#an apology is just a word. it would be easy to apologise and move on but it would also be fundamentally dishonest and i would learn nothing

[crowttore]

Hewwo~

Krokus here (°◡°♡)

For your askbox event thingie: Maybe Dottore + Aftercare (maybe things got intense before and Reader is really in need of it?).

I miss Dottie and I love the way you write him 👉🏻👈🏻

No pressure of course! I hope you're having fun with the asks you're getting though ❤

Bye for now ☀️

Krokus, I am kissing your forehead and also apologising because this was a joy to write but became so self indulgent. Not sure if traditional aftercare, but it's what I would want lmao >w<

Tags: prior use of safeword (by reader), very little dialogue, brief non-graphic mention of nsft activities, hints at bondage, aftercare, soft Dottore, 800 words Minors DNI

Patience was a virtue Dottore had always prided himself on possessing an abundance of, yet the past thirty-nine breaths had to be some of the most nerve-wracking.

With a respiratory rate of approximately fourteen breaths per minute, a bit higher perhaps due to the strenuous nature of your previous activities, it meant almost three minutes had already passed with your shaking form remaining unresponsive.

From the very second your shaky utterance had reached his ears, Dottore's heart had found a new purpose in replacing every ounce of blood with guilt thick as tar. Though it made his body heavy with regret, everything had moved swiftly around him. Forgotten was the painful ache of his leaking cock as it ceased its straining against his boxers. Hands steady with acquired apathy had freed your wrists, removed the blindfold, and tossed aside the gag in an instant.

Bile had risen the moment he'd spotted your swollen eyes and the tears streaking down your cheeks. The faint lines of blood had immediately been wiped off with the bedsheets. They would need a wash regardless.

Now, your body lay cradled tightly in his embrace while he could do nothing but whisper praise into your hair, words occasionally broken up when he pressed a kiss to your temple. What a daunting task, Dottore thought, to know that there was nothing you wanted more than to be squeezed by the man responsible for your current state.

But that had been part of your instructions given so long ago, burned into his mind despite the low number of times they'd been needed. 'Have you never considered that maybe, just maybe, the combined warmth and force of a tight hug might mend a broken being?' Dottore still wanted to scoff at the statement, but the vulnerability in your eyes as you'd asked had kept him from doing so.

And now he believed that you might be correct.

His attention snapped to you as he felt subtle movement, one of your soft hands trailing along his chest before settling in its favorite spot. The weak squeeze of his pectoral brought forth a smile, fondness further increased with your little whimper as his own hand enveloped yours.

"Back with the living?" He questioned, trying to keep the slight tremble from his voice and instead focus on the relief he felt upon unclenching his jaw. You'd exhibited no signs of acute injury or unbearable pain since halting the 'punishment', a notion that managed to somewhat calm the raging storm of panic.

It had overwhelmed you, not hurt you. A realization that was both pacifying and disgusting.

Another squeeze by your hand, the silent 'yes' letting relief take root once more. Assured that you were somewhat present, enough to be left alone for a moment at least, Dottore redirected his focus to practicalities. You were drenched in sweat, the scent cloyingly sweet with fear - he should draw a warm bath. Hopefully, the heat would soothe the tension in your muscles as well.

A pang went through his heart at the way you so devoutly tried to cling to him as he gently placed you down on the bed. It was easy to immobilize you, requiring only the fuzzy blanket you so adored to be wrapped around your form. "One moment," he apologized, "I'll prepare a bath for us, fetch you a glass of water, and be back in ten breaths."

Affection bloomed in his chest when you promptly began sucking in shallow breaths, "if you're well enough to be giving me sass, then you're well enough to wait a minute or two." Dottore ruffled your hair, searching your eyes one last time before he reluctantly pulled away and hurried to the adjacent bathroom.

Upon returning, he was pleased to find you move into a sitting position to receive the glass he held out. While you eagerly gulped down the cold water, Dottore squeezed between your wrapped up form and the headboard, waiting until you'd set the glass aside before tugging you against his chest once more.

His head tilted back to allow space for you to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, eternally grateful that you still appeared to hold no reservations about seeking safety with a monster. Amusement bubbled into a light chuckle when he felt your lips latch onto his neck and gently suckle.

As much as it was a conscious decision to rub your back and kiss the top of your head, Dottore was well aware that it had also grown into an unconscious need. A selfish indulgence he'd done nothing to deserve.

Already knowing the answer, Dottore spoke with a quiet sense of tranquility, "do you want me to carry you to the bath?"

Dottore Masterlist

[icallhimjoey]

Almost, Always

♥ ♥          Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader 

Summary: Happy endings aren't for everyone, so it seems, but that doesn't mean that you can't stop trying for one. Question is, are you actually star-crossed lovers that can figure something out, or just absolutely blind to reality and really fucking stupid?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, smut, cheating

Author’s note: it's monday! and fake joe's here for you! he's... not exactly the best, for which i apologise, but, he's all for you, so please, enjoy him fictionally and respect him privately (too much to ask? i hope not?) ok great talk everyone, love you <33 xo

Wordcount: 6.3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Four days of silence.

Four days of not looking each other in the eye. Of no physical touch. Of not saying a single fucking word.

You moved around each other in a shared space until you had the thought that you were probably better off avoiding each other completely for a little while.

Joe was convinced he had every right to wait for an apology before he’d speak to you again. You, however, obviously heavily disagreed.

You had just been honest.

Joe had asked for you to be honest and so, you had been, but apparently, you’d done it wrong.

It started with an evening of not speaking after an outburst. A silent night routine where you completely avoided one another. Acted like the other person wasn’t even there. You’d thought then that you’d speak in the morning. That you’d talk things out after getting some sleep, because maybe that was the problem.

You slept with your backs facing each other and dreamed of better moods in the morning.

But then the next morning, Joe had gotten up and only made one coffee.

One singular cup of coffee.

He drank it at the kitchen table, looked at you all bitterly like a disappointed parent would look at their child who was ruining their potential, and then left the empty cup there for you to grow even more annoyed at. More than you already were.

That one evening of silence had slowly turned into four days.

You bit your tongue, though. Kept quiet, because Joe did too. Stored the annoyance away. Swept it under the rug, and even though this metaphoric rug was starting to look really lumpy, you pretended you could walk over it fine still.

You then also ignored that this is precisely what the fight had been about. About you shutting up about all the little things that annoyed you. All the small things that didn’t feel worth the effort to say anything about in the moment, because you didn’t want to be a nag.

Things built with you.

Being bothersome was your worst nightmare, so you wouldn’t say anything for ages until then suddenly, on a random afternoon, a teeny tiny drop made the bucket overflow and you’d fall apart at something so stupidly insignificant which would take everyone by surprise.

Would take Joe by surprise.

And it made sense that Joe’s first reaction to your fire would be to light his own. You’d snap and shout, so Joe’d snap and shout right back.

“Babe, you never fucking communicate! It’s always– I’m always guessing with you! Just tell me when something upsets you!”

“I am!”

“Yea now you are! But you’re telling me about shit I said three months ago! What do you want me to change about something I did three months ago?!”

“I don’t want you to change anything– my God! You asked me what’s wrong, so I’m telling you what’s wrong!”

It was always the same fight. And usually, you’d end up saying something so stupid to your own ears it would break the tension and make you laugh. It’d be easy to apologise in those moments, because you knew this was on you, and the warmth coming off of Joe as he’d turn soft at your laughter would always sort of fix things.

“Stop being so silly,” he’d say as he’d hug you. As he’d kiss you on the cheek until your embarrassed grimace, aimed fully at yourself, disappeared.

“Got some moaning left in there?” he’d ask, tapping the side of your head with a finger, making you giggle despite yourself. “Want to go shout into the air from the balcony? Since you’re here now, this is the time to get all of it out.”

That was how it usually went.

And he was right; you could definitely communicate better. Express feelings in the moment rather than hold on to all the negative shit for ages.

Easier said than done, but at least you were aware that you had to stop saving things for another day.  

This time the fight had been different though. There was no eventual humour slipping through any cracks. No secret smiles hidden from each other until you stopped being able to conceal them. No apologies. Zero kind words. Just… anger. And silence.

Joe was waiting for you to break first. For your wrath to turn into something a little softer that he could mould into something more to his liking.

And you were waiting because Joe was waiting. Simple as that.

It didn’t feel fair that every time you’d share negative feelings, Joe would end up calling you silly.

It didn’t feel fair that Joe never apologised for anything.

It didn’t feel fair that, just because you were quiet for a moment as you collected your thoughts, Joe spat, “Silent treatment? All right.” at you.

Four days.

Four days of Joe making a morning coffee just for himself, actively choosing to ignore, and therefore, hurt you.

Four days of his lone empty coffee cup left on the table, which you then didn’t clean, because why the fuck would you, but the sight of it was eating you alive.

You spent four days witnessing petty, childish behaviour from the man who you started believing you needed some space from. A little breathing room. Just until he’d miss you enough to reach out and say sorry, you know?

You wondered if he was thinking the same.

If the silence was also letting his mind wander into those same dark corners yours was exploring.

But then, Joe broke it.

A glass of wine on that fourth night broke it.

It wasn’t exactly an apology, but… it felt like one. You decided it was an apology.

You were sitting on the sofa, tapping away on your phone, talking to Emily about your stupid boyfriend, and she was a good friend, made fun of him effortlessly which really did a good job of making you feel better.

Then, Joe placed a glass of wine down on the coffee table in front of you.

It didn’t fully register at first.

You saw the glass, but assumed it was Joe’s wine that he poured for just himself, and if you were going to want some, you’d have to go and fetch you own.

Mid-typing out a message to Emily about it, you felt Joe sit down next to you, and when you chanced a quick glance, you saw that he was holding a glass of wine himself as he got comfortable and turned on the TV.

Slowly, your phone lowered into your lap, and you stared at that glass of red wine on the table for a moment.

Without warning, your eyes welled up.

He poured that for you.

In the effort to not let Joe notice how this gesture hit you right in the gut, you held your breath until you were shaking, and then a heaving sob burst out of you.

Shit.

You shattered.

Split right down the middle, and burst into pieces with such vigour, you surprised yourself, but surprised Joe more.

He had expected you to pick up the glass and empty it in the sink, or whatever.

Four days was much longer than he thought you’d let this go on for.

His girlfriend was stubborn – he knew that. But four days? Four days was a really fucking long time. And, apparently, four days was long enough for a simple glass of red supermarket wine to make you cry.

The astonishment rendered Joe useless for a moment.

He just looked at you for a moment as you sat with your phone in your lap, head dropped down, and your face covered by both your hands.

This was really fucking embarrassing.

Your legs felt the want to escape the situation before your mind got the chance to catch up. You were up on your feet and wanted to bolt it to the bedroom when you heard Joe put his glass of wine down.

You hadn’t even taken two steps before you got taken hold of by an arm. Pulled into a chest. Held firmly into place.

Going from four days of moving around each other like you didn’t exist to one another, to the very sudden tightest hug you’d received in ages was a lot.

And then Joe placed a hand on the back of your neck and squeezed you gently, making you fucking bawl.

No one apologised.

No one said a word, actually.

But you took whatever that glass of wine was as enough of an olive branch to let yourself be hugged.

Be shushed quietly.

Be gently kissed and softly touched.  

It shouldn’t have counted as an apology, but you’d taken it as one, and Joe had conveniently let you.

Saturday night.

You’re out.

Alone.

You know Emily would have come if you had asked her to, but you hadn’t, because she would’ve likely asked a bunch of questions you didn’t want to answer.

“Where are we going?” “That’s not where we usually go...” “Why are we going there?”

Couldn’t tell her. She’d try her best to talk sense into you. Would try to convince you that this behaviour wasn’t serving anyone in the long term.

And she’d be right.

But you currently don’t really care about the long term.

Short term is where it’s at.

Where all the fun and the excitement lives.

So you’re out. Having drinks at a bar by yourself, and you do your very best fending off any trickle of doubt at your life choices until you see him walk in.

Jackpot.

You fucking knew it.

You pretend you haven’t seen him at all, of course. Continue your chat with the girl behind the bar, until suddenly–

“You know you’ve got the worst timing?”

Joe sneaks up on you.

His voice is low in your ear, and you do your very best to sound as surprised as you possibly can when you gasp a small breath, all innocent. You turn your head to see him over your shoulder, both his hands on your sides as he looks down at you.

“Fancy seeing you here.” You say it like you truly didn’t expect to run into him.

Oscar worthy.

Well. It would have been, had you not both been very aware that you’re exactly where you are for this exact reason. Wearing what you are wearing, drinking what you are drinking. It’s more than a lucky guess that he’d be here tonight.

Joe’s predictable like that.

Men in general are easy like that.

“I’m here with a whole group.” Joe’s making excuses he already knows aren’t going to stop either one of you.  

“Do I know them?”

“No.” Joe answers as he scans your face from the side. God, you look all… glossy.

“Good.” Would’ve been a bit awkward otherwise.

“You better hang around for a bit.” Joe gives you a face, sort of stern, and it’s so comfortable to frown at him. To act all offended. Like it’s not exactly what you want to hear.

“Excuse you, I’m–” you start all aghast, and want to add, I’m seeing someone, which is a lie, but you get cut off by a strong squeeze into your waist from both his hands.

“I’m not joking. Give me… maybe, like, an hour and I’ll come get you.”

You scrunch your nose at him and he gives a small nod, his grin spreading wide, before he turns around and finds the people he came in with.

You’re alone. Single, and having drinks in a bar by yourself, which has every opportunity to feel a little sad, but instead you feel giddy. You predicted you’d run into him, and then you did.

Perfect.

You’re a genius.

After last time, you kind of want Joe to think that you are seeing someone. Just to make you feel like you’ve got the upper hand. Not that it matters. You’ve both made the same wrong choice in similar situations before. But, still. You just don’t want him to win.

Joe joins his friends, and he throws a quick glance back to see you smile into your drink as you take a sip.

Yea. Glossy is the right word, he thinks. He could stare at you all evening.

Fuck.

A whack to his shoulder by one of his friends pulls him into a conversation and momentarily, he shifts into the evening he had planned to have.

He forgets about you for a minute, but never entirely.

It’s like there’s a constant little buzz in the back of his head, and he keeps wanting to look over. See what you’re doing. Who you’re talking to. Who’s talking to you.

Joe’s in trouble.

You do things to him that he can’t entirely comprehend, and that no one before or after you has ever really managed. He doesn’t know what to make of that most of the time, except that the feelings he’s got for you are sort of… big. And scary.

You’re still devastatingly gorgeous to him, he can objectively look at you and think, yea she’s fucking hot, but you also manage to make him laugh. Manage to him feel heard and cared for. Manage to make him forget about all current worries life has on offer for him.

And Joe is generally, just, doomed.

Whatever he had with you had worked for a while and then suddenly it hadn’t anymore. You’d suddenly wanted out, but now… it feels a little like you both want to start over. Like you both want to forget about that chapter of bullshit. Pretend it never happened.

And what’s the problem with that?

Is whatever you are doing now a problem? If it works?

If it doesn’t hurt people, Joe thinks there’s no issue.

But he knows it actually does hurt people. It’s another truth he ignores. Tries to, at least.

There’s no denying the gravitation pulling the two of you closer and closer together until eventually you end up a tangled mess. Like a pair of forgotten earphones left in a coat pocket, too annoying to untie, so instead someone will pull at both ends until the earpieces reach both ears, leaving the wire tangled up even tighter as it sits under their chin.

Even though Joe appreciates the poetic beauty he can find in all of that, he knows he’s got to fucking stop hurting people all the time.

He can’t help his feelings.

But he can help how he treats others.

If he is going to choose to let the general ache of a bad week be soothed by the balm of your presence, he can at least have the decency to not let others presume they’re dating him. Because generally, that’s always been his problem. Joe’s vague and avoidant and all about surface level fun – he never defines anything if he can help it, and he lets others think what they please.

It’s easier that way.

For him, at least.

It’s both a shame and a godsend that this is a part of him that you know through and through. That you see. He doesn’t have to try to hide it, because he knows that it’s of no use with you.

And apparently, it’s fine, because here you fucking are, aren’t you?

He remembers when he thought you were just the same, and remembers how he felt so lucky at first.

A perfect match.

He’d learnt over time, you’re actually very much not the same. But! You had at least some of the same tendencies, and you showing up in this particular bar tonight was enough proof of it.

Joe’s in his group of friends, and they’re all chatting and laughing, and this was meant to be a fun night out, but he might as well just leave right now. His mind is with the girl at the other end of the bar, sat on her own, smiling and chatting to whoever had the courage to strike up a conversation.

Yea.

He’s got more problems.

Forget not wanting to define anything with anyone.

Joe also has to stop banking his entire future on the idea that you want him too.

There’s… there’s a lot of things to ignore.

It should foreshadow that the path he’s going down isn’t good. Isn’t the right one. But... it’s so fun and exciting, he kind of has to know where it leads.

He sighs loudly, a frustrated grumble originating from sheer defeat, and he gives the glass he’s holding a glance. He’ll finish this, and then he’ll fetch you and leave.

About fifteen minutes later, he’s got you under his arm and is leading you outside. Asks, “Yours or mine?” because there’s no need to act coy with you.

You answer, “Yours.” a little too quickly for Joe not to raise an eyebrow at.

You’re walking together, and you’re still fixing your scarf, but your steps are too determined. Too rushed for your quick answer not to hide at least some secrets.

“What, you got anything to hide from me?”

“No–”

“Let’s go over to yours. It’s closer.” he challenges without the intent to actually do so, footsteps still carrying him in the direction of his own flat.

“No, I–”

“Or has Jasper left all of his things strewn about?” Joe couldn’t finish the question before having to twist his mouth in a bid to hide his smile.

You stop walking for just a second, and give him a dead pan stare that transitions into an eye-roll before you flatly say, “All right, good night.” and pretend to turn around to leave.

It makes Joe throw his head back in a laugh, both his arms grabbing at you and pulling you close.

“Mine, okay. Mine.”

And you fall back into step, smiling into your scarf at how you just made Joe’s laugh echo down the street.

Feels good to make Joe laugh.

It’s quiet for a bit, just a short few seconds. Just footsteps on the ground amongst the noises of the city. Somehow, it feels like it drags on, like every second lasts a whole minute, and you can’t help filling it with awkward chat. “No,” you start. “Jasper’s put all of his things where they’re supposed to go.” And you give Joe a pointed look after.

He bites immediately.

“Wha– I always put my things where they’re supposed to go!”

He doesn’t.

You know he doesn’t.

He knows you know he doesn’t.

It’s impossible to forget all of the little things that made the rug look all lumpy. You’d always keep things under there for ages, which gave you a lot of time to quietly lift up corners to examine all the mess.

So you snort, and he stutters through beginnings of words he never finishes to find excuses that don’t exist until you’re both laughing.

Then he says, “Here. I’ll put this thing where it’s meant to go.” And you think it’s just about the cheesiest innuendo ever, but then he takes your wrist in his hand and lets his fingers intertwine with yours.

You look up at him with a pursed smile, but Joe’s already looking right ahead, making sure you don’t bump into anything.

You’re lucky it’s cold enough to blame the flush of your cheeks on the cold wind.

You hold hands all the way to Joe’s flat.

It’s nice.

You also talk about Jasper all the way to Joe’s flat.

That’s less nice.

Joe asks what else Jasper does that he allegedly doesn’t. If he lets you keep your heating on. If he lets you sleep closest to the door. Every question comes out with disdain, like this loser doesn’t know what he’s fucking doing.

And you answer every question with lies. Paint a very pretty picture.

Jasper doesn’t even fucking exist, but you like that Joe thinks you’re taken. That you’re off the market, and that he shouldn’t be taking you home, but still chooses to. You think maybe he wouldn’t have held your hand if he thought you weren’t already spoken for.

However, it doesn’t feel so nice to remember all the things that ruined your relationship with Joe. He just keeps listing a bunch of shit you’d once yelled at him for, and you don’t think he fully understands how it’s bringing the mood down.

Presumably, you’re meant to think it’s funny, so you smile, but all of it sits wrong in your gut. It leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouth that uncomfortably sticks to your tongue and sours your mood a little.

The short-term fun with Joe is meant to be just that. Fun. You don’t want to be reminded of all the reasons why you shouldn’t be going home with him right now. If you did, you’d have taken Emily with you tonight.

You refrain from saying anything, though.

You’re still you, after all.

You just smile and tell Joe that Jasper actually does do all the things that Joe never did, and hope it sparks enough jealousy in him to maybe do something about it.

“Hmm,” Joe says when you turn the corner and his building comes into view. “Jasper sounds... he sounds kind of perfect, doesn’t he?”

He does.

You’ve created the image of a perfect boyfriend. One who you know you’d never actually gel with; you need someone who pushes back a little.

Problem is... Joe knows that too.

Just when the thought crosses your mind that maybe Joe knows you’re making everything up, that you’ve been lying this whole time you’ve been holding hands, Joe confirms your fears.

“Almost too um... almost too good to be true, wouldn’t you say?” he narrows his eyes in suspicion, a smile still playing on his lips.

“Yea, well. Some people are.” you shrug, but know Joe is reading your unsteady body language just fine.

“Sure, sure. Yea. I guess so.” Joe says, and then falls silent.

He knows you’re lying.

Well, fuck.

And then, he lets the silence linger.

Joe doesn’t say anything as he fishes his keys from a pocket and lets you into his building. Doesn’t say anything as he pushes the lift button. Just gives you a little smile, like he’s trying to hold in a chuckle, thinking secret thoughts.

It gets in your hair.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s... no, it’s nothing.”

Joe lets his small smile turn into a fat smirk and it’s starting to get on your nerves. The lift doors open, and you assertively step inside before Joe can give you a small ladies-first gesture.

Joe watches you press the button to his floor before he shakes his head a little and follows you in.

“What?” you ask again, and to that, Joe finally lets a barking laugh out.

“What?” he mimics, feeding off of the brooding bit of bite he can sense growing underneath your skin.

“If you’re trying to piss me off, it’s fucking working.”

“I’m not trying to do anything.” Joe patronises, joy very much still visible in the lines on his cheeks.

He knows you’re single.

He knows there’s no Jasper.

“Hmm.” It’s your turn to narrow eyes at him. “Yea, no. Of course not. You don’t have to try to piss me off, you’re right. You’ve got the skills to auto-pilot your way–”

In a lightning-speed quick move, Joe shuts you up by suddenly getting close enough for you to stumble back against the mirrored panel or the lift. He’s got two hands touching your sides over your coat, firm enough for you to feel them through the thick layers of fabric.

It startles you into silence, and makes you audibly swallow.

You can see from up close how Joe smugly pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, eyes roving over you slowly, and, fuck.

Yea.

Yea. Okay.

It shifts.

All of it is shifting.

The annoyance and slight anger transfers into something else.

Into something a little more raunchy.

You feel a sudden rush down your body from the way Joe’s eyes blaze with intention.

Joe knows you. Bit rash of you to forget.

Just before the lift stills and the doors open behind him, Joe lets his body sway forward a bit to press himself up against you entirely. It makes your breath hitch and stutter. Makes you want to grab hold of the large collar of his coat to pull him down enough so you can kiss him.

But then, in a blink of an eye, he’s gone. Pushes himself off, quickly moves away, walks out of the lift, and leaves you there to catch your breath for a second.

Fucking hell.

Oh, tonight is going to be interesting.

You don’t leave the lift until the doors start closing and you have to quickly launch yourself across to get an arm in front of the sensor. Down the hall you see him disappear into his flat, leaving his door open, and you take rushing steps to follow him inside.

You don’t want to waste any more time.

You want to undress right there on his doormat, despite the bitterly cold temperature you’ve just stepped into.

You want find Joe, who you can hear is already opening and closing cupboards in his kitchen, and just... you don’t know. Jump him, you guess.

That lift moment has made you want to devour him. Made you want to be devoured by him.

But then you close his door and step into his kitchen, and find him at the counter. He’s got his back turned, and is super calmly pouring two glasses of wine.

No urgency.

Zero haste.

He knows what he’s just done to you. Knows the effect that likely must have had. He’s toying with you. Fucking playing.

You drop your coat where you’re standing, right onto the floor. Toe your shoes off to make a pile. You cross your arms and grab hold of the bottom of your top, ready to pull that over your head next, but you pause to watch Joe’s shoulders move under his shirt as he carefully twists and pushes the cork back onto the bottle to seal it.

When he turns around, he leans against the counter, one hand on the edge of it, and in the other he’s holding a nice fat glass of red.

Glass.

One glass.

For a moment you just assume that there’s another hiding behind his back, though it doesn’t even fully register.

You make eye-contact as he takes a slow sip of his drink, and then you slowly pull your top off. It reveals a lacy bra you’re convinced Joe likes the look of.

And you’re right.

Joe halts, and openly stares. Mouth in his wine. Hypnotised. Frozen on the spot. Mind slowly turning to mush.

He’s predictable like that.

Men in general are easy like that.

You take a deep breath, inflating your whole chest, and Joe groans at the sight. The glass of wine gets put back down behind him, and you don’t even think he has taken real sip. Then he takes a few steps to pull a chair from his table.

He holds a hand up that means, one second, and pulls at the fabric of his trousers to give himself a bit more space before he sits down. He shifts a little, settles in, and then leans back with his legs spread wide, both hands behind his head, fingers folded and elbows sticking out.

He takes a deep breath before he gives a small nod that says, carry on.

You bite your teeth into your bottom lip as you smile, because Joe is an idiot, and you let your hands find the button to your trousers to take off next.

Then, suddenly, it lands.

There’s one single glass of wine on the counter.

One.

You stop your movements as you look at it and watch the red liquid inside softly swirl from when Joe put it down.

It takes a second for Joe to follow your gaze, and for him to understand what you’re looking at.

He frowns in confusion a little, looks back at you to see that you’re still staring, and then looks back again, and–

“Oh...”

Your expression has gone cold.

And Joe thinks that maybe he gets it. He isn’t entirely sure, but he’s smart enough to know that the show he had just settled in for is probably going to get cancelled if he doesn’t do anything.

“Did you...”

But he’s not sure what to say. Doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. When you start moving, he thinks maybe he doesn’t have to.

It’s crazy how this feels like it used to feel, before.

But, it’s a little different now, because… there’s nothing at stake. There’s no you to protect. No you two as a couple to preserve.

That stupid single glass of red wine.

You fucking hate it.

And you know it’s sick, you know that you’re not meant to enjoy this, but the feeling of rage bubbling up within you honestly feels kind of good. It’s been a while since you’ve gotten to experience full-body resentment, and have the immediate source of it right there to take it out on.

You want to feel this dark, sticky displeasure.

Feels fucking good.

Joe’s been reminding you of what a shit boyfriend he was to you, which was meant to be ha-ha funny. Joe thought enough time had passed. You had gone from no-contact to two people that bickered for a bit, and then would end up in bed together. It had happened twice already, and you had all the right ingredients to keep this going. The recipe had proven itself delicious, and Joe thought he could just... serve the same meal again.

It’s self-destructive, you know it is, but… you are hungry for it too.

You take a few slow steps and walk over to look at this glass of wine more closely. Joe watches you from his seat, entirely unsure of what to do, and then, without warning, you slowly push the whole thing into the sink.

Red splashes everywhere, and the glass clatters loudly, but it doesn’t break.

Next, you take the bottle into your hands. Look at the label for a moment. Pretend to read it. It’s still pretty full.

Too bad, you think. Such a waste.

You remove the cork, turn around to look Joe directly in the eye, and then tip that over as well. The whole sink colours blood read as you drain the whole thing, and all Joe can do is watch on from his seat.

He doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t say anything.

Just watches you and feels the energy of the room build.

He’d forgotten how things always build with you.

You’re quite the sight, face reading thunder, standing in his kitchen in your bra, breath deepening with every second that passes.

Joe hates what it does to him inside of his trousers.

When the bottle empties, wine clattering in the sink, Joe sees your face change. Something more… calm seemingly overcomes you. You look... pleased.

“Does that feel justified?” Joe asks, eyes blinking at you.

“Fuck you. Yes it does.”

“Do you have any idea how expensive that was?”

You don’t give a shit how expensive that was, but just because you know Joe does, you want to know.

“Tell me.”

Joe scans your body all the way down and then all the way back up.

“Come here.” Joe holds an arm out and reaches for you.

“Shut up. Tell me.” You’re already making your way over.

“That’s a class A premier grand cru...”

You take Joe’s hand and let him pull you to sit on his lap. To straddle him, thighs spread wide, one leg over each one of his.

“That was a class A premier grand cru.” the words mean nothing to you, you know fuck all about wine, but there’s something glorious about correcting Joe.

“Hmm.” Joe hums as his nose nudges yours, and he lets both hands slide up your thighs until he finds the bits he likes holding most. He uses his grip to pull you in closer and continues, “A blend of merlot, and cabernet franc...” Joe’s French accent is awful. “An award-winning Château Angélus from... from 2016, I think...”

That’s fairly recent, you think. Can’t be that expens–

“Cost me over 500 quid.”

Your eyes darken.

Good.

You wouldn’t pay much more than a tenner for a bottle of the same size.

“Should’ve poured me a glass.”

And it’s only then that the penny drops. That he gets it. You can see it in his eyes. The flush of memories suddenly making it to the forefront of his brain.

The silent treatment.

The coffees he didn’t make you.

The wine he eventually did pour for you.

That one glass of red that temporarily had fixed everything.

Shit.

Joe grimaces. Groans. Squeezes his eyes shut. Feels like an idiot.

“Should’ve poured you a–”

You kiss Joe.

Hard.

Breathe him in, and move in enough for it to almost make the chair tip backwards. You’ve got both your arms around his neck, hips moving over Joe’s lap in a desperate grind, all needy and in search of feeling something.

Fire.

You want to feel the fire.

Momentarily, you think it’s working. That something is catching aflame. You can feel how Joe spreads his legs even wider, bucking his hips upward as he presses himself into you.

Joe is straining in his trousers, and he groans as you figure out the right rhythm to make it feel good with every hip roll, with every back and forth.

You break the kiss to let a moan escape you, head dropping back, and Joe’s mouth finds the skin of your neck to taste. His teeth graze before he kisses as you fiercely move against each other. Louder noises escape you when Joe lets a hand curl around and grab you by the back of your neck.

“Yea? That feel nice?” he pants, and all you can do is bob your head in a barely there nod as you keep moving.

It does feel nice.

Feels really nice.

Not exactly fire, though. You’re both in trousers, fabric rubbing together furiously, dry humping each other like a pair of horny teenagers who haven’t passed third base yet.

So, not fire, but nice none the less.

In contrast, there’s a lot of things Joe’s feeling, and he kind of wants you to know about all of them. Needs to speak them into the air in order to fully process what’s happening inside of his brain.

“Did you know I um… I broke everything off, the next day?” Joe starts, and stops to curse under his breath. “Fuck. Yea, keep going. Shit. Ah... A-after you left, I mean, remember? I had a lot of m-missed calls, so I called her back, and I–”

You shut Joe up with a kiss.

Try to at least.

“We could–” Joe starts again after turning his head and pushing you aside with his nose, both hands spread wide over your thighs as he helps you move over his lap. “Remember, how we really were something?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Try to focus on the feelings inside of your body instead of on the words you don’t want to hear.

“We could be something still.”

“N-no.”

You refuse to acknowledge what Joe’s trying to tell you, but don’t stop your movements. You can’t stop, head dropping back. This all feels too good.

It’s still not fire, though.

There’s no stakes.

You’re both single, and every decision you have made this evening turns out to have been inconsequential.

It’s... it’s almost boring.

But it’s good enough.

You just need a couple more seconds, you can feel it building already.

“We c-couldn’t be somethinhgh...” you choke on your words, unable to finish the sentence.

“Yes,” Joe insists, voice low and breathy, your bodies still moving in tandem. He then uses one hand takes hold of your face by your cheeks, tilting your head down so he can make eye-contact with you for a second.

“Yes we could.” He sounds hopeful as his eyes search yours. “Don’t you get it?”

But your eyes are glassy. They flutter and want to roll back.

Joe knows this look.

Know what this means.

And it’s not like Joe thinks his kind words will really fix anything, but, maybe they will, you know? Maybe. He’s glad he has said them anyway, even though you look like you haven’t even properly heard him.

“You close, baby?”

He switches gears.

“Yea? Come on.” He helps you move with strong arms that press you down a little more, and your arms scramble behind his back in your want to hold onto him tightly.

“There you go.” he coos into your ear, and, it’s not fire, but you come anyway.

Joe should have poured you a glass of wine.

Shouldn’t have brought up bad memories, shouldn’t have tried to be funny about it, and absolutely should have simply gone and poured you a glass.

You pretend that a glass of wine would’ve made a difference tonight.

The difference that you had hoped to find.

That would’ve lit the fire.

Deep down you know that’s not it, but still. The empty bottle is right there, watching you come down from your high, Joe still hard beneath you, and it’s easy to use that as the excuse.

You decide on the spot that Joe’s going to have to deal with what resides inside of his underwear by himself.

You’re done.

Sitting up, you look him in the eye for a short moment and softly but definitively say, “Should’ve poured me a glass.” and press a small kiss to his cheek which Joe gladly accepts.

Because he knows you’re right.

“Should’ve poured you a glass.”

---

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add yourself

[no-144444]

injury causer- l.sargeant

Day 11 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: logan can't look where he's going, too bad he runs straight into you.

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You were the lead mechanic on the Andretti Indycar team. You dealt with Kyle Kirkwood and his massive ego all day, everyday. You could’ve sworn everyone hated him by the way he was looked at by other paddock employees. He was nice when the cameras were out but other than that? Asshole. 

You knelt down, trying to get a good look at the car when someone somehow didn’t see you, walked straight into you, kicking you directly in the stomach. 

“Fuck! Sorry!” he immediately rushed out, leaning down to help you out. 

“Watch where you’re going please?” you scoffed, standing up. Kyle laughed as he started sputtering through an apology. You knew who he was, he was Logan Sargeant, a fucking F1 driver. You didn’t care. You weren’t dealing with another asshole’s huge ego today, not that you thought Logan would have one, you knew what he was like, but then again, F1 can change people. You looked at Kyle, who subtly whispered to him to stop apologising. “Drivers aren’t the only people who make the sport happen, dickhead.”

He looked taken aback. “Come one Y/n, it was-”

 “I’m super sorry, I just… I didn’t realise where I was stepping. Sorry again,” Logan interjected. 

“Y/n, stop being a bitch alright?” Kyle scoffed, and you genuinely could’ve killed him. 

“Dude, that’s a dick move,” Logan turned to his friend with a look of disgust. “Apologise.”

Now it was Kyle’s turn to look shocked. “What do you mean?” he scoffed. 

“I mean apologise, you’re being an asshole,” Logan replied calmly. 

Kyle scoffed, which turned into a laugh. 

“I’ll cut your breaks,” you threatened, shutting him up. “And thank you Logan, but that’s alright. I don’t think the word ‘sorry’ is in his vocabulary.” 

Logan turned to Kyle again. “Dude, you’re being a dick. Apologise.”

“Sorry,” he scoffed, and walked off.

“I’m so sorry about him,” Logan sighed. “He can be-”

“An asshole all the time? Yeah, I know,” you nodded. “I'm sorry that you’re his friend.”

He chuckled. “He’s not that bad.”

“Trust me, he is.”

He smiled at you. Internally, he was losing it over the fact that you were standing in front of him, talking to him. He had basically been in love with you since you were both 15. You’d been Adrian Newey’s prodigy as you came up through the motorsports world, and after a bad crash you didn’t get back in the car. That meant you turned to understanding the car, how it worked, how to design one, how to make it safer, make it faster. You knew everything about Indycar, Formula 1, Formula 2, Formula 3, Formula 4 cars. You had even designed some of the best karts in the world. You designed the Mclaren car this year, you’d conceptualised the rear-wing, you’d made it all happen for them, and now you were at Andretti, ready to make them winners. On top of that, you were designing for 6 of the 10 F1 teams, 1 of the 11 F2 teams, and 2 of the 10 F3 teams. Your resume was more than packed, but Logan liked you. You had always been kind to him. Coming up through the European side of motorsport, making friends wasn’t always easy. Yes, he had Oscar, but Oscar also had Zhou, Fred, Paul, and anyone else. Oscar was busy most of the time, so Logan would just hang around the paddock. That’s when he met you. You’d invite him to RedBull team stuff and you ended up spending a lot of time together. 

“It’s nice to see you again,” he smiled. 

“It’s nice to see you again,” you smiled back. “How’s Prema treating you?”

“Good. Better than Williams,” he shrugged. 

“I wanted to reach out after it happened but I think you changed your number,” you admitted. “You deserved so much more than that team. Everyone knows what a talented driver you are.”

He shrugged, his face heating up. “Thank you, it means a lot.”

“Well, it was nice to see you, I’d better get back to it-”

“Here’s my number,” he said, handing you a slip of paper. “I’d like you call me sometimes- I-I’d like to call sometimes- I like you, call me- I-”

“I like you too, and yes, I will call you ,” you chuckled, endeared by his embarrassing moment. 

He shook his head, drowning in embarrassment. He smiled and waved as you walked back to your desk, happy that, at the very least, he had your number.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi

[savannahsdeath]

heyy! this is my first time asking a request but can you do more mafia ellie? i love her sm omg 🤭

MAFIA!ELLIE X READER

mdni please<3

warnings: 18+!! mentions of ellie not having time for reader;(( finger sucking? cum eating just smut and ellie ending up shoving her fingers in your mouth because .

writers note: inspired by @seattlesellie 's fic though hers about abby 🤭(read it here) .. i found it days ago and just couldnt get this out of my head goshhh and finding it again was so hard !!

: ̗̀➛ "yeah, good fuckin' job." ellie mumbled in a raspy whisper.

you could see her arm muscles tense as her grip on her phone tightened. you bit your lip and threw your head back, leaning it on her shoulder.

it wasn't supposed to be like that. not at all.

: ̗̀➛ she told you she has a day off - well, she's her own boss, so she could have one any day, but her job is hard to take a break of. there's always some problems or complications. or unexpected calls, like this one. of course, she apologised a hundred times before picking it off (not really, she just murmured a half-assed 'sorry, babe'), but it didn't make it any less annoying.

: ̗̀➛ so you ended up pressed against her chest with legs spread wide open, making room for her right hand, which, much to your surprise, didn't slid out of you.

"ellie—" you let out a desperate mewl, feeling her fingers slow down as her focus shifted to the person on the phone.

she shushed you, planting a loving kiss on your neck, which only added fuel to your neediness.

"i know." she whispered, curling her fingers inside of you to prove her point. she straightened up as if whoever she was talking with could see her previous posture. "uhh, yeah... could you repeat?"

her every move would force a sound out of the back of your throat, every touch of her lips on your neck whenever she wasn't the one speaking left dark marks on your skin. you held onto her hand, digging your nails into her forearm what didn't bother her at all. being silent wasn't easy, it took lots of self-control which disappeared in ellie's presence.

: ̗̀➛ it was even harder when the "good fuckin' job" turned out to be something more like "fucked job". that's when you finally earned her focus. her fingers found the perfect way to calm her down, take some anger out and let her listen to your beautiful moans. you really tried to be quiet, but all you could do is purse your lips, what only muffled all the little whimpers.

"look, if you don't figure it out till tomorrow, you're fucking dead." she hissed, her frustration spreading through her whole body - from head to toes.

you felt the electricity cumulating in her fingers, you felt how mad she was. oh, yes, you felt that.

"i—" you whined, tugging on her arm to get even more of the attention.

"hushh..." she clicked her tongue, turning back to her phone. "i'm not kidding. your wife's gonna get your head as a christmas gift, if i'll feel generous."

every single word that escaped her mouth caused another gasp from you, because you didn't really listen to how harsh her statement was, you just enjoyed her raspy voice which was perfectly sychronised with her fingers. when she spoke slowly, her movement would also slow down, and, oh, how much you wanted to beg her to hang up.

"i don't care— no, shush, shut up." she hissed, but you felt better at the thought of you not being the only one who has to stay quiet now. "i have no idea how you'll do it, but you will, or i swear to god i—" her slim digits digged into you as she kissed your cheek, mumbling a tired; "fuckin' idiots" close to your ear while pulling away.

the man on the phone must start to get nervous, as his pathetic voice was now audible even for you. he kept apologizing and rambling nonsense, though ellie wasn't really interested in his excuses. plus, she had other things to do.

she used the little break as much as she could, pumping her fingers in and out of you and even slightly withdrawing her phone from her ear so she could listen to the sticky, dirty noises. nuzzling her face in your neck, she let out a long hum, either satisfied at the sound or to make the poor man think she cares. maybe both.

eventually, she continued her conversation. not forgetting about a disappointed, dramatic sigh first, of course. "any last wish?" she asked with an obvious smirk.

his voice raised even more, now not only apologizing but begging her for forgiveness. ellie never hurt any of her 'workers', unless they were traitors, so the fact that he took her seriously seemed unusual and, at some point, hilarious.

: ̗̀➛ you were so close, finally, after minutes of this torture - of your satisfaction disappearing for a few seconds just to come back... just to leave again, making your neediness take over. you bit your lip and looked at ellie, plopping your head on the crook of her neck. she felt how fastly and roughly you exhaled against her collarbone, grinning in amusement. you shifted, pressing your back even harder to her chest so you could feel it raising and falling as she breathes. your eyelids fell, making you get lost in a dark maze of every possible sense but sight.

"ellielliellie!" you whined, her name rang out in the dense, cold air.

your voice could be definitely heard on the other side of the phone, though the man didn't even stop his panicked rambling, what probably meant he was too busy to notice it.

she tsked as your throbbing walls clenched around her, her soaked fingers dripping on her palm. the ache which was persistently located somewhere deep in your body, maybe in the core of your bones, and didn't want to let go of you finally subsided. your hands almost unconsciously rested against your sides and as you opened your eyes you could see little moon shapes left on her forearm, where your nails digged into her.

it took you by complete surprise, not giving you time to react - though you wouldn't do anything anyway - before your pornographic moan got cut off with her digits sliding inside of your mouth. your saliva pooled down as your teeth grazed her flesh; salty and,, callous. her palm rested against your chin, forcing you to keep it raised.

"el—luhh" you tried to mumble but it came out as nothing like your girlfriend's name. it was slobbery, unclear and— disgusting.

she turned back to her phone, making you only able to guess what her expression was but she was, without a doubt, smirking. your tongue flopped flat beneath / against her fingers, earning a hum from ellie. as your pouty lips closed around her, her digits moved in deeper, causing you to gag for a second.

"c'mon, you'll live." she rolled her eyes, and you weren't sure which one of you is she talking to now - you, or the man who thinks he fights for his life, when in reality his 'threat' doesn't even listen to him?

your view range was violated by her grip, but you could see how unbothered she was through the corner of your eye. you could feel it - feel that her thighs don't tremble and clench, or that her breath is steady and deep, unlike yours.

as she shoved her fingers almost knuckles deep in your mouth, she spread them as if to gesture scissors and you swore you can read her mind, so you twirled your tongue around them, cleaning them up. your own juices got replaced with just as messy saliva, which small droplets cumulated in the corner of your lips. you couldn't help but suck on her digits, and the action itself made your eyes watery.

"you'll stay silent now, 'kay?" she spoke up in a mocking tone, and you couldn't tell who is she talking to again - no matter which one of you it was, you knew she wasn't asking and you hoped that the man realizes it too.

still, you nodded, making her whole hand follow your movements, what almost felt like she's the one controlling your body's reaction.

"of course you will." she cooed in a serious voice, though there was a different undertone - laced with taunting sweetnes.

✧˖°

[pekoehoneyncream]

Ghoaptober # 30

Prompt: Silence

Words: 1300~

TW: None (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

The obligatory Soap gets told to shut up fic.

Enjoy!

Soap clenched his hands into the loose fabric at the knees of his trousers, fighting to not let his legs bounce. He’d woken up with energy to burn and had been excited to go on today’s mission, but he’d accidentally spoken over Price when their Captain was trying to give them a final debrief before heading out. A few times. Price hadn’t been cruel, but he had firmly asked Soap to keep mum until he was done speaking, and Soap always hated feeling like he was disappointing his team. 

The transport came to a stop with a dying screech of Military Grade brakes and the one-four-one piled out. 

“Alright, we’ve got four buildings to clear and all night to do it,” Price reiterated, “Let's get to it.”

There was a chorus of ‘Yessir’s and they headed out. 

Soap b-lined for the southernmost building that he was to clear, well it was less a b-line and more tactical crouch-running from cover to cover in the direction of the southernmost building, but it’s the thought that counts. 

“In position,” He radios in, and belatedly realizes that he’d accidentally cut into the middle of what Gaz was saying. He’d been so stuck in his own head that all the comm chatter had fallen into background noise. 

“MacTavish.” That single stern word from Price was worse than any screamed reprimand Soap had ever withstood.

“Sorry, Sir.” Soap winced. 

“Don’t do it again.” Price warned, then moved on, “Garrick, say again.”

An ugly feeling sloshed in Soap’s belly, he wanted to apologise again, to make them understand that it was an honest mistake, that he wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, but the need to keep quiet won. 

He couldn’t fuck it up more if he just shut up. 

It wasn’t an easy task, as innumerous behavioral evaluations and report cards dating back to pre-school can all attest. 

“John shows great potential as a student, but would benefit from improving his focus and listening skills in class.” 

“Candidate displays persistent inability to understand when to refrain from speaking; despite receiving numerous corrections.”

“Mactavish’s tendency to engage in excessive verbal commentary during briefings and team exercises detracts from operational efficiency. Increased discipline in his communication is recommended.” 

With a deep breath, Soap slid the sensitivity of his comm mic down, wishing it was push-to-talk, and proceeded into the building, idly listening to his teammates report as they cleared floors in their own buildings. 

A grunt exploded from his chest as he stepped into a room only to have something slam into his back, the feeling of a knife punching into his shoulder alerted him to the fact that it was a hostile. They must have been sneaking along behind him in the hall somehow. Soap dropped his gun to hang from its sling and grappled for the upper hand, ignoring the burn of the hunk of metal sunk into his shoulder. Arms tangled around his neck and he slammed himself backward, crushing the tango between himself and the hard wall to daze them. 

The tango was definitely dazed, but it was most likely by the way the building immediately started collapsing around their ears than anything Soap did. 

Soap knew there’d be no outrunning gravity, so -with much cursing- he huddled himself into the smallest ball he could, pulling his arms in tight to his chest and ducking his head between his knees an instant before the debris hit him. 

Ghost was worried. Johnny’s voice had sounded so small when he’d apologized, he wanted to check in, but couldn’t allow himself to become distracted on a mission. 

A sudden commotion crackled over the comms, there were a few words of barely audible vicious Scots Gaelic cursing, then a tremor ripped through the building Ghost was in. Sending it shaking like a house of cards one puff away from falling over. He reported that he was implementing an immediate evacuation, and by Price and Gaz’s quick agreeances they were in the same sinking boat as Ghost. As he moved towards the bottom floor, ear ringing squeals screamed over the comms and Ghost had to fight the urge to yank off his headset and pitch it out the earnest window. 

“Comms test. Sound off,” Price commanded. 

“Ghost here.” 

“Gaz here.”

The sound of a paper shredder trying its hand at singing opera ripped over the line and self preservation forced Ghost into joining Price and Gaz in demanding that Soap shut up and stop talking immediately. 

Pinching his nose, he blew hard in a desperate bid to banish the ringing from his ears, it faded but didn’t disappear and Ghost gave his head a hard shake. He swore that he could feel his eyes vibrating, but kept moving for the exit, occasionally stretching his jaw to pop his ears. 

Converging around the rubble that used to be the South building with Price and Gaz, Ghost felt spikes pushing free from the leaden ball of concern for Johnny that had been weighing down his gut. 

“Johnny?” 

Ghost’s brain eagerly twisted the screech he got over the comms in return into screams. 

“Soap, get off the comms!” Price snapped, his hand was hovering over his earpiece, visibly fighting to not rip it out of his ear.

Ghost shot a questioning look at the unflinching Gaz and the Sergeant obligingly tilted his head so Ghost could see that he’d dialed the incoming volume of his comms down to the bare minimum without turning them off entirely. 

“Soap, without using the comms, we need you to signal your location,” Price laid out slowly and clearly. 

A metallic banging started up, distressingly, coming from the midst of the rubble, after a moment it was clear that it was patterned. Ghost took off his headset to hear it more clearly, cocking his head as he tried to decode it. 

“It’s morse,” Gaz mumbled, straining his ears. 

“R.” Price muttered, “R, N.”

“I got Q,” Ghost added.

“R,N,Q?” Gaz questioned, “Wha-”

“QRN!” Price exclaimed triumphantly, “He’s using Q code,”

It’s been an age since Ghost brushed up his Q code, he knew the baby’s basics, but not the whole book. He wasn’t surprised that Johnny knew it, and was equally unsurprised that Price recognized it. Price loved languages and Johnny was a literal jack-of-all-trades, he knew a lot about a lot of things. 

“Yes. Soap you're only transmitting static.” Price radioed, “Are you receiving clear?”

More banging. The letter C this time. An affirmative. 

“Are you stuck?”

Another C.

“Are you hurt?”

Another C, followed by a negating N. 

Price looked to them in confusion at the mixed message, but Ghost and Gaz had no answers for him. 

“Say again, Soap.” 

There was a pause, then a much longer sequence. L. I. T. L. E.

“A little,” Price breathed the word with heavy relief, muttering to himself “Yes and no, means kinda. Alright. Okay” With another deep breath, he radioed back to Soap, cutting off the renewed banging that had started up in the pause. 

“Rog, Soap. You’re just stuck. You don’t need a medic?”

A clear N.

Ghost had started pacing around the edge of the collapse, trying to hone in on where Soap was signalling from. 

“Can you not speak?”

The first C had Ghost’s heart leaping out of his throat, but thankfully the clanging continued into a longer word. The surge of relief that hit Ghost made him a bit woozy. 

C.O.M.M

“Oh!” Gaz perked up, “Soap uses an hot throat mic, if he talks it’ll hit us with the feedback again.” 

Gaz had kindly transmitted his explanation over comms for Soap to hear as well and the other Sergeant banged out an agreeing C.

“Okay, Soap. Just keep making noise and we’ll find you.” Price assured. 

Soap breathed as deep a sigh of silent relief as the bit of scaffolding folded over his chest would allow, then took up smacking the rock in his hand against the beam with renewed vigor. He would have just reached up to switch off his outgoing comms and shouted for help, but his arms were firmly pinned at his sides by the same rude bit of scaffolding.

“Johnny,” The welcome sound of Ghost’s voice cut in, “Are you fucking tapping out Humpty Dumpty.”

Thank You For Reading!

Q code, is essentially just a bunch of standardized short hands for morse, QRN is "Are you troubled by static?".

I said in number 13 that I could not guarantee that would be the last time I dropped a building on Soap and here I am fulfilling it, because I am naught but a slave at Chekov's altar.

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

[save-the-villainous-cat]

The secret relationship between a Hero and a Villain gets exposed to an enraged public and now they gotta go on an apology tour together

"There's been a severe and continuous lapse in my judge-"

"Don't you DARE fucking say that! My reputation is on the line!"

“This counts as community service, right?”

The hero took in a deep breath and finally managed to pull their eyes away from the piece of paper which had been given to them. It was a long apology, written for them by someone else. Meaningless words thrown into a pot and stirred.

More than frustrated the hero loathed the next speech, the next apology. They knew it was all politics, supposed to show around what kind of power they had over the villain. It was explained as a misunderstanding, as a scheme the hero had come up with to control the villain.

Which was a lie.

“Community service for you, yes. Though I doubt they will actually count it as such. You’ll go to jail. No doubt.”

“Eh. Amazing.” The villain looked through the drinks on the cart and hummed quietly. For quite a while both of them had decided to…take a break. The hero didn’t like it and they didn’t dare thinking about someone else. God, they didn’t want anyone else but the people were mad and the hero was too afraid of the public to stand up for their relationship.

The public really was a leviathan. An uncontrollable mass of complex human beings that wouldn’t stop once they found a reason to complain.

“I’ll try my best to bail you out. I never thought we would have to apologise for being in love.”

“I don’t think the people buy it anyway,” the villain said. They shrugged and found a bottle they liked. They turned around to their lover and smiled sheepishly. “Maybe I should try to sing my next apology.”

The hero sighed and pinched the bridge of their nose.

“Stop joking about this. I’ve told you my reputation is on the line.”

“We both know you don’t really care about that.” The villain turned the bottle in their hand, looking at it intensively as if it could turn into wine eventually. “You’re sick of your own obedience. Sacrificing yourself for the queen in the beehive — you’re tired of it eventually.”

“No, it’s the right thing to do. I have to set an example. I know it sounds odd…no one should apologise for being in love. But given the circumstances and who we are it’s relatively understandable,” the hero said. It was an easy lie. Obviously they hated this.

But they had to keep up the charade. Even in front of the villain.

“Hm. Keep telling yourself that.” Suddenly, the bottle was on the table and the villain’s fingers slid down the hero’s neck. Involuntarily, the hero’s eyes widened. They hadn’t actually touched the villain in a long time. “You can keep apologising all you want but you know it won’t change anything. People aren’t blind when it comes to love.”

“People are blind whenever they want to be.”

“That a confession?” The hero looked up at them, felt their cold fingers moving up and down.

“Merely an observation. They will devour us if we don’t repent.”

“I’d rather be devoured than let some…scum dictate my life.” They paused. “I love you. Is that so wrong?”

“Yes.” The hero swallowed. They weren’t in the mood for fighting. They were afraid of it, actually. Afraid that their mask would crack and splinter and that they would be tempted by the villain. That some brilliant scheme of theirs made the hero decide otherwise, made them run away or choose a different path. “Compassion towards the enemy is wrong. That’s what they think. That’s what they’re supposed to think.”

“And what do you think?”

Shit. The hero hadn’t paid enough attention. The villain got them.

The villain used their nails to scratch the hero’s neck gently.

“Am I a waste of your time?”

“No,” the hero whispered. “It’s…more difficult than that.”

“Oh, I am sure it is.” The villain let go of them and their attention jumped back to the bottle. “Just be careful that you don’t devour yourself. You know our end is always our own fault.”

They kissed the hero’s cheek gently and just for a moment, the hero allowed themselves to feel loved again.

[emotionallyattachednerd]

Stress Release | IDW Rodimus x f!robot reader | NSFW 18+

Word count: 1100+

Warnings: Smut ( desk and rough interfacing ), dom reader, sub Rodimus, control play, mummy kink and licking. NSFW 18+.

Notes: This went completely different to what I had planned from the start but I'm honestly very happy how it turned out. First attempt in writing Hot Rod/Rodimus. I love that flame boy! Also taking notice I've been managing to keep my requests within 1k, for now at least. Enjoy this hot stuff. 🥰

☕ Coffee

"Desk. Now."

Rodimus had barged into your office so suddenly, barking the order so bluntly that it made you snort a giggle. He's horny. Your conjunx is always damn horny in the weirdest of times, you find it quite adorable.

"Why?" You choose to tease as you keep your focus on the data pad in your servos, pretending you didn't notice what the fuss was all about.

"You're kidding, right?" His wounded expression almost makes you cave, but not quite. "Look at me! I'm all heated up and it's bothering me. I need to frag, like right now. Magnus has been up my aft all day!" You have to cover your mouth to stop yourself from bursting out laughing from his poor choice of words. "Not like that! Come on! Just a quick frag, that's all I need."

"Is fragging all I'm good for?" You set the data pad aside and lean back in your chair, leg crossing over the other on top of your thigh as you gave a lingering intense stare at him.

His shoulders slump down, defeated and letting out a heavy vent. "N-no, no, of course not, you're so much more than that. Please I just....please?" You could hear him beg all day.

Standing up you slowly make your way around the table and sit on top of it. Rodimus smiles like a giddy sparkling and skips over to you, though you stop him with the end of your pede, sly smile on your face.

"Easy now cowboy. Mama would like an apology."

"For what? What did I do?"

"You were very rude just then, demanding me to get on the desk like a spoilt brat. Mama doesn't like it when you get all bossy." Your voice was like silk, smooth and tender, yet also very controlling that latches onto him in a vise grip. Rodimus knows what you're doing.

"Really? We're doing this now? Thought that game was only for inside our quarters."

"What's wrong? Afraid for anyone to see just how you fall apart under your mama? Besides, you love it, me being bossy. You can't help yourself."

Gently you rub his heated panel with your pede, earning a startled whimper from him, causing you to smirk softly from his falling apart reaction just by a simple rub. The guy had zero self control over himself sometimes.

When he doesn't say anything, you add on. "Now, are you going to behave?" Though you do enjoy him playing the spoilt brat, you were pretty eager for a good hard frag as well. You just need to teach him some manners first.

"Yes...mama." Rodimus meets your gaze, optics fuzzy and cheek plating heated with a pink hue, giving him such a soft cuteness.

"Good boy."

Moving your pede you move it up against his chassis and rest it in a good flexible position under his chin. One thing he loves about you is just how well you can flex and bend yourself.

"Lick. Apologise to your mama."

Rodimus always wants to please you, and he never fails. Leaning down, he drags his warm glossa against your pede, kissing and licking the area at your command, sliding his glossa over your wheel and making it swivel a little. You smile, giddy with pride, loving the sight of him wanting to keep you happy.

"I'm sorry, mama." He whispers, soft baby blue optics moving up to look at you in the most innocent and cutest way.

"You're forgiven, darling." You move your pede off and sit back down, thighs parted with panel cover retracted and revealing your already soaking valve. "Now, you're after some stress release?"

"Yes, please." He vented heavily, the sight of you almost makes him overload right there standing. "Please mama, I'm begging you."

"Since you asked so nicely." You purr out in delight before taking hold of his waist with both your pedes, tugging him closer against you and grinding yourself against his hot covering. "Come on big boy, fill your mama. Don't hold back."

His broad, goofy smile is something you'll always lust after. You watch as his panel retracts and his throbbing spike bobs out, intensely hot and screaming for action. He doesn't hold back and spreads your thighs even wider, pressing himself against you as you keep yourself on the desk, right before he bluntly thrusts his thick length into your waiting and eager valve.

The desk shakes as he impales you firmly without holding back, just as you commanded. There's no pause and he sets a rough pace, thrusting his cable into you through an intense rut that is boiling through him.

Tightening your thighs, you hold on while letting out rowdy moans that fill the room, mixing in with his rigid grunts and hitched vents. You feel every bumpy ridge running across your channel, pulsing wildly like a rapid fire, sending bursts and sparks up through your entire frame.

"So good! Roddy, oh frag!"

"Oh mama, fragging good mama!"

In the room, you both always got creative, to keep things spicy between you both and the thrill to keep on rolling. You loved him, so much. He deserved the best and you're happy to provide that however possible.

His servos hold firmly at your waist as he drags you back against him with each thrust delivered, your flooding lubricants pooling against the rocking desk and dripping down onto the floor between his thrusts, fragging you thoroughly, and grinding his pelvic plating against your sensitive node.

He buries his face against your neck, dentas nibbling against your neck cables and holding you close as you embrace his roaring heat, thighs clenching tightly as your valve does too, sucking him whole.

Rodimus has been fighting with himself and holding back for as long as possible, until he simply couldn't control it anymore.

"Mama...mama!" He chants, hips rutting firmly against you before overloading, his thrusts still present to make sure you overload yourself, which proved to be easier as you don't keep yourself lingering behind and let out a thundering mewl and clinging onto him.

Your overoad bursts out heavily, your hips still grinding against him as you ride it out as you both let your cooling fans kick in and vent through the intense frag you just had.

His spike remains inside, twitching madly, making you whimper through your desire and reach your servo up to caress his cheek plating. "You're so big Roddy, filling mama so much with your fluids. I think you'll spark me for sure this time."

The talk about sparklings has happened, but with different wars happening, it wasn't the best time to raise one. Though that doesn't slow either of you down from fragging. Anything could happen.

"Oh darling, I fragging love you so much!" Rodimus praises his worshipping over you before taking your face under his servos and kissing you passionately, devouring your lips and coiling his glossa with your own with an intense greed.

Moving away together you let out a silky giggle and nuzzle your face into his neck, embracing the hot mech you call your conjunx endura as you feel his spike nest comfortably inside you.

"I love you too, Roddy, my handosme hot flame."

[helpimhyperfixating]

Kinktober Day 3: Glove kink - Jotaro x Reader

Kinktober masterlist

CW: GN!reader, mafia leader Jotaro, fingering, beyond that it’s pretty much you get what the title says :)

Word Count: 1787

“No, darling.” Jotaro spoke, his smooth and deep voice commanding and reaching every part of the room, even if it was just you and him.

Panting softly, you looked up at the mafia leader, sitting in a neat suit, hands covered by black, latex half gloves that stretched around his fingers, leaving his palms exposed. A way for him to feel your warmth and skin without leaving fingerprints, he had said.

Your face felt flushed as you sat before him on your knees, completely naked while he remained fully dressed, his right hand holding your face, making sure you kept your eyes on him.

“We are going to do this my way, understood?” Jotaro spoke as he leaned in, squeezing your cheeks together while he analysed your face, waiting to see if you’ll give any objections. None came, making him lean back in his chair, seemingly satisfied while he let go of your face.

“Up.” The mafia boss spoke, patting his thigh in a clear command, the move causing his sleeve to ride up ever so slightly, revealing the purple and teal swirls inked onto his arm.

Swallowing softly, you blushed and got up, feeling more than exposed before him.

Jotaro Kujo, notorious leader of the Joestar family - your boss.

It was never meant to be like this, you simply wanted to get in, earn some good money, and get out. But life had a funny way of throwing a wrench in the wheel.

You’d fucked up. What was supposed to be an easy supply job had ended with you being robbed by another mafia gang - rivals. And while you’d gotten off unscathed, all the items had been stolen, and you’d gotten the attention of the man in charge.

Just fifteen minutes ago you’d been ordered into his office where he made you strip and sit before him on your knees, his form looming over you as he remained relaxed, his legs crossed.

Under his scrutiny you’d sat in silence, your head bowed down as you tried to think of anything to say to apologise, to make it right, to get out of the punishment that would assuredly follow. Yet when you finally began to speak your words of apology, he shut you up, placing both feet on the floor before you and grabbing your chin.

And now here you were, hugging your naked self as you slowly approached, glancing between his stern face and his lap where his hand still sat. Not even inviting you - no - commanding you to sit down.

Embarrassed and anxious, you turned your body to sit down sideways, trying to save at least a little decorum, but that had the mafia leader click his tongue in warning, causing you to freeze before you turned straight again, your face burning even brighter as you carefully lifted your leg, placing your knee next to his hip before mirroring with your other leg on his other side, slowly sitting yourself down to straddle him.

Awkward, you looked at him, only to see him looking at you, a single eyebrow raising and you suppressed a whimper, looking back down as you slowly shuffled forward, moving to actually straddle him instead of sitting on his knees like you were.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Jotaro spoke after a few seconds, your stomach nearly pressed into his from how close you now sat.

This time, it seemed like he did want an answer so you swallowed, agreeing softly. “No it wasn’t.”

Leaning back in his chair, Jotaro let his gaze run down your body, his hand coming up to rest on your side where his thumb rubbed back and forth across your stomach. It felt almost like he was determining quality of a meat.

“You know why you’re here, don’t you?” He asked and you looked down, nodding.

“It won’t happen again, I swear, I-“ Jotaro cut you off by grabbing your face once again, lifting it to look directly into your eyes while he squeezed your cheeks together - though it wasn’t rough or painful.

“I don’t like verbal apologies. They’re empty and useless.” The man mused, letting go of your cheeks to instead cup your chin, your heart hammering in your chest as you felt the cool texture of his half gloves on your skin. “This is your first offense so I’ll let you off with a warning.” He said, lifting your chin a bit while his thumb on your side now started tracing the space by your ribs. “I need your loyalty, however.”

Swallowing nervously, you looked into his eyes, his pupils slightly blown out while he gazed at you, a single strand of hair running past his forehead, breaking up his otherwise well put together appearance. He was expecting a show of said loyalty.

Shifting slightly on his lap, Jotaro’s eyes darkened even further if that were possible while you brought your hand up and took hold of his wrist by your chin.

You slowly tried to life his hand away from your chin and he let you, giving you confidence to continue on your path as you opened your mouth and took one of his gloved fingers into your mouth.

It was a strange texture as you lifted your tongue to wet the digit, seeing a flash in the raven’s eyes as he took over, pushing a second finger into your mouth, pushing down on your tongue before rubbing back and forth along the muscle, his thumb landing on your chin for leverage.

“There we go.” He praised, continuing to coat his fingers with your saliva until he pulled the digits out of your mouth, admiring the added shine to his glove.

Breathing softly but heavily, you were sitting there on his lap, waiting for any reaction as the mafia leader then gripped your waist tight with the hand that sat there, pulling your pelvis flush to his, your chests connected as he reached his right arm around your back, the palm of his hand gliding down your ass before he placed his wet fingers by your entrance, pushing in without warning.

Gasping, you clenched down around him, whimpering at the penetration while Jotaro gently shushed you, his lips right by your ear. “You’ll be good and take it, won’t you?” He asked and you nodded almost instantly, biting your lip. “Good and loyal, how I like.” He whispered, kissing right by your ear.

Slowly, he started moving his fingers, thrusting in and out of you, your saliva still coating the gloves and making the drag through your walls easy.

Panting, you were leaned up against his chest, your hands clenched into fists as you held them between his stomach and your own, wanting to cling to him but too nervous that he wouldn’t like it.

Jotaro was quick to fix that however, his lips right by your ear. “Hold onto me, sweet thing. I can tell you need it.” He hummed, seeming to truly be enjoying himself as he fingerfucked you, starting to go faster and faster, making sure to hit that one spot deep inside.

Moaning as he did, your hands unfurled as you clung to his jacket, his hand on your waist moving to sit right above your ass, beginning to rock your crotch into his while his fingers were still buried deep inside.

The smooth latex of the glove rubbed across that sweet spot in your walls, shallowly thrusting to keep as much contact as he could, rubbing back and forth while he rocked your front into the bulge in his expensive pants, making you leak all over it as you let out breathy moans.

“Sir-“ You whimpered out, feeling him speed up his thrusts, the sensation of his glove inside you turning you on way more than you’d cared to admit.

“Are you gonna cum?” He whispered into your ear, still rocking you into his own erection in time with his thrusts, making your moans grow and you nodded frantically, feeling that familiar knot in your stomach grow, steady and hard. “Keep rocking.” He ordered, pulling his left hand away from your back to instead place his fingers back at your mouth, waiting for you to obediently open up.

You did just that, rocking your hips like a bitch in heat while he kept thrusting his fingers deep inside you, his left hand now sticking three gloves fingers onto your tongue as you wrapped your lips around them and sucked.

Embarrassed, humiliated, yet so so aroused, you just turned your brain off, drooling around his fingers as you chased your orgasm, tasting and feeling the latex of his gloves, even smelling it as you let out a muffled moan.

Seeing your eyes go hazy as you sucked so greedily on his fingers, Jotaro grunted as he shifted in his seat, letting his head rest back against the chair as his mouth opened a little, your rocking turning him on more and more while he kept his right hand firmly where it was, bringing you to the brink of orgasm.

Feeling yourself approach climax, you began to whine more, little breathy noises of pleasure leaving you every time he thrusted his fingers in.

“There you go, let go.” Jotaro grunted, rubbing the digits in your mouth along your tongue, watching your drool coat his glove and down to the exposed part of his hand, making him shift his hips again as he cursed, his eyes transfixed on the way your lips wrapped around the latex.

With his shift however, his bulge pressed perfectly against you as you rocked your hips, together with his fingers hitting that sweet spot inside your walls. Sucking in a breath, you moaned as your walls clenched around him, sucking the digits in just that bit further as you orgasmed, the raven purposely curling his fingers inside you, making you buck your hips as you rode out the waves with muffled moans.

Only once your orgasm faded did Jotaro let up, pulling his fingers out of you and away from you completely, causing you to gasp in relief as you clung to his jacket still, panting to get your breath and composure back.

“You did well.”

His low voice brought you back down to earth as you looked up, seeing him looking down at you with the smallest of smirks.

“Thank you.” You whispered, casting your gaze down but Jotaro chuckled, placing his drool-slick finger under your chin to raise it, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“I’ll know who to call when I need it, hm?” He asked and you blushed, feeling his bulge still pressed so firmly against you.

Yet still, you immediately knew that you would obey his every whim.

“Yes, sir.”

[a-lesbianshadowinthenight]

there’s something about how jess and lupe gravitate towards each other immediately and understand each other with so little words exchanged. something about how they balance each other out. how they use their different worldview’s and perspective to strengthen their relationship rather than drive them apart that’s so so dear to me

jess immediately clocking lupe and not getting offended when lupe thinks it’s a dumb question

lupe not knowing where moosejaw is and jess begrudgingly amending it to canada

that could have easily become a situation where two people would have written off the other person

but they saw something in the other that they recognise in themselves that made them decide that they wanted to stick together

the way jess goes straight to lupe when beverley is explaining the house rules and lupe immediately complains to jess about the no pants rule

the way lupe’s voice goes from angry to soft in the locker room when she notices jess is upset about having to wear a dress, lupe comforting them because she knows

lupe not finding jess’ ‘sinking boat’ analogy weird and instead asking her to give specific details, the way you can tell she finds jess interesting

jess being the only one to second lupe when the rest of the team wrote her off as a bad fit to be coach

jess being happy to see lupe having confidence again (let’s not forget them biting their lip about it too, um okay loverboy)

jess taking the piss out of lupe to try and break her out of her bad mood (‘did that help?’ ‘…..yeah’) (ps also made lupe wanna kiss her. this is canon idc)

the fact that you can see they still seem to be seen near each other even after the fight incident, jess is behind lupe when carson is trying to be a stricter coach, when they’re still mad at lupe

the way they can disagree, get angry over things they don’t understand, and they hear each other out. jess starts out ripping into lupe about fighting amongst the team, only to realise they hadn’t seen it from lupe’s perspective

jess not needing an apology from lupe about the black eye (idk if lupe caused it directly or indirectly, but jess arguably blames her for it at first) because she now sees it from lupe’s side

jess understanding and then apologising in their own way, getting the whole team toasting lupe when they know she’d felt excluded in the past, showing lupe that they have her back in doing so

lupe knowing jess is sorry without them having to say it, understanding the implied meaning of jess’ toast. you can see by her reaction that she appreciates it (also loverboy over here blushing about it, i see you lupe)

arguably, the little nod lupe does after she thanks jess for the toast could be interpreted as her telling jess she understands it and they’re cool

the way they move past it and it’s water under the bridge, they’re back to being ‘brothers’

jess not being afraid to call lupe out on being hard on esti, challenging her when she pretends not to care that esti has run away. jess sees right through lupe’s facade, and witnessing that plus esti’s conversation with lupe in the car (even though she doesn’t know what esti is saying) knows that lupe needs to sort her shit out with esti, and orchestrates a situation where they can do it, without forcing lupe

lupe knowing exactly what jess did and instead of being angry is actually lowkey impressed (and a little turned on let’s not lie)

the fact that they both automatically run towards each other on the pitch when they get a home run or win and run into each others’ arms (lupe’s dorky grin is so adorable and sorry not platonic at all, that’s a smile you give someone when ur in loveeeee)

just the whole bar scene. they’re so in sync with each other, finishing each others’ sentences, teaching carson about gay culture together, the easy camaraderie of the arm wrestling (the kisses on the cheek!!!!!!!! twice!!!!! the second one where they’re both smiling!!!!!!) both of them automatically leaning towards saying no to carson when she asks if they’ve been with women here

i also think they very openly talk about their hookups together based off lupe showing jess her hickeys, and lupe telling jess veronica is a biter. i also think they would be each others wingmen (also think if/when they fuck each other they would have threesomes lmao)

(i also think they would tease each other for their very poor flirting skills)

them talking about sticking together on the off season and going to new york together (although i still can’t decide how their conversation indicates that, or the scene i’m thinking of isn’t the right one idk)

anyways tldr: they became unlikely but also inevitably each others person and challenge each other to be better, they’re a good team, they have great chemistry that draws them together. they are soulmates

[cass1opi4]

Hi! I've never seen a reader with Tourette's, do you think you could write a spiderman|peter Parker x m! Reader where they're on a mission and the reader's tics give away their location? That would be awesome <3

double trouble | peter parker

a peter parker x reader

he/him pronouns

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

for the first time in what felt like his whole life, y/n had finally felt like a real person. his whole life, he’d been spoken to with pity - or bullied and provoked. no middle ground. either people would purposely trigger his tics, finding humour in the condition that had come upon him at seven, or tiptoed around him, walked on eggshells after knowing about his tourettes.

the boy sat beside him had never, not once, dared to do either. partially because he somehow had yet to clock onto the repetitive behaviours, yet also partially because it was not who he was as a person to judge someone because of such a thing.

he talked to y/n like he was normal. because he was in fact almost completely normal, bar the ability to literally move things with his mind. “we can talk about anything, right?” he spoke, unsure about whether or not he should bring up his thoughts.

“of course.” peter nodded, turning his head away from the sunset and toward his friend. “whats going on in the head of yours?”

“i..” he sighed “i feel like my entire life - everybody else has been in on some massive inside joke that only i’m not apart of.” it didn’t make sense, yet at the same time it made perfect sense. “it feels as if they all know something i don’t, and because of that everybody finds a way to point out my cluelessness.”

peter took the words in for a second, before agreeing “i feel that, i feel crazy sometimes.” y/n ushered him to continue “somehow people always find something in me they don’t like, which is messed up because i try my best to do everything right - but it feels so easy to fail.”

“thats why your dad left!” the boy instantly regretted the statement, following it up with a rushed apology, being interrupted by his friend.

“thats why yo momma love me more.” he shrugged simply, smug smile on his face, a gasp left y/n’s mouth.

“my momma dead.” he frowned, peters face dropped, fear filling his face “she isnt! i saw her this morning!”

“thank fuck.” he sighed “do you remember when i first found out about your tics? that was funny.”

y/n laughed “i do.. you were so freaked out.”

the two were hidden behind a wall, listening in on a conversation - well. one of them was. whilst peter was hyper-focused on the talking going on right next to them, y/n was in his own head about everything, focusing so hard on not blurting out anything that could ruin the mission. though, his tics were like coughs - the more you focused on not coughing, the more likely you were to grow your need to do so.

his heart was beating so hard he could hear it in his head, and unfortunately, this distracted his thoughts. “penis parker!” he belted out, eyes widening after he did so. “fuck.” he sighed, being shot at. he floated a desk, throwing it at the group of bad guys before gripping onto peter as the boy webbed out of there.

“what the fuck?!” he yelled once they got to safety, dragging his hands across his face as he ripped of his mask “how did you even find that out? how-“

“you’re peter?!” y/n gasped, mouth agape. now peter was even more lost. if he’d just outed himself for no reason, why did the other boy shout out such a condescending statement? “i- er..”

“why would you do that?” peter looked hurt, watching y/n pull off his gas-mask and frown. “y/n? what?!”

“i have tourettes.. i- i like, say things that are out of control. sometimes my brain and my body don’t communicate that great, i dont want to do or say these things, but i just do? i’m really sorry.”

“why are you sorry about that? if you can’t control it you shouldn’t have to apologise about it.” peter spoke “im sorry for freaking out, i honestly had no idea - kinda thought you were just being mean..”

“a lot of people assume so.”

the sky was now dark, void of stars thanks to the light pollution in new york, but the scene was still strangely beautiful. the new found silence between the two was nice, not an uncomfortable one, just two friends reminiscing on one of their first missions together.

peter hesitated to break the silence, not sure if his next statement would mean enough to ruin such a nice moment between them.

“can i say something weird?” he asked, watching his best friend nod, yet let out a rather contradicting ‘nuh-uh.’ “i.. getting to know you this past year or so has been what i’d consider the best part of my life. you’re so good.. in everything you do, you’re so good. i don’t think ive ever met a person who balances kind, handsome and funny as well as you do. i just.. i dont know. i-“

“are you confessing to me right now, parker?” y/n grinned, praying his assumption was correct, if he was wrong he’d deem it the most embarrassing interaction known to man.

peter bit his lip, nodding. “yeah, i am. i’m sorry.” his eyes shifted from the sky, locking eyes with, what he considered to be, an even more breath-taking sight. “you’re just so.. you. and i like that. in a world of people all trying to be the same you get to be you.”

“i’m so glad i have you in my life.” y/n thought aloud, moving his hand slightly to touch with peter’s “penis parker! you treat me like a person. and you’re so fucking unreal, you look hot doing everything- which is weird, because most people have at least one thing they look disgusting doing. but, god, even the way you eat pizza knocks me the fuck out.”

peter just smiled to himself, leaning his head on y/n’s shoulder, earning an arm wrapped around his shoulder, and a small kiss on the head.

for the first time in what felt like his whole life, y/n had finally felt like more than a person. he felt loved.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

HI SKIBIDISSSS, im so sorry this is rushed i really want to go play royale high bc im brainrotted beyond belief unfortunately. im also just so out of writing motivation that writing feels like a choreeee. im ALSO sorry if this has inaccuracies! i have a friend with tourettes and got their help with a few traits in this. though, in my friends words their tourettes “isnt severe and mainly vocal.” so base it on that. thankyou for reading!!! sorry its short.

[hoedamn-eron]

baby, please - part 17

It's your first Christmas without your family, but Santiago makes it up to you.

Warnings: Mega heavy on Christmas talk. Mentions of pregnancy complications from the previous chapter. Mentions of shitty in-laws. Gabrielle isn't actually in it, but she's being a bit distant but you know. It's fine. Lot's of dialogue, again. Not proofread whatsoever. Santi and Frankie have an argument we're not privvy to. Word count: 4,724 F!Reader, no use of Y/N.

Apologies this is late, but here is Christmas with Santi! I did mention it in a post, but I'll mention it again here: please be aware that part 18 won't be posted until 11/01 (11th January) due to a busy Christmas period. I need to catch up with myself, and I start a new job in the New Year, so I won't be to write as much as I was able to before.

Edited because Gabs isn't married to Andy, she's married to Matthew 😂 it's Courtney who is married to Andy! Now I'm going to have to double check all of my chapters to see if everyone is married to the correct person 😂

Part 16 ● Series Masterlist ● Part 18

You’d been taking it easy since your stay at the hospital a few weeks ago.

You took less responsibilities at work (your friends wanted you to cut down on your hours, but you just couldn’t do that), and you begrudgingly accepted the help of others to help you pack for your move next month. Speaking of your friends, they’d been checking in on you multiple times a week, and every time, you tell them you’re fine. Really.

The twins were fine. You were fine. Everyone was fine.

“You have a case of placenta previa.”

You look at Dr Montgomery, confused, from your place on the ultrasound table. “What’s that?”

“Your placenta is low, and covering the cervix,” she replied, looking at the screen as she pressed a few keys on the keyboard, then moving the wand over your bump. “Usually, it’s detected at your 20-week ultrasound, but it must have been missed, especially since you’re having twins.”

“Is it...is everyone okay, is it dangerous?”

“It can be risky, but we’ll keep an eye on you,” Dr Montgomery said. “The bleeding was caused by this, and stress. You’ll need to come back for another ultrasound at 32 to 33 weeks. It may have moved on its own by then, but otherwise, we may have to look at a caesarean birth at 37 weeks.”

“What? No! I wanted to go as natural as possible,” you say, your eyes widening. You had a plan! “I can’t be out of commission for 6 weeks with twins!”

“I’m sorry, I know it’s not what you wanted, but I strongly advise you look into it,” she replies, giving you a sympathetic look before turning off the machine. “I also recommend you take it easy if you can. I’m not saying strict bed rest, but just...relax a bit more.”

So that’s what you’ve done...you’ve relaxed. You’ve downloaded a kick counting app, something you should have done a while ago, so you could count the kicks from the babies, just in case. So far, they’d been back to normal – and by ‘normal’, you mean they were using your bladder as a soccer ball, with a shot to the kidneys every now and then.

Santi had arrived in the hospital just as Dr Montgomery had given you the okay to go home. Beth had left just after the results of your ultrasound (at your insistence), so you were packing your bag as Santi ran into your room, breathless and eyes wide. You’d looked at him with equally as wide eyes, before you hurriedly caught him up, telling him everything was okay, that you just needed to take it easy.

You introduced him to Dr Montgomery, who explained the situation a little better. It calmed Santi down a little, but you still noticed him tapping his foot as he nodded along, his hands resting on his hips as he listened intently. He kept glancing at you, as if you would collapse or suddenly disappear.

He gave you a lift home (in his truck) and insisted he stay for dinner. He cooked some food for the both of you, and you both ate on your couch, Santi wanting to know every detail to what happened. He apologised again and again for not being there, but you told him it was Thanksgiving weekend, you don’t blame him for not being there. No-one could predict what would have happened.

Dr Montgomery had booked you in for another scan a few days before Christmas. Santi insisted on going with you, which you were grateful for, of course. Unfortunately, your placenta hadn’t moved much, and you were booked in for a c-section for the end of January.

You sulked as you walked out of the hospital, pouting.

Santi gave you a small nudge, walking beside you. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”

“I wanted to give birth naturally,” you mumble, as you both approach the truck.

Santi grabs your arm gently, stopping you as you stop at the bed of the truck. “I know it’s not what you wanted, and that does suck for you. I’m sorry. But Dr Montgomery said it was the safest option for you and them.”

You sighed. “I feel like it’s...it’s like I’m not...like I’ve already failed as a mother, by bringing them into the world that way.”

Santi looks at you, his eyes filled with empathy. He places a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Listen to me," he says, his voice soft but firm. "Having a c-section doesn't make you any less of a mother. What matters is that you and the babies are safe. That's the priority."

You lean against the truck, staring at the ground as a mix of emotions wash over you. "I just wanted everything to be perfect, you know? A beautiful, natural birth story to tell them when they're older."

Santi gently lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Life never goes according to plan, especially when it comes to something as unpredictable as having kids. We should know.” he grins at you, wiggling his eyebrows a little.

You give a small laugh at his quip.

He continues. “But that doesn't lessen the love you have for them or the strength it takes to do what's best for their well-being." He pauses, before giving you a reassuring smile. "You're not failing as a mom. If anything, you're making the tough decisions now because you love them so much."

You take a deep breath, absorbing his words, before nodding. “Okay.”

Santi studies you for a moment. “C’mere.” He pulls you into a comforting hug, and you melt into him, allowing the warmth of his embrace to provide a momentary escape from the overwhelming emotions of your appointment with Dr Montgomery. "We'll get through this together.”

You nod against him, just holding him a little longer than necessary before pulling away. “Thank you.”

He gives another laugh. “Don’t thank me for speaking the truth, querida.”

You wipe away at the few stray tears in your eyes before turning to him. “Come on, I gotta get home. Help me get in this junk heap.”

“Hey, don’t insult my truck,” Santi says in mock offence, before he smirks and opens the door for you, and helps you climb in.

He drives you in silence as you talk to him about work, how you’ve taken a step back and you hate it but you’re willing to do it for less stress. Harriet was a little apprehensive when you told her, that she needed you on board for this newest client, that the product was about to launch but you didn’t back down. You told her that you weren’t backing away, but just taking on less of the load. Emily and Kelsie were happy to take some of the tasks; Hell, Kelsie was practically frothing at the mouth for the opportunity to add on some more responsibility than she already had. She told you herself she wanted most of the glory since this was her first big client.

“Bit of a shitty thing for Harriet to do, guilt trip you like that.”

You shrug. “That’s just Harriet. I’ve grown used to it,” you say. “Been there long enough.”

“Since graduation, right?”

You nod. “Yup.”

“Ever thought about leaving?”

Your eyes widened as you turn to look at him. “Why would I do that? I’ve built myself up, I have a relationship and reputation with clients.”

Santi shrugged nonchalantly, keeping his eyes on the road. “I dunno. Seems like you’re underappreciated and overworked, from what you’ve told me. Is there no other marketing firm in Florida?”

“There is - “

“Shop around,” Santi said, as if he wasn’t asking you to consider leaving the only current stability you had in your life right now. “See if anyone is hiring, for a better position or just to be treated a little better.”

“I think it’ll be the same everywhere,” you say, laughing a little.

Santi shrugged. “Just putting it out there.”

You nod. “I mean...I’ll think about it. Maybe after Christmas. Or after I’m back from maternity leave.”

It goes quiet again for a few minutes before Santi asks, “What are you doing for Christmas?”

You shrug. “I have no plans. Beth offered to have me over again, but I feel like I can’t keep intruding on their time.”

“If they’ve asked you to join them, I don’t think you’ll be intruding.”

Your family had still not contacted you. You had messaged the group chat again, accepting that there would probably be no reply still (and there wasn’t). You had another episode, alone this time, sitting on your couch late at night, stereotypically sobbing into a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food ice cream as you watched Home Alone. It had been your favourite as a child, and something you had watched together with your family, after you’d put the decorations up. This year, you had no tree, no decorations, and you watched it alone.

It had been a sad night.

“You could always...” Santi said a little awkwardly, before clearing his throat. “You could always spend it with me. If you wanted. You don’t have to.”

You look at him with wide eyes, but Santi keeps his gaze on the road, an air of nervousness surrounding him. “You...want to spend Christmas with me?”

“I would have asked you to Thanksgiving but I didn’t...my sisters...”

“I wasn’t expecting you to invite me,” you said, sensing his anxiousness. “Please don’t think over on that.”

“I should have invited you - “

“Santiago,” you say, firmly, causing him to give a quick glance at you before looking back at the road, turning to your apartment’s street. “I am okay. We are okay. You were visiting your family for the first time in years. I didn’t need to be there.”

He goes silent, his jaw tensing like he wants to say something else, but he just sighs through his nose and gives a tight nod.

You reach over to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I would love to spend Christmas with you.”

“Have you spoken to Gabs recently?”

You look at Courtney with a confused look on your face as you reach for your water. “I mean, I spoke to her last week about the kids’ Christmas presents. Why?”

You and Courtney had met up for some last-minute Christmas shopping, and you stopped for some dinner before heading home. You had to admit, Gabrielle had been a little off when you spoke to her last week and you had asked if everything was okay, but she had just told you it was Christmas stress. It wasn’t so farfetched, Gabrielle hosted every year for her and Matthew’s families, so of course there was no reason to not believe her.

“Hm,” said Courtney, her brow furrowing. “She’s been a little…weird.”

You shrug. “I mean…she seemed off when I spoke to her, and I asked her about it but she said it was Christmas stress.”

Courtney shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s just…bugging me.”

“We could talk to her about it,” you say. “But you know Gabs, she’ll come to us eventually when she’s ready to let us know what’s going on.”

Courtney shook her head for a moment before giving you a look. “You’re right. You’re right! I’m just worried about her.”

“She’ll be fine,” you say. “You know what she gets like at Christmas, she’s hosting for everyone. And you know Matthew’s family.” You give Courtney a pointed look.

Courtney pulled a face. “Yeah. They’re assholes to her. But she keeps hosting!”

“Look, we tell her this every year and you know what she says – “

“’It’s only once a year’,” you both say in unison.

“Exactly,” you say. “So she’ll probably be back to normal after Christmas.”

“Fine. Fine,” said Courtney. “Let’s talk about something else. Like how you’re spending Christmas with Santiago!”

“I am,” you say, feeling your cheeks warming slightly.

“I think that’s nice,” Courtney says. “You’re like...starting your family. Getting the traditions in.”

You nod. “Yeah, I think so too. If this is something we do every year, then best start now, right?”

“You going to his place?” Courtney asked, before thanking the waitress for bringing your food over.

You nod, also thanking the waitress. “It’ll be easier since most of my stuff is packed up now. Thanks again for that, by the way.”

“No problem,” Courtney said, digging into her food. She gives you a grin. “It’s exciting, but also a little sad. It’s the end of an era, but the start of a new one.”

“In a month’s time, I’m going to be a mom,” you say, your eyes wide as if you don’t quite believe it yourself. “How weird is that?”

“Stop it,” said Courtney. “Who knew you would be the next one to have a kid?”

You snort, tucking into your own food. “I don’t think anyone thought I would have a kid, full stop.”

“No,” said Courtney, shaking her head. “I think you would have. Just in ten years.”

“Well, life didn’t work out how I’d planned,” you said, laughing. “But it’s good. Life is good.”

“And you’re happy?” Courtney asked.

Were you? Happy? You go quiet as you think. Obviously, you hadn’t planned to get pregnant, and with twins for that matter, in your tiny one-bedroom apartment, or not be speaking to your parents, or be questioning your job. But here you were, about to finish the year with a new house, amazing friends, new babies, and Santi.

Oh, Santi.

You never thought you would have met someone like Santi, even though you both weren’t together-together. You were lucky to have him; most men after one-night-stands would have left by now, but not Santi. He was sticking around, and in it for the long run. And honestly, you know he wouldn’t feel the same way about you than you felt about him, but he loved you as a friend and the mother of his kids, and you adored that he wanted to help you raise these babies together.

You slowly smile and look at Courtney. “Yeah…yeah, I’m happy.”

You pull up outside Santi’s apartment, taking a deep breath before climbing out of the car. You'd been simultaneously looking forward to Christmas with Santi, and dreading Christmas with Santi. He told you that it was his first year spending it in Florida since returning from Colombia and warned you that his Christmas dinner would probably be something he could quickly rustle up and wasn’t too much hassle - ‘very non-traditional’ was what he said. You didn’t mind; the year had been incredibly ‘non-traditional’ for you anyway.

You make your way up to his apartment, a large bag of presents in your hand. You knock, biting your lip nervously as you waited for Santi to open the door. You look up as the door opens, and you give a laugh at Santi. He was wearing an obnoxiously bright red jumper with a Santa knitted into it, and a Santa hat, and was wearing his usual jeans. He had a bottle of beer in his hand.

He holds his arms out wide as he grins at you. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” you say as you step inside, still laughing at his outfit.

Santi closes the door behind you before he brings you into a quick hug. “I don’t have much of an itinerary today, but Frankie and Sarah might stop by later with Sofía.”

You nod, pulling back from him. “That works out, actually, because I got something for Sofía,” you say, motioning to your bag.

Santi gives you a small, closed-lipped smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know I didn’t,” you say. “I wanted to. They’re a big part of your life, therefore, they’ll be a big part of our kids’ lives.”

Santiago doesn’t say anything as you make your way into his living room, where he had a small Christmas tree in the corner, overly decorated. You hear Santi make his way into the kitchen as you took the presents out of bag and placed them underneath, smiling as the pile grew. You look up as Santi makes his way into the living room. “Some of these from your sisters?”

He nodded, handing you a can of Diet Coke. “Yeah. I saw them last week, dropped off gifts then. I just got off the phone with them, since my nieces had just opened their Barbie dolls, with their cars, and pets, and accessories...”

You giggled, opening the can. “There’s an awful lot of girls in your family.”

He nodded, grinning. “I have a few cousins who are guys, who had a few boys. I'm not totally overruled.”

You give a small laugh as you sip at your drink. “So, do you want to do presents now? Or later? We could eat first, if you wanted.”

“The empanadas are resting in the fridge, and I have mac and cheese in the slow cooker,” said Santi, taking a gulp at his almost forgotten beer. “Got all sorts of vegetables and potatoes roasting in my oven too.”

“Sounds like a feast,” you say. You could feel your mouth watering. “Maybe we could eat soon?” you give Santi a big smile.

He chuckles at you before nodding. “I’ll put the empanadas in.”

You nod as Santi disappeared back through the kitchen. You look at the presents, and the small tree, and the fact that his living room was bare of any other decorations. Your mind wandered to the fact that this was his first Christmas since settling down, that he was in an actual home and not in a shack or seedy motel somewhere in South America. You really appreciated that he offered you his place for the day, that he’d gone out of his way – and his comfort zone – to bring you into his space again.

“Are you okay? Did something happen?”

You look up at him, blinking in confusion before you realise you were crying. You give a small laugh of slight embarrassment. “I didn’t realise I was crying, I'm sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, cariño,” he said, taking a seat next to you on the floor, giving you a concerned look as he rested his hand in the middle of your back. “Is there anything I can do for you? I knew today would be difficult, I don’t want you to be here if you don’t want to be - “

“No, Santi, really, I'm fine,” you say, cutting him off. “I’m just hormonal. I cry at everything.”

He hesitated for a moment before asking, “I don’t want you to feel obligated to be here, just because I asked - “

“I want to be here, Santi,” you say, reaching over and squeezing his hand that was still wrapped around a beer. “Really, I’m fine. I just...I like that I'm here, you know? I like that you want me here.”

Santi paused for a moment, looking at you before he gives a grin. “Of course, I want you here.”

You give another weak laugh. “Okay then.”

You help him in the kitchen with the food, and of course as soon as you sit down to eat, Frankie and Sarah make their way through with Sofía, profusely apologising for interrupting for not texting beforehand. Santi told them it was fine, and after a few hugs and a quick catch up between you and the Morales’, you all sit to have something to eat.

You get to know the Morales’ a little more intimately than you did on Halloween; you were in a smaller setting with fewer people, and Sarah wasn’t so distracted by the other guests. She was fun, and loud, and someone you could see getting along with for a long time. Frankie was the opposite; quiet, and observant, but you could see how much he opened up to Santi. He wasn’t rude to you at all, including you in the conversation when he could, and you could see why Santi loved him so much.

And then there was Sofía, who giggled at everything you said, and kept trying to steal the mac and cheese on your plate, even though Sarah kept adding more to her plate. You didn’t mind, but Sarah insisted she stop doing it (“It’s becoming a whole thing, we’re trying to nip it in the bud now, while we can!”). When you all finished dinner, you offered to do the dishes, but you were rebuffed when you were lead into the living room, Santi quickly clearing up the plates, saying he’d ‘deal with them later’.

Sarah plonks you down in the armchair by the tree before she hands you an envelope. “This is more for when the babies are here than right now, but it’s valid for three years.”

You look at her in confusion before you open the envelope, mouth falling open as you take a look at the expensive gift voucher. “Sarah, I can’t accept this!”

“Oh sure you can,” she says, waving you off.

You thank her profusely, before you lean down and grab a few boxes from under the tree. “I got some things for Sofía – “

“You didn’t have to do that!” cried Sarah.

“Don’t be silly, here,” you say, handing the toddler the boxes, who took more interest in the wrapping paper than the actual present.

As you and Sarah sit, you look up for Santi and Frankie, who were strangely quiet. You’re taken aback to find them stood close together, quietly arguing with one another. Frankie was pointing at Santi’s chest and saying something too quiet for you to hear, but it was filled with anger, nonetheless. Santi merely argued back.

You look away, putting a mental note in it. You’ll ask Santi about it later.

As Sofía played with the wooden doctor’s set, and the baby doll that you’d gotten along with it, you chatted to Sarah before Frankie finally made his way over. “I think we oughta go.”

Sarah nodded. “Shoot, you’re right, we promised we’d see your mom like, an hour ago.”

As they gather their things and say their goodbyes (Santi and Frankie were still tense), you and Santi were left alone. You look around and sigh, before looking back at him. “What was that about?”

“What?” Santi asked, going around the living room and collecting wrapping paper, avoiding eye contact.

“You and Frankie, what were you arguing about?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Santi, shaking his head. “Something stupid with Benny, you know how it is.”

You don’t feel like he’s telling you the truth, but you know if you pry, Santi is more likely to close up. You slowly nod at him. “Okay. Sure, yeah.”

He finally looks at you and gives you a tight smile. “Everything is okay, hermosa.”

You hesitate before nodding then glancing at the presents under the tree. “I think we should do our gifts now.”

“Okay,” Santi said, before patting you on the back as he passed you to go back into the kitchen, tossing the papers away.

You settle on the floor by the tree, and lean over and grab a few gifts, placing them by Santi as he joined you moments later. “I didn’t go overboard - “

“I don’t believe that,” Santi said from his own place under the tree before he pulled out a small box, wrapped somewhat neatly, and placing it in front of you. “Now, this doesn’t look like a lot but - “

“Stop, Santi, it’s fine,” you say. “It’s about the sentiment.”

Santi nodded, before going quiet, glancing at you at the present. You grin and nod to him. “You go first.”

He gives a small laugh before nodding at the boxes in front of him. “Any particular order?”

“Nope,” you reply.

Like a child, Santi didn’t have to be told twice. He immediately tore into the gifts, smiling widely at the new shirts you’d bought him, and a nice watch. He immediately put it on, before admiring it.

“This is nice,” he said, still admiring it.

“I know you like swimming, so it’s waterproof too,” you say. “And it tracks your exercise. Since you refuse to get an Apple Watch, I went for the next best thing.”

“Thank you, hermosa,” he says, before opening his last gift. He pauses as he looks down at the strap for a guitar.

“I know you’ve been trying to get back into it, and I know your current strap is falling apart,” you say, smiling. “I thought you could do with an upgrade. And look!” you pull the strap from the wrapping before finding the end and pointing. “I have it engraved with your initials.”

“This is…this is great, cariño. Thank you,” he said, before he stands quickly and leaves the room. He comes back a few moments later, guitar in hand as he settles back on the floor with you, practically ripping off the old strap. He puts on the new one, and why he was fiddling with it, he pushed the small box towards you. “Like I said, it’s not a lot…”

“Santi, please,” you say as you open the gift. You pause at the sight of the Tiffany box, glancing up at Santi who was now looking at your nervously.

You open the Tiffany box, to find a silver chain-link bracelet, with a charm of a Christmas tree hanging off it. You gingerly take it out the box, looking at it more closely.

“I have more charms, but I can’t give them to you yet,” he said. “I got the tree because it’s…it’s our first Christmas together.”

Oh my God, you might burst into tears.

No, actually, you’re already crying.

“Santiago,” you say, in a high-pitched cry, looking at the bracelet, at the delicate green charm of the Christmas tree.

“Oh, no,” he said, scootching over to you and bringing you into his arms, where you sobbed into shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry. If you don’t like it – “

“Don’t like it!?” you cry, pushing away from him, looking between him and the bracelet. “I love it. Put it on me!” you shove it at him before presenting your wrist to him.

Santi chuckled as he shook his head in disbelief, carefully fastening the bracelet around your wrist before he gave a soft kiss to the warmth of your skin. Your heartbeat loudly in your ears as Santi gave your wrist a squeeze and he looked at you with a warm smile on his face. You look at the bracelet, the charm sitting pretty. You smiled widely at it, tears still falling down your cheeks.

“Please, stop crying,” laughed Santi, reaching up to wipe your years away.

“I can’t,” you say, laughing back as you look at him. “I’m pregnant, and hormonal, and you got me a really nice, sappy gift. I love it.”

“Good. I’m glad.” He goes quiet for a moment before he swallows nervously. “I…”

You look at him as he goes quiet. “Yeah?”

The two of you just staring at each other. Eyes locked onto his, you search for the words that seem to linger unspoken on his lips. There's a certain vulnerability in his silence, a hesitance that hangs in the air like the delicate balance before a confession.

"What is it?" you prompt again gently, your heart quickening in anticipation.

His eyes flicker nervously, and you can almost sense the internal struggle within him. It's as if he's wavering on the edge of an abyss, grappling with emotions that have finally found their way to the surface. Could he…could he be trying to say what you think he…

He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in tandem with the weight of his unspoken words. You can feel the gravity of the moment, the tension building between you two, as if the universe itself is holding its breath in anticipation of what he's about to say.

“The next charm you’ll get is in a few weeks, at the baby shower,” Santi finally said, after a long pause.

Oh. That wasn’t what you expected at all. You were –

Wait.

You pause, your brow furrowing as you look at him, tears finally stilling. “The what?”

Santi freezes, his face falling as he looks at you. “Oh, shit.”

Tagged - @khonsulockley, @bluenredndeath, @superficialfeelings, @othersideoftheparadise, @beezusvreeland, @itsmytimetoodream

[mermaidslabyrinth]

OC Tag Game

Thank you so very much @queen--kenobi for tagging me. I told myself that if I got tagged again I was going to do one of my next generation OCs. I just had to figure out which one. I was torn between two. It was either my ray of sunshine babyboy Daegon Targaryen or my sullen sweet baby Maegon Rivers. Maegon won out. 

Maegon Rivers (Bastard son of Aemond and Alys)

1.- What is something that your OC would never purchase for themselves, but would be (secretly?) delighted to receive as a gift?

Maegon did not receive a gift until he was five. It was a wooden sword that Rhagerys had made for him. But at the age he is, 16, Maegon would love to receive a Valyrian sword. He knows it’s more than likely next to impossible. He may have been legitimized when he was 10 but people still see him as a bastard. And why should a bastard receive such an honor of having such a sword?

2.- Is your OC ticklish? Has anyone ever dared to find out?

If Maegon is ticklish he hides it well. He does get a smile when Ettienora tries. No one has really tried beyond her. Mostly because Maegon won’t let people get that close to him in that way.

3.- How easy does your OC find it to apologise?

Not very. If there is ever a time where Maegon does apologize it is because he messed up terribly. Otherwise he does not care to apologize because more than likely the words he said or actions he did were ways of defending himself.

4.- When did your OC first see a dead body? If they have not seen one yet, how might they react to doing so?

He was just four years old. Maegon is unsure if his mother died or just disappeared. Her body was there one moment and then it was gone. The following day a barn owl appeared.

A week later Rhagerys and Aemond came to Harrenhal to bring him to Strongsong. And the only words Maegon said to them was "I have been waiting for you. The owl told me you would come."

So, Maegon never truly was able to figure that out. He never saw his mother physically again.

5.- Does your OC have any recurring dreams?

Yes. His mother, Alys, visited him frequently in his dreams once he moved to Strongsong. She usually would just check on him to make sure he was doing alright. Give him comforting words. Sometimes the dreams had a prophetic angle to them but Maegon never really understood those ones. By the time he turned 13, the dreams with his mother just stopped. Maegon is unsure why. He does miss the dreams. He misses being able to see his mother. 

6.- Is your OC stingy with their money (or other resources)? Or are they something of a spendthrift?

Maegon can be quite stingy. The majority of the coins Maegon is given he keeps. Which, living with Rhagerys and Aemond, isn’t too much to begin with. The two, mostly Rhagerys, will more than likely buy Maegon and the other children anything they want. So, Maegon got into the habit of hanging onto coins just in case. He doesn’t quite know what the ‘just in case’ is but he’d rather have the coins than be in a situation where he needs them and does not have any. 

7.- Does your OC have a sweet tooth? Or do they prefer to avoid sweets and sugary treats?

No. When Maegon was a child he refused to eat any sweet food because he did not like how the flavor felt on his tongue. They were always too sweet to him. 

The age he is now the most he will deal with sweets is when Ettienora offers a bite of her sweet treat to him. Even if he has no interest in eating it, Maegon will always try what she offers. 

8.- Is your OC easily provoked by insults or mockery?

Maegon has taught himself not to be. His half siblings and cousins have all been sternly told since he came to live at Strongsong that they are to never call him a ‘bastard’. That he is their brother and cousin. Which, for the most part they do not. Slip ups happen out of anger.

But Rhagerys and Aemond have no control over others outside their immediate family calling him that. So, Maegor has learned to take the insult and just lock it away. The very few times he has lashed out just made it worse. Because he feels he is living up to the mockery that the person had thrown at him. (Ettienora has jested but been serious as well, that he should feed those people to Cannibal)

9.- Where is somewhere your OC has visited that they never want to visit again?

A brothel on the Street of Silk (that may or may not have connections to the brothel Aemond went to in his youth). His older half brother Daerion and cousin Daemon frequented. They took him to the brothel to celebrate his sixteenth name day. While there they ran into their cousins Daenor and Daekor. And with the two rancid twins carousing around with the three, Maegon witnessed a few things he would have preferred not to. (Targcest at its finest mixed with sexual positions and kinks Maegon did not even know existed)

After that night Maegon did not want to spend time alone with Daemon or Daerion and he avoided the twins at all costs. Though, that interaction did not turn Maegon off of brothels, and he did learn a few things from that night, he did make sure he never went back to that particular brothel ever again.

10.- Is your OC ever somewhat flirtatious?

Not at all. Maegon does not flirt. Can he? No on knows because he keeps that side to himself very buried.

Idk who to tag but if you've been tagged and have already done this with one OC, if you have more OCs it helps filling this out. To flesh out another OC a little more.

I mean I have a whole entire next generation that could easily be done with these after Rhagerys.

[onetimetwotimesthreetimess]

this not the weirdest thing i ever send ask to you but what if shrek forever after malec au they got into a really big fight and magnus said something along the line of "wish I never marry/met you" and bam his magic lash out and turn it into reality

“Why does everything have to turn into an argument with you?”

“I’m sorry being with me is so difficult for you, Alexander.”

Alec groans loudly, “That’s not what I meant and you know that. Stop twisting my words.”

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

“Magnus—“

“I am miserable here,” Magnus yells. “I am so fucking miserable here and you know that.”

Alec sighs as he moves closer to his husband. He takes Magnus’s hand in his and rubs over his knuckles.

“Baby, I know. But it’s getting better. Things are changing.”

“I don’t fucking care.”

Alec runs his hand over his face in frustration. “I know today was a shitty day but you’re blowing things out of proportion. I—“

Magnus steps back, anger written all over his place. “How dare you say that after how your council behaved with me?”

“Have you forgotten that I did take your stand or what? I fought with them, Magnus. I told them that that language would not be tolerated against my husband,” Alec yells back, never one to back down.

“I deserve respect as a person, Alexander. Not just your husband,” Magnus says tiredly. “Your council stepped down because I’m the inquisitor’s husband. But what about the other warlocks? What about Magnus Bane? They will never respect me as a warlock, Alec.”

He knows Alec fought back but it’s not enough. It’s not enough after the words that were thrown at him. Not after the disdain on everyone’s faces.

Magnus isn’t new to the discrimination and the disdain and hatred. But just because it’s familiar, doesn’t mean it’s easy.

“These are old, stuck up assholes, Magnus. These are hundred year old traditions and it’ll take time to change them, I—“

Magnus’s voice is thunderous as he replies, “I am four hundred years old, Alec. So, you do not need to tell me how difficult it is for traditions to change. How long it takes for someone to let go of their hate. Or pain. It took a lot out of me to move to fucking Idris with you but I did. For you.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that. I didn’t ask you to leave Brooklyn for me. I didn’t ask you to change your life and I’m sick and tired of you holding against me,” Everything stuns the second the words are out of Alec’s mouth. He sees Alec’s face turn into horror as the reality of the words hit him.

“I came for you,” Magnus whispers but his voice is loud enough in the silence of the room. “Because I love you. And I thought we deserved to be together after all that we went through.”

“Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t—“

Magnus raises a hand to stop Alec from apologising.

He doesn’t care for apologies right now.

He wants Alec to hurt.

“And maybe things are changing and the world would look a lot different if I’d just wait but what if I don’t fucking want to, Alec?” He breathes. “What if I don’t want to or shouldn’t have to suffer. I have had enough.”

“Magnus—“

“You don’t get to stand here infront of me and tell me that I’m blowing things out of proportion when since the second I’ve stepped in this city, all I’ve received is hate and snide remarks. I have heard everything and more than you will ever know. About how I’ve corrupted you. Or cursed you. And ruined you and I have listened to every single one of them so that we get to fight for a better world but I am done,” Magnus roars and steps back.

“I was wrong to believe that love is stronger than anything else,” Magnus exhales before he takes the final blow. Before he says the things he knows will hurt Alec the most. “I wish I had never married you then I wouldn’t be in all this pain.”

_______________________________________________

He stretches his body as the sun shines through the curtains and disrupts his sleep.

Magnus groans as he hides his face in the pillow beneath him. He lets out his hand on the other side of the bed but it comes up empty. Magnus opens his eyes and frowns to find nobody on the other side.

Confusion flood him as Magnus doesn’t remember anyone being there the previous night either so he’s not sure why he expected someone to be there.

He just did.

Weird.

He can’t go back to sleep after that so he decides to start his day a bit early.

Magnus pours coffee for him and it tastes not that great. Then he magics coffee from his favorite cafe in Berlin and it still tastes weird. It’s not bad—it’s just not that great.

Even the shower doesn’t feel that great. It’s weird when there are two vanities in the washroom but he knows he redecorates his house all the sound so ignores it as well.

A couple hours later, Magnus portals to the institute. He had to rework the wards.

It’s always nice to meet Isabelle too. Jace though, the Jury is out on that one.

There’s another Lightwood sibling but Magnus has never met him. He’s just transferred from Idris.

Magnus imagines him being the biggest dick.

“Magnus!!”

He turns to find Isabelle Lightwood, with a beaming smile on his face.

“Isabelle, hi darling.”

“I want you to meet someone,” Isabelle says before she turns.

Magnus’s mouth open as his eyes land on the beautiful man right next to Isabelle. He’s a walking dream and everything Magnus likes in a man. Tall, dark and handsome.

“Hey,” the man says hesitantly. “I’m Alec Lightwood.”

“The new head?” Magnus asks as he offers his hand. “I’m Magnus Bane.”

“Co-head.”

“Hmmm. And is Alec short for something?”

The man blushes and something flips inside his chest. He’s not sure what. But there’s been a void inside of him since he woke up today. Like right was left and left was right. Like how it would feel if everything tilted to a 17 degree angle. Right now, the world feels back on its axis but that void remains.

“Alexander. But no one calls ne that,” Alec replies.

Magnus smiles back. “And who is this Co-head?”

All blush and smile leaves Alec’s face and there’s emptiness on it as he replies. “My wife. Lydia.”

And Magnus feels that for some inexplicable reason, the world will never feel right again.

Part II

[theflyindutchwoman]

Hi. I'm back for your integration). This time to an episode from the first season when Tim visits Isabel on Valentine's Day.

Why do you think Tim was the first to talk about divorce?

I remember when I first viewed it, it surprised me. He waited for her, fought for her, endured this nightmare and it seems he still loved her. Isabelle apologized, talked about the past. She tried to understand herself and explain to him why it happened. I don't think she's thought about the future yet. And then he offers to divorce. Does he no longer see a future together?

I can only explain this by the fact that Tim, having heard how Isabel felt his pressure on her, that she did not meet his expectations, decides to rid her of herself. (I wonder, by the way, if this is objective or just her feelings, interpretation or just excuses)

Sorry for the mistakes and hopefully not too confusing, English is not my native language.

This is a delicate (and complicated) subject so I hope I'm not saying anything wrong or offensive here. And as always, this is only my interpretation.

The way I see it, when Tim went to the rehab facility to see Isabel, he didn't know what to expect, what her state of mind would be. Hence why he admitted almost turning away twice. What he did know was that he wanted his wife back, that he loved her… But as he had learned the hard way, that might not be sufficient. Still, I don't think he was envisaging divorcing her. It's only once she opened up about the pressure she felt when they were married that he considered it.

At first, Isabel was simply trying to make amends, apologise for all the things she did. It's actually part of the 12-steps program, which supports recovery from substance disorders. Step 09 is about making direct amends to the people you've harmed. Now, I don't know if she was at that stage already but her wording was very similar. Here's what she says : "I don't want to talk about it, either, but it's part of my recovery. […] The whole point is to make amends with the people that I've hurt. And I hurt you most of all". She wanted to acknowledge all the hurt she inflicted… But he wasn't really listening. From what we saw, Tim had a major blindspot regarding Isabel's addiction, where he blamed everything on the drugs. That was his coping mechanism. But it skewed his perspective as well, as Lucy tried to tell him, calling him out on this several times. In his mind, Isabel didn't do the lying, the cheating… It was the drugs. He was compartmentalising. And now that she was in recovery, he thought everything would go back to normal.

Unfortunately, this isn't as black and white. She was under the influence, but she also did those things. And most importantly : she may be in recovery, but addiction can last a lifetime. This is a disease, it doesn't go away just like that. So while she might no longer be using drugs, she was still an addict. He needed to accept that if he wanted them to move forward. But instead, he was unintentionally dismissing what she was saying - something he tends to do when he gets uncomfortable. He wasn't ready to address any of that and she got frustrated, unloading on him, telling him how she used to feel this pressure to live up to his standards. So once he understood there were deeper issues in their marriage that might have contributed to her addiction, his blinders came off. He felt he was at least partially responsible for her addiction.

Now, I don't really think she was trying to blame him at first. She genuinely wanted to apologise and was not skirting responsibility, even when Tim was offering her an easy way out. This tells me that she was sincere in her approach. I also doubt she wanted to divorce him. Addicts are usually asked to refrain from making life-altering decisions like this in their first year, to avoid any major change that could trigger a relapse (and I'm glad the show didn't go there by the way). The problem was that Tim got caught off-guard. He had no idea what he was walking into and as a result, didn't have time to prepare himself. You can't force someone to talk about something so sensitive or accept your apologies. The other person has a right to know first and to choose whether they are ready to discuss this.

Like I said earlier, Isabel got frustrated when he was deflecting and she vented out. And whether that was her intent or not, she did place some of the blame for her addiction on Tim. Deserved or not. In 5.20, she implied there were things from her past she was running away from, developing unhealthy coping mechanisms in the process... So there were clearly other factors at the very least. But regardless, this whole conversation really highlighted the dissonance and the breakdown of communication in their marriage. Because he was never aware of how she felt while they were together. She never told him how she was always afraid of disappointing him. Anyhow, Tim internalised what she said and took on the blame placed on him. Hence why he decided to divorce her. If he could be a potential trigger for her, then staying married would do her more harm than good. He would always be a reminder to that low point. So he did what he thought was best for Isabel's well-being. It wasn't for him. It was for her.

(Don't you worry or apologise about your English - I'm not a native speaker either!)

[jjungkooksthighs]

The sour scent of her fear sullies the smell of sex that clings to her. Where he would normally be worried, that emotion doesn’t come to him now. She hadn’t cared about or regarded his emotions. He had perhaps cared too much, if that was possible. Perhaps it had always been this way. Perhaps it would always be this way. He’d tried to satisfy her in all the ways he knew how, but it wasn’t enough. He had to come to terms with the fact that she would never recognize him as one that she should submit to. He had to. Too many times he’d tried, and too many times he’d failed to make her surrender.

His thoughts ring loud and clear in her head, and it shatters her to bits. She left him all alone.. she made him work and work and work.. only to give him.. nothing. She never knew that it meant so much to him to see her submit. She never would have given him a hard time if she did. But, it doesn't matter what she knew or didn't anymore, does it? Alpha..? He doesn't respond. She stands up on her feet, taking a deep breath in before taking slow, weary steps towards him, as if one wrong move could shatter him. Her hand reaches out to touch him on the shoulder, but, she pulls away. She doesn't deserve to touch him, hell, she doesn't deserve to apologize either! Not.. not after she's hurt him so much. But.. she can't just sit and do nothing. She won't do that. Not when she can see just how broken he feels right now. The urge to pull him out of the dark space she put him in claws at her, tearing her apart in the process. But, she's able to gather enough strength to speak. Alpha.. her voice is a whisper as she starts, voice cracking ungracefully with the overwhelming emotions that take over her. I.. I never meant to make you feel so.. so unappreciated. I.. I never, never meant for that to happen. I just.. I promise.. never. I don't know.. I don't know what I can do to.. to fix what I've done. And.. I don't deserve to apologise.. nor do I deserve your forgiveness.. Her eyes well up with tears, and she can't help but despise how easy it is for them to roll down her cheek as if she wasn't the one who was being downright cruel up until now. I.. I know I don't. But.. I can't see you like this, alpha.. I was.. I was selfish. I was undoubtedly a... a spoiled brat. I made you feel.. like a.. His previous words rush through her head, and she sniffles as the the ultimate truth of just what she'd done to him weighs down on her. She made him feel like a fucking dog.. She doesn't get to complete her sentence. She can't. She's ashamed of herself. Her knees give out beneath her with how she trembles, and, despite how undeserving she feels of his presence and his touch, her fingers grip the fabric of his trousers lightly in absolute panic. Her fingers tighten around the fabric, and she rests her head against the back of his knee as dead silent sobs wrack through her, her mind a blank abyss. No... she.. she never meant for this to happen.. never. She doesn't know how to make him believe her though. Not after she's broken her word so many times.

The earth is soft under her knees as she descends to ground. The dirt welcomes her in how it parts around her as she embraces it. It swallows the sound of her movement, and Jungkook hears only the sobs that wrack her body in violent tremors.

He doesn’t let his irises spill down on her. He knows if he does, that tight ball of anger in his chest might burst.

She must sense that, because suddenly there’s a hand knotted into his trousers behind him. From where she’s sat on her ass on the ground, there’s little she can do. Still she clings to him as if she fears he might walk away from her forever.

A silly, foolish thought, indeed.

As if he’d ever leave her.

As if he ever could leave her.

Still, he had been disrespected, discarded, and disobeyed.

He would never tolerate any of that bullshit from anyone else. Had never even received it from anyone else.

Perhaps because anyone else would have had their spine ripped out if they had.

As he stares into the distance while she clutches the pant leg of his clothes, he can’t seem to unravel that fury she’d wound in him.

Maybe that’s why he stays still as a statue, his nails breaking the skin of his palms until blood cries from between his balled up fingers.

[ghostsandmirrors]

That lean against the wall was worrying--he'd been right to bring the kid here, at least--but he wasn't coughing up blood and he wasn't significantly worse off than he was before, so he was comfortable with only watching, only keeping an eye on him to make sure he didn't cause problems for himself.

His continuous and consistent silence held while the other spoke, hiding the vast majority of his reactions in that silence. It was a useful little mask, the silence. It was so easy to put on and so difficult to take off but hid everything that he wanted to hide, so he kept it in place and gave a dismissive little shrug to his gratitude. The silence was far harder to keep in place with the little comment that it meant a lot to have anyone, but 'especially you '. Something about it hit him just wrong and it took all of his determination to not react, to not give a confused little frown; this kid clearly knew stories, he shouldn't have been surprised.

"We don't know each other," he ended up saying, keeping that dismissive streak from his shrug and planting it firmly in his words. "This was better than leavin' you in danger." His tone was too robotic, too matter-of-fact, too impersonal, just like the room and the safehouse beyond it. If it bothered him, he didn't show it, just shifted into a more alert position in his seat and finally looked away to glance at the window as if making sure that newspaper was still there before he looked back to the kid. "Y'should be careful; might cause more injuries." Maybe there was a hint of shame in his tone, for acting so stand-offish towards the guy; he was in his bed, he may as well be a little kinder.

Being told he didn't need to apologise didn't throw him as much as the comment that'd caused the apology; it just gained another dismissive and casual little shrug in response. It wasn't a big gesture, just like the previous one, and was mostly an attempt at covering up the 'just in case' thought from before, as if it didn't fuel a not insignificant amount of his actions now days. As if at least half of the reason he'd even brought this guy here wasn't a 'just in case' thought.

"I wasn't." His tone hadn't changed and, besides the shrug, he hadn't moved again. "I was apologizin' for bein' an audience." If there was a hint of joking in his tone, he didn't react to it, in the same way he hadn't reacted to his own confusion before. Instead, his expression stayed incredibly empty and he almost looked through the kid, not at him; that thousand yard stare was called a 'thousand yard stare', it wouldn't be one if it stopped at a maximum of five feet. It was easier for him, though, like that silence before; the less he sounded and looked like anything but the asset, the less he would be expected to act like a person. It was a benefit for him to manage expectations like this, and he was more than happy to do so.

The emptiness, the impersonal reactions, broke with the new question. His eyebrow quirked a little in amusement, even while the rest of his face seemed to be working with the decision that this kid didn't need to know about that amusement.

"Prefer callin' it, 'survival instincts'." It was dry humour, but humour all the same. "Or, 'the gift of prophecy'." A, seemingly for today, uncharacteristic snort punctuated his little comment, because the idea of him having even the mild ability to tell the future felt truly laughable, given how his life had gone. He had most definitely not seen any of that coming, and he couldn't figure out if he was glad about that or not, now that he was thinking about it.

His life was easier when he didn't think about things.

"Don't mention it." He paused before adding, almost jokingly again, "literally." It was right there and while he wasn't wholly comfortable--being reminding that he was a person with some kind of legacy could do that--he was at least willing to pretend there was a lack of discomfort and try returning whatever he got. He could make jokes. A lot of his jokes were probably ones that'd cause discomfort in others, but sometimes there was a chance they wouldn't and he was also willing to believe in that chance.

Colton let out a quiet, almost shaky exhale as he pushed himself up a little, leaning against the wall to stay upright. The pain in his ribs was sharp, but he could handle it; the injuries weren't the biggest weight on him right now. His eyes flicked to Bucky, taking in the other man’s reserved stance, the almost mechanical apology, the way his body language betrayed a tension Colton recognized all too well. That instinctive bracing for something—judgment, rejection, or worse.

“Don’t apologize,” he said firmly, his voice a little rough but steady enough to carry his sincerity. “You didn’t do anything wrong, man. If anything…” He paused, drawing in a slow breath as he looked down, then back up at Bucky. “If anything, I owe you one. For sticking around, for helping me out. Not everyone would’ve.”

His gaze softened, and the corner of his mouth tugged upward in something that might have been a small, grateful smile if the situation weren’t so dire. “I know I can be a little… closed off. And I’m guessing you probably don’t hear this much, but it means a hell of a lot to have someone at my side right now. Especially you.”

He tilted his head slightly, watching the man who had once been Hydra’s ghost, a shadow feared across the world, now standing watch like a sentinel. “You didn’t have to do this—any of it. But you did. And… I don’t take that lightly.”

Colton winced as he shifted his weight again, his body protesting the movement, but he pushed through it. His expression grew thoughtful, his tone gentler now. “I don’t know what kind of shit you’re carrying around, but you’re not just some weapon, alright? You’re here, helping me, watching my back. That’s not nothing. So don’t go thinking you need to apologize for showing up when I needed someone.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy, but rather thoughtful. Colton’s gaze drifted to the taped-up windows and the carefully chosen defensive positions of the furniture. He recognized the careful preparation for worst-case scenarios because he’d done it himself a hundred times.

“Paranoia’s a pain in the ass, isn’t it?” he said, his tone lighter, almost teasing but not unkind. “But hey, I’m glad you’re like this. I’d probably still be on the ground bleeding out if you weren’t.”

His eyes met Bucky’s again, and there was no mistaking the genuine gratitude there. “Seriously. Thanks.”