#azurelacrima

[saintsurvivors]

I love you @azurelacrima but then you routinely make me cry

[hoseokthighs]

thank you so much for the existence of this blog it is glorious (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))

Ahhh, no, thank YOU for supporting and loving our little sunshine! ♥

[bakasayu]

fushia, grey & grey2 ~ (theres nothing for i'd like to get to know you better but i kind of would😁)

I noticed chu~

[saintsurvivors]

bloodiedmac -> deadmacgyver

[saintsurvivors]

angus "I have an idea but its just property damage in disguise" macgyver opens his mouth and all anyone hears is "welcome to jackass" on repeat

[saintsurvivors]

strawberry lemonade + buttercup, P L U M 👀👀, cinnamon + mahogany, blood orange

ILU BBY HOW COULD YOU IN DE L I C A T E RN DNKSJSJSHSHS

[saintsurvivors]

sometimes you just gotta write your favourite character thinking that they're a burden as they try to stitch a profusely bleeding wound in a bathroom, biting down on their own belt, whimpering around it because the needle keeps slipping out of their blood slick fingers, not wanting anyone to know

[saintsurvivors]

It was honestly a mistake.

Jack hadn’t meant to, not really. He’d walked in without thinking, without knocking, something that he and Mac had done numerous times, especially downrange when they and the others bunking with them had had to share shower cubicles that were about the size of a stunted peanut shell and he'd never seen them. Mac had never seemed to have an issue with it, he’d stripped off more than enough times in full view of the guys, even with all of his squirrelly little issues that Jack still hasn’t fully realized. But now that Jack thinks about it, Mac only ever changed with his back to the wall, to a corner, keeping watch.

Mac, Jack has come to learn but never quite says out loud, is a lot like the bombs he disarms, though not exactly. More that he implodes yes, but that it’s only ever inwards, never with the intention of hurting anyone but himself.

Kid’s got a dozen hundred landmines buried in that big brain of his that Jack doesn’t know where they are or where they’ve even come from, and this seems to have been a particular landmine that has uprooted everything for several mental miles.

Like he said, he hadn’t meant to walk in on Mac when he was getting changed, having just finished belting up his chinos and just about to pull a henley over his hair, damp at the ends, back to the door. His back , which Jack is only just realizing, which looks like someone’s taken a damn whip to it-

CONNECTED TO DAY 7 GUNPOINT

[saintsurvivors]

If I don’t hear Russell Taylor calling someone an “absolute wanker” sometime soon I’m going to riot

[saintsurvivors]

macgyver 2016 / joy harju, "break my heart" / euripides, orestel (tr. anne carson) / ada limón "the carrying" / (theme; hurt!mac, protective!jack)

[saintsurvivors]

no 27 for macwalsh👀👀👀👀🤡😘

No. 27 "Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.”

We really are just chaotic sluts (derogatory and loving) aren't we? Every time I wake up I put on my clown make up 🤡

The man is hulking, massive enough that Mac thinks he wouldn't stand a chance if things turned to violence, but here, in a dive bar, the neon strobe lights and heavy rock music is enough to hide Macs almost fear.

He'd like to say that he's undercover, sent to infiltrate a shitty bar with Jack's taste in music and also decoration, but he's not. He's here with nostalgia in his bones and wanting to get pissed and fucked hard enough he can't move in the morning. And this guy fits that bill.

It takes nothing at all really, just slyly slotting himself between the massive man and the bar, grinning cheekily as he puts a hand on that gorgeous bicep that he thinks is bigger than his head, before turning, licking his lips and downing the shot of shitty whiskey the bartender had placed in front of him, making sure the man gets a fantastic view of how his tongue curls into the shot glass, how he throws his head back and swallows.

The man grins, slips a massive hand onto Macs waist,and it makes him gasp, and it must be audible because of how he leans in closer, crowding Mac against the bar, eyes caramel in the strobe lights and face darker as he leans into shadow, beard scratching at Macs sharp jaw. Mac can feel the hot length of his dick, bug and slowly hardening, and a hand slowly creeps to the fly of his pants.

"Awfully brave for such a skinny thing, aren't you?" The man rumbles in his ear, and God his voice is just as hot as he is. "Want something to break you in half, kitten?"

Mac grins, rolls his head back, pushes his ass back too, and he doesn't even really care that he's in public, that the man's hand is slowly slipping into his trousers, lust drunk and whiskey weak.

"I like a challenge," Mac grins, winks up at the man, who just grins, too many teeth to be anything other than a threat. "Though I'm definitely aiming to get your cock in my mouth."

The man laughs, deep and booming and Mac shivers, feeling how it rumbles through his chest and into him.

"That line work often?"

"First time I've tried it," Mac admits freely, before smiling slyly. "Though, going by the fact your hand is now down my pants, I'd say it worked."

"Maybe i just wanna see what my kitten is packing, especially with such tight, tight jeans."

"Maybe your kitten wants to be wined and dined, first?" Mac grins, gasps when the others hand slips into his hair, yanks his head back, a mouth devouring his, all teeth and tongue, spit slick and domineering.

"Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn't tease me."

Those hands creep in, touch the swollen nub of his cock and has Mac gasping, hips jolting forward, hands touching the swollen mound of his cock, slipping straight into the scant wetness he finds there, a long, low moan filtering through Macs chest.

"My names Jonah, kitten," the man, Jonah, rumbles directly into his ear, hot, hard cock a long line against the small of Macs back, uncaring that he's two fingers deep in Macs hole in a crowded bar. "I'd say you could call me daddy but I dunno what Jimmy will think of that, Angus."

Mac chokes on his own moan, clenching down on those massive fingers

[saintsurvivors]

Hi! I love your writing!! If you're still taking prompts I was wondering if you could do #28 General for anyone you want! Thanks, and if not I completely understand!

No. 28 “They don’t need to know”

Ah thank you anon! This is going to be for a very niche ship that I’ve barely written for, but I really like? AU in which Amber didn’t end up working with Liu.

Cassian’s sleeping, soundly and with a dim nightlight that Angus had so thoughtfully whipped up, and Amber and Angus are at the rickety table when Murdoc steps into the kitchen. They’ve had their fair share of bruises, put there by one another, and Murdoc can’t help the curl he feels in the base of his belly at seeing them, how they’re watching one another.

Amber watches Angus like a tiger would watch prey, eyes stuck fast, as if simply waiting for the correct time to pounce, lingering on the swell of his bicep, the curve of his throat, how the bruises only become him, when he clears his throat and looks up to Murdoc, a faintly pleading look on his face.

Murdoc takes a small amount of pity, if only because he knows how Amber can be, she’s just as fierce and fiery as the day they met, and he’s been harboring thoughts of seeing just how his wife would take to his sweet boy scout all day, and my, the way she’d looked at him had scorched. Poor Angus, he hasn’t a clue.

 He watches with heavy lidded eyes as Angus pushes away from the table, messing with something on the counter, back tense but something having relaxed in his demeanor. Such a contradiction.

“I must thank you, Angus,” Murdoc says, and is pleasantly surprised when Angus presses a steaming cup into his hand. He makes sure that their fingers, free of his usual leather gloves, touch, and watch how something tightens in Angus’s shoulders, the creep of a pink flush beneath his henley. “You truly did outdo yourself to day.”

Angus slants him a look, folding himself into the corner of the kitchen, arms across his chest. Amber makes a noise in the back of her throat, hair swept up and pinned carefully with one of her slender daggers. She looks beautiful, bloodied, bruised and adrenaline high.

“As if you yourself couldn’t have tracked Amber down.” He says, and Amber smiles again, too many teeth and her shark flat eyes carefully assessing. She stands from the table, and Angus’s eyes switch to her, seeing the slow snake like sway of her body, the assassin lightness of her footsteps.

She’s close enough to touch now, perhaps to even feel the heat of, and Murdoc has always been a possessive man, has never wanted anyone to play with those that belong to him, but seeing them, his boy scout and Amber, how she wants to reach out to touch, how Angus is hesitant, something wavering in those blue, blue eyes, oh it delights him in a way he never thought it would. He can imagine they’d be beautiful together.

“Perhaps,” Amber says, and there’s a purr to her throat. Murdoc smiles slyly into his frankly delicious cup of tea. She likes him. He knew she would. “But Cupcake told me all about you, how impressed he was, and I must say, Angus, your brain sounds simply intriguing.”

Angus looks somewhat spooked, hair falling into his face, and Murdoc steps closer, discards the cup of tea on the rickety table, doesn’t stop until he’s got sweet Angus pressed against the edge of the counter top, a hand pressed against the expanse of his ribs. He’s trembling, pupils wide, mouth just open; he looks beautiful, eyes flickering back and forth from Murdoc to Amber, as if unsure who to pay attention to. 

Angus shakes his head, never taking his gaze of them. He looks a little like a spooked horse, hands clutching the edge of the counter, as if he’s unsure of what’s truly going on. 

“I’ll ask you again, my dear, are you sure you don’t want to come join us? We can make it ...worth your while. Just us three and Cassian, we could find a lovely place for you and him, our own sweet house husband to come back too, that would solve all the problems of Cassian being safe, of course.” 

Murdoc can even see it, a sweet little house, Cassian and Angus always there to welcome Amber and him back, disregarding the blood and the bruises and the guns, his and Amber’s sweet little scientist, and their beautiful son. He can’t help himself, creeps his other hand up until it’s touching against Angus’s throat, feeling the rapid thrum of his pulse, feels the soft ends of his hair, creeps his fingers until he’s got a grasp, soft, gentle, not enough to intimidate but enough to hold. 

“You’re delusional,” Angus snaps, mouth curling at the edges, showing the white of his teeth. Poor boy scout, never knowing that his defiance just makes him all the more beautiful. But how Amber steps just the little forward, as if she wants to reach forward, she must think the same. “How can you even think that I’d ome with you, that I wouldn’t tell the team exactly where we were?” 

“Darling,” Amber croons, and she steps closer, where Angus is trapped. She reaches out with a slim hand to caress the cliff edge of his jaw, smearing the swell of her thumb over the fatness of his bottom lip, dips the tip of it inside, and Murdoc’s heart pounds when Angus, sweet, delectable Angus presses the raspberry pink of his tongue against it. Amber’s eyes go darker, mouth pulled into a smile that shows almost too many teeth, Angus kept open and vulnerable between them. “They don’t need to know, hmm?”

The sound he makes as Murdoc sinks his teeth into the stretch of his throat, as Amber bites into the swell of his bottom lip is high pitched, desperate, vulnerable and open. 

[saintsurvivors]

this is gonna be a very strange question especially bc i can’t give context but; more traumatic to have something happen to mac, to have like, maximum impact;

a. in the warroom

b. in the elevator

c. anywhere else in phoenix

[saintsurvivors]

(dearest, sweetest, best of friends) you know what you are to me

He’s beautiful, Jack thinks distantly, pressing a kiss to Mac’s forehead, his temple, his cheek, pressing his mouth to Mac’s.

Mac moans softly into it, presses himself closer, and Jack shudders, finds himself slipping his hand from Mac’s hip to wrap his arm around his waist, feeling the muscular planes of Mac’s back. Licking into Mac’s mouth, moaning how Mac opens up to him, so trusting, so loving, like he never is to any one else. God, Mac is the only one to be able to tear him to pieces like this. He pulls back, doesn’t want to move but they need to breathe, presses their foreheads together instead, nose to nose.

for @azurelacrima

“Hey, Mac, you awake?” Jack whispers, shutting the bedroom door softly.

    He can barely see the silhouette of Mac, illuminated somewhat by the hazy yellow light coming from the lamp on Mac’s bedside cabinet. He’s curled up on his left side, facing the curtainless windows that look out on the deck, that Jack really wishes Mac would cover. A slim shaft of silver moonlight floods across the floor, over the sharp slope of Mac’s collarbone, touching upon the cliff of his jaw, the relaxed lines of his throat.

    He strips his rings and leather wrist strap off, throwing them onto the other bedside cabinet that’s covered with a stripped alarm clock. He shimmies out of his third favourite Metallica shirt, throwing it in the direction of Mac’s leather computer chair, also cluttered with stripped electronics and the occasional file, crowded and essentially Mac. His boots and jeans are next to go, and Jack finds himself shivering lightly in the cool night air even as he flips the duvet back a little.

CLICK TO READ ON ARCHIVEOFOUROWN

[saintsurvivors]

what do you think about macdalton with jealous murdoc? jack just gets to have mac, but murdoc could protect him better, keep mac safe

Thinkin about murdoc and macdalton… he’d probably get pretty jealous, right? 

jyust ksgjk;sdjgksgjdskj okay who told u that i like macdalton with jealous murdoc whose been spilling the beans guys 

murdoc who goes cold and still whenever he sees mac and jack together, feels something stir in the pit of his belly that he’d call jealously if he didn’t know better. he envisions, dreams, of ways that he’s going to murder jack dalton, yearns for it whenever he thinks of mac, of jacks hands touching what doesn’t belong to him.

he knows angus would never forgive him, would hunt him down to the ends of the world, perhaps even put a pesky little bullet in murdocs brain, but oh, to have sweet angus’ undivided attention, to play a little cat and mouse game, to have all of that ferocious, not at all inconsiderable anger and beauty and intelligence directed towards murdoc, oh it would the greatest fuck you to jack wyatt dalton. the boy scout himself, so consumed that he doesn’t even see why jack has to die, why murdoc has to get his hands, or his blade, or his gun - murdoc isn’t particular about how jack dalton has to die, only that he has too - on jack dalton.

angus macgyver’s attention needs to be solely on murdoc, only murdoc gets to see that fire, gets to see the tears, the twist of angus’s mouth, the way his chest heaves, the tremble of his thighs, the way he snarls at murdoc, stripped bare in a way murdoc thinks the boy scout has never let anyone else ever really see, except perhaps dalton, which is just another reason why he needs to go.

would take dying to see angus with a gun in his hand, stripped to the most feral, animalistic parts of him, teary eyed and mouth snarling. god what a fucking dream, murdoc thinks. knowing that he, that murdoc, had won.