#at home so . i can barely fucking be on here . until i finish every single thing i have assigned . soo . fucking yayyy

[angelsforthenight]

i could eat that girl for lunch… (ellie williams)

ways you can help gaza🇵🇸

summary: you post cute pictures on your story in the hopes of gaining a certain girl’s attention… luckily you get more than what you anticipated ;)

cw: mdni, fem!reader, texting, cunnilingus, desperate top!ellie, teasing sub!reader, cannibalistic metaphors, cursing, ellie is goofy lmao

you’re this close to screaming. the winged eyeliner on your left eye somehow keeps fucking up; either looking too splotchy or shorter than your right one. what’s pissing you off the most is the fact that you aren’t even going anywhere… getting all dolled up just to take it all off in 15 minutes, just to post cute little photos on your story and, of course, just to get her attention.

ellie williams. the name rolled off your tongue with such velvety sleek. every single one of your friends knows her name; has had to endure through your countless obsessive gushes.

you two had met during a party. having been in a drunken haze, you barely remember the first conversation that sparked such an interest, but you do remember her gin breath against your ear: asking/shouting, amidst the blaring music, if you had wanted to go somewhere a little more quieter. the night ended up in you being fingered in her car, before being driven back home by her. a freckle-faced angel in a leather jacket coated with small pins and badges. you were immediately hooked. but it’s been a week since then, and you two haven’t spoken. having achieved her number, you thought of messaging, but didn’t want to come across as desperate, even though you so are.

you thank instagram suggested for bringing you her account on a platter; being filled with niche, introverted posts of every cool-looking thing but her face. she doesn’t even have a “me” highlights! you can’t tell if her lack in posting her face is a blessing or a curse. so here you are, getting ready to post on your story since you followed her the day before. the skin around your eye is starting to sting by the amount of times you’ve been wiping and restarting your eyeliner. it needs to be perfect. you’ve orchestrated all this to be perfect. you take a deep breath and focus, striving to get the perfect wing.

“thank fuck.” you murmur under your breath once you finally get it right, before enveloping your lips in lipstick. you admire yourself in the mirror once done. you look fucking amazing.

since you spent way too long putting on your makeup, it wouldn’t be fair to yourself to only post one picture, so you post a couple. a mirror picture following up a layout of 4 images with the perfect song in the background. a little smile tugs at your lips as you replay the story two, three, four times before setting it on do not disturb and finding something else to do. your heart pounds at the thought of ellie seeing it, praying that she’ll interact. even a simple like will do.

after removing your makeup and getting into your pyjamas, you click on a movie to pass time, setting your phone on do not disturb. half an hour passes, and you’ve been neurotically checking your phone for a sign of ellie to appear on your notifications, but nothing. you check your story to see if she’s seen it but again, nothing. another hour passes, and you check for any sign of ellie. nada. look at my story, you freak! are the words etched in your head, words you wished you could telepathically scream at her. you remember you set your phone on do not disturb for a reason, so you place it far away and focus on finishing the film.

a while later, you’re slumped on your couch on the verge of falling asleep. the movie’s ended and it was so boring that you’re finding it hard to keep your eyes open. you decide to check your do not disturb notifications one last time before taking a nap, until your eyes fall on the name ‘ellie.’ you immediately jerk up, awake and alert: your thumb automatically pressing the notification centre so you can see what it reads.

seventeen minutes ago.

ellie liked your story

ellie liked your story

ellie replied to your story: doll face

ellie replied to your story: you need a seat? lemme volunteer 🙏🙏

a shit-eating grin lights up your face. fucking finally! not once but twice! you excitedly draw your knees up to your chest, eager fingers tapping away, ready to respond - regardless of how long you’d been waiting for her texts. play it cool….

y/n: hahaha thank u thank u <3

y/n: (replied) oh word?

you’re surprised and very happy when you see the ‘typing…’ your heart doing goddamn backflips.

ellie: wooooord

ellie: literally cannot stop replaying ur story… bring that over here 🙁

ellie: come over

!!! your heart sinks all the way down to your ass. the hell does she mean come over?

y/n: ur not serious lmaoaoaooa

ellie: i’m being deadass,,, come over.

you look at the time. it’s almost 1 in the morning.

y/n: idek where u live bru😭😭😭😭

y/n: if anything you should come over since you’ve driven me to my house b4

ellie: mmm nahhhh

you blink in disbelief when ellie sends her location over. she’s not kidding.

y/n: girl i look bummy… i don’t even have any makeup on anymore :< took it off

ellie: i really don’t care

ellie: plsplspsls come over

ellie: u won’t regret it……………. trust 🤓🤓

next thing you know you’re leaving your house in your plaid shorts and a silly graphic tee. thankfully, ellie only lives 10 minutes away, so you take a bus before walking up to her apartment.

y/n: i’m cominggg

ellie: LOL yeaa you will be coming real soon 😇😇😇

though you cringe at her text, your body betrays you; your stomach forming a deep pit. she’s so sultry and playful you don’t know even know what to think. and there goes your heart again, hastily beating away like there’s no tomorrow. you reach the door, a trembling hand raising up to knock.

“hi.” ellie beams, smiling like an idiot. her eyes seize you from head to toe, “nice fit.”

“told you i looked bummy...” you mumbled, trying your best not to seem nervous. ellie moves aside so you can come in. her apartment smells exactly like she does; that faint campfire scent, conjoined with a forest-ey musk. a forest fire you were more than willing to burn in.

“so…“ you begin, with nothing prepared to follow up after that.

“sooooooo….” ellie repeats blithely.

“it’s been a week since… you know…” you whisper, awkwardly shifting your legs.

“since…?” ellie blinks, furrowing her eyebrows. she’s taunting you, trying to play innocent when it’s pretty fucking obvious what you’re on about.

“the party.” you respond, entertaining her coyness for no reason.

“party?” ellie pretends to think, looking up at nothing. “oh!! yeah… jesse’s one.” she smirks.

you smirk back, furrowing your eyebrows in amusement. “you could do so much better at playing dumb, y’know…”

“you think so?” ellie narrows her eyes, tilting her head as she steps closer. the impish smirk on her face never leaves. she’s having fun. you both are.

“yup. for your own good, don’t choose acting as a career.”

“for my own good?”

“for your own good.” you haven’t even realised how close you two are to each other now, daring eyes locked with another pair of daring eyes. takes one to know one. a silence permeated with tension fills the room.

“c’mere…” ellie finally mumbles before cupping your face with both hands and bringing you in for a kiss. you’re quick to melt in her grasp, your hand finding it’s way to ellie’s hair, giving it a playful tight squeeze that elicits a quiet groan from her. her hands, those goddamn hands, then move to your waist, pulling you closer. you two don’t even waste time before you’re making out with such fervor. save the sweetness for later, it’s the hunger that’s on display for now. the memory of her lips were starting to slip away from your mind and you’re glad you’re here to reboot it.

once you pull away, ellie’s eyes drift to something behind you. you follow her gaze, only for your eyes to land on a chair in the middle of the goddamn living room. it’s so random that you can’t help but burst out laughing.

“why is there a chair?” you ask in the midst of your laughing fit. it’s not even that funny, but the laughing is helping with your nerves.

“it’s for you.” ellie giggles too, a light pink tint on her cheeks that’s hard to miss.

“me?” you blink rapidly, your gaze darting from the chair to ellie, “do i sit?” you ask stupidly.

“no, you stand.” sarcasm laces her tone, as she giggles a little more, “go sit.”

“don’t order me around like i’m your dog.” you respond playfully, but you do as she says. despite your ‘tough’ front, you’d do anything she’d tell you to. guess she was being literal about offering you a seat…

ellie grins down at you, angling your chin up so you’re looking at her. you can feel the heat start to prickle in your face, down your neck and pervading the rest of your body. her thumb traces along your bottom lip, slightly dragging it down. there’s that same darkened look she had back in her car, one that makes you feel so small.

“so cute… like a human deer.” she murmurs distractedly, almost like she’s talking to herself instead of you. your head grows fuzzy, blushing even more. you mindlessly squeeze your thighs together, trying to ease the growing heat in between. ellie notices.

“you doing okay?” she softly asks, unable to mask the smug look on her face. you nod quietly. with her eyes kept on you, she lowers down until she’s on her knees, her smile growing. she kisses the top of both your kneecaps in such a tender way it sends tingles down your spine.

“can i eat you?” she breathes, her voice hollow and needy. it takes a second for those words to register in your brain.

“you…” you trail off. ellie’s gaze is very, very distracting. so intense and intrusive. she patiently waits for your answer, resting her chin on top of your knees. how can someone look so adorable and intimidating at the same time?

“please?” she adds, and you smile. a realisation has just dawned on you: you like to make her wait.

“eat me?” you cock your head to the side in feigned confusion. now it’s your turn to play dumb.

“yeah… like, your pussy.” ellie mumbles, becoming so desperate that it’s funny. she needed to be humbled at least a little. “i want a taste…”

“yeah?” you mock, and ellie’s face warps into a frown. “stop teasing me.”

“it’s only payback.” you shrug.

“for what?” ellie whines.

“for taking a week to text me.”

ellie stares at you for a moment. “then let me make it up to you…” her eyes travel down to your clamped thighs, wanting to open them up so bad. truth is, you’d let her devour you. chew you up like a deranged creature and watch her greedily lick the blood from her fingers. but teasing her was just so damn fun.

“aren’t your knees getting tired?” you tease, cupping the side of her face as she stares up at you with puppy eyes. it’s getting hard to resist. ellie immediately shakes her head.

“for you? never.” she whispers. your grin broadens in satisfaction. such sweet words. meaningless? maybe, but cute nonetheless.

“fine…” you sigh, leaning back and gesturing for ellie to go forth. ellie’s face lights up like a bulb, eagerly parting your legs. the movement makes you shiver, as you can feel the heated moisture of your arousal seep through your underwear. despite your shorts still being on, ellie’s lips travel up, both hands gripping your sides as her lips leave fond, wet kisses along your inner thigh. her teeth clench around the hem of your shorts, letting out a muffled chuckle as she playfully pulls your shorts down with her teeth. she’s kidding around but that’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen in your life.

you adjust your knees so that your shorts can be pulled down. you’re so wet your underwear is fucking see-through. you just know she’s about to say something.

“someone’s real excited-“

“shut up and keep going.” you hastily cut her off out of embarrassment. ellie laughs, glancing at you one more time before leaning back down again, dragging her ardent tongue up your inner thigh. you gasp quietly, and that little noise influences her to do more, letting out a sigh of her own; the sort of sigh you do when relaxing in a hot bath, or when pissing after holding it in for so long… like she’s needed this. you’re startled when ellie drags her tongue right in the center of your clothed heat, your breath hitching. you want more.

ellie’s teasing is relentless and mean. she sucks your clit through your underwear, eyes on you; observing the way your hips are desperately buckling up, the way your thighs are twitching.

“so mean…” you whine as ellie flicks and rolls her tongue against your underwear.

“did you want something?” ellie blinks. again with the coyness. you scowl and ellie grins in return.

“you can’t outdo the do-er, babe.” she chirps, pulling the drenched underwear off your legs. she opens your legs wide, staring at your pussy like it’s the best piece of artwork she’s ever seen. you can practically see sparkles in her eyes. you shiver when you feel her fingers pry your cunt open.

“so fucking hungry for you…” she whispers, her breathing shallow and her eyes glazed-over. she gets to work immediately, a firm trail up your vulva before kissing it with her lips. a fleshed moan doesn’t fail to escape your own lips, as your eyes flutter shut. of course she’d be good at this.

ellie moans too, gripping your thighs and pulling you closer, burying her face in between your legs as she goes to town on you. she’s moving like she’s starving, like she hasn’t eaten for weeks and has been presented with a banquet.

her lips tug at your folds, your pussy slick with a mixture of your arousal and her spit. every single time her lips hit your clit it elicits yet another strong reaction from you. she’s so vigilant that she’s quick to notice that that’s your most delicate spot, so she abuses it; kissing it and pulling on it, her head shaking as she pleases you with her tongue. you nourish her with hushed praises: ones like “yes, yes…” or “you’re doing so good” to keep her going. it fuels ellie like no other, and drives her to go harder, a little faster.

her movements are so consistent and perfect that you could froth in the mouth right here and now. you grip her hair tightly, and ellie adores it: groaning happily when you squeeze too tight. you mindlessly push ellie’s head closer to your pussy, feeling the tip of her nose buried in. your moans begin to crescendo. you’re in fucking ecstasy.

“getting close, are we?” ellie pants, her thumb rubbing your clit in slow, teasing drags as she resumes sucking on your cunt.

“i’m gonna cum… i’m cumming… e-ellie…” you babble, tears threatening to pour; and it isn’t just the eye tears we’re talking about here…

“yeah? you gonna let yourself go?” ellie stares up at you, her voice a little higher and breathier. her face is warped into one of pleasure, like she’s the one being fucked.

“yeah… please ellie, i’m really close…” you whine: barely coherent, light tears streaming down your face. ellie chuckles at how adorable you look, taking a second to appreciate how good you look when needy. she dives back in, her nails digging into your thigh as her mouth moves with the perfect vigour to push you off the edge. and oh, you do.

one last strong lick gets you off: your spine bending backwards, same as your head as you let out a strangled scream. you grip her hair tightly, your eyes momentarily rolling to the back of your head as ellie purposely continues to extend the high a little bit. eventually, she pulls back. the both are you are completely out of breath - huffing and panting like dogs.

you slump back in your chair, completely out of it and in a daze. ellie smiles.

“you okay?” she murmurs, appreciating your cute, spent look. you nod quietly in response.

“fuck, my knees.” she mumbles, before sitting back and stretching them. you laugh a little.

“there was no need for the chair.” you reply.

“i know… but i wanted to. it was hot.”

“it was.” you smile. you’re glad you decided to get dolled up for your story tonight.

a/n: i’m back! i’ve been so caught up in school that i haven’t been able to post fics as much but i’ll try 2 be more active :33 i’m absolutely obsessed with billie’s lunch so i made an ellie fic based off of it. hope u enjoyed and if u have any requests leave them in the ask inbox !!!

[avocado-writing]

being the worst wolverine’s wife and one day you get zapped by the TVA for whatever reason, and it looks like you completely disappeared, this is what leads logan to become depressed, start drinking and ultimately ignore the x men when they die etc etc

he goes with wade purely bc he would if you were alive- he couldn’t give less of a shit about wade’s universe but he can feel you over his shoulder like an angel telling him he needs to do this (i imagine it’s like the jean hallucinations he had in the wolverine movie)

what if you’re in the void and he finds you with the rest of the group, like being unable to believe you’re really here?

hehe i love angst and ily avo <3

I already did a “Logan meets you in the void” fic here so I didn’t wanna make this too long or I’d just end up hitting the same beats!

1.4k. rated m for excessive use of the word “fuck”

The day you disappeared you took his fucking soul with him. 

You had been out shopping. Nothing weird about that, he wasn’t some overbearing husband who demanded to know your location every single hour. But then afternoon had turned into evening had turned into night and nobody had heard from you. The unfamiliar sensation of panic had risen, queasy, from his stomach into his chest. They sent out a search party and looked for days. Not a trace of you to be found. Logan couldn’t smell you. Fuck, he’d never not been able to smell you before.

He would hunt for you every day, hoping to find you alive but trying to level with the idea of you being cold and dead because at least then he’d have closure; he’d stay awake for hours on end until he collapsed from exhaustion… then he’d wake up and repeat the whole horrible affair. Nothing. After weeks of searching, Charles had laid a hand on his arm. Logan can still remember the look of pity on his face, like a bomb to the gut. 

“I’m so sorry, Logan.”

They had to assume you were abducted and killed. Your body never turned up. And Logan just had to… keep going. How was he meant to keep going? You were his entire fucking life and then you were just…

Gone. 

To say he was left empty was the biggest understatement of his fucking life. He was a shell of the man he once was. He never laughed any more, never smiled, always trying to plug the hole your absence left in him with whatever alcohol he could get his hands on. Drink himself to a place where he could forget you.

It never really worked. At least it made him numb to the pain though. 

When he staggers home one evening, eyes bleary and head spinning, and finds the whole mansion torched? Everyone left that he loved fucking dead? Well, it takes the last vestiges of his existence and crushes them into dust. 

Oh, Logan, he hears in the back of his mind. Your voice. It breaks him. He falls to his knees, hands buried in the burning timbers, and wails. 

He survives. He does not live. Thinking about everyone he’s lost, with you haunting the corners of his consciousness, always reaching out to comfort him - but when he goes to nuzzle into the warmth of your palm he is overcome with rage and bitterness to find it’s just his own imagination playing tricks on him. 

Then a fucking idiot in red dragged him away from the shambles which was his life and forced him to be functional again, if only barely. He’s angry, so angry all of the goddamn time, even when in the back of his mind he can hear you speaking sweet, calming words to him. 

And then he hears your voice for real. 

Sees you standing across the base this pathetic resistance has made. You look older, sure, he does too - but there’s no mistaking the fire in those eyes. You’re even wearing the same fucking shirt you went missing in, he remembers it, it has a picture of your favourite band. 

His heart stops dead in his chest as you whisper his name. 

“Logan?”

“Oh shit!” says Wade, and Logan has never wanted to kill him more, “Oh shit! Is this your refrigeratored wife, coming back to throw in a third act character arc?”

Logan finishes the bourbon bottle and throws the empty at Wade’s head, where it shatters and knocks him flat. You wince at the violence and he feels like pure shit. 

“I’m fine,” Wade calls from the ground, sticking a thumbs-up into the air. 

“Logan, I…” you clearly want to say something, but you have not been met with the Logan you knew. That Logan would have spent no time running to pick you up and hold you in his arms. This one half-snarls at the man he bloodied on the floor. 

There is an agonising silence, both of you wanting to speak but not being sure how. You take a hesitant step forward. 

“I never thought I’d…”

“How do I know it’s you?”

You recoil like he’s stabbed you with his claws, confusion and hurt flooding your face. Goddamn. He is the worst man alive. He’s not sure if he’s saying it because he just wants to lash out at the nearest person, or…

… or if, because he gets his hopes up, it might just kill him to have them crash down again. 

“What?”

“All these fuckin’ timelines. How do I know? How can I be sure that you’re you?”

The sadness in your face melts away into anger. When you step forward this time, you’re on the warpath. He sees the others in the room cringe, trapped now in this caustic reunion. 

“How can you be sure it’s me? Fuck, Logan, I knew it was you, didn’t I? What do you want? You want me to show you the shitty tattoo I got after we first started dating and we were both drunk?” You lift your sleeve to reveal a little design on your shoulder. “Want me to tell you how an eighteen-year-old Marie was my bridesmaid and she cried because she didn’t think anyone would ever be that kind to her after living as a mutant again? Want me to fucking remind you that in my vows I said I would be by your side, for fucking ever, no matter what - and how when that TVA agent zapped me when I was out for the day and I ended up here, it was only the thought of fulfilling those vows which kept me going? How about all that, or do I fucking need to humiliate myself more?” At this, you gesture to the others who have lined up at the side of the room, trying to look scarce but utterly failing. 

Your shoulders are heaving with emotions, tears hot and heavy in your eyes but not yet spilling over. Logan grits his jaw. Yeah. It’s you. 

“I…” he starts, but trails off when he realises there’s nothing he can say. You shake your head, numb. 

“Fuck you, Logan Howlett,” you spit, words you’ve never ever thrown his way before, and run out of the room. 

“Wow. Aced that one, peanut,” says Wade, and Logan rips off one of his legs. 

He finds you several hours later at a campfire outside the rundown building which makes up headquarters. LeBeau has clearly been kind enough to part with some of his liquor, because you’re gulping down whiskey like it’s air. You stare at him, embers dancing in bitter eyes. 

“What do you want?” you snap. He grunts as he sits down opposite you, either from age or exertion. Stares into the flames. 

“I never stopped looking,” he manages. 

You blink. 

“What?”

“I never…” he shifts uncomfortably. It’s been a long time since he bared this much of his soul. “I never stopped. Even when the others told me to give up, that I would only make it worse for myself, I’d still search. Couldn’t face the idea you weren’t there any more.”

It’s true. If he was twelve bottles deep he’d be looking, if he was hungover as a dog he’d be looking. When the rest of the X-Men were still there and even after they weren’t. If he wasn’t sitting at a bar he was on the streets, ever a bloodhound trying to catch your scent again. 

For the first time you soften. 

“Oh.”

“So… when I asked if it was you… ah, fuck. I didn’t mean to come off as an asshole. Just couldn’t live with it if it wasn't true. Wasn’t real.”

When you stand he expects a slap. He deserves it. What he doesn’t count on is you sitting down - not on the log next to him, but in his lap. He hasn’t felt you do that for so long, and it’s so good. Your warmth on his thigh. You grab one of his hands, still larger than yours, and press it to your chest so he can feel your beating heart. 

“I’m real, Logan. I’m right here, baby,” you whisper, eyes dewy. Fuck. His are as well; he can’t help it. He’s overwhelmed by you, your feel, your gaze, your smell. He’d forgotten how much he loved it. 

Logan noses upwards against you, searching for your lips, and you let him find them. When you stroke his hair he can feel the wedding ring on your left hand. The kiss is desperate, longing, and the best one he’s ever had. 

“Right here,” you repeat, forehead against his. He grips you so tightly that it’s possible he’ll never let go again. 

[starsinthesky5]

is miss yail reader miss possessive????

(pls answer as a blurb of her being possessive)

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

she doesn’t think she is. really, she doesn’t. she’s not the jealous type because she knows exactly who joe comes home to, she trusts him completely and knows without a doubt that joe only has eyes for her.

but that doesn’t mean she likes sharing.

and tonight? tonight was testing her patience.

they were attending a gala/fundraiser for one of the brand partners joe was working with this year, and she had been perfectly content hanging off his arm, sipping her rosé, making small talk with the right people, just being there to support her man while the spotlight was off of her for a bit.

until she showed up.

some woman--tall, gorgeous, clearly interested, wearing that little red dress that caught everyone's eyes--shuffled over to joe, placing a hand on his arm like she had any right to touch him, and started laughing like the joker at every single thing he said. she was practically undressing him with those icy eyes.

what a stupid move to make while his girlfriend was right next to him.

disgusting.

and joe, bless his oblivious heart, just gave her one of those polite little smiles, nodding along as she talked to him and the group you both were standing with.

her grip tightens around her glass when she notices how the woman is gripping his shoulder, digging her ruby nails into the shoulder that was meant for her to lean her cheek on as she laughed at something silly joe whispered to her.

she isn’t mad at him, not really. it’s not his fault he’s so fucking pretty--so stupidly, irresistibly attractive that women throw themselves at him even when she’s standing right there.

but she is so not in the mood for this tonight.

"look at the floor or ceiling...or anyone else you're feeling. i don't care, take home whoever walks in. just keep your eyes off him, bitch," she thought, feeling her cheeks burn from jealousy.

she sets her drink down, smooths out the skirt of her dress, and slides up next to joe, slipping an arm around his waist like it’s second nature. her other hand--her claiming hand--lands firmly on his chest.

joe doesn’t flinch, but she feels the way his muscles tense under her touch.

good.

his attention changes immediately, those baby blue eyes flicking down to hers, and she can see it--the realization. the amusement. the smirk that threatens to pull at his lips because he knows how she's feeling.

but he hasn’t said anything yet. instead, he lets her do what she does best.

she turns to the woman, finally acknowledging her, her smile faker than that knock-off chanel bag the woman had looped around her arm. "hi," she says smoothly, tilting her head just enough to be borderline condescending. "i don’t think we’ve met,".

the girl blinks, seemingly thrown off by the sudden shift in energy. she stammers out her name, something forgettable, before gesturing toward joe. "i was just telling joe how—,".

she doesn’t even let her finish.

"joeyyy," she purrs, drawing his name out like dripping honey, her fingers trailing gently over the fabric of his shirt. she tilts her head up, eyes locked onto his. "aren’t you so tired of talking?".

and joe just dares to grin. "you trying to get me out of here," he laughs before dipping his head down to her ear, his voice a whisper as his breath heats up her skin, "miss possessive?".

"pretty girl has to learn her lesson, baby," she winked, sliding her hand further up his chest to his face. her baby pink nails running across his stubbly chin as she looks back at the woman who looked like she'd just seen a ghost.

the woman awkwardly clears her throat. "well, um—,".

but she's already tugging joe away, her grip on him firm, definitive. and he lets her, of course, because that’s what he always does.

the second they’re just barely out of reach, he leans down, murmuring, "you know I wasn’t interested, right?".

she doesn’t answer him right away. instead, she keeps walking, leading him through the crowd with a confident posture that makes joe smirk. she only stops when they’re in a quieter corner of the venue, away from prying eyes and nosy ears. she turns to face him, her eyes flashing with something dangerous, something possessive. her finger latches onto the fabric of his shirt, gripping it tight as she looks up at him.

"i know," she finally says, voice sweet but laced with something else. "but that doesn’t mean i have to like it when some desperate woman throws herself at you like i’m not standing right there,".

joe lets out a small laugh, his hands settling on her hips, thumbs brushing over the silky material of her midnight-blue dress.

"you know you’re the only one for me, right?" he asks, voice dropping an octave, his forehead pressing against hers.

she lets out a content sigh, tension slowly bleeding out of her shoulders. "yeah," she breathes. "but that doesn’t mean i’m gonna let anyone think they even have a chance," her nails scrape lightly against his chest, her body pressing just a little bit closer to his.

joe grins. "mm. miss possessive, indeed,".

she narrows her eyes at him, but before she can say anything, his hands slide down to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him.

"i like it, though," he murmurs, his lips brushing against her ear. "i like when you get all clingy. when you remind everyone i’m yours...when you do more than just wear that necklace with my initial on it,".

her breath catches in her throat, fingers tightening on his shirt.

"damn right, you are," she whispers back, shifting her head up to capture his lips in a slow kiss.

it’s not rushed, not frantic. it’s a statement--a declaration that she doesn’t need words for. he is her's, and he loves every second of it.

when she finally pulls back, joe’s eyes are dark, filled with something heated, something that tells her they won’t be staying at this event for much longer.

"so," he says, thumb brushing over her cheek, "you ready to get out of here? or do you wanna go back and stake your claim some more?".

she smirks, reaching up to straighten his tie. "oh, i think she got the message," she hums. "but just in case…,".

she presses another kiss to his lips; hot, sloppy, pulling his bottom lip, and so intoxicating, before pulling away with a smug glint in her eyes.

joe just shakes his head as he laces his fingers through hers, already leading her toward the exit.

"yeah, definitely not staying much longer,".

[mrsnegan]

Scratch That Itch

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel catches you taking care of yourself and decides to help you out.

Warnings: age gap, a sprinkle of angst, lots of smut (so 18+ only), f!masturbation (reader is ovulating and horny af), semi-public activities, dirty talk galore, f!oral (Joel is pussy eating king), spitting kink, Joel tries to be responsible, reader may have a tiny breeding kink, mentions of m!oral, fingering, brief mention of fisting, squirting

A/N: Well, this escalated a bit. I reblogged a piture of Pedro with a little Joel drabble and decided to make a oneshot out of it. Have fun reading, feedback is always appreciated!

"What is it with you today?" Joel sits opposite of you, eyeing you over the rim of his glass.The Tipsy Bison is crowded, leaving almost no room to move, leave alone to get a good breath of fresh air. Which is exactly what you need right now. Your skin feels sticky, heated even, and not only because of too many people in one place in the middle of summer.

You're ovulating, you think, because there's no other sane explanation for your sudden need. And of all people you could be lusting over, it's Joel. Grumpy "leave me alone" Joel who currently helps you with fixing the roof of your home because he used to work in constructions and is good with his hands. Joel, older than you by nearly two decades, who you invited for a drink as a thank you for helping you out. Joel who can be equal parts intimidating and caring. Everything about Joel is strength and skill and warmth - the latter if you happen to be one of the few people of his inner circle, those who he cares about. He's private, doesn't take shit and smalltalk, his reputation well-known and sometimes feared. Joel with his greying hair, trimmed beard and those chocolate eyes, manly and capable.

You gulp heavily, taking another sip of your drink, thighs pressing together under the table to get a little bit of friction. What the hell is wrong with you?

"It's nothing. Just...a bit hot in here," you answer, eyes avoiding him.

"You're a bad liar, darlin'," he states and takes a long sip from his Whiskey. You can't help but look at his throat rhythmically swallowing the burning liquid. There's one single bead of sweat travelling down the column of his throat and you're dying to lick it off of him. You feel the need between your legs intensify.

"Excuse me for a sec, will you? Need to...use the bathroom real quick." Without waiting for his answer, you stand up, avoiding to look at him, and head straight for the restrooms at the other end of the Tipsy Bison. Breath quickening with every footstep, you try to make your way through the people chatting and drinking, bumping into various bodies, apologizing quickly and praying nobody wants to chat with you.

When you finally reach the door to the restrooms, you open one and quickly close it behind you, your body hitting its dark wood with a thud. An all-consuming desire for release washes over you, your fingers working faster than your mind. With little effort you slip your hand into the waistband of your shorts and touch yourself over the cotton of your underwear.

"Fuck," you whimper at the contact, realising how soaked the material is. The need for relief is too big to stop now so you yank down your shorts and panties to your knees, upper body leaning against the door again afterwards. Your fingers find your bare folds, slippery and needy to be touched.

You moan, a bit too loud maybe, but you can't help yourself. As depraved as this might be, it's all hormones, you try to reason with yourself. Better get it out of your system now than risk an even bigger mistake.

The pleasure shooting through your body drowns out everything around you. There are footsteps at the other end of the door you don't register until you feel rather than hear a knock.

"Everything alright?"

Shit, fuck. It's Joel outside the door. You panic, torn between finishing your business and pulling your shorts back up, heart hammering uncontrollably. By the time you finally decide to stop touching yourself, it's too late. You feel the door pushing against your back and damn yourself for not locking it proberly.

"No, no, it's...everything's fine," you stammer breathlessly, trying to push back and close the door again, but of course Joel is stronger, making you stumble forward. You catch yourself by gripping one of the nearby sinks, blood turning cold the second you lock eyes with Joel through the mirror who now stands frozen in the doorway.

It takes several heartbeats which feel like an eternity before he closes the door with a bang, instantly locking it without even turning his gaze away from you.

Quickly you look down at your hands, gripping the edge of the sink like a lifeline, coming up with an excuse for all of this.

"Look...it's...hormones, okay? Don't know why you're making me all horny and...fuck...I'm...ovulating or some shit, just wanted to take care...real quick before, you know, I jump you...I'm sorry...," you babble, hands flying to your shorts to pull them up again when you feel his presence right behind you. There's a shift in the energy all around you, you can feel in the air. Frozen with your ass sticking out, Joel's touch burns your skin, his hands grabbing the flesh of your round globes, crowding you from behind.

The low rumble from deep within his chest makes your whole body tingle, your cheeks aflame with embarrassment and arousal alike.

With great effort you haul yourself up into a standing position again, hands resting on the sink, his own still anchored on your flesh. You dread to look in the mirror, afraid what you will find there gazing back at you, but you do it anyway.

Joel's eyes are instantly catching yours in the reflection, his pupils dialated.

You stare at each other, unable to move. The throbbing between your legs intensifies with every passing moment, making it unbearable to stand still any longer. Transfixed with Joel's intense stare and his hands on you, you push back against him, the movement suptle at first. Surely he can smell your desperation for release, the need to be touched and filled. It's plainly written all over your face.

Like in trance you move against him, his scent surrounding you.

"Hurting, ain't ya?" His voice is deep and rich, a mix of Whiskey and sirupy honey combined to the most delicious treat.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut when his hands leave your ass to find a new home on the edge of the sink next to your own, caging you in some more. His hips start grinding against you, driving a whimper out of you.

"Joel," you breathe.

"Want me to help you out?"

Biting your lip, you nod absently, relishing in your shared movements. You can feel him stiffening through his jeans, his breath hot against your neck.

One of his hands finds your hip, fingertips drawing patterns on your heated skin. They keep playing with you, exploring you, drifting to your inner thigh and then back.

"Please," you whimper, mouth slightly agape from just this.

Just when you think he will finally relent and touch you where you need him the most, he bends over slightly to pull your shorts and underwear back up over your ass.

"My place, ten minutes," is all he says before his warmth leaves your body completely and you watch him through the mirror head to the door, turn the lock and leave. Chest heaving, you stare at the now closed door, your arousal dripping into your already soaked panties, ruining them for good.

Ten minutes feel like an eternity. You push yourself through the sea of people, your body vibrating from what just happened and what's about to happen. You step out of the Tipsy Bison into the warm night, heading straight for Joel's home.

You can still feel his hands on you, the ghost of a touch between your thighs. Your underwear clings to your body, sticky with your own juices, the feeling both unpleasent and thrilling alike.

In no time you find yourself in front of Joel's door, knocking urgently.

You don't have to wait long for the door to fly open and Joel pulling you inside with a force you don't expect. Your back lands against the closed door, his tall frame towering over you. At the thought of him surely smelling your need with how close he is, your pulse quickens, heat rising up to your ears.

With a thundering heart, you stare at him staring back at you. His gaze is hungry, intimidating even. There's passion and need. There's hunger, a hunger for you. The realization drives a whimper from deep within your throat.

"If I had known you're this desperate and squirmin' for me to touch you, I would've given it to you already," he breaks the silence, eyes trained on yours. "Young thing like you wants an old man like me...unbelievable," he adds, more to himself than towards you.

"I do," you whisper, your hands touching the weathered skin of his face. "So much."

The magnetic pull between the two of you is undeniable, the kiss finally following sealing your fate. His lips touch yours, tongue seeking entrance into your mouth. Moaning into the kiss, you gladly take him in, pulling him into you with desperation.

His hips seek friction, his own hands roaming your body before one of his hands finds your hair while the other one wanders around to squeeze your ass.

"You've no fuckin' idea how hard your little stunt back there got me." His mouth wanders down your throat, leaving a wet path.

"Please show me, need it."

He sucks on your skin, blinding need rushing through your bloodstream. "Fuck, please touch me."

His hips stop their movements, the hand in your hair tightening. "Touching you already. Not enough?"

Another whimper leaves your mouth, this time because Joel's pulling away again.

"Patience darlin'."

The new sensations cloud your mind, his touch burning hot on your skin, turning you into to puddle of arousal.

You have absolutely no idea how the hell you end up on his sofa. He pushes you down with one gentle hand and you comply without resistance. Then he's back between your legs, finally pulling down your shorts. They land somewhere in the room, carelessly tossed away and you can't care less.

"Fuckin' aching, ain't you? Let's see what I'm workin' with."

Embarrassment slowly creeps up your body. You want do cover your face because you know what he will find down there. Still you look down at him, the need to see him seeing you up close greater than your embarrassment.

Joel pushes your legs apart some more, revealing your soaked cotton underwear to his ravenous gaze.

"Fuckin' hell," he all but growls and dives right in.

A shocked shriek creeps up your throat, not expecting him to put his mouth right there.

But he does, urgently so. He inhales your scent, giving your clothed center an open-mouthed kiss, before he sucks your folds and drenched panties into his mouth.

"Oh sh-shit, Jo-el."

Your head falls back onto the cushion beneath you and you cover your mouth with your hands to suppress the scream threatening to escape.

Joel notices and pulls back.

"No darlin', want to hear you."

There's no time for you to prepare for what's to come, because Joel is fast. He rips your panties with one hard tug and puts his mouth where you need him the most, tongue circling your entrace, licking his way upwards to your clit, sucking it into his mouth.

Words have left your brain, your mind clouded with the sheer pleasure Joel provides with just his tongue.

"Does that scratch that itch, darlin'?" he asks and you nod absently.

"Use your words or did I suck your voice right outta your cunt?"

The bluntness of his words makes you tingle all over. Who knew grumpy Joel was this good at talking dirty?

"So good," you manage to say, the fingers joining his mouth distracting you.

You feel him gently rubbing your already slick folds. And then he spits a good amount of his salvia right onto your clit, spreading your wetness and his spit all over your center. You nearly lose it, arching your back and canting your hips into his hand, the lewd gesture driving you wild.

You hear Joel chuckle, rubbing your clit with his thumb.

"So responsive, so desperate."

He pushes two of his fingers into your tight channel, tongue returning to your clit and you scream at how good it feels.

Loud moans, heavy breathing and the shlick sound of him fingering you fill the air, a perverse symphony of desire.

"Want you, Joel," you mumble, head thrown back in pleasure from his fingers and tongue working on you.

He pulls back slightly, looking at you squirming for him.

"I know, darlin'. But not tonight. Won't be able to pull out, don't want to risk it."

Chest heaving, you pull yourself up a bit, resting on your lower arms while you look down at him.

You know exactly what he means, how desperately he wants you too, but won't risk knocking you up while you're ovulating. His confession not being able to pull out once he's burried himself in your heat drives you mad with lust. You want him there, so badly, want him to pulse and moan and spill inside of you. It's reckless and probably the most stupid thing to fantasize about, all the same your mind won't shut up.

"But what about you?"

Joel stills his fingers inside of you.

"Doesn't matter right now."

"How gentlemanly of you. But it does for me."

He smirks at you, fingers moving again.

"You want to make me feel good or just need my cock inside of you?"

His words drive fresh heat to your cheeks.

"Both?"

Joel laughs at that, bending down again to kiss your clit, making your thighs quiver.

"Oh? Well, darlin', if you insist, there are other holes f'me to use, I guess."

You choke on your own spit at his words and the bastard laughs even more.

"Can lend me a hand too, if y'want. Or watch me. Up to you."

With a thud you let yourself fall back on the sofa, eyes fluttering shut with the pleasure cursing through your veins. His fingers pump in and out of you steadily now.

"I want you in my mouth," you confess, more a whisper than anything else.

He stills between your legs once more, a low rumble leaves his chest at your words.

"Takin' you up on that offer, darlin'," he answers before driving back in.

Moan after moan leaves your lips like a prayer, his name spilling from your lips, tasting so damn delicious.

He laps at you like a starving man, eating you out passionately. His fingers retreat, glistening with your arousal, and are replaced with his tongue, licking into your heat.

You whimper at the stimulation, fingers gripping his hair tightly, rocking your body against his face.

Joel moans, the sound shaking your whole body. If it's even possible, you get wetter, offering him your sweet nectar straight from the source.

Coming up for air, Joel bites lovingly into your inner thigh, smearing your juices all over it.

"Tastin' like sin. Want more?"

Unable to answer him properly, you nod and move your hips.

His fingers enter you again, but this time it's a much tighter fit.

"Oh fuck," you whimper, trying to look at what Joel is up to between your legs.

His eyes are trained on your center, transfixed with the view.

"Shit, look at that. Three fingers and suckin' me right in. Hungry little cunt, droolin' all over the place."

Joel's dirty talk alters your brain cells. Eyes rolling back, you relish in how full you feel, that it's him driving you straight to the edge of oblivion.

He comes up between your legs, fingers still anchored in your tight channel, his thumb finding your slick clit to draw tight circles. His upper body cages you in, his glistening lips taking yours in a desperate kiss. The taste of yourself on his tongue does it for you. You come with a cry, your walls rippling around his fingers, your sounds absorbed by his mouth.

"Fuck, that's it, good girl," Joel praises when he breaks the kiss to watch you come undone. "Beautiful."

You still shake underneath him when he picks up the pace again, driving his fingers into your heat with purpose, stroking your inner walls just right.

"Ahh, Joel..."

"Shh, it's alright. Want to see it happen again, want to see you even fuller."

At his words, you shake your head, mind still hazy from your orgasm.

"I don't think I...it's..."

"C'mon darlin', I know you can take more."

You moan at the thought of taking more than three of his fingers which are currently stretching you so deliciously.

"Want to take my cock, sure as hell can take my fingers then," he mumbles more to himself. "Probably could take my fist too."

"Joel...," you warn him breathlessly.

"Don't worry, sweet thing, not gonna push you too far just yet." He sounds drunk on your pussy, watching his fingers disappear in your sloppy channel.

The squelching sounds heat your cheeks, your body moving with his fingers, seeking more friction, more of him, more, more, always more.

You feel Joel retreat, but only for a second. Four of his fingers return, pushing past your entrace into your heat.

"Fuck, so full," you mumble in bliss, your hands fisting the cushions around you.

"That's it, so beautiful, takin' my fingers like they belong there. Wish you could see y'self right now."

His fingers drive into you, first slowly, then he's picking up the pace, stroking your most sensitive spots.

"Can feel you chokin' my fingers, darlin'. Hear that?" He fucks into you even harder, the stretch burning.

"Going to cum again, ain't ya? Let go f'me, darlin', soak my fingers real good." He presses his thumb right onto your clit and the added stimulation tips you over the edge once more.

There's nothing you can do about it, you take it, white hot pleasure washing all over you. Overpowered by your orgasm, you helplessy shake underneath him, gushing around his fingers.

"There you go," he mutters, voice rough.

Joel fucks you through it, watching more and more of your juices dripping down his hand onto the sofa.

"Oh my god," you whimper, hoarse from moaning his name over and over again.

When Joel finally pulls out of you, you gasp at the loss of his fingers.

"Fuck me," he breathlessly says, "your juicy cunt is absolutely beautiful like this. Drippin' and gapin', just how I like 'em."

"Thank you."

Joel laughs at your words, hands undoing his trousers to free his aching cock.

"You're welcome darlin', was a pleasure. Feelin' better, ain't you? Yeah, just what I thought. Takin' you up on your generous offer though."

You sit up with great effort, feeling the wetness all around your legs, the friction of your movements on the sofa nearly too much to handle for your sensitive and fucked-out cunt.

"Good girl," Joel manages before he steps in front of you, stroking his big cock with the same fingers which you soaked seconds ago. The praise sends fresh new arousal right to your core. You gently roll your hips, eyes fixed on his impressive length, mouth watering.

"Open wide, darlin', eyes up 'ere. Won't pull out of this hole until I'm comin' down that throat."

[loviingpedri]

one of his girls tonight - hector fort

prompt: he can’t get enough of you.

warnings: cursing, drinking, clubbing, suggestive content, grammar issues, not intense smut (viewer discretion is still advised)

please let me know if more since this is going to be a little explicit.

any italicized texts are lyrics

credits to owners for all images

what else do young adults do in their free time? party, of course.

nothing like a hot saturday night in barcelona when the city was awake as people went out.

“y/n! my sexy girl, let’s go!” going out with your friends at least once a month was a must. meeting new people, kissing strangers, waking up next to someone random.

everything felt like a fever dream. especially that one boy you shared an unforgettable kiss with. last month, you were drunk out of your mind. you met this one guy, he had brown fluffy hair and touched you in the right places. your friends always said you were gonna go home with him and make him yours for the night. until, a random girl walked up to you and slapped you. either you just made out with someone’s boyfriend or someone was a complete control freak over him.

you hoped to see him tonight. some reassurance of what happened last month. and if he’s single, maybe you’ll keep him wrapped around your finger this time.

“alright! i’m ready!” you grabbed your small purse that barely fit anything in it and ran into the uber with the 10 other people in it. “a bit crowded?” you laughed as some people were sitting on each other’s laps.

“anything to save money and not have a designated driver tonight. today’s the day where all hell will break lose.” going out with a group of people was safer, calmer, and more fun.

lately, your life had been hitting every single positive goal in life. you spent your days with the people who brought out the best. little did you know, you would meet the person who would see you inside and out.

getting out the car was a hassle. thanking the driver and running to show your ids to the bouncer. already pre-gamed at your tiny apartment, it was finally time to let loose.

“it’s fucking hot in here.” one of your dearest friends spoke to you as you tried to mingle on the dance floor.

“i just finished my makeup 20 minutes ago and i can feel it melting already.” you fanned yourself to keep composed.

“y/n, that guy keeps staring at you.” looking behind your shoulder. you saw the one and only boy, the one with the best lips you’ve ever felt on yours.

“holy shit. that’s the guy with the crazy girl that slapped me.” you looked at your friend in disbelief. he must’ve went out to the clubs a lot if you continued to see him.

“go up to him. i don’t see her around. ask him what that whole fight was about. take a shot though, you’re gonna need it.” turning around, you could already see his eyes going up and down from behind you. meeting with your friends at the bar and downing shots after shots. finally feeling the alcohol in your system, a new boost of confidence was found.

walking up to him, you spotted different girls surrounding him. as you got closer, he sat up straight and tried to distance himself. sitting down next to him, he sat there frozen.

“hey, aren’t you the guy from a few weekends back?” for a guy who seemed popular around the ladies, he seemed pretty fucking nervous around you.

“yeah i am. sorry about that slap. i don’t know what happened. she’s not my girlfriend by the way. just someone random.” he spoke so fast, fidgeting with his hands. considering you already made out with him, there was no reason for him to be scared.

“you seem very popular. met anyone you like?” he wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. you listened closely to the song in the background as he tried to form an answer.

push me down, hold me down.

spit in my mouth while you turn me on. i wanna take your light inside.

“you. can’t ignore a pretty girl like you.” he began to play into your little game. slowly, you touched his shoulder and sat closer to him in a comfortable position.

“oh yeah? well, this ‘pretty girl’ has to know your name first.”

and i’m screamin’ out. give me tough love.

“my name is hector. yours?”

“i’m y/n. you have a little something on your neck.” spotting a red kiss-mark on his neck, obviously not from you, you smudged it off.

we don’t gotta be in love no. i don’t gotta be the one, no.

i just wanna be one of your girls tonight.

“wishing it was your lipstick?” he give a little grin, trying to rile you up. you looked at him, his way of words trying to get into your pants was working.

“i don’t need to wish.” within seconds, your lips happened to be on hector’s. your legs straddling him while he rubbed your thighs.

he knows how to get the best out of me.

his hands were grabbing your waist as you felt the material of his pants under you. he continued rubbing your thighs, but he slowly made it up to your ass. as you gasped for air, he decided it was a good time to slip in his tongue.

finally breaking the kiss, you hear him whimper for more even over the loud music. smiling at him, you made your way to his neck and jaw. you planted a few kisses here and there, then you could feel his hand start to go under your dress.

“not here, but i know a few places.” making eye contact, you already knew where this was going.

hector wanted to you to be his girl every night.

————————————————

author’s note: author gone wild. imagination got the best of me and i know this is not likely of my stories. let me know if i did good for these kind of storylines!

[quintessenceofdust88]

Fuck it Friday

I was tagged by @bidisasterevankinard, @agentpeggycartering, @laundryandtaxesworld and @fairytalegonewronga03 (thank you so much lovelies!! ♥) Here's a snippet of chapter 5 of Tsunami Fic!

It’s been three days since the tsunami, and Tommy is finally ready to let Vivie out of his sight for more than ten minutes; they’ve spent pretty much all of their time at home as both her and Sal recover from it all, physically and emotionally. Sal’s been staying with them, and Tommy’s insisting he stays until his medical leave is over in a week.  

But now Tommy needs to go for his first shift since everything happened, and he’s pretty sure Sal is having a harder time with it than Vivie. While his daughter is happily lying on the floor, her socked feet swinging in the air as she colors a piece of paper, his best friend is eyeing Tommy warily from where he’s sitting on the couch, as he ties his shoes. 

“Tommy”, he mutters. “Are you sure you want to do this? You… I won’t be offended if you get a babysitter or take her to someone else, you know? I… I’d understand after…”

Tommy sighs; he’s tried to blow off every single apology Sal sent his way ever since the tsunami. They’re safe, and Vivie is completely fine, and Tommy doesn’t blame Sal for any of it. But that doesn’t mean Sal is convinced, and Tommy’s starting to think he’ll need an extra hand. 

“Vivie?” He calls. 

“Yeah?” She answers, still focused on her drawing. 

“Do you want Daddy to call someone else to take care of you while I work?” Tommy asks, and that makes her raise her head in alarm. 

“Why?! Is Uncle Sal not okay?! Are you feeling bad, uncle Sal?” She rushes to them, throwing herself in Sal’s lap. He wraps his arms around her, a sheepish smile on his face.

“I’m feeling fine, darlin’, don’t you worry about me.” He tells her, ruffling her hair, and she sighs in relief. “Do… you want me to take care of you?” Sal asks, sounding impossibly insecure, and Vivie glares at him in a way that’s eerily reminiscent of Tommy’s own bitchy expression. 

“Duh, uncle Sal, you’re my favorite uncle. You play the best games and you sing Barbie songs with me!” She tells him as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Tommy, in his defense, does his best not to look smug, but he doesn’t think he actually succeeds. As he finishes tying his shoes, he gets up, raising an eyebrow at Sal, who’s glaring at him.

“Well”, Tommy quips, grabbing his car keys. “I guess that settles the matter, doesn’t it? You guys have fun signing Barbie tunes as I go to work. You behave for your uncle, pixie, okay?”

He presses a kiss to Vivie’s forehead, half expecting her to say goodbye to him and cuddle up against Sal. What she does instead is gasp and scramble out of her uncle’s lap, rushing back to her paper. As she grabs it, a healthy amount of glitter falls on the floor, and Tommy doesn’t even want to think about the clean-up. He guesses he could ask Sal to take care of it, but it doesn't seem like a fair thing to the concussed guy. 

“Wait, Daddy!” She says, and then she shoves the card into his hand. “You have to take this!”

Tommy frowns, and looks down at the card. His cheeks instantly blush when he sees the wobbly ‘To: Mr. Evan’ that’s written on the top corner, along with a much neater ‘From: Genevieve’ on the bottom (she’s only five, but she’s already a master at writing her own name, Tommy is proud to say). There’s a very glittery blue heart in the middle, and when Tommy opens the card to take a peak, he sees two sticky figures: Genevieve, holding Marsh, and a bigger one that can only be Evan, based on the blue eyes and the small pink birthmark drawn above one of them.

---

Np (real np cause it's barely Friday for me, and I think it's not Friday anymore for a lot of people hehe) tagging @unhingedangstaddict @littlepaws9 @typicalopposite and whoever else would like to join!! ♥

[cxsmiicc]

fucking florida - emily prentiss x reader

word count - 1950

warnings - smut, eating out, vibe, office sex, alcohol, mommy kink, begging

first em fic so sorry if it sucks

cr @storiesofsvu for the vegas line i read a dangerous game all in one sitting the other night and it was stuck in my brain

------

“Fucking Florida,” you muttered on the way to the coffee machine for your third cup of the night. It was already after twelve and the mountain of paperwork didn’t seem to be getting any smaller. You began the permanent battle to get the ancient machine running and picked out a mug, savouring every second away from the towering files and microscopic print. Almost immediately after the overwhelmingly strong scent whipped through the bullpen a certain unit chief emerged from her office, silver hair dragged back into a haphazard ponytail and top three buttons undone. To say you were obsessed with this woman would be an understatement. Yes, she was your boss and yes, she was majorly off limits, but there was no telling your body that. There was no helping the shiver that ran down your spine when she spoke, the goosebumps that revealed themselves whenever she brushed against you on the jet, the way every little hair on your body would stand on end when she singled you out. In short, you had it bad for Emily Prentiss, with no end in sight.

“Didn’t know anyone else was still here,” she drawled.

“Everyone sane went home hours ago.”

“And who can blame them, look at us. Relying on far too much caffeine just to get us through the paperwork.”

“When in Quantico,” you said with a small smile.

She laughed slightly, picking up the coffee pot and pouring two mugs, “It’s too late for your bad jokes.”

“You’ll have to excuse my lack of comedic genius, I'm exhausted and working on an empty stomach,” you replied, taking one of the mugs from her.

“What! Why?” She asked.

“I’m not a breakfast person to begin with and then with all the chaos this morning and the flight and the paperwork I just haven’t had the time to breathe.”

“I just ordered food, you’re having some of it.”

“Where did you order from this late?” 

She chuckled, “A lady never kisses and tells.”

God you wished she would kiss you. You simply raised an eyebrow and took a sip of your coffee in response.

“It’ll be delivered to my office soon, grab a file and come wait.”

“Exactly what I’ve been craving, yet more blindingly dull reports,” you deadpanned, already heading back to your desk to sweep the top folder into your waiting bag and follow Emily to her office.

Of course you had been in there before, but never so late and never for an extended period of time. It was different, strangely exhilarating, walking through that door and being directed to the low table in the corner, sitting on the carpet and working this closely to another person. The two of you typed in comfortable silence until a knock came and a sheepish college student walked in with a huge brown paper bag.

“Finally, thanks so much,” Emily said to the poor boy, handing him the cash.

“Quick, move the case notes. Just dump them under the table for now.” You did so, pulling them all into a rough pile and quite literally dumping them on the floor under the table. She wasted no time in delving into the enormous bag, pulling out a burger, two boxes of fries and the biggest soda you had ever seen in your life.

“Good job I was hungry,” she joked.

“Fries.” You reached over and snagged a box, grease seeping through the bottom and onto your fingers before you even opened it. “Oh my god that’s good,” you said around a mouthful.

“I have an idea..” She swerved around the table, snatching a fry on the way and walked right out of the room. A minute later she came back in, bottle in hand.

“Rossi’s finest I presume?”

“Only the best for you,” She finished with a devilish grin.

“Glasses?”

“On ne fait que commencer.” And she took a sip straight from the bottle.

Fucking French. You reached over and stole the whisky from her, upending it and barely blinking when the amber liquid hit your throat. 

“Someone has a tragic backstory just waiting to be unlocked.”

“The years of greasy food and crushing loneliness have numbed me to the mundane sensations of everyday life.” 

“Preaching to the choir honey.” She raised the burger to her mouth and took a bite, sighing in content as she did.

The two of you kept eating in not quite silence, the crunching of fries and occasional clinking of the bottle providing the nights soundtrack. Only once all the food had gone and you were both sufficiently tipsy did you come up for air.

“Remind me to tell you I'm starving more often, this is the best time I've had in this building to date.”

“Anything to make some half decent memories in this place, all the bad we see deserves a little alcohol and fast food every now and then.”

“I know something you could do to make this memory more than half decent,” you muttered.

“Oh? Now what, pray tell, could that be?” She feigned confusion and came to sit on your side of the table, resting her head in one hand and looking up at you through her lashes.

“Fuck it.” Both of you leaned in at the same time, lips crashing together and a breathless gasp escaping from you, her hands drifting to your waist and tugging you onto her lap. It was desperate and clumsy and everything you expected it to be, everything you needed it to be. Her tongue pried your lips apart as you explored each others mouths, too desperate for contact to bother with technique. You fumbled with her buttons and she smiled against your mouth, breaking the kiss to pull your shirt over your head and undo the few buttons of her own that you had been unable to access. Breathing hard, you pushed yourself off of her and sat on the table, legs wide and one hand splayed behind you for balance, admiring the view in front of you. Not every day the unit chief of the BAU was shirtless in front of you after all.

Reaching for your belt, she asked, “Can I?”

“God yes.”

She made quick work of both the belt and your jeans, tossing them aside before slowly pulling your underwear all the way down and dropping it, slipping both hands between your thighs and slowly separating them. Lowering her face, she met your eyes and slowly kissed a teasing path from your inner thigh to your clit, stopping just before she made contact. You let out a whimper, already soaked for her.

“Desperate, are we?”

“Less talk more tongue,” You demanded.

Luckily for you, she obliged, wasting no time in wrapping her lips around your clit and sucking hard, dragging a savage groan from the base of your throat. Loosening her hold on your clit, she focused her attention lower down, flicking her tongue briefly in and out before delivering a broad lick to your cunt, finally setting for alternating between the two motions whenever your moans peaked in volume. Bringing her hands into the mix, she drew slow circles around your clit, successfully driving you to the edge as your breathing became faster and faster, the only coherent word coming from your lips being her name over and over in an increasingly high pitch. Her relentless pace never slowed, even as you finally came with a breathy gasp, fucking you through your high.

Dropping back down onto her heels, she smiled at you before reaching behind her back and unclasping her bra, throwing the purple fabric to the corner before grabbing you by the thighs and pulling you back into her lap for another searing kiss, easily parting your lips this time and taking full advantage of your post-orgasmic confusion. The haze clearing somewhat, you became aware enough to dive your hands downwards and play with her chest, flicking her nipples between your fingers and relishing in the soft whimpers falling into your mouth. It was you that pulled away this time, taking one of her breasts into your mouth and swirling your tongue around, eliciting a delicious moan from Emily. You bit down, hard enough to leave a mark, and she let out a squeal of pleasure, pushing you to do more.

Switching your focus to the other side, you repeated the movements, teeth pressing into her soft skin as your tongue worked overtime. Just as she released a particularly loud moan, your fingers forced their way into her waistband and found her clit, jerking it back and forth to the same pace your other hand was setting on the side of her chest not currently in your mouth. She was a mess, to put it nicely, grinding on your hand in a desperate attempt to get herself there. Feeling just how wet she was, you decided to forego any teasing and simply go faster, push her harder, anything to get her over that edge. Twisting your wrist for better access, you pushed both your fingers and tongue to the same brutal speed, stirring raw sounds from the woman above you as she peaked, ruining her formerly perfect suit trousers once and for all. 

Wordlessly, she pushed you off again and crossed to the desk, rummaging in a drawer until she came up with a small silver key. Bending down to where you couldn’t see, she fitted the key in the lock of her bottom drawer and yanked it open, retrieving something without bothering to close the drawer behind her as she walked back towards you, hands behind her back so as not to reveal what she had. The second she was close enough you stood and grabbed her trousers by either hip, meeting her eyes as you removed them. 

“So what is it that you keep locked away in that desk of yours?” You asked.

In response, she smirked and lifted up a bubblegum pink vibrator.

“Let’s see just how many more we can get out of you tonight sweetheart.”

She flipped you around and forced you onto the desk, pushing your legs apart as you whimpered in anticipation. Laughing at your eagerness, she pushed the toy into you, flicking at your clit as she turned it on at the lowest setting and you let out a groan. 

You glared at her. “More.”

“Manners, or mommy won’t do a single thing more. Besides, I bet you look so pretty begging for it.”

Breath hitching at her words, you felt the vibrator slip as you grew wetter, reaching to push it back in only for Emily to grab your wrist. 

“Please…” You muttered.

“I know you can do better than that baby, now come on, tell me what you want.”

“Please mommy please turn it up I need more god just please.”

“Since you asked so nicely…” She trailed off, pausing for a second before pushing the vibrator deeper into you and setting it to max, pulling a guttural gasp from the recesses of your throat.

“That's it princess, let me hear you.”

You held nothing back, letting her tear sounds from you that you didn’t even know you were capable of making for hours until you were both spent, collapsed on the office floor as the first threads of sunlight came through the blinds.

“Fuck Em it’s getting light outside.”

“Shit.”

The room was a blur of motion as both of you hunted for your clothes, her sighing when she saw the state of her trousers and rummaging through her go bag for a fresher pair. 

“Anyone finds out about this and we’re both royally fucked, capisce?”

You beamed at her. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

[vodika-vibes]

Forbidden

Summary: Fox has always followed the rules. As Marshal Commander of the Coruscant Guard it’s required to keep himself, and his men safe. It’s too bad that the only rule he isn’t able to follow is the only one that could protect him from emotional harm.

Pairing: Commander Fox x F!Reader

Word Count: 997

Warnings: Uh...kinda bittersweet, some minor discussion of the clones not being considered people

A/N: I wanted to write a Fox fic, and so I wrote a Fox fic.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

Fox is an idiot.

The world’s, no, the galaxy’s biggest idiot.

As Marshal Commander of the Coruscant Guard he knows that the rules that he, and Cody, have crafted for their brothers were designed to keep them safe, and alive, while on Coruscant. Designed to protect them from people who see the clones as less than the dirt beneath their feet.

He knows this.

Which is why he’s an idiot.

If he were smarter, or even better at following the rules, he would be back at the barracks, and probably asleep, or trying to sleep in the small bed that he can call his.

He definitely wouldn’t be here, in front of a small apartment, keying in a door code to see the one person on Coruscant who would ruin his life if she said the wrong thing to the wrong person. 

The door slides open as he finishes keying in the code, and he hurries into the apartment before anyone notices him, turning and locking the door behind him. 

The apartment, her apartment, is warm and cozy. It’s a studio apartment, barely big enough for one person, let alone two, but it feels like home to him. The walls are painted in warm creams and yellows, and every surface is covered with paintings and carvings. 

One wall of the hallway is covered by a massive shelf, which she bought specifically for him to store his armor on when he comes to visit, though it also doubles as a bookshelf. 

He finishes pulling his armor off, stashing each piece in a cubby, then he stores his blaster in the gun safe she also bought for his use, and then he steps further into the apartment.

Fox turns a corner, and there she is. 

Standing in her small kitchen, dancing and singing along to the music filling her home, all while decorating cookies on the tray in front of her. There’s flour in her hair, and on her apron, but she doesn’t seem to care as she swings her hips in time to the music.

She’s beautiful. She’s perfect.

Fox loves her.

And he’s completely fucked.

He leans against the wall and watches her dance for a moment, until she turns her head slightly and finally sees him. Her entire face brightens when she sees him, and Fox falls in love with her all over again.

“Fox! You came!” She wipes her hands on her apron, and then crosses over to him in several large bounces so she’s able to throw her arms around his neck.

He folds his arms around her, “Did you think I wouldn’t?” Fox shivers when she buries her face in his neck.

“I saw on the news that you all had a busy day,” She replies against his neck, “I wouldn’t have minded if you didn’t.”

“I needed to see you.”

She pulls away slightly and reaches up to brush her fingers against his jaw, “Did you?”

“I missed you while you were gone.” Fox adds as he lightly bumps his forehead against hers, “Two weeks is far too long for me to not be able to see you.”

She laughs softly, “Maybe I’ll bring you with me next time.” It won’t be possible, and they both know it, but it’s nice to pretend. “How are you?”

Horrible. Terrible. I’m starting to think that I won’t survive the war. 

The truth would scare her away, and losing her would destroy him, so he smiles and lies. “I’m alright, I just missed you.”

“Well, I’m here now.”

Fox pulls her closer, “Yeah, you are.” He decides that any more talking is unnecessary as he pulls her into a kiss. A single kiss that turns into another one, and then another one. 

He might very well be addicted to her.

“How long can you stay?” She asks, her voice slightly breathless. 

He shouldn’t stay for long. If anyone found out about this, about them, about her, he would be decommissioned and force only knows what would happen to her, but with her in his arms, Fox finds himself uncaring about the potential consequences. 

“You have me all night.” He whispers against her lips.

Delight flickers across her face, “Really?”

“Really.”

Laughter falls from her and she jumps into his arms, something that Fox was expecting as he effortlessly supports her weight while she hooks her legs around his waist. “You never stay all night.” She says against his lips.

“I am now.”

She kisses him properly, her arms tightening around his neck, “Good.”

Fox doesn’t even hesitate before he walks her across the room to drop her on her bed, and he doesn’t hesitate before he climbs over her, settling himself between her spread legs. 

There, stretched out beneath him, with her hair spread like a halo around her head, she’s never been more beautiful. He catches her hands and pins them over her head, before he leans in and kisses her, “I love you.” 

It’s not the first time he’s told her that he loved her, but her face brightens every time he does. If he ever meets the person who told her that she’s unlovable, he’ll kill them.

But that’s a thought for later. 

For now, though, he’s going to spend his night physically showing her how much he loves her. 

As he peels her apron and shirt off, tossing them to the side to be dealt with later, Fox kisses down her throat to her collar, “I wish,” He mumbles, “I wish we could live anywhere else. Somewhere where I can kiss you in public, without having to worry about someone seeing.” He looks up at her, “Somewhere where us isn’t forbidden.”

“Maybe someday,” She whispers, “After the war. It can’t continue forever, and then you’ll be free to choose.”

An optimist’s view, perhaps, but Fox is happy to cling to her optimistic hope while he’s in her arms.

And so his original point remains.

He really is the galaxy’s biggest idiot.

@imabeautifulbutterfly

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@sweater-sloot

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@kiss-anon

[rad0nwrites]

All I See (Ghost x Soap)

CW: Canon Character Death, angst, swearing, Alternate Universe, military inaccuracies, processing grief, canon violence, probably OOC Simon? implied long term relationship, happy ending, Simon being a little emotionally stunted but goddamnit he’s trying

Word Count: 8.2k

First post here…. Kinda nervous… Hear me out, though: What if Soap hadn’t been killed instantly, and he got to say his last words? [Additionally, Simon goes through his own grieving process. Men need comfort too, goddamnit.]

This song gives me such Ghoap vibes, and I ran with it. Enjoy :)

Song: All I See by Nathan Jacques

Makarov was long gone.

The pistol shot still reverberated through his ears like a dented gong, his heart beat contributed percussion as the world stopped in its tracks to pause for a dying man. Heat expanded from his chest, and logically, Johnny knew that he was in trouble. He was in trouble, and he should really look and assess his wound. But yet, he couldn’t move. The sheer shock of what had occurred in mere seconds, calcifying him to the ground he lay on.

“Johnny!”

Half alive and dreaming to death on a mountain side

The body’s a funny thing when it reacts to trauma. One could ruminate over every single theoretical physical reaction to a situation, an injury, a conversation. And yet, fate pulls a string that couldn’t be accounted for. Fate pulls a result out of you that best suits the moment, dignified or not.

Johnny thought that fate would be a cruel mistress, pulling the string violently and without abandon. But as he lay on the ground, staring up at the stone ceilings of the train system, fate felt peaceful. Fate was a woman warm with invitation and a longing to come home. She was tugging on the string with a gentleness he wasn’t privy to know.

Not until Simon.

The Russian had aimed for his head. Aiming to snuff out the light that kept him alive. With quick thinking from both him and Price, Vladimir Makarov missed, and the bullet landed in his chest. Some bulletproof tac vest that was. He should have pulled the trigger in the helicopter when he had the chance. Protocol be damned.

“Ah fuck…” He wheezed out. The peace was replaced with what felt like fire under his skin, trying to work its way out through his tac vest. Shakily, Johnny shifted his head over to see Gaz and Price frantic, barking orders back and forth to finish diffusing the bombs that he had started. They were good men, Price and Gaz. Men willing to get their hands dirty and experience the dark so the world can stay in the light. The men that he’d consider family right next to his blood kin.

“Sergeant!” Ghost had eclipsed over Johnny, darkening him in shade from the fluorescent tunnel lights. Every move he made reignited fire in his chest, but to see his burly wraith above him made it worth the discomfort.

“Glad y’c-could join th’party, LT.” Soap chuckled weakly, each breath drawn in and out became heavy like a chore. Ghost was doing his best to assess the full extent of Johnny’s wound, stopping to glare at him through the mask before returning to the crimson-coated wound.

“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny.” Simon’s eyes were barely holding their neutrality as he racked his mind for some way to patch the wound, to stop the bleeding, to do something. Anything to keep his sergeant tethered to the concrete floor beneath him.

“Bravo 0-7 to Watcher. We need a Med Evac now!” Simon barked into his comm device, his eyes not leaving Johnny’s. The stupid git had the nerve to smile so brightly at him, despite his dimming eyes.

Oh, how beautiful the light after a thousand nights

And all I see is you in my wavering eyes

“Copy, 0-7. I’m sending someone out now. Be advised, Med Evac’s having a hard time getting through the injured civilians. I can’t give an accurate ETA. Who’s been injured?”

“It’s Soap. Shot point blank in the chest by Makarov through the tac vest. ‘M tryin’ to stabilize but I can’t remove the vest to assess the damage.” Johnny was in no state to move.

“Can you move him?”

“Negative. Not without knowin’ the full damage.”

“Copy. Do you have Makarov?”

Simon wanted to scream himself hoarse. The only thing, the only person he’s ever shown his soft underbelly for is dying before his very eyes, and they’re asking him about the mission.

It’s always the mission. Always the goal.

Cannon fodder for the greater good.

This is what he signed up for.

“Negative.” Price picked up where Simon left off, allowing the Lieutenant the space to focus. “Makarov is to the wind. But Soap’s down and we’re running out of options.” The image of Ghost kneeling over Soap as he sharply pulled emergency med kit supplies from his tac vest made John’s heart ache.

Just by the look of the Scot, it wouldn't be enough. But he knew his lieutenant. His lieutenant wouldn’t take no for an answer. His loyalty to his comrades, to the people he cares about, and dare he say loves, extended out like a fault line.

Despite his rough exterior, Simon Riley cared so deeply that it threatened to swallow him whole.

“Bleedin’ Jesus, I forgot tha’ I don’ like gettin’ shot at.” Johnny attempted a half joke through his teeth, sucking in air at every shift of his vest.

“The hazard pay’s gonna be worth it from tha’ hospital bed.” Simon’s dry response made Johnny smile, and Simon wished that he could close his eyes to continuing trying to dress the wound. His smiles were meant for successful missions and trips home. Sunday mornings and arguing over whose football team they’d be watching. Glances from across briefing tables and shitty jokes over comms. Not pallid complexions and dark train tunnels and superiors wanting results.

“I dinnae think ‘m gonna be gettin’ outta this one, LT—“ Simon shot him a harsh look as he pressed more gauze to the wound, but it was seeping out faster than he could keep up with.

“—Don’t say that.”

Johnny looked at Ghost as he replaced red gauze with more white gauze. The other SAS teams started offering him pieces of their own med kits. He looked at him with an intensity that made Simon’s skin crawl.

“We’re gonna get you out of here, Johnny. Med Evac’s on their way, and they’ll patch y’right up better than I can.” Simon couldn’t place if he was comforting Soap, or himself. “Never did well durin’ First Aid.” Johnny’s laugh came out in a wheeze.

“Ghost,” His hands never stopped. If they stopped, he loses. He loses Johnny, he loses himself, he’ll lose his whole purpose of being here. “Ghost, look a’ me.” He’s going to lose if he stops. He’ll lose, he’ll lose, he’ll lose, he’ll lose—

“Simon.” A calloused hand reached up and wrapped itself around the black and blood-stained glove, and Simon froze. “Simon, please look a’ me.”

Kyle cast a glance at the other SAS teams nearby. None of them seemed to know what to do with themselves. But it was obvious that they wanted to give the two men the space. His eyes then turned to Price, who looked like he, too, was going to teeter over the edge of guilt.

“You alright, sir?” Kyle spoke plainly, but at a volume that John could hear.

“I should ‘ave told ‘im to pull the trigger.” Price’s eyes never left the two men paused in an embrace that only a Renaissance painter could imagine. Kyle’s eyes followed, and he could only nod.

“Oi! You!” Kyle got the attention of the other SAS teams. “Find the Med Evac! They’re going to need guidance gettin’ down ‘ere!” He was met with scattered ‘Rog’’s and ‘Roger that’’s, more than likely thankful to be given something to do rather than watch a man die. The four of them were left alone in the tunnel, reaping what Vladimir Makarov had sown.

“Thank you.” If he hadn’t been paying attention, Kyle wouldn’t have heard the captain’s gratuity.

I wandered through the dark

Fierce and bright

If Simon didn’t move, he wouldn’t have to look Johnny in the eyes. The truth wouldn’t congeal, and he could stay firm in his delusion that both would make it out of the tunnel.

Soap’s grip tightened on his wrist. “Mo ghraidh, lemme ge’ a good look at ye.” Against his will, Simon’s head turned toward Johnny, and he could feel his heart seize.

Johnny didn’t look good at all. Pallid complexion and heavy breathing. He was sweating as he took in the man above him like he was an angel. Not a fallen one, but a true, tall-standing archangel. Tears were pooling in Johnny’s eyes as he smiled again.

“You have to get ‘im for me, Si.” Johnny’s breathing heaved in and out, in and out, in and out. “I dinnae ask for much in this world, but if I’m askin’ for somethin’, you and Gaz and Price? Find Makarov and you put him in th’ground.” Simon felt an uncomfortable burning in his eyes as his vision blurred.

He was crying.

When was the last time he cried? Probably when he was a young boy, begging for his father’s non-existent love.

“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny. Stop speakin’ like that.” His voice came out more gravely than he intended. “We’ll get ‘im. Together. You, me, all four of us. Hell, I’m sure Price would let y’take the first shot since he stopped the last one.”

This time, the laugh was shared between the same air. “Y’not leavin’ me, Sergeant.” The bricks were crumbling off the foundation of the stone tower. “Y’can’t leave yet.” The gauze was completely soaked through. He was running out. The tears absorbed themselves into the balaclava’s fabric. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair—

“Hey, hey,” Johnny’s hand moved from his wrist to his masked face. “Never in a million years would I see the Lieutenant Riley weep tears o’er little ol’ me.” Tears similarly fell from Johnny’s face, streaming down past his temples. “You’re gonna be fine, LT.”

“No, I won’t.” Simon’s mouth led faster than his brain. Simon’s anger, mixed with his despondency, made him sick. “Just once, I want something that’s mine. You’re supposed to stay and ’m supposed to be here with you.” Simon couldn’t believe what was coming out of his mouth. A younger, more volatile Simon would have thrown up at this display.

But he’s not a child anymore. He’s not stuck in the dark when he’s seen the sun in all its glory through the sergeant beneath him. Simon craves to be selfish for a quiet life, and it’s always been just out of reach.

It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!

“‘M so s-sorry, LT.” Soap failed to hide the hiccup in his voice. A part of him, very deep down, ached to see Simon so vulnerable. So open. So willing to show his soft, scarred underbelly.

"None of that, Johnny. We're gonna get you out of 'ere. Y'just need to stay awake-"

“-I was thinkin’ we’d retire after findin’ Makarov.”

Simon let out a shaky breath at the confession, compressing down the urge to scream and sob. Not here. Not now. “We’ve done enough fightin’. Enough t’fill th’both of us up until we’re sick with it.” Johnny’s thumb caressed the hard plastic of the skull. “We’d go t’Scotland. Find a home in the Highlands, ‘n fix it up ourselves.” Simon nodded as if they were going to go househunting tomorrow.

“Yeah? You think a Manc like me would fit in?” His voice betrayed him in the warble of his words. “Some fuckin’ sheep farmer? Sweater an’ all?” Johnny’s bright smile returned, and another brick crumbled.

“You’d fit in anywhere, LT. Reckon ye’d look like an image in a sweater.” Leave it to Johnny to flirt at the absolute worst moment there was.

“You’ll get t’see it. Because we’re goin’ to get you out of ‘ere.” Simon leaned over to his comm device. “Bravo 0-7 to Watcher. Laswell, where the fuck is the Med Evac?!” They were running out of time. Johnny’s hand slipped back onto the concrete floor as his breathing grew shallow. Johnny’s head lolled, forcing himself to stay awake. “Johnny, stay awake!”

“Watcher to 0-7, Med Evac’s trying to get to you as fast as they can. They’re swamped with injured. ETA is fifteen minutes.”

They don’t have fifteen minutes.

“Fuck’s sake! Is there anyone else they can send? Someone closer?” Price practically glowered as he argued for Simon. His man was dying, and they couldn’t do anything to stop it. Nothing that they already weren’t doing, anyway.

“John, you’re in the underground tunnels of the London Train System. It’s not an easy access. I’m working as fast as I can. Keep him stable.” Laswell’s voice cut out, and John sighed.

No matter how hard he thrashed in his head, he couldn’t move. He was scared that if he moved, he’d be the one to kill Soap by sheer proximity. After all, Soap was the one who came to his captain’s aid.

Even loyal dogs get put down.

“Oi! Johnny!” Simon slapped the side of Johnny’s face as his head bobbed to one side, his eyes threatening to close. “None o’ tha’ shit, Sargent. You keep your eyes open.” Soap’s eyes fluttered open, looking back at the grease-painted eyes through the skull mask.

“I dinnae have fifteen minutes, do I, LT?” He sounded so resigned in his question. Like he knew what the answer was, but he wasn’t going to speak it into existence.

“Y’do, Johnny. Y’do. You just need to hold on a bit longer.” Simon looked up at John, and there was no begging. There was no verbal plea.

John could see clearly as day, the stone tower named Simon Riley threatened to collapse. John couldn't bring himself to speak. Ghost looked at Kyle in similar desperation, and Kyle said nothing. He knew what Ghost refused to see. Kyle shifted to his tac vest and opened up his med kit, fishing out gauze and sterile pads, and looked over at the captain.

“Sir,” he held out his hand. “We have to try.” Robotically, John fished out the supplies and handed them to Kyle. The younger man took the items and carried them to Simon and Johnny. They had arrived too late, so he wanted to at least try to make up for it.

He’d be making up for it for the rest of his life, it seemed.

“Lieutenant,” Simon’s head snapped back up as Kyle approached. “Lieutenant, the gauze needs t’be changed.” Simon’s hands didn’t move from the dark gauze. It stopped being effective a while ago. “Lieutenant, please.”

“Simon, let go.” Johnny’s voice was a whisper. “It’s okay, mo chridhe.” Soap’s eyes flickered; the candlewick was close to burning out.

“I don’t want to let go!” His despair burned with the acrid flavor of rage. He didn’t know who he was talking to. Kyle’s hands hovered on top of Simon’s, ready to catch whatever came next.

“I know, mate.” Gaz nodded. Now wasn’t the time for his own despair to sink its teeth in. He’d address that later when they returned.

“Gaz—“

“Simon.”

That got his attention.

“Simon, move your hands so we can change the gauze. The Sergeant ordering his Lieutenant was a sight to behold. In any other situation, Simon would have ripped Kyle a new one. But now? He was just grateful for a friend.

Slowly, his hands moved with the soaked-through gauze, and Kyle came in and pressed with the fresh white cloth. “We’re gonna get you outta here, Soap.” He looked down at his comrade fighting to stay awake and not be swept under the current.

“Yer a good bloke, Gaz.” Johnny’s voice came out in a slur, and it made Kyle ache. “You tell Cap it wasn’t his fault.”

This is what they signed up for, but it didn’t hurt any less.

“I’m fuckin’ tired.” Johnny’s breaths elongated between each rise and fall. Time was running out. Kyle pressed harder, trying to buy Simon more time with his lover.

“Johnny, no. Stay awake, Sergeant.” Simon’s voice teetered on desperation. He could barely hear what was around him, only just registering Price saying something through the comms. Johnny’s hand moved, too weak to pull it up to touch Simon. His blood-soaked hand picked it up for him and squeezed tightly.

“You keep goin’ for me, Si. I need ye t’promise me tha’. Tha’ no matter wha’ happens, ye keep goin’ and you stay alive. Finish it. Finish Makarov and then fuckin' rest.”

Simon never believed he deserved to rest. He was crafted from crooked beams and wires built to withstand the weight of the world. He didn’t deserve rest.

How could he rest when his home’s been taken from him?

Though they got me in the end

You never left my sight

“Sure, Johnny,” Simon whispered. “I’ll need to find us a house in the Highlands. The sheep’ll be our neighbors.” Johnny’s laugh was weaker this time. But his smile, god, his smile was so bright.

“I love you, Simon Riley. I hope ye know tha’.” Of course, Simon knew. Simon consumed Johnny’s love like a hungry dog at his feet.

It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It's not fair!

“I know. I know y’do.” I’d bathe in it if I could. Tears streamed in rivulets down Soap’s face, feeling like a weight lifted from his chest. The candle was going out now. The wax was gone and couldn’t sustain the wick.

In a slow wave, Johnny’s whole body went lax. First his breathing, then his hands, and then his eyes, when the tears stopped streaming, staring at the stone ceiling above.

And I'd let them rip my heart out again

If I could see you smile

Kyle moved first, letting up on the pressure of the gauze. He backed away slowly, giving his friend the distance he needed. Where was that damn Evac? Simon, however, remained still. He couldn’t bring himself to move.

Maybe if he stayed, Johnny would wake up. He’d wake up, and he’d be put on the Med Evac home. He’d be in a hospital where he’d be safe.

But Johnny wouldn’t wake up.

He wouldn’t wake up in bed. He’s coming home in a box.

Of all my demons, you were the best one

You stole my heart as if my mind weren't enough

Simon’s lungs started to rev and heave, trying to take more air. His body tried to make space for the hole that was ripped out of him and exposed to the open sun. His soft underbelly scored open like an autopsy.

He unclipped his helmet and let it drop to the floor with a clunk without thought. Next came the balaclava and skull mask, revealing the sandy blonde hair and greased over eyes, red with despair, with love and loss and grief. It’s not fair.

He dragged one hand over Johnny’s eyes, closing them to the harsh world above. Simon leaned forward, resting his forehead against Johnny’s tac vest, burying himself into the one piece of him that felt good. That felt worthy.

And he wept.

It was silent. Tears were streaming down in angry streaks. You’d have to be focusing on him to see the shakes of his shoulders every time his body forced out another cry.

The body’s a funny thing when it reacts to trauma.

You and I, crazy on quiet nights

Damn near run out of town

We were a love so loud

Gaz ushered in the medics when he screeched to a halt, seeing Ghost kneeling over Johnny. He noted the cast-off helmet and mask, turning around to the teams behind him.

“Everyone out.”

“Sergeant? We need to–” Gaz could have leveled the medic with his stare.

“No, you don’t. Not right now. We just lost a man. If anyone ‘ere is wounded, you tend to ‘em now over there.” He pointed down the tunnel on the other side of the platform. “We’ll get you when we have a moment. Now, out.” Gaz was not a large man by any Ghost standards, but he tried his damndest to block any lines of sight towards Simon.

He didn’t move until all of the teams were out of sight before he turned back to his team. Price had moved to Simon, kneeling on Johnny’s other side.

“Simon,” He spoke low, almost as if he was speaking to an angry dog. Or a child. “Simon, we have to get movin’.” Gloved hands gripped tighter around Johnny’s body with minuscule intakes of air. That meant that Simon would have to return home. Return to a flat that would be emptier than before.

A room full of things he’d have to sort through at some point. There would be no more soft early mornings, no more coffee brewing, and tea kettles boiling. Just an empty, quiet space. Simon felt so sick to his stomach, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Price reached his hand out slowly, placing it on the lieutenant’s shoulder. Simon made no move to shake it off as he kept his face buried in Johnny’s body.

The three men stood there in solidarity for a while before anyone spoke. The truth congealed into reality, and they were too tired to handle any of it.

“He said it wasn’t your fault.” Simon was the first to break the silence. His voice was hoarse with the strain of holding back his despairing anger. He straightened up back onto his knees with an empty stare. Hollow. “He wanted you t’know.”

It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!

Simon sniffed and wiped his face with the back of his gloved hand. Looking at his captain, he was met with a man equally drowned in his guilt. Guilt and duty all under wraps in a boonie hat.

Price couldn’t say anything that wouldn’t have him fall apart at the seams. It was his fault. He was the one under Vladimir’s gun. Had he been fast enough, Soap wouldn’t have had to step in, and they’d all be walking out of here for a pint after debrief.

“They aren’t goin’ to provide a burial for ‘im, are they?” Ghost’s voice pulled John out of his head, and he sighed. He wished he could lie. He wished that he could say that they’d give him a state-sponsored funeral for the countless sacrifices he made for his country. But by the sound of it, Ghost already knew his answer.

“I wish I could tell you yes.” Was John’s only reply. Simon only nodded and reached for the mask. He slipped the balaclava over his head and adjusted it to fit over his face. Everything felt hollow. Robotic and stiff. Like a ghost.

“We should bring ‘im to the Highlands,” Simon spoke plainly. No inflection of emotions could be heard. Even in a state of numbness, Simon was still looking out for Johnny in his own way. The captain nodded.

“I can arrange that.”

“Lieutenant,” Kyle stated, standing at his post and watching for wandering medics. Ghost looked up at Kyle, and the respect for the younger soldier snaked itself into Simon’s bones. He’d be in that exact position if either of them were in his shoes.

“You want me to call the medics over?” ‘Your call.’ He spoke without words. Simon nodded, grabbing his helmet before standing.

“Watcher to Bravo, sitrep. Did the Med Evac reach Soap?” The question alone was such a mockery to him, it made Simon nauseous.

“Negative.” Price rose from the ground as he spoke to his comm device. “Several wounded,” He glanced down at Johnny’s sleeping frame. “One KIA”

A long pause was felt before Kate simply responded, “Copy.”

“Simon, let go.”

Simon Riley was not a good man. He was a selfish man who lived a life where everything was taken from him. This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

“It’s okay, mo chridhe.”

In a whirlwind of memory, I'm with you now

The minutes, days, and weeks after the London Train Tunnels were a haze. Debriefs were had, but Simon couldn’t remember what was said. Quiet arrangements for leave were made and pushed through by Kate herself.

The next day, the three men traveled to the Scottish Highlands. They found a cliff overlooking the sea, the sun overhead, and the crashing sea adding a symphony for Task Force 141. Johnny’s three-gun salute was performed by the seas of his home.

All of them spoke their short words. None of them were privy to long speeches or flowery language. They were men built from bullet casings and dog-like loyalty.

As Gaz poured the urn into the open air, the passing breeze took over for him, carrying Johnny away as if to say to the three of them,

“I can take him from here.” One less responsibility for the three of them to worry about.

“Who dares wins.”

Johnny went home, but not the home that Simon wanted.

So I lie fading under brilliant sky

Wake up, stare at the ceiling, wish the bed swallowed him whole. Day after day, week after week, month after month, Simon survived on the same routine. It’s why he thrived in the military. Stare at the ceiling until his vision swam, get up and perform basic hygiene so he wouldn’t reek, leave for PT.

Day in and day out, he burrowed himself into the walls of the base to avoid going to his flat off base. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t face going home. He hadn’t cried since the train tunnels either. The despair crystallized into sharp and volatile anger.

The linoleum base floors could have been made from of eggshells with how gingerly everyone was walking. New recruits, seasoned soldiers, office administrators, and even visiting teams from other militaries gave Simon Riley a wide berth when he stalked the halls.

Well, nearly everyone.

Following Johnny’s death, Simon became… difficult to work with. He became harsher towards anyone who looked at him. He ran recruits harder, and he observed with more scrutiny. Office admin resorted to frantic games of Rock-Paper-Scissors if, god forbid, they had to approach him about his reports.

He became a downright asshole. He avoided the therapist he was supposed to see, dodging calls to schedule appointments by throwing himself into work. He threw himself into work, indulged in the pubs more often than he should, landing himself with misery in the mornings after.

He volunteered for missions whenever he possibly could. The swelling ocean couldn’t consume him if he threw himself into a different hurricane.

And though the pain rages like fire

I'm dancing inside

“Seven months, Simon.” John was practically at his wits' end, tossing yet another stack of reports onto his desk. The captain had half a mind to drag the large man through the base by his ear, but thought better of it. Instead, he resorted to interrupting the sparring session Simon was overseeing.

“Seven months of complaints! I can’t go more than twenty-four hours without hearin’ from someone ‘bout you rippin’ the head of some admin worker! Or a recruit! Or you critiquin’ someone’s shootin’ form when they weren’t even askin’!” That was just the tip of the iceberg of timid reports that trickled in through his office. John was exhausted in the same way a father would be exhausted by his shithead teenage son. Simon stood awkwardly in the middle of his captain’s office, still and silent. He felt as if he moved, John would strike out like a cobra.

This is the one time Simon’s silence made John want to rip his hair out. He inhaled and exhaled through his teeth, taking a long drag of his cigar so he wouldn’t completely blow. “I know you’ve been dealin’ with Johnny’s death hard—“

“—I’m fine.” Simon’s words cut through the cigar-smoked air.

“Bollocks.” He drew out the word like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You talk with that therapist yet?” Cigar smoke flared through his nostrils like an angry bull.

“I don’t need a therapist,” Simon’s jaw cinched into a tight knot. The last thing he needed was some stranger telling him to explain his feelings when he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. It felt like a family reunion he wanted no part of. “I need another assignment.” John chuckled sardonically as he stamped the cigar in the ashtray.

“Jus’ so you can throw yourself into another gunfight and hope you get cut down?” You could hear a pin drop in the office. Even the fluorescent light bulbs stopped flickering, holding their breath for the exchange beneath them.

“Captain—“ Simon didn’t like how the words tasted. He didn’t like hearing what they sounded like in the open and not in his head.

“I’m not stupid, Simon.” John sighed, leaning up against the outdated desk. “Ever since we got back from London, I've seen it. The anger at anythin’ breathin’, fillin’ y’thoughts and mind with anything except the horrors y’face,” Simon needed to leave. John needed to stop talking.

“The hangovers, the risky behavior on assignments. I’ve been watchin’ it all. Frankly, I’m disappointed you’d think I’d be oblivious to any of you.” Price looked at him and made a motion with his head. “Mask off. We do this right or we don’t do it at all.”

His body acted before his brain could filter out the command, pulling the mask off in the tiny office. Simon looked tired. Tired in a way that couldn’t be explained by bad barracks beds or odd waking hours. He was tired down to the very marrow of his bones.

He missed Johnny. He missed his home. He was so angry and tired, and the only thing he knew was how to rip and shred.

“You’re not the only one who lost someone that day.” John continued, “Kyle lost someone that day. Kate lost a good man that day. We all did! Every night, I can’t stop thinking of all the ways I could have done better. Been better, so Johnny hadn’t had to step in.” The gunshot still reverberated in his ears. “It haunts me.” John looked up at Simon, not as a captain, but as a man who was as downtrodden as he was.

Simon’s mouth moved faster than his brain. “I’m—“ God, he was uncomfortable. He was uncomfortable from the strenuous workout, he was uncomfortable from the hole in his chest where Johnny once resided. He was more than uncomfortable as he looked so small in front of the man he admired and respected the most out of anyone in his entire life.

He tried to find some angry, bitter remark he could unhinge at the jaw but nothing came out. Nothing came out that wouldn’t make him completely shut down. The captain held his hand out as a sign to stop..

“I need you alive, Simon.” The five words played on a loop, spinning around in his ears, in his head like a whirlpool. The Lieutenant braced for the impact of duty. The implication that he was needed for his service. Dead men can’t hold a gun like you can.

“I know y’miss him. I know y’cared for him, and I know y’loved him.” The harshness of John Price’s eyes smoothed into something softer, more sad. “But you’re here too, mate. You’re here with people who want you alive.” He stressed with a sharp intake of breath. John paused, pursing his lips into a tight line. Simon blinked, the realization doused him with ice water.

His captain was trying not to cry.

“I can’t fill out another death certificate.” His voice betrayed him in coming out small. John’s eyes and throat burned, straying away from Simon and looking elsewhere. “I can’t even describe to you how his mum wailed.” Price let out a shaky breath. “His dad tryin’ pick her up off the floor, and his sisters starin’ in confusion til’ they saw me.” He sniffed, clearing his throat and focusing back on Simon. “I need you alive because I can’t stand the thought of losing another good man.”

Good man. Good man. Good man.

Simon Riley was not a good man. He wrought horrors upon lands like a vengeful god, fueled by duty and obligation. But that didn’t stop him from choosing to be a decent man where it mattered. Simon Riley was a good man in a way that was weathered and ancient.

“At least you won’t have to break the news to any family o’ mine.” Smooth. Simon’s attempt at a half-assed joke made the John groan. At least Simon was still somewhere inside of the shell his man was turning into.

“I’m going to strangle you with the strings of my hat, you fuckin’ muppet.” John chuckled. There was an edge of frustration hidden underneath his voice. He sniffed, wiping his face. “I don’t want to be breakin’ any news to anyone. The only papers I’ll be signin’ are your retirement papers.” The tension eased in the room. The fluorescent lights started to flicker again.

“Right,” The captain grunted as he stood straight, moving around his desk. “I do hate to be the bearer of bad news,” he moved the chair out and sat down, looking up at his Lieutenant. “The other reason I brought you in ‘ere is that you’re bein’ benched.”

The record scratch was palpable.

“What?”

“You’re bein’ benched.” John stated so matter-of-factly, Simon waited for the punchline. “Simon, I can’t ignore all of these.” He gestured to the pile of papers beside him. “Paired alongside your behavior on assignments, y’need to get your head on straight.” Simon couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Are you fucking with me? This’s some sort of suicide watch, innit?” Simon’s voice rose, “Ghost can’t be left alone and now ‘e’s gotta be watched to make sure he won’t—“ John’s took a sharp left into his command tone.

“Why would I be fucking with you, Lieutenant? It was either this or discharge.” That shut Simon up. Discharge meant being alone with his thoughts. Discharge meant he’d be forced to see Johnny everywhere. In the smell of shitty pub beer, in the way artists would sit in a park for hours in their sketch books, in the roar of the ocean. He was everywhere, and Simon would be forced to look.

“Six months, Simon. That’s all I’m askin’.”

“Six months–” The lieutenant huffed like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Maybe even shorter if the therapist thinks you’re ready. Long if you fuckin’ push it. Six months, y’meet with the therapist, you'll still stay on base trainin’ recruits, you’ll assist where needed. But, you’re not goin’ anywhere right now.”

“A bloody desk job. When Makarov is still–”

“And he’ll continue to be on the run if you’re dead too.”

Simon’s teeth gritted as he weighed his options. Expose himself to a light he doesn’t want to be seen in, or risk falling into the ocean and getting swallowed.

“Fine.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “Six months.”

A good man. A good man. A good man.

Simon Riley was not a good man. But if he tried, he could be a decent one.

Cause baby I turned on the light

Yeah I turned on the light

Simon hired and fired a few therapists in the first month before one finally stuck. Most of the time, they shied away from his harsh tone and puffed chest. They didn’t want to get close enough to see that underneath was a man who was hurting, scared, and angry. A man who wanted help but couldn’t ask for it.

A good man. A good man. A good man.

The one that stuck, he took to pretty quickly. She was a veteran herself, and didn’t take any bullshit from him. It was a breath of fresh air compared to the stifling ordeal of being walked around on a floor of eggshells.

He was making good progress. He was still Ghost on the base. He kept up the skills that made him the wraith he was. The lieutenant who took no shit during trainings, and held recruits to high standards. But the standards changed. The standards were no longer Johnny’s, but inspired by Johnny’s. Recruits could approach him, administrators didn’t have to recite final rites before going to him, and slowly but surely, complaints started to dwindle from Captain Price’s desk.

Behind the closed doors of his therapist’s office, Simon began to make peace with Johnny being everywhere he went. He embraced the warmth of the cafe interior. He stopped to watch the park painter apply their brush to the canvas. The smell of Johnny’s mother’s pies made a home in his bones when he visited the MacTavish family for holidays.

The MacTavish family, who had welcomed him in as one of their own, even if his better half wasn’t with him in person anymore. He was there in spirit and that’s what mattered.

Gaz would never let him live it down if he saw the moments he shared with the nieces and nephews. Uncle Ghost just didn’t have a ring to it like Uncle Simon did.

Simon Riley was on his way to being a decent man. He wouldn’t allow himself to be a good man until Vladimir Makarov was buried ten feet underground.

Of all my demons you were the best one

You stole my heart as if my mind weren't enough

Five months. It took five months before Simon’s therapist gave the green light for him to get back into the field. He still had a ways to go, but he wasn’t about to bite the hand that feeds if it meant he could take down Makarov. He could stomach nightmares and a cold bed for the sake of a larger goal.

“It’s good to have you back, mate!” Gaz shouted over the whirring of Nik’s helicopter. Not long after Simon had been cleared, Kate received intel regarding Makarov that finally could put him in the ground once and for all. All three men were wheels up before Kate could even end the call.

Ever so diligent to his brand, Simon gave Gaz a nod. But words didn’t need to be spoken to know his appreciation. He shifted in his gear, rolling out one shoulder and the other. He couldn’t get rid of a vibration deep inside the marrow of his bones. Something about it told him that the buzzing would go away when Vladimir Makarov no longer drew the same air as him. Johnny could rest once it was done. He could rest once it was done.

“Makarov is mine.” His voice crackled through the comms. The captain gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder, his eyes warm despite the frigid knowledge of where they were headed. John couldn’t help but be so proud of Simon.

“‘Course.” He replied. “Y’better let me at least get a potshot in.” Gaz’s chuckle picked up over the comms. Despite one missing, the pieces of Task Force 141 had fallen back into place, and things felt right.

“We’re approaching the drop point!” Nikolai shouted to the three of them. “I’ll be close by for air support!” The pilot turned over his shoulder and looked at all of them, specifically, Simon. “You finish this, and you finish this right.” Simon gave one single nod, adjusting the hold on his rifle.

“Roger that.”

Say you'll haunt my dreams, and I'll get sleeping

There was an unspoken beauty to warfare. You have to be born into it to understand its depths truly. Bullets whizzed by Task Force 141 as they pushed deeper into Makarov’s base, and there was not a single moment when Ghost stopped moving.

He switched from rifle to pistol to knife and back to rifle again with a fluidity that only dancers could mirror. The men worked in tandem with one another to achieve their final milestone. The finish line of this gruesome race.

“You have Execute Authority.”

Konni Group soldiers dropped like flies as Nikolai came in for air support, orchestrating maneuvers and giving the men the best shots possible.

Finish this right.

Deeper they pushed into the base, bullets provided a raucous chorus as they ricocheted off of concrete walls and metal railings. One by one, more soldiers dropped as Ghost, Captain Price, and Gaz marched forwards towards the upper control rooms.

They could see flames shoot up from behind the dirty windows as Makarov destroyed the evidence of his treachary. Price nodded at Gaz to the command center door.

“This man doesn’t leave this building alive, y’hear me?” Gaz only nodded before looking at Ghost, who strode past the both of them towards the metal door and kicked it open with one heavy boot on the door knob. Gaz couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips. “After you, mate. Got your six.” Gaz followed next behind the Lieutenant, followed by the captain bringing up the rear. Smoke was starting to fill the room as boxes of documents and gasoline doused computers burned away. The melting plastic smell alone could make a grown man’s eyes water.

‘I was thinkin’ we’d retire after findin’ Makarov.’

Simon’s rifle was tucked tight in his shoulder. He wasn’t leaving this place until bullets were spent. He wasn’t leaving until he saw the dead proof of his promise fulfilled.

‘We’ve done enough fightin’.’

“It’s over, Vladimir!” Price shouted over the roar of flames and alarm bells. More Konni would be coming soon, and none of them had respirators with them. “You know how this ends.” John nodded to the two men to take one hall way and he motioned that he’d take the other. If they boxed him in, Ghost could get in the final shot.

‘Enough t’fill th’both of us up until we’re sick with it.’

“This isn’t the end, Captain Price.” Makarov’s smug tone echoed down the hallway when Gaz and Ghost stood, rifles drawn. He walked casually, as if he had all the time in the world as he bathed in plastic fumes and gasoline. “This is just the beginning.”

‘We’d go t’Scotland. Find a home in the Highlands, ‘n fix it up ourselves.’

One could ruminate over every single theoretical physical reaction to a situation, an injury, a conversation. And yet, fate pulls a string that couldn’t be seen. Fate pulls a result out of you that best suits the moment, dignified or not.

Makarov’s slimy focus turned to Ghost with a coy smirk. “Sorry about MacTavish. He–” The whiplash of his neck snapping back cut him off from finishing his monologue, body crumpling to the floor like a lax crash test dummy. Ghost kept his rifle drawn to his eye, aiming the sight to where the Russian’s heart was, and shot again. Ghost was tired. Simon was tired, and he wanted this to end.

The hallway of Vladimir Makarov’s base was quiet, saving for the distant noise of human beings and alarm bells. The air smelled more and more like burnt plastic.

Vladimir Makarov was dead. Truly and wholeheartedly dead.

Simon Riley could rest.

You were my light in a nightmare

My dreamèd love

The days following the successful mission blurred one right after the other. The Task Force received some very well earned leave. Albeit not long enough before the next risk to the world would rear its ugly hydra head.

The night before they would all part ways to head home, Simon sat outside on the base, looking up at the sky. The ink black space proved to be a beautiful canvas for the smattering pattern of stars. The balaclava was pulled just high enough over his nose to let a cigarette sit on his lips.

“Got a light?” A familiar sergeant’s voice came up from behind him. He lazily glanced over his shoulder to see Kyle dressed in his civvies sitting down next to him

“Smokin’s bad for you, Garrick. Didn’t they teach y’that in basic?” Simon pulled out his lighter and handed it to the man. Kyle let out a laugh before lighting his own cigarette.

“Think y’missed the same class I did, sir.” Their shared laugh ruminated in the warm open air. The silence grew comfortable as they both stared up at the night sky above them.

Time could have passed like pulled taffy or the snap of a rubber band, but it didn’t need to be rushed. They had a moment to simply exist. Two friends being reminded that they were human.

“I just wanted to say–”

“Thank you for–”

The two spoke over each at the same time, breaking the silence with another laugh and drag from their cigarettes. Simon gestured for Kyle to speak first.

“I just wanted to say,” Kyle breathed in the smoke in a steady stream. “I’m really proud of you, Simon.” Ash flittered from the end of the cigarette. “The work you were doin’ while bein’ benched? It didn’t go unnoticed.” Simon side-eyed Kyle mid-drag.

“You’ve been ‘round the Captain too much. Did y’come out ‘ere to get all sentimental on me?” Despite its coarseness, Simon’s tone was teasing.

“Mm,” Simon switched the cigarette from one hand to the other. “Thank you for…” God, he was bad at giving out compliments. “Thank you for what you did. In the train tunnels.” His head turned to Gaz fully. “It meant a lot.”

Simon didn’t know it, but this small interaction already meant the world to the sergeant. His care for his teammates ran steadfast. Where Simon’s loyalty extended like a fault line, Kyle’s took root and curled around like tree roots.

“Of course, mate.” Gaz’s brown eyes softened, meeting Simon’s eyes. “You’d do the same if we were in that position.” I’d do it in a heart beat. “We’re a team,” he shrugged, taking another drag off the near stub. “It’s what we do.”

Of all my demons, you were the best one

You stole my heart as if my mind weren't enough

A warm night breeze dipped and swerved through the base, brushing past Kyle and Simon as the stars continued to move overhead. Kyle cleared his throat and stamped out the butt of his cigarette on the ground.

“Y’ever think about ‘im?” He asked, quieter than he meant to.

“All the time.” Simon responded without a single hesitation.

“I’m not a religious man,” Kyle’s eyes traced a star pattern, connecting its dots in his own constellation. “But I like t’think he’s watchin’ over us.” Another warm breeze swept over the base, and Simon smiled gently.

“He is.”

Say you'll haunt my dreams, and I'll get sleeping

Time stops for no man. Leaves fall, winter comes, spring renews, year after year after year. The earth does not wait for Simon Riley to get younger.

Fate pulled her string and forced Simon into the retirement he tried to avoid. One timed-right shot to his knee damn near took him out during an assignment. After a year of physical therapy, all he had to deal with were the aches that came with the change of the weather, and a flareup or two. His cane stood nearby when the pain became a little unbearable.

The symphonic sea waves crashing against the cliff face filled the Lieutenant’s ears as he traversed down the path back to his small home, bundled in a thick canvas coat to block out the chilly air. It was a small cottage in the Highlands, overlooking the ocean. Quaint and quiet, and in desperate need of a makeover. But to Simon, it was perfect.

He waved off the stray sheep in the wildflower bed in his front yard, unlocking his door to a warm home. He stood there for a moment and couldn’t help but smile.

“We’ll find ourselves a cottage. Havin’ the sheep as neighbors.” Simon said out loud, to no one in particular. Johnny may not be here with him, but Johnny was around everywhere he went. The door shut with a click and Simon shucked off his coat, revealing a black sweater that clung to his large frame.

‘Reckon ye’d look like an image in a sweater’

The metal clink of four dog tags rattled on the chain as he moved, grabbing his cane. Simon leaned against it as he walked to the window that overlooked the sea.

“Guess you were right, MacTavish.” I miss you. “We did get the house in the Highlands.” I love you. “Don’t know if sweaters’re workin’ f’me though.” I think of you in everything around me.

You were my light in a nightmare.

The saying goes, 'Home is where the heart is.' But to Simon, that phrase was bullshit.

The heart is where the home is.

And the home resides in the dog tags on his chest. Two of which were not his own.

My dreaméd love

Translations:

Mo chridhe: My heart

Mo ghraidh: My love

Hope you enjoyed! :) Stream Nathan Jacques! He's incredible and underrated. (Photos are from Pinterest and the divider is made by yours truly)

[shefwwaffles]

Goshujin-Sama ʚ ɞ Part 2

Sae Itoshi x Maid Reader

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☆Written from the readers POV

☆College AU

☆Italics is thought

CW: Sae has a sports car, Shidou is there ig(he is flirting with you, little RyuSae flirting, kinda Maid-Sama au, creepy drunk guy, the reader makes some not decisions but it's okay in the end, nicknames(Maid-chan), reader thinks Sae is trying some psychological warfare

─────────────────────୨ৎ─────────────────────

Getting a job as maid is all fun until Sae finds out...

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Every single day, Sae would come back to the cafe. He would always look for me, making sure I was his maid.

“Okaerinasai goshujin-sama!”

No matter how many times he barely speaks to me. He comes in just to taunt me, to make it hard for me. It’s like he wants to see how long before I crack under his pressure. He’s always here by the latest hour of the day, must be busy with soccer or whatever he does; he is also the last customer out. 

“Thank you for coming, Goshujin-sama!” 

I motion towards the door as I start closing up the cafe. My coworker rushes up to me and begs me to close on my own. I sigh out but accept; she seemed like she needed to get out of here. I go to the back to take out the trash. I wish it wasn’t so dark. As I close the lid to the trash, a drunk man approaches me. 

“Hey pretty lady, I have a nice place if you wanna come back with me”

Oh fuck. As I go to pull my pocket knife out of my apron, I feel a hand wrap around my waist. Startled by the sudden contact I turn around to see Sae. Hadn’t he gone home? 

“She won’t be doing that.”

“Oh yea? And who are you to decide what this pretty lady does and doesn’t do?”

“She’s mine, that’s why.”

Sae is stern yet his touch feels so safe and warm. I can feel his muscular arm against my back, I can’t even feel scared now that he’s here. The drunk guy scoffs and spits the ground, walking away.

“Thank you.” 

He just nods in response.

“How much more do you have to do before closing?”

“Not too much, just making sure it looks presentable.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Oh thank you, but you really don’t have to.”

“It’s fine, it’s something I wanted to do.”

I awkwardly nod at him while I go back inside, he stands out by the door. Finishing up my cleaning, I head back outside; he really did wait for me.

“I’ll drive you home, it’s not safe for you to walk back.”

Against my better judgement, I agree. He pulls out his car and walks me to his car; he’s quite the gentleman and opens the car door for me. Maybe he just didn’t want me slamming. He turns on the radio as he gets in; at least the awkward silence was avoided. He hands me his phone.

“Put your address in.”

Following his orders, I put my home address in and then handed him his phone back. The car ride was mostly silent aside the music and Sae humming along to whatever came on. He’s a really good driver. As he parks his car, he puts his arm out in front of me signaling me to stay put. Sae walks around to my side and opens the car door, after he walks me to my front door; we wish each other a good night.

When I get to my room, I change out of my uniform and prepare for my shower. While in the shower; the water runs over me and I reflect on what happened today. Unknown to me, a slight blush creeps across my face; Sae running through my mind. After my shower is through I finish my nightly routine and hop into bed, quickly drifting asleep.

Waking up to the sound of my alarm, I get ready for the say and head to school. I get to my desk and notice two familiar faces.

“What’s up Maid-chan?” 

Shidou asks flirtatiously.

“Don’t call me that here dumbass!”

I gently smack Shidou’s arm. Sae slightly grins.

“Oh is this your little secret?”

“Kinda”

A little embarrassed, I look away from their gaze. Sae perks up at my shyness.

“Why? You’re good at it and you're pretty. You shouldn't be embarrassed about it.”

My face heats up at the compliment.

“Thanks, it’s just…”

“Most people really don’t understand the whole maid culture so people make weird assumptions, ya know? I don’t want my peers to think about me differently.”

Shidou deviously chuckles.

“Aww Maid-chan is embarrassed about her job. How cute!”

Sae elbows Shidou.

“Give her a break, demon.”

─────────────────────୨ৎ─────────────────────

Thank you for reading! This will be multiple parts! I wanted to do a longer fic than just a one shot. I will make a masterlist soon.

ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊ Waffles out!

[shortstrawberry]

OKAY HI can I please request a oneshot of possessive Donna/mc being all fluffy and wholesome and possessive because mc finished their exams and they haven't seen each other for a while because of exam season? Please and thank you ♥️

"I'm back--oof!"

You had barely stepped into the flower shop before you were glomped by a figure clad in black. Well, someone is really happ to see you.

You knew Donna must probably be waiting for your exam to finish and you to come back, but you didn't exactly expect to be greeted this way.

You hugged Donna back, your arms encircling her waist, clutching at her black shirt. You felt the older woman's arms tightening around you in response.

"Cazzo, fuck. I missed you dolcezza. I missed you so much"

Donna nuzzled her nose against your neck, burying her face in your shoulder. God, you could almost melt in this woman's arms. She's as warm as the sunlight that shines in the greenhouse every morning.

Knowing how tough Donna is beneath her oversized clothes, you squeezed her as tight as you can. After being away from her for over two weeks, you just want to make a home inside her and never leave.

"I told you I could visit in between. But you refused!"

Donna groaned against your neck, before peppering several needy kisses against your skin there.

"I know, I know, and I regretted every single time I refused, Dolcezza. But I needed to make sure you do well in your exam."

"Why? What harm would one visit have done?"

Donna pulled back, looking down at you with a gleam in her gray eyes.

"I would never have let you go back, Dolcezza. We can't have that during your exam, right?"

Aah, yes. Its getting harder and harder for your florist to let you go back to the dorm. Hell, it's hard for you to sleep alone in your dorm bed. You miss the warmth of your broody dollmaker. You know it's only a matter of time when you yourself move into Donna's little cottage.

You reached up to kiss Donna's lips in thanks. Despite her obvious desire for you to stay around her, she would always put your studies above her. You adore just how sweet and selfless Donna is.

"Thank you for your patience. But I'm here now, and not going anywhere."

Donna pulled you closer, a slow mischievous smile coming on her full lips.

"Careful with your words, love. I might take them seriously."

You kiss her again, this time longer than before.

"I want you to take them seriously."

Donna blinked, and you swear you see tears in the corner of her beautiful eyes. You immediately cup her face in your hands, your eyes looking up at her in concern.

"Donna? What's wrong?"

The older woman shook her head to assure you, but you didn't miss the slight wobble of her lips.

"It's nothing, dolcezza."

You refuse to believe that.

"C'mon, it cannot be nothing. Tell me."

Donna's shoulders finally sagged, and her hands curled on your back.

"It's just, I thought you'd never come back. Every single day for the past two weeks, I waited in front of the door, hoping to see just a glimpse of your face. So, to finally have you back in my arms, it's a joy unlike any other. Impazzirò di gioia, dolcezza."

You wanted to remind your precious wallflower that you had texted Donna every single morning and night. But you know that isn't the same reassurance for Donna. For some reason, unless and until you're in front of Donna's eyes, she would believe that you'll leave any time.

You wonder just what makes your strong florist so insecure. But now is not the right time. Maybe sometime later, when you both are together under the same sheets.

For now, you will reassure her with words you always say to her.

"I'll come back to you. I'll always come back to you, sweetheart."

Donna pressed her lips against you, whispering on your mouth.

"Always?"

You hummed against her, letting yourself fall against the florist.

"Always."

[imaginesmai]

Safe place - Ruhn Danaan

I've been re-reading hosab so I can enjoy the third one and I'm extremly frustrated at the lack of Ruhn fics, so here is my own. It's shitty, it's late and it's not proof-read.

Plot: the autumn king tries to hurt you with his words and actions, but Ruhn is always there to help you up.

You had known it would be hard.

You had known, for a while, that the dreadful day would come, that you would finally face the source of your anxiety and doubts, and that it would be hard.

But it had left you completely broken, as useless as he had described you. Standing outside the Autumn's King's villa, you didn't bother taking cover from the rain nor caring about the looks that granted you. You were too busy replaying the words over and over again in your head, remembering the sting on your cheek from his slap. You knew it would be hard, but meeting your mate's father had exceeded any expectation.

You had been summoned that morning with a brief letter, mentioning that the king wanted to meet you formally. Too busy worrying about what he would say or think, you hadn't noticed the reason behind the sudden decision — Ruhn was away with his Aux for the day, and wouldn't be back until night time. That left Declan and Flynn out of the equation, the only friends you had in that place.

So, when you had been hastily dragged out of his office like trash, when his hateful speech had broken through the walls, no one had said anything.

You choked on the next sob, not knowing what to do. Your shared apartment was more than an hour away walking, and it was pouring. Calling Bryce would be a terrible idea, since she didn't need another excuse to blow that place to pieces, and Hunt shared her feelings. You could always call a cab, but you were certain that none would answer.

The king wanted you out in the streets like a rat, and he would make it happen.

So you hugged yourself, ignored the bruises that were already forming on your forearm and lowered your head. Exiting the fairy territory was the worst part. Not only they didn't do anything about his king behavior, but made sure to force you to step out the sidewalk.

An attractive, tall woman spat at your feet as you walked by her side.

Your eyes full of tears and your heart in a knot, you didn't notice the shadows or the stares until Ruhn stopped in front of you, head to chest. Looking up, your lips trembled once more when you noticed the look on his face. The absolute murder on his beautiful blue eyes. They instantly noticed the angry cut made by his father's ring, the way you cradled your arm.

"It isn't worthy" you hiccupped, tired and devastated. "He isn't"

"You are" he growled back, the street almost covered in his angry, restless shadows. "You are my fucking mate and he has no right to even look at you"

"I just wanna go home"

You had been in that situation before — someone making a comment or a move about the obvious truth, that he was the prince and you were the half-human. That it was not supposed to be, because his fate was to be with someone better, more powerful, more talented. Not a half-human barista who barely managed to finish her studies and pay off her loans.

Each and every single time, Ruhn had gotten himself into trouble because of it. So many times, actually, that you had long ago stopped believing what they said. But it was different, because that time, it came from someone with the capacity of making it happen. Of keeping you away from Ruhn and taking the only light in your life away. Only thinking about it made your breath speed up.

"Flynn will take you home" Ruhn stared behind your shoulder, as if he could see his target.

"Ruhn, please. I just want to... Forget about it" you tried again, sneaking a hand forward until you could grab his. It was shaking from rage.

"And I want to talk to him. Just like he has talked to you" he snarled, not looking at you though holding your hand. "He thinks - he believes he can do this, he has always done it. But there are lines"

"There are lines for you too. Let's just -"

"Have you seen yourself, Y/N?" Rhun interrupted you. "Don't think I can't guess what he has said. He has touched you. He has kicked out of my home, because this is mine too. He has no right. None"

"He will do it again, if you give him a reason" you waited a few seconds in silence before squeezing his hand, looking at him through the pouring rain. "Ruhn"

His eyes finally dropped back to you, and he ran his tongue across his lip piercing. He knew what he needed, what he wanted. To scream back at his father so the whole Lunathion heard how worthy you were of him, how he was the one who had to keep up with you.

Ruhn wanted to finally act on his father, that had caused him so much harm, that had rejected his sister like a stray puppy. He wanted to kill him for even daring to summon you, knowing he wasn't around and your kind heart wouldn't recline.

He was tempted to do so, his eyes moving back and forth from your eyes to the scratch on your cheek. Even if he could imagine what had happened there, he had lived through enough to know it had been worse.

The only thing that kept him from breaking down his father's door and every bone was the urge of taking you away from that place. He hadn't thought about an umbrella or a car. After receiving Bryce call that you weren't home and having Declan track your phone, he had only one worry in mind - your safety.

And he had to ensure that first.

So he brushed off his soaked jacket and put it over your shoulders and head, big enough to cover you partially from the rain.

Without sharing another word, Ruhn draped his arm around your shoulders and tucked you into his chest, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He felt more than saw you trembling, enclosing your body around him like a perfect mold.

Yeah, he would kill his father for this. Just not tonight.

"How did you know?" you asked softly, while he scared away the few curious eyes that still looked at you with just one glare.

"I always know when you need me" he squeezed your shoulders, wishing it was different. "I'll always come"

"I hate him" you admitted, knowing the feeling was shared. "I hate what he said and did, but I hate more than he only cares about us because he wants to use you. I despise him"

There were few people you hated. That girl in fourth grade who cut your hair as you were trying to grow it longer. The cat of your neighbors, who snarled at you and tried to scratch you every time you saw her. People who started wars, maybe. But you were a kind-hearted person, and that had made Ruhn fall in love with you. Tired from all the hate and pain, you had been his salvation in a world where he was losing his soul.

What pained him the most was that, if it wasn't for his father's hidden intentions behind his dislike for your relationship, you wouldn't even hate him. You would shrug the hurt and sadness away, and keep going.

His father loathed that you were his mate, that he had a normal, healthy relationship with no political power. He wasted no occasion to throw him women and men that would be a great alliance to his family – and still, all Ruhn could do was search for your face in the crowd.

So different from each other, he could barely resist the urge of turning around and burning the whole place down. But he kept hugging you silently, gathering the strength to leave that place without turning back.

"Whatever he said, whatever came out if his poisoned mouth, was a lie. He can try and change us, but he won't" Ruhn felt the need to remind you, no matter how many times he had said it. "I love you, I've loved you since the first coffee and long after my body goes cold"

"I love you too, Ruhn"

“Couch and movie?”

Ruhn had planned a party, as he always did, for when he came back that night. But not even Declan and Flynn would argue with him, knowing he needed to stay with you just as much as you needed you. You nodded against his chest and he let you both be consumed by shadows and darkness.

He tugged you forward until you were nested against his side, and started walking. The shadows covered you from the worst part of the rain as you walked in silence, tucked together.

No matter how much his father hurt you, how much he used Ruhn, there was something he could never change – that you were his home.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

[orgaslink]

Things to say after kissing. #18 with Legend and your choice!

Stormy! Thank you for the ask and I'm sorry it's taken so long.

There were so many options I could have chosen but apparently my brain chose Ravio.

Under the cut for length.

There comes a point when tension becomes so taut a snap is inevitable. Like a coiled spring that has been under far too much pressure for far too long suddenly releasing the tension in a significant and sometimes volatile explosion of energy.

For weeks now, Legend’s quaint little home had become stifling, every molecule seemingly compressed under a rock that had Legend feeling claustrophobic. Except, there was no rock, yet the pressure was palpable and getting heavier with every passing day. At this rate, he would ground his molars into dust with his furious clenching.

The cause of Legend’s woe? Him. The hooded menace that was the freeloading merchant who has taken to humming and whistling to himself in a cheery way that grates on Legend’s last nerve until finally–

SNAP!Footsteps stomping across the floor are Ravio’s only warning before he is nose to nose with an irritated hero, his whistled tune trailing off as his hood is knocked back by the force of Legend yanking him by the collar and pulling him close enough that Ravio can see the vein in Legend’s neck pulsing in barely contained anger.

“Now, listen here. I’ve been more than fair with you letting you turn my home into some kind of rental shop, I’ve put up with feathers everywhere from that winged beast you call a pet–” When Ravio opened his mouth to speak, the snarl on Legend’s face made him close it pretty sharpish. Probably best to wait until Link has said what he needs to, don’t poke the bear and all that.

“I can just about tolerate seeing this ridiculous purple hood everyday. Hell, I can even cope with you using my hairbrush and not cleaning it out. But the noise, Ravio? The annoying whistling and the nonsensical humming? Nope, na-ah, no way.”

“Mister hero, I–” Ravio’s protests or whatever it was he was going to say fall short.

“I’m not finished. If you can’t keep yourself quiet, I’ll have to do it for you.”

Before Ravio can question, Legend’s hot breath was ghosting against his lips. Hesitant, Legend waited for Ravio to pull away, allowing him the chance to give an indication as to if he’s okay with Legend’s action. The way Ravio’s breath hitched and he leant in closer gave Legend his answer.

In an instant, Ravio’s eyes were closed so tightly, he was seeing stars. Or maybe that was from the tongue plunging into his mouth and tangling with his own. It was difficult to tell really. The dizziness he was feeling could also be because of said kiss stealing his breath away or from the sheer unexpectedness to be playing tonsil tennis with someone he never considered was a possibility.

Yet here he was. Engaged in a saliva swap with none other than Legend. Fuck.

Legend’s kisses are as intense as his stares, as deep as his eyes and as rough as his personality. And Ravio was here for every single delightful second of it.

“O-kay,” Ravio is breathless when they finally part for air, lips shining with the evidence of their activity. “Should we dissect what just happened here? How are we feeling right now?” Ravio grins, exposing the gap in his teeth that Legend secretly thinks is cute (he would never admit it).

“Fuck you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ravio’s laugh followed Legend as the hero dropped his grip from the merchant and turned to leave, they can talk about this later when Ravio isn’t being such a smug and insufferable bastard.

At least he wasn’t whistling anymore, the giggling Legend could cope with.

Maybe.

[timebegins-onopeningday]

Time Begins On Opening Day 2024: Round Up Post #1

Happy Friday everyone and welcome to Round-Up Post #1! This post includes links to all works posted in the first half of the season + details about First Half Commentfest which begins today and goes through the weekend.

Soft Deadline #1 offers us 20 (20!!) fanworks for five teams and 104 prompts across several teams as well as some broad and open-ended prompts! For a small fandom and only halfway through the season, that's pretty cool. If you're just finding this prompt meme now, or if you didn't finish something you were working on before the deadline, never fear - this prompt runs the entire length of the 2024 season! There is still plenty of time create.

Enjoy the works, slam that kudos button, leave a comment, and enjoy the second half of the MLB season!

Soft Deadline #2 is September 29, the end of the regular season.

🌞 First Half Commentfest 🌞

First Half Commentfest runs this weekend, from Friday July 19 to Sunday July 21. As we catch up with all these amazing works (fic! art! poetry! y’all are amazing!!) my challenge as a mod for us is to get every single one of these works at least five independent comments from five independent readers by the end of the weekend. (So we’re not including creator responses in that comment count!)

Why? Because it’s very easy to feel isolated as a creator – particularly in a small fandom like baseball rpf. We all know how easy it is to hit the kudos button and move on, but in a challenge designed to inspire creators for a very small, very spread out of fandom, a little encouragement can go a long way.

justleaveacommentfest has a list of resources for helping write comments on fic here and hxphaestion wrote some notes on what kind of comments resonate with artists (scroll for reblog) if you’re not sure where to start.

Let’s get all these works some comments!

🌞 Fanworks from the first half of the season 🌞

That we got as many fics as we did in the first half makes your mod SO happy, because we’re already past what we had last year!! This was a pain in the ass to put together because there were so many links and that delighted me. Shout out to you all, you’re all amazing.

I organized these by fanwork type, then grouped works by team and sorted alphabetically by the creator’s name + title (with the exception of one set of works, which are grouped in order of the series). Enjoy the works, bang that kudos button and COMMENT 🥳🥳

Art

Baltimore Orioles

[collage] heat waves by sapplyandherfriend

a celebration of dingers and slug edit: WOOOOOO TONY IS AN ALL STAR

Toronto Blue Jays

[collage] cheer on your team! by idlt

a toronto blue jays collage made on a 6x4 index card with a bunch of junk from the recycling bin

[collage] love song (show elation) by idlt

a vladdy and bo collage made on half of a page of cardstock with a bunch of junk from the recycling bin and a pile of old magazines that I got from someone in my neighbourhood who was going to throw them out, plus a few star stickers and a picture of vlad and bo pasted on top digitally

Poetry

Toronto Blue Jays

come home (the way they need you to) by idlt

A short poem about Vladdy and home and being seen.

Fic

Baltimore Orioles

one warm summer night (fireworks outside) by Settsplitt

Technically, they’re kind of hidden, standing a few steps down the tunnel, with their teammates all turned towards the fluorescent night sky, eyes fixed on the show. But still, Kyle thinks, as Adley tucks his hand under the hem of his pants, slipping his fingers beneath his belt and digging until he finds bare skin, this can’t be a good idea.

Milwaukee Brewers

In Stadium Light & Shadow by TheGlobeLifeBarn 

A thin satellite in orbit of nothing.

Philadelphia Phillies

Pressure Point by caltrain

Bryce fucked up his hammy and he’s being an enormous baby about it.

you think it’s different but it’s always the same by palimpsestic

Florida’s always so fucking humid, even in February—the air is sticky with unshed rain, hangs heavy with anticipation.

Who’s on First by powerblu (bluspirits)

A lot may have changed since Rhys first got called up to the Phillies: the size of the crowds, their record, the fact that they're playing in the World Series. But one thing is exactly the same: Bryce Harper is still there on the other team, annoying the hell out of him.

put some moves on you, babe (i know you need it) by pronoe

Bryson reminds himself to be careful where he sucks his marks on Alec’s skin, with the way he keeps his jerseys half-unbuttoned.

Seattle Mariners

Broken Foot and Cuddles by Anonymous

turns out that record-breaking pitch had actually been “breaking” in more ways than one. Poor Ty, with the foot fracture.

Toronto Blue Jays

Fiber arts for first inning starts by caltrain

There’s a hot guy no one has ever seen before at the softball clinic. He crushes three balls out of the park off of Kevin and pisses Kevin off so bad that Yusei slings an arm around his neck and kisses his cheek. “Can we get him?” he says happily.

5 Times The Blue Jays were Blue Gays: Number 1 Will Shock You! by idlt

George Springer is writing for the first edition of the new Blue Jays newsletter, organized and edited by Davis Schneider. George's first assignment? Clickbait the fuck out of everyone with the most unbelievable listicle ever (except somehow it is actually that gay)! Here's what he wrote, plus what Davis had to say about it.

he said i have bisexual swag! by idlt

An ode to Jordan Romano's short-lived yet glorious septum piercing (in the format of 2 idiots texting)

the grip of artificial chaos by idlt

Davis and Ernie sneak a moment in the dugout as the fireworks go off.

Out of Left Field by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles

Danny Jansen and Daulton Varsho were rivals playing on opposing baseball teams in high school. Now, ten years later, they are playing on the same team for the Toronto Blue Jays. As they weather the ups and downs of the baseball season, Danny and Daulton find an unexpected companionship in one another. But there is a lot on the line and neither knows if it is safe to indulge these feelings or if they are better left buried in the past.

Cover Your Bases by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles

Ten years after being high school rivals, Danny Jansen and Daulton Varsho started playing baseball on the same team for the Toronto Blue Jays. Their months together brought them closer as teammates, friends, and then something more. Now they need to decide what risks they’re willing to take if they want to make their relationship official.

Swing for the Fences by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles

Danny Jansen and Daulton Varsho are officially dating. Unfortunately, being public figures in a major league sport makes that anything but simple. They’ve agreed to keep things private until the end of the baseball season but that means Danny and Daulton must balance their blooming relationship and their work while navigating the ever-present media attention.

The Longest Road by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles

After their nightly game of Settlers of Catan, Davis has a heart-to-heart with Spencer about his growing feelings for their mutual friend Ernie. Spencer offers some valuable advice and reassurance, which gives Davis the courage to accept when Ernie asks him to forgo the living room couch and share a bed for the night.

Therapy with Daulto Varsho by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles

Daulton has always been a listener rather than a talker. Whether it’s good news or bad news, he’s there to hear out his teammates. Sometimes, this leads to unexpected revelations.

[satoryou]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ MICRO SET - SATORU GOJO

✩ 𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: you buy an interesting set of lingerie and surprise your husband

✩ 𝒹𝑒𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓁𝓈: gojo x fem!reader, husband!gojo, p in v, cunnilingus, blowjob, creampie/breeding kink, cockdrunk!reader, unprotected sex, fingering, face fucking, dirty talk, 𝙣𝙨𝙛𝙬 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙪𝙩, slightly proofread, MDNI, 18+

✎ 𝒶/𝓃: first post on the t! umm to be completely honest i think i'm just tryna upload my wip(s) here just for funsies because i haven't written ff's in quite a while and i have a lot of ideas. but yeah first gojo fic!

the micro set in question

wc: 3.5k (yeah got too carried away)

*bzzz* SATORU GOJO sent you $20,000 "Spoil yourself while I'm gone, love you <3"

jesus christ 'toru. you thought upon reading the notification.

-three weeks later-

OH MY FUCKING GOD OW- was what ran through your mind as the esthetician finishes waxing your private area. you decided that since gojo is coming back in about 3 days after almost a month of training with his students in kyoto that you prepare for his return by giving yourself a self-care day for almost every single thing you can think of from facials to a Brazilian wax. you know yourself that this is something you're not used to doing so why not pamper yourself and plus, your husband did send you money so why not spend it for him.

"the healing process is about 24-48 hours post appointment, but if you want to speed up the process, just apply a cold compress or a bit of witch hazel to the treated area!" the worker at the front desk gave you a small bag that included aftercare oil and a small bottle of witch hazel and kindly greeted you as you left. walking out of the wax place you decided that you should also buy something that could possibly benefit you and gojo. you find yourself walking into a lingerie store browsing through their selection of pretty colored and laced pieces of undergarments until a certain item caught your attention.

"hello miss! i see you've taken an interest in the micro collection, it's our newest arrival! the micro thong and bra set is the most popular nowadays!" a worker greeted you with a welcoming tone.

to say the least, you bought the entire collection that consisted of 10 different colors of the same articles of clothing, if you even consider it clothing. the item barely covered anything that you knew you would never buy without getting waxed.

you arrived back to yours and gojos home, hiding the stash of thongs and bras you just bought under the bed. you quickly go to the bathroom to have a quick shower and apply the aftercare oil to your freshly waxed cunt following the directions of the pamphlet given to you. covered in your towel, you walk out to pick out what color of the matching set you should wear upon his arrival, as you placed a cold compress over your womanhood.

blush pink? crimson red? forest green? you couldn't decide until you got to the bottom of the bag unknowingly taking out a cerulean blue micro thong.

you smiled. "perfect."

-3 days later-

at 9pm gojo arrives jingling the keys of your house. "baby i'm home!" he calls out while entering. 'weird,' he thought as he was welcomed with silence. you'd usually make your way to the door when hearing the rattle of his keys, but to his surprise you didn't. curiously placing down the bags of souvenirs on the counter, he takes off his blindfold and makes his way to the bedroom in hopes you were there dragging his suitcase with him. upon entering he notices your side of the bed slightly shuffled while his was still cleanly made, leaving evidence of your presence. he hears the connecting door of the bathroom open to reveal your back facing him and wearing his shirt with a pair of pajama shorts that barely covered your butt.

you came out of the bathroom turning around while rubbing the moisturizer on your cheeks. eyes widened in excitement at the sight of your husband in front of the bed taking off his jacket as you pace yourself to him.

"'toru!" you squeal with arms wide open to embrace him in a hug, arms wrapping around his neck.

"hey pretty girl, i missed you so much," he chuckled closing his eyes, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. his hands trailed from your back to the curve of your waist resting there. to gojo you were everything, his light, his life, his home, and his safe place. he finds comfort in your scent that being away from you for even just a week buried with work and responsibilities made him even more impatient in wanting to see and be with you. "you get my gift from 3 weeks ago?"

you looked up at him realizing that he was referencing the money he sent you weeks prior to his arrival. "mhm, i got it and thank you babe but as much as i love and appreciate it, you didn't have to send it you know," you place your chin on his chest smirking at him. it wasn't anything new, but gojo always spoiled you rotten ever since the beginning of your relationship that even after being married to him for 3 years, you still weren't used to his acts of affection in gift giving whether it was over the top or even something plain and simple. you knew and let him know that no matter what he spoils you with, nothing will ever top the gift of his presence.

"uh oh, I didn't give you enough huh?" he gasped with an exaggerated shock jokingly pulling out his phone with swiftness. you giggle as you grab his arm to prevent him from sending you anything more. his movement is nimble, spinning you around and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"c'mon sweets, what'd you spend it on? i wanna know what you bought," he says positioning his head on your shoulder leaving kisses on your neck.

"hmm, i went and got a couple massages and facials, bought some groceries, got other stuff done and also bought something, all for you," you teased while he continued lingering pecks all over your neck and shoulder. "for me? what could you have possibly bought for me, princess?" you unwrap his arms from your waist and turn around to push him down on the bed finding space between his legs.

gojo was shocked at your conduct and sat up a bit propping his weight with his elbows while manspreading, watching you undress from his oversized shirt. the view of your cerulean blue micro bra that only really covered your nipples made his insides churn of excitement. his mouth slightly agape at how tiny your bra was at barely concealing your hardening papilla all while enhancing and glorifying the natural shape and roundness of your tits making his dick pulse in his dress pants.

"fuck baby girl, look at you," he fully sits up arms gravitating to your hips to pull you closer which you stop him. "hold on baby, i'm not done," you say pushing him back to his previous position. watching your every move, his gaze intensifies as you pull down your shorts to reveal the matching micro thong.

your legs find their way resting on both sides of his hips straddling him as you placed your hands on his broad muscular shoulders for support. he examines your torso up and down, noticing that there's not a hair follicle in sight on your waxed pelvis. feeling bold, you sat yourself right on the tent of his boner, feeling the pulses it'd give under the fabric of his uniform.

"i got even got my pussy waxed, do you like it daddy?" you purred his favorite nickname in his ear. seeing comfort in your position he helps support it by gently gripping your hips adding more force and friction between your cunt and his hard-on.

"shit princess, you look fucking delicious. i love it, love everything." he groans as you slowly grind your heat on him. "that's good, i was having a hard time choosing what color to wear because i bought 9 other ones," you say temptingly innocent. his strong grip on your waist moves to the curve of your ass, giving it a good squeeze pulling you closer. "9 other ones? good grief baby i can't wait to see them on you," his lips latching onto the fat of your tits avoiding your covering of your bra.

"yeah, wanna know why i chose this one?" you hear him give a muffled 'hm?'  as he continues sucking the same area. you slightly pull away to tease a whisper in his ear, "because its the color of your eyes, daddy."

gojo impulsively flips over positioned on top of you. he doesn't know what he did to deserve such a woman like you, his sweet wife. you knew his weaknesses and ways to get a reaction out of him, teasing him into knowing what you want without even saying it. the way your body conveys its needs and wants makes his skin crawl at the thought of how much of a freak you secretly are behind closed doors. he impatiently takes off his compression shirt and unbuckles his pants to undress fully, displaying his paradisiac figure entirely nude.

you glorify gojos body as if each part was designed to absolute perfection. his whole torso was god given, muscular and bulked, and the angry look his dick is giving you at the moment hypnotizes your body to desire more of him. his length and girth proportioned flawlessly, veins popping out in different areas of height,  flushed with a bright shade of pink crowned with his enraged bulging tip leaking with precum.

he gives his cock a few sensual pumps at the sight of your laying body straddling one leg between your thighs, knee pushing a thick force on your pussy feeling slight dampness. you sit up face leveling at his dick sprawling out your tongue on his length.

"yeah princess, just like that. c'mon give daddy a good suck like you always do," eyes gazing down at you with his hands raking through your scalp.

with the assistance of your hand pumping his girth, you engulfed his tip tongue flat lapping at the drool of his precum. you down in half the length of his cock as you begin to feel his tip hit the top of your throat. gagging at his hardness to adjust to his size, you feel your saliva escape your lips, running down your chin. you pull out for bit to gasp for air, only to impatiently continue wrapping your lips around his dick. the room was filled with loud sounds of squelching and grunting as you messily swirl your tongue and coat his dick with your saliva. your assisted hand that was pumping his shaft made its way to massage his balls as you slowly take in his full length inch by inch.

throughout the years of being with gojo, you still admit to the defeat of never being able to getting used to the size of his dick. while taking in his full length after a couple of eye watering gags you hollow your cheeks to find comfort in the adjustment of his cock down your throat.

"my fucking god baby, you takin' it all in so good i feel it bulging your throat," he praises you as his fingers lightly graze your throat to feel your work on him. as difficult as it is, you manage to look up and make eye contact with him as your nose repeatedly bumps his pubic area. "ngh..ah shit - shit, missed your slutty mouth babe, lemme face fuck you yeah?"

gojos pleasure in face fucking your mouth gave you the time to touch yourself. your hands made their way up and down your body resulting in teasing your nipples and your clit at the same time over your micro set. his grunts begin to falter in a satisfying yet shaky rhythm as he feels the vibrations of your moaning come into contact with each stroke your mouth gives while he thrusts his erection into it. fingers pinching a hardened nipple while stuffing the other down your thong to play with your stimulated bead, gojo doesn't miss to notice your pleasure while chasing his own through your mouth and as much as he wants to finish in it, who is he to let his sweet girl do all that work alone?

you feel your mouth empty as he takes his dick out continuing to give it a few more strokes before kneeling down so that he's at an eye level to you. you watch him hold the hand that you used to play with your clit, bringing it to his mouth to lick the juices it collected, giving him a preview of your taste. "so sweet for me, just how i like it," he smirks at your lips swollen and slicked with a mixture of your saliva and his precum, gently rubbing his thumb over it to gather the substance and stick it back in your mouth. your expression is fucked out as you ease into sucking his thumb, swirling your tongue around it.

"mmm....such a good girl for me baby, making me feel good with your mouth, makes me wanna return the favor," he soothes before leaning in to press his lips on yours while he lays you down on your back. bringing your hands behind his head to massage his undercut, you feel his teeth lightly lap at your bottom lip biting it, forcing you to yelp a bit and open your mouth, to which he enters with his tongue. he swirls it against yours massaging and lapping at each others spit before you retreat for air. your chest heaves up and down as you try to catch your breath, beaming at your boyfriend with a sultry look.

gojo glances at your disheveled appearance, licking his lips at how beautiful you looked. he goes in on you lapping his tongue at your skin as he goes down from your neck, to your collarbones, to your chest -  making sure to provide every single part of your body attention. tongue grazing across your barely covered tits, he pulls down the excuse you call a bra, exposing your hardening nipples to the cold air.

"'s-satoru..ah-" you squealed as he immediately took in a nipple in his mouth. alternating - he sucked and bit down at one while rubbing and pinching the other. he grasped both mounds with his strong hands and pushed them together while sucking and bruising the fat of your skin with dark hues of purple. "could never get tired of your beautiful tits baby."

he continues trailing his tongue down south, eventually reaching your heat burying his face between your legs. "s-so wet for you 'toru, want your dick in me already...ngh- please," you moaned while he wet the patch of fabric covering your clean pussy.

"as sexy as you look in this set baby, you look a million times better with nothing on." gojo gives your protected clit a good suck before pulling your thong to the side revealing you flawless looking pussy. "'m not putting my dick in you without tasting you first mama. your cunts askin' for me so politely shes leaking," his fingers slide up and down your bare slit rubbing your leaked juices all over before putting his index and middle finger in.

"you tryin' to show you miss me? your slutty little pussy's so wet i was able to slip in two fingers princess," he groans placing sensual kisses on your thighs scissoring his fingers deep in your pussy at a slow pace. "AH- SATORU," you squeak feeling him replace his fingers with his tongue as you run your hands through his scalp.

he works his way with your pussy sloppily sucking at your clit. pampering your bead with a few more sucks, his tongue glides down your labia drawing circles on your outer sex. gojo's been addicted to the sweet taste of your pussy, but after a month without your flavor, his mouth drools while lapping up your juices and fucking your cunt with his tongue.

"oh my fucking god b-baby...ngh fuck...feels so fucking good- yes..YES...AH- d-daddy  i-i-" you're a fucking mess, pathetically grinding your pussy lips on his tongue while he keeps going. "you what, hm? use your words with me baby girl. i won't know unless you tell me," he teases watching you get drunk on the pleasure of his mouth.

"n-needa cum...p-please i-i need to cum..UGH N-NO-" you cry out in frustration at the loss of his tongue. "s'bout time i put my dick in you right?"

he rubs the tip of his cock along the wetness of your folds, making sure to add pressure every time it glazes over your clit. as he positioned his tip at your entrance he pistons his full length in, causing you to squirt. "AHH- NGHH- SATORU MMFPH-" he shuts you up with a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. "goddammit mama, squirting on my dick with one thrust? i just started haha," he teases you with a chuckle.

driving his hips into you, gojo continues to sink his length into your overstimulated hole. your moans continue to get louder and louder, thrust after thrust. "how is it you're still so tight? i've fucked this pussy over a hundred times yet you're as tight as you were when you were a virgin nghhh- princess," you were too cockdrunk to listen to what he was talking about, high off of the immense feeling his dick was giving, splitting you open. "be-cause I h-haven't felt your- Ah -dick f-fuck me in a mo-month SHIT." you could tell he was close as the rhythm of his thrusts began to get sloppier.

"c-could feel your dick pulsing in me daddy--you cummin' soon?" you arched your back as he took a hold of your tits plunging his cock in deeper and harder that you can feel his balls heavily slap with each thrust he was giving.  "hell yeah baby, nGhH... gonna cum where do you want-"

"inside my fucking pussy satoru, wanna be stuffed with your cum." he cums hard, shooting his thick load into your pussy. you continue feeling his throbbing shaft force its way deeper.

you look up at him smiling at his satisfaction feeling his cum leak out of you, cerulean orbs looking down at you as he takes in deep breaths chuckling and picking you up, dick still lunged into you while you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"we showerin yet? h-hey w-wa-wait baby AH-" you felt your back come in contact with the wall, giving you goosebumps at its coldness. adjusting just a bit, gojo positioned your legs over his shoulders. you were taken by surprise as he kept thrusting into you while carrying you.

"sorry babe you said you wanted to be stuffed, so m'fucking my cum back into you," he smirks wickedly as you babble his name constantly all while feeling his throbbing shaft force its way deeper. strong arms pulling you closer to his nudeness his pace gets a little faster, penetrating your g-spot as your walls clamp down on his girth.

"fuck me harder---deeperdeeperdeeperplease....you're fucking me so good daddy....nghh-" gojo doesn't fail to listen to your whining and does as he's told.

"haa, baby you gotta filthy little mouth, but s'not as filthy as your tight little pussy sucking my whole dick in with my cum. might make you a mommy after this, think you can take another load?" furrowing his eyebrows he chuckles in your ear, voice all raspy. for a split second, the idea of you being pregnant with his baby flooded his mind.

though you're being fucked like a slut, the thought of carrying satoru gojos baby stuck in your head for a short while. a baby boy/girl with white hair and cerulean blue eyes that resembled him exactly, didn't sound like a bad idea at all.

"yesyesyesyes breed me with your cum. wanna carry your baby satoru!" you both climaxed as you felt another thick load rut inside your cunt while you squirted for the second time.

he portrayed his strength, still carrying you as he guided both bodies to lay down on the bed. with both arms still wrapped around his neck, it took a moment for the both of you to come down from your high heavily breathing. gojo winced of slight overstimulation pulling out of your pussy. your juices ran down your messy cunt and he took notice at the fat glob of his cum also running down, to which he took two fingers to scoop it and rub it all over your folds, eventually stuffing whatever was left back inside you causing you to moan loud.

his forehead touching yours, he brings you into a soft gentle kiss. "i think that was the best color on you baby," he smiled against your lips.

"glad you think so too, daddy," you chuckled with a teasing tone. "did you like being called mama?" he asked pulling you into and embrace. you buried your face into his slightly moist chest nodding and muffling an exhausted 'mhm,' you hear him snicker before he kisses the top of your head. "you're definitely going to become a mommy, princess."

"what makes you say that hm?" you lazily smile at him. "you said bought 9 other colors of the same set, no?"

you slowly pull away from him while raising an eyebrow. "yeah... i did...why-"

"show them to me."

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ≧◡≦

[vergess]

Is “from the river to the sea” inherently an antisemetic dog whistle or can it be used in good faith in a similar vein to Free Palestine?

I’ve been hearing conflicting viewpoints

obviously if you feel uncomfortable you don’t have to answer

It's... complicated.

Personally, I don't believe most people saying "from the river to the sea" are actually calling for the immediate dismantling and re-refugeeing of Israel's entire population.

Nevertheless in absolute terms, that is EXACTLY what the slogan is demanding. See, a lot of people don't actually look at a map:

The area highlighted in red is, approximately, what "the river to the sea" refers to in its most conservative terms. Note how almost every single population center is within that range.

In practical terms, it's straight up a demand that Israel stop existing and Palestine be returned to local control.

And normally, being a fucking sensible person, you'd think, "Well, land back! Give it back!!"

Only you're assuming Israelis are colonizers.

Which IS. NOT. TRUE. Just because Israel is operating as a US colonial project doesn't make Israelis colonizers themselves.

Israelis are better thought of as refugees. People who were successfully genocided out of EVERY SURROUNDING NATION:

This map shows the expulsion or genocide of Jews from the area surrounding Israel over the last century.

Black-coloured countries have eliminated over 80% and up to 100% of their Jewish populations. That is to say, countries in black successfully committed genocide against their Jewish populations in the last century.

With any surviving refugees sent where?

To Israel.

Red represents greater than 60% population loss. In a century.

Blue represents 40+%, and yellow 20+%.

Remember: population loss over 10% is considered a strong indication of genocide, and 30% population loss is proof.

And remember that these number include the entire span of time between the holocaust and now.

IF it were possible to genuinely negotiate in good faith a peace treaty that allows Jewish refugees to Israel to stay in the Jewish Homeland that they've only barely even been sent to.

Then maybe "from the river to the sea" would not be a threat to finish off the last survivors of genocide.

But between US interventionism in the region, existing racial tensions, and the last century of genocide?

Good faith negotiations simply are not possible right now, and they won't be possible until the US and European powers make it possible by dialing back the imperialism and instead using their massive global power to support genuine negotiations of peace, that actually strive to develop a healthy, equitable society for both Jewish refugees returning to their historic homeland AND the people already living there.

Which, let's be realistic here. The EU is so busy crowing about how it's less racist than the US that they deny having even participated in these forced expulsions, claiming it was all "voluntary." And the US is literally still enslaving BIPOC in prisons.

So! That's just not going to happen!!

Which means we have to look at the phrase "from the river to the sea" not in the context of peace where it would be harmless, but in the context of, unfortunately, more wars over the last century than you could even give names to.

Where it calls for the expulsion of Jewish refugees from their homeland.

To where?

Well, most likely to death. After all, it's not like we're raring to take in ~7 million surviving Israeli Jews here in the US.

And that's the quiet part, I think. The part that people don't realize is being implied.

If Israel is gone, as the chant demands, then where do the 7 million Jewish Israelis go?

"Back home"? To the nations that killed off their entire families?

Because this isn't like land back movements in North America, where it is widely accepted that there would be no expulsions or relocations because they're inhumane.

The expulsions and forced relocations are already underway and currently ongoing.

That's the distinction that I think a lot of gentiles in the west don't grasp.

This slogan isn't "turn Israel over to Palestinian governance to achieve freedom" it's "turn Israel over to Palestinian control to complete the last century of genocides."

Like. Okay. In my ideal world, Israel as a state would never have been founded because the UK wouldn't have Done That To Palestine. But we live in this world, with this history.

To clamour for the dissolution of the Israeli state is to clamour for the slaughter and expulsion of 7 millions Jews. Bro that's half the global population.

Now, do I think "from the river to the sea" is an evil phrase and everyone who says it is genocidal?

No.

I think it's a poetic chant that works well in English and gets a decent message across to most listeners that they should support Palestinian humanity in the face of that genocide.

But I think that if I catch your ass shouting it after a ceasefire or during peace negotiations instead of during actual war crimes?

I won't be likely to trust you. Either you're well intended but uninformed, or worse, you know damned well what you're doing and its vile.

So, I don't know. I guess I would say it's not inherently antisemitic now, at this moment in time.

But give it a few months, and it will be, just like it has been before.