#brother (comma) look out

[jlf23tumble]

Confession for your rare pair anon confessor: I love Harry rarepairs! One of the first fics I bookmarked in the fandom was vondrostes fics where H hires an OC sex worker called Texas. that's right an original character. I ate that shit up! More rare pairs is good for the biodiversity of the fandom

YES!!! Texas fic series, my beloved!

[11vr1]

Been Away ⭒ Miles Morales

Synopsis › You were tired of his secrets and lies, so you did the one thing you promised you’d never do and walked away. But Miles Morales wasn’t going to let you go so easily.

Pairing › Earth-42! Miles Morales x Fem!Reader

Inspo › “Been Away” - Brent Faiyaz

Includes › ATSV SPOILERS, Angst, the tiniest bit of fluff, pet names, spanish, a microscopic amount of manipulation, toxicity, going back to your ex, stalking, harassment, mentions being mugged, mentions being stabbed, mentions the police

P.S. › I do my best work when I’m sleep deprived.

P.S.S. › Reading comments and reblogs really make my day, even if you’re telling me my commas suck. Requests are also open.

Y/n pulled down the sleeves of her crocheted sweater as she stepped out of the bodega, white plastic bag of chips and candy in hand. The sun was close to setting behind skyscrapers and plunging New York City into its usual state of terror. It was dangerous to be alone on the streets, but Y/n figured she’d be fine walking a few blocks to her friend’s place. She pushed through sidewalk traffic, passing others who were just as eager to be safe in their homes.

Her phone chimed with a text.

Unknown: Turn left.

She paused, looking up to scan her surroundings. There was nothing strange or out of place. Just stores closing up for the night and people minding their own business. Despite how normal everything seemed to be, Y/n knew better. She spared a glance at the alley to her left, immediately deciding against it and kept walking.

Another chime. She ignored it and the next. Stopping wasn’t worth possibly ending up on the eleven o’clock news. At least that’s what she told herself. The less rational part of her mind had a thought. In some ways more terrifying than being mugged.

Tucked away in her pocket, her phone rang. This time she checked. Unknown. Y/n scoffed, rejecting the call.

Unknown: One more chance.

Unknown: Take a left.

Unknown: I won’t ask again.

Her phone rang once more. With a long, begrudging sigh Y/n swiped to accept. “I thought you weren’t going to ask again,” she said, her eyes darting warily to the darkening street.

“Make a left, Y/n,” a deep distorted voice ordered from the other line. Her heart dropped. Maybe the irrational part of her brain wasn’t as off kilter as she thought. The call hung up like she didn’t need anymore convincing.

The yawning mouth of an alley stared back at her. She took a calming breath, inhaling the morning rain before stepping away from any potential witnesses. Her footsteps echoed in the eerie silence of the alley. Her skin heated in either fear or anticipation, she didn’t know. “I don’t have all night,” she spoke into the open air. “I will leave.” Y/n attempted to hide the tremble in her throat.

Her ringtone was shrill in the alley. She jumped. The bright smiling photo of her friend illuminated her face. She did not hesitate to answer. “Hello?”

“Thank god! You’re still alive. Are you close?”

“Yeah, I’m almost there, Ellie,” Y/n began to exit the alley. “The bodega line was long.” She rustled her haul of snacks.

“It’s getting dark. I can send my brother to meet you. Ya know he’s always had a bit of a thing for you and now that you’re single…” Ellie trailed off. Y/n could practically hear her smile.

She rolled her eyes, laughing nervously, “You don’t have to make him come get me. I’ll be—” She was cut off by her own scream ripping from her throat. A streak of darkness and neon flashed in front of her, swiping the phone from her hand. Her grocery bag tumbled to the concrete as she stumbled over her heels. Cold metal met her back. A well defined arm snaked around her waist, held her impossibly tight.

“Y/n? Y/n!” Her friend’s voice rose over the speakers.

The smooth phone screen pressed against her cheek. “Tell her you’re okay then hang up,” the same warped voice demanded in her ear.

Y/n felt her lips move before he ended the call. Some quick lie about a monstrous rat. Blood thrummed through her skull along with her ragged breaths.

“Let me go!” Y/n wrestling out of his grip with no resistance, finally turning around. She halted. Pixelated eyes narrowed at her. What had she been expecting? Was a mask better?

Getting slashed for the money in her wallet and being left for dead by a dumpster was starting to sound more appealing than her current situation.

Mechanic panels whirred and parted open. Rich, penetrating dark eyes took in every inch of the girl in front of him, peeling back layer after layer in that calculating glare Y/n knew all too well. “Hola, mami.”

She hoped to never hear that name fall from anyone’s lips. Much less his. Y/n allowed a selfish moment to let her gaze wander. His braids were fresh, obviously not her work. Fade clean. Jay’s untied. Bronze skin annoyingly flawless. He was the same, except for the faint bags decorating his eyes. His chuckle bounced off the brick walls, catching her. It was sobering.

“You have one minute, Morales. One minute before I run screaming and call the feds on your ass,” she crossed her arms.

“Morales?” Miles raised an eyebrow. “Damn. Is that what we doin’ now?”

“Fifty.”

He circled her like the predator he was, each footstep deafening. “You look good, ma. Where you goin’ so late? It’s not safe.”

“You know where! You’ve been following me, remember? How long have you been doing that for? Just another secret, huh?” Y/n was on the verge of yelling, her initial fear replaced by pure rage. “You’re not even going to deny it.”

Miles dared a step forward. Y/n took two back. “You’re afraid of me.” Her lack of an answer was a shattering confirmation.

“I’m afraid of what you do, Miles,” she motioned to his suit, the spray painted insignia physically painful to see on his chest. The Prowler. She would have never fathomed the possibility if she hadn’t seen him in action herself. “You’re a criminal. You steal. You’ve killed people,” she choked trying to swallow back tears.

He dragged a gloved hand down his face. “You don’t understand.”

“You’re right! I don’t get it. You changed and I don’t understand why.” Her waterline welled. Three months of suppressed feelings threatened to rear their ugly heads when he was near. Because of him, of course.

It was ironic how much he made her feel, even now. Ellie, other friends, Y/n’s family never fully warmed up to Miles. He was unfeeling, nonchalant, closed off. They couldn’t see how a girl like her could fall for him and stay. At least that’s the promise she made.

“So did you. You walked away. Left me. What happened to our forever, Y/n?”

“You expected nothing to change? In what world would I not react or feel some typa way?” She tensed. Another wave of anger seared through her veins. How dare he turn this on her? “Oh wait,” her laugh was humorless. “I was never supposed to find out.”

“I have to do this. The world ain’t right and I need to protect the people I care about,” he placed a hand over his armor, over his chest. “I couldn’t do shit about my dad, but you…” He stalked closer. This time she didn’t back away.

Miles grasped her hand, placing it over his heart. She couldn’t face his intensity for too long, not without air. He wore the same musky cologne she gifted him for Christmas.“Mirame,” he tilted her delicate face towards him. “Mi corazón, I can keep you safe. You gotta let me. If something happened to you I don’t know what I would do.” His chiseled features twisted, barely able to utter the words. He finally closed the space between them, resting his forehead against hers.

“One minute,” Y/n whispered. It had been more than one minute.

Without separating, he slowly slipped her phone into her back pocket, letting his fingers linger by the waist of her jeans. “Call them. I’ll stay right here and you can end this. You’ll never have to see me again. Prometo, mi corazón.”

She should have listened when Ellie told her to stay away. Undeniably gorgeous, genius level intellect, sexy accent. There was always a catch, she said. She was right. But there was one drawback not even her best friend predicted.

Y/n pulled away. Suddenly the autumn air was too chilly through her sweater. She unlocked her phone. Typed 9-1-1. She looked up through her lashes at Miles as if he would melt into the shadows and escape. She didn’t expect sheer defeat to paint his face, unhidden behind his usual mask of indifference. Her thumb froze.

Miles Morales had Y/n entranced. He’d woven himself into her being, hollowed out a space in her soul just for him. Those titanium claws were in deep and she didn’t know if she had the strength to pry them out or wanted to.

Y/n pocketed her phone. She resigned to every emotion she harbored for the boy in front of her. She chose every wrong decision. “Go, Miles.”

His grin was smug. “Should I call you?”

“Don’t push it, Morales.” He draped his arms around her shoulders, dragged her into his warmth. “I’ll unblock you. Sound good?”

Miles angled his head. His smile stretched to his eyes, showing those rarely seen dimples. “Sí, mami. Whatever you want.”

[girlwithletters]

Let's savor the moment

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x femreader/ you or whoever you want

Warnings: I think 18+, vowels and consonants, commas and periods and lots of love, unprotected sex

It was morning, there was endless silence around me. I stretched sleepily on the fluffy carpet spread in front of the fireplace, my fingers hid in the snow-white fluff with a pleasant feeling. I felt a muscle fever in every part of me, a smile appeared on my face thinking about the events of the past night.

He was worried about me, but I returned home safely.

My son and I luckily escaped the car skidding on the icy road. My hands and my already happy thoughts slid to my slightly bulging stomach. Yes! I am sure that I will present my beloved soccer player with a boy.

Wandering down the empty corridor of the hotel, Jobe let me into the room with a wide grin on his face and a gracious wave. Now I know where the brothers disappeared to after Jude arrived. The sides of the huge, hardy acacia tub were painted golden yellow by the fire in the fireplace. The steam completely filled the room. The heat stung my skin like sharp needles, but it had nothing to do with the warmth of the air.

Brown eyes decorated with gold flecks flashed at me as soon as he heard my footsteps on the worn stone floor. I stood next to him and knelt down.

- Hello, baby! - I greeted.

Jude stretched out in the tub and soaked himself. My hungry eyes ran over his face, then hungrily followed the line of his arms and chest. Many years of training carved flexible muscles on his body. To get my attention back, he took my hand. Our fingers intertwined, then he leaned towards me and pressed a soft kiss on my wrist.

- Jump my beauty! - Jude issued the order. - Come here next to me!

- But I'm dressed.

- In clothes, then - he nodded, and I, like a dutiful lady, got up and climbed into the tub next to him.

I slowly sunk into the water, resting my head on his shoulder and with a soft sigh I nestled into the embrace of my love's arms.

- I'm glad you're finally back - Burying my face into his neck, I inhaled the scent of his skin while drawing different shapes on his chest.

- What did you promise me? How do you take care of yourself, right? - Although he was whispering, his reproachful, rumbling voice still felt like a roar. The deep vibrations ran through my body, igniting the last spark hidden in my chest into heat, forcing the silently singing heart to move. - You're driving me crazy! - His long, slender fingers were on my face, his forehead pressed against mine. Her hair smelled like a memory, pine, rain-soaked earth and sky-splitting lightning. - I almost lost you - He reminded me of what I wanted to forget. I reached for his hand, and he let me hold it, and then I stroked the calluses of his fingertips.

- I'm not that fragile. Anyway, that great English prince of mine is looking after me - I looked at him. My fingers easily ran up his neck, following the sharp line of his jaw. - And fame obliges you - I continued with a smile. I pressed a kiss to the center of his palm before he could pull his hand back. The pair of chocolate eyes flashed and darkened.

- The little one is naughty. I'm about to teach you good manners! - he pulled his mouth into a grin.

I held my breath, waiting for our lips to touch as he leaned forward in the water. I felt like I would give Jude everything he wanted. I was getting more and more impatient, waiting for him to kiss me again, for his tongue to touch mine.

Jude grabbed my face with both hands to pull me back to him and stuck his tongue in my mouth. I felt trembling that he wanted me with his hands, his mouth and his whole body.

He ran one of his palms along my back to take off my bra. He was breathing almost as raggedly as I was as we kissed.

His mouth wandering over me wasn't enough to keep reality at bay. I wanted him completely.

- I'm a lucky man - he breathed into my mouth. - And I won't let anything stand in our way - he caressed my hips before grabbing my butt. - So help me take off this damned dress!

Grinning, I began to undress, my wet clothes landing on the floor with a loud thud as I ran my mouth over the tense muscles and tendons on his neck. I took off all the clothes I had on. I ran it down my leg, off my ankle and that's it. There's nothing left.

Jude gasped again as he scanned me. I was there naked and I wanted to die. His labored breathing pulsated in rhythm with mine. I rose with him, I fell with him - always together.

Before long I found myself on his cock, resting on his chest. My face was hot, burning with the emotions that rushed at me. I heard the soft words in my ears, felt his breath on my neck, the bite of his teeth on my collarbone. Staring at his beady face with beads of sweat, I rode Jude, sometimes fast, sometimes slowing down my movements. I felt it was a matter of minutes and we were done, but the dice had turned, meaning that our body, throbbing with lovemaking, could not yet receive the long-awaited release.

- We're not done yet - I heard Jude's voice from afar. Are we not ready? What more could you want? I could sense what he might want, as his stiff cock still filled me inside. - Yes, it's still me - a majestic smile spread across his face.

He helpfully reached out to me, helped me out of the tub and led me to the double bed.

After lifting my legs onto his shoulders, his hips went to work again. After a couple of quick thrusts, he was playing on my nerves, slowly, but pushing deeper and deeper.

- Faster! - I gritted my teeth, but he just laughed and shook his head.

- We'll get to it - Screw you, Jude Bellingham! Only you can do it, and I'm hanging here between hell and heaven. I reached for her shapely bottom to urge to move faster, but he grabbed my arms and pinned them to the covers above my head.

- Please! - I looked into the mercilessly grinning face. He wasn't really impressed by my pleading look. He didn't react to my protest, he pulled out of my pleasure-hungry body.

I almost sent him to hell when he turned me over and hit me on the bottom and penetrated me from behind. Holding my hip tightly, he started moving. After a while, I felt like a man on a stake. How true. He almost impaled me with his cock, he was moving so hard inside me. My body cried out for salvation, my arms began to shake, I could hardly hold myself. My brain went numb from the lustful intoxication that came over me. Jude made his final moves towering over me, our skin meeting with a loud snap. I fell into the deep chasm with my head thrown back, almost whimpering, my love followed me with a loud moan.

- Be sure to tell my mother if you need help! - It was always difficult to avoid Jude's searching gaze. The eternal mission impossible.

- Okay - I nodded forcedly. As he stood there facing me, his powerful figure, his pupils dilated, I saw a destructive storm in his eyes, swirling emotions behind the fire raging inside him. I tried to close my eyes and turn away, but I couldn't compete with the impossible. The heat from his body could even seep through his clothes and it made me feel very vulnerable. Just one look, and I immediately rubbed against him like a kitten longing to be touched by its owner.

- But really! - Before giving me one last hug, he kissed me on the temple and grinned as he told me the simple fact. - I love you.

Then my boyfriend was no longer there, his huge figure was swallowed up by the suddenly risen gray fog. And there was nothing left but crumpled chewing gum paper lying on the cobblestones.

( english isn't my first language ) - just the usual

stay with me-50 likes ,made me cry , thank you very much everyone

[andy-wm]

his “coming out” should not be in any way shape or form be connected to jungkook. idk why you shippers can’t leave them tf alone when they’re not dating ffs.

[Select.font=sarcasm]

Oooh I am so glad you came here to tell me this, Anon! You are clearly well informed on both Jimin’s life, and "coming out".

I didn't even know that "coming out" needs to be in inverted commas. Thank you for helping me understand.

I also didn't know what his "coming out" should or should not be! I didn't know there were rules for "coming out"! I'm so grateful to have this information now.

I hope you've also told Jimin how he should "come out"?

I hope he listens to you since obviously, you have his happiness at heart.

Because "coming out" with no significant other to support him - and facing the inevitable repercussions alone - that would DEFINITELY make things better for him, right?

Also we all know how much Jimin LOVES being alone, so naturally we should wish that for him.

Objectively, he would be happier if he was single I guess? Because having a secure and healthy long term relationship with someone who loves and supports you is known to be pretty shit. Makes sense... that's why nobody looks for love. They certainly don't write songs about love.

Ever.

People aspire to being isolated, like Jimin showed us this with his song Serendipity.

When he sang "just let me love you" he probably meant he wanted to be single and live alone forever in his bubble. That makes sense.

And of course they aren't dating!

You're right, there's absolutely nothing special between Jimin and Jungkook. They are 100% platonic and good pals.

It would be ridiculous to look at them and see love and intimacy.

I dont know what love looks like, but this is not it...

Definitely not this either.

Just friends here.

So friendly!

Brothers even!

Keeping to the bro code here too, 100%

Absolutely no crossing of boundaries here....

I always caress my friend's clothes when I sing their own love song back to them. Especially when my face is less than a foot from their face. It's very platonic.

Anyway, there's no reason to think they might be dating.

Why would people even think they COULD be?

It's unimaginable.

Society has never ignored or dismissed loving romantic relationships between same-sex couples, and that's certainly not what you're doing. Not at all. You just know they aren't dating because ... reasons.

I'm sure you don't object to Jimin being gay because that would be homophobic (you even know how he should "come out"). If that was the case you might as well just get a tattoo of an L on your forehead and throw away all your Jimin merch because our boy is gayer than a rainbow cake. Gayer even than the rainbow cake his appa has *always in stock* in his coffee shop in Busan.

And if you generously tolerate his gayness, i imagine you will allow that one day he could date (definitely not now, because he probably has no interest in sex. He's too busy working and anyway he has ARMY to love him) yeah, but not now please.

But one day he could have a nice boyfriend who sits beside him on the sofa and smiles benignly and holds his hand like a good boy.

Definitely NOT one that sings about fucking night after night seven days a week, or watching in 3D, or DEAR GOD... the imagery... champagne confetti.

Not someone who sings Sam Smith songs on his Live, or who goes around whacking off fire hydrants in his music videos or miming blow jobs on national tv.

Not someone that demands you see him as an adult who enjoys adult things and wont accept your judgement of him. Not one who puts boundaries in place.

Not someone who (the audacity!) lies in bed naked and begs Jimin to come over.

And that brings us to the villain of our story:

JEON JUNGKOOK

I guess, since you will allow a relationship in theory, you just object to the idea of a relationship specifically with Jungkook.

And I can see why. Jungkook very obviously has no interest in Jimin’s happiness. Jungkook doesn't support him at all.

He doesn't hold jimin when he cries, he doesn't spam us with Jimin content when Jimin has a comeback, he doesn't cook Jimin’s favourite food for him, or fold his underpants while he does his own laundry.

He doesn't take him on trips to Japan, or send thirst-trap messages for his birthday, or play his songs, or sing on his albums.

He doesn't carry him, bridal style, any time Jimin jumps into his arms, and I can guarantee you that he doesn't let Jimin fuck him just the way Jimin likes it, as often as he wants it, wherever and whenever he gets the chance. And vice versa.

They didn't enlist in the military as companions, after all.

So reallly, what would Jungkook even know about Jimin's happiness?

What could he POSSIBLY know about Jimin that you don't know. Nothing, right?

What could POSSIBLY happen behind closed doors and away from the camera, that you don't see with your third eye and your vivid imagination? Again, nothing. You know ALL, right?

[Deselect.font=sarcasm]

I think we've covered everything?

Theres only one thing left to say i guess.

Whoever you are, you'd do well to consider whose happiness you're supporting.

If you don't support what makes Jimin happy, you don't support Jimin. Period.

[softguarnere]

Memories Feel Like Weapons

Edmund Pevensie x gn!reader

Summary: “People can be different. They can change. You’ve changed.” Gently, you use your pointer finger to hook his chin and turn his face towards you, making him look you in the eye. “You’re a good king, Edmund, and an even better man. A good brother. A good boyfriend. Everyone has forgiven you for what you did as a child.” A/N: What's up, y'all?! It's been freezing these past few days and I hate it! 🥴 So this is for all you other lovelies who are currently being plagued by SAD 🫶🏽 Also, in case it's not clear in the fic, for the purposes of the story, we're just gonna assume that reader's parents also sent them off to the country during the war to stay with the professor, that they met the Pevensie's there, and went to Narnia with them. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! ❤️ Warnings: Edmund has SAD but it's Narnia so it's never actually called that, the author is (once again) overusing commas

As interesting and as magical a place as Narnia is, you’re willing to admit that diplomatic negotiations are something that usually bore you to tears.

You try to take an interest, you really do, for Edmund’s sake. Political wheeling and dealing is his bread and butter. You’re not particularly adept at it yourself. Edmund has tried to explain the finer points to you many times, but it’s not something that you can wrap your head around. But maybe that’s just because you get too distracted thinking about how good looking your tutor is. Sometimes you raise a question or a particular point that you know he’ll jump to answer just to see how passionately he talks about his favorite subject. As far as you know, he hasn’t caught on yet.

Today proves to be different, though.

A chill in the air greets you when you awake. A crackling sound from the corner tells you that a servant has crept in at some point and started a fire in the hearth to stave off the cold. Blinking to adjust your eyes to the light, you’re greeted by the type of cold, white sunlight that announces a wintery morning and the season’s signature magical touch that often appears overnight – snow.

You leap out of bed, gasping when your feet kiss the cold floor. Hurrying to put on slippers, you wrap yourself in a fluffy robe and hurry to the door.

Edmund hates the winter. He hates the snow even more. No one can blame him for that. But you’re the only person he’s confessed this to.

Sure, his siblings might suspect as much. Those first few years in Narnia, no one dared suggest that they play in the snow whenever it arrived, for fear of what it might imply, and for fear of inadvertently upsetting the youngest Pevensie brother. After a few more years, he would find excuses to be tucked away in his library on snowy days, and no one would breathe a word of the fun they had without him while he was around. A delicate subject and a fine dance around it, to say the least.

It was only last winter that Edmund confided in you, and only because you had recently become a couple. He said the winter was hard enough on its own, but the snow brought back too many bad memories, ushered in nightmares so vivid that he sometimes woke up questioning what was real and what wasn’t.

This is going to be a rough day for him, to say the least. Which puts a damper on the mood, since ambassadors from a nearby kingdom are arriving to negotiate trade – something he was so looking forward to.

“Edmund?” Your voice seems too loud for the quiet library, and the echo makes you flinch slightly at the loudness of your own voice, at the desperate quality it holds.

Stepping further inside the room, you listen, and tune into the crackling of the fireplace along the far wall. You follow it until you can see the chairs in front of it, and in one of them, Edmund, slumped over a large tome, asleep.

He’ll have a crick in his neck from sleeping that way, you think. If you hadn’t known why he was here, finding him in his favorite place like this would be sweet. It still tugs on your heartstrings, yes, but in a different, heavier way.

“Edmund?” You gently shake his shoulder before stepping back.

The Just King startles awake, his book slipping out of his lap. His eyes are wide and wild as they flick across the room, struggling to make sense of his surroundings. Finally, they land on you and soften. “(Y/N)?”

“Good morning, sleepy head,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light, casual. “If you say that your neck doesn't hurt after sleeping like that, then you’re a liar.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The painful popping noises that echo from his spine say otherwise, but you let it go. Slowly, he rises, stretches, and then takes a step closer to you and plants a kiss on your forehead. He sighs through his nose. “Today is the day.”

You slip your hand into his, intwine your fingers. “How are you feeling?”

Edmund shrugs. His relationship with his siblings has improved leaps and bounds in all the years that they’ve spent in Narnia, but sometimes he still hesitates to show certain emotions around them, to express himself the way he should. Sometimes it’s easier when it’s just the two of you in a space like this where he’s comfortable.

“I’ll manage.”

“If you’re not feeling up to it – “

He squeezes your hand. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a day that I have to get through.”

“Spring will come again,” you assure him, using the mantra that you often whispered to comfort him through last year’s winter season.

“And we will greet it with open arms and grateful hearts,” he finishes. He attempts a smile, but it looks more strained than usual. “Don’t worry, darling. Everything will be fine.”

. . .

It is almost immediately not fine.

The ambassadors arrive in all their splendor. Fine fabrics and shimmering jewels assure that no one can take their eyes off them as they enter the hall and approach the five thrones. They bow to Peter in the center, to Susan and Lucy on his left, then to you and Edmund on his right. Servants carry golden trunks behind them. They have come to these diplomatic negotiations bearing gifts in the most literal sense.

Though you will all retire to a separate chamber for the actual negotiations, the gift giving is a public affair for the whole court to witness. And because it’s so formal, it’s rather slow.

Strong weapons forged of foreign metals are gifted, followed by clothes of their country’s latest fashions, and small samplings of food for each of you, a different dish for you each to try based on what the ambassadors have heard about you.

Thank goodness you’re a good actress, because the ambassadors seem to think that you really do seem excited to try the food in the bejeweled silver container that they gift to you. In reality, you’re trying your hardest not to grimace at the unfamiliar looking treats inside of it, and trying hard not to become preoccupied wondering if the taste will be as . . . unique as the smell that emits from them.

“And finally, for King Edmund,” one of the ambassadors says with a bow before presenting a silver container to Edmund with a flourish. “I have heard a rumor that you are quite fond of these.”

Thankful for a distraction from the gift in your own hands, you turn your attention to Edmund. Sitting beside him, you are in full view of the show that his siblings are not. You can see the rosy color, the powdered sugar. The Just King’s smile immediately falters. Strong hands clamp the container shut before anyone else has the chance to see what’s inside – Turkish Delight.

For a moment there is nothing but silence, the labored sound of Edmund drawing a breath. It goes on just long enough that his siblings glance at him. Only then does Edmund seem capable of forcing himself to smile, to nod, to thank the ambassador for such a thoughtful gift. If his siblings sense that something might be wrong, they don’t even know the half of it.

Because what has just happened, really? Is this a slight on behalf of the other country’s rulers? Or do they genuinely have no clue the implications of their actions?

As the exchanging of the gifts comes to a close, Edmund coughs into his fist, clears his throat. Does it again. He thumps the flat of his palm against his chest.

Peter turns to him. “Are you alright?”

“I think I just require a bit of fresh air, if you’ll excuse me for a moment,” Edmund replies. He says it far too quickly, and he uses the excuse to dismiss himself from the hall. The silver container that holds the Turkish Delight has been abandoned, left behind on his throne.

It takes everything in you not to race after him, to follow him, to make sure that he’s okay. Instead, you’re stuck helplessly glancing between the doorway that he’s disappeared through and the ambassadors who won’t seem to shut up.

Finally, the niceties end. The other king and queens of Narnia begin to migrate into a separate chamber with the ambassadors to begin the negotiations.

Quickly, quietly, you catch Lucy by the sleeve of her dress and lean in close to her ear. “I’ve got to go find Edmund,” you whisper. “I’m worried about him.”

Lucy’s eyes go wide, but she holds her composure under the watchful eyes of the court and the visiting representatives. “I’ll cover for you,” she whispers back.

As one of the five Narnian monarchs, you don’t technically need anyone’s permission to leave – except maybe Peter’s, since he’s the High King. Still, you’re the only one who’s not a Pevensie sibling, which can sometimes be a little isolating. Knowing that Lucy has your back boosts your confidence as you slip away, heading for the nearest place that you think Edmund might have disappeared to.

A quick search reveals that he’s not in the library. Or the armory, or any of his usual haunts. As a last resort, you duck into his bedroom, and it’s there that you find him, standing before the hearth, staring into the flames. His hand holds the place on his side where the White Witch stabbed him on the battlefield, though the gesture seems absentminded.

“Ed?” You make your voice soft so as not to startle him.

He looks up, eyes wide, surprised anyway – and hurt.

You don’t waste time asking if he’s okay. Instead, you cross the room to meet him in front of the fire. “Oh, Edmund.”

He doesn’t bother lying and saying that he’s fine. That’s how you know it’s bad. When Edmund Pevensie goes quiet, retreats within himself, it means that he’s truly wounded. This is something deep inside of him that aches, that rots.

Not knowing what to do, you take a seat on the rug in front of the hearth. You’re careful not to touch him, trying to offer him the space if he needs it. But he follows your lead and takes a seat, too, which seems like a good sign.

For a while, neither of you speaks. You just sit near each other, staring into the fire. Edmund looks very numb when he finally says, “I didn’t mean to leave like that. I just . . . panicked.”

“No one blames you.”

“Seeing that stupid Turkish Delight – “ He shudders. “I can’t figure out if it was a poor choice given with good intentions, or if it was a slight on my honor, a reminder of what I did.” He frowns. “I suppose to some people I’ll never be Edmund the Just – I’ll only ever be just Edmund, The Traitor.”

“No,” you protest. Space be damned; you grab his hand in yours and squeeze it, like that gesture can also grab his attention, infuse the meaning of what you’re about to say to him so that he cannot ignore it. “Edmund, you’ve changed. You’re not a traitor.”

“Anymore.”

“People forget that I was there, too,” you remind him. “I tried to follow you to Jadis’ castle.”

“That was different. You were trying to stop me from betraying my family.” His brow furrows at the memory. “So I shoved you into a snowbank and ran off without you. And then you went back to Beaver’s the help the others. (Y/N) the Loyal,” he employs the epithet that Aslan gave you, but you can’t be sure why. Because of what you did then? Because you’re here with him now?

“People can be different. They can change. You’ve changed.” Gently, you use your pointer finger to hook his chin and turn his face towards you, making him look you in the eye. “You’re a good king, Edmund, and an even better man. A good brother. A good boyfriend. Everyone has forgiven you for what you did as a child.”

Edmund shakes his head. “But they haven’t forgotten. And I can’t, either, if I’m being honest.” He doesn’t meet your eye when he confesses, “It haunts me, the memories. Every winter.”

“No. But you can do something else.” You pause to make sure that you have his full attention when you make your suggestion. “You can forgive yourself.”

Edmund blinks. As smart as he is, it seems like the thought has never occurred to him before now.

“It doesn’t have to be now,” you assure him. “It’s not an instantaneous thing. Just . . . something to work on. A project. An ongoing one.”

Silence falls between you again as he turns back to the fire. It takes a few moments before he nods, the light shining off his dark hair and his crown.

“I’ll work on it,” he says, resolved. He turns back to you, and when he speaks again, his voice is so unsure, so timid, that you have the sudden urge to hold onto him with one arm and use your other to draw your sword and fend off anything or anyone in the world who might come near and cause him harm. “Can you help me do it?”

You nod. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” he clears his throat, shakes his head. “I’m going to need more than my own forgiveness for being late to these negotiations.” He makes no move to get up. His gaze wanders across the room, as if seeing it for the first time, before landing on the window and studying the portal to the frozen, white world beyond it.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t feel up to it.” Then, trying to lighten the mood, you bump your shoulder against his. “I’m sure Susan and Lucy ganging up on the ambassadors will give them a run for their money.”

Edmund chuckles, settles back on the rug. “Good, because I honestly don’t think I can look into the eye of a person who tried to give me Turkish Delight without hitting him over the head with my sword.”

Even though you’re in a relationship, it’s maybe the most vulnerable that Edmund has ever been with you. He places his head in your lap and stares into the hearth as you card your hands through his dark locks.

“Spring is coming soon,” he mutters, his voice heavy with the sleep that’s trying to catch up with him. “Maybe then I can start over . . . Would be nice to not have to worry about freaking out over a bad gift and embarrassing myself in front of the whole court.”

“Spring will come again,” you remind him, voice soft in case he’s already dropped off to sleep. “And we will greet it with open arms and grateful hearts.” Then, for good measure, you add a new line to aid you through your latest challenge. “And it will allow us to start over.”

[ladyredmoon13]

DCXDP PROMPT

Your Father's Son

Isn't it unfortunate how no matter how hard you try to stop something, all you really do is prolong the enviable?

Danny stopped Dan from killing all his friends and family. He took the lesson Clockwork was trying to teach him to heart and believed that the worst had passed. True there were other problems. Other crises that he gave his attention to.

But even still the event at the Nasty Burger would always linger as a reminder of how truly grateful he was to have each and every one of them in his life.

So it came as a shock to him when the Nasty Burger blew up into smithereens right in front of him for the second time in his life. This time however was different.

He stood less than a block away from the blast. Nocked back, his head hit something hard and then everything was nothing but white noise as everything went black for him.

---------

This event could officially go down as the worst way Bruce found out he had a child.

He was enjoying a quiet Sunday afternoon with his family when he got a call. It was social services and what they had to say both shocked and saddened him to his very soul.

After the call ended he felt numb. He wasn’t sure how to feel at that time. So many emotions wreaked havoc in his mind that he didn’t know what to do with himself.

That was till Dick knocked on his door asking about the call. He knew then that he had to tell his kids. No matter what he did next he had to inform them of the situation.

So he sat them down, all of them listening with various degrees of surprise as he told them he had another son. They don't get a chance to comment though as Bruce continued speaking. The explanation getting worse and worse with each word spoken.

His son, Danny; he told them. Had been the only survivor of a horrific accident where he had witnessed all his family die. As if witnessing the event wasn't bad enough. He was now in a comma.

A comma he had been in for over a month! A MONTH! They had the information needed to contact him and they chose over a MONTH AFTER the event to notify him.

That wasn’t even the end of it. The only reason they called him at all was to get his consent to pull the plug on Danny. They wanted Bruce to pull a child he didn't even know he had off of life support.

The Bat Family were shocked. They were pissed. Most importantly, they wanted to see him. To save him if they could. Help wherever they can for him. Even if it ment giving him an organ.

(Tim- I might not have a pancreas anymore but I'll gladly give him a kidney if I can.)

Bruce just smiled at them. Telling them through unshed tears to pack a bag. They were going to see him. And they were going to help him. They'll be damned if they let another brother/son die that’s a promise!

-----------

So here is what I can see happening. They get to Amity Park and see Danny hooked up to all those monitors and immediately wondered in their sadness, just how could this happen?

They all go into detective mode and begin investigating. With the exception of one of them that decided to start a watch. That way if Danny woke up then he'll have someone there for him.

So the Bats begin investigating but hit walls at almost every turn. It was as if someone powerful and high up was trying to bury the incident. Make it as if it never happened in the first place.

During all this Danny finally wakes up. He remembers what happened instantly and as doctors try to calm him down the person left behind to stay with him calls everyone. They're relieved and make it back to the hospital.

Only Danny has disappeared. They don't know where he went or how. The doctors are confused and the Bat they left with him was only gone long enough to make the call and grab a coffee/snack.

The entire hospital is looking for Danny but Bruce has a feeling that they won't find him.

Meanwhile, Danny was staggering his way through alleyways trying to get back to Fenton Works. He knows his family and friends are dead. There was no denying what he saw.

But that wasn't the only thing he saw. There was no way he could of mistaken the stark white vans that had been parked just outside the NB just moments before the blast.

Somehow, in some way, the GIW was responsible for their deaths. And he was going to provide it. Mom and Dad, Jazz, Sam, and Tucker will have justice. He just needs to get back home a grab a few things first.

[scarletwinterxx]

every comma, every question mark - mark lee scenario

helloo🥺 it's been a while since I wrote a mark lee scenario, and this one was supposed to be out for his birthday but i only finished now, better than never😅😅hope you like it!

all song credits belong to NIKI btw!!! her songs are amazing and I'm a big fan. true story is when I first heard plot twist, all i can think of is how mark lee coded that song is so here we are🤍

and yes the ending may be a hint that there's a next for this (?) not sure tho hahaha anywayssss

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

and if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

"You need to let him go, it's 5 in the morning. You've been here since yesterday!"

Your manager's loud voice resonated through the room, breaking you from your train of thoughts.

"You're distracting me, if you do more of that I will never get out of here" you told him, turning back to your laptop trying. The only other person in the room besides you and your manager is your co-producer. These two is your closest companions, like your two older brothers. You spend most of your time with them, and you being the introvert you don't really have that many friends in the industry.

"As your manager, I love this whole creative wave you're going through. But as a concerned citizen, I'm begging you. Go home. It's your birthday, why are you hauled in this dark room" your manager continues to rant but you pay him no mind

"Yo, you're just making this last longer than it already is. I'm just letting her find whatever it is she's even looking for" your producer say, he's been here with you since yesterday ready to help you out when you need it.

Those two guys know you take your craft very seriously, each and every song you put out is like your own child. Each and every word, every tune, every melody all came from your pretty little mind. They are both very in awe of the discography you have created throughout the years and you're still so young.

Your manager exits the room, muttering something about getting breakfast and coffee before closing the door to the studio.

"How about one of the songs in your vault? You have a lot of unreleased demos" your producer suggests

"I don't know if there's one fit for this"

"Girl you have tons, surely there's one for now. Let's have a hear"

The two of you go through unreleased tracks, some finished and some still on the works before landing on a few possible candidates

"What are we looking for anyways?"

"Not sure, but I promised my fans I was going to put something out just in time for my birthday. It's my birthday and here I am" you grumbled, then suddenly you come across a demo you've written a while back

"Uh this one's old" you say before clicking on it, the beat playing through the speakers in the room

Where have you been All of my life? It's all growin' dim, now That you've come to light And who could've known, who would've thought Between the wishbones and dot-dot-dots There was always gonna be you and I

"When did you write that?" he asks

Just like that, the exact memory of when and where you first wrote that verse came flooding in your head.

"Oh"

"Oh what?"

"I feel like this is the one but I don't know if I can release this" you say

"What do you mean? Why?"

"I wrote this like some time a few years back... about a guy.. I had a crush on"

He chuckles at your reasoning, "So? All songs are inspired by something. You gotta start somewhere"

"Yea but what will I say when people ask what's the story behind it? I'm suppose to perform this on my birthday event this month"

"Then say it, what's the worst that could happen?"

Turns out a lot of things could happen. On the day of your birthday event where you're going to release your new song, your manager informed you a few artists are also present to watch you.

"What?? Why???"

"Cause they like you?" your manager asks back

"Who is it?" you ask but then the prod team calls for you

"Hey Y/N, we need you backstage now"

You get on stage, go on with your show and a short interview. The host surprises you with a cake from your fans and the crowd sings you happy birthday.

"I know it's my birthday but I have a gift for you also" the crowd cheers

"So I wrote a song, I actually wrote it a while back. It's about those unexpected moments that happen in my all to normal life. To be honest with you guys, I've always liked plot twists. The good kind" you add, making the crowd laugh

"Yea and uh sometimes there's someone who comes in your life who you didn't expect and suddenly the sky is bluer or the sun shines just a tad brighter" you blush a bit while trying to explain the song

"Anyways here's the new song, I hope you like it. It's called Plot Twist"

Look what we got A thickening plot Just when I started getting used to The thought Of closing the book There you were, in every nook Of every word, every page And now I wanna stay and wait, 'cause Met every comma, every question mark Bored of how all of the chapters start But you feel like a brand new arc That I never knew, oh I'd like to think I know a thing or two Like every day the sky's a different blue And then along came you, oh

The crowd turns their flash on, it's like a sea of stars in front of you. This made you smile while singing the words

Where have you been All of my life? It's all growin' dim, now That you've come to light And who could've known, who would've thought Between the wishbones and dot-dot-dots There was always gonna be you and I

You get to the last part of the song, enjoying watching the crowd have fun. Unbeknownst to you, the one who inspired this song was in the crowd bopping his head as he listens to your melodic voice.

Who could've imagined? Who could've imagined you? Who could've imagined? Who could've imagined you?

You finish the song and say your final ment before bidding goodbye to everyone.

Your team welcomes you backstage. congratulating you on another successful event. You were busy talking with the band when your manager pulls you on the side, "There's a few people here who wanted to greet you"

"Huh? Oh okay" you follow behind him down the halls.

When you get there the first person you saw was Haechan, a member of a group you're a fan of.

Your first thought was, what is he doing here

The second being, if he's here then surely his member is also here and you already have a hunch on who it might be

"Y/N, you already know Haechan and Mark. They came to watch tonight" your manager say

"Uh yea, oh sorry I wasn't expecting this. I'm a big fan" you tell them, bowing your head down as a sign of respecting and greeting. The two boys doing the same

"Me too, Love your songs" Haechan says, then adds a greeting at the end

"Happy birthday, we uh wanted to come and see you play live since we're on a break. Usually our schedules clash so we can't go to your shows" Mark says

Not believing this is actually happening, you give yourself a pinch on the back. It hurt.

"Me too, I mean I'm a fan too and uh thanks for coming"

"It's Mark hyung's birthday too so this was my gift to him" Haechan jokes, earning a jab on the side from Mark

"I invited him" Mark clarifies, you just laugh at that.

"You guys want some snacks? Refreshments? Let's go to the lounge room" your manager leads the three of you to the lounge area. The two guys, Haaechan and your manager, have a conversation between them. Turns out they're neighbors and Haechan's manager are friends with yours.

"I uh like your new song" Mark clears his throat as he tells you this

"Thanks, it's been a while since I wrote that actually" you mumble, feeling shy all of sudden. You definitely did not expect Mark of all people to be here tonight.

The very person who inspired you to write the song.

"I love the way you write your songs. There's always a story to uncover, big fan of your word plays" he tells you with a smiles you know will haunt your dreams for nights to come and until you make another song about him again.

"One of the few songs I've written that isn't about a heartbreak. And this is from my own point of view, usually I write them imagining the scenario in my head"

"What a lucky guy" he says

You chuckle, looking down at your shoes "He's great, but that song was a confession I'd probably never tell him"

"How come? It's a great song, he should feel honored"

You smile at that, finding the situation all too unreal.

"If he does figure it out, then I'll take my chance"

For a moment you gather up the courage to look him in the eye as if confessing the words without saying it. Like you wanted him to know it's about him but you're not sure if you can ever admit that to him.

Maybe not now. Maybe some other time, you do after all think he's the biggest plot twist of your story.

Then he's looking back at you, a glint in his eyes you wanted to know more about before he smiles at you again. His voice already writing the words in your head, ready for the melody and for your creative genius. He tells you,

"He'd be a fool not to take a chance with you"

[its-time-to-write]

hi there! (ok FIRST AND FOREMOST i need to tell you that i am obsessed with your writing. you are by far my favorite jamie tartt writer, you characterize him perfectly and nail his speech mannerisms! not an easy feat! so thank u for writing what you do and for sharing it with us!!!! <333333 ok now that i've gotten that off my chest) if you're taking requests right now i'd love to see your take on a (slowburn?) enemies to lovers fic with jamie!!

I don’t know why I take simple little prompts and turn them into angsty monstrosities. This one makes up for the lack of plot in my other fics, and I’d like to apologize in advance😬

Oh also I am the queen of commas, in case you didn’t know 😇😇

flipped the script

It cannot be considered murder if you’re provoked. It would be considered doing the world a favor. 

And by god, you are going to fucking murder Jamie Tartt.

He does absolutely fucking nothing but make your life fucking miserable and you’re fucking losing it.

The only thing you’d agree on is when it started. It was 4am and he was yelling at someone called Roy and you had to be awake in two hours for a fucking conference, and you’d only just fallen asleep at 1am.

So you marched out of your house to the sidewalk where your prick neighbor was arguing with his prick coach and told him to shut the fuck up or I’m calling the police.

He opened his mouth to retort, changed his mind, then made a snide comment about your choice of outfit while you glared at him. His prick coach had the decency to apologize and smack Jamie on the head, so you said, “You’re fine, Roy, I’ll see you at work next week,” and Roy said, “Ah shit, you have that fucking conference, yeah?” and you said yeah then flipped off Jamie as you walked away.

You really hadn’t had many interactions with Jamie before, but you knew him before you started your job as an administrative assistant for AFC Richmond since you were, after all, living right next to each other.

Your last job had paid incredibly well; you were basically the go-to girl for your last company for two and half years. You compiled all relevant information from the day and presented to your boss so he would be caught up on the company’s inner workings. You were observant when it came to valuable (or toxic) employees, and had gained a reputation for being an invaluable asset.

But your old boss was retiring and you were ready for something new, so you began looking around. You found a job at AFC Richmond, assisting a Mr. Higgins and just generally making sure his job ran smoothly so the club could run smoothly. 

It was mostly paperwork, but you enjoyed it. You collected data from all different departments and then ran it by Higgins and Ms. Welton. You weren’t above coffee runs; it was nice to get out sometimes and Ms. Welton would put your coffee on her bill. You got to take your lunch breaks with them and talk and laugh, and be appreciated, which is something you didn’t often get.

The nature of your job demands a certain level of… professionalism, shall we say, which can be misconstrued as coldness. You’re not. You’re just young and trying to be taken seriously, which is why it’s nice to be known both in a personal and professional capacity by Higgins and Ms. Welton. Higgins has even invited you over for family dinner and you’d invited his family over to yours. His boys had absolutely lost their minds at the amount of nerf guns you had stashed in each room, courtesy of your brother who often liked to drop by unannounced when he knew you were home and get you in the back of the head. Sometimes you regretted giving him a key, but not enough to take it back.

All that to say, it was a relatively seamless transition to AFC Richmond. You and Jamie would exchange a neighborly nod if you saw each other, but that was absolutely it. 

—

The next incident is, uh, kind of your fault.

Remember the brother-and-nerf-guns thing?

Yeah.

Your brother had sneaked over on a Sunday (parked around the corner so his car wouldn’t be seen on your security cameras) and you were chasing each other around the house. Your sister-in-law had warned you he was coming over (he asked her to drive him), so you were prepared and hiding in the bushes. He was nonchalantly walking on the sidewalk, hands in his hoodie, when you popped out and got him right in the chest then booked it into your house, which led to a solid fifteen minutes of running and yelling, with the occasional, “Ow, you jerk!” that siblings are always saying but never really mean.

The incident occurs when you’re once again in your front yard running from your brother. You look back to assess how far away he is when smack, you run into someone and feel their beverage go flying.

It’s Jamie, and his bright pink drink is now all over his clean white hoodie.

You both stop and glare at each other. 

You had stopped feigning civility after the 4am thing, so the glare is standard procedure.

Jamie says, “What the fuck?” as your brother comes careening to an abrupt halt.

You’re still glaring. “Why are asking me ‘what the fuck?’ You’re the one walking around here with that fucking awful drink that’s probably going to kill your internal organs. I mean seriously, it cannot be safe to consume something that bright.”

“Says the girl who’s addicted to diet soda.”

“Says the girl who’s fucking pissed that her sidewalk is stained fucking bright pink. How the fuck am I supposed to clean this?”

Jamie’s face is red now, and yours is too.

“A), it’s a fucking public sidewalk and b), what about my fucking sweatshirt? This cost more than your shitty car!” he shoots back, and that’s the moment a line is crossed.

“We live in the same goddamn neighborhood,” you hiss, “so shut the fuck up with your stupid elitist footballer bullshit.”

“Oi, at least I’m not a fucking stuck-up, self-righteous big-shot with no friends!”

You’re not sure what would have happened next because your brother grabs you by the arm and hauls you back inside, waving apologetically to Jamie. All the fight goes out of you as soon as the door shuts.

“What the ever-loving hell was that?” he asks. He never did like using the word “fuck.”

—

What the ever-loving hell was that? Well, it’s actually quite simple. In the seven months you’ve been at Richmond, you haven’t really made any friends.

Yes, you have Ms. Welton and Higgins, but that’s not the same as having people the same age as you to go out with and watch movies and drink and dance and just be stupid and unwind with. 

You’re not even necessarily looking for friends at Nelson Road, just friends somewhere. The problem is, you’re not even sure how to go about it. You’ve spent the last decade of your life (yes, decade) working your ass off to get where you are now. Fourteen year-old knew what she wanted and was determined to get it. You had hustled through school, made connections, grew your resume, and saved every fucking penny until you landed a job that you were definitely under qualified for, but you had nailed the interview. You weren’t sure why your boss decided to take a chance on you, until he told you later he saw the same spark his daughter had in your eyes.

His daughter, who had become a multi-millionaire on her own by the time she was twenty-seven.

So, because someone saw the grit in your eyes of all places, you had a chance to make a fuck ton of money and have a fuck ton of benefits.

You made more connections, including a realtor who set you up with your current home at a price that was insane to normal people, but a steal to the rich. You were signing papers before it was even officially on the market.

It had been labelled as a “fixer-upper,” but that meant a little bit of scuffed paint and slightly outdated utilities. 

And it was yours.

It all came at a price though, didn’t it?

That price was not seeing your family often, sleeping poorly, and no real friends.

That’s why your brother makes it a point to come around. He knows that your lack of contact does not equate a lack of love.

Not everyone saw it that way. You’d lost all your friends at this point, labeled a bitch and a workaholic. So, you though, why the hell not just lean into it. You could be a bitch and a workaholic if it got things done. It was easier to harden the shell around your heart than let people in again.

—

Ok, maybe taking out all that anger on Jamie isn’t healthy, but hey, he’s the one fighting back so hard. 

Things keep happening. His foot is stuck out just enough to make you stumble as you pass each other in the hallway, your car is parked on the street just enough so he can’t get into his garage, ferocious glares are exchanged. Any conversation you are forced to have is laced with sarcastic, biting remarks that only serve make you close off even more. 

The worst part? You’re both fucking brilliant at hiding it. 

You’d have to be, especially at AFC Richmond under Ted Lasso’s command. If he got wind of this, he’d be all over it trying to fix it and neither of you want that. 

You see, Jamie’s a little bit fucked up too.

—

You’ve been at AFC Richmond for a year, and you’ve hated Jamie Tartt for eleven months.

Yet somehow, you’re in fucking Paris. 

Not with just Jamie, of course, but the whole team.

Rebecca’s basically given you a paid vacation because there isn’t much for you to do here. It’s great, the city of lights or something, but you can’t enjoy it. 

You’re in your room on the floor, becoming slowly dehydrated from crying.

Everything is all fuzzy and you’re incredibly disoriented, so you think you might be hallucinating when you hear a knock on the door.

It happens again, more insistently, and you think it’s probably Rebecca so you drag yourself up off the floor, wipe your eyes, and open it to find Jamie Tartt standing in front of you, clearly wishing to be anywhere else.

He’s staring at the top of the doorframe as he says, “Coach sent me to see if you want to go out with the lads tonight,” looking down only when you’ve left his statement unanswered for far too long.

His look of annoyance changes as he clocks your puffy eyes and red nose. 

“You alright?” he asks and you don’t even have the heart to say, obviously, don’t I look it? so you just nod and move to shut the door. 

Jamie blocks it with his hand and pushes it back open, then past you into the room.

It’s pristine, all marble and gold; and far too big for you. You would have preferred something smaller, something less empty. Something less cold. 

All you can do is stand there mutely in your t-shirt and sweatpants, watching your worst enemy clatter around in the room’s fridge looking for a water bottle.

He retrieves one and hands it to you, cap unscrewed.

You don’t ask if he’s spit in it, just take a sip and look at him with dead eyes.

“You look like shit,” he observes, breaking the silence. 

It’s not a dig. You’ve heard enough condescension from his lips to know when he’s fighting.

You shrug.

“You gonna say something?” Jamie asks, and that’s enough to get you going.

“You’re the one who’s in my room,” you say and instead of firing back, Jamie grins. 

“We can go to mine if you want, love,” he winks and in a terrible, awful, panic-inducing moment, you are thrown completely off your guard.

How the fuck are you supposed to reconcile this Jamie Tartt with the awful neighbor you hate? And is he- flirting? Surely not.

He registers your face going through a million expressions in an instant and sobers.

“Go sit,” he says, and you comply without thinking. You’re cross-legged on the couch and he thumps down next to you. He’s not close enough that you’re touching, but you can feel the heat radiating off his body. It’s funny, because you feel so cold. You wonder for a moment if your heart has actually turned to stone and that’s why you’re shivering.

You hear someone say, “My ex is here,” and are horrified to realize that you’re the one talking, and not only that, but you’re continuing. 

“He fucking… knew I’d be here. I saw him in the lobby. He acted like it was some great coincidence, but he was never a great liar. And… he’s here with his girlfriend. Fiancée, I guess. Because he’s proposing to her tonight. They’ve known each other less than a year, and he’s proposing to her. I saw him in the lobby looking like this while he’s in a fucking suit and all I can think about is the fact that he broke up with me because I wouldn’t put out because I wasn’t ready. And how he said he wasn’t the marrying type.” You pause.

“I broke my back making time for him. Everyone thinks I’m a workaholic and maybe I am, but I make time for the people I love. I made time for him. It sounds funny to say, especially how I am now, but he’s why I don’t anymore. Make time, I mean. Nobody notices I’m gone anyway. Or when I’m around. Or anything I do unless I’m doing something for them.”

You risk a look at Jamie. He’s studying your face with an intensity you’ve never seen and you look down to find his hand in yours, and you wonder how that happened. Your knuckles are white from gripping it but he’s holding it back and it gives you just enough of a boost to keep going.

“I don’t even want the money for myself. Like, I’m able to buy expensive shit and that’s cool, but the only reason I have a house that big is because my brother and his wife have a shit-ton of kids, and sometimes they need a break. So they can come over to mine and run around and have space and be wild for a week and I don’t care. They won’t let me give them money, so I have to think of creative ways to help them out. I only have nephews- they each have their own trust fund. It’s not that big right now, but it’s growing. It’ll be a lot by the time they’re each eighteen. And my parents… They died when I was fourteen. It was a stupid car accident, this freak thing with the brakes even though they’d just had the car serviced a week before. My brother was twenty one and newly married because he’s an idiot and he was in love. He and his wife let me live with them.”

You shake your head. “No, that’s not right, they didn’t just let me live with them, they took care of me. Bought me clothes and fed me and let me have my own room even though I said I could sleep on the couch. They could barely afford things for themselves, but they made sure I had what I needed. That’s why I threw myself into work and pushed people away. It’s for them, because I know I can never repay them. But I want to, even if they won’t let me.”

You’re done speaking, finally, and your face is bright red. It normally is when speaking to Jamie, but that’s from the sheer anger you usually feel from having to deal with him. This time it’s different. It’s from the embarrassment of being vulnerable in front of someone.

Jamie hasn’t said anything the whole time, just let you hold his hand. Your knees are touching now, and you realize that one of you must have shifted to make that happen.

You take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. “Why are you here, Jamie?” you ask softly. “You hate me. I don’t even know why I told you all that.”

He looks straight into your eyes. “I don’t hate you,” he says simply.

That’s enough to fully shatter the shell around your heart, and you’re shaking with silent sobs again as Jamie pulls you closer, your back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you.

—

You fall asleep like that, and you’re not sure at which point Jamie left. But when you wake up, you’re in your bed under a blanket. You think maybe you dreamed the whole thing until you see the note on your nightstand in messy handwriting.

I meant what I said.

—

Neither you nor Jamie comment on it, but something has changed. You don’t hate him anymore. He sits next to you on the plane back and cracks jokes, and you have a weird opportunity to apologize. He tells you he’s sorry too, explains about his dad, and you form a strange bond of repressed anger as a way to deal with hurt. 

Ted is right, forgiveness is the way to go.

—

Jamie Tartt makes it a point to ask you to go out with the lads every time they do group activities. You meet Rebecca’s friend Keeley, basically the only other girl, and pretty soon she’s invited herself over for girl’s nights. Jamie recognizes Keeley’s car the second time it happens and walks over to say hey. She invites him in, and suddenly he’s a fixture at girl’s night. His movie recommendations are shit, but his skincare products are not.

Since things at AFC Richmond aren’t as hectic as you’re used to, you start to pick up some of your old hobbies. Cooking, for example. You get your hands on a copy of Jamie’s diet plan and start experimenting with ways to make it more interesting. So now he’s at yours for dinner more often than not. 

He pops his head over the fence one Saturday afternoon, hearing young voices all morning. Your nephews are over and playing football in the backyard while your brother and sister-in-law deep clean their house. You’re sitting under an umbrella with the baby in your arms and a pitcher of water, when you hear Isaiah, the oldest, say, “Whoa! Is that Jamie Tartt?” 

You look up from Daniel’s tiny giggly face to see Jamie hanging over your fence and waving. You roll your eyes and grin back.

“Wanna come over?” you call, and the words are barely our of your mouth before he’s hopped over and starting to steal the ball from your four walking nephews.

They’re at it for a good thirty minutes before he calls time-out and is jogging over to you, all sweaty and grinning. 

“Didn’t know you were good with kids,” he says.

“Could say the same thing about you,” you shoot back.

He grabs water then makes a silly face at Daniel, who giggles and waves his arms. You laugh and kiss the baby on the top of his head, which makes him gurgle. You look up to see Jamie watching you strangely, so you wrinkle your nose at him. “What?” you say, but before he can open his mouth to respond, Jesse is pulling on Jamie’s hand, telling him the time-out is over.

—

Your next interaction of note happens after your third consecutive Richmond match. You don’t usually go to them, as it’s not required and you didn’t really care. But since you’ve been hanging out with the team, you find yourself taking Rebecca up on her offer to sit in the owner’s box. It’s three days until the next match and you’re looking for Jamie so you can eat lunch together. You find him in the locker room of all places and hand him his bag of food, yet another one of your experiments.

You’re starting to get really good revitalizing Jamie’s meal plan.

His eyes light up when he sees you, and you both miss the looks exchanged between Ted and Beard in their office.

Jamie puts down the lunch and says, “Oi, I got you something.” He reaches into his locker and pulls out a Richmond jersey.

“It’s new, it ain’t one of mine, but now you can wear it to matches.”

You shake it open to see it’s a Jamie Tartt jersey, and this makes you unreasonably happy.

Jamie’s grinning too, and it’s the rare kind of grin where his teeth look sharper and his eyes flash.

You hug it to your chest and say, “I’ll be sure to wear it Saturday,” before you and Jamie head to the café to eat.

— 

Keeley, of course, has comments about the jersey. You pretend not to understand what she’s saying.

—

It’s girls night again, and you and Jamie are pulling snacks out of his cabinets when your phones ding at the same time. It’s Keeley on your groupchat.

Can’t make it babes, something’s come up.

You make a comment involving the words “Roy Kent,” and riffing on her excuse, which makes Jamie laugh.

“I guess I’ll head back to mine,” you say, but Jamie tilts his head and says, “Or you could just… stay,” so you do.

You’re on his couch again, like the night you stopped hating him: your back agains his chest as you rub your thumb absentmindedly on his tattooed forearm.

You’re midway through the movie and explaining to Jamie the limited plausibility of it happening in real life, when he says a soft, oh shit as you pause to take a breath.

“What?” you say, sitting up. “Is everything alright?”

Jamie rubs a hand across his face. “You’re gonna fucking hate me again.”

You squint. “Not sure that’s possible. You’ve got too much dirt on me.”

Jamie just groans. “Nah, you’ll hate me. But I’m gonna tell you anyway.”

He grabs your hand and looks you straight in your eyes, giving you goosebumps.

“I’m fucking in love with you,” he says, and your brain still functions just enough to crash your lips into his.

You’re on top of him and his fingers are tangled in your hair, but as your fingers ghost his waistband, he stills and grabs your hand.

You freeze too, afraid you’ve crossed a line, but Jamie says, “I’m not fucking you for the first time on my couch. We’re going to do this proper,” and then he’s whisking you off your feet and up the stairs.

—

You know that fucking someone you work with is a line you said you’d never cross. But he was your neighbor first, and you’re in love, so it doesn’t count. You’re lying on Jamie’s bed gasping for air after god knows how long and all you can say is, “fuck me.”

Jamie smirks. “Thought I just did, babe, but I’ll go again,” and you’re seeing stars for the third time that night.

He’s sucking a line across your collarbone when you say, “Wait!”

Jamie is off of you in a moment, and you feel strangely empty.

“You alright?” he asks, all concern.

“I never said it back,” you explain. Jamie’s still confused.

“I love you too. You said you’re fucking in love with me. I’m in love with you too. Just thought I should make it clear.” 

Jamie’s looking at you all strange again, eyes dark, so you roll him back on top and let him devour you.

[soft-persephone]

A Fresh Start 1

Mother’s Milk x Fem!Reader

M // WC: 1.3k // warnings: eventual smut, potential descriptions of mild violence, but mostly fluff, mostly sweet, typical romcom shenanigans // masterlist

“I don’t wanna go to the party.”

You sucked in a breath, holding back a sigh of frustration.

“TT, you need to make friends.”

Life was not what it should be, especially when 8 year olds are worried about your social life and general well being.

“Momo, I’m an adult,” you started softly, mustering all the cool calm collected and comforting and safe space energy you could, “and I take care of you. Not the other way around.” You put a hand on her shoulder, sliding it up and down her back.

“Thank you for thinking about me and caring about me. I love you just as much.” You studied her, hoping you weren’t making anything worse, “but you don’t need to worry about me. There’s nothing to worry about. Go have fun with your friends and I’ll be here when you’re ready to go or the party ends. Deal?”

“Will you at least be on your best behavior?”

You sighed.

“Go play with your friends.”

“But I just—“

“Now, Mo.”

Kids. You shook your head and grabbed the tray of food you made per the list that was sent out.

“You made it!” One of the mom’s wrapped her arms around you. You did your best not to look as uncomfortable as you felt.

“Thank you for having me.” You smiled and gave her the tray.

“Uhm, Sweetie. . . What are these?”

“Pigs in a blanket. Slightly charred A grade beef sausages, the mini ones of course, wrapped in a croissant dough, dusted with a caramel Dijon mustard and pepper sauce.”

“They’re third graders.” Sheila blinked at you.

You pouted with a huff.

“They’re just pigs in a blanket!”

“Sheila stop giving her a hard time.”

“Hi, I’m Tracey.” She looked back to you with a smile.

You introduced yourself slowly to all the other parents.

“So you’re Monice’s mother?”

You squeezed your hand.

Of course they all knew. At this point who didn’t.

“Uhm,” you took a breath for courage, “I’m actually her Aunt. Her mother didn’t make it through the accident.”

That’s what you had to call it, but it was far from an accident. Your dead sister in law and your brother in critical condition in a comma is not what you call an accident. Especially, when the forces that caused it had enough power in the world to prevent it if they weren’t such careless fucks.

But you couldn't say that part out loud or you’d get sued.

Some people gasped and you wanted to shrivel up and disappear. You wanted everyone to stop looking at you like you were about to break because you were, but it’s hard to keep it all together or at least just look like it with so many eyes on you.

“How are you holding up through all this?”

“We’re uh, we’re good. Monice obviously needed some therapy after what happened, and she wouldn’t do it unless I did it with her, but I honestly needed it too.”

Someone had made you a plate.

The pasta salad was amazing and the ribs spectacular. It was good to be around your people. You ignored the growing ache of your family. You all had been in shambles since the accident. Your mother barely talked to anyone. Your father was angry, but somehow rather a calm in the eye of a storm. He was holding it together for everyone, but at his age, he did not need to be doing anything like that, and nothing you said calmed either of them down.

“And you’re doing this alone?” Someone chimed in with a hand over their heart.

“Well, I had a boyfriend, but I guess he,uh wasn’t ready. He basically said he couldn’t be there for me.” You realized that might sound harsh, so you continued in an effort to diffuse the reality of your words, “he took me on a date to this beautiful restaurant we loved.”

You smiled at the thought, fighting tears.

“It was all so nice. . . And then he just started talking about how emotionally draining being with me was. How he didn’t want to start living with a kid and change his whole life around. That he still wanted more time and that it was just too much for him.” You picked at the roll on your plate.

“I always thought I had more time too, but none of that matters. Momo’s entire life has been turned upside down and she doesn’t know if her father will ever come back into her life or not. She’s scared all the time.” Your voice cracked.

“And this past Monday I was on the phone with my therapist just opening up trying, just trying, to get to a good place so I can be there for Mo, but she overheard me say I Feel like I’m alone and drowning with everything and that I just want my big brother back and now she’s so worried about me being alone and always asking me about my friends not being there for me like they were before and I just—“

Fuck you didn’t mean to say all that. You don’t mean to cry.

“Should we?” Sheila looked at Tracey who only shook her head.

“Maybe you should talk to Marvin?”

That’s all everyone in this community says.

“I heard Monice used to go to a different school?”

You but your lip. Unsure what to say.

“She was suspended.” You said matter of factly.

“After everything she’s been through?” Tracey asked.

“Everyone experiences trauma different. I want to curl into a ball, stay in my bed, and cry all day.” You sighed at nothing in particular, “Momo gets angry. Other kids still love superheroes and she lives in a world where superheroes took her family away. Long story short I’m in an office and they're telling me she’s a bully and has to go because her behavior is unacceptable.”

“That can’t be right.”Sheila said, aghast. “She’s a little black girl. It must be some sort of a mistake. You know how they are when we aren’t perfect all the time and I heard it was a pretty prestigious school.”

“I’d love to believe that was the case, but it’s not. She owned up to it. Told me everything and now we have to face the consequences of our actions, so bye bye old school, old friends, and all the other stuff.”

Everyone kind of stared at you.

Fuck.

You said something wrong. Or you don’t look so heartbroken and beaten down and broken enough, Or was it your parenting?

It was probably all of it.

You got overwhelmed, you wanted to chill out, you wanted to scream, you wanted to cry, but you got through it.

You looked out at the kids running around with large bubble wands and toys galore.

Momo seems to be having the grandest time with another little black girl. They chased each other with large bubbles, attempting to pop them on each other’s head.

She made a friend.

All of a sudden your shoulders were falling back and down into something relaxed. You were exhaling a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Were you that tense the whole time?

You shook your head and made your way to the desert table once more.

There were these croissant donut things or some type of pastry. It looked so good, but you couldn't tell which one you wanted most. Between the decadent looking chocolate and the mouthwatering matcha strawberry. You couldn’t tell which one might taste better.

You only wanted one.

“You must be related to Monice?” A rich deep voice interrupted you.

You slightly turn around to meet warm brown eyes and equally comforting dark skin.

Butterflies filled your stomach. You chased the feeling down by fiddling with your fingers, still looking at him so it doesn’t come off as awkward as you felt.

“What gave it away?”

“You both stick your tongue in your cheek and pout when you can’t decide between more than one thing.”

You huffed a laugh through your nose. Your eyes rolling dramatically around not sure what to look at.

“I do not pout.” You crossed your arms. “I’m not a child.

“Well you're acting like one.” He picked up both croissants with a napkin and placed them on two plates. He gingerly cut both in half with a knife and swapped one of the halves. “Here, now you can have both.”

You held out both your hands. Looking at the plate and back up to him.

“How-how?”

“What do we say?” He ignored you. Taking a step into your space, leaning down so his face was in yours and staring.

“Stop.” You laughed but he didn’t move.

“Ugh, fine.” You smacked your teeth. “Thank you.”

“I’ll take it, but you could sound more grateful.”

“Mm.” You grunted at him and took a bite of the matcha one first.

He followed as you sat on the edge of the patio to continue to watch the kids play outside.

“Why don’t you come back in with the rest of them?”

“You mean inside with the women?”

He gave you an unamused look.

“You know what I meant.”

“Well, they started playing fuck marry kill for the Vaught dummies.” You picked at the corner of your paper plate, “and I excitedly yelled kill Homelander before anyone could say anything.”

You expected him to empathize. Maybe even give you a: damn, that’s tough. In the way some black men talk when they can’t express emotions, but what you don’t expect him to do was laugh.

“It’s not funny.” You muttered into your chocolate pastry as you took a bite.

“What did they say?” He bellowed and put his hand on his stomach.

“Nothing!” You laughed as he wiped a tear. “And that’s what makes it worse. I sorta lied and said I had to go to the bathroom and I’ve been out here ever since.”

“Well it’s nice to not be the only one around here.”

“The only one around here what?”

He looked at you. Really, looked at you.

“Who hates Supes.” He said lowly, leaning in so no one walking by could hear you.

You didn’t say anything and took another bite of the matcha one. You winced and he sort of turned to you, extending a hand as if he was going to hurily fix whatever was wrong.

“It’s fine,” you explained with a lick of your lips, “the matcha one doesn’t taste as good when you take a bite of the chocolate one before it, “it took me by surprise.”

“Oh.. right.” He put his free hand back on his plate, taking the piece of matcha pastry and stuffing the whole thing in his mouth, making him look 30 years younger.

A really really big kid.

You wanted to tease him for it.

But instead you handed him a napkin.

He silently took it before popping his thumb in his mouth and placing it on your cheek. You held in a breath as he wiped it across the corner of your mouth.

“I—“ you started.

“bad habit. I have a—

“DADDY!!”

A little girl squealed and ran up to you both.

You held a hand over your eyes to block the setting sun.

The man you wished you had asked a name of did his best to discretely lean away from you without his daughter noticing how close you were.

His daughter didn’t notice, but Momo was studying his every move.

Fuck, how were you about to explain this? Or rather, what is it that she thinks she saw and were you about to have a conversation you did not want to have. . . How much did she see?

“This is my new friend Monice! She goes by Momo or Mo!” His daughter went on and on to her father about every little fact about Mo, filling you with absolute glee.

Kids had that effect on you.

Whatever they were feeling just filled you up to the tips of your toes on steroids. Whatever she was about to ask him for you hoped he said yes. Who could say no to her? Certainly not you, but other adults seemed immune by this supernatural power obtained by every child. How? You’d never know.

It was your kryptonite.

“Can she spend the night?”

“Or can she spend the night at my house TT?” Momo excitedly interjected.

You looked up at, Daddy from where you were sitting on the patio. He had his arms crossed in thought but as he looked down, you could feel him telling you to pull yourself together.

You bit the inside of your cheek whenever you were deciding how to parent.

“Maybe some other time when me and Mr. . .”

“Milk” He filled in for you.

“Can talk about it? Okay?”

“What she said Janine.” Was all Mr. M said.

Janine was about to open her mouth to say more, but Momo knew better and pulled her away with a sigh.

“I can never have anything!” She frantically exclaimed as she dragged her friend away.

“But we —“

“No. We can’t!” Momo yelled back just to make sure you heard her.

Kids.

“You let her act like that?”

You narrowed your eyes and bit back a smile.

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know what I’m talking about.” He stuffed the other pastry in his mouth and brushed his hands together to get rid of the excess crumbs, making sure they didn't hit his clothes, “you’re spoiled too.”

“What makes you say that.”

“Spoiled children raise spoiled children.” He said it matter of factly, like it was wise somehow, and pulled a wet wipe out of his pocket. He handed you one as well before neatly putting the packet back in his jacket pocket.

“Sounds really funny coming from you.” Was all you said in the same casual tone he used before, taking the wipe and cleaning the excess sugar and sticky residue from your hands.

“Oh yeah.” He challenged, crossing his arms.

A cheeky grin slowly formed on your face. .

“Not when your daughter is clearly a Daddy’s girl.”

“Let me stop you right there—“

“—Who clearly gets everything she wants and more from you.” You raised a finger to his chest and he leaned in letting it touch him.

You don’t realize how excited you had got. Your cheeks were puffy with tears from laughing and your chest heaving from raising your voice for so long.

“And you love it.” You added with a huff and parted lips.”

“Takes one to know one.” He huffed. Perfectly still and unaffected, a wall of calm, but you saw the twitch of his lip.

“Look who’s pouting now.” You smirked.

He pulled away from you with a smack of his teeth and a groan.

“You got lucky.”

You curled your feet in the grass before you. Taking in the sounds and sights around for the first time, letting them wash over you, truly enjoying them since the first turn you arrived.

You were lucky.

.

.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in next chapter:

@megamindsecretlair @nerdieforpedro @planetblaque @chaithetics @notapradagurl7

[lady-pug]

Anything For You

Summary: 5 times Crosshair protects you and 1 time you do the same for him.

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader

Word count: 5k

Warnings: canon-typical violence, one dude being kinda creepy at 79's

Notes: Hello hello everyone! It's been a hot minute since this series has seen an update, but after season 3 I had some inspiration (I know it has been a while since season 3 actually come out, but some things had happened that needed my sole attention, I didn’t have the time nor the energy and motivation to write for quite a while). But now I’m back!

I really hope you, dear reader, enjoy this and have fun while reading it. If you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I'll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. I hope you truly enjoy this story.

Reader is female, but no physical descriptions provided. Also, when describing the formal attire in topic 3 I tried to keep descriptions to a minimum so you can imagine what the reader is wearing in this scene (I’m a sucker for women in suits, but it’s up to you to imagine)

Next part | Previous part | Masterlist | Read on AO3

1.

The Batch’s mission on Taanab had gone south very quickly. The Separatists had aimed to cut the commercial lines the planet held with Coruscant, which would pose a major problem as it could possibly throw the entire Republic into starvation. So Clone Force 99 had been sent to scout the planet and possibly find Separatists spies stationed there. What they didn’t count on was being ambushed by Norulac pirates almost as soon as they tried to leave the planet.

Tech and Hunter had gone inside a facility suspected of housing the spies they were looking for, while Wrecker kept watch by the entrance, and you and Crosshair covered their shebs from a hill a few klicks away. What you didn’t expect was for Tech to take a major hit as soon as they walked out the door with the spy. In order not to compromise the mission, Wrecker pushed the cuffed nautolan back inside the compound and closed the doors behind them. 

As soon as the first blaster bolt was fired, you leaped to your feet, much to Crosshair’s protests, and started running towards Tech, medkit clutched tightly under your arm. Crosshair, ever the marksman, kept shooting his Firepunch, trying to get rid of as many pirates while you pushed forward. As you approached the place where Tech had gone down you skidded to a halt, keeping your head down as to avoid the blaster fire. Slipping your hand under his armpits you dragged him across the pebbled ground (and mentally apologized for any scratches he might find on his backplate later on), taking cover behind a short wall and starting to patch him up.

What you didn’t notice, however, was the pirate approaching from behind you and Tech while you assessed his injuries, who must have either slipped unnoticed by Wrecker and Hunter or come up all the way from behind the facility. You only seemed to notice him once Tech, coming back to his senses after a stim shot, pointed over your shoulder and told you to look out. By then it was already too late, as the pirate had his vibroblade raised and ready to strike.

As you fumbled with your blaster to at least try and protect the two of you a long blaster bolt came scorching through the air, hitting the man right on his temple and sending him tumbling sideways, dead. You glanced back towards the hill you had just climbed down from, sending a nod in Crosshair’s general direction, knowing he could see you with his scope.

“Thanks for having my back, Cross.” you spoke into your commlink before resuming your work on Tech’s wound, barely catching Crosshair’s reply.

“Anything for you, Copikla.” he mumbled, going back to firing his rifle in order to help his brothers take out the remaining pirates.

2.

The woman was definitely moving too fast for someone who allegedly had nothing to hide. And Clone Force 99 was hellsbent (more like ordered to) figure out why.

Your current mission, issued by Commander Fox of all people, albeit a stealth mission of sorts, wasn’t like anything you had ever done before. A Gran representative of Malastare, acting as a temporary substitute for Senator Ainlee Teem while the senator went back to his home planet to help calm the nerves and appease the public opinion of the citizens of Malastare about the rampage caused by the Zillo Beast, was suspected to be working for the Separatists. Afraid that an investigation lead directly by the Coruscant Guard would be too on the nose and she might try to cover her tracks, Commander Fox had surprisingly, as him and the Batch often didn't see eye to eye, requested that the Bad Batch be the ones to follow her around and figure out her intentions.

So here you and Crosshair were, following the woman a few paces behind her all throughout Coruscant busy streets. The plan of action had been to split up, Hunter and Wrecker taking the two parallel streets to the one where the woman was currently speed-walking while you and Crosshair followed behind her. Tech had stayed behind at the Guard’s headquarters, tracking the woman’s movements using the surveillance system. 

As the teams were being separated Crosshair had demanded that you go with him (although ‘demand’ might be too strong of a word, as he knew Hunter, as his commanding officer, could very well tell him to shut up and take a step back, which he thankfully didn’t), internally reasoning with himself that you could very well get lost and compromise the mission, even though the knowing smirk the Sergeant had sent his way after agreeing with his suggestion told him he might have other reasons. And now he was glad he insisted on that.

As dusk fell over the city and rush hour approached, more and more people filled the streets eager to head home. This didn’t pose a problem for Crosshair as his height, greater than that of the regs (and quite greater than Hunter’s, as he often liked to tease his vod about) paired with his extraordinary eyesight allowed him to keep his eyes on the Gran woman at all times. You on the other hand weren’t so lucky, as people bumped into you and tried to squeeze their way past the both of you. Concerned you’d slip away, dragged by the sea of people, he snaked his arm around your waist, his hand lazily draped over your hip, keeping you close to his side and not letting you venture away from him.

You looked up at him, a tiny grin gracing your features.

“Thanks Cross.”

The only response you got was his grip on your hip. tightening almost imperceptibly.

3. 

“I don’t like it.” 

Hunter sighed for the umpteenth time in the past hour.

“I already told you, these are our orders.” he turned towards his brother, who scowled in return.

“Why can’t one of us go in?”

“As a matter of fact, that option has been brought up to Commander Cody,” Tech chimed in, not once taking his eyes off his holopad “but he has reminded us of a crucial fact: no matter how much our phenotype might differ from that of the regs, we’re still clones. If a single slightly more enlightened individual in that ballroom catches sight of our resemblance to our mandalorian progenitor, the mission would be compromised.”

Crosshair huffed, still not convinced.

“But why does it have to be her?” he argued “Why couldn’t they have brought another natborn specialist? Or, kriff, even a senator? Senators are good at these sorts of events.”

“Senators are public figures, they would be recognized in an instant.” Hunter promptly answered “And all other female natborns were unavailable.”

“And the Seppie likes pretty women!” Wrecker laughed “I mean who doesn’t? I’m sure none of us would be able to seduce him!”

“I still don’t like it.” unsatisfied, Crosshair picked up his Firepuncher to check the scope, even though he knew for a fact it was pristine as always. 

A beneficent gala was being held by the InterGalactic Banking Clan to members of the Confederacy of Independent Systems council in Cantonica. One Separatist senator, a sleazy old quacta of a man, was rumored to have information on the next course of action regarding a siege against Republic forces in Ansion. So, given the sensitivity of the mission ahead, Clone Force 99 was called in. However, none of them could go in without the risk of being recognized as members of the GAR, so they had to send in-

“How do I look?” he was buried so deep in his own thoughts he didn’t even hear the door to the fresher opening and you stepping out into the hull of the ship. As he looked up to glance at you, he thanked the maker he was already sitting down, otherwise his knees would have buckled and he would have been sent tumbling down.

You looked gorgeous. 

Your hair was styled in a completely different style than you normally wore it, a few delicate pins adorning it. Some light makeup covered your face, accentuating your natural beauty. And your outfit… Crosshair had only seen you in your uniform and armor in the battlefield, or in your GAR-issued blacks around the ship. He had never seen you wearing anything like this, so formal and fitting for your exact frame.

He couldn’t even speak. He just kept staring at you, his eyes moving up and down your frame.

“You look beautiful, baar’ur’ika!” Wrecker’s booming voice brought him out of his stupor, as he shook his head.

“You really think so?” you asked, feeling a little shy “I never usually wear something so nice, this is a bit out of my comfort zone.”

“You look amazing Doc.” Hunter chimed in, nudging his brother with his elbow, his lips pulled in a knowing smirk “Doesn’t she, Crosshair?”

He was still collecting his thoughts when you turned to face him, eyes gleaming with… hope? 

“Yeah,” he dared answer “yes, she does.”

You beamed at him, smiling so brightly he felt his heart skip a beat for being the reason for your happiness. He wasn’t even bothered when he heard Hunter chuckling under his breath, no doubt catching on his vod’s reaction to your presence. 

As your squad started diskimbarking to start the mission, Crosshair reached out to hold you in place, his fingers gently encircling your wrist, leaving just the two of you still on the ship.

“If-” he swallowed thickly, not knowing how to say what he was thinking. 

“What is it, Cross?” you turned towards him, giving him your full attention.

“I’ll be keeping watch on the roof the entire time.” he breathed out “If anything happens, if at any moment you feel like you might be in danger, comm me. I’ll find a way to get you out, Copikla.”

You smiled softly at him, turning your palm up and intertwining your fingers.

“I’ll be fine, Cross. Really. You don’t have to worry about me.” Impossible, he thought, and as if reading his mind you squeezed his hand gently “But thank you for keeping an eye out for me.”

He squeezed your hand back, lips turning up in the tiniest of smiles.

And if at a certain point during the gala, a glass of wine carefully balanced on a tray on a waiters hand spontaneously exploded, startling the waiter and making him drop the entire contents of the tray over the separatist senator as he started getting handsy with you, Hunter’s scolding for nearly compromising the mission was definitely worth it as you giggled at his antics behind the sergeants back.

4.

79’s was certainly more packed than usual for a standard Taungsday. It seemed like most battalions were on leave at once, hence the more chaotic atmosphere and the crowd forming around the bar. 

It had been forever since Clone Force 99 had shore leave scheduled on Coruscant instead of being called back to Kamino, so you intended to make the most of it. Wrecker was already a few drinks in, arm wrestling some of the boys of the 212th; Echo was catching up with some of the boys in blue, having spend so much time away from his old battalion; Tech had already gone back to the barracks to read some articles on his holopad, the weird neon green cocktail he had order right at the beginning of the night only half empty and long forgotten; and Hunter had already scurried off with a gorgeous orange Twi’lek. 

Only you and Crosshair remained at the table, chatting idly, your thigh pressed against the side of his and his arm slung over the back of the seat behind you. Your heads were tilted close together in order to hear each other over the beat of the music in the club. For a moment Crosshair thought it felt weirdly… intimate, even though you weren’t actually doing anything. He’d never been this close to anyone, where he felt he could just let himself be. It was nice.

“I’m going to get another drink.” you whispered-yelled at him at one point, gesturing at his own cup “Want anything?”

He pondered for a moment, before declining with a shake of his head.

“Someone has to keep a clear head in order to babysit the lot of you.” he motioned to where Wrecker, clearly a little more than tipsy, was celebrating another victory over a shiny.

You snorted, before quickly turning around and walking towards the bar. He couldn’t help but silently watch over you, always keeping you in his line of sight.

It had become second nature to him, watching you. At first he tried to argue that it was only to ensure you didn’t do anything stupid and risk one of his brothers, but it slowly ended up becoming something he just did naturally. He wanted, no, needed, to ensure you were safe at all times, and not just on the battlefield.

As he watched you lean over the bar and signal the bartender, your back turned to him, he noticed a devarionian man quickly glance over at you from a few seats away. For a few moments nothing happened, he kept his eyes trained on you, occasionally catching sight of the devarionian from the corner of his eye. 

And then the guy was moving.

He slid up next to you, standing way too close for your (and Crosshair’s comfort). The mirror above the shelfs in the bar let him see your face,  and you did not seem too happy with your new company. At first you tried ignoring the man, he noticed, giving him very clipped answers and only nodding along. The guy, it seemed, couldn’t seem to take a hint, as he kept rambling on and on about something the sniper couldn’t bother reading his lips for. And the moment his hand brushed against your arm, startling you and prompting you to take a step away from the man with ‘uncomfortable’ and ‘creeped out’ written all over your face, Crosshair was out of his seat and crossing the dancefloor towards you in quick strides.

Once he approached the pair of you, you noticed him over the man’s shoulder, your face relaxing slightly at the sight of him.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, to which the devarionian turned to him seemingly undisturbed. 

“Yeah, me and the lady over here were having a wonderful chat.” the devarionian dismissed him “ Now if you’ll excuse us.” 

Crosshair knew he was tall. He, along with Tech, was the second tallest amongst all clones, shorter only than Wrecker. It wasn’t something he usually cared for, unless when he got to tease Hunter about his own height, which was shorter than the regs, but he knew for a fact he was taller than most people. So he decided to use this to his advantage. As his face contorted into the deepest scowl he could muster, he crossed his arms over his chest, squaring his shoulders. This meant he was absolutely towering over the man. He didn’t even have to say anything and the devarionian was already cowering.

“A-actually, I think my buddy over there is calling me over.” and he rushed off without even looking at you again.

You looked at Crosshair as he relaxed, a mixture of gratitude and a sense of residual unease written in your face.

“Thanks Cross,” you started “but I could’ve handled him. You know I can take care of myself.” 

“Trust me, Copikla, I know.” he shrugged “But you shouldn’t have to.” 

Your face softened at his words, and you leaned your head against his arm. 

“Thank you anyway.” 

His response came in the form of a wordless hum, but which carried a whole lot of meaning to it.

‘Always’.

5.

Crosshair absolutely hated keeping watch. He would take Wrecker’s snoring and Tech’s endless tinkering over this any day. They were in hyperspace, for maker’s sake! What threat could be so dire that one of them had to stay awake and alert for hours, freezing cold as Tech refused to fix the cockpit’s heating system?

But Hunter insisted. And as their sergeant, Hunter was in charge and whatever he said goes. And so here Crosshair was, watching nothing go by bored out of his mind.

All of a sudden he heard the soft pattern of bare feet against the cold floor of the Marauder, approaching the cockpit. It couldn’t possibly be Wrecker, he could still hear his snoring from all the away from the bunks. It wasn’t Echo either, as the clanking of his mechanical legs against the durasteel floor would have given him away. It probably wasn’t Hunter, as the man was an incredibly deep sleeper, his slumber being one of the only one moments his heightened senses gave him a break. And Tech wasn’t supposed to come relieve him from watch duty for at least three more hours or so. So that left only you.

Because of this line of thought he was unsurprised when you joined him in the cockpit, dropping onto the co-pilot seat next to him.

For a moment neither of you uttered a word. He stayed silent as he took you in, noticing the way your shoulders trembled slightly and the soft sniffles you were trying to contain.

“What’s wrong?” he asked at last.

You startled, as if only now noticing his presence next to you. Once you calmed down you simply shrugged in response.

“Nightmare, ‘s all.” your voice wavered a tiny bit, but it was enough for him to notice.

Silence permeated the room once more as he thought about the situation. You clearly seemed shaken by whatever was plaguing your mind when sleeping, yet he didn’t really know how to help. He wasn’t the best with words, Hunter and even Wrecker were way better than him when it came to comforting people.

But then he paused. Thinking about Hunter reminded him of something his older brother would do whenever one of them had nightmares as cadets.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

As a kid Crosshair never took Hunter up on his offer to listen, but he would still sit with him in silence and let him wind down after the dream. Wrecker on the other hand often rambled about what had scared him and Hunter always found a solution for him. Tech often kept to himself, never mentioning when he had nightmares of his own, but he knew Hunter had his back should he ever wish to talk.

You chuckled, though it was humorless and heavy.

“You know I have worked with other clones, right?” he nodded, remembering the medical base you used to work at before joining Clone Force 99 as their field medic “I had a lot of patients there. Most we were able to treat, but… we lost a lot of them as well.” 

He could only imagine the kind of toll that took on someone.

“And it’s like they weren’t even people!” you whispered, frustrated tears collecting in your eyes “There wasn’t any family we could contact to deliver the bad news, at best one of his batchmates or another brother from the same battalion. But in the end it was just… crossing numbers out of a spreadsheet.” 

You took a deep breath in order to collect your thoughts.

“I see them when I fall asleep sometimes.” you smiled, but it was a sad smile, one that Crosshair didn’t think suited you at all “The ones I could save.” 

Crosshair didn’t know what to say to that. How much death had you witnessed before you met the Bad Batch? Before you met him? You had your own demons haunting you, and it served to show him that them, the soldiers fighting this war, weren’t the only ones affected by it.

“Come here.” he extended a hand to you.

“What?” you looked at him, confused.

He repeated himself, and when you stood up and stopped in front of him he gently grabbed your wrist and pulled you onto his lap, maneuvering you so your head was resting against his shoulder, your ear right above his heart.

“It’s not your fault.” he spoke into your hair “You cannot save everyone. All you can do is try.”

“What happens if I’m not able to save one of you?” he heard the terror in your voice and he couldn’t stand it.

“I won’t let that happen.”

“Cross…”

“I won’t.” he affirmed firmly “I watch over you so you can watch over us. Always.”

He could feel the tension in your body vanishing, as a comforting silence enveloped the both of you. Slowly, as your breathing slowed down and you fell back asleep, he tightened his grip on you, keeping you close to him. And you slept soundly and peacefully through the night, with Crosshair keeping guard of your dreams. 

+1 

Another mission, another success. Clone Force 99 was ordered to infiltrate a Separatist base on Agamar and retrieve some sensitive information regarding the former Separatist rule over Onderon. The mission was easy (at least by the Bad Batch’s standards) and Wrecker was overjoyed over getting to blow a droid tank up. But it was time to head back to Kamino, resupply and wait for new orders.

Wrecker practically barged out of the ship as soon as the Havoc Marauder touched the hangar on Tipoca City, claiming to be starving even though he had eaten not even an hour before. Tech, Echo and you followed him to the mess hall, and Hunter headed to the commander’s office to submit the several missions’ reports he was due, promising to join the four of you later. Similarly, Crosshair mentioned stopping by the armory to grab some more reflective disks as he was running out, shooting a wink your way as you promised to save him a seat next to you on the squad’s usual table.

On the way back to their quarters following his visit to the armory Crosshair bumped into Hunter and after a few words both decided to stop by their quarters in order to leave their equipment before heading to the mess hall to meet the others. As they wandered the sterile halls of the kaminoan facility, however, an incoming transmission from Hunter’s comm made them stop short.

“Hunter, where are you?” Tech’s usually calm and collected voice came through sounding a bit… panicky. Strange, Crosshair’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked at his brother; Tech didn’t panic.

“Crosshair and I are on our way to our quarters, why?”

“You might want to make a detour to the medbay.” Echo’s voice came in as well. “A fight broke out in the mess hall.”

Hunter pinched his nose as Crosshair sighed in annoyance. Typical. They’ve been back on Kamino for less than a standard hour and they were already in trouble.

“What did Wrecker get up to this time?” Crosshair spoke into his brother’s comm.

Echo and Tech paused, the silence on their end stretching for a moment.

“It wasn’t Wrecker.” Tech answered.

“This time.” Echo chimed in.

A distant ‘Hey!’ was heard as Hunter and Crosshair exchanged a confused yet concerned glance before rushing through the halls. Tech and Echo were waiting for them before the closed doors that lead to the medbay.

“What happened?” Hunter asked, his tone laced with tiredness, clearly fed up with his brothers’ antics. 

But before either of them could respond a pair of troopers, regs by the looks of it, walked out the doors. And they couldn’t look worse for wear; one of them had a busted lip and the other was sporting a broken nose, two large bruises already starting to climb up towards his eyes.

“Oh, look, the rest of the anomalies are here.” the one with the cut lip snickered, grimacing as the action pulled against the wound.

“How about you control your little shabuir next time, eh?” the other scoffed as they walked away “Crazy shebs medic and the genetic freaks, it’s like they were made for each other.”

As soon as the word ‘medic’ crossed the reg’s lips Crosshair was moving, busting through the doors of the medbay. What he saw made his heart clench with worry; you were sitting on a cot, holding Wrecker’s hand rather tightly as a medical droid worked on your face. Crosshair could see some caked blood on your hair as the droid cleaned the side of your forehead where it had dripped down. As the droid went over where the cut must have been you winced, to which Wrecker rubbed up and down your back.

“There, baar’ur’ika. It’s all better now.” Wrecker whispered, or at least tried to.

“Thanks, Wreck.” you smiled up at him “I’m just not used to being on the receiving end of medical care, that’s all. I’m always the one cleaning up your cuts, not the other way around.”

Crosshair was so engrossed in watching the exchange he barely heard his brothers follow him into the medbay.

“Some regs started provoking us as we were walking to our table in the mess hall.” Tech explained “She started getting agitated but we told her to just ignore it. But then… a pair of regs said something under their breaths only she could hear, and she…”

“She went ballistic.” Echo completed for Tech, who looked unsettled for once “It looked like she was out for their heads. So much so that Wrecker had to step in.”

Crosshair heard Hunter sigh behind him.

“Command is not gonna be happy with him for getting into a fight. Again.”

“Oh no,” Tech corrected “Wrecker intervened in order to pry her away from the regs. The two troopers who just walked out? That was all her doing.”

A strange sense of pride bloomed inside Crosshair’s chest and started crawling up his throat, his lips threatening to curl into a small smile. Not only were you always looking out for them on the battlefield, but also outside of it? The trust he had been building over time seemed to solidify at that very moment.

As the droid finished wrapping your injury and walked away, Wrecker finally seemed to notice them. 

“Look! Crosshair and Hunter are here!”

As your eyes finally found his, you seemed to light up entirely, akin to a little kid on Life Day.

“Come on, Wrecker, let’s get you some food.” Hunter called, a barely contained sigh escaping from his lips “From what I hear you didn’t get a chance to eat yet. And I have to go back to Command and report this incident.”

Your smile turned sheepish and Crosshair couldn’t tell if you were embarrassed over the slight reprimanding tone in the sergeant’s voice or because your shenanigans had caused everyone to miss dinner so far.

As the other’s left, he sat down on the foot of your cot next to your legs, his long fingers wrapping around your ankle.

“So” he drawled out, a small smirk pulling at his lips “I hear you got yourself in trouble?”

You chuckled, to which he squeezed your ankle playfully in return.

“Yeah, I guess your affinity for trouble is rubbing off on me.”

“I mean, you were assigned to us after all, you obviously aren’t the little angel Commander Cody made you out to be.” he joked, before letting his curiosity get the better of him “What did they say anyway to make you snap like that?”

He noticed the very moment your face fell, your smile slipping off your face and your eyes turning slightly dull.

“Oh, Cross.” there was something so sad in the way you said his name that he never wanted to hear again, even if it meant he never got to hear his name fall from your lips for the rest of his life “They were so vile. First they started talking about Tech, Wrecker and Echo and they just told me to ignore it, but then…” a very soft, almost unnoticeable sheen of tears brimmed in your eyes “They started talking about you, Cross.”

The grip he had on your leg grew even tighter as he physically recoiled, taken aback.

“They started saying these awful things about you and you weren’t even there.” you stammered “They were being cruel and mean to you behind your back and I couldn’t let that slide. I just remembered what you once told me, about how the regs treated you as cadets and I just… saw red. I didn’t even think, I just acted.”

Crosshair felt his heart skip a beat. You, their sweet medic, got into a physical altercation… because of him? Because you felt the need to protect not only him, but his vode as well? You, who baked cookies and was nice to him even when he pushed you away and insulted you, broke a soldier’s nose… for him?

“I-I’m sorry.” you sighed “I know I shouldn’t have, but-”

“Would you do it again?”

Now was your turn to be taken aback.

“What?”

“If a bunch of regs ever insulted me or my brothers again,” he said slowly, the words feeling heavy on his tongue “would you defend us again, even if it meant getting hurt?”

Your lips curled up in a gentle smile, one he came to realize was reserved for him and him alone.

“I’d do anything for you, Crosshair.”

In a moment he was by your side, not even realizing he was moving. He sat on the bed by your side as you scooted over, making space for him, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. His lips pressed softly on the hair on the crown of your head as he spoke.

“I won’t let you get hurt, Copikla.” he whispered, the most vulnerable he had ever been “Not on my watch, you’re never getting hurt again.”

He sighed contently as you relaxed by his side, laying your head on his shoulder.

“I promise.”

[stealingpotatoes]

askposting except its just one ask that was 924 words long

which i think is internet-jesus getting me back for the obscenely long ao3 comments i leave LOL

(also for the sake of my own screenshots im not. putting the whole paragraphs of text in but i did read them!!!)

@thedynamicworm thank u!!! ur idea of them meeting on coruscant is fun but leia doesn't sneak away on any missions!! she may have her father's inability to follow orders, but she knows where to draw the line and draws it pretty solidly at "things that will get me killed and/or grounded for a year". she sticks to tatooine and rebellion bases and the few planets her family takes her to for jedi training or little trips!

the closest she gets to meeting luke before age 15 is thru force dreams and the like

gaslight girlboss gatekeeping! Padme is VERY quiet about Luke's birth for the first few months (is just on Naboo w her family) and 1. pretends Luke was the result of a secret Naboo husband and 2. manages to hide when his birthday is so it looks a Bit Less Suspect. the handmaidens create this insane papertrail so convincing that Palps, had he not known otherwise, probs would've fallen for loll.

so deep down he does sorta know that Luke's Anakin's son, however comma he can't prove it for shit and Padmé never lets him get close enough to try prove it loll. + he can't rlly openly act against such a popular senator so theyre essentially fighting a shadow cold war

Luke meets Rex (eventually)!!! the closest there ever would be to codywan would be Obi-wan wistfully staring at his commander like he's in a period drama remembering before remembering he's not a hussy and thats forbidden lol. cody's just up to his canon shit unfortunately ):

same as canon, being a spiteful bastard, yelling kenOOOBIIII, and blinding dilfs <3

again same as canon (or potes-brand-canon) lolll she's out there vibing w quinlan!!!

they meet after the reunion when Padmé and Luke are staying on a rebel base w the Skywalkers and the Ghost fam visits! Ezra obvs goes to see his bestie Leia and she's like EZRA I HAVE A BROTHER NOW MEET MY BROTHER HIS NAME IS LUKE ISN'T IT COOL I HAVE A BROTHER and with a very fifteen-year-old twinge of worry that he's going to be replaced, Ezra goes to meet Luke. and the twinge of worry is replaced with a twinge of "oh no i'm gay" bc wow ok. he's cute. are people allowed to be this cute??

Luke's first opinion is "wow this guy's cool! and he has um... very uh... mm facial structure" the former of which is definitely ruined when Ezra does some stupid shit like 3/4 of a backflip and eats shit on the hangar floor

[moonshynecybin]

Do you think the ranch visit 2014 ended with like slightly annoyed sex because Vale just annoyed with Marc beating his record but also slightly admiring him

i love this because its true. marc is ANNOYING ! of course it cannot be ignored that vale is ALSO annoying (max biaggi fight. hello.) like they match each others freak in that regard, but at what point do you look at this sexy ass twink who is obsessed with your dick and your bike (sex to vale. is motorcycle racing lest we forget he keeps that m1 in GROPING distance and marc is like GOD i wish that were me so it does. work comma sexually. for them. like a lot. but i digress) and obsessed with your ability to ride it and be like hmm. maybe this habit is NOT so cute. when beforeeee you thought hey hes just like MEEEEE and got HORNY about it. well obviously if youre vale it is when he doesnt let you win at your own goddamn track at your own goddamn house in front of your own goddamn brother and various peers. that shit is irritating. which i do think marc realizes now, but is also largely unrepentant about because he's hilarious. free my girl he did all that but it was funny. our marc not famous for his wealth of tact and restraint on the track. and vale is thirty six staring down one last chance to maybe win his tenth. and earlier that week when he beat marc at that karting event he said finally somewhere you dont win. so yeah when marc doesnt roll over and let him get the lap record that day in 2014 all of those endearing traits where they overlap and are similar. change. morph. arent so cute anymore. the light shifts. the music hits a minor chord. ominous. foreshadowing. chekov's gun carefully being placed on the wall. and suddenly. kind of a theme with them huh. vale hates him for all the things he learned from vale.

so. we are here to ask how that emotion translates to nasty sex. obviously. like all of these complex emotions do NOT mean that vale does not want to get his dick sucked lmao. like he's here he's thirsty marc's been in a tiny little titty huggin black tshirt all day its happenin. AND. it should be noted that in a very real sense this is their first sleepover. first time fr hanging out outside the paddock in a place where there is PRIVACY. no real REPORTERS. an actual locking DOOR. no way to hide from the fact that theyve been all over each other for like TWO YEARS now. AND multiple yamaha M1S that can be used as somewhat SEXUAL PROPS. (vale feeling also perhaps. emotionally complex here. a lil delicate. like YEAH i can invite my coworkers i like to hang at my track thats bro stuff but what about my years long situationship that —*static noises in vale's brain* like remember this is where MARC thinks things start to change between them...)

so yeah vale ends up like. amping up that competitive edge a little in bed. making this a fuckbuddy thing more than a RELATIONSHIP thing as much as he can in his head and with his hands and failing miserably and feeling even WEIRDER about that. so he's. i think he's working hard at putting marc where he wants him. hot hands a little rougher on the curve of marc's waist. cupping his ass making him gasp. sending him to his knees and making him suck his dick hot and nasty. teasing a little edging on the little feminine nicknames theyve never talked about but that make marc squirm and flush prettily. edging marc with three fingers in his ass while he whines for it. dragging it out. exerting a little control. not mean at all everyone is having fun (marc. out of his MIND.) just. excising some tension. its probably nothing hes just in his head. holding marc in his hands as he looks up at him. and marc trusting it. marc going. marc being just where vale wants him. just like he never does on the track. and marc thinks everything is fine when its happening thinks everything is AMAZING. but after that is when vale starts to go a little cold......

[midnight-glasses]

I'm back with a little post! Enjoy the atrocities I wrote.

Some things I think he does or has done, even if it's intended to be humorous:

🐺 — Shin bullies kids on roblox and enjoys it more than he'd like to admit.

🐺 — He takes board games way too seriously, normally flipping tables when loses and accuse others of cheating even in games of pure chance.

🐺 — He believes in Santa.

🐺 — Shin wakes up on November 1st and starts decorating for Christmas.

🐺 — He tackles and wrestles people to show affection.

🐺 — For some reason, he believes vacuum cleaners are some form of modern human weapon and avoids them at all costs.

🐺 — He has an incredible long-term memory but an awful short-term memory.

🐺 — Shin has a stash of bad pickup lines that he tries out to flirt, like: “Are you a full moon? Because you’ve got me howling...”

🐺 — He is a furry.

🐺 — Shin has a Mary Sue oc.

🐺 — This oc also has a fursona version, which is clearly a self-insertion of himself into a character.

🐺 — He often uses this character to make the oc canon, simply because he is too proud to admit that this Mary Sue oc is a self-insert.

🐺 — He uses the word “dude” like a comma

🐺 — Shin knows fnaf lore complete and can give very specific, useless details about it even if you don't ask for it.

🐺 — Just like his brother, he is awful with technology and doesn't know how to use a smart phone.

🐺 — He accidentally posts selfies to social media with strange captions like: “What hell is this shit?”

🐺 — Shin claims to hate modern human food but secretly loves pineapple on pizza. He sneaks out late at night to grab a slice of his guilty pleasure.

🐺 — He tells dad jokes.

🐺 — Once, he tried to use his cell phone camera to shave his balls but got confused when hearts started appearing on the screen.

🐺 — Surprisingly, his live stream wasn’t taken down until he realized what he had done and ended it, but it became a joke among those around him.

🐺 — Every time Shin tries to cook, he makes a culinary apocalypse. He once set off a fire alarm while boiling water, and now swears that cooking is not worth it for him or is beneath him.

🐺 — He’s convinced he’s the best singer ever, even if everyone else is cringing.

🐺 — Shin tried to connect with his “inner wolf” by howling at the moon, but he lost his voice for two days and refused to admit it was from the howling.

🐺 — He spends an embarrassing amount of time in front of mirrors and gets genuinely offended if anyone catches him.

🐺 — Shin has a soft spot for animals and secretly has a collection of bunny plushies hidden in his room. If anyone finds out, he pretends they're “battle trophies”.

🐺 — He secretly keeps a Pinterest board for “Alpha Aesthetic”.

🐺 — Shin secretly wonders why he doesn’t have an fan club like Kou. He once tried to form one for himself, but no one joined.

🐺 — He uses dog shampoo to make his hair look nice.

All my written content is original, however, I do not claim ownership of the characters depicted. ©2024-Present.

[atlaserine]

Get on your knees

warning : suggestive but not too much idk

"Villain" Heroine spoke authoritatively. Straightening her posture, crossing her arms, leaning a bit on one leg. She looks up at him.

The villain pauses, taken aback by the sudden change in her demeanor. he stares down at her, "Are you..giving me an order?"

...

The heroine smiled.

Villain narrowed his eyes at her smile, his irritation slowly returning. He moves closer and gripped her jaw, forcing her to look up at him. "Don't be cute, little hero. You shouldn't be giving me orders. You're in no position to do so." His voice cold with promises.

Heroine was, to be frank, scared. Villain had taken her since two days ago, ever since he found out she was hanging out with Villainess. Overprotective brother behaviour, Heroine thought. But she didn't want ro blame him, if her siblings became friends with her enemies, she'd go nuts too. And it was hell here, starting from being tied to a chair, to being interrogated and shocked.

But she has had enough. Enough of being scared, enough of being threatened, enough of being treated like a weakling. Even though, by fact, He is stronger and more serious, basically towering over everyone. She did not care! She is sick of everyone scaring her about how intense and violent he is. Even though what they said were all true- she was going to stand her ground.

...

also because the back of her knees were already hitting the edge of the bed.

But she had an idea. "Really? Get on your knees."

Villain stares at her in shock and disbelief. "Excuse me? did you just tell me to get on my knees?"

"I did" Heroine smiled again. Nonchalantly, she spoke again with a light tone "get on your knees."

Villain continued to stare at her, a mix of annoyance and surprise. He's not used to someone ordering him around like this, especially not someone who is clearly beneath him.

"Little hero, are you serious? You really expect me to get on my knees for you, just like that? Did I hit your head too hard? You do realize I could just snap your neck in half, right?"

Heroine didn't falter. She kept her smile, her posture and her arms crossed as she looks up at him, waiting.

Villain continues to glare down at her, his annoyance growing with each passing second as he clenched his fists. He can't believe the audacity she has right now. She's pushing his buttons and he's not about to let her get away with it.

"You have some nerve, hero. Telling me to get on my knees...you have no idea who the hell I am. I am not just going to bend over and kneel at your command."

However, after a few moments of silently staring down at her, he can feel his irritation slowly giving away. The way she's looking up at him with her arms crossed and a smile, her stubbornness and stupid bravery...goddamn it she's making it hard to resist. Especially since she's standing here, her body pressed up against his in the front of his bed like this.

Heroine still kept her smile silently.

Villain lets out a deep sigh, trying to fight his own impulses. His body is yearning for her, desperately wanting to give in, but his mind is telling him to stand his ground and not let her play him so easily.

"You really are a pain in the ass, you know that? You're lucky I have a high self control or else I'd be teaching you a lesson right here and now..."

Silent.

Villain steps even closer, the anger slowly fading from his expression. He can feel his body responding to her proximity, the heat and desire building up within him. But he's not about to let her win that easily nor show her how much she had an effect on him.

"You think you can just boss me around like this? You think you can just tell me to get on my knees and I'll obediently obey just like that?" He furrowed his brows, making his voice into a mock.

Silent.

Villain furrowed his brows, his mind and body fighting with each other. Some sort of Satan's whisper telling him to just give in to his twisted fantasies. But her damn smile and her commanding attitude were driving him crazy.

"You...you really expect me to kneel in front of you? You really think I would just...submit to you like that?"

Silent.

Fucking hell-

His body is practically screaming at him to give in, but his mind is still trying to resist. It's a losing battle; she has him wrapped around her fingers. He leaned close to her ear, his voice going lower

"...do you have any idea how difficult it is to resist you? To not just pick you up right now, throw you on the bed and show you exactly what happens to little heroes who think they can order me around?" He looks down to her eyes, his own eyes darkening."

Silent.

His self-control is wearing thin. He steps even closer, closing the remaining distance between them. "Muse, you are pushing my buttons here. Do you have any idea how badly I want you right now?"

Heroine smiled, "I'm waiting."

His irritation, anger, and self control has completely faded at this point. He can't resist it anymore, not when she's looking up at him with that stupid smile on her face and giving him commands. So the sadistic, violent villain slowly gets down on his knees in front of her, his eyes locked on hers as he does, placing his hands on both sides of her hips as he looks up to her as if he was worshipping a god.

"...Is this what you wanted, muse? Me on my knees for you?" He spoke, voice low with an unreadable expression.

Heroine tilted her head down at him, her lips finally twitching to a wider smile.

Villain was looking up at her with eyes that were dark and full of desire. He's on his knees, for once, completely at her mercy.

...

and a small part of him actually likes it.

Song inspiration :

The lyric being "you got me down on my knees, it's getting harder to breath" my GOD-

[froggy-anon]

I don’t smoke (Except for when I'm missing you)

Paring: pre re2!Ada Wong x gn!reader

Prompt: Your relationship with Ada was… let’s just say rocky for a while now. Low contact, constant work trips and unavoidable arguments while she’s home- it’s just too much. You both changed since she started working with Wesker …, and so did your body.

Warnings:  angst, body horror, no use of y/n, maybe nsft?, implied reader’s death, bebe you get infected so yeah but it wasn't meant to happen at least, semi-dependant reader, use of tobacco, vomiting, shitty punctuation and misuse of commas, canon divergence, semi-good ending???? idk

Word count: 2.3k 

Notes: omg did I finally post something instead of keeping it in my wips?? hell yeah! I might not be hyperfixating on RE now but I can't get Ada off my head. I mean- just look at her! She's perfect<3 Fucking hell it took me A LONG time to finally finish it but shh… Also only after writing did I realize that the idea is very similar to this fic my @uhlunaro so definitely check this out bc they’re an amazing writer<3

Actually proofread (like ½ for sure) by me omg

It all happened too fast; it was just the usual Thursday morning, the smell of freshly ground coffee and the familiar scent of your lover were in the air as you made the breakfast and the eggs you made were perfectly crispy with runny yolk. Everything seemed to be like it used to but then the call happened… You knew who was it, everyone knew because who else would it be? It was supposed to be your day, you both took the day off and you spent the last few days planning everything out. It was your anniversary, the day you should celebrate your love and not some emergency in the lab! But of course… She was gone again. 

“Why can’t you just pretend that you love me for once!?,” was the last thing you cried out screamed at her as she left. It’s just painful to know that even today her work is more important. It left you weeping softly on the floor, as the yolk of the egg spilled more and more towards your feet from the plate you broke. “Why can’t we be a normal couple…” Your tears had flown out even more now that you were alone.

Ada never liked when you smoked, she always said it left this awful scent on your fingers and breath but why would you care now? A soft breeze hit your face as you inhaled the smoke from your cigarette, who’d think that living near the river could be so nice? Loving Ada is tiring, she used to be one of the most caring and loving people you’ve ever known- even before you started dating! And now it all changed… Yeah, working in some big pharma company can be tiring but it’s ruining both of you. 

The butt of the cigarette was still slowly burning as you looked in the distance. She used to tell you how she grew up near the sea, how they used to go there every day after school and play until the dawn came. She used to say how she’d take me to her hometown in China. You never were even close to one, your parents used to take you and your brother to the countryside on holidays or visit the lake near your hometown; it wasn’t the same though. Loving Ada was never easy, she had her own problems as well as you had yours but before all this you both managed to heal, to thrive. You should’ve left when it started, before all the arguments and hate. It’s not a new idea but the thought of being alone again is scary. Ugh, you’re thinking too much, it makes you dizzy. Or maybe was it the cigarette?

You always get dizzy, maybe all this overthinking is too much for you. You head towards the kitchen sink and fill up a glass with the tap water. It was just a small argument, it wasn’t worth all the mess. You never thought that water would make you feel worse, no one would! We need it to live, so why your insides are burning? Who cares, anyway the mess won’t clean itself. It doesn’t feel right, nothing feels right. The burning sensation might’ve stopped but it was replaced with this sore, almost itchy feeling. Ada came home late again, she’s not looking better than you but as you greet her you could see a spark of worry in her eyes. Why would she worry? There’s nothing to worry about, right? All you can do is sigh and act like nothing happened, she surely flinches when you kiss her because she’s still annoyed over today’s morning…

You woke up somehow more tired than before you went to sleep. Funny enough you also look like shit. Yeah, you can tell yourself that you caught a cold but if so, then why does my body itch so much? Ada looks less worried than tomorrow but finally is some more affectionate than usual. Maybe the fight made her think finally.

You miss her touch though; the way she smuggles up to your chest and how soft are her lips. You miss how she used to be so good. You miss how your life was before this Wesker guy. Good, she’s warming up again. She kissed you goodbye and said something about coming home later. Weird…

It’s itching, itching so much. It feels like something is under your skin and it’s moving… It sure has to be a delusion, a hallucination maybe but it feels so real. Let’s try to calm down. okay? You can’t go to work while being such a mess and after all some DayQuill will help you a ton. You go to the kitchen and prepare some breakfast before popping some cold meds. You brush your still tangled hair to the side and oh my… I- it’s weird, you always had strong and healthy hair after all so why a clump of them is in your hand right now? I mean, I guess all all of the stress lately finally got to you, being a news reporter is not easy and it shouldn’t be. You sure will feel better when you’re finally in your work wear and clean face.

As soon as you get to the bathroom you hit the sink and rinse your face. It’s dry and surprisingly harder than always. As you lift your head and you look in the mirror, the rougher parts of your face look bruised. And there are some lacerations which weren’t there when you woke up- Ada would point them out for sure. It’s weird but that’s nothing that some makeup can’t fix. Also, it’s not like you can just get a day off at a whim. The amount of concealer you put on your face is enough to put a gyaru inro shame and yet your face still feels wrong and itchy. You brush your hair getlly while trying to not rip out another chunk of your hair and put on your usual shirt and blazer before putting on short heels on your sore and reddish feet. You sat at the vanity waiting for your usual makeup artist to return and rehearse your lines. It’s so hard to focus on the letters and it feels like you’re in a haze. It’s hard to explain really, mostly because it’s hard to form coherent thoughts too. No matter how much you rub your eyes and take small breaks you just can’t focus on anything. Words on the paper are blurry and there's always a silhouette of something or someone in the corner of your vision. It hurts and you’re almost sure that your feet are bleeding. You don’t even realize when the makeup artist has returned and been putting some TV stick on your face until she gets to the painful lesions you passed as some chemical burn from a face mask. Your concept of time is distorted and looking back now you don’t even remember when you and your colleague went live. Funny… You got suddenly sick and now you’re delivering the news of the water reservoir your apartment complex uses being contaminated.

Black tar filled your lungs making your trachea burn so pleasantly. The smoke inside your lungs made you feel so giddy right before you exhale. Cigarettes always help you take your mind off your problems and help preserve good emotions. You know that one day they will be the end of you, but it’s not like you’re gonna live forever so why not have fun now? 

Shadowy figures followed you home from the studio, it’s surprising that you managed to work your usual shift. Even your coworkers caught on your ailing and lying to them that you’re just a bit under the weather felt bad. Bills ain’t gonna pay themselves though so you gotta do what you gotta do. Ada didn’t say anything about your illness and only looked at you pitifully compassionately before kissing your cheek, she even offered to make a dinner for today. You pulled into a hug and her warm touch against your calloused skin reminded you of the old times, of the days you first met and how beautiful your relationship was. She smelled like honey and antiseptics, you couldn’t stop yourself from taking a deep breath of her scent which made your heart flutter. Her skin is so soft and delicate, making you want to bite down and taste her flesh push her against the counter and take her whole, she’s your wife after all. Before you can do that though she pulls away and makes a beeline towards the fridge. The packs of water, the ones that appeared in your kitchen a few days ago, took your attention away from her. You couldn’t help but feel a bit suspicious.

You didn’t sleep much- in fact, you didn’t sleep at all. Your body just kept itching and the nausea you felt as you forced down the dinner before got progressively worse. You can feel your body changing, turning into something disgusting as your skin gets progressively covered in more bruises and blisters where it seemed to be just irritated this morning. The taste of pennies in your mouth and dry skin on your lips isn’t doing you any favour either. It was only a matter of time before you ended up hunched over the toiled letting the dark ooze flow out of your stomach freely. Your vision kept spinning and those black creatures you saw before were coming closer. It’s not real, it has to be! Just try to remember that whatever you’re seeing is. not. real.

Throwing up usually makes you feel better; not this time though. Your eyes became watery and your fingers bloody as you gripped the toilet bowl. The odour of rotting flesh filled your nostrils and the sickeningly sweet note of it made you gag again. You dealt with rotten meat before on a few occasions and it never was so sweet.

“Shit!”

You broke out of your trance as the bathroom lit up.  Your head shot in the direction of the sound and of course, you noticed your worried lover standing in the doorway. Only a grunt was able to leave your mouth making your throat ache. “Are you okay?” She asked hesitantly as she approached. She looks scared for some reason? You’re just a bit sick, there’s no reason to be scared!

And then you looked down. The toilet was full of brownish-blackish and thick fluid and definitely not dinner. The sides of the toilet were covered in your blood and one of your nails was lying on the floor directly next to the bowl. You take a look at your hands and it makes your breath quicken. Your fingers were all purple and greenish, even some of the tips of your fingers were, unlike the spots on your skin, bloated.

“What the fuck is happening to me?” Your voice was husky and every word felt like a razor being pulled out of your throat. Ada just looked sad… You’d expect her to be scared, to scram, run away, but instead, she just kneeled next to you and pulled you into a loose embrace, as if she was scared to hurt you more.

It pained you, the lightest touch of her silky pyjamas or her warm hands made your skin feel like it was breaking and about to fall off. It was excruciating yet you laid your head gently on her shoulder. You should be scared, furious! You should feel whatever else than sorrow and warmth inside your chest. A few tears flew down your cheeks onto her arm as you bit down on your lip to stop a pathetic sob from escaping. You could feel her hand slowly crase your head like she always did before you used to fall asleep before your life became occupied by jealousy and your jobs took over your time, before your relationship went downhill. She let out a barely audible “I’m sorry…” and you swear you felt her breath hitch.

They are scratching your brain, you can feel every bone in your body change its shape, or maybe you’re just going insane.

Ada is making phone calls in the kitchen as you sit at the dinner table and scratch your fingers, eventually ripping one or two loose fingernails off. She keeps glancing at you while trying her best to hide the fear in her eyes. Damn, a cigarette would be good now… You can feel your muscles tear with your every move and slowly fall off your bones. Necrosis on your skin expands and only a few spots on your body are left the same colour as before.

It hurts, it hurts it hurts it hurts ithurts ithurts ithurts ithurtsithutsithurtsithutrsithurst i t h u r t s  s o  b a d l y.

Suddenly you can smell the familiar scent of honey and now Ada’s shampoo as she wraps her hands around you from behind. She looks so soft and tasty, so vulnerable. Her touch hurts so good you want to fall into her tight embrace, squeeze her waist tightly and fuse into one. It makes you feel loved again… And then your body stops aching.

You felt sudden force against your neck like you were punched, and then something lukewarm flowing down your chest as Ada creases your cheek slowly. It hurts for a while until it just stops. Everything just fades…

“I don't smoke Except for when I'm missing you To remember your mouth, how it Tasted true And I don't smoke Except for after I've held you, baby Being with you Makes the flame burn good”

It took me so long to finally post something but here it is! I hope you like the creation of euphoric me because let's be real, no way I'd write this fully without being euphoric :3 Technically it should've been posted on Pride Month but shh...

Dividers: @cafekitsune p1 p2

Song: I don't smoke by Mitski

©2023, froggy-anon and their related entities. All rights reserved.

[game-set-canet]

can I please have where reader wins Wimbledon and Carlos was watching and then he celebrated with her please

Nothing is more important than Wimbledon

Pairing: Carlos Alcaraz x f!reader

category: fluff

warnings: none

Author’s Note: it turned out way different than I intended 🙈 but i hope you like it, lovely anon 🤗

* Y/N = your name

MY MASTERLIST

(not my gif! credits to the owner/creator!)

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You wrap your towel around the back of your neck and breathe in and out slowly as you look over to your box.

The box is filled to the very last seat.

Your mother looks like she is on the verge of tears, your father has his face buried in his hands and your younger siblings are hopping up and down in their seats. Your aunt seems to be talking to your physio without a dot or comma, your manager looks like she's about to throw up from nervousness and your coach is shifting restlessly in his seat. And you aren’t sure, but it looks like your grandmother is already crying.

In the first row of your box – right between your mum and your coach – is Carlos. Of all those in the box, he looks the calmest and most collected. But you remember very well his nervous stuttering before the match when he tried to find words of encouragement for you - and he had demolished his sunglasses in the tiebreak of the second set when you had the match point against you. So he just looks calm, but he's definitely not.

You’re just one service game away from winning your first ever slam. Just one service game and you would win Wimbledon. Your hands are shaking, and you nearly spill some water from your water bottle.

“Focus! Let’s play point by point!”, you talk to yourself while getting up from your bench to get back on court, “You got this, Y/N. You got this!”

You see Carlos muttering something - probably a "Vamos!" - and forming a heart with his hands while you wait for Iga to get into position.

No matter the outcome of this final, you definitely have the best cheerleader in the world.

*** *** *** *** *** ***

Your coach was the first to embrace you, you can hear him crying tears of joy: “I knew you'd make it! I knew it!”

You can hear the crowd cheering and clapping, you feel the whole stands vibrating.

You feel Carlos' hands wrapping around you and pulling you close. He isn't crying, but you have never seen him smile so broadly. It’s hard to understand what he’s saying - people are chanting your name all over the stadium.

“Te amo!”, you kiss him briefly but effusively.

Your head is spinning, and you only now notice that your siblings are tugging at your shirt, waiting impatiently to be hugged too.

But you don’t want to let Carlos go. You want to say like this: hugging him tight, feeling his hands around your waist.

Just like yesterday.

Yesterday’s evening and last night were the worst ones of your life. You were so nervous because of today’s final. You couldn’t eat or sleep.

But Carlos was there for you. He talked to you. He encouraged you.

And when he no longer knew what to say, he just held you.

You fell asleep in his arms with his fingers lovingly stroking through your hair.

The night before the US Open final was the same but in reversed roles. You held him until he fell asleep in your arms.

*** *** *** *** *** ***

The interviews and the trophy ceremony pass by as if in a frenzy. You hope you said the right things, thanked everyone in the interviews and speech and congratulated your opponent and her team - you can't remember it at the moment.

By now, not only your team, but also a group of your friends are present, who have congratulated you effusively. Carlos' brother Alvaro and Juan Carlos Ferrero are also among the well-wishers. The latter commented on Carlos' half-filled champagne glass with a frown and a reproachful look - although he didn't say anything.

Later, you are still sitting together as a group - you have postponed the big celebration until tomorrow. You don't want to celebrate without Carlos, but he would still have to play tomorrow. Now Carlos and you are sitting together on a narrow couch, he is showing you the countless photos he has taken of you with the victory trophy.

Your younger sister - who has been busy building a pyramid out of tennis balls - suddenly raises her head and looks at Carlos for a long time.

“You know, now you also need your final exam tomorrow!”, your younger sister suddenly grins at Carlos.

Your boyfriend chuckles softly and gives you a quick sideways glance before he answers: “Is that so?”

“Yeah!”, your sister nods weightily and points a finger at you, “Otherwise she would be more successful than you!”

You slide an arm around Carlos’ neck and look down at your sister: “But he already won the US Open last year, and I didn’t?”

“Yeah, but this is Wimbledon.”, she shrugs, “Nothing is more important than Wimbledon.”

Her serious expression makes you laugh, and Carlos asks with feigned bewilderment: “And what happens if I don’t win tomorrow?”

Your sister raises her eyebrows, she sounds like it goes without saying: "Then you are not worthy to be her boyfriend."

After saying this, she gets up and disappears over to your mother.

Carlos and you start laughing at the same time.

“Wow, no pressure than, huh?”

You lean against him and rest your head on his shoulder: “Yeah, her standards are quite high for a nine-year-old…”

Carlos lets himself sink further back into the couch and pulls you with him.

“And what about your standards?”, he hugs you while saying that, “Would you still love me if I lose tomorrow?”

“Well, I think you make quite a good cheerleader…so, yeah, I think I’m going to keep you.”

He starts laughing and softly shakes his head: “Wow. I kinda expected a “I’ll love you no matter if you win or lose”.”

“Oh, come on!”, you smack his chest playfully, but you snuggle closer to him again, “You know I will never ever let you go!”,

His hand strokes your back in large circles, his voice sounds teasing: “Never?”

“Nope. Never.”, you lift your head to look him in the eyes, “But I’d appreciate it if you would win tomorrow’s final.”

“Yeah, me too.”, he sighs loudly and whispers, “Do you think I can do it?”

“Yes.”, you cup his cheeks with your hands, “Yes, you will do it.”, you smile at him, “And tomorrow evening we gonna celebrate both of our titles. Together.”, you press a quick kiss on his lips, “And we will do stupid and cheesy photos together. And my god, the press will write even cheesier articles about us…”

Carlos returns your smile and nods slowly.

“Can’t wait for that!”, he says before he kisses you softly.

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tagging: @bluetackbaby@lxndonorris @fedalev