touch as you ran a hand down his arm and pressed yourself against him. “I want you, too. So you should take me.”

“Steamin’-,” Soap groaned your name. “You can’t just say that to me,” he whined, breathless. His fists were clenched, eyes squeezed shut as your fingertips skimmed his skin.

“And why’s that?” you teased. You were sure that nothing could ever match the rush you were getting from his reactions to you.

“Because,” he ground out. He’d lost the fight to keep his hands off and they now rested on your hips, intermittently squeezing the flesh and hovering. His pupils were blown, nearly eclipsing his irises. You’d never seen hunger like that in your life and it set you on fire. “If I start with you, I won’t be able to stop.” His voice was lower, hoarse. Desperate.

You scooted forward until your knees touched his, pressing as much of your body against his as you could. His entire body quivered in his struggle not to devour you whole. You dragged your lips up the column of his throat, pausing when they brushed the shell of his ear. “Then I suggest, Sergeant, that you don’t stop.”

Johnny didn’t need to be told twice.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You woke up to a soft thudding sound in your ear. You were so comfortable that you didn’t want to move, but then you remembered you were on the field. Your head snapped up, looking around the tiny room. The thudding had stopped, and when you looked down, you realized why. 

You’d been sleeping with your head on Johnny’s chest, his heartbeat in your ear. His arms were still wrapped tightly around you, face turned toward yours. He looked younger asleep. No worry lines creased his handsome face, and his brows were relaxed instead of their usual serious, lowered state. His lips were just slightly parted, breath softly fanning across your shoulder.

The night came back to you in one big wave. Kissing Johnny, straddling him, holding him close between your legs, his mouth on your neck, your mouth on his shoulder, your name on his tongue, being pressed to the wall, the stretch of him, and both of your hands seemingly everywhere at once. You ached everywhere in the most delicious way. Even your throat was sore from moaning his name over and over and over again as he made good on his promise that his mouth was good for more than just talk.

Your cheeks flushed remembering.

As if sensing your racing heart and thoughts, Johnny stirred. His arms tightened around you, pulling you nearly on top of him as his eyes fluttered open. He smiled when his eyes settled on you, slow and lazy.

“I thought I dreamed all of that,” he said softly. His voice was husky with sleep, accent thicker than normal, eyes soft as he stroked your cheek with the back of his hand.

You quickly weighed whether or not you were prepared to deal with the cockiness that would come with your next statement. “Certainly good enough to be a dream,” you whispered. The grin that split Johnny’s face was instant and radiant.

“Oh, aye?” he asked. “Would you say it’s everything you’d dreamed of?”

“I love you,” he’d gasped, holding the back of your head to his shoulder as you fell apart for what must have been the tenth or hundredth time. “I love you,” he’d repeated as he lost control, trembling violently in you and in your arms. “Oh, God, I love you,” he’d whispered as you cried out his name and carried him in a vice grip right over the edge with you. You’d never dared to confront your feelings for him too deeply, refusing to dig beneath the surface of the crush you’d harbored for him. In all your wildest dreams, you’d never begun to imagine him putting to words what you felt- and never in the most intimate moment of your life.

“Better than my dreams,” you mumbled, turning your head away from his and pressing your cheek to his chest. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a purple bruise you’d sucked into his shoulder. You winced, raising your head to apologize, but before you could even open your mouth, Johnny turned your head and kissed you softly. You kissed him back, and then smirked as a thought crossed your mind. “Dream of me often, then?” you asked.

Johnny’s eyes darkened as he pulled you down for a searing kiss. “Every night,” he whispered. You shuddered. You could already feel his body responding beneath you as you kissed him again, smiling to yourself when he groaned. He reached for the tiny bedside table, muttering about a clock, and found the alarm there.

He turned a wicked grin toward you. “We’ve got time for round two.”

“Round two?” you shrieked. Johnny snickered as he lifted you up, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. Round five was no less impressive than the first four, in no small part due to the added feat of Johnny holding you up against the cold shower wall while the hot water beat down on you both. 

“I can’t believe,” he’d panted “That we could have been doing this all this time.”

“You should scold Gaz for getting in your way,” you’d panted back. Johnny had practically growled at that, picking up his pace.

“I’m about to scold you for saying another man’s name while I’m inside you.”

He came undone the moment you moaned his name in his ear, pulling you off the ledge with him.

By the time you’d actually managed to get clean, your clothes had miraculously dried despite laying crumpled on the tile floor all night. You were thankful as you both stepped out into the flurry of wind and snow to trudge up the hillside toward the evac point. You hiked in companionable silence, only breaking it once you could see the ridge where you’d be picked up.

“How’s your wrist?” you asked. You’d been worried about it all night, but Johnny either hadn’t been in pain or hadn’t been in enough pain to pay it any mind.

“It’ll be fine,” he answered, smiling at you over his shoulder. “How’s your… you?” You both snickered at that.

“It’ll be fine,” you parroted. Your Scottish accent was horrible, but Johnny beamed at it all the same. You were about to pull yourself up by a rock when he grabbed your wrist, nudging you until your back touched a tree. He tilted your chin up with his knuckles, lowering his head slowly to kiss you tenderly. You sighed into the kiss, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, and he held you close by your waist. His lips tugged at yours softly, lightly dragging your bottom lip between his teeth before pulling back to look at you intensely. He seemed to be trying to memorize every inch of your face.

“We can’t tell anyone, can we?” you whispered.

For a long moment, Johnny was silent. When he finally answered, his voice was low. Sorrowful. “I don’t know,” he said.

You nodded, pasting a smile on your face even as your heart throbbed. “That’s okay. We’ll figure something out.”

He smiled back. “Yeah, we will.” Your smile felt a little more genuine after that. You trekked the last bit up the hill, and by the time you reached the top, you could hear the whir of the chopper. You shared one last longing look at each other from a respectable distance before the bird touched down. When the door opened, Ghost’s skull plate greeted you.

“You guys injured?” he shouted. You both shook your heads, clambering in and strapping yourselves into harnesses on opposite sides of the chopper. Ghost slammed the door, strapping himself in again on your side.

He stared at Soap, some look you couldn’t quite read. When you glanced to Johnny, his eyebrow was raised at his partner.

“You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” Ghost rumbled.

Soap looked to you, then back to his friend. He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “We didn’t get much rest- too cold,” he said evenly. If you didn’t know it was a lie, you’d have believed him. But something in the way Ghost held his stare told you that he didn’t. He could read everyone like a book, but especially Johnny. You needn’t have worried, though. Soap started right in on recapping the mission for his friend, chattering away as he always did, and you watched as Ghost’s shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit while he listened. His gaze flicked to you every so often, and you added to the tale where you saw fit. Ghost took your words as truth- he trusted you now, years later, after you’d proven yourself to him and the rest of the team.

You smiled to yourself. It would be good to see the rest of the team, to be back on base, in the comfort of your own bed… and you were sure Soap would find his way there, too.

[florbexter]

Anything with FadelStyle ❤️

a study in patience [AO3]

Style found Fadel in the kitchen. Bent over the worktable, his hands pressed onto the shiny surface. If Style didn’t know him better, he would think he was sleeping while standing.

Style observed him for a moment. The vibes were off, but not in a dangerous way. More in an ‘I can’t believe this is my life' way. He quickly searched through his memories, but he hadn’t done anything the last couple of days that would make Fadel behave like that.

Had he gotten a one-star Google review?

“What’s up?”, he asked and stole a pickle.

Fadel moved slowly. Just his head. The frown between his eyes was there again and Style knew it was the Bison frown. That man had a wrinkle for every one of his loved ones. Not that Style would count himself as one of them. Not yet anyway. But he worked hard for his very own line on Fadel’s face.

“Just,” Fadel started and then straightened and looked up. Was he thinking about not telling Style? Style leaned his back onto the worktable. Now he was curious.

Wait. If it was about Bison and Fadel looked like he had been forced to eat a lemon that could only mean one thing.

“What did they do?”

Fadel sighed, and then his face twisted.

“Ooooh,” Style cooed. “Did you catch them again?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “In flagranti?”

Fadel made a disgusted sound.

“What are you angry about? You know they’re together? What? Do you think they only hold hands?”

Style had no siblings. He wouldn’t know how he would react if one of them suddenly became a fully formed human with desires. He liked to imagine himself as the cooler older brother. He would buy them condoms and shit.  

“No. It’s just…” Fadel sighed again. “They…” He moved his hands around and Style was delighted about this turn of events. He didn’t think Fadel could be so flustered. He was normally very matter-of-fact about sex.

“They had toys,” Fadel said, and it sounded like someone had forced those words out of him via torture. He sounded like Style wanted to make him talk about his feelings. Again.

Style frowned. “And? Like we did that one time—”

Fadel stopped him with his raised hand. “No. Specific toys. For a specific type of… you know.”

“Sex?” Oh, this was golden, Style thought. But what kind of toys was Fadel implying? That one time Kant and he had hooked up it had been pretty vanilla.

“Oh wait,” Style moved, a huge grin on his face, “like kinky toys?”

Fadel looked like Style had shot him. His expression said it all and Style had to laugh.

“No way. Kant and Bison? Wow. I mean… now that I think about it. Bison looks like he would like to slice you open for schmexy sexy times.”

“Style…”

“But Kant?” Style pursed his lips. “I didn’t think he was the type. Good for him.”

“Please, shut up."

Style laughed even harder. Fadel sounded like he was in pain. Had he known how to get to him like that, his whole approach would have been way more fun for him. Fadel was open about sex or so Style got the feeling from the amount of sex they already had. From outdoor sex to… outdoor sex. They had a lot of sex outside of their beds, now that he thought of it.

“What got you so worked up about it? That they have sex? That it’s kinky? That Kant knows how to give up control?”

He chuckled. It was funny that he immediately thought Bison was the one in charge. Little gremlin.

“You think Bison is in charge?”

“Mhm? Yes.” Style munched on another pickle.

The frown on Fadel’s face disappeared, exchanged for a blank expression.

Oh.

Style was quick, but Fadel was quicker. He grabbed Style’s wrist, yanked and had him crowded against the stove in seconds.

“Hey.” Style was more upset about the pickle he had dropped than being all up and close with Fadel. That was always nice.

“You want to be in charge, too?” Fadel asked.

Style smiled, wide and bright.

“I’m always in charge.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Hell yeah.”

There was a thing Fadel did, that Style thought he wasn’t even aware of. First, he tried to hide a smile. Most of the time he was successful with that but at the same time, he didn’t seem to notice that his eyes got soft. He looked at Style through hooded eyes with no frown on his forehead or between his brows.

“You want to tie me up, mhm?”

Style couldn’t answer because someone cleared their throat in the general area of the door. They both moved, still standing close and Pearl, the temp Fadel had hired, looked at them annoyed.

“There are a bunch of customers waiting for their food,” she said, sternly.

“And we’re working very hard to cook it for them,” Style answered.

Pearl wasn’t moved by his smile. She squinted her eyes at him threateningly and maybe Fadel had found a long-lost sister.  

“Food will come right up,” Fadel said and turned away from Style with deep-red ears.

“Tonight then,” Style whispered, gave him a clap against his butt, winked at Pearl and then got the hell out of there because he had the feeling both of them carried knives to stab him with.

[not-poignant]

Stupid question, but I remembered seeing you mention having monthly minimum wordcounts on one of your previous posts and I wanted to ask if you're a professional writer? Because at first I was like "that sounds so stressful"* and then I realized that it makes a lot more sense if you're doing it for a living.

*Also acknowledging that people are different from each other and what is stressful for one person might be productive and useful for another.

I am a professional writer!

My original serials are my job, basically, and they're supported by generous folks at Patreon and Ream. That, in turn, allows me to do this in a more professional and focused way, vs. say just as a hobbyist who doesn't update for 9 months at a time. It also lets me share my works for free, in a fandom friendly manner, which lets me keep doing something I love in a way I love to do it, but in a way which is like...I guess more reliable than you'd necessarily be if you were only doing it for fun.

I can instead pledge high fidelity/loyalty to my main serials through thick and thin (hence my wild author's notes), which means folks following WIPs get to know they'll be finished, and I get to enjoy doing this for a living! It's hard, but it's a good hard. Except for taxes.

As for my monthly minimum, that actually started as a way to break out of the very ableist 'you should write every day' (as a professional writer) which is literally impossible for me and my chronic illnesses. I sometimes have big chunks of time where I can't write, sometimes weeks! And where it would be unhealthy for me to make myself.

(More about my writing process beneath the Read More!)

Alongside that, I have quite severe dyscalculia (think dyslexia but with numbers and directions and left and right lol) so I can't keep a 'running wordcount' because the numbers confuse me too much. Luckily, because my writing life is defined by chapters completed (and not novels), I count the wordcount of every finished chapter only. Unfinished chapters don't count! My growing wordcount per month grows only when that draft is finished (my drafts are clean, so chapters only tend to grow or shrink by about 100-150 words per edit, so give or take it all evens out).

It's not how any other author I know does it, but it works so well for me that I've been doing it for nearly a decade now.

I started the monthly minimum (which currently is 25k words per month) because I tend towards being a workaholic, and so my therapist and I established a minimum not as an unreachable goal that's hard to meet, but as an easy goal that's generally effortless for me to reach in good months, and average months, and even many bad ones. After I hit 25k words per month, if I crash, feel burnt out, feel awful, or life gets Life-y in a bad way, I have permission to stop writing. I can just stop. Everything else is gravy. (Though secretly I always want to hit 30-35k but shhh).

When I hit 50k words, I also have to stop immediately and take a mandatory 3-5 day break from writing even if I want to keep writing. Because I don't know it yet, but I'm probably exhausted on at least some level, lol.

I didn't hit 50k at all last year and there is at least one therapist who would be really proud of me about that even though I feel kind of guilty about it, lol.

Here's an example of my tracking:

You can see the chapters I've written, which dates I've written them. They're colour coded, so I can see at a glance if I'm writing enough of a story or not. And then on the far right is an addition of every month's wordcount.

April was so low because I took an intentional writing holiday (which I'll be doing again ideally in March this year). December was so low because December sucks.

And then I erase it all at the end of the year and start again. The blank whiteboard is actually very motivating to write that first chapter because I always feel like I haven't done anything until then.

This whiteboard is two feet away from where I write quite literally, and is never moved etc. so I have a yearly tracker basically that's extremely visible (super helpful to my ADHD brain, because if I put this in a spreadsheet I'll stop updating it after 3 weeks and then forget it exists). The colour coding gives me dopamine, so does adding chapters.

Also acknowledging that people are different from each other and what is stressful for one person might be productive and useful for another.

This is true! This is actually the least stressful way of doing things for me.

That being said, anon, it's still super stressful. Being a serial writer is one of the most stressful things you do, because you have constant and never-ending deadlines for years. Novelists can kind of escape this, in a way, because they can't release novels as often as I release chapters. But I have to be mentally switched on at least 8 times a month, re: putting work out there, making sure it's at least semi-polished, making sure I let everyone know, and tracking responses because obviously, unlike a novel, if you lose interest you can't just "skip ahead" you simply lose your readers. A lot of novelists couldn't live or work this way, a) because they couldn't write a hooky serial and b) because many realise that having to update all the time is really exhausting actually. There's a kind of social labour to updating a serial, and getting it Right every single time. One of my greatest fears that I have nightmares about

Serial writing is the most stressful kind of writing I've ever done (and I've done a few different kinds), I just happen to like the adrenaline rush of this kind of writing, and I happen to work well under a controlled level of stress! I know that, because I've been doing this for over 10 years, refining it, figuring out how to make it healthier (it was really unhealthy at first), getting better at it, figuring out my weak points (some of them are still weak points) etc. I actually think I'm pretty good at it now!

I'm also getting better at not thinking my entire career is over if I take 2 weeks off.

I went from being entirely dependent on a Disability Pension, and like, sometimes having to skip meals and doctor's appointments and even medication due to money issues (the Disability Pension is ironically not enough if you have mental health issues because our subsidised healthcare doesn't cover mental health adequately and Australia has no food stamps system), to being able to live a bit more freely and support my chronic health stuff a bit more because of writing this way!

For the first time ever through these stories I was able to afford a psychiatrist, and a few other things I really desperately have needed since I was a teenager. So being able to write like this, even when it's really hard and I'm really tired, feels still like a miracle to me. I've never been well or healthy enough to work a full-time job with typical 9-5 hours, and always kind of was stuck imagining a life where I'm just...never knowing how to afford certain things, to being in a position where I'm fairly confident I can get my meds every month, or pay for my dog's pet food, etc. It's really nice.

But yeah honestly serial writing is the most stressful form of serial writing there is as soon as you lock it in as a professional job where you must meet nearly 10 deadlines every month and you happen to have pretty intense ADHD so deadlines make you scream a little.

Sometimes what is extremely stressful and sometimes even distressing for someone is also extremely productive and rewarding for them too. We probably wouldn't have a lot of emergency surgeons if that were the bar for how we decide what we do!

[phpruitts]

'Thank you,'

Phoebe smiles again, and nods, but there was nothing that she had said that wasn't completely true. Rafael did look out for her. He gave her rides, took her out to dinners with crystalline glasses and carpaccio and expensive wines, but far beyond that, easily the kindest, most important thing to Phoebe ... Rafael did not look at her with condescension or judgement.

She was an ant, really, in a world as big as Rafael's. But that never seemed to influence the way he treated her. Or looked at her. Or spoke to her.

And to Phoebe, that alone was everything.

Rafael wraps an arm around her shoulder, tugs her in close on the couch, and then—

'There’s a lot you don’t know about me,'

'I don’t know if I want you to find it all out, to be honest,'

Phoebe straightens minutely. There was something subdued in his voice, a little quiet. What did he mean by that?

Work, maybe? Beyond his position in his father's business, handling expansions and investments and shareholder meetings, Phoebe would have to be stupid not to understand there were other aspects of Rafael's career. Serious stuff. Illegal stuff. Phoebe made a point to keep her nose out of where it didn't belong, but she would have to be blind, really, not to suspect that the Dahar's influence extended deep into the city, in avenues that went far beyond hotels or casinos.

But Phoebe had known this from the beginning. When Rafael had first started flirting with her, Phoebe was well aware who he was, and the more time they spent together, the more glimpses Phoebe would get— little things, because Rafael shielded her well, but just the deference he was shown, men coming to him at the club and speaking vaguely about shipments and meetings.

Yeah. Phoebe knew. And there were probably so many more things Rafael had shielded her from, and wouldn't want her to see, and even if Phoebe's mind could fill in the blanks, she just didn't ... care.

Phoebe didn't care if Rafael's daily workload could fill an episode of sensationalized tv.

Rafael was still the person whose first response, when he met Phoebe was, was kindness. But it was still hard to admit this much, wasn't it? It probably took a lot for Rafael to voice that kind of fear.

Her palm brushes along his cheekbone.

"Well. You don't have to share everything with me. If it's something you don't want to do." A beat. "But, uh ... I trust you. I always feel good with you, like safe, in a way I've never felt with other guys. So you should know I won't care about whatever you tell me. I'll still look at you the same."

A smile pulls at her lips, gentle, something flickering warmly behind her eyes as she stared at the man who cared for her so well.

Rafael liked how things were now; Phoebe too. There was nothing that Rafael could ever share with her that would change her opinion of him, or dampen the feelings she felt in her heart.

And Phoebe. Well. If anything, she felt like the fraud here, the one with a thin veneer glossing over an ugly past full of things dark and shameful. The syringes and the evictions and the crunch of glass and all the awful little apartments with awful silences and even more awful yelling, the nights spent with strangers, exchanges that left Phoebe feeling empty and awful. The man who she'd stayed with for weeks, months, who sometimes frightened her so bad she wanted to vomit. And the highs, and the things she did to keep those highs. Years and years of sacrificing everything for her highs.

Yeah. What if she told Rafael all about those things, and he rightfully felt different? Maybe saw her as pathetic, or gross, or someone he just didn't want to associate with.

Rafael had always been so kind to her, completely lacking in judgement, but the fear was still there.

Anxiety churns in her gut. Phoebe looks at that anxiety and does what comes natural now: she tucks her arm into one of Rafael's, and leans her abdomen into his solid frame.

"If it makes you feel better ... there's stuff, about me, that I worry would change your opinion of me."

It seemed obvious, but it hadn’t really occurred to Rafael that Phoebe saw him as something other than just … an intimidating rich asshole. This illusion that there was depth to Rafael felt… strange. It didn’t really seem possible to him. It had felt pretty impossible until Phoebe, and now… well. There were a lot of questions that Rafael wanted answers to, but they wouldn’t come from Phoebe.

Even though she’d offered to help, he had to figure some of it out on his own.

Rafael was nice to her right away. There was just something about Phoebe that drew him to her like a magnet. And over the months, those feelings had only become more intense. As the time went on, there was nothing that Rafael wouldn't have done for her.

“Thank you,” Rafael simply said.

It was endearing that Phoebe was willing to put up a fight about his kindness. She hadn’t seen him at work. Not in the office, but ... his real work. She hadn’t seen him in the hour before he showed up at her apartment. Fists aching and covered in blood. Making a call to dispose of a body on Christmas Eve.

He wrapped an arm around Phoebe, pulled her in close.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he told her. There was. Good and bad. Maybe she assumed, and there were rumors, but she didn’t really know. “I don’t know if I want you to find it all out, to be honest,” he said, voice quiet.

Would she think of him differently? If all of the rumors were true?

“I like the way things are right now,” he said, voice quiet.

It felt like a scary thing to admit.

[galaxymagitech]

A Passing Grade in Trust Issues

(Whumpuary 2025 - Day 5)

Summary:

“Do you trust me?” Bruce asks.

The answer is no, then it's yes, and then, after one betrayal too many, it's no again.

Characters: Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson

You can read it here or on AO3.

“Do you trust me?” Bruce asks.

The answer, of course, is no. Tim is training as Robin because he doesn’t trust Batman. But Tim is aware that this is a test, and in order to pass, he has to say yes, and in order to become Robin, he has to pass.

So, he steels his voice, holds the communicator close to his lips, and lies to Batman for the first time.

“Yes,” Tim says. “Of course I trust you.”

“Hn,” Bruce grunts. “Then turn off the comms and cowl stream. This conversation needs to be unmonitored.”

Tim’s hand hovers over the button. Turning off the comms would leave Batman without backup—as terrible of a backup as a half-trained Robin is. It’s horribly against procedure, and dangerous to boot. But—

But this is a test, and Tim intends to pass.

“Turning comms and stream off,” he says, and presses the button, watching the batcomputer screen go dark. Tim sits alone in the Batcave and waits.

***

“But don’t you trust them?” Tim wonders as he stares at Bruce’s contingency plans. He gets plans to take the Justice League down in case of mind control—it’s certainly a common enough problem—but Bruce has made predictions of his fellow heroes actions and then planned his own reactions to take them down. This isn’t about a mind-controlled Justice League. This is a series of plans to take down Bruce’s colleagues. His friends.

“No, Tim, I don’t.”

“But it’s Superman. And that’s Wonder Woman. And—”

“Trust is a weakness, Tim. We’re human. A single hit can take us out. All it takes is one moment where we let our guard down, and that’s it.” Bruce shakes his head. “Trust is what gets us killed.”

“Is that what…” Tim trails off, his gaze falling on Jason’s memorial case. “Okay, Bruce.”

***

“Do you trust me?”

Tim stands on the edge of the burning rooftop, looking at the long fall below him. Batman is nowhere in sight, off fighting Firefly a few blocks down.

Tim tries to trust Bruce. Ever since he’s become Robin, Bruce has always had his back. But it’s hard, when he’s so far above the ground and Bruce is asking him to—to jump. Tim doesn’t want to die, okay? He knew it might happen, but—he’s not going to literally jump to his death.

And yet, this is Batman asking. Batman always has a plan.

“Yes,” Tim says, and it’s not really a lie this time. “I trust you.”

He spreads his arms wide and takes a leap of faith.

Falling through the air, Tim closes his eyes and hopes that his thoughts don’t go blank. His heart races, and he knows the ground is getting closer, closer, clo—

Somebody’s arms wrap around Tim’s torso, jerking him into an upswing. Tim’s eyes snap open and he sees Dick smiling down at him. Oh, Tim thinks. So Bruce did have a plan. Really, Tim was dumb for even doubting in the first place. Bruce would never tell anyone to jump to their death. What was he even thinking?

“Sorry about that, Baby Bird,” Dick says as he deposits Tim on a nearby rooftop. Below, firefighters begin to extinguish the flames. “Firefly’s got a hacker on our comm frequencies, and B couldn’t tip him off that I’m in town.”

“Right,” Tim says, feeling like an idiot. Next time, he won’t make the mistake of questioning Batman’s judgement.

***

“But I trust them!” Tim protests. “They’re literally superheroes.”

“This is not a discussion,” Bruce says harshly. Tim winces. “Your secret identity is your life, and you must guard it like such.”

“Then just one of them, at least,” Tim says. “You can even choose which one. Please, Bruce. Can’t someonemy age know? Dick had the Ti—”

“The Titans were a mistake.”

Tim’s eyes widen. “What?”

“Dick is too trusting. He should never have revealed his identity to them. It put him in terrible danger—that Markov girl could have done so much damage.” Bruce shakes his head. “I thought better of you, Robin.”

“I—”

“No,” Bruce says. “I’m disappointed that you even suggested this, let alone continued arguing. You barelyknow those children. It’s ridiculous to trust them.”

Tim wilts under the force of Bruce’s glare. “Okay, B.”

“It’s for your own good,” Bruce says.

Tim’s team members don’t even know his name, and Ives and Zoanne don’t know that he’s Robin. He has two sets of friends, but he’s more alone than ever.

And yet, Bruce is the expert on secret identities. If he says not to tell, Tim won’t tell. He trusts Bruce.

***

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Tim says, without hesitation, without doubt. He is Robin, and this is Batman.

“Then don’t tell Dick about this. I can’t have him interfering in this case.”

Tim doesn’t understand. Dick—Dick deserves to know. This is about his weird archenemy, after all. But, well… “Alright, B,” Tim says.

Three days later, and an injured Dick and an extremely frustrated Bruce are having their monthly screaming match. Tim sits in the corner of the Batcave and tries to ignore it. He could go upstairs, could put on headphones, could do any number of things to keep from hearing the words they’re hurling at each other. But he has to know what they’re saying. He caused this, after all.

(Dick isn’t angry at Tim. He doesn’t even know Tim was in on the secret. But Tim is guilty nevertheless. Dick is hurt because of him.)

***

“Question everything,” Bruce says.

When does it end? Tim thinks.

Bruce says this was training. Says that it’s a good thing Tim questioned the character of his friends, questioned his own memories.

This isn’t training.

When does training go too far? Tim wonders. How’s that for a question, Bruce?

***

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Tim doesn’t allow himself to think about the question.

“Then don’t follow me.”

Tim follows Bruce anyway and ends up saving his life.

Bruce lectures him for not following orders.

***

“Trust is the enemy,” Bruce says, as Tim sits on the medical cot, shivering. The chills alternate with an unnatural warmth that feels like it’ll burn him up from the inside. “You need to learn to doubt your senses.”

Tim’s teeth chatter. Whatever Ivy and Crane cooked up together really sucks, even with the antidotes. “’m not in the mood for a l’cture, B,” Tim says, tugging on his blanket and trying to cover himself entirely with it.

“You could have avoided that fall,” Bruce says. “You knew you were hallucinating, but you still trusted that the ground was where it seemed—”

“Stop,” Tim says, closing his eyes. Every inch of him feels unbearably cold. “Just stop. I get it.”

“Do you?” Bruce asks. “Because you keep making this mistake, Tim. You could have died.”

“I know,” Tim says. “I know, B. I know.”

(And he does think he knows, this time. Because sitting here, shivering in the well-heated room with Bruce sitting next to him, he feels utterly alone.)

***

“Do you trust me?” Bruce asks.

Bruce had wanted Tim to stop trusting, is the thing. He’d pushed and pushed and pushed, all because he thought Tim was too trusting. 

To Bruce, trust is a weakness, a failing, an enemy. And now that he’s pressed that belief into Tim, well…

It’s wrong, it’s disrespectful, it’s horrible. Bruce was only trying to make Tim stronger. Bruce wants what’s best for him.

But you reap what you sow. So, Tim looks at Batman and can’t help but tell the truth.

“No,” Tim says, “I don’t.”

Instead of being angry, though, Bruce gives him an approving nod. “Good.”

Oh, Tim thinks. I finally passed the test.

[ssbooks]

DAY 2! (This is a bad one)

I am in the zone baby. JUst look at all these words flying by! I AM ON THE TOP OF THE WORLD! My music is blasting loud. I keep in beat as I write. Almost there, almost there. 

Then I hear footsteps. I freeze my fingers over my keyboard. They echo across the house. Thump thump thump up the stairwell. 

They can be only one person. My mother. 

I swallow hard.

Did I do something wrong? She only climbs those stairs when I’m in trouble. My brain stables back.But my brain is blank. WHAT DID I DO????? 

DID I DO SOMETHING? I MUST HAVE DONE SOMETHING! WHy is she coming up here?

I hear her footsteps walking down the hallway. I watch the door unconsciously leaning away from the door.

The door handle twists open. The hinges scream as my mother swings it open. GAAAAAA!!!!!!!! I'm screaming internally.And my mother pokes her head through the door. There is a serious look on her face. I feel like my entire body is ice.

“You need to do chores.” Then she leaves. 

.

.

.

Sooooo I'm not in trouble?

Somewhere down the hallway she yells “AND YOU NEED TO CLEAN THE BATHROOM.” 

Oh ya I was supposed to do that this morning.

I melt into my bed. All tension leave me. I survived. I made it out alive. And I- 

Wait. ……

Did she say Chores?

       DANG IT 

               I was in the zone! HOW DARE SHE!

But if I don’t do my  chores right now…. Well we don’t talk about that.

I look down lovingly at my google docs. The cursor blinks sadly at me. “I’m sorry , but I have to. Its the only way. I whisper. I will be back.”

If mom doesn't find more chores for me to do.

And if I don’t get distracted

And If I have inspiration.

And if no one is doing anything interesting

And don’t I have that friend date later today?

So it's like a fifty-fifty chance.

Maybe…

NOTE from future me:

I did not in fact get any more done. And I also Did not finish my OC drawing. I had stuff to do. So I am sorry. Hopefully tomorrow I can get that drawing out!

[writeforfandoms]

Shatter Me 20

Find the series masterlist

Uh. Okay. So. I'm sure this is not what you're expecting, but trust me when I say it's going to be okay. I have A Plan.

Warnings: Emotional turmoil, little bit of abandonment, canon compliant, swearing, emotional overwhelm.

Word count: 2.4k

At Fett’s insistence, you joined him up top, settling into a seat with only a little hesitation. He wasn’t chatty, and he was harder to read than Din, at least to you. But his presence was… not quite restful. Almost soothing.

You were confident, if nothing else, Fett wouldn’t let any harm come to you. For Din’s sake, even if not for your own. That was fine. You didn’t care as much why. 

And Din definitely had more friends, more pull, than you did. Which was funny, considering how he came across at first. 

The blue and white of space outside lit the interior, casting odd lights on everything. 

It could have just been you and your sentimentality, but… it didn’t look as nice from here. From this ship. 

“Prepare to exit jumpspace,” Fett said over the comms, helmet briefly tipping your direction. You grimaced and held on tighter to the straps of your seat. 

“Copy that,” Bo Katan’s voice came over the comm. “Get the hell out of there as soon as they clear us to dock. And your shots have to look convincing.” 

“Power up those shields, princess. I’ll put on a good show.” You didn’t have to see him to guess at his expression. He sounded darkly amused, something that niggled in the back of your brain. A learned response to that tone, a warning to hide. 

Not that you had anywhere to hide on this ship. Not that you needed to hide from him. 

“Watch out for those deck cannons,” Bo Katan shot back. Something in her tone made you think she didn’t like Fett very much. 

“Don’t worry about me. Just be careful in there.” Fett sounded quieter. Softer, almost. You couldn’t tell how much he was speaking to Bo Katan, or to Fennec and the others. (You guessed more to Fennec and Din, considering he already had a relationship with them.) 

The ship jolted a little as it dropped out of hyperspace, and you took a deep breath. Go time.

Not that you had to do anything but hold on.

Fett didn’t waste any time, firing on the other ship. If you hadn’t known the plan, you would have thought it was real. Fett swerved to follow the ship, and your stomach swooped with the motion. You couldn’t hear what was going on in the other ship, but you did see when the first TIE fighter deployed. 

“Kriff,” Fett grumbled, more to himself than you. 

You glanced at him, eyes wider than normal, and swallowed hard. The plan was not to get embroiled in a real firefight. 

Green flashes from behind made you clench your hands tighter around the straps. At least one TIE fighter had gotten behind you. Fett didn’t seem bothered, all his focus on the controls, even as he chased the other ship towards the Light Cruiser. 

He broke off at the last moment, swerving away. The ship juddered with an impact against the shields, made worse when Fett spun the ship around to shoot the TIE fighters still following. He evened out the ship and jumped back into hyperspace.

And now you waited.

“Alright there, little one?” His tone had gentled some as he addressed you. 

“Yeah,” you answered, only a little higher than normal. “I’m fine.” 

He hummed softly but didn’t disagree with you. “Mechanic, huh?” 

You blinked at him, surprised at the relative small talk. Then again, the two of you would be waiting for an unknown amount of time… Might as well. 

“Yeah. Started when I was a kid. My dad taught me everything he knew.”

He nodded slowly, hands relaxed on the controls. “My father taught me to be a warrior,” he mused. “And left me this armor.” 

“Is that why you’re helping Din?” The question left your mouth before you could think about the repercussions. 

He looked at you again, assessing if you had to guess. It was hard to guess with the blank visor staring you down. “He returned my armor to me,” Fett agreed. “And I swore to him that I would see the child safely returned to him.” 

You nodded slowly. It made sense, from what you’d come to know of Mandalorians through Din - they valued their armor above basically everything else. Although you had seen that Fett was willing to take his helmet off, more like the other Mandalorians you’d met what felt like ages ago. 

“I started traveling with him because my sister pushed me to,” you admitted, speaking slowly. It felt good to say, even if you didn’t think Fett really cared. “He terrified me, at first. But… I’m glad I stayed.” 

“Loyalty is worth more than any credits,” Fett agreed. “Especially when that loyalty goes both ways.” 

You looked at him, startled, ready to object on autopilot… But he was right. Din was loyal to you, in a lot of ways you hadn’t really looked at before. Your heart swelled, warming you through. 

Fett’s chuckle made you dip your head, embarrassed. 

“You may as well get comfortable,” he advised. “We may be waiting a while.” 

You took his advice. You didn’t leave, because you didn’t want to be taken by surprise when the call came in, but you did undo the straps on your chair. You relaxed. You listened to the ship, what you could anyway while it was semi-parked in open space. 

You still wanted to get a look at the innards of the ship. Maybe if there was time after Din and Grogu came back. 

After all, Din’s ship was gone, so the three of you would probably need to get a ride back to… somewhere. You weren’t sure where exactly. 

You’d figure it out later. Once Din and Grogu were back with you. 

Somehow, you still jumped when the comm crackled to life.

“All done here,” Fennec said from the other end. “Ready for pickup.”

“Copy that,” Fett replied, already inputting the coordinates again. “Anything I need to know about?” 

“Not until you get here.” Fennec didn’t sound foreboding, exactly, but… You wondered what that meant. She would have said something if someone was seriously hurt, right? 

You didn’t have long to spiral in your thoughts, though. Fett grunted acknowledgement and pushed the ship into hyperspace. 

It wasn’t long until the ship dropped out of hyperspace, revealing the Light Cruiser. It didn’t look any different from the outside. 

But you weren’t so concerned with that. 

Fett found a place to dock the ship. Fortunately, he didn’t try to stop you when you scrambled out of the ship as soon as you could. 

You needed to see Din and Grogu, see that they were okay.

Din met you in the hanger, looking a little ruffled but fine, helmet firmly in place. But his arms were empty. 

You couldn’t see Grogu.

“He went with a Jedi.” He spoke softly, not keeping you waiting. 

“What?” You froze, feeling as if you’d misunderstood somehow. Because Din had promised you that he and Grogu would come back. 

“A Jedi came,” Din repeated slowly, hands open at his sides. He didn’t move towards you. “I let him go. It’s what I’ve been working towards. For him to be with his own kind.” 

You breathed in, tears blurring your vision. You’d known that, you’d known Din wanted to find a Jedi to take Grogu, but… now? So soon? “I didn’t get to see him,” you whispered, heart aching. 

Din shifted forward and stopped himself, pulling back slowly. “I’m sorry,” was all he offered, visor fixed on you. 

You shook your head, too emotionally overwhelmed to answer him properly. One shaking hand lifted to wipe the wetness from your cheeks. 

“Is he okay?” you finally managed to ask, voice trembling. “Was he hurt?”

“He’s safe,” Din promised, finally taking a single step closer to you, both hands lifting like he wanted to take hold of you. But he didn’t. He held himself back that last little bit. “He is unharmed. And he will be safe with the Jedi.” 

You nodded, even as your shoulders hunched tighter. Which was ridiculous. This was what you’d wanted, right? For the kid to be safe, to be with his own people?

…Right?

Fennec slipped silently past you with no more than a glance and a quick touch to your shoulder. Your breath shuddered on the way in, and you tried to wrestle yourself back under control. You were making a fuss and you didn’t need to. Everyone was safe. No one was hurt. 

Even if Grogu was gone. 

“So what now?” You wiped your eyes again, refusing to meet Din’s gaze, even if you could. Instead you focused on his chest, checking the beskar for any new marks. 

“We see if Fett will take us somewhere,” Din said, hands falling back to his sides, hands opening and closing like he wanted to grab something. “From there, it will be easy to find passage to another planet.” 

You nodded slowly, trying to slow your breathing and calm yourself. It wasn’t easy. But you managed it after a few minutes of quiet. 

“Okay,” you croaked. “Okay.” 

Din stepped closer, slowly, like he expected you to reject him. When you didn’t, one hand took your elbow, helping to steady you and hold you close. 

“Ready?” he asked, low and quiet. 

You nodded, unwilling to trust your voice for now. Din helped you back onto the ship, staying next to you. 

“If you need transport, I am going back to Tattooine,” Fett said before either of you could ask. 

“That would be appreciated,” Din accepted with a nod. 

Fett inclined his head and climbed back up into the cockpit, Fennec following him up. 

Leaving you and Din in the hold together. 

The ramp closed, and Din ushered you to a seat, seeming concerned. You didn’t brush him off, needing the stability of him to regain your own internal balance. 

“Are you sure he’ll be okay?” you whispered, half-certain Din wouldn’t hear you as the engines whirred back to life. 

“He will be,” Din answered with more confidence than you could fathom right then. “We will see him again.” 

You breathed out slowly, soothed despite yourself with his confidence. Grogu would be okay, at the very least. If you were lucky, you'd see him again. Things would be okay. This wasn't the end. 

The trip back to Tatooine was largely quiet. You were already thinking of offering to look at Boba's ship, as a bit of repayment for the ride and his help. Only if he wanted you to, though. 

Din sat next to you the entire trip, one thigh pressed to yours, his pauldron hurting you a little where it dug into your shoulder. You didn't say anything about it - the pain was rather grounding, helping you to focus on the here and now, rather than spiraling out of control again. 

But the second time your head tipped sideways and thunked against the beskar, Din removed it, leaving his softer flight suit instead. 

You had to admit, his shoulder made a better pillow than his pauldron did. 

His arm shifted, giving you a little more room to settle in, and you melted against him with a tiny, contented sigh. 

No, things were not perfect. Or even good. But this? This was a lot. This was good. 

And in a life that hadn't had a lot of good things, especially recently, you clung to the good things. 

The ship shuddered as it entered atmo, and you blinked rapidly. When had you even dropped out of hyperspace? You didn't remember. Had you actually fallen asleep? 

Din seemed unruffled when you sat up, merely shifting his weight, helmet tipping towards you. 

“Sounds like we're almost there,” he rasped. 

“Yeah.” You straightened a little, glancing at him. “Where are we going next?” 

Din hesitated, holding very still. “I'll need to check in with the guild,” he said slowly. 

“Okay.” You could work with that. You'd already spent a good portion of your life not knowing exactly what came next. This wouldn't be so hard. Not with Din. 

The ship landed smoothly, and all of you exited. Boba had set down near the spaceport, within easy walking distance, but still away enough from what crowds Tatooine had to have some privacy. 

“You should be able to find passage from here,” he said, inclining his head towards the large transport vessels. “I will be remaining here, on Tatooine.” 

Din inclined his head. “Your help has been invaluable. Thank you.” 

Boba returned the nod and walked back onto his ship. Fennec lingered near the ramp, facing away from you and Din. 

And Din… Din looked at you. Hands open at his sides. He breathed in deep, straightening his shoulders. 

“Maybe you'd be happier staying here.”

The world fell out from under your feet. Your heart plummeted, chest constricting so tight you were surprised all your organs didn't simply give up. No. There was no way… Din wasn't… He wouldn't… 

“This life is dangerous,” Din continued. “You know that. It's hard on you. I've noticed. I don't even have a ship anymore.” 

All true, but. Why was he leaving you? Why now? You'd thought… you'd thought… 

“I want you to be safe.” Din reached out one hand, slowly, until his glove-encased hand closed around yours. “I have things I need to do. Things that are for Mandalorians.”

You shook your head slowly, too stunned and overwrought to form words, or even to cry. 

“I'll check on you, when I come back,” he promised, voice low and intent. He really thought he was doing what was best. “Be well. Stay with Peli.” 

He released your hand, which dropped limp to your side, cold and unfeeling. He stepped back, your feet rooted to the sand, heavy and thick. 

He turned and walked away. Your shoulders hunched. Your world shattered. 

You stared after him, unblinking, unmoving, even as grains of sand stung your face. 

“If you're looking for a job,” Fennec said from somewhere behind you, voice even and casual, “we could use a mechanic. There's a lot of work that needs to be done.” 

You breathed in, everything muted. You couldn't feel your extremities. Couldn't feel much of anything past the vice wrapped around the gaping loss in your chest. 

There was nothing else for you, now. 

“Let's go.”