#apology kisses prompt

[the-alice-of-hearts]

for the types of kisses list, since you mentioned maybe using it as a prompt list—

apology kiss with jaydick? (or if that’s not a ship of yours, maybe dicktim?)

(It's not a main ship of mine but I still like and read it, I just haven't written it much. So I hope you like it!!! Thank you beloved!!!)

Jason chewed on his lip and strode past where his husband was sitting. Dick had gotten home from patrol before Jason because he'd been in the cave getting cleared by Alfred after running into a burning building and having a ceiling collapse on him. Dick had panicked, gotten to the scene, and then when he saw Jason ripped into him about it.

"It's not about you being alive! It's about not calling for backup before rushing into danger!!!" Dick screamed in his face.

"Babe, I'm fine, I didn't need backup. Besides the kids weren't close." Jason had tried reassuring him but Dick just turned on his heel and stalked off leaving Jason to go get medical treatment alone.

Jason had thought about it a lot while Alfred had been checking him over, and there were defiantly points that Dick had made that he needed to be more aware of. Maybe calling for backup before going in was a smarter idea. And maybe Dick was scared for good reason, Jason had seen the way his jacket was torn through in places where his armor had to protect his flesh. He could have died if he'd been less lucky, but he needed to get in there, there were civilians in there.

Dick glanced up at him and then returned to staring at the books in his hands. Jason went into the bathroom to change and couldn't help the grin on his face when he saw that Dick had still placed out calming balm for him as well as one of his favorite soft shirts.

Jason got into the comfortable clothing and applied the balm to his bruises before striding back into their bedroom. He got into bed and carefully pulled the book from Dick's hands.

"I'm mad at you," Dick said calmly.

"I know babe, and you have every right to be. But I'm sorry." Jason pulled his husband into a soft kiss.

Their lips met in a careful embrace. Dick still trying not to waver, while Jason applied soft pressure to him. After a moment's hesitation, Dick finally reciprocated the kiss, and then Jason was smiling into the kiss. He pulled back and handed Dick his book back.

"I love you," Jason whispered.

"Love you too." Dick smiled softly and went back to reading. "But this doesn't mean I'm not mad."

"You can kick my ass tomorrow," Jason promised.

"I'll wait for the bruises to heal up," Dick countered.

[luxaofhesperides]

Final hour Ghostlights request! Soulmate AU where when your soul mate dies your soul mark expands. Duke was really heartbroken at first but now his soul mark makes it really difficult to keep his secret identity hidden because he is covered in a map of the cosmos. He has to use his shadow powers almost constantly to keep all the stars hidden! And and maybe they light up like actual stars when he uses his light powers.

He meets Danny at orientation or something at GU and they brush against each other and he just lights up like a supernova, all his stars literally blazing and he's just like "YOU!" Both excited and also OH MY GOD YOU ASSHOLE.

....I rambled a bit here I'm so sorry.

The thing about soulmates is that you don’t really know who they are until they die. And even then, most people never know who their soulmate was, only that they outlived them.

Duke became one of those people when he was thirteen. 

He didn’t even notice until he went to change and saw the watercolor swirl of nebula spill out from over his heart. 

One moment, he was tired and angry, ready to sneak out of his latest foster home to search for his parents and do all the things adults have failed to do. The next, he’s collapsed on his knees, shaking, unable to breathe as he tries to rip his soulmark off of his skin. He couldn’t think past the shock and horror of realizing that his soulmate is dead and Duke didn’t even know until that moment. 

They’ll never get to meet. 

Duke had never felt so alone before. 

He spent the next few days in shock, his mind a mess of static, unable to focus. He hid away in his room, buried under the covers, and his foster parents were understanding when he whispered my soulmate’s dead. They called him out of school and brought him food and water throughout the day, gentle encouraging him to eat something every few hours. 

But disaster waits for no one, and Batman was gone, so Duke pulled himself out of his misery and hit the streets again. 

So his soulmate’s dead. So his parents are gone. So Gotham’s falling apart.

No one’s doing anything about it, so it’s up to Duke to start fixing things. It’s not like he had much to lose.

Soulmates become a bit of a taboo topic to him, after that. He speaks of them to no one, avoids all conversation about them, refuses to stay when people talk about soulmarks. He tries not to look at his soulmark at all.

And then he takes a hit to the chest and patches himself up with shaking hands. For the first time in months he looks at his soulmark again and…

Did it… grow? 

Duke prods it gently, letting out a hiss when his bruised ribs protest at the movement. He remembers the mark being right over his heart. 

But looking at it now, it branches out, swirls of galaxy and constellations reaching out along his ribcage. 

Panicked, Duke grabs for his computer and looks up soulmark growth and webmd soulmark abnormalities.

Neither give him any answers, though WebMD helpfully suggests skin cancer. 

“I’m gonna ignore this,” Duke decides, and pulls on a shirt and goes to sleep. The less he thinks about his dead soulmate, the better. 

Time passes and Duke goes from being a Robin to being the Signal, a legitimate vigilante working with Batman. It’s nice to see Gotham start to settle, things falling into place. For once, nothing is awful; Duke’s found his parents and doctors are looking for a cure for long-term exposure to Joker Gas, Batman’s taking care of Gotham with a number of other Bats, Duke is getting used to his powers and slowly making a good name for himself out on the streets. 

He keeps his focus on protecting people and getting stronger, helping solve cases with the other Bats. No one mentions soulmates, so he keeps his ever expanding soulmark a secret. 

The only problem is that it keeps growing and Duke is concerned that it’ll move to a place he can’t easily hide under his clothes. 

And he does need to hide them. The more his soulmark has grown, the more obvious it is, especially when he uses his powers and the stars on his skin light up like the Fourth of July. He knows it’s abnormal, but it’s also his soulmark and he doesn’t want anyone, least of all Bruce, poking around trying to study it. 

The grief still lingers when he looks at it, but Duke has long since grown used to it. If anything, these days he’s quietly annoyed by how far the galaxies on his skin spread out, forcing him to take tank tops and shorts out of his wardrobe. 

There’s also the tentative hope that maybe his soulmate is immortal and keeps coming back to life after they die. And they must also have terrible luck, because they just keep on dying.

Case in point: his soulmark flares and spills out onto his shoulder and wraps around his bicep. It’s not the first time he’s seen it move, but it still startles him.

“Are you serious,” Duke mutters to himself, pulling at his sleeve to adjust it and hopefully hide his soulmark. The starts are bright against his skin, and while sometimes he likes to trace them with his finger, now is not one of those times.

As pretty as it is, his soulmark is also very obvious and will cause people to realize his identity if they ever catch a glimpse of it while he’s out as Signal. 

He sighs. There’s no choice but to live out the rest of his life in hoodies and sweatshirts. 

As if to spite him, his soulmark grows once more. 

Did his soulmate just die twice in the span of five minutes? That’s concerning. 

He wishes he could meet them just so he can shake some sense into them. Maybe tell them to stop dying since it’s stressing him out so much. Maybe stick by their side to make sure they never have to die again. He’s honestly not sure what he’d do if he ever meets his soulmate, but he has to do something. This has gotten out of hand.

At least seeing his soulmark grow doesn’t hurt as much as it did a few years ago. 

Lazily, he pulls at the light around him to hide the new portions of the soulmark on his arm from sight. It takes some focus, but he can hold it up long enough for him to grab a snack from the kitchen and retreat up to his room without being questioned by anyone. He could probably even keep this shirt on for the college orientation he needs to attend later in the day if the light works well enough to keep his secrets hidden. 

He’s expecting Alfred in the kitchen when he arrives, but is greeted by Dick clapping a hand on his shoulder, right where his soulmark has claimed space. Duke falters and works to keep the light from fracturing as he returns Dick’s grin. 

“Hey man,” he says, “What are you doing here? I thought you were out until Friday.”

“And miss a chance to hang out with you? No way. Besides, I wanted to give you a ride to your orientation.”

“You don’t have to,” Duke starts, only for Dick to cut him off.

“I’m going to,” he says, as if it’s a threat. “It’s been too long since we get to spend time together without a mask on. Are you really going to deprive me of this?”

Duke shakes off Dick’s hand from his shoulder, walking towards the pantry to find a small snack. “I guess not. It’s going to be pretty boring for you, though. I’m just going to listen to people talk about what college is like for a few hours.”

“We could always just walk around campus afterwards. I haven’t seen it since it was rebuilt after the last time Freeze attacked it.”

“Sure, that sounds fun. Thanks for offering to drive me.” Duke pulls out a box of Poptarts hidden behind stacks of pasta boxes and pulls out a pack for himself. He opens it and isn’t at all surprised when Dick steals one right out of his hands. 

“Meet me out front in an hour then.” 

And with that, Dick leaves, his stolen Poptart in hand, and Duke is left to shake his head and shove the Poptart box back into its hiding place. He heads off to eat his own snack, making sure no one is in the hallway as he lets go of his hold on the light. Already he can feel a migraine building with the immense focus he had to use to make sure nothing looked out of place.

At least Dick didn’t notice anything was off. If he can fool Dick, he can fool anyone.

Still, just to be safe, Duke changes into something with longer sleeves before he leaves and hops into the car with Dick. 

The drive goes quickly to the tunes of ABBA, both of them singing along as they head for the GCU campus. Parking is a bit tricky, but they manage to find a spot a street away and walk towards the student union, where tables are laid out for incoming freshmen to sign in and grab a folder filled with papers meant to help them. 

He waves to Dick and heads in once he gets his folder, and grabs a seat in the auditorium that’s close to a fire exit. 

It takes another twenty minutes for the presentations to start. The lights dim and Duke panics for a brief moment before drawing the shadows over himself lightly to hide the soft glow of the star etched onto his skin. 

They start with introductions, bringing in advisors, professors, and student ambassadors. Most of it is basic information that Duke already knows, so he zones out and plays with some shadows at his feet, where no one can see the way he twists shadows together like some dark magic form of finger knitting.

For the next hour, Duke halfheartedly listens to people talk about preparing for classes and keeping on top of schoolwork and learning how to ask for help. He’s saved enough college students that he knows the gist of things, and the orientation really doesn’t give him anything helpful. 

He probably could have skipped, but he wanted a normal college experience. 

He should have known that normal means boring as hell.

As soon as the presentation ends, an advisor encourages everyone to follow the schedule tucked into their folder to give them a half day modeled after a typical student’s schedule. Of course, all the classes are nonsense just to fill up their time, made to help freshmen coming into the college by covering topics such as how to write an email and an introduction to majors and minors.

Duke already declared himself as a Human Services major, his first step into becoming a social worker like his mom was. 

Also he totally knows how to write an email, what are these advisors on about? Do they really think people his age can’t write emails? 

Yeah, he’s ditching. The main presentation is really the only part that matters in the orientation. He’s not walking out on anything he needs.

Duke files out after the rest of the crowd, carefully letting the shadows slip off of him once he’s outside again. Instead of finding the first ‘class’ he’s supposed to go to in the Modern Languages building, he wanders off to find a quiet place he can sit down and wait until Dick finds him. 

Tucked away towards the back half of the campus is a small nook full of trees, bushes, and benches. Judging by the amount of cigarette butts left in the single trash can there, it’s a popular smoking spot. 

No one’s there, so the air is clean and free of smoke, so Duke heads in, hoping to sit down.

Someone else apparently has the same idea. He hops down from one of the concrete planters that’s keeping a bush contained and nearly falls on Duke.

They both shout in surprise, then Duke is moving without thinking, reaching out to steady the startled looking guy who accidentally jumped down in front of him. 

Duke only has time to take note of how blue his eyes are before his hands wrap around the guy’s wrist and Duke feels his soulmark flare with warmth.

In the shade of the trees, the glow of each star on his skin is obvious. It’s visible even through the fabric of his shirt. His soulmark, at this point in his life, stretches across his chest, his ribs, his back, and now his shoulders and upper arms. All the stars in that watercolor galaxy are shining brightly as if the night sky has been draped across his body.

Soulmarks only react like that for one reason.

“You!” Duke shouts at his soulmate, both elated to see that he’s alive and annoyed that he made Duke’s soulmark so large. “Stop dying! Do you have any idea how much stress you’ve caused me?!”

“Oh my god,” the guy says faintly, eyes fixed on Duke’s chest where his soulmark originally rested, shining brighter and bigger than any other star, as if he’s tucked a sun into his heart. “Oh my god,” he says again, with more feeling.

“I’m so happy you’re alive, but please stop dying. It’s bad for my health.”

“I think I need to sit down?”

He does look very pale and faint. Duke tightens his grip on his soulmate’s arms and guides him to a bench, gently sitting him down.

“You’re not about to die, right?” Duke asks. “I don’t think my heart could take it if meeting me killed you somehow.”

“No, no,” his soulmate manages to say, “I’m not going to die. Um. Wow. I didn’t know my soulmark would do that? Sorry.”

“Well, it’s not like you had any way of knowing. It’s all good, man. Just please stop dying.”

His soulmate winces. “Yeah, that’s not gonna be possible. Sorry. Again.”

What does that mean, though? What does it all mean?

“Can I maybe get an explanation as to why you have to die again.”

“Mmmmm no. We just met and it’s kinda personal so. No.”

“Dude.”

Duke’s soulmate shrugs helplessly. “It really is personal! I know your my soulmate and all, so I’ll probably tell you one day, but right now I don’t even know your name.”

Oh shit. He’s right. Introductions completely slipped his mind, too busy reeling over the fact that his soulmate is here and alive. Which, honestly, would be enough to throw anyone off balance.

“Shoot,” Duke says. “Sorry. You just really caught me off guard. Hi, I’m Duke, I promise I’m more put together than that.”

“Hi Duke, I’m Danny, and I’ve apparently been traumatizing you for the past few years by making you think I keep dying.”

“Well. At least we’re thrown head first into the crazy. Best way to know if we’re be a good match.”

“You sure you can handle this? You seemed pretty frazzled a second ago.”

Duke flusters and lightly whacks Danny’s shoulder. “That’s normal! Anyone would do the same when meeting their soulmate for the first time!”

“Fair enough,” Danny laughs. “This is a totally weird request and you can absolutely say no, but… can I see?” He presses a hand against one of the glowing stars beneath this collar bone, looking up at Duke with wide, hopeful blue eyes, and Duke finds it so cute that he’s willing to do anything Danny wants. 

“Here,” he says as an answer, pulling the collar of his shirt down a bit to reveal the nebula spilling onto his shoulder. 

“Oh,” Danny breathes, tracing a light finger against it. “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m guessing you like space?”

“Love it. I wanted to be an astronaut, but uh…. It’s never going to happen. Health problems, you know?”

“Well, I know it’s not the same, but I hope the stars you put on my body will be a good enough replacement.”

Danny cheeks turn red and he turns away, flustered. “Don’t smooth talk me right now, I’m not ready for it,” he mutters, bringing up a hand to try to hide his expression. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Duke laughs, “I’ll try to keep the flirting down to a minimum. It’s just really great to finally meet you. And I’ve been wondering, what’s your soulmark look like?”

“Oh, well…” Danny fiddles with the long sleeve of his shirt. “I had a pretty bad accident years ago that kinda affected how my soulmark looks. So if it looks weird, that’s why, okay?” He takes a deep breath, then pushes up his sleeve, holding his wrist out to Duke. 

The first thing Duke notices is the soft yellow glow, Signal yellow to be precise, running down his arm as if sunlight fills his veins. Then he sees Danny’s soulmark, a sun with rays that wrap around his wrist. And running through his soulmark are Lichtenberg scars, glowing yellow as if stealing the color from his soulmark. 

“Guess we both got super obvious soulmarks, huh? At least we kinda match, that way.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Danny agrees. 

“Man, what a day.” 

Danny looks more relaxed with him now. It’s much better than the startled, tense version of him that first sat down on the bench. Duke hopes he chooses to stay with him; he doesn’t admit this often, willingly, or to other people, but he’s a romantic at heart and has always wanted to live a happy life with his soulmate. It’s still far off in the future, but he hopes Danny feels the same way.

“So, are you ditching the orientation classes to?” Danny asks.

“Yeah, there’s no way I’m going. I mean, a class on how to send emails? They can’t be serious.”

“I know, right?! I saw that and thought I was being pranked. I mean, we’re going into college. We better know how to send an email by now.”

“Since we’re both free for now, wanna grab lunch with me? It can be our first date, if you want.”

“I’d love to! And you can show me around Gotham a bit. I’m coming here for college, but I haven’t really seen the city yet. It’d be nice to explore it with someone who knows where things are.”

“Are you free for the rest of the day? ‘Cause I wouldn’t mind showing you around, if you want.”

Danny smiles, radiant. “I am. I’m in your hands for the rest of the day.”

“Cool,” Duke says, trying not to think too much on that wording. It’s very suggestive, very flirtatious, and he’s looking forward to getting to know Danny more so he can start properly flirting. “Lemme just let my brother know to not wait up for me.”

He pulls out his phone and sends Dick a text that just reads: met my soulmate. going on a date now. i’ll see u back at the manor!

Then he puts his phone on silent and tucks it back into his pocket. He’ll tell Dick all about this later; for now, all his attention is on Danny. 

Soulmates get priority, even stressful ones that give him the largest soulmark he’s ever seen. 

And right now, he’s on a mission to find the best lunch spot to take his soulmate to for their first date. Everything else can come later; for now, he’s going to enjoy the time he gets to spend with Danny.

He hopes they’ve got a future together as bright as the stars in his soulmark. 

Despite it all, Duke is sure they’re going to be alright.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 82

You may be asking yourself after a night with no prompts, @geraskierfanficprompts, did you die? And the answer is, no, I only half-died (as in slept. For like 16 hours. I do not think I am well.) BUT ANYWHO LETS GOOOO Geralt is captured by Nilfgard, or whatever VOTW you want, it's up to whoever writes it, as always my dears, but without changes to the prompt, it would make most sense post-mountain Nilfgaard <3 Geralt knows Yennefer is expecting him back sooner, and because he didn't make it back in time, he knows damn well that Yennefer is currently tracking him down and will get him out. He just has to endure. He just has to wait it out. No matter what they say or do to Geralt however, he's not budging on any information. They remark that they have a way to get him to talk. Doesn't matter what they do. He just has to endure. He just has to wait it out. But then they shove in another person in chains, and when the person looks up, Geralt feels his heart drop to his stomach. "Jaskier.." "..Geralt." His hair is longer, and he's grown some stubble. He holds himself with much less confidence, and his eyes look weary and tired. They force Jaskier into a chair in front of Geralt, and Geralt can't even think of the implications he's so happy to see his bard, alive and well. ... Well-ish, he supposes. "Feel like sharing anything now, Witcher?" One asks, and Geralt suddenly comes back to reality, realizing their plan. Before he can even say anything, Jaskier laughs. A full-bellied, proper cackle, even throwing his head back for a moment. "As if! You truly made asses of yourselves! Geralt couldn't care less about me!" They grip Jaskier's hair and tug his head back. "Shut up, before we do it for you." "If you kill me, You'll only be doing both Geralt and me a favor." Jaskier says with a smile, and the man growls and sinks a knife into Jaskier's shoulder. "He's bluffing!" the man yells. Jaskier lets out a horrible little pained gasp at the knife, and his head falls forward as he starts to tear up. "I don't care if there's nothing of the bard left when you finish, as long as you get the butcher fucking talking!" Geralt is panicking. Not that anyone could tell. The rules were to endure. To wait. Yennefer can get him out. But sweet, poor, innocent Jaskier is about to be brutalized the more Geralt doesn't say. Even if he could endure, if he could wait, knowing deep down if he does nothing that it's safer for them, that they'll be saved, he knows he won't be able to. Because it's his Jaskier. He finally found him again, and his bard truly, genuinely believes Geralt would feel nothing but joy upon the minstrel's death. Geralt needs to get his bard out NOW, and he needs to make it all okay again. He needs to tell his Bard everything, he needs to apologize, he needs to kiss him, he needs to smell him happy and content again, he needs- The man stabs a knife into Jaskier's arm, making Jaskier shriek in agony. He needs to kill some people.

[something-tofightfor]

2023 Summer Kiss Prompt #1: Javier Peña - Apology Kiss

Starting this one off with our favorite DEA agent and a request that goes a little against the grain for him. Thank you for requesting this, Anon!

Not connected to any other Javi Peña I've written and takes place after the events of the show. Written with a female Reader in mind.

Word Count: 1582

Rating: M? A little angsty, a couple mentions of Javi's informant escapades.

Javier Peña  didn’t do romance. He didn’t even usually do relationships in the traditional sense, especially after the way things had ended with Lorraine and the way his life had played out in Colombia.  

But when it came to you, he tried, even though it took him some time to accept the idea.

Years spent with the DEA, living minute to minute in foreign countries and never knowing whether or not the day would be his last had put things into perspective, though it had taken until well after he was back in Texas for the meaning of the words live in the moment to really sink in. 

At first, your gentle “let me know when you make it home” requests had bothered him. He wasn’t used to anyone that wasn’t a colleague or his father acting concerned about his whereabouts. And the way you weren’t willing to let one syllable answers and non-committal grunts speak for him when you asked how his days were rubbed him the wrong way, too, because it meant having to open up in ways that he wasn’t familiar with in order to answer.

But what had taken him the longest to get around were all of the little ways you were constantly attempting to care for him, and how useless - and frustrated - it made him feel. 

Javier knew he was a capable man. After all, he’d been lead on two of the most important busts led by the DEA in recent years. He’d managed to infiltrate cartels and offshoots of cartels and play both sides successfully without getting himself killed. He’d built and maintained a network of informants; some of them women whose company he enjoyed and others regular citizens desperate to change something, no matter how small what they had to offer in the way of information was. 

But when your patience shone through - you more than willing to explain the basics of cooking or why it was important not to just toss every article of clothing together into the same temperature water and hope for the best or when you suggested working your way through all of the movies and music that he’d missed out on instead of just starting with what was out now - it really made him feel like an asshole. 

And being an asshole was definitely not something that Javier Peña was comfortable with. 

He’d met you a few months after coming home for good. Javier was sitting on a bench at one of the many parks overlooking the Rio Grande while he waited until it was time to pick Chucho up from a meeting he had scheduled downtown about the ranch. You approached cautiously with one hand raised and extended, voice carrying even though you kept your distance. “I’m sorry to bother you, but my watch battery stopped … could you tell me what time it is?” 

His answer had relieved you - your shoulders sagging as you thanked him. For the next fifteen minutes the two of you made small talk, Javier the one that had to say goodbye first - but not before you asked him if you could give him your number, just in case he ever wanted to use it. 

He was used to women approaching him, but there was nothing desperate or cliche about your interest. Not only had he taken your number when you handed it to him on a piece of paper ripped from a pocket sized notebook in your bag, he’d given you his in return, black ink and his name scrawled in ballpoint pen over another page. 

From there, the connection grew, and it didn’t take long for either of you to realize that it was a real one. 

It was friendly at first, the two of you meeting for lunch or a single drink once a week, and then it progressed, Javier inviting you to see the ranch and you offering your couch and VCR in return, along with an almost endless supply of popcorn and the kind of fizzy drinks and sweet treats he hadn’t let himself indulge in in years.

You initiated the first kiss, and he didn’t discourage it - lips meeting for the first time on the sidewalk outside of some chain restaurant whose Tuesday night special boasted the best wings in town. From there, everything escalated. 

One night a week turned into two, and that turned into three or four, split between your place and his. You met Chucho, the man delighted by your presence and immediately launching into stories about Javier as a child whenever you came into view. 

He met your friends and some of your family too - bumping into them while you were out, or stopping to drop something off before the two of you set out for a long drive through the flatland east of the city on your days off. 

The more comfortable things got, the more uneasy he became at just how easy it would have been to get used to things being that way all the time… if he’d let it. And so when Javier showed up at your place late one night, his well-worn leather jacket snug against his frame to end it, he didn’t bother telling you the truth behind the decision. 

He told you everything but the truth instead, spitting out that he was a grown fucking man and that he didn’t need someone to coddle him all the time, and that it seemed like you were getting too goddamn comfortable making decisions for him before turning to walk away, shoulders straight as he made his way back to the truck. 

He didn’t relax until almost a mile down the road. 

You’d barely reacted to his words aside from recoiling and blinking a few times, one hand gripping the door frame as he shook his head, words pouring from his mouth in the hazy glow of your porch light. And when he turned to go, you hadn’t stopped him, Javier picking up an almost silent “Be careful, Javier,” as he walked away from you. Those three words were what he focused on while he drove. 

And what he kept focusing on as he swerved suddenly, turning around with a squeal of tires against loose gravel, the journey back to your house made with his heartbeat thundering in his ears. 

He didn’t ever apologize. He’d learned it was useless, because an apology wouldn’t bring back someone after they were shot. It wouldn’t unexplode a bomb, or keep someone from overdosing on cocaine. Sorry was just a word, and he’d gotten so used to hearing everyone else around him constantly apologize that the word itself made his lip curl. 

But for you, he’d try to prove that he really was apologetic for the way he’d treated you because he was scared of the alternative - as long as you’d let him. 

Javier parked his truck in your driveway and gripped the wheel for a few seconds, taking two long breaths - and then headed for your front door, his heart pounding. 

You answered after a single knock, the expression on your face sad, the hurt in your eyes evident. But you didn’t slam the door in his face, and that was a start. 

“I’m… I’m sorry.” 

It stuck in his throat but he meant it, the man’s eyes narrowing for a second before he continued. “I’m not used to this. I couldn’t be used to this, and now it’s…” Squeezing his eyes shut, Javi shook his head from side to side. “Truth is that I’ve never had anyone treat me like you do before, and I’m still getting used to it. Scares the hell out of me how much I want to get used to it, actually, because -”

“Javier.” You reached out, laying your hand against his cheek. “I accept your apology. We’re going to have to have a conversation about all of the things you said,and what you meant but -”

“I really am sorry.” He said it again, and that time the words came smoothly, the furrow of his brows easing as he realized he truly meant it. “We’ll talk about it whenever you want.”

“Come inside.” You smiled at him, gesturing to the hallway behind you with your other hand. “I just finished making popcorn. Figured it wouldn’t take you long to come back, and -” Of course you did.

He moved before you finished, both of Javier’s hands rising to cradle your face between them as he tilted your face to kiss you. 

There was no hesitation on your part, the soft sigh that escaped you when your mouths met the final thing he needed to truly relax. 

It wasn’t a prelude to a frenzied removal of clothes or the two of you making your way to the couch, only unzipping and pushing what was necessary to the side. It wasn’t to keep you from prying or to keep himself from having to make an excuse or avoid a conversation.

It was just a kiss because he wanted to kiss you, and when he pulled back enough to murmur the words a third time - I’m so sorry - you nodded, tugging on his belt to pull him fully into your house and then pushing the door shut behind him. 

At the sound of the quiet click, your lips still flush with his, Javier smiled without stepping back, thumbs sweeping over your cheekbones. He still didn’t like apologies, but part of him was very thankful for the opportunity to make them to you - no matter how many it took.

---

[sev-on-kamino]

Ok for the kiss prompt, I humbly request:

1. hesitant kisses, but when they part one whispers "do it again. please."

…With Commander Fox because I’m leaping into the Fox Den head-first 🥴

PS you’re the bee’s knees

Excuse me, but it is you who are the bee’s knees 💙💙 Thank you so much for sending this in!!! @wings-and-beskar

Welcome to the Fox Den, we have caf, and a commander who thoroughly needs kisses and affection, so here we go!

Kiss Prompts - Commander Fox

warnings: lil make out sesh, and you can determine where that leads 😏 as always MINORS DNI

Pairing: Fox x fem!reader (medic!!!)

These prompts are my foray into writing short things effectively, and I failed immediately 😅

word count: somewhere around 1k~ maybe

Interactions with Commander Fox were always a gamble. Either you’d catch him at the right time, and you’d get a pleasant, flirty experience. Or you’d catch him at the wrong time, and get a reticent, grump who made you want to scream.

The other medics shied away from dealing with Fox, so the task of any routine checkups always fell to you. You’d been curious why they didn’t want an excuse to chat up a handsome man, but once you met him, you realized why. He was no-nonsense, straight to the point, and highly intimidating.

He was no match for you though. You’d had no problem letting him know that he was not going to hinder your job with his attitude, and the two of you had fallen into a rhythm that worked. You didn’t drag him out of his office for exams, and he tried his best to keep the sarcasm and salt to a minimum.

“Hi, Commander Thorn,” you said with a bright smile, as you waited to be scanned in.

“Ah, perfect timing! He’s in one of his moods, so have fun, mesh’la,” He replied, as he cleared you to enter.

“Well, I brought good caf and some of those candies you said he likes, so maybe I’ll get lucky.”

Thorn began leading you to Fox’s office, more out of habit than anything else. You could get there blindfolded.

“Normally, I’d have to tell you bribery of an officer is a violation of code 263-8, but I’m willing to let it slide this time,” Thorn said opening Fox’s door without so much as a knock.

“How many kriffing times do I have to tell you to-“ Fox began before he looked up and spotted you. He rose quickly from his desk to stand at attention. “Oh, I apologize for my language. I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”

“It’s ok, Commander. I hear worse. You wouldn’t believe the names I get called when I have to administer shots,” you said waving off his apology. “I apologize for being so early, but my first appointment finished faster than expected. I can wait, if you want.”

“No, no, now’s fine,” He said coming around his desk, and clearing a place for you to set down your pack.

“Have fun, you two,” Thorn said with a cheeky grin, as he left the pair of you alone.

“I, uh, brought you a cup of caf from one of the best stalls in town,” you said setting it on the desk alongside the package of sweets.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Fox replied, already sneaking a hand towards it.

You tapped his hand lightly. “Not before the exam, sir.”

“Right,” He said shaking his head. “How do you want me?”

Did he hear himself? Not that you were complaining. Flirty Fox was your favorite after all.

“Armor and the top half of the body glove off please.”

He complied, while you set up the things you’d need, and stole glances at him.

This is a medical examination, do not grope the commander! You thought, as you carefully placed your hands against his warm golden brown skin to begin your exam.

“Your shoulders are still too tight. I’m going to drink that caf myself,” you threatened.

“I did try the breathing exercises you suggested,” he countered.

“Really?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head with a light smirk.

“You’re my worst patient. I do house calls for you, and this is how you repay me?”

“How else should I repay you?” He asked, as you stepped in front of him to check his vitals.

“Following my instructions would be an amazing start.”

“Not happening. Anything else?”

You looked up at him, irritated and fascinated all at the same time. He was so close, you could see the fire in his amber eyes.

“Not anything within regulation,” you said, your eyes flicking to his lips before meeting his gaze again.

His eyes widened a moment, pupils slowly dilating, as if he just realized how close you were, yet he made no moves to put distance between the two of you. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“How far outside of regulation are we talking?” He asked quietly.

“Just this far,” you replied, slowly moving closer, telegraphing your intentions to give him plenty of time to stop you.

Your lips brushed his softly, hesitantly before pressing closer. You felt a strong arm loop tightly around your waist pulling you flush against his bare torso. The heat of him warming you through your uniform.

Your tongue swiped gently over his bottom lip. A question. Can I taste you?

His lips parted in answer, and you slowly licked into his mouth, humming with pleasure. Realizing exactly how far you’d gone, you broke the kiss and looked up at him, swallowing hard, your face burning.

“Commander, I’m so sorry for doing that I-,” you murmured.

He cupped the back of your head, and whispered against your lips, “Do it again. Please.”

“Yes, sir,” you replied, eyes fluttering closed, as you took his lips again, melting against him. The sounds of soft kisses, and pure indulgent pleasure filled the air, as the two of you mapped out each other’s mouths, learned each other’s tastes, and gently explored each other’s bodies.

The caf, candy, and exam were all forgotten. You’d definitely have to half-ass this report whenever you could manage to think about anything other than Fox.

***

taglist: @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @iamburdened @sunshinesdaydream @ladyzirkonia @dukeoftheblackstar @rexxdjarin

[swolfyxd]

I think in this situation Karin would jam buttons immediately mad and flustered until it gave her a refund. Daan says "that was rather an overreaction for such an extravagent affair" then proceeds to order one for himself in front of her to upset her more despite the fact he actually loathes the song playing. Which means he gets a cupcake instead of her, eats it in front of her, knowing she absolutely wanted one but now refuses to get one because it goes against her "principles".

Sorry for this brand of insanity but I knew Id have to spread the word somehow

[servenna]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Naruto (Anime & Manga) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Nara Shikamaru/Temari Characters: Nara Shikamaru, Temari (Naruto) Additional Tags: Angry Shikamaru, Angry Sex, Light Dom/sub, Angst with a Happy Ending, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Desk Sex, Spanking, Dom Nara Shikamaru, Temari is still a badass, blowing off steam, First chapter fluff, Second chapter smut Summary:

Inspired by the kiss prompt challenge of the "Letters to Suna" discord server.

On a stormy night, Shikamaru has his work cut out for him. A misjudgment on Temari's part has set off an avalanche of problems for him to solve, leaving him in a foul mood. Temari may have to step up her game to apologize.

[gregorovitch-adler]

Phone

(Sequel to Heartfelt, again, because quite a bit of people had requested it.)

--

John got up from the wooden chair in the sitting room of the flat in the suburbs. He walked over to the sofa and flopped over it, broad daylight coming from the window into the dim flat.

John had sent the e-mail to Sherlock - the heartfelt apology. Having nothing better to do, he rolled over to his back and gazed into nothingness at the ceiling.

John's mind drifted off to the past, reminiscing the first few days when everything began. When his new life began, after having basically died on the battlefield in Afghanistan.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? Mine doesn't have a signal."

"What's wrong with the landline?" Mike asked skeptically.

"I prefer to text."

John had felt that he could be of help, that this was the chance to get acquainted with this handsome bloke - with whom he was possibly going to share a flat. He cleared his throat. "Here. Use mine." He had held out his phone.

The way that man had approached John, showing off not only his looks but also his brilliance - within a few minutes, John had made a decision: this was the man he was interested in sharing a flat with.

He had not hoped for anything at that time, but for some reason, he'd thought that it just made sense to go and have a look at the flat with this specific man, and him only. He had known he wasn't going to get along with anyone else, anyway.

As time passed, John realised that Sherlock wasn't just good-looking and brilliant, but he was also the only guy in the world who accepted John for his flaws - his short temper and everything.

The only person who gave him a sense of purpose by making him realise his limp was psychosomatic.

The only man who bothered to notice John's capabilities by seeing right through his façade of being normal and boring.

He began to fall for Sherlock. No. Not began. By the time he'd realised, he was already neck-deep in love.

As of now - John thought as he came back to the present and rolled to his side - he had completely drowned in the sea of love. There was no way to come back from there. Not that John wanted to, but still.

John had tried to come up to the surface of that sea after Sherlock's death, in an attempt to move on, but all that was a massive failure. His entire being was immersed in that sea even more.

And now, John had stupidly ruined everything by being an abusive arsehole and having treated Sherlock like shit lately.

Any slim chance he might have had with Sherlock had crashed that day, and it was entirely John's fault.

Once again, John hoped Sherlock would go through that e-mail and accept his apology so that they could be friends again. In a proper way.

Feeling useless, John got off the sofa and pursed his mouth as he stared at his laptop for a moment.

He swallowed before making his way to the bathroom to take a shower.

*

John's phone screen lit up with a text. Wiping his fingers with a serviette on the kitchen table, he grabbed the phone to have a look.

It was Sherlock's text.

Come here at once.

John knitted his brows but got up from the table anyway. He picked up his plate and threw the remaining food in the dustbin.

He was prepared to do anything Sherlock asked of him. Who cared about finishing lunch, anyway?

John went to the bedroom to get dressed. The one he'd shared with Mary when she was alive.

John shook his head as he changed into a fresh shirt, a pair of jeans and a jumper. A different can of worms - Mary. A topic of another day.

This was the most important thing in his life at the moment: trying to fix his relationship with Sherlock. John checked himself in the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair.

He picked up his phone and walked out of that house to go to the bus stop nearby.

John got on the bus and wondered about the cause of urgency in the text that Sherlock had sent him before.

Getting off the bus, he hailed a cab at the curb and got inside as soon as a car slowed down. He gave the address to the driver and hoped to arrive at 221 B Baker Street as quickly as possible.

John was there in a few minutes, so he paid the driver and rushed inside the apartment building to climb up the stairs to 221 B at his top speed.

The door was wide open, and Sherlock was standing by the sitting room window, gazing out of the flat at the street.

Sherlock must have heard him come up, so he turned around to face John and walked towards him. John closed the door behind him and met Sherlock halfway in the room.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John. John's arms were wrapped around his waist.

Sherlock's hand slipped up to curl around John's nape - like the previous time. Those long and thin fingers, caressing the skin of his nape, holding him gently, and sending shivers down John's spine.

John ran his hand over Sherlock's long back and mentally kicked himself for not hugging him properly the last time.

"I saw your e-mail," Sherlock said into his ear in a low voice, with his cheekbone pressed against John's temple. "I... I forgive you."

John breathed deeply, taking in Sherlock's natural scent through the exposed skin of his neck. "It won't happen again. Ever. I promise."

"I believe you, John," he said with a nod.

John closed his eyes and let himself drown in Sherlock's proximity. He felt Sherlock's gaze on his face after a few moments.

John opened his eyes and looked up at Sherlock, and they found their lips pressed against each other tightly, not caring about who initiated it.

They opened their mouths to make the kiss deeper. Breathing was boring, or so Sherlock would say.

"I'd also fallen for you," said Sherlock breathlessly as they parted. "Since about the same time. Just didn't know how to tell you. Did you really feel for me this way since then?"

John gave a furious nod at that. "Always."

"You got married."

"In a desperate attempt at moving on from your death."

"I've told you why I had to do it. But you went ahead with your wedding even after I'd come back." Sherlock had pressed his lips together.

John leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss on Sherlock's cheek, hoping to express his feelings through that.

"I never knew you felt the same. So, not going ahead with the wedding made little sense at that time. You were always going to be my best friend. And besides, I thought by getting married, I was taking my own stand. I was too stupid to realise that I belonged with you. Only you. Since the start."

"But you'd always felt this way?" Sherlock's eyes were filled with longing and skepticism.

"Yes, Sherlock. Always."

Sherlock eyed him for a few seconds before pulling John close by his collar and kissing him again.

John made a frantic sound as he kissed him back with equal want. Need.

They kept kissing each other for a while. John was mindful of his bruises and vowed to himself that he would spend every single day of the rest of his life trying to prove himself to Sherlock.

John will be a better person for the man he loved. He owed him that, and much more.

They parted again to catch their breaths. Sherlock's hand was placed on John's chest.

John closed his eyes to revel in the touch.

"You're not a horrible person. Don't you remember me saying that you're the bravest and kindest and wisest -"

John placed a hand on Sherlock's mouth. "Stop. I don't deserve to hear that. I'm not the same person anymore," he said, his voice betraying him by shaking a bit.

Sherlock pulled him close in an embrace again. "You'll always be the same for me."

John looked up at Sherlock with his heart filling up with hope, and his eyes welling up with tears.

"My John."

"All yours," he whispered through his tears and pulled Sherlock close for another deep and passionate kiss.

I'll always protect him, he thought, placing his hand on Sherlock's chest, feeling for his heartbeat. Even if it's myself he needed protection from.

As they continued to kiss, John made up his mind. He was going to move back in here along with Rosie as soon as possible. To 221 B Baker Street - his real and only home in the world.

***

Sherlock September Challenge.

Prompt: Phone by @onesmallfamily

Tags: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @keirgreeneyes @gaylilsherlock @lisbeth-kk @missdeliadili @lookingforlifeoutthere @curlyjohnlock @peanitbear @a-victorian-girl @kettykika78 @totallysilvergirl @safedistancefrombeingsmart @calaisreno .

[myalchod]

Silrah and 41?

All I will say is that this is absolutely me writing against type and I have no idea how that happened. 😂

41. a kiss because the world is saved - [ also on AO3 ]

She is the one who finds him in the aftermath, among the dead and dying.

The lines between the two had blurred while the portal was opened, blurred further in the chaos of magic that had wreathed the battlefield, miasmalike and heavy as it swirled about them all, visible even to his human eyes. He had lost track of the others in the course of the fight, intent only on the immediate, the rhythm of swordstrokes and evasion familiar even amid all this strangeness. He is not unscathed, had taken blows that have him bleedingly sluggishly from a half-dozen wounds, but none of them are severe enough to need his immediate attention.

He had spotted her during the battle — should have expected it once he realised what was going on, but there had been no time to put two and two together, and even that first glimpse had been enough for him to let down his guard for a critical split-second. But oh, he does not regret it — not with her standing before him, backlit by the weak sun and all but glowing, hand extended to help him up.

His fingers lace through hers, and a heretofore-unnoticed tightness in his chest eases. Her palm is warm against his, solid, real as she tugs him to his feet. Until that moment he had been half convinced this was a dream.

He overbalances, unsteady from the pull and the blood loss but even moreso from the familiar sensation blooming in his chest, the spreading warmth of her presence intimately known even after those cold and lonely years. Last night, all he could hope for was that they would not see too many casualties. Now, as she wraps her arms around him to steady him and he breathes in the still-familiar scent of her hair, he dares for the first time in an eternity to think about the possibility of something more.

(The last time a war had ended, there had been a bitter taste in his mouth and an unshakeable ache inside him, a pain mostly but not entirely his own. The last time he’d felt blank, hollow, all too aware of what victory had cost — had questioned whether they could even call it a victory. This time, there is something waking inside him that he almost does not recognise as hope.)

“Now what?”

Moving would be too much effort just yet, and so he looks around them, finding the children one by one. They are exhausted, bloodied and clearly the worse for wear, leaning into each other as they pick their way across the field towards him, but he counts, and then counts again, and exhales his relief against her hair even as he feels the echo of it shiver through the air between them to settle in his bones. He wraps an arm around her, feeling a laugh bubble up through his chest, a lighthearted sound he had not remembered that he knew how to make. There are dead all around them, and still more dying, and to rebuild will take more time and energy than he cares to consider, but there is a world left to rebuild, and there is more to it than he had dared hope might be when he'd considered what today might bring.

"Now?" He presses a kiss to her hair, unable to keep the smile from creeping onto his lips and into his voice. “We take our children home.”

[ ask me another ] [ all answers ]

[finleycannotdraw]

I know that pinned kisses prompt tweet is for geraskier so you of course don’t have to, but would you be interested in either 30 or 48 for geregis?

ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY

48) kisses to shut them up

and for future reference, the prompt list is tagged geraskier because that’s the ship I was primarily focused on when I found it, but I’ll draw for any ship I enjoy, so feel free to ask what those are!

I’m also gonna do 30 but I’ll post that separately :)

[antilocaprine]

For the kiss prompt: frenrey, 19? 🥺

(Kiss Prompt List)

This might be the shortest length of time between getting the ask and posting the prompt fill so far. Go team.

19. ...for luck.

Most of the patrons had cleared out of the casino, but Gordon still checked under the tables as he sauntered through the card room. Alarms were ringing on the floor below where Dr. Coomer and Bubby had the cutter set up, drilling through the main safe door. He’d left Tommy glaring at a slot machine, and Benrey was clearing the next room over.

Gordon shook his head. He still didn’t know where Benrey had come from, but Darnold was able to hook him into their radio channel nearly instantly, so he must have had the right earpieces and shit ahead of time. They’d been careful in the lead-up, but technically, Benrey was around back when they were making vague plans to rob banks if they ever got out of Black Mesa alive. Maybe he’d been talking to someone else in the Science Team. Tommy had been looking around a lot before the heist - Gordon thought he was just being cautious, but maybe he’d been looking for Benrey.

And speak of the devil…

“Yo, you wanna play?”

Gordon glanced over. Benrey was idly spinning a roulette wheel.

“Sure,” Gordon said indulgently. They had time. He waved a blue-gloved hand at Benrey. “Red.”

“Huh?”

“Red?” Gordon raised his eyebrows. “I’m betting it’ll land on red?”

“What will?”

“Jesus,” Gordon growled. “Do you even know how to play that?”

Benrey looked down at the wheel. “This? Yeah, sure, you just…” He jerked his hand and the wheel spun wildly, colored bands flashing until it slowed to a stop.

“Nice,” Benrey said.

“That was - nothing happened. You just spun the wheel, there’s nothing there.”

“Yeah? And I had fun, soooo what’s your problem?”

Gordon threw up his hands, even though one was holding an AMCAR. “Fuck it, fine, whatever. You do you, man.”

Benrey muttered something too quiet for Gordon to hear, then his head snapped up and he raised the flamethrower. Gordon whipped around and fired a shot off at the dark-suited casino security guard before Benrey could reach him with the flames.

“Nice.”

“Thanks,” Gordon chuckled, ears ringing a bit as he propped the stock of the gun against his hip. “Just trying to keep you from committing fratricide or whatever.”

“Huh?”

“They’re security guards, you’re a security guard…”

Benrey nodded. “Cannibalism,” he said.

Gordon snorted. “What? Are you eating them?”

“No? Gross.”

“Then it’s not cannibalism, that’s only if you eat them. Although,” he tilted his head. “Would it even be cannibalism? They’re human, and you’re…uh…”

“Not,” Benrey said helpfully.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“So it’s cool to eat them?”

“Yeah,” Gordon said, then his brain caught up with the conversation and he blanched. “Wait - no! No, don’t eat people, that’s fucking weird, don’t do it.”

“Uh…okay.” Benrey gave him a shifty look, and Gordon decided he should drop this topic before he learned something he didn’t want to know.

“Hey, look, craps!” he said overly brightly, hoping Benrey would take the distraction. “I’ve played this!”

Benrey followed him over to the craps table, eyeing the lines and numbers on the green fabric. Gordon scrabbled through the scattered chips left by panicked patrons until he came up with the red dice. He shoved the rest of the chips out of the way and raised his fist, rattling the dice inside.

He had only ever played craps on dates, so it was some kind of muscle memory that had him holding his fist out toward Benrey, who regarded it with bemusement.

“For luck,” Gordon said, just as he realized Benrey had no fucking idea what he was supposed to do. He opened his mouth to tell him to blow on Gordon’s fist, but then froze. Benrey had leaned forward and placed a smacking kiss to the back of his curled fingers, his lips warm and scratching slightly against the nitrile gloves. Gordon’s breath caught and he stared blankly at Benrey, who straightened up and gave him a level stare.

“Well?”

“Uh - I, uh - yeah, okay,” Gordon stuttered, feeling heat crawl across his cheeks and up his neck. He fixed his eyes on the table and tossed the dice, which bounced across the green and came to rest with matching numbers up. Gordon’s stomach sank, even though nothing was actually at stake.

“Oh, whoa, nice job,” Benrey said. 

“What - why is that a nice job? It’s snake eyes.”

Benrey shrugged. “One is…number one, so two ones is like…the best, right? First place.”

Gordon stared at him for a moment, then decided that explaining the rules wasn’t worth it. “Sure, man,” he sighed.

“We’re number one,” Benrey said blandly, and Gordon snorted.

“We sure fucking are, buddy. C’mon, let’s go see if they’ve got the safe open yet.”

Gordon didn’t even think about it before reaching out and snagging Benrey’s free hand to drag him out of the room. Fucking muscle memory. He was never going back to a casino after this. 

Benrey didn’t seem to mind, at least. He clasped his palm to Gordon’s, tangled their fingers together, and trotted to keep up with Gordon’s longer stride. “What kinda game was that, again?”

“That was craps,” Gordon replied, and didn’t notice Benrey’s quiet snort. They’d just rounded the last row of slot machines, where Tommy was standing ankle-deep in a pile of quarters. “Holy shit, dude, you’re making bank!”

“Yeah, it’s actually really easy, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy said brightly. “You just have to turn, um, match the pictures.”

Gordon looked more closely at the slot machine and realized that the glass front had been smashed and the rollers manually turned to display three lemons. One of the rollers twitched spasmodically, like mechanical death throes.

“Good, uh - good job, Tommy,” he said.

Tommy bent down to grab a double fistful of quarters and stuff them into his pockets. “Where have you guys been?”

“We were crapping,” Benrey said immediately.

“PLAYING - we were playing craps,” Gordon said loudly. Tommy straightened up and raised his eyebrows, his eyes flickering down to their still-joined hands, which made Gordon remember he was holding Benrey’s hand. He yanked out of Benrey’s grip and readjusted his gun self-consciously.

Tommy, wisely, didn’t comment. “Were you, um, did you win?”

“We’re number one,” Benrey replied, and Gordon chuckled a little hysterically.

“Yep, yeah, we - we’re number one. Twice, even.”

“That’s right,” Benrey grinned.

Then something exploded downstairs and Dr. Coomer bellowed gleefully. A new alarm started screaming, and there was no more time for playing games. They took off down the closest staircase, Tommy’s pants jingling with every step and Benrey sending jets of flame over the banisters at shouting guards. And Gordon shoved all thoughts of holding Benrey’s hand and feeling his lips on Gordon’s fingers deep into a box in the back of his mind to deal with later.

They had a heist to complete.

[emsprovisions]

Maybe number 13 for Gus and Matt please

13: too loud

Matt would not shut up. Gus's head was throbbing and his boyfriend would not shut up. He was going on and on about something to do with Blademage. Or maybe it was giraffes. Gus couldn't quite focus.

He would normally be interested in everything this dumb boy had to say, usually clinging to his every word. But right now, he was being far too loud for Gus.

"–which is why I think that the evolutionary process of the sea slug is–"

"Hey Matty," Gus said, interrupting whatever tangent Matt was going on about.

"What, Augustus?"

"You're being too goddamn loud."

Gus grabbed Matt by the shirt collar and hauled him in, shutting him up the most effective way he knew how–by planting his lips firmly on his boyfriends'.

Matt spluttered against his lips, eyes wide, surprised and caught off-guard. Gus loved throwing his boyfriend for the loop like this. Loved how he never ever expected his kisses, even now.

Gus wrapped his arm's around Matt's waist, tugging him in closer, and Matt relaxed in his arms, their bodies breathing together as one. Matt's arms snaked around Gus's neck, his fingernails lightly scratching through his hair and along his skin.

Gus hummed against Matty's lips. This was already better. His headache was already dissipating under Matty's spell. His lips tasted like his fire-honey chapstick, and he was warm and soft. He was so intoxicating, Gus could never have enough of his impossible boy. Titan, he loved him so much. Even when he wouldn't shut up, even when he was surprised by Gus's surprise attacks.

Matt hummed against Gus's lips, his tongue darting out like he was testing the waters before he took control, which Gus gladly gave over. And then Matt's lips were dragging along his cheek and down his jaw, and his nose was buried against his neck, Matt's kisses like a brand on his skin.

"If you wanted me to shut up, you could've just said so, Porter," Matt breathed against his neck.

Gus released a sharp laugh. "Hey, my head hurts and I can't think straight, it seemed like the most effective way I could think of."

Matt pulled Gus back in for another kiss, "I could probably think of a few more."

[nightiingaled]

Warning Sign | Tae-mi & Cass

Blackwatch Years Tae-mi when a mission goes awry. Trigger warnings for mentions of blood, momentary gore & near-death. @quick-drawn

The desert is alive with the sound of gunfire.

“One left!”

Tae-mi Jin is in the process of placing her final clip into her gun, licking her lips and whispering a soft prayer. She has her back against a collapsed stone wall, long worn from time.

“You’re talking about targets, right?”

Across from her – on the other side of the crumbling entryway into the long-destroyed building – Jesse McCree aims and misses one of the remaining soldiers creeping closer and closer to their position.

“Not with that aim!”

“You’re one to talk!”

Sure enough, the moment Tae attempts to take a shot at one of the soldiers, they open fire in her direction, and she misses her shot as she takes cover once again. She grumbles something to herself, but she knows that of the two of them she is the weaker link here.

Gunfights have never been her thing. Hand-to-hand, close combat has always been where she excels, if her continued wins in the fighting rings had anything to say about it.

“You think if we ask nicely, they’ll line up easy to let us punch them out instead?”

She can hear him thinking across the space between them and it almost makes her laugh.

“Can you two take this a little seriously?” Commander Reyes’ voice cut through their radios with a crackle of faint static.

A tight-lipped smile stretches across Tae’s features despite everything. “Not to rush you, Commander, but how’s it coming?”

“We’re in the clear. Light them up!”

Tae gives Jesse a thumbs up, Jesse returning the gesture. Tae thumbs the detonator in her other hand, pressing it with more force than probably necessary. The ground rumbles around them as multiple bombs go off in a location less than a mile east. Tae can see the haze that has erupted in its place as she dives into her hideaway.

 There’s the sound of screaming and shouting of orders and suddenly the soldiers assaulting them are leaving hurriedly in two vehicles towards the direction of the compound in the distance.

“Can’t believe that worked.”

Tae laughs, having crawled out of the crevice in the wall and crossed to Jesse’s side of the entryway. She offers him a hand up which he accepts with a smile. “I owe that man a dri—”

Gunfire breaks out once again, shattering the moment. Tae throws herself back to the wall, dragging a startled Jesse with her. “Damnit,” she spits.

“What was that?” Reyes clips through.  

“They left someone behind. Can’t be many we got—Jesse!”

Jesse is semi-conscious, flopping over as his body struggles to hold itself upright.

“Flesh wound, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his eyes flickering open and then closed again.

Crimson red is seeping through holes in Jesse’s vest and Tae swallows thickly.

“Stay still.”

The building around them has gone quiet. Tae is sure they couldn’t have left more than three behind. They would send as many as possible to see to the supposed attack on the compound and the two agents had done their best to leave few to spare.

Tae slips her knives from their sheathes.

The first comes through the entryway – poor thing was practically bait. Tae takes him out at the knees, quite literally taking her knives and slicing away at the back of his legs. He lets out a wailing scream and collapses as the second comes around the right corner. Tae knocks the soldier’s aim down towards the ground with one arm, using the other to slice up under and into his jaw. She lets him keep the knife as she turns the other on the third soldier hurrying through the entryway to help. Again, and again and again she thrusts her knife into his chest until he’s blubbering blood all over her.

“Three,” she tells herself, “They left three.”

The fourth doesn’t exactly take her by surprise so much as uses a different approach than the others. He rushes through the doorway and subsequently towards Tae herself. Smaller than him and more practiced, she manages to dodge to the side. It isn’t enough. He launches himself at her and throws her to the ground. Tae doesn’t realize his hands on her throat until they suddenly aren’t she’s breathing fresh air again, ears ringing from the nearby gunshot.

She rolls the body off her, looking over at Jesse. The man is sheet white, but the grip on his gun is surprisingly steady.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“What?”

“You say, ‘thank you’, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” she grumbles as she picks herself off the ground and hurries back over to his side. It’s at this moment that she realizes Reyes is still trying to make contact. His voice had become a distant buzz, a distraction she had to ignore for the time being.

“Jin, I swear to God if you don’t answer—”

“Sorry, sir. The pickup crew is cleared out, but McCree is injured.”

“Stay put. We’ll evac you as soon as we make the rendezvous.”

“Sir, I don’t think we have that kind of time. You still have miles ahead of you – we have a shorter distance we can hit the rendezvous at the same time.”  

While she’s talking, Tae is tearing spare fabric from the soldiers’ uniforms and her pants, wrapping the bandages around Jesse’s stomach, and tying them tight.

“Jin, don’t tell me you’re thinking of—”

“This isn’t a viable rendezvous point, sir. You said so yourself. We just blew up the safest landing zone for miles. And it’s going to be too Hot to land. It’s not worth the risk.”

“Jin, I mean it – do not leave your position.”

“Sorry sir, I’m getting nothing but static. I’ll meet you at the rendezvous.”

And then the line goes silent as she turns off her comms. Tae-mi reaches down, pulling Jesse up by both arms with a grunt and leaning him over her shoulder.

“Come on, Jess – we got a long walk ahead of us.”  

& & &

Tae didn’t doubt her logic, but she realizes that she might have misgauged how quickly she would be able to move with Jesse.  For what it was worth, he tries to help as much as he can. When he’s awake. But the man’s consciousness comes and goes. Here and there she catches him muttering to himself and wonders what delirium he finds himself in. She remembers him saving her so many years ago and it feels like only yesterday. To think she finally gets to return the favor – she hopes it’s worth it.

It's sad that even after all this time, she’s barely let him in. Barely let anyone in. It’s just her and her sister. The two of them have grown together in Blackwatch, different in multiple ways but so similar in so many others. What would it be like to lose him?

Tae swallows. No, she tells herself. Stop thinking like he’s dying.

But he is. He is dying. He’s dripping crimson through the makeshift bandages. He bled through the bandages, even after she ripped more of her pants to add to it. He’s bleeding into the remainder of her shirt, just bleeding and she can’t stop it. He’s paler than he was at the start and that is saying something. His sweat is almost drowning her.

“Gonna be sick…”

“Not on my shoulder you’re not.”

But she hopes it bodes well that he’s saying anything at all. He doesn’t get sick. They keep moving on.

There comes a point – as much as she hates it – that she must stop again, simply to rest. If she doesn’t her shoulder will give out. The two of them are covered in blood. Jesse has soaked through every bandage she’s thrown at him and down his pants. Tae has sacrificed everything but her tank top and enough of her pants they’ve become shorts. There’s no point making herself naked at this point – it’s not going to help, she knows.  

“…Behind…”

She has Jesse leaned against a rock ledge and she leans closer to him. “What’s up?”

A tongue licks slowly over his chapped lips. “Leave me…. behind.”

“Over my dead body.”

She reaches out to grab his arm, but he catches her wrist and holds it. His grip isn’t tight – he didn’t have the strength, but she doubts it would be even if he did. “Don’t die here….with me.”

“Neither of us is going to die, Jess.”

A crack creeps into her voice and she notices her fingers are starting to shake. She needs to get moving again before she can’t anymore, but Jesse’s other hand is touching her hair.

“You’re really pretty with this haircut, you know?”

“Jess – stop talking nonsense okay, let’s get out of here. You’re going to be okay. You’re gonna –”

He cups her jaw and leans forward, and Tae sees what comes next. She doesn’t stop it. It’s not the right time – it’s NEVER going to be the right time for her, but this is next level of not right. But what if they never get another chance?

Their lips meet and it’s so soft and weak on his end, but there’s still a fire behind it that she returns. Tae wraps her now free hands in his hair and leans him forward into the kiss, tears tracking down her worried features.

And then it’s over, but it remains abuzz within her. She thumbs his hair away from his eyes and sighs.  “I hope you didn’t think that was going to convince me to leave you, Jess,” she murmured. “Come on.”

& & &

She turns her comms back on the moment she sees the form of the helicopter growing nearer in the distance. To her surprise, Reyes does not immediately proceed to curses upon hearing her voice back on the radio.

“How’s he doing,” she hears instead and smiles softly to herself.

“Holding out.”

“We see you. We’ll meet you halfway.”

The group of agents do indeed meet them halfway with a stretcher. Jesse’s weight is transferred from her shoulder to someone else and Tae almost loses her balance at the loss. The realization of her own exhaustion settles on her, and it takes everything she has to keep walking towards the helicopter.

“Jin!”

Tae turns to see Commander Reyes approaching her at a brisk march. She swallows.

“Never ever and I mean ever pull that shit with me again, do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

She turns away and keeps walking towards the ship before he calls her name once again. “Tae-mi…”

The woman turns back, and the Commander has a half-smile on his face. “Good job.”

She smiles back at him. “Yes, sir.”  

They pile into the ship as the medic works around them to try and stabilize Jesse.

Tae-mi clutches his hand the entire time. Tae-mi doesn’t care who sees at this point and no one says anything.

[upontherisers]

oooo could I please request "Soulmate AU" + "Character in Peril" for...your choice of ship! <3

oh this is the webster/webster letter writing AU for sure.

a quick catch up for everyone who isn't shosh: georgie writes for the radcliffe review and publishes an open letter to the men of harvard calling them to burn their draft cards/refuse fight in the vietnam war, and she gets a letter to be published from one david webster, a harvard man, basically pushing against all of her arguments. they write back and forth, all of their dialogues getting published in the review.

adding the soulmate AU and characters in peril on top... i'm thinking a world in which you can feel your soulmate's pain and get bruises/scars from their wounds.

georgie's a smart girl, so it doesn't take her long to figure out her soul mate is a writer... at least, she hopes so. she's deducing from the callus that formed on her middle finger, the constant stinging slices of what have to be paper cuts, and the bruises they pass back and forth from jamming their fingers on their typewriters. (her soul mate also has a typewriter? match made in heaven.)

the morning of her 21st birthday, she wakes up sorer than she's ever been in her entire life. everything hurts; she feels like she got hit by a car. as she stretches in front of her mirror, she catches a weird yellow tint on her side and pulls her shirt up to expose a bruise that runs from her right hip to her shoulder blade. and her heart stops.

she honestly hadn't given her soul mate that much thought at this point in her life. some people take out personal ads, some people get specific injuries in order to compare them to others, some people lightly scratch names and addresses into their skin to get the whole thing over with. she'd never felt the need to do that--she was at a good place in life, at a good school, doing good work--and apparently, neither did her soul mate. she'd always assumed she'd find them when she'd find them and not think about it until then.

but a bruise that covered her entire side, aches that made it hard for her to walk down the stairs... what was going on?

it gets continues. a burst of pain from her ankle while walking across the radcliffe review offices caused her to fall and hit her head on a desk, probably giving her soul mate a rough go of it wherever they were. a rip of searing pain across her spine made her cry out during a lecture, embarrassing, then terrifying when she saw the strip of skin that had been ripped diagonally across her back. her right thumb was almost consistently bruised, and the pain from it getting jammed against something faded into a part of her life.

it wasn't until david writes, describing a common thumb injury that soldiers have from getting their hands jammed in their rifles, that it clicks. bootcamp injuries--falling from a climbing wall, a sprained ankle on a run, an ammo belt getting caught while climbing a fence and peeling the skin off your back.

she held david's letter, shaking, then threw up in her bathroom.

she wakes up in the middle of the night, blinding white pain behind her eyes, ringing in her ears, and figures it's from being too close to an explosion. her achilles tendons are rubbed raw from boots that don't fit. she tries to keep up with the fighting obsessively for a fortnight before she realizes it's futile to try to pinpoint where her soul mate could be. there are hundreds of thousands of men over there, from multiple countries, too.

the best she can do is hope that he's okay. petition for peace. protest. fight for them to come home.

the skin on her forearms is red and irritated all the time, hot to touch and peeling, and when david writes about the sun burn soldiers get from holding their rifles out in front of them while they walk, georgie thinks maybe.

he's a writer, he told her about the time he cut his foot on a rock while swimming in cape cod--and she has a scar running along the bottom of her right foot, he went through boot camp, he's in vietnam now. maybe.

she runs to the bathroom and throws up, again.

she wakes in the middle of the night screaming with a white hot pain burning under her ribs on her back. a week later, one of david's letters says he caught shrapnel in the back in the a shau valley, and she was becoming quite acquainted with her toilet.

she doesn't tell him because she can't. part of her has too much pride; she published all of their letters, and she didn't want to get that vulnerable in front of all of their readers. it would be a conflict of interest as well, attempting to engage with good faith in intellectual debates on war and government with her soul mate.

she loses sleep, can barely eat, and thank god school's out for the summer because her grades would've undoubtedly slipped. she's worried all the time, grateful when she's not in pain but always worried about when the next hit will come.

she'd come to care about david, before concluding that they were soul mates. she loved writing to him, hearing his thoughts, talking with him despite some of his infuriating ideas about justice and war. she loved when they debated, when his arguments were hard to pick apart or when he came at her from an angle she wasn't expecting. she loved hearing about his life, their parallel existences as new yorkers who moved to boston. she loved sending him books and getting them back with his hastily scrawled annotations and thoughts. (those didn't make the letters. that was just for them.)

she's walking through the radcliffe review offices one morning, on her third cup of coffee at 7 am because an explosive headache woke her up at 3 and she knew she wouldn't fall asleep again, when it feels like someone took a two-by-four the back of her leg.

she saved the coffee, but the feeling was so disorienting that she had to sit on the wood floor for a moment before it dulled to an ache. she hobbled to her desk then to the bathroom to vomit, because she remembered an account from a marine that got published in one of the harvard magazines.

gunshot wounds don't sting, they don't burn... they feel like getting punched. it's a dull, bruising, ringing pain, like getting hit with a baseball bat.

he wasn't dead, she'd know if he was dead. but she leaves before anyone else gets to the office, and spends the day in nauseous hell, and the next day, and the week an a half after that before she gets a letter saying that david indeed had been shot, and that he was coming home.

bonus scene:

She's sprawled out on her bed in nearly nothing as his lips roam her skin, his hands finding where he wants to kiss next. I'm sorry, he says, brushing his mouth over a horizontal scar across her shin.

You never explained that one, she says.

He laughs. I don't remember it.

It's from bootcamp.

He laugh again and shakes his head. Still don't remember.

His big hands wind their way to her calf muscle, where two circular scars sit on either side of her leg. His lips press so gently, yet so warmly. I'm really sorry about this one.

Hey, she shrugs. It brought you home.

[something-tofightfor]

2023 Summer Kiss Prompt #8: Oberyn Martell - Apology Kiss / Jealous Kissing

These were the two most difficult prompts for Oberyn ... and yet they made total sense to combine.

Thank you to @oonajaeadira and @crazysouthernlady for trusting me with our favorite Dornishman.

I got a little carried away with this one, but what Oberyn wants, he gets.

This is not connected to any other Oberyn I've written - so please enjoy.

Word Count: 4,102

Even though you knew that Oberyn operated on no one’s schedule but his own, it was unlike him to be so late. With one final glance down at your watch, you sighed, rolling your eyes as you raised a finger to signal the bartender.

“What can I get you?” The young woman grinned, her eyes sparkling from behind heavy, dark lashes. Wonder if he’s the one that hired her. “Another of the same? What was it, Blood and Sand?” 

“Yeah. That sounds good. I think that he’s going to be …” You trailed off, shrugging. “Much later than I anticipated.” She gave you a sympathetic smile, raising an eyebrow and nodding before she turned away. Only a minute or so later, the drink was in front of you, along with a small bowl of the snack mix that the bar was known for - fresh berries, salted nuts and an assortment of crackers. “Thank you.” 

Oberyn had asked you to meet him there that night, promising that once he finished handling a few things in the afternoon, he was yours for the rest of the weekend. But the time he’d said he’d meet you came and went more than an hour earlier, and the single message you’d sent to ask if everything was alright had gone unanswered. Unread, actually. 

You knew he was busy. Knew that what you had between you wasn’t defined, and that being with someone as in demand as him was bound to lead to disappointment in the long run. But he’s never flat out ignored me before. He’s never blown me off. 

Sipping through the straw, you let your gaze wander around the inside of the bar. It was the third location of the small chain he managed with his brother and sister - one concept designed to match each of their personalities - and it was one of the hottest spots in town.Has been for months. 

You’d met him there while attending the grand opening with a group of your friends, catching the man’s eye from across the room while the four of you laughed and drank thanks to an invite through work. You knew who he was immediately, and had no plans to approach him, because you were no stranger to his reputation. 

But Oberyn’s plans were different. 

Not even ten minutes later, he’d sent over a round of drinks to the table along with a message that the remainder of your night was taken care of, too - no strings attached. You met his eye again as he raised a drink in one hand, his wink visible even across the crowded room - and from over the shoulder of the dark haired woman draped across his lap. 

You gave him a nod and a small smile of your own, but had left it at that - until you were leaving a few hours later and the path to the door took you by his VIP area. 

The silken curtains that had previously been opened to expose the booth to public view were closed. You hadn’t seen him leave, so you figured that he was still inside - but what you hadn’t counted on was the sound of a voice carrying through a crack in those curtains and curling into your ears like smoke. “I hope you enjoyed your evening.” 

There was no stopping it - your footsteps faltered and your head turned to the side, lips parted in surprise. But the bigger surprise was the material moving to the side and the man himself peeking around the edge of it, his eyes locked with yours. He was shirtless, pants hanging low on his narrow hips, and you watched as the fire crept into his eyes at your startled expression, the man’s lips curving up into an almost dangerous smile. 

You managed to answer - telling him that you’d enjoyed yourselves thoroughly, and Oberyn’s smile grew. His eyes remained on you even at the sound of a woman calling his name from behind him, and you couldn’t resist giving him a little sass in response, your head slightly fuzzy from the drinks you’d consumed. “But not as thoroughly as you seem to be enjoying yourself right now, Mr. Martell.” 

He’d paused - only briefly - before reaching down to press his hand flat against his belly, eyes narrowing almost in challenge. “We will have to do something about that next time. Come back soon. Anything you desire within these walls  is yours.” And then he was gone, the curtain swishing back into place and obscuring him from view.

You’d stayed away for a month, and then curiosity got the better of you. 

You and a friend decided to head back to the Viper’s Den for a drink on a Thursday, fully prepared to wait in the admission line … but instead, you’d been ushered inside as soon as the bouncer saw you, two seats in a prime location at the bar offered before you realized what was going on. 

It took him less than an hour to step up behind you, the man welcoming you back and then offering to accompany you into the private lounge - though it wasn’t his lounge area, and there were no curtains to close. The three of you talked until it got late, Oberyn offering a car to take her home while he escorted you personally - and you agreed, the word yes dripping from your lips before you could stop yourself. 

He didn’t try anything in the car, though the two of you sat close together in the back seat, the man’s fingers laced with yours and his thumb running slowly over your knuckle. He was different there, the short drive and complete privacy allowing him to turn off the swagger and persona he adopted in public … and that was the Oberyn Martell you fell for. 

Over the course of the next few weeks, you got to know him in the club and out, trading contact information and building up a friendship. He flirted - heavily, the man’s charm a constant presence, but he never pushed you or used his position to encourage more than you were ready to give. 

And when you finally went to bed with him, it felt like an extension of the friendship, a natural progression of things between you that changed nothing about the way you behaved with each other … and everything about the way you felt about him in one fell swoop. 

That continued for a year, and in that time, both of you dated other people, though you always gravitated back into each other’s arms and beds, the familiarity and comfort of being with him a welcome reward for a hard day or a successful week at work. Every touch of the man’s hands or press of his mouth against your skin confirmed what you already knew to be true about your feelings for him.  You wanted more but knew that you could never ask for it without disappointment. So you didn’t, even though it got harder and harder with each passing day. 

But that night was the first time he’d outright forgotten you - leaving you hanging at the bar he’d invited you to, surrounded by people oblivious to the hurt that was clawing at the inside of your chest. Your phone vibrated, the screen lighting up, and for a split second, you thought it was him, messaging to let you know that he was on his way. 

It wasn’t. 

The hurt turned to anger at the image attached to the alert. It was a tagged photo taken through the glass of a restaurant window and posted on social media, Oberyn’s arm around the shoulders of a dark haired beauty that you didn’t recognize, his head turned so that he could speak into her ear. That’s it. I’m done. 

Darkening the screen, you shoved your phone into your purse, digging for your wallet and pulling out a few bills to leave as a tip for the bartender. You finished your drink and stood, slinging the strap over your shoulder and weaving through the crowd on your way to the door. 

It wasn’t that he was with another woman, even though that stung, too. 

You knew that there were others - even others like Ellaria that he saw just as frequently as he saw you. You knew that he wasn’t really yours, and that you had no right to dictate who he spent time with or what kind of time they spent together. He said he’d be here. He invited me here tonight, and then he just … 

Oberyn was many things - and being a man of his word was near the top of that list. And that’s why this is … You wiped a tear away from beneath your eye with one hand as you prepared to hail a cab, but when you saw the car that he always had on standby parked near the curb, you headed there instead. Might as well take it one last time. 

The drive to your place was a short one because the traffic was light, but even the limited time wasn’t enough to keep you from pulling your phone out and staring at the image, lower lip caught between your teeth. It was the first time he’d disappointed you in the entire time you’d known him, and it hurt. 

I thought we were friends. The car pulled to a stop and then idled, the driver telling you to have a good night as you climbed out. You stood on the sidewalk, watching it pull away and merge back into traffic, and as the taillights disappeared, you let out a long sigh, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“This is not how I pictured tonight going.” You winced at the sound of his voice, shoulders stiffening. “Doreah told me you left, and I figured … I figured this was the only place you would go.” You heard his quiet footsteps as Oberyn approached, the man stopping before he got close enough to touch you. “Why did you leave? I thought we -”

“You were an hour and a half late, Oberyn.” Turning to look at him, you shrugged. “You didn’t answer my text - you didn’t even read it. And then I saw a picture of you at dinner, and I just …” Tilting your head back, you curled your fingers against your palms. “You can spend time with whoever you want to, and it’s fine, but…” 

Bringing your chin back down, you met his gaze for the first time that night, unsure of what you’d find there. The look in his eyes surprised you. He watched you silently, head tilted to one side and a line between his brows, but his expression was even. He’s just waiting. Waiting to see what I say, how I handle  this. “But what?” He stepped closer, shaking his head. “Finish that sentence. Please.” 

“But I think I deserve to be told when you’re not going to show up somewhere, Oberyn. I don’t expect all of your time, but if you make plans with someone, I think the least you could do is let them know if you’re not going to keep them.” 

Under the glow of the streetlight, Oberyn stood completely still, his expression unchanged. You’d more than likely crossed a line, but that didn’t mean that the words were any less true. “I have always said that you should tell me how you feel.” 

“Sure have.” Rolling your eyes, you forced yourself to keep your arms by your sides instead of crossing them protectively over your chest like you wanted to. “So I hope it was a -”

“You saw a picture of me?” Blinking, he took another step closer, eyes narrowing. “At dinner?” He hummed, pushing his shoulders back. “What was I doing in the picture?” With a scoff, you reached into your bag for your phone, bringing the picture up and showing it to him. “Oh.” Oberyn hummed, a brief smile twisting the corners of his mouth upward. “I’m here now, and you should know very well that that means I did not go to bed with her.”

You laughed then, the sound sharp, and when you stuffed the phone back into your purse, you reached up, holding your hand out in front of him, palm forward. “Oberyn that isn’t the point. You’ve slept with how many people since we’ve known each other? I’m pissed that you asked me to meet you and then you didn’t even have the courtesy to send a message that said ‘Hey I’m sorry, I’m going to be late. Having dinner with someone’ or ‘I’m sorry, something came up. I’ve gotta cancel’.” Lowering your hand, you placed it on your hip. “You knew what time we were supposed to meet.You reminded me earlier today. It would have taken fifteen seconds to let me know you wouldn’t be there. That’s all.” 

“Would you still have wanted to meet me tonight if I had slept with Talisa?” He wet his lips and then pressed them together. “Knowing that -”

“Probably not.” You were already being honest with him, and didn’t think there was any point in lying. “I definitely wouldn’t have wanted to have sex only a few hours after you’d been with someone else, but …” You shrugged. “But that just proves my point. You should have told me, Oberyn. We’re friends, and -” 

“I would not have done that.” He shook his head. “To you of all people.” He smoothed down the front of his shirt, your eyes following the movement and unconsciously lingering on the exposed skin of his upper chest. Oberyn went silent and your mind wandered, breath leaving you in a quiet huff as you thought about how unfair it was that he had the nerve to look so good when you were so mad at him. Nobody looks good in mustard yellow. Nobody, but he - “And there is no probably, you would have told me that you didn’t want to see me tonight if you knew that I was with someone else earlier in the evening.” 

He knew it was true because he knew you, and that made it even worse. “And yet here you are.” You spit the words out, more venom in them than you anticipated, but still less than he deserved. “Maybe you should have slept with her, Oberyn. Because you’re definitely not getting there with me tonight. Not after this. Not -”

“I do not blame you.” Shaking his head, Oberyn crossed his arms first, taking a deep breath. “For being angry with me. I deserve it. I understand that I should have… but it came up last minute. Elia’s friends were in town, and what you did not see in that picture was that she was sitting across from me. She and her husband were there, and the woman?” He smiled then, the expression genuine. “Talisa? Her husband was also there. But he stepped away from the table to take a phone call. That picture was taken at an…” He frowned, thinking. “An inopportune moment.” 

“That doesn’t make it any better, Oberyn.” But the truth of it was that it did make it better, even if only a little. You believed that he wouldn’t have come to you after being with someone else. You believed that Elia and her husband had been there, and that despite his interest in sex and his lack of boundaries when it came to sex, Oberyn never would have done anything to break up the relationship of his sister’s friends. But he still stood me up. And that’s bullshit. 

“In all the time I’ve known you, I have never known you to be jealous.” I’m not. I’m not jealous. He sighed, swallowing. “You know me and what I enjoy. You know my history. You know how I spend my time, and you have never … judged me for it.” He reached up, scratching the side of his head and then said your name, letting a slow breath out through his nose. “I have seen disappointment in your eyes before. I have heard it sometimes, in your voice when we’re talking about the things that have happened since we last saw each other.” 

Cautiously, he reached for you - the man’s fingertips sliding down the bare skin of your arm. “Oberyn, stop. I’m not -” Am I?  

“But you have never shown true jealousy.” You weren’t proud of the assessment, because it was true. You knew what you’d gotten into when you started seeing him, had known Oberyn’s routine and his behaviors, and had accepted it because you wanted to be near him. “You’ve seen me with Ellaria. You’ve met her. I have not kept what I do and who I do it with a secret, and yet…” He eyed you, taking another breath “And yet it is this that puts you over the edge.”

“Yes, because you ditched me, Oberyn. I’m not jealous, I’m pissed. I don’t like being ignored or stood up. My time is worth more than that. Having a casual relationship is fine, but we’re still friends. And the fact that you beat me here proves that you know that what happened tonight was not cool. I would have been disappointed if you’d canceled or told me you’d be late, but I would have understood, because it’s not a regular occurrence. It happens.” You took a half step away from him, head whipping back and forth. “But this? This fucking hurts, Oberyn. Because -” 

“I think I like you jealous.” The smile was back on his face, his eyes gleaming in the dim lighting. “I like it a lot, actually. Because it proves that I -  

“Oh, fuck you, Oberyn.” You spun away from him, digging for your keys. “I need some time. Leave me alone for a few days. Let me be mad at you, and then …” You closed your fingers around the bundle in your purse, scoffing. “Then we’ll see if -” 

You stopped speaking at the feeling of his fingers closing around your arm, just above your elbow. He squeezed gently, the man’s presence behind you growing as he moved even closer. “Wait. Turn around and look at me.” You didn’t want to. You wanted to keep going, to unlock your door and go inside, slamming it in his face. 

But you didn’t, instead turning and facing him, the man’s grip loosening, though he didn’t pull his hand away. He watched you intently, his expression unreadable, but when you relaxed - only slightly - he nodded, closing his eyes. What is going on with him? 

When Oberyn’s eyes opened again, they’d softened, the look in them similar to the one he gave you sometimes when he didn’t think you were paying attention. He wasn’t Oberyn Martell, multi-millionaire heir to the Dornish empire or owner of The Viper’s Den. He wasn’t the Red Viper, a man that moved in carefully and struck quickly, taking what he wanted and not thinking twice until it was done. He was just Oberyn then - the bravado gone and the facade dropped, a man looking at a woman that he cared about, unguarded. 

“I am sorry.” Opening your mouth to interrupt, he stopped you, the slight tightening of his fingers halting the words in the back of your throat. “I’m so sorry for not letting you know I couldn’t meet you. I’m sorry for not keeping my word.” He paused again, blinking slowly. “I’m sorry that I hurt you.” 

In the year that you’d known him, you’d never heard the man apologize - except once to Elia for making a joke that she’d taken poorly. 

You hadn’t been meant to hear that, the words whispered into her ear as he pulled her away from the group of people they were speaking to, his mouth forming words smoothly and paired with a squeeze of her wrist. Not to Ellaria. Not to Doran. Not to any of the employees or the people I’ve seen him turn down. To Elia and to … me. 

“Oberyn, I …” Closing your eyes, you took a shuddering breath. “You…” It should have taken more than that - more than a simple apology that didn’t at all make up for what he’d done. But it was the shock of hearing those words from him for the first time, seeing his expression as he spoke them and watching the way his body moved - curling toward you, the hand not on your arm twitching like he was warring against himself not to reach out and touch you. 

With other men, apologies were meaningless, just words spoken to placate someone until the next time they needed to be used. But with him, just like with everything else he said, you knew that he wouldn’t have wasted the breath to apologize if he didn’t mean it. Oberyn’s words always held meaning, no matter how insignificant they seemed. And I’m not going to waste this. I’m not going to waste what might be the only time he ever … 

“I know you are.” Reaching up, you pressed your palm to his cheek, watching as the tilt of his head changed subtly, pressing toward your skin. “And you’re right. I think…” Dropping your chin and shaking your head, you shuddered. “I was jealous tonight. Jealous that someone else got to spend time with you when it was supposed to be me.” 

It came out in a rush, but once you’d said it, you felt lighter, the truth hanging between you. He’d seen through you because he saw everything, and even though you knew that having any sort of possessive thoughts about Oberyn’s time was not a good idea, keeping it to yourself that night hadn’t ever really been an option, especially after he’d been so open. Just like not going back to the bar and to him after the first night wasn’t. 

“Well I’m here now.” He inched closer, his other hand finally rising to settle against your hip, thumb stroking in a slow arc over it. “And I would really like to … stay.” Logically, you knew that he meant that the wanted to stay the night - that he wanted to salvage whatever you could from the broken date. But there’s always more to what he says than… 

You didn’t even think about it before you leaned in, tipping your head to the side and pressing your mouth to his. He let you, fingertips digging into your skin, and when you moved your hand back so that you could tangle your fingers in his hair, Oberyn finally sighed. 

It was you that started things - and then took advantage of his sigh and the slight part of his lips, deepening the kiss at the same time you urged him closer. 

But it was Oberyn that took over - as he so often did - the hand on your hip dragging you forward to leave no space between your bodies, the hand on your elbow slipping free and then between your arm and your side, snaking up the center of your back to keep you close.

He kissed you hungrily - like the admissions of remorse and jealousy had unlocked something new in him. And maybe they did, because … You pulled on his hair, groaning as he licked into your mouth, but then Oberyn pushed you away abruptly, the man’s lips set into a smirk that you knew well. “What are -”

“I would not mind it, but I don’t think you want this to keep going here.” Using the hand from your hip, he gestured to the space around you. “Especially when I know how comfortable so many places in your house are.” 

You laughed at, the remaining tension breaking, but instead of pulling completely out of his arms, you leaned back in, kissing Oberyn’s cheek. For you, Oberyn Martell, I am a pushover. “If we go inside, I’m going to need you to show me just how sorry you are.” 

He hummed and you could hear the smile in it, his nod turning into a gentle tug on your hand as you headed up the driveway. “There are plenty of hours left before the sun comes up.” He looked over at you, the smirk still present on his lips. “And I have nowhere else to be tomorrow, do you?” 

Your stomach bottomed out at his words - the man’s voice low and full of promise. But even then, you could hear the undertone of sincerity in it - and despite the earlier anger, you were already more than halfway to forgiving him. I’ll be all the way there in a little while. What does that say about me? 

“Absolutely nowhere, Oberyn.” 

— 

[bagofshinyrocks]

Government name vs Military callsign

Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: none

John Price

Government name.

Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.

“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”

Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.

“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”

“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”

He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.

“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”

When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.

Simon Riley

Military callsign.

When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.

“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”

“Fuck you callin’ me that for?” 

Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.

“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.

“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”

Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips. 

A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.

Kyle Garrick

Government name.

He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.

“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”

Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.

If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?

“Kyle Ga-”

“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”

You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”

“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”

He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room. 

“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.

John MacTavish

Military callsign.

He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.

Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.

“SOAP!”

Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.

“JOHNNY!”

“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.

“C’mere, c’mere.”

He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”

You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”

He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”

“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”

“You called me Soap.”

“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”

Posted: 2023 Dec 10