#free-falling-grenade

[melanch0lymist]

New comic by... PETE WENTZ?!?

[enchi-elm]

Inception is funny because the final heist is a wildly different experience for everyone involved.

Yusuf drives across town under gunfire and voluntarily drives off the edge of a bridge. He probably has a resting heart rate of 180 for the duration and it’s over in, say, 15 minutes.

Arthur finally gets to snap at his boss, something we get the sense he’s been wanting to do for a solid year now. He vents the rest of his frustrations on unsuspecting goons, then spends the rest of the heist quietly problem solving around his unconscious and therefore uncomplaining teammates. This is probably his preferred way of dealing with people.

Saito gets shot and dies an agonizing death for anywhere from a few minutes to about an hour. Instead of being allowed to peacefully suffer, he volunteers to lead his business rival on a mountain expedition that involves driving pitons into rock, then survives a free fall down the same mountain before holding off enemy fire with his dying breath. His reward for finally kicking the bucket is aging fifty fucking years.

Cobb literally goes through every stage of grief and dies twice. I mean he’s not my favourite but he’s certainly suffering for his art.

Ariadne is on the steepest learning curve of her life: by the end of this learning abroad experience, she’s a certified psychiatrist and also she’s shot someone.

Eames is going through every single one of his employable skills like an intern hoping to be promoted at the end of term. This includes hitting on two billionaires and firing a grenade launcher to impress a coworker. By far having the most fun.

Robert Fischer has been the CEO of a Fortune 500 company for a week. He’s been sedated, kidnapped, conned, betrayed, led mountain-climbing, shot, resuscitated, and resolves an adult life time worth of daddy issues in the time it takes to order coffee. Possibly fires his uncle when he lands for reasons he can’t explain even to himself.

[katakaluptastrophy]

Oh no now I'm thinking about the Fourth and the Fifth again and how Jod's awful colonial space feudalism poisons everything.

You are four or five years old. Maybe you're Isaac and you never knew your dad, only that he died at enemy hands in some far flung campaign and six years later you were made to ensure an heir for the baronetcy. Or you're Jeannemary and your mother defied orders, went beyond the rim, and jumped on a grenade. If either of you have surviving parents, they're not considered sufficiently important in this great process of ensuring a suitable heir with a suitable cavalier to keep you. There is no Baron until Isaac comes of age, and the leader of a House needs to be properly trained. You are four or five years old, and you are sent away.

You're five year old Jeannemary. You're not yet sworn to your necromancer, but you've been promised to him since birth and you've been sent away from your planet and your siblings to serve him. You are your generation's Chatur and this is your purpose. And when the cavalier primary of the House you have been sent to sees a little child struggling to see over the table at a reception and props you up with a cushion, you challenge him to a duel. You don't understand why all the adults are laughing. Your honour and your necromancer are all you have left of home. Far away, at the edge of the system, Harrowhark Nonagesimus decides that puppeting her parents' corpses as her House collapses around her is a better fate than yours. At night you are tucked into bed in a room that you don't have to share with any siblings and the man who is looking after you now reads to you from a book of adventure stories and strokes your hair until you fall asleep.

You're nine year old Isaac, swearing to be one flesh, one end with your cavalier in a foreign chapel on a foreign planet. You go to school. The woman who is not quite but almost your mother is helping you to discover spirit magic far beyond the thanergy fission you would have learned at home. She is teaching you to cook and to dance. She tells you that the parts of you which back home would have been considered flaws are your greatest strengths. You have friends and playmates who will never be on the front lines, whose parents write books or engrave stele or organise the bounty of empire from ledgers and transmitter boxes. You are loved and you love, but you are beginning to understand that love comes with a cost.

You are 13 year old Jeannemary. You are back on the Fourth and after last year's bombing you are now cavalier primary. As far as you are concerned, you are grown and ready to serve god and his empire. And you have been denied twice. You don't understand why the people who love you are going to such lengths to stop you from doing what you were born to do or why they have always looked so upset when glorious news comes from home about how someone you would have grown up with, had you not been sent away, has given the ultimate service to the empire. You are cavalier primary of the Fourth House and you fear you are still being propped up on cushions.

You are Isaac Tettares and you are Baron of a planet you spent most of your childhood away from. Everyone else your age long ago shipped out with the Junior Territorials. You are the Baron of a planet but you are not in charge and you have come to understand that your father wasn't in charge either. You love the closest thing you have to parents and they love you. You miss them terribly. You resent the fact that thanks to them you will never truly lead the Fourth. There is talk of a marriage alliance when you are older. You want to be family with them. You don't entirely believe you'll live long enough to marry him when you come of age. And if you do, your half Fifth children will be another crack in what's left of the Fourth House. You miss you dad's stupid jokes and your mum's earnest discussions. You're free of their meddling. You will never be free of their meddling.

You are Jeannemary and Isaac, properly off planet and on display as scion and cavalier for the first time, offered an unimaginable chance to serve god and his empire. You crave the security of your parents. You chafe at the idea that you might be perceived as children. But for a little while you are all together again. You are planning a party. You are making friends. You will all serve the empire together. Perhaps, when you are the fingers and gestures of god, none of these differences will matter any more.

They die horribly. And later so do you. God doesn't care.

[incorrectbatfam]

How would the batfam react to someone robbing the Manor?

Robber: *enters*

Dick: Oh good, you're here! Do these shorts make my butt look big?

———————

Robber: *taking things*

Jason: What are you doing?

Robber: Robbing you.

Jason: There's a safe in Bruce's office. Passcode is 0816. Feel free to take a crack at it. I'll be in the library if you need me.

———————

Robber: *picking the lock*

*door flies open and hits them*

Tim, on the phone: I'll be there in ten. In the meantime, tell Kon and Bart not to touch anything.

*door slowly swings shut*

Robber, stuck to the door: *slowly peels off*

———————

Robber: *pocketing antiques*

Damian: You must be Alfred's new assistant. I see you're already taking the initiative to get our family heirlooms restored. After that, I need you to do the laundry as I have run out of clean school uniforms.

Robber: Uh, no, kid. I'm robbing you.

Damian: Oh. In that case...

Damian: *stabs them*

———————

Robber: *walks in*

Duke, being kidnapped: Do you mind? We're kind of in the middle of something.

Robber: Sorry, I'll come back later.

———————

Robber: *enters*

Cullen: Hey, I know you're here to rob us, but I've been practicing some magic tricks to impress my boyfriend's family. Can you do me a favor and pick a card?

Robber:

Robber: *picks a card*

———————

Steph: *making a snack while wearing headphones*

Robber: *sneaks up behind her*

Steph: *throws a banana peel over her shoulder*

Robber: *slips on the banana peel*

Robber: *slides across the kitchen*

Robber: *gets tangled in the curtains*

Robber: *falls into a suitcase*

*suitcase shuts*

*suitcase rolls outside into the pool*

Steph: *takes off her headphones and turns around*

Steph: Did someone say something?

———————

Robber: *climbs in through the window*

Cass: Hi.

Robber: Hi.

Cass: You're a robber.

Robber: Yes.

Cass:

Cass: *pushes them out the window*

———————

Robber: *comes in*

Barbara: *looks up from her computer*

Robber: *slowly backs out*

Barbara: That's what I thought.

———————

Robber: Give me the TV!

Harper: Sure, just hold this for me please.

Harper: *hands him a grenade*

Harper: *pulls the pin*

Harper: *walks away*

———————

Robber: *unlocks the door*

Carrie: You must be our new bouncy house guy.

Robber: No, I'm robbing you.

Robber: Wait, you have a bouncy house guy?

———————

Robber: *enters*

Kate, with a clipboard: Name?

Robber: My name's Rob, I'm here to rob you.

Kate: Sorry, I don't have you on our list.

———————

Robber: *saws a hole in the wall*

Helena: What are you doing?

Robber: Robbing you.

Helena: You know the door's unlocked, right? I swear, it's like people don't even try nowadays.

———————

Robber: *unplugging the XBox*

Luke: Best Buy is just down the road.

Robber: ...You're Luke Fox.

Luke: Yes I am.

Robber: Champion MMA fighter Luke Fox.

Luke, rolling up his sleeves: Always nice to meet a fan.

———————

Robber: *ransacking the place*

Bette: Who hurt you?

Robber: What?

Bette: This isn't a healthy coping mechanism. Talk to me. I'm here for you.

Robber, breaking down: It all started when I was little...

———————

Robber: *sneaks in*

Alfred: Not on my watch.

Alfred: *drags them out by the ear*

Robber: Ow, ow, ow.

———————

Robber: *smashes the window*

Selina: Pfft, amateur. Let me show you how it's done.

———————

Robber: *steals the computer*

Bruce: *reading the newspaper*

Robber: *takes valuable jewelry*

Bruce: *still reading*

Robber: *lightly bumps into one of the batkids*

Robber: *turns around*

Bruce: *suddenly appears with the bat-glare*

Robber: I'm just gonna—

Robber: *gets instantly knocked out*

[backtothefanfiction]

Crown

Warnings: slight depress vibes with a fluffy pick me up, mentions of neglect/abandonment & family trauma

A/N: some more Daisy and Fix. I had a loose idea for this little imagine but just let it take me where it wanted to go. Feels a little under done and messy but isn’t that life anyway.

You love being at Saltburn, but it isn’t always easy. The hardest days always seem to be on those very rare sunny days when everyone, Elspeth and James included, lies out and enjoys the weather. On those days when it’s too hot to sit inside or work.

On those days, you can’t help but look at James and Elspeth, the way they dote not just on their own kids, but Farleigh, yourself - even Ollie. How parents should be. On those days it becomes particularly hard to ignore the circumstances of why you live at Saltburn.

You try to sit there and ignore that pit inside as it slowly grows, but every smile, every laugh, every kind attentive word from Elspeth to her own flesh and blood, it claws away at that hole until it’s too big to ignore. So big that just like Alice, you end up falling down the rabbit hole.

Felix sees when it happens. He knows exactly what the issue is, but he’d never make you talk about it in front of everyone. He also knows he can’t say anything to dim his mother’s light in able to fix things and make them better for you in those moments. You’ve talked it out together before. You’ll talk it out again and again in the quiet hours beneath the sheets before sleep. All he can do now is sit with you through it so you know you’re not alone. Let you know he’s there, your lifeline holding the rope to pull you back out again when you’re done free falling and that rope pulls tight.

He rests his head in your lap. He strokes loving circles on your thighs, but you’re falling so deep you barely notice.

You can barely hear the comment Ollie throw’s Elspeth’s way, but it’s her responding laugh that penetrates your senses and that rope finally pulls tight. It’s so sudden, so taught as it brings you back to the present you think it might just snap. The resounding thoughts make you finally leave, politely excusing yourself making up some excuse about why you need to pop into the house.

You smile to the staff as you make your way inside and head straight to your safe space, the one place you know no one will bother coming to find you. No one except Felix.

He doesn’t come straight away, leaving you enough time that it doesn’t alert everyone else that something is wrong. Another conversation the two of you had had in the past. Elspeth and James were so nice to take you in when your parents fled the country and left you behind, you didn’t want to feel like more of a burden than you already did. Didn’t want them to think their generosity all these years was in vain.

You logged into the computer in the corner of the library to check your email, to see if you had anything at all from your siblings or your parents. Nothing. It only cemented those feelings of abandonment even more and you couldn’t help the tears that silently began to roll down your cheeks as you realised you’d finally reached the bottom of that pit inside you.

It’s like he knew you were pulling on the lifeline to be brought back up. When he appeared in the doorway to the library you had sat yourself on a chair in front of one of the windows, looking out at the grounds. You remembered the summer days as kids in the days before, running around on the grass with Felix, Venetia and Farleigh while your parents were inside talking. You remember, each of you a water pistol in hand, a couple buckets of water balloons spread across the green. You had split into two teams. You had wanted to be partnered with Felix, but Venetia had called girls vs boys. Even then Felix still somehow played the role of a gallant knight as Farleigh tried to throw a water bomb grenade at you. He’d crossed in front of you and took the hit, much to his cousins chagrin.

You’d always played silly games out there before crashing, all your energy zapped as you lay out on the grass to dry out or recharge. You’d find yourself picking daisies and weaving them into crowns or bracelets for everyone. It’s like he knew that’s what you were thinking about now.

“Here, I think you dropped this.” He said as he stepped across the room to you, a chain of daisies held carefully in his fingertips. You gave him a small smile as you brushed away the tears on your cheeks and he placed the flower crown on your head. “Daisies for my Daisy.” He said.

He sat in the seat opposite you and you reached out a hand to his. “I love you, Fix.”

“I know.” He said with a smile before he leaned forward for a kiss. “You know it’s not your fault, okay? It was never your fault.” He reassures you.

“I know.” You reply with a half hearted smile.

“Come on, let’s go stick a movie on or something.” He says, hands rubbing carefully on the tops of your thighs before he holds his open arms up for you to take.

You spend the next hour on the sofa in the adjoining TV room cuddled up with him rewatching Mean Girls for the millionth time.

“I love you, Fix.” You murmer against his side as you snuggle in closer.

His arm grows tighter, protective, across your shoulders as he pulls you in tighter to him, “I love you too.” He says as he kissed the top of your head.

[freestyle-crocodile-trashpile]

can I request a m!reader with Task Force 141, (feel free to add any other group if you w) very angsty…..I NEEF THE ANGST OK???? PLS

the m!reader gets placed into the 141, just being a very joyful and playfully sarcastic person all around that everyone can get along with well. M!reader suffers from depression and is very good at masking it, putting up a really strong facade and front. He is pretty introverted and extroverted, he can be very active but also clammy and avoidant at times when he is asked personal questions, deflecting them subtly. He’s mostly quiet-ish, not too loud but loud enough sometimes you can hear him

M!reader is trying to be useful to 141, doing anything but relaxing for a moment. The first to notice anything strange would be Ghost or Price, just a weird change in their mood as they do. Slowly his mask is breaking as they could see the life in his eyes practically slowly drain away, looking as if he had mentally broken

Shortly after all of 141 notices eventually, they would sometimes ask or pry, but m!reader responds with a smile and re-assurance but it’s bs….. they can feel it too but he is still telling them he’s alright. M!reader is slowly losing it internally, but anyways………..,.😭😭😭😭😭😭

M!reader always goes outside during the night and silently breaks down on rare occasions, when he does he just letting the tears fall. This time though 141 follows him outside where m!reader breaks down, anguished filled cries and many years of mental and or physical torment where it makes someone’s heart ache. M!reader is not known to cry so this is a first for them, whispering to himself self-deprecation as 141 now just steps in and comforts the poor m!reader 🥺🥺

[A/n:Thank you for requesting]

Summary:On the outside your a super fun and cheerful guy but in the inside your hurting and you slowly start to lose your cheerfulness

Type:Scenario: 141 X M!Reader

Version:Mw2

~

You were the most cheerful person. Always having a large smile on your face, cheering others up, etc, etc. You were a happy guy, sorta. There were times when your mask would break, showing your unsettling blank face staring off, but that only happens when you're alone. If someone finds you like that, you were originally alone. Some people, like Ghost, had doubted your happiness due to the fact your in the military, you've seen hundreds die, you've possible been tortured, kidnapped, starved, had to survive with barely anything at your grasp, he wouldn't know, you didn't originally join the 141, so he didn't know, but what Ghost did know was the smile never left, your eyes would sometimes tell other stories but the smile, it was like...frozen there, forever. Price was another to suspect you, mainly because you avoid personal questions like it's a grenade, aka as much as possible you try to run away from it, or throw it back. Getting something personal out of you was like finding a whale in Ohio(as an ohioan, there are no whales. But there a law about them), it's not gonna happen. Trust Price, he's tried. But other than that, only the sometimes emotionless eyes or sad eyes make him wonder if you're really happy. No one else really noticed. They didn't pay enough attention or didn't spend enough time with you to notice. But either way, it wasn't easy to notice. But eventually, you started to break, every act you've put on it coming to an end. Your smile became weaker, less happy. Your eyes become droppy with sadness. You stopped being so cheerful, less talkive, and you couldn't hold on to the act much longer. You stayed outside longer, the crying for hours on end, you were stressed, overworked, overwhelmed, sad, a lot of things but happy wasn't one of them. You tried to talk to Price, but it didn't work. He was either too busy or you were too scared. You also tried telling Rodolfo, That didn't work either. You changed the subject before even mentioning the original subject. You started to activity avoid mentioning it. How much longer could you hold up? Not much longer, let's say that. It's currently taking everything in your power to not break down in front of everyone. It is hard even lasting all day. Shivering from the cold, you hug your knees to your chest, thinking about how to deal with tomorrow. You had nothing planned, but you heard Soap was gonna try and hang out with you, which you were fine with. Sighing, you wiped your tears and stood up. Dusting your pants off, you walked back inside, telling everyone you were just tired when they asked if you were okay. Laying down you looked over at Gaz, your bunk mate, who was asleep, not necessarily sound asleep since he snores a lot, along with random words, like mac...one of the most common words he says. Sometimes you think it has something to do with mac & cheese, that his one of his favorite easy meals to eat. Rolling back over, you let out a small whimper, holding back your tears. You hugged yourself and took a deep breath. Letting yourself fall asleep, for once. When you woke up, Gaz was gently shaking you. Looking at him, it was abit blurry and the light shining in your eyes made it hurt to look in his direction.

"Heeeyyy, morning sleepy head. You need to get up we got training to do"

Gaz smiled at you, a warming smile that would make your heart warm slightly. Giving a weak smile back, you slowly got up. It was more difficult than most days. It was like you had shackles weighing you down. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you stared down at the floor watching the shadow of Gaz go from one side to the other side. He was walking around getting ready for the day. Looking up at him, you watched him tighten his belt before looking over.

"You gonna get ready?"

He still had that smile. Nodding, you stood up and hurried to get ready. Once you're done getting ready, Gaz had already left the room. Looking in your mirror, you took a deep breath a couple of times, making eye contact with yourself. You saw those sad eyes, rubbing your eyes. You looked back at yourself, still with sad eyes. You sighed and gave a smile, making sure to have the wrinkles by your eyes to give the effect of a real smile. Nodding to yourself, you walked out and headed to where Gaz was. You did your best, not enough to please Ghost, but enough to not break down. Going into the kitchen, you stood there staring at the sink. You rarely eat, ever since that wave if depression hit you for the first time your eating habits got worse and worse, you got skinner and skinner, but stronger since you were in the military. Sighing you walked out of the kitchen without eating anything, again. König watched you leave, confused he looked at the skin where you were looking. There was only a cup overfilled with water, but you could see your reflection. König looked the way you left. You walked with your head low, staring at the floor you walked on. Everyone made sure not to run into you or make sure you don't run into them. Walking to Prices office you knocked on the door. Silence. Groaning you knocked again. More Silence.

"Captain Price!"

You yelled with the happiest tone you could muster. Again, silence.

"Alright, I'm coming in"

Opening the door you peeked in.

"Captain....?"

It was dark, flicking the light on you looked around confused. Price wasn't there at all. Sighing you turned around, turning the light off and closing the door, you looked around turning to think of where he could have gone. Walking around you looked for the captain, and you kept looking until evening. Looking over you seen Soap looking at you from across the room. Smiling, he waved you over. Smiling back at him with a wide, warm smile, you trotted over to him.

"Hey Soap, how's it going?"

You and Soap talked for awhile. Cracking jokes, talking about multiple different things, etc. After awhile you said you had to go. Going outside you looked around for Price alittle more, sighing you layed down, and stared up at the stary sky. The moon sighing bright.

"Are you sure about this captain?"

Soap asked while they all walked to the back door. Captain had seen how cautious and panicked you looked awhile looking for him. So much so that you didn't notice him. Ghost was walking next to Soap, with Gaz behind them trying to keep up with them, a tad bit to tired to fully process what's going on.

"You didn't see his face, now did you?"

Price looked back at Soap who shook his head no. Nodding Price opened the doors with both hands, looking around he seen you laying down, staring up at the sky quite far away from them.

"There"

Price didn't point at you or nothing, just hurried over to you. Before he could say anything, Ghost stopped him.

"Price."

Price stopped and looked at Ghost.

"He's crying, seems to have been going on for awhile"

Looking back at you, Price saw your hand wiping your eyes, sobbing quietly, you muttered to yourself. Price looked at you with guilt, now understanding all those times you walked into his room, just about every day. Standing over you, Price looked down. Seeing your fearful shocked eyes, filled with tears, your cheeks shiny from crying. Price signed and crouched down. Gaz leaned against Price, still tired. Soap and Ghost where standing next to Price, also looking down at your hopeless body. Price his hand on your cheek, rubbing away your tears.

"It's alright son, no need to hide it."

Gaz snapped out of it when he heard that. Using Price's shoulder as a lift, looking at you, he gasped. He's never seen you so weak, so vulnerable. Letting out a loud hic, you grabbed Price's hand, ugly crying you let Price hold you.

"Let it all out, your safe here."

You sat up, hugging Price tightly. You cried into his shoulder, hard. Soap dropped to his knees and hugged you, it's the most he could do right now, he had nothing he could say. The lump in his throat preventing him from saying much.

"We got you..y/n we got you, okay?"

Soap whispered in your ear, hoping to calm you down, even just alittle bit. Gaz patted your head, pulling your head away from Prices shoulder you looked up at him. Smiling, Gaz gently caressed your head. Giving warm to your worn out brain, that's corrupted with the wrong thoughts and ideas.

"Hey..y/n,"

You looked at Ghost.

"Why did you hide? We understand if you can't keep going, you knew that, didn't you? We're here to help, that's the point of the military"

Your eyes widened, you didn't have a answer for him. You didn't have an reason.

"I-I..."

You couldn't give an answer. Ghost let out a small sign, not one of disappointment or anything negative. It's just that small air he's been holding in without realization.

"No need to answer, just... try to talk to us, even if it's hard."

You nodded, opening your arm to Ghost. He stared at it for a second before joining the hug. For you.

~

[A/n:I'm not sure if this is all that good 😅. I hope you enjoyed]

[b33zlebubz]

RIGOR MORTIS | CHAPTER THREE

SIMON RILEY X AFAB READER | MASTERLIST | AO3 PREV CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER TAGS: reader uses she/her pronouns, blood violence & death, suicidal ideology, slow burn, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, toxic workplace environment “Abandoned in a battlefield with the one person you thought you would never see again; you're forced to come to terms with the ghosts of your past."

MONDAY APRIL 22ND 2024  MEXICO, 2200 HOURS

Your camp is the cabin of a wrecked SUV.

You're not sure what did it, yet; what wrecked the car and left the side of it charred.  Air strike, landmine, a very high-quality grenade launcher…you don’t really care what specifically, you just know that it's supplies and shelter.  It's lodged into the mud on the side of a dug-out, having crashed some time after the battle turned sour.  The rain has cooled the metal over the course of the past day leaving the back somewhat intact.  One of two of what must be the soldiers that drove it are now laying in the ditch; shot from the front window during the wreck, you imagine, charred and dead.  Their uniforms and helmets suggest they’re part of your battalion, but you try not to think about it.

It makes a decent shelter; dry and shielded from the rain that still pelts against your helmet.  The inside stinks of gunpowder and ash as you usher Ghost into the back and he collapses against a supply crate pressed in a corner.  He grunts, breath quick and heavy against the soaked cloth of his mask as his head falls back against the container.  First aid training kicks in and you’re listening for any sign of a punctured lung or liquid in his lungs.  

"We gotta get that mask off," you huff, helping him fumble with the straps to his helmet.  With the adrenaline fading, your own voice sounds muffled to you, the product of damaged eardrums.  "You're waterboarding yourself."

He lets out something that might be a humorless chuckle, his eyes closed as he juts his chin up.  His hands are clumsy and useless as they pull at the strap.   "Wouldn't be my first time, sergeant."

"Colonel."

You lift his helmet off and he blinks at you blearily, "what?"

"It's Colonel, now," you say, taking off your own helmet and tossing it aside.  Your hair free from the heavy armor, it sticks to your face in wet clumps.  "A lot can change in eight years."

You could be imagining it, but you swear you see a flicker of hurt in his eyes before he grimaces, his neck lulling before you catch his head.

Ghost strains, his breathing growing labored.  Still, he finds the energy to smile through the rip in his mask, and a rivulet of blood flows from the side of his cheek and into his mouth.  

"Knew you could do it, love," he slurs.

You hate how your heart twists with fondness that still lingers, and it tastes like copper and bile when you swallow it back.

"Never doubted it," you say, words softer.  You pat the side of his face and he grunts.  "Stay awake.  I don't know how bad you're hurt yet."

Your hands grasp at the torn edge of his soaked balaclava.

You watch his eyes flicker through water and blood.  Dark brown irises with uneven pupils glance down at your hands through lazy eyelids, and then up at you—but he doesn't resist like you imagined he would.  Instead, he can only manage a heavy swallow and a resigned nod.

He hisses as you lift the fabric away from his head as carefully as you can.  A five o'clock shadow crisscrossed with scars greets you before a broken nose on a ghostly-pale, angular face.  Sandy hair is cropped short, dark with blood that cakes high on his temple.  

If it were another situation—another time—you think, maybe, you would've stopped to marvel at him.  Commit the facial features you had once wondered about so much to memory while you traced the sharp curves of his face with a gentle finger.  Instead, you can only focus on how your injured hand fumbles with the first-aid kit on your vest—pulling out a sterile cloth that you press to his injury.

"Fuck," you hiss.

"I'll live," he breathes, closing his eyes again.  He places a hand over yours, applying more pressure that's weak, but still more than you can manage at the moment.  "Looks worse than it is.  Head wounds always do.  Just keep your hand there."

"Yes, sir," you mutter, falling back on old formalities as your bloody hand quivers against his face.  He squeezes it before his grip loosens, and his head lulls again.  You grab him by the chin.

"Ghost.  Don't."

His eyes flicker open again briefly before they sink shut once more.  When he doesn't reply, a flicker of panic sparks in your chest.

"Stay with me, Lieutenant," you pat his face again, trying to keep him awake.  "Ghost?"

"You," he whispers, his voice barely a breath against your face.  “We’ve met before…yeah?"

You swallow thickly.

"Angel," you tell him.  "It's…it’s Angel, Ghost.  It's me."

"Angel," he repeats with all the softness eight years of distance, blood, war, and anger can muster—and the idiot is still smiling as his hand slides off of yours, leaving a bloody handprint in its wake.  "'Missed you."

Panic ebbs at your mind, and you grab his arm as you get in his face.

"Ghost don't fucking fall asleep, you hear me?"  Disparity makes your voice crack, "Don't fucking leave me here."

No response.  You shake his shoulder.

"Ghost," you beg.  "Simon!"

His head lulls against his chest as his eyes sink shut, and your breath catches in your throat.  Slowly, you remove your hands, backing up against the side of the van.  You sink against the opposite wall.  Unable to catch your breath, your heartbeat thuds in your ears.  The sound is backed with the static of rain that still pours down around you and Ghost's unconscious breathing while thunder rumbles distantly across the sky above, mocking you.

You're left, once again, with only the corpses of your dead squad outside to keep you company.

[howlingday]

Can we get Nora just being a Creature

"Nora, please! Enough is enough!"

Jaune fell on his back as the hundred and fifty plus young woman knocked him over. In his stupor, a hand tightly gripped his ankle and dragged him down the halls. He screamed as his back lit aflame from the friction of his hoodie dragging across the carpet, interrupted only when his body slammed into the walls and their corners as Nora turned in her sprint.

The ride finally came to an end when Jaune was sent airborne and through the window. The last thing Jaune saw were aqua eyes piercing through the darkness.

--------------------------------------------------

"I know you're in here, Nora..."

Pyrrha slowly pushed the door open with her elbow, sliding her shield along the sturdy material as she entered the kitchen. She made her presence known doing this, keeping her back to the walls and counters as she stalked for her feral teammate. The bubbly bomber of Team JNPR had become eerily silent since finding their leader in his mangled state outside.

Tracking her friend to her usual hiding place served as further proof that Valkyrie had slipped free from her bonds of human morality to become something different. Something unhinged and dangerous. Something more than a huntress.

A clattering of pans falling made Pyrrha flinch, and she quickly hopped on the counter to get a better view of the area. Suddenly, the cupboard door swung open behind her, knocking the huntress to the ground. Pans flew to defend the champion, but she swiftly found there was another magnet at play, one that repelled her semblance's effect. Nora gave a devilish grin as peered past it.

"Clever girl."

--------------------------------------------------

"Nora... Please..."

Ren wasn't sure where everything went wrong. He'd found his leader battered in a tree in the courtyard. Pyrrha was found tied up in the dining room, trussed up like a pig and covered in bruises. Nora had gone too far for this to be a normal prank. And now it was all on him.

Unfortunately, he had no way to defend himself. Nora had sabotaged all the teams lockers after Pyrrha had already left with hers. He'd hope to resolve things peacefully, but Nora... Nora was beyond peace, and Ren was beyond hope.

Was there a reason for Nora acting this way? Was there a reason for any of this happening? Ren fell to his knees and he felt arms wrap around his body. He closed his eyes and accepted his fate. There was no fighting something like this.

"It's over..." He whispered.

"Not yet..." She growled.

--------------------------------------------------

"What the heck happened here?!"

Ruby, Weiss, and Blake rushed to Yang's side inside the cafeteria. All of Team JNPR were hung against the wall, their arms and legs spread like some kind of macabre imitation of butterflies on a corkboard. In the distance, they heard a sinister cackling.

"Stay close." Ruby softly said, the team unsheathing their weapons together.

Suddenly, Jaune fell from the wall, hitting the floor with a thud. Ruby and Weiss moved together, Blake and Yang bringing up the rear as they moved together. Like a team of huntresses.

Howling laughter filled the cafeteria as grenades fired at the group from above, Nora swinging on a chandelier. She then placed her attention on the drapes hanging over the windows, smothering the light of the halls dedicated to feasting in a blanket of shadows.

When the firing stopped, Team RWBY noticed they had scattered to the different corners of the room. Blake was standing in the light of the only unobstructed window. Before they could regroup on her, Nora jumped down, giggling madly as she fired on a dark corner. There was a loud shout of pain.

"YANG!" Blake called. There was no answer, and when the rest of the team moved in to help, both Nora and Yang were gone, Ember Celica only staying behind.

"Did you guys see that?" Ruby asked. "Nora was so weird!"

"Weirder, you mean." Weiss corrected. "And it's not just her personality."

"Something's different with her." Blake put her hand to her chin. "For starters, the last time I checked, Nora didn't have horns and a tail."

[thisisnotthenerd]

justification below the cut because it got long but is probably valid to read before you answer anyway:

battle of the brands:

the gunner channel are a 6-person party with the assistance of a large creature/mount (aurora nebbins, CR 3). while they are level three in terms of ship deployment, they are not using those skills in this encounter.

at this point they were level five. they had access to third level spells for the spellcasters, extra attacks for the gunners, uncanny dodge for skip and multitasker for margaret.

they had the opportunity to shop for items before the encounter: this included shield generators, armor, lots of grenades, new weapons, extra psychodrones, and critically, the charge fragmentation used in operation slippery puppet

they were fighting in the battle of the brands-- a free-for-all against other brand champions in an arena with a significant drop; one of the win conditions against each opponent was sending them over the edge to suffer max falling damage.

objectives: fulfilling their contract with acme-ashmun as brand ambassadors, surviving the fight, and defeating the other brand champions

they faced four opponents: smaggy squirrel, brobbin bunny, brutus the corn brutie, and the triangle mint plinth.

smaggy squirrel and brobbin bunny were at the very least 9th level rogues--this puts them at a CR 5

the plinth was a homebrewed statblock--i evaluated it at a CR 14, similar to an elder brain.

brutus the corn brutie was based on an adult green dragon, at a CR 15.

if we go by XP with no multipliers, they would get 28100 for the encounter. well into deadly, with an overall encounter CR of 22.

the last stand:

the bad kids are a 6-person party with the assistance of 4 CR 1/2 summons (mephits) and 2 CR 3 mounts (daymare and hangman)

at this point they are level 13. they have access to 7th level spells for the full casters, paladin smites and functional smites (fandrangor), 7d6 of sneak attack, and the new barbificer subclass, which allows non-concentration spells to be held while raging

they also have access to many magical items: the infaethable bass, the heavy metal ax, the sword of sight (sword of the elven oracle), fandrangor (sword of the elven kings), the teddy bear of helpfulness, the sword of shadows and arquebus, all of which grant unique abilities, including +5 to performance and retaliatory damage, crits on 19 and 20 and max damage to objects, bonus action divination cantrips granting the dodge action (true strike), added d6s of damage using spell slots, the ability to hold multiple concentration spells, misty step, magical tranq, net, and signal flare bullets.

they were fighting in the last stand; a simultaneous academic exam and fight against an endless horde of monsters.

objectives: answering questions correctly, protecting the proctor, and lasting as long as possible. the bad kids were granted a preparation round for spellcasting and ability activation and a surprise round on the first wave of creatures. read my notes here for their academic preparation.

they faced a total of 39 opponents of varying CRs. these are sorted below into the waves that the bad kids faced them in.

first wave: otyugh (CR 5), 3 ochre jellies (CR 2), gorgon (CR 5), hydra (CR 8), 8 skeletons (CR 1/4), and a mimic (CR 2)

second wave: manticore (CR 3), shrimp dragon (CR 7), roper (CR 5), umber hulk (CR 5), and 8 stirges (CR 1/4)

third wave: wyvern (CR 6), crab man (CR 5), 8 rust monsters (CR 1/2), pentacorn (CR 6), and a purple worm (CR 15)

if we go by XP with no multipliers, they would get 37500 for the encounter. well into deadly, with an overall encounter CR of 27.

[diejager]

Gentle Giant

Pairing : König x fem!reader

Cw: blood, gore, murder, injuries, war, FLUFF.

Wc: 3.1k

(A/N) : Its my first try at mw2 fanfic, I'm sorry if he's ooc >~<

Ps. I went with standard german since I can't find a free and functioning austrian german translator.

Calling him a giant didn't do him justice, a goliath within the army giants fit him better. Face hidden under a hood over a balaclava and the skin around his eyes painted black that made his icy blue irises gleam, König was as shrouded in mystery as he was shadowed by thick layers. His sole figure made others move away, parting ways for the behemoth to pass with big strides to match his size.

You've seen it happen too often with bigger or scarier soldiers - Ghost and König being a part of this selection - lower ranked never bothered too much with them, not wanting their ire. You understood them, having met and worked with both KorTac and the 141 before, you felt the difference between you and the men you've worked with.

You being smaller than most men, probably a bit under the average height for a woman your age, knew how menacing having someone towering over you in warfare; but you fought and earned your rank and notoriety.

You watched from afar, laying stomach down and arms propped up to hold your sniper that stood on pegs, observing your teammates through the scope. Your sights zoned in on the squad that moved forward steadily, yet carefully, weapons up and sticking in duos when they split to check corners. They caught on the front lines, the danger being higher than yours, especially on an open-aired ground like this place. KorTac could fall victim to snipers - you made sure to take care of them before you gave them a clear, spotting five gleaming scopes from the dilapidated building you hid in and you took them out, careful not to get caught - grenades, flash bangs, trigger happy newbies or enemy arms.

You watched their back, covering them from any strays advancing from the back of from higher up, you were thorough with your job. People knew you for your 'no man left behind' principle, ensuring everyone came back in one piece or with a few missing, but always alive; you were a sniper people wanted to have covering them, and that's why KorTac placed so much trust in you - aside from the times you joined them.

You heard them talk, about spreading out in teams of two through the radio, half took the front and the other would go through the back, ensuring that they'd trap the target inside.

"Moving in, Owl, " Horangi informed you, eyes forward and leading the front through the back door.

"I'll keep the line open, " you replied, watching as the last of his group entered the building.

Your eyes scoured the windows, watching through them for KorTac operators. You took shots at any armed men you saw running through the door or trying to enter the building. You pulled the bolt back and snapped it after every shot, reloading and searching around you for any enemy before returning to your observation. Gunshots rang in your ear, pained cries from afar, and loud thumps from falling bodies, given a few minutes and they would radio back for exfil with the target. As expected, your prediction of KorTac's skill happened, Stiletto radioed over that they had acquired the target and were moving out.

"Cover us, Owl," König's rumbling voice called out, the monotone timbre in his words sent a shiver down your spine.

"Copy."

"Moving towards exfil."

You watched the men exit from the back, pushing a cuffed and limping man, screaming threats at them, from garnering the ire of his country or thbackupup he called, but the operators ignored his crazed babbles. If the latter really happened, you'd have to be ready. You scoped the area around them and further back, switching to and fro the team and surroundings until they got to the helicopter.

Once you saw them board the aircraft, you jumped to your feet and held your bolt-action sniper across your chest as you watched the helicopter fly your way. The closer it got, the louder the propellers sounded and the harsher the winds became, blowing sand into your eyes, balaclava shielding you from nose to mouth from the grimy taste. Once it lowered itself near the roof, it landed and you boarded, grasping the helping hand of the behemoth. You gave a firm squeeze of gratitude before you slide the door shut and caught the glaring eyes of your target.

"Gute Arbeit, Owl."

Your answer was a swift nod, eyes meeting König's icy blues as he towered over the rest of KorTac and you.

The mission was a success, the target - terrorist - apprehended and the interrogation was left to Laswell. You'd go back to solo missions or join others as their sniper.

***

A few weeks flew by rapidly, you hadn't seen König much between your missions with TF 141, other teams, or solo missions, and the little rest you got when off duty. A part of you wished for a day of rest, but another one reminded you of the threats of straying for too long, work helped get your mind off of unwanted thoughts, and dark and dangerous ground. Working helped you stay preoccupied, leaving only your nightmare to haunt you.

You were heading to the armory, to suit up and meet with Laswell for another mission, with who? She hadn't told you. "Meeting in 15." those were her words, clear and direct. You wore the dark grey vest over your grey hoodie, helmet, and balaclava in hand, and strode to the room after you stocked up with knives, a pistol, ammunition, and your sniper in a well-protected case. You preferred arriving a minute or two before it started, not wanting to be the last nor the first to step into a room and risk the chance of an awkward waiting time with other people you hardly knew.

Fortunately, the moment you reached for the door, a familiar figure opened it, looming over you at the entrance with the palest blues you've ever seen - or admitted you liked.

"König," you greeted softly, walking in when he moved back.

He gave a slow nod, eyes fleeting and jumpy - perhaps his anxiety was acting up, you spoke with him about it once, when you were forced to stay hidden in a safe house while you waited for evac to come. Did he come here right after another mission?

"Owl, good to have you."

"Owl, how copy?" a gruff voice radioed.

Aksel, the sole Norwegian of KorTac, you knew from the rough rasp he had even when you spoke in person. This task hadn't demanded the whole team, having the need of half of the members for it in case it turned bad. Laswell had you join Aksel, König, Roze, Zero, Oni, and Zeus.

"Affirmative, Aksel, " you replied, eyes catching sight of the target's car.

A dark limousine rolled to the side, doors opening as guards in ironed suits walked out, surrounding an ugly-looking man in luxurious clothes worth probably more than your life. You could see him from 2 blocks away through your scope, eyes probed to focus on your target. He was smart, having meat shields around him from all sides, it gave him a chance to survive; if he wasn't put up against you, he's an unlucky son of a bitch. Human trafficking, drugs and weapons dealing, child prostitution, and more, all on the grounds of a country that couldn't do anything about it unless they risked betrayal. That's why they employed PMCs.

"Target in sight. Permission to shoot."

"Permission granted," Watcher, Laswell, told you from the safety of the base in the foreign country.

You were primed for a headshot, eyes narrowed to his disgusting mug. You blinked, took a slow breath, and fired as you exhaled, body jolting slightly from the fire. You kept your sights on him as you pulled back the bolt, snapping back when you saw your target fall, his head blown bloody and body slumping forward.

You felt almost proud about ending him, watching his bodyguards scramble around his corpse for safety, knowing that their boss, the one who paid them, was dead and bleeding from a hole in his head on the floor. Some jumped into the car and sped away, others into the building and some ran for cover behind alleys and buildings.

"Target down, Watcher," you spoke loud and clearly into the mic, letting her know of your success.

***

Your next mission with König, around two weeks after the prior one, hadn't gone as your expected. What you thought would be a regular job - Laswell's intel made it seem casual, recon and infiltration - turned to shit, for you at least.

You'd been deployed ahead to let you settle down and mark your sniper's nest for easier extraction, to get into position and cover for KorTac when they landed and started the infiltration. You spent a good 10 minutes covering the ones on the ground - perhaps a bit too much - after taking down the snipers posted on towers and windows to ensure their success. Your constant cover had led you to a rising problem, the enemy would figure out where your nest was and reinforcement would be called or they would send a squad to take you out. You better on the latter, but didn't know when to move; too early would alert them of your position, and too late would come to bite you in the back. The first one was too risky, the second option seemed a bit better.

You'd taken fewer shots, taking more care of keeping them guessing your position until you absolutely needed to move. You had the line open in case of emergencies, if you were caught you'd need to warn them, and let them know that you couldn't support them. You kept your guard up, eyes through the scope and ears open for any clicks or cracks from feet stepping off the rocky debris you littered around the nest.

It was a good idea on your part, as the bolt snapped, you heard crunching and moved quickly. You stuffed the sniper inside its case and swung it over your shoulder, pistol pulled to defend yourself when your buck met the wall behind the entrance.

"This is Owl, I've been made," you hushed through your mic, eyes strained on the blank opening.

Pistol pressed to your chest, and you waited until the first one walked in, seeing his extended hand before his head appeared. The gun was trained on him the instant his head passed the door, your index pulled the trigger and his head jerked right with an explosion of blood and gore. He keeled over and the following enemies all swarmed in.

It was a rush of adrenaline, you're body moved on habit and your mind was keen on killing and surviving, you kicked behind his knee and jammed a knife down the junction of his neck and shoulder, watching the blood spray over your covered face and hand. You pulled his heavy body against yours, using him as a shield as his brother unloaded his mag into him. When he was out, you shoved him forward, corpse toppling over the living soldier with a pained grunt. Dead bodies were somehow amazing weights if you needed them, it was unexpected and the lax muscles that usually held the body up crashed down. You sent a bullet through his head and watched through calm eyes the blood that soaked the floor.

The fear in his eyes when he saw the gun strained on his head, cold and creeping death that loomed over him at that moment before he saw the barrel. Fear was nothing new in your field, fear for yourself, for someone else, or from someone, fear, and death came together in war, as blood and bullets did.

You pushed the image back, quickly stepping over them with a guarded stature, making your way down to find another place to settle down.

"3 down, probably more on the way, moving west," you informed KorTac, hearing grunts and shots from their end.

"Are you all right, Owl?" asked a worried tone.

König, even in this mess, had time to worry about you, voice low with concern instead of his cold, monotone one when he fought. It was sweet, made your connection to him seem more relevant, deeper, and holding more meaning. It made your heart thrum happily.

"Yes," your reply was short since you were busy.

Moving around bodies and reloading behind the hard, cement wall, you sprung forward and shot down two other soldiers, two tapping them for assurance. The number was amassing, it went from three upstairs, one on your way down, and now four near the exit. The inside felt musky and stank of iron, maybe it was from your balaclava being soaked in someone's blood, but the smell permeated from the room, and you could taste the metal tang.

Your eyes fleeted left and right before making an exit, sprinting to the nearest cover and watching for enemies. You moved every time it felt safe, jumping from cover to cover until you reached a tall building far enough to continue your cover. It was safer, or so you thought. Someone in the enemy's beige fatigues grabbed your hands, struggling for your submission.

"Shit-"

Your curse made it to KorTac's ears, they asked for your status, to know where you were. Although you wanted to reply, you were a bit too busy with your struggle for ground when he pushed you down, back splayed on the floor as you tried to angle your gun to him. Your shared grunts were heard through the radio, your hiss from your cheek nicking a rock.

He spoke something foreign, you didn't understand him, hadn't had time to learn Farsi with all the missions you were sent on daily. You ground your teeth, your knee pushing against his abdomen with a groan. Unfortunately, he only huffed and brought the knife from his other hand closer to your face, your struggle wouldn't last long with a man twice your size over you.

From your narrowed eyes, you - both of you - missed the big silhouette of a man entering the room in a rush. A familiar knife was shoved into the man's neck as he was pulled away with beige-tipped gloves and pushed to the opposite side of the room with a raging KorTac operator holding the drowning man a few inches above the ground. His choked gurgles reached your ears as you sat up, seeing König hunched over the limp and dying enemy. He jabbed the knife multiple times into him, breaking the soft walls of the enemy's esophagus. It was a bloody display that would make privates shiver.

"König-"

As his name left your lips, he was immediately by your side, knife sheathed and weapons put aside, his hands were all over you, gripping your shoulders, arms, face, and waist. He was making sure you weren't wounded. You huffed, telling him you weren't wounded, a few scratches and bruises, but that's all. Whatever words you muttered, fell on deaf ears, König's eyes gleamed with worry, dilated and wide.

Getting hurt and dying was part of the job, but that didn't mean anyone wanted to get hurt or die. He knew that, yet the thought of seeing you gone, bleed out, or fallen into the enemy's hands scared him. He worried about you, a being so small and fragile to him, but strong and fierce as you've shown him so many times.

You broke down the barriers he put up, melted the anxiety that he had, and shared your darkest moments with him as he did with you. Your heart beats for him and him, you. It was a dangerous thing, letting one so close that your heart would die if the other was gone. Fear had rushed through him when he heard your grunts, it latched to his back and dragged him back. He couldn't go with the others knowing you were ambushed, he had to turn back and help you. Although he knew you were capable, he just couldn't shake the terror off until he saw you still in one piece.

That's why he left his formation and ran to yours in blinded fear and anger, the latter for the one who stood over you.

Even crouched down, he towered over you, hooded face shadowing you from the sun. Your stomach fluttered every time your eyes met his, the cold and calculative - sometimes murderous - gleam melted to a soft and caring one, warm and comforting as the sun. You muttered again, told how he saved you, that you're alive because of him. You gave him soothing words, eyes locked in a war-torn location.

***

König, however dangerous, was calm and caring, a quiet figure that held your hand and moved with you down the halls. He used to hide in the shadows - he still had the tendency to do it when you weren't with him - and distance himself from others. He used to hide and avoid people, explaining his reasons as to why he would only let you in, close enough to hold hands and share kisses. You liked the thought of being the only one inside, the special someone he let himself be near and touch without freezing up or stuttering.

You remember seeing him sliding through the crowd and vanishing when he ruined the corner or when you blinked, steps so quiet and so purposeful that you thought he was making sure to lose you - he had mentioned feeling you stare at him, wanting to bury himself in a pit for getting your attention, someone he admired and respected.

König was guarded, he protected himself from pain and people, and now, he vowed to do the same for you, to keep you from harm - when he was teamed with you - and from people - although not the jealous type, he didn't want to risk it.

Fraternizing was shamed by some higher-ups, the old coots like General Sheperd, but most didn't care, some encouraged you - Task Force 141 - and König - KorTac - to make due with what you had and reap the best of it. The danger of getting attached ran high, but you two made it work, you watched over him as Owl and you loved and adored him as (Name).

Perhaps, after retiring, you'd buy a house, a small one in the countryside far from civilization to keep to yourselves. To love and grow old together seemed like a beautiful idea to you when König had his drunk, bumbling mess after a can or two while you stayed sober to drive the team back.

You've come far, from brothers in arms to lovers on the battlefield, you've had your fears and your moments, but you always reached for him when he reached for you. Love's a game for two, after all.

[herejusttosufferalong]

Was the girls trip not fun? Are you bored now that you're home? What happened to make you cause this level of panic? Suffer, your simple little post has now made Tumblr and TT go into a free fall 😂

PS everyone needs to fucking chill. No they did not date. You do not call someone you bumped uglies with "sis" or "bro." I don't care who you are, unless you're the Whittakers.

Ngl y’all I tossed that grenade and then dipped

Lmfao

It wasn’t that bad tho right?

[becausebuckley]

please write 26 for buddie!

thanks so much anon!! i hope you like how it turned out <3

26. "I just can't believe that you really chose me, that's all." from this list of prompts - i'm still taking prompts!

It’s kind of new, this thing with Eddie.

Well, kind of new, but at the same time, not new at all. If he’s honest with himself – which he tries to be, these days – Buck knows they’ve been heading here for years. He can trace their relationship through shared beers and deep conversations, through sweaters in each other’s closets and quick little looks before rescues. Buck thinks that maybe they’ve been building this since that very first shift, the grenade falling in the box and something in Buck’s heart slotting into place at the same time. 

It’s been a long time coming, and yet, it happened so suddenly Buck never saw it coming at all.

Now, a few weeks into the relationship Buck knows is the best thing that’s ever happened to him, they’re settling in. The honeymoon period isn’t over, not by a long shot – Buck kind of doubts it’ll ever be, that anything will ever feel normal and not sugar coated, rose-coloured lenses, now that he’s with Eddie – but it’s turning into something more steady, less new. Something solid. A foundation for the rest of their lives. This might not be the first time he’s spent the night in Eddie’s bed, but it’s the first time that makes Buck feel like this is it, now. This is their new normal. Their forever.

He’s lying on his back, wearing nothing but his boxers and an old shirt of Eddie’s that stretches over his broad shoulders. Eddie’s arm is slung over his waist, head pillowed on Buck’s chest, and their legs are tangled in the bedsheets. It’s late, or maybe early, Buck doesn’t know, and he suddenly feels so happy he kind of stops breathing a little bit.

Eddie makes a grumpy noise and burrows his head further into Buck. Something Buck has delighted in over these past few weeks is discovering all of Eddie’s cat-like tendencies. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if his boyfriend – and oh, the thrill that word brings him – turned out to purr.

“Why aren’t you asleep,” Eddie mumbles into the fabric of Buck’s shirt. 

Buck’s arm tightens around him, thumb rubbing up and down Eddie’s side. His lungs fill with air once more. 

“How did you know I wasn’t sleeping?” He counters, though he probably sounds entirely too awake to sell it. 

Eddie lifts his head at that. His hair is mussed and floppy, his eyes are half-closed, and he still pulls off an incredibly unimpressed eyebrow raise. Buck has never been more in love with him.

“Fair enough,” Buck says. “It’s nothing, really. I was just thinking.”

“Dangerous.” Eddie drops his chin back on Buck’s chest. 

Buck huffs out a half-offended laugh in reply.

“About what, though?” Eddie asks. The skin between his eyebrows creases up, like he’s preparing himself for something serious. Buck can’t blame him, really. These first few weeks, golden as they may have been, have also revealed some insecurities they’d both had hidden away over the years. They’re not without their jagged edges, but as they’ve learned, they’re pretty good at navigating the rough parts together, at knowing when to smooth them over and when to let them be.

This isn’t that, though, and Buck barely resists the urge to take his thumb to Eddie’s brow and rub out the crease. And really, the only reason he resists that urge is that he only has one free hand, and he’s a little busy using it to reach for Eddie’s hand and lace their fingers together.

“Nothing much,” Buck says. He frowns. “No, that’s not true, actually. It’s kind of everything. I just- I just can’t believe you really chose me, that’s all.”

The crease on Eddie’s forehead smoothes out as he tightens his arm on Buck’s waist. 

“Of course I chose you,” he says easily. “Who else would it be?”

And Buck could make a joke there, could point out what a catch Eddie is, how lucky others would be to date him, but he knows that that would be besides the point, so he doesn’t. He just tightens his arm around Eddie, pulls him in even closer. Lifts their intertwined fingers to his mouth and presses a kiss to one of Eddie’s knuckles.

It couldn’t be anybody else. It’s them.

It’s always been them.

[gingiesworld]

Can you do Natasha with Male reader?

Where male reader it's normal agent who love giving natasha lunch just to be good work friend but natasha end up falling for him and she hate that she trusting new people so she try to avoid reader. But it's fail so she start insulting reader in front other agent's and that make reader stop bothering her.

You can choose how this end (sad or happy ending)... Thank you :)

You're Pathetic

Natasha Romanoff x Male Reader

Warnings: Angst. Death.

18+ MINORS DNI

Agent Y/L/N was just an average SHIELD Agent, working as hard as he could to keep the civilians safe from unknown threats. On the off chance he came across on of the higher agents, he made sure that his uniform was ironed and crease free. Always wanting to make a first impression. Even after the missions he had spent with her, he became smitten.

Natasha would never admit it but she was moved by the lunches and the drinks he would bring her. Leaving her office with a have a good day and his charming smile. Although Natasha was wired different, she was trained that love is for children.

"So, who is the guy?" Maria asked as she smirked at the pacing red head before her. Natasha had found refuge in one of her best friend's offices.

"Agent Y/L/N." Natasha sighed as she stopped to face Maria. "Don't look at me like that." She scolded as Maria took a deep breath.

"All I am seeing is Y/L/N getting you lunch and drinks. Making small conversations and asking how you are." Maria summed up as Natasha smirked. "He is being the man every woman has ever dreamed of."

"I know." Nat finally took a seat. "I just hate this feeling."

"You're falling for him." Maria stated as Nat held her face in her hands.

"I have fallen for him." Nat whispered, her eyes glistening. "But what if he wants a family?"

"There's always adoption." Maria stated.

"A biological family?" Natasha corrected as Maria have her a gentle smile.

"If he really cares for you, he wouldn't care about how you have children. He would only care about spending his life with you." She told her honestly. Nat just sighed, knowing she was right. Deciding to head to her own office and taking a seat, only to hear a knock on her door, just like clock work.

"You need your strength Romanoff." He smiled as he place the peanut butter and jelly down with a soda before leaving her be.

He was right, she had her training this afternoon. Teaching the new recruits. Which as she was in the middle of observing the recruits as they trained. Observing their forms during combat and making note as Y/N walked in the door with a smile on his face and a water in his hand.

"This has to stop Y/L/N!" She told him as his smile fell.

"I just wanted to make sure you're hydrated." He told her honestly as he looked at the bottle.

"You are pathetic. A pathetic excuse for an agent." Natasha tried to stop as she watched his eyes go from full of happiness to void of any emotion. "I'm surprised you haven't been killed yet with how pathetic you are."

"Goodbye Romanoff." He spoke emotionless, the other agents watched as he walked out of the training room. Natasha's heart broke as he walked out with slumped shoulders.

For days, her outburst was talk among the agents. A lot of them talking about the pathetic agent. It wasn't until a few weeks later she had noticed is absence. Of course she knew Maria also had a mission but it wasn't until she overheard a conversation among a small group of agents.

"That pathetic agent tried to be a hero." One of them snickered. "He thought by jumping on the grenade he would save everyone. I think everyone would have rather died than be wearing that pathetic loser."

Natasha ran straight for Maria, wanting to know that what she heard isn't true. That was when she walked in on Maria sniffling, looking up as she heard Nat close the door.

"Is Y/N?" Nat tried. She couldn't even bring herself to say it.

"I'm so sorry." Maria whispered as she let her tears fall. "No one knew he was going to do it. I guess he's not so pathetic now is he?" Her words soon laced with venom, cutting Nat off as she tried to speak. "He was far from pathetic Natasha and you know it. You let those recruits hear your harsh words to him when all he wanted was to be there for you. Do you know what his last words were?" Nat just shook her head as she took every word. "He told me, hopefully this mission might just prove his worth." Nat wiped her eyes as Maria berated her. "Truth is, he never needed to prove his worth. We already knew what kind of agent he was. No, we knew what kind of man he was. He was kind, gentle, sweet and caring, but he only had eyes for you. He was in love with you and you ripped his heart out. You set him up for his death because he thought in that moment, sacrificing his life was worth saving other agents who also questioned his worth on the team. Do you know I had to take an hour long shower to wash all of the blood and dust from my body, the blood wasn't even my own. I just washed him away like he was nothing. Just like you did."

"Maria." Nat tried as Maria shook her head.

"Get out." She ordered as she turned back to her report. Writing about the moment Y/N had sacrificed himself. Nat walked through the halls hearing how people still called him pathetic.

"He was a hero. Y/L/N was far from pathetic so I suggest you all shut the fuck up and get back to your designated stations." She yelled before she slammed her office door. Collapsing to the floor as her world imploded. Tears falling from her eyes and she didn't even bother to try and hide them or wipe them away. Wishing she could have done something different. Told him how she really felt and not let her head get in the way. Now she was just too late and she hated herself for what she had done.

[seren1tyhaze]

Grenade

PAIRING: toxic!mark x afab reader (ft hyuck)

WORD COUNT: 3.1K

SUMMARY: he's the worst person for you but you keep coming back to him, night after night, desperately hoping that he will love you back after more time spent in your arms

THANK YOU: sorry to @strwbrysunday who I definitely broke with this :) ilyyyyyy

WARNINGS: explicit smut, weed smoking, profanity, emotional manipulation, heavy angst, mark is not a very nice guy in this (sorry)

PLAYLIST: Grenade by Bruno Mars, Love on the Floor by NCT 127, Faster by NCT 127, 2 Baddies by NCT 127

This was very much inspired by a Love on the Floor fancam, particularly minute 3:20. Enjoy.

Tell the devil I say hey when you get back to where you're from

--

It’s raining softly and big droplets are falling off the awning of his front step as you furiously send another text to this asshole who better not have fallen asleep in the five minutes it took you to drive over. You look up to the leaking sky just as a particularly large droplet hits your forehead, dripping down your eyebrow and into your eye. He told you not to knock, as he always did, because he thinks Johnny looked at you a little too long that one time he answered the door before Mark could run down the stairs. You might not be his but that didn’t mean someone else could have you.

The door suddenly swings open and he’s standing there, baggy black sweatpants hanging low and a crisp white tee hanging perfectly on his broad shoulders. He has a smug smile on his face as he leans against the door jam, sleeve riding up on his arm to show his nearly completed half sleeve of dark ink. His shirt peaks up too, showing skin on his hip and the Supreme logo at the band of his boxers. 

“I’m getting soaked out here, bitch,” you mumble as you push past him harshly, stepping out of your shoes and hanging your jacket on the hook you always use. There’s something weirdly domestic about draping it over Mark’s leather jacket he wears when he takes his motorcycle to work. 

He rolls his eyes at you and ruffles the longer black strands of hair in his eyes before turning without another look at you to walk up the stairs. He takes two at a time and you get the first (but not last of tonight) look at the reason you’re here - his deliciously thick ass.

He flops down on his bed and is scrolling through his phone, head propped up against his headboard and one leg up on his thin comforter. His shirt is hiked up on his waist and his tight ab muscles are on display as he draws lazy circles over his stomach with his other hand.

Turning away from him, you drop your hands to your waist, pulling your oversized hoodie over your head, leaving you standing in your leggings and cotton bralette. You move some stuff on his desk to put your bag down, taking a swig from your water bottle before approaching the bed slowly. The door is cracked open, another habit you’ve noticed from him in the times you’ve visited the house. He liked to have an audience, if only to just hear Jaehyun comment how good you look naked later or witness the awkward moment when you locked eyes with a nervous Jeno as he used their shared bathroom in the hallway while Mark pounds into you in doggy style.

If someone had told you six months ago that you would be desperately driving over to spend the night with the rude but incredibly hot cashier at your local gas station, you would have laughed in their face. You first met when he had helped you with the finicky air pump for your tires one afternoon after work, bending down to unscrew the caps and giving you an unreal view of his tight pants. The band of his boxers rose up high on his slim waist and his round ass cheeks were prominent under the denim, straining at the plush muscle. You had felt your cheeks heat in the moment, a loud gulp building in your throat as you forced yourself to look elsewhere.

He had let you take the gum you were buying for free and grabbed your phone when you reached under the plexiglass, adding himself as “M” and handing it back with a devious smirk.

Later that night you were moaning his name loudly in the backseat of your car after he asked you to pick him up from a bar downtown. You knew you were done for when he shoved his slender fingers, covered in your own arousal, into your mouth, swirling them around and almost making you gag as he brushed the roof of your mouth with the pads of his fingertips. Yeah, this guy was going to be a really big problem.

Everything was on Mark’s terms, especially when it came to getting off. Edging was his middle name and he rarely let you have multiple orgasms in one night. He was rough, dragging you down to your knees by the back of your neck, kneading your skin harshly as he pushed his cock deeper into your mouth.

He especially tortured you when it came to touching your favorite part of his body. He knew you were obsessed with his full and perky ass, feeling your eyes on him every time he walked away from you. Sometimes he would even walk backwards with a huge grin on his face and a shake of his head.

On the rare occasion he would be relentlessly railing into you in missionary, you would feel your hands instinctively come up to grope him and he would pin your arms down, harshly grunting out, “Only good girls get rewarded with cake.”

Tonight is nothing different, he’s actively ignoring you with just a hand on your thigh, dangerously close to the crotch of the thin athletic fabric clinging to your legs. He’s tracing what feels to be an infinity symbol and you can feel goosebumps start to prick up on your arms. You chalk it up to being shirtless in the cool, stale air of his bedroom rather than any sort of physical (emotional? fuck.) response to his touch.

You take a long drag from your dab pen before tossing it on the table next to the bed, feeling him shift as he finally sets his phone down.

Without any words he leans over, mouthing at your bare shoulder before stretching his arm out to steal a hit from your pen and letting it carelessly drop to the floor. You sigh and push your hand aggressively into his sweats, finding him half hard and a damp spot on the front of the material covering his cock. So he was horny. Of course he was.

He continues to kiss down your neck, dragging his teeth against the thin strap of your bra, moving it out of the way to kiss underneath. You moan lightly at this, pushing your voice to make a little more noise than it naturally did for effect, refusing to let him have the satisfaction of hearing the sounds he actually produced from his touches. 

He doesn’t kiss you on the lips much anymore, despite having made out with you for hours at a time when you had first started hooking up. Granted, there isn’t much of an opportunity for you to lock lips with him as his fingers are usually shoved in your mouth as his other hand slaps your exposed pussy or his full palm covering the lower half of your face, restricting your breathing.

A few minutes later he’s between your legs, mercilessly flicking his tongue against your embarrassingly wet folds, gripping your thighs tightly while you rut against his face, desperate for more friction.

You don’t know if it’s the rain or the fact that he definitely bought the same body wash you have in your shower and you can smell it radiating off him, but you want to kiss him so bad even as he’s going to town on your clit, almost as if he’s trying to overstimulate you before you’ve even had a chance to feel him inside you. You rip him up by his hair and drag his face to meet yours and he’s crawling eagerly over you, crowding you as he slips a knee between your spread legs. 

“Yes?” he half groans, half sings in a low timbre, dark eyes darting between yours wildly, looking for an explanation to why you stopped him from eating you out. 

“Stop edging me,” you state bluntly, sliding a hand down to cover his ass cheek, squeezing gently at first as you instinctively arch your back slightly and bring your lips closer to him. 

“Aw, that’s cute, you think you deserve a kiss,” he replies back in a cruel tone, almost laughing at your desperation. 

“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” he adds, firmly removing your hand from his bare skin and trapping it between your chests where you’re sure he can feel your heart beating fast under your breast.

Despite everything and because of everything, you find yourself irrevocably in love with him. You hate every fibre of his being but would do anything to have him hold you in his arms tenderly like the couples you see wrapped in a back hug on the subway. You would pay any amount of money to have him circle his thumbs over the hem of your t-shirt, digging his chin into your shoulder while reading your book over your shoulder and murmuring parts of sentences out loud.

He knows this, he’s not stupid. He sees the way you look at him after you come all over his hand or mouth or cock. He sees the way you look at him when you think he’s not paying attention, eyes dragging across his features before settling on his big brown eyes. He watches as your eyes drift to fantasies of the two of you together on the off chance you share a meal or drink in his kitchen. You instinctively clear his cereal bowl and take the crumpled napkin directly from his hand, letting your hand drag up his bicep as you walk to the trash can.

Because of this, he will leave you on read for days at a time, knowing you are losing your mind and only checks your Instagram story from a burner account because he knows you check that shit religiously. He knows that hearing you moan out his name and clench around his achingly hard cock once he finally hits you up will make it all worth it.

He doesn’t want a relationship, he never has, and truly believes he never will. The scars on his knees and the way his eyes glaze over when he’s super high tell so much more than he could ever say out loud. Commitment was never in the cards for him and he knew from the first time he saw you that you would fall for him easily. It’s why he had quickly put his number in your phone and called you later that night for a ride he didn’t actually need. He had trapped you from that very first moment and spent each day since then manipulating you into falling more and more in love with him.

It was cruel and your friends that knew your dirty secret chastised you about it frequently, but something about his dark hair, lean muscles and dark ink covering large swaths of his body kept you coming back for more. The way he never says your name during sex, despite you moaning every variation of his, combined with his terrible after care are all the biggest red flags you’ve ever seen, but you can’t stop.

You’ve seen glimpses of the softer side of him, the human side of him. His voice would pitch up when he got excited about an expensive car parked in the street or when his favorite Spongebob episode queued up next on his small laptop monitor you were sharing. One time a small kitten was hidden under the hood of a car in the parking lot of the gas station in the dead of winter and while he never admitted it, you know he took it home that night to help it warm up before letting Jaemin pick it up a few days later to take to his apartment with his growing cat family.

Then there’s the moments of confusion that help feed your delusional fantasies that the two of you could actually work. He will occasionally show up at your work, shamelessly flirting with the front office lady, moving her pen cup around her desk and twirling the cord of her desk phone around his long and slender finger while leaning down to speak in a loud whisper. 

Once he showed up wearing a white tank top you swear you recognized as Johnny’s and his leather jacket had slipped off his shoulders and everyone was ogling him as they walked by. You marched to the front and barked his name to get him to follow you back to your cubicle where he leant seductively against your desk, crossing his arms across his broad chest.

“What’s wrong? Jealous, sweetheart?” he purrs under his breath as you sat down on your uncomfortable desk chair with an eye roll. You shuffle a couple papers and bang them aggressively against your desk before holding your hand out for the binder clip he was fiddling with, clamping it repeatedly on his fingertip.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” came Hyuck’s voice loudly from the next cubicle over, causing Mark to cackle, feign a look of fear and clutch his chest dramatically.

“Donghyuck,” you hiss, eyes darting to your boss’s open office door, her eyes peering inquisitively at the loud laughter.

“This is a place of work, where you know, people with jobs work,” Hyuck continues, tapping loudly on his keyboard on a blank document that you know isn’t actually a work assignment.

“Mark, you should go,” you say quietly, feeling embarrassed at how your cheeks are heating at the interaction. You can feel Hyuck’s gaze on your back and don’t need to turn around to know how disappointed he is.

You move to stand before a hand is on your shoulder, pushing you gently back into your chair. Mark places his other hand on the arm of your chair, caging you in as he brushes his knee against yours to step between them. He dips down, pushing your long hair from the side of your face and brushes his lips gently right at the corner of your eye, moving his lips to your ears to speak softly to you.

“You know he wants to fuck the shit out of you, right?” he teases, letting his teeth graze against the shell of your ear, eliciting a quiet whimper from your lips.

“I bet he wouldn’t even satisfy you though, my little whore likes to be bruised up when the night is over,” he continues, hand moving achingly slow to your lap and toying with the hem of your short dress. At this moment you desperately wish you had worn pants today but your heart is pounding so hard you can barely focus.

You gulp loudly, wanting to scold him for making a scene in your office, but your mouth is bone dry. Hyuck clears his throat loudly from behind you, the typing on his computer having stopped completely and you know he is sitting wide-eyed staring at the two of you.

“Maybe a nice boy like that is what you really want though,” he finished, hand getting dangerously close to your soaked underwear before he’s suddenly leaning back against your cubicle again and you’re left with laboured breathing and a red face.

“See ya, Hyuckie,” he sings before turning on his heel, tossing his leather jacket over his shoulder, putting an extra bounce in his steps knowing everyone’s eyes (and especially yours) are watching his ass jiggle with each movement.

“I fucking hate that guy,” Hyuck mutters under his breath as you turn to give him a look, shaking your head with a deadpan look on your face. Hyuck’s face is flushed and when he stands to move to the copy machine, you swear you can see him half-hard in his pants.

“Yeah, you and me both,” you mutter under your breath as you return to your computer, seeing a message in the corner of your screen from your noisiest coworker, asking if Mark is single. You fire off that he’s not available, and definitely not to date them before pushing away from your desk angrily and practically stomping to the coffee machine in the back of the office. 

You loudly manoeuvre the machine, inserting your favorite roast and preparing your cup with sugar and a little creamer. Your core is still throbbing and you try to think of anything that will distract you from the filthy thoughts flying through your mind, images of Mark pushing you up against the shelves of the supply closet with rolls of paper towels crashing down around you as he pounds into you.

You’re pulled back to the present as he suddenly slides into you without warning, not having heard him pull away from you at the edge of the bed to slide on a condom or remove his clothes.

He towers over you for a moment before dropping to his elbows in a smooth motion, arching his back to thrust up into you, gripping the small of your back to lift your ass off the bed, his hips colliding with yours with each thrust.

You feel your eyes roll back at the feeling of him pounding into your g spot and can’t help the incoherent ramblings that tumble from your now chapped lips. You drop your tongue down to wet them, accidentally making eye contact with him as you do. The look in his eyes shifts briefly as you feel yourself clench around his cock, rolling your hips as a particularly whiny moan erupts in your throat.

Before you can move again, he dips down, capturing your lips in his, causing your breath to catch in your chest in surprise. You barely have a chance to close your eyes and notice his eyes are wide open as he kisses you, a blank look held there, without an ounce of intimacy or lust.

You pull your eyes shut at this severe red flag as you angle your head to deepen the kiss, reaching up to brush your fingertips against the buzzed hair at the back of his head. He lets your tongue push into his mouth and warmly caress his while he grips your ass, leaving handprints. You know this moment won’t last and you know it will be weeks before his lips even brush yours again so you try to burn the feeling into your memory.

The push and pull, the struggle for power and the upper hand - it’s something you dread but equally something you crave. You’ve found something dangerous and evil in Mark Lee and you’re playing with fire every moment you open your legs and heart to him. But you can’t stop yourself and he knows that you would do anything for him at this point. He has you right where he wants you and you willingly let him take every shred of dignity you once had. You’re a desperate, horny, moth drawn to the flame.

That is, if the flame drove a souped up two seater and had a bubble butt.

--

[m4ctavish]

Alejandro Vargas — 141. (Pt. 1)

Masterlist.

Pairing : Alejandro Vargas/GN! Reader

Desc : Developing interest in a 141 soldier wasn’t exactly on Alejandro’s bingo card but here we are.

A/N : I’m here for the Alejandro love. Also, 1) ¿Nuevo perrito faldero? = New lapdog?

Alejandro Vargas :

The moment you stepped off the transport helo and onto the airstrip, Alejandro’s eyes were on you.

There was just something about you that drew his attention and he couldn’t quite place it. Was it your gaze? Perhaps the way you carried yourself? Or was it the way you tilted your head at him in silent inquiry?

He brushes it off as simple curiosity, though. You were something new in a place of familiarity and it was just human nature to be curious about the unknown, nothing more.

But it could never just be that, could it?

You were quite curious about him as well, though. He was one of Laswell’s many contacts but he was a new face, one you were inclined to learn more about.

On the drive through Las Almas, the two of you exchange stories from your time in the service with you telling about some of your near death experiences in the 141, as well as some of the more absurd moments (things like free falling out of a transport helo, hanging out of a moving vehicle, etc.); Alejandro inquires about how you came to work under Taskforce 141. (It’s not really that exciting as it may sound though. Price presented you an offer that’d make use of your skills and you accepted, nothing more nothing less.)

Aside the raw magnetism you seem to emanate, Alejandro is drawn to your efficiency in the field. He likes the way you work. (He’s watching you intently as you kick down the door to a building, a stun grenade being thrown in to the fray soon thereafter. Moments later, you’re cleaning up house with a few quick but well aimed shots, a sharp, “Floors clear. Moving to next level,” following suit)

On the trails through the mountains, you’re following close behind him, careful not to lose your footing on the rocky incline. This isn’t exactly how you imagined your week would be going; running from the Mexican Army, sliding down some countryside trails with bullets raining down on you from every angle. But some things never go according to plan, do they? (And to be fair, you signed up for this.)

If you do lose your footing, he’ll be sure to pull you upright with a playful but subtly flirty, “Falling for me already, eh?”

When it comes to the drop off of the cliffside, you’re following right after him, “I HOPE YOU’RE RIGHT ABOUT THIS, COLONEL!” The wind is whipping past your face and your heart is pounding with adrenaline as the water below you continued to get closer and closer as you descended. Alejandro hit the water sooner than you did, surfacing just moments before you breached the water’s surface and were sent under. It’s absolutely fucking freezing and you’re soaked, but you’re alive.

I feel like his interest would build gradually but I also don’t think it’d be anything serious yet. I don’t think he’d be announcing his love for you by the weeks end considering the short amount of time the campaign took place over but I think it’d still give him enough time for him to be like, “wow, this person is cool. maybe i should talk to them more when we aren’t at risk of dying.”

What’d really get him though is if you actively went out of your way to protect one of his people and/or him. Be it by pulling them behind cover or tending to his wounds if it’s just the two of you. (The two of you are sitting in a building, with you crouched beside Alejandro as he propped up against a wall. You’re tending to a wound on his upper arm, a tense silence washing over the two of you. You’re keeping pressure on it with your left hand as your other scoured around for whatever it was you were looking for; preferably some wrap and gauze. He’s wincing every time you shift your fingers; you’re trying your hardest not to hurt him but it’s a bit hard to avoid. A quiet, “ ‘M sorry,” escapes you as you shift a bit closer, finally having found whatever it was that you were looking for. He gives an affirmative, “Hm.” He’s trying to distract himself from the pain with the way your hands move, gloved fingers now stained a deep crimson. When he finds himself unable to look at your bloodied hands any longer, he’ll find himself looking at the way your eyes glance this way and that way, as well as the color of them. “Got me good, no?” The question isn’t exactly directed at you but you find yourself huffing a small laugh and shaking your head, “If they were any better, you might be dead right now.”)

Meeting Valeria/El Sin Nombre is when things get interesting and somewhat difficult. She picks up on the way the two of you share a few glances every now and then almost instantly, sending Alejandro a curt, “¿Nuevo perrito faldero?” (1) Of course what’s going on between you and Alejandro is nothing serious yet and if anything is just back and forth banter with some subtle flirting, but the fact that she picked up on it that quickly is enough for him to get defensive fairly quickly. You know better than to respond to her and her ribbing— she just wants a reaction out of you. (But does knowing that stop you from responding? That’s up to you ig)

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ PINING EDDIE YOU SAY??? i wrote a text post and then decided to fic it . (leslie knope voice; i'm big enough to admit i'm often inspired by myself)

for my 911 kiss roulette a kiss out of spite

buddie - (one side of) feelings realisation bonus 118 sticking it to the maneosis also on ao3

-

There's a muffled tirade of spluttering and hollering down below and then - “HAN! PANIKKAR! GET BACK HERE. BUCKLEY!!!!” - and Buck launches himself into the kitchen; in a jumble of laughing limbs with splotches of yellow and pink cornstarch gulal powder as bright as hibiscus splattered all over him. Adrenaline and mischief gleam in his eyes.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie-” he beckons. “Come here. Kiss me, quick!”

“What?” Eddie's baffled, but he's already moving, because it's Buck and of course he is. “Operation Holi Festival worked great. Gerrard's like, a millimetre away from admitting defeat. I reckon if we can get him with this he'll go hide in his office for the rest of shift. Or have a rage aneurysm. Either way, we'll be free. Come on, please?”

“I don't know if this is a good idea,” Hen objects, but the stomping footsteps portending the arrival of (a very, very ticked off) Gerrard are already on their way up.

Eddie is already nodding. Because it's Buck, and of course he is.

“Threetwoone, make it count!” Buck cries, and he leaps across the space between them to kiss his best friend with the world's biggest smile on his face.

And at first, Eddie thinks, that's just what he's doing. The more tender and perfect the kiss is, the better it works. For the bit, of course. The way his hands pull Buck's hips toward him like they've been doing this for years, that's just good acting. The way his lips chase Buck's and draw things out, unspeakably desperate for those extra few seconds for reasons he can't yet comprehend, well it's surely because he's just enjoying letting the old bigot stew in it isn't he – never mind the fact that Gerrard could hardly be farther from his thoughts.

No, his thoughts are consumed by Buck, Buck, Buck. Eddie knows more than most what it's like to have his life flash before his eyes and this is a lot like that. It's a grenade blast and a gunshot and a lightning strike and the brightest blue eyes in the entire world. It's the world-rending sound of screaming for him. It's the name scratched into his will. It's the familiar smile and the laughter he knows with his eyes closed; it's running down the footpath; it's making his son smile; it's handmade lasagne steaming with love, and pulling faces, and throwing popcorn, and falling asleep on his couch together. Maybe it's waking up together too, he thinks. Maybe it's forever.

And then it's over.

And Buck's laughing as he pulls away - all but cackling as Gerrard shouts meaningless abuse, neutralised by the rainbow splattered across him; his uniform dunked in orange and purple and bright sky blue, and a well aimed burst of pink tangled all in his moustache. His face is nearly a matching colour of fuchsia as – just as Buck predicted – he storms off to his office to sulk, or fume, or whatever will keep him out of their hair for the moment. An equally gulal-drenched Chim and Ravi join them at last, and Buck is caught up high-fiving and gesturing with them an emphatic group retelling of the story. He doesn't seem to notice that he's struck such a chord. Small mercies, Eddie thinks, since he still hasn't found it in himself to move.

(“What do you want?” Buck had asked him, not too long ago.

And now he knows, it's this, this, this.)

Across the room, Buck takes out his phone and urges Ravi and Chim into the frame for a photo. He's probably sending it to Tommy. Sharing the love.

It feels at once like he's flying and being shot out of the sky.

Hen meets his eyes, pain and sympathy.

“Uh oh,” she murmurs.

He has to agree.