#it ran away from me

[peppermintquartz]

Internet hug because this kind of sucks! If you would like:

Buck doesn't let Tommy just break up with him without a fight and they have an actual discussion about why Tommy can't be Buck's first And his last.

Buck remains frozen in his chair until the door clicks shut, at which he leaps up and yanks it open.

The force which he uses must have surprised Tommy, who is just a few steps away in the corridor.

"Don't you dare leave," Buck snaps out and grabs the older man's wrist. His vehemence catches Tommy off guard too, it seems, because Tommy lets him drag them back inside the loft without any resistance.

Once they're inside, Buck shuts and leans his back against the front door.

"Buck-"

"Evan! I am Evan to you," Buck corrects. His voice is frantic, nearly angry. Good. He is caught between fury and desperation anyway. "And you don't get to tell me how I may feel in the future. Like I can't tell you how you may feel in the future." He gulps. "We're first responders, Tommy. We may die on our next shifts. Can you predict that? Or maybe, maybe you get in your truck, and the next thing you know, some idiot SUV crashes into you. Or this building collapses."

Tommy makes an abortive motion to move forward but stops. "Buck-"

"Call me that again and I will hit you, I swear to God," Buck snarls. He's fighting back tears. "You know why I let you call me Evan."

"Because that's how you introduced yourself to me," Tommy said quietly.

Buck takes three strides forward and grabs Tommy by his shirt to pull him close. "Because I love you!"

It's the first time he's said it.

It feels right. It feels like fire and it feels like comfort and it feels like home.

"I, Evan Buckley, love you, Tommy Kinard, and I want this relationship with you to be my forever," he declares, staring right into Tommy's storm-blue eyes. When Tommy averts his gaze, Buck cups his cheek and makes direct eye contact again. "What are you really afraid of, Tommy? Because I know that your breaking up with me isn't because you're afraid of breaking your heart." He swallows, his throat already in pain. "Because your heart is breaking right now, and mine as well."

Tears are racing down both their faces. Tommy licks his lips and shudders as he bows his head. "I'm sorry. It's just... I told myself, I was moving at your pace, and I really thought I was ready, but now, it's so fast, and I'm not sure I can be what you want, Evan. I don't know if I can be what you want, and I don't want to fall short and be told I'm not good enough, not again-"

Buck kisses Tommy quiet. It feels exactly as it should. Like this is what their lips are made for.

"Thomas Kinard," Buck whispers, "you silly, stupid, self-sabotaging man."

"Evan..."

Leaning his forehead against Tommy's, Buck continues, "You worry you're not enough? I worry I'm too much. Don't you see? We're meant for each other. We complement each other, Tommy, in our strengths and our flaws, and you're enough for me, okay? You're who I want. You are who I need. You are. You take care of me the way I need to be, you let me be who I am, late night research and curses and eulogies to a dead dude and everything, and I honestly forgot where I was going with that, except that I don't want you to walk out of my life just because some voice in your head tells you a lie."

He stops talking. He's still cupping Tommy's face, still breathing his air.

Tommy nudges his nose against Buck's. "You really want me?" His voice is small, nervous.

"Yes, you idiot. Which part of 'I love you' are you not hearing? I love you, I am in love with you."

Another tremble shake through Tommy's frame, and he places his hands on Buck's waist. "I love you, Evan. I'm in love with you." He sniffles, and then chuckles damply. "God. We're both so snotty and gross right now."

"And whose fault is that?" Buck teases, his voice nasal and his throat sore. He slides his hands down, face to jaw to neck to broad shoulders. "You don't have to move in. But stay, okay? I need you to stay. To choose me. Not the lying liar in your brain."

"I'll stay. I'll stay until-"

"There is no until." Buck is adamant. "It's you, Tommy."

Tommy nods, smiling, and then huffs a short laugh. "Actually, you should move in with me. I have way more space than you, and a car lift and a Muay Thai setup. Eddie will kill me if I give all that up for this place."

"Can't have Eddie killing the man I love now." Buck brushes his nose along the side of Tommy's. "Okay. I'll move in with you."

Tommy kisses him, this time lingering, an unspoken question. Buck smiles into the kiss, and leads Tommy up the stairs to the bed.

[hedwig221b]

No pressure. NO PRESSURE WHATSOEVER. But when do you think you’ll be posting your newest fic. It’s been on my mind an unhealthy amount. I’m so so excited for it. If you don’t wanna say that’s totally fine tho. I love your work!!!!! 💙💙💙💙💙

Oh if only I knew...

Lmfao sorry 🥺 I am writing this fic nearly every day, it currently sits at 51k. I'm crawling towards the finale. My estimate is February if everything goes well.

I'M SO EXCITED AS WELL FOR YOU TO READ IT 💖 I hope it lives up to the expectation and the small amount of hype I created.

Also 💖💖💖💖 thank you darling!

[proffbon]

YOU HAVE BEEN WAYLAID BY ENEMIES AND MUST DEFEND YOURSELF!

The enemies: One (1) neutral polar bear

[stripedscribe]

2 for mattfoggy

2. things you say through your teeth. Under a readmore for content - please check tags

Lies weren’t necessarily a bad thing, if they protected the other person.

“Of course I didn’t forget our anniversary.” They could be small, and sweet, and good. Lies had to be allowed, where they didn’t harm.

“I’m fine.” It was only a small wound, it would be healed in a few days.

“Of course I’m happy to see them.” The truth would hurt.

“I wasn’t out out. Honestly, I tripped down the stairs.” He was supposed to be on bed rest. He was pretty sure Foggy could tell he was lying.

“I’m almost there. Keep running.”

The words burned. The lies burned, and he hoped Foggy couldn’t tell through the phone how his hands shook. How he’d begged Foggy to run from the danger when Matt didn’t plan on doing the same. “I’m right behind you, get through the doors. The cops are here, get to them.”

Brett was out there. Brett would be there for Foggy.

He was floors away. The shooter far too close for comfort, and innocents in the building still. But Foggy was almost out, and those in the building were hiding away. It was a fluke, that Foggy had excused himself to the bathroom as the same time shots rang out some levels above them. It was easy to phone him, to tell him to stay away, and get away.

There was fabric on the wall, some sort of flag, and Matt ripped it into a makeshift mask. “I’ll be there in a minute Foggy.”

“Matt? Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t. You’re safe, right? You got out?” He could hear the other escapees being ushered behind the police cars, shaking voices and worried words.

“Yes. And you’re supposed to be right behind me.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be there in- I can stop him Foggy. Before he hurts anyone else.”

“Matt.” Foggy spoke to someone else, the words almost muffled. “Matt’s still in there. Yes. Yes you know he is Brett. An idiot. Matt. What floor are you on, what floor is he on? Help this way. Just give us the information, you don’t have to be a martyr.”

“We’re both on the 18th still. I’m alone in the conference room. He’s in the hallway. I can stop him.”

He dropped the phone, hearing Foggy begging. Pleading with him. “I’ll be fine Foggy. I promise.” He wasn’t used to the way these lies burned, the way his teeth clenched around the words. The shooter wouldn’t be expecting an attack, was walking these halls like he owned the world. Overconfidence was a hell of a drug, and had been far too many wannabe villains downfalls. Would be this ones.

He hadn’t meant for the words he’s spoken to Foggy to have been a lie. Had been expecting the normal monologue a gun-wielding enemy seemed to love. Not someone quite so trigger-happy, not someone who actually knew how to handle a gun.

The bullet was never supposed to hit him. He should have dodged.

He always dodged.

Until he didn’t.

And the shooter was hurtling down the hallway, and Matt had to be thankful that no one else had been hurt, that this had spooked him.

But it hurt. It ached, and he was scared. He hadn’t meant to lie.

It wasn’t-

He could get to his phone. He could crawl, one arm useless and broken and bleeding.

He could hear it. Could hear Foggy still on the line, could hear his frantic pleas and the echoing noises of sirens through the speaker.

“Foh?” Every breath was forced, red heat throbbing around each bullet wound.

“Matt?! I heard gunshots, are you okay?”

There was a temptation to lie. To protect him and say it would all be okay.

“You were right.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the apology Foggy deserved, but words weren’t going to work for him here. He sat on the floor, leaning against the back of the chairs they’d all complained about.

“...What was I right about?”

“’m ‘n idiot.”

“Matt.” His voice was a low whisper. “Matt what happened? How are you hurt, can you get out?”

“No. I don’ - I can try. Don’ leave.” If he could get to the elevator, there might be hope. There might be help. He could rely on that to get out, or at least down.

Deep in his heart, he didn’t think he was making it. Thought this might be yet another lie. He’d try for Foggy though. He’d try. He owed that much to him.

“Brett?”

“Yeah he’s here. You moving Matty? You getting out of there?”

“’s good.” Foggy had someone. If- when- the worst happened. He wasn’t sure what colour the scratchy carpet had been before, but he was surely staining it red with blood as he crawled along the floor, useless arm cradled to his chest, phone resting on top of it where he could hear Foggy’s voice.

“’levator.” He took a deep breath before reaching to fumble for the down button. The seconds where it whirred to life were antagonising long, and he tried to shake the dust of unconsciousness from his hazy mind. “C’n you get me?”

“I got you. You’re going to be okay Matt, okay, stay with me. Save your energy, but stay with me.” The doors slid closed behind him, and he couldn’t remember dragging himself into the box but he was slumped in the corner. The blood on his usable hand made it difficult to read the buttons, and he hoped he was heading to the ground floor. Hoped he was heading to safety.

It was easy to lull himself into the sense of relief. That he was out.

“Foh?”

“Yeah Matty?”

“I’m sorry. If- if I-” His teeth chattered and he felt icy cold. This wasn’t good. “’m sorry I-”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to apologise, you’re going to be okay, okay? Listen to me, you’re going to be alright.” With a clunk, the elevator hit the ground floor, and the door opened. People rushed towards him, paramedics, and with it Foggy, caught up in the rush.

“We got you. You’re going to be okay Matty.”

He wasn’t used to hearing Foggy lie.

[fandomfloozy]

The disheartening part about entering a fandom so late is the copious amounts of deactivated accounts. Just so many pieces of art and works of fiction that only still exist through reblogs from those still active despite the lack of new content for the series in the past few years.

And part of me feels as if I have no room to complain about it. I have an endless trove of other active users who are willing and able to provide over a decade's worth of drawings, paintings, stories, thought pieces, and even emotions spanning countless days and months and years. I'm in a very unique post-discovery position where I don't feel immediately empty after finishing the story, I just have... fandom. I probably couldn't consume all of it if I tried.

Yet there's something so frustrating about finding a single part of an anthology of comic strips and not being able to find the rest because the account it came from doesn't exist anymore. There comes this intense rage that says, "Why couldn't you just leave these with us? Would it have been so hard to stay inactive without effectively destroying your little piece of the internet? Why would you deprive us of being able to enjoy what you left behind?" All over one account, despite the trove of other ones I have at my disposal. It's ridiculous but it's still so upsetting.

At the end of the day, though, I can understand it, even if it makes me mad. They say what you put out into the world, by the way of art at least, doesn't belong to you anymore once it's out there. If that were true, I wouldn't be sitting here, stewing in my own irritation. This artist had the power to take everything they put out into the world away from everyone. The whole thing feels like the biggest exemplification of autonomy. Freedom from external influence. The decision one can make to just erase themselves must be pretty freeing. And in a way, it's very poetic to exist only through the whispers of those who loved what you did. Immortalized through those who still remain.

[mild-and-hammered]

The dare was stupid. Jason and Roy werent even drunk yet and, frankly, Jason had only started playing truth or dare in the hopes that Roy would pick dare and Jason could get a kiss.

“Tell Bruce you love him.”

“Damn, like to his face?”

“Nah, you’d chicken out if I did that, give him a call.”

Jason groaned. “Fuckin’ fine, but I’m not calling the Batphone, that’s for emergencies.”

Roy leaned back on the fire escape, streetlights turning his hair into a burning halo. He took a puff of his cigarette. It was a habit that Jason hated, but, like this, with Roy tilting his head back and exhaling blue smoke into the night…he couldn’t really bring himself to mind.

“You know, nobody ever believes me when I tell them you’re a fucking goody-two-shoes,” Roy said. “Call whatever phone, but tell Bruce you love him, double dare ya.”

Jason dialed Bruce’s personal cell, trying to remember the last time they’d talked. He’d shown up for thanksgiving, but not stayed…had it been that long? Hadn’t he said anything to Bruce since then?

Red Hood and the Bat had had some flaming fucking rows since then. Batman had even (humiliatingly) managed to tie Red Hood up to keep him from brutally murdering a predator. Batman had then beat the ever-loving shit out of the creep and sent him to jail, where he would likely be brutally murdered anyway. Prisoners didn’t take likely to his kind of crimes.

Humiliatingly for Batman, a month ago Red Hoof had gotten the drop on him, sending him on a wild goose chase while he…took care of some loose ends.

Still. That was Red Hood and Batman, not Bruce and Jason. Where most people stood there wasn’t any difference…but the masks made all the difference.

The phone rang and rang. Eventually Jason got the voicemail box.

“Hey Bruce,” he said. “It’s Jason. I— I love you.” And then he hung up.

Roy was watching him, cigarette smoke curling from the butt he held loosely in his fingers.

“Okay your turn,” Jason said, feeling a little like a bug under a magnifying glass. “Truth or dare.”

“Truth.”

“If I asked you to kiss me would you do it?”

A grin spread, slow and dangerous, across Roy’s lips. He set down his beer, stubbed out his cigarette with his other hand, and leaned in, eyes like a wildfire.

Jason burned up as their lips met.

…

Sometime later, Jason raised his head from where it lay in Roy’s lap, calloused fingers paused in their gentle exploration of the white streak in his hair.

“Is my phone around here?”

“Mmh, not in your pocket? Here let me feel…” Roy said, grinning as he slid his hands onto Jason’s hips.

“No really, where’d I leave it?”

“On the fire escape maybe?”

Jason found it.

Three missed calls and one text. All from Bruce.

He showed Roy. “I can leave it, right?”

“Nah, Jay, play ‘em back.”

Jason clicked the first voicemail.

“Jason” Bruce’s voice said, sounding out of breath. “Sorry I just missed your call, are you alright? Where are you? I’ll come get you just tell me, I promise.”

Something coke flowed in Jason’s veins.

The second message wasn’t better. “No Red Hood sightings tonight, are you captured? It’s your phone that made the call, are you safe? When I traced it it said you were at your apartment.

Jaybird don’t do anything…drastic, please, if you need someone to talk to it—it doesn’t have to be me but…please tell me you’re alright? Please kiddo, just let me know you’re alright”

Jason swallowed around a guilty lump in his throat as Roy pressed the third and final voicemail.

“Baby bird please, I love you, people love you. I need you to be okay, just hold on. Jason I love you so much just hold on. I can’t lose you again.”

Jason stared at his knees. “Shit.”

His eyes were burning, tears leaving trails down his cheeks that he hadn’t even felt overflow.

“Text.” Roy said, holding the phone so Jason could see.

I’m coming, Jason, I love you.

“Crap, he’ll be here any second thinking I’ve…I dunno, kicked it or gone Joker or something.”

“Call him right now, tell him you’re okay.”

The buzzer for Jason’s apartment rang.

“Nevermind,” Roy said. “Tell him in person.” He hit the accept button before Jason had time to react.

Bruce came through the door seconds later, in his Bruce Wayne suit, eyes wild. Jason knocked him back into the door frame, putting the wind from Bruce’s lungs with the force of his hug.

“Sorry Bruce, I’m okay, I didn’t mean for you to worry, I’m okay.”

Bruce’s hand was on the back of Jason’s neck, the other petting his hair, then he pulled Jason back, looking him up and down.

“You’re okay?”

“I’m okay, really Da— Bruce.”

“Jaybird,” Bruce whispered, grabbing Jason back into a fierce hug. “Months of nothing, wanting to give you space, wanting to reach out and not knowing how, and then I got your message and I though…”

“I know Bruce, I’m sorry. I really meant it, though, I—I do.”

“I love you too, Baby Bird. And you can call me any time. Please, though, context next time or a heart attack will take me out before a villain gets the chance.”

“If the amount of coffee you drink hasn’t gotten to your heart yet, I doubt a voicemail will,” Jason griped into Bruce’s shoulder. His eyes were still a little wet and he hid them conveniently against Bruce’s peacoat.

“Don’t be so sure, kiddo I…I thought I was going to lose you. Again. I kept imagining what might have happened, what I’d find when I got here and—“ Bruce took a shuddering breath in. “But you’re okay so it’s all okay.”

“I’m okay,” Jason said.

Roy stepped out of the tiny hallway of the apartment. It was a testament to how worked up Bruce had been that he didn’t seem to have noticed him until that point. Jason drew back from the hug at last.

“Mr. Wayne.”

“Fuck, kid just call my Bruce, I’ve known you for years.”

Roy grinned, flipping his ball cap back and forth in his hands “Sure thing, Bruce.”

“Jesus, Roy, what happened to you? It looks like someone went at your neck with a Hoover.”

Jason buried his red face in his hands.

“We’re you—oh. I’m sorry…” Bruce coughed. “Was I…interrupting?”

“No! I mean…not like, we weren’t actually having—we just started…”

Bruce coughed. “Sure. Um, why don’t I get out of your hair… sorry for ruining, um. Anyway, you’re invited to breakfast, Sunday. Always. I’d like you to come if…if you want to, Jaybird. I love you.”

Bruce stepped toward the door.

“I love you too,” Jason said, grabbing another deep hug. “I’ll come to breakfast.”

“Roy’s invited too, of course.”

“Thanks,” Jason said, barely audible against Bruce’s coat.

“Kiddo,” Bruce whispered. “Do you have condoms?—“

“Dad!”

Prompt:

Jason (maybe on a dare, maybe because he’s loopy etc.) calls Bruce (or any of the Bats, really) to tell him he loves him.

Bruce is convinced Jason is either dying or about to.

[littlefankingdom]

Bruce died(?) again

Jason: Well, it's my turn.

Dick: What are you talking about?

Jason: Everytime Bruce is gone, one of you starts to act just like him, pushing everyone away, acting as only you can be right, and fighting anyone that gets in your way. Dick did it, Tim did it, even Cass kind of did it. So, this time, I will do it.

Tim: Isn't that how you act all the time?

Jason: Whoa, fuck you. You are so banned from historical drama movie nights.

[ishikawayukis]

wanted to do a simple eye look and yet................ why am i like this

[bibxrbie]

"Luke Skywalker isn’t like the old Jedi. He saves Vader with his attachments!”

Wrong!

Luke Skywalker, at the end of Return of the Jedi, after his confrontation with the Emperor drags Darth Vader through the destructing Death Star. He’s desperate, knuckles white under the heavy weight of his father’s body, a little boy dragging his dad to safety. He sets Vader down for a moment, to catch his breath or maybe to get a better grip. He goes to grab Vader again, but Vader, uncomfortable and in pain, asks Luke to take off the mask. He wants to see Luke through his eyes instead of the eyes Palpatine built for him. Luke refuses, says that removing the mask is a sure way for Vader to die. Luke doesn’t want Vader dead, he wants Vader alive. Not to hold him accountable for his many evil acts, but for the same reason why Luke Skywalker can’t kill Darth Vader; Vader is his father and Luke loves him.

And yet, after a moment, Luke removes Vader’s mask. He doesn’t want to, he hesitates, but he removes the mask with enough slowness to allow Vader to take it back. In that moment, Luke sets aside his desire for Vader in his life, sets aside his desire to see him live, and sets aside his entire mission, the reason he was even on the Death Star in the place. In his compassion for his father, Luke stays with Vader until he dies. It is this moment where we see him be the best damn Jedi he can be. I’d even argue that this moment is the greatest example of non-attached love we see. Because Luke lets Vader go! He lets his father die, and in some ways, by removing the mask, he too kills Vader, he stays with him until his last moment, gives him the kindness of granting his last wish and finally chooses Vader.

And Luke doesn’t have to do this. If Luke Skywalker’s love for his father was an attachment, he would ignore Vader and continue dragging him to the escape pod, put his desire for a father as his central focus and ignore Vader’s wants and discomfort. Maybe he would even save him. But he doesn’t. Instead, he watches as Vader dies.

He builds a Jedi burial for his father and watches it burn the remnants of Vader and Anakin Skywalker away. He mourns Vader, he mourns what they could’ve had as father and son, considers what ifs and maybe-if-I-did-this. Vader/ Anakin is released from his mortal body, from his ‘crude matter’ and Luke lets him go. He says one final goodbye to Anakin. Then, he joins Leia, Han, Chewie, Lando, and the rest of the Rebels and celebrates their victory. He lives in the present and celebrates what he has instead of what he lost.

Luke Skywalker is THE Jedi. Everything about Luke Skywalker serves as the foundational cornerstone of the Jedi, everything about the Jedi as a culture and philosophy is reflected in his character. Luke’s desire for the New Jedi Order isn’t to throw away the values of the old Order, but to vitalise them, breathe life back into dying lungs, and rebuild a path that people set out on their way to destroy. (Yes, his Order is different from the Old, but that’s because it has to be. He doesn’t have the resources or the safety of the Old Order.) The philosophies of the Jedi are difficult and they aren’t for everyone, and like the perfect Jedi that Luke is, he struggles and stumbles and sometimes he even rejects it. But, no matter how far he falls, it is a way of life he chooses again and again and again. It is a way of life that welcomes him back each time

[luuxxart]

✨⭐️🎄and so he finds himself utterly mesmerized by the kid from Christmas Island 🎄⭐️✨

[vanilla-extracter]

horses :)

[yuanology]

m!reader fingering afab!geto while being 100% aware gojo's watching through the crack of the door so he decides to show gojo how sensitive his friend is and geto ends up squirting?? (lowkey embarrassed i wrote this, but yknow ignore it if you want😅)

what the Fuck .

gojo satoru was not a virtuous man. far from it, in fact. as a self-made god, satoru existed on a plane far above morality and whatever other human concept was created to define right and wrong. within infinity and the insurmountable power residing in it, there was only the man who wielded it and the humanity confining it.

even so, satoru still knew deep within his heart—the trembling, still beating thing residing underneath the constricts of his ribs—that he should not be doing this; that he should not be staying.

but satoru was not a virtuous man, and so he stayed.

because there, past the thin crack of the door, was his best friend—the same one he had known from childhood, the same one who had walked with him through the ins and outs of darkness—with his clothes stripped clean, thrown messily around the room, both of his feet planted flat on the bed, and his back arching off the mattress in a pleasured arch. between his legs, slick and heavy with evidence of his own debauchery, stood you—fully dressed, only the first two buttons of your collar open.

satoru knew of you. it was impossible not to. you were older than the both of them. when they were freshly entering their first year, you'd already matured where you existed in your third one. satoru himself had barely spared you a glance but in retrospect, he did remember suguru mentioning once or twice that he was training with you on the side.

fuck, satoru thought, dazed. if he had known this was what 'training' involved, he would have listened a bit better on what suguru had to say about you.

because you were holding his thighs apart, well-practiced fingers relentlessly pushing past suguru's slick folds, producing the loudest squelching noises. satoru couldn't see very well from this angle, but he could hear the sounds his best friend was making; fucked up and high-pitched, whiney in a way satoru had never heard him speak before.

suguru cried out your name, breathless and panting. "please," he was begging you, sounding close to tears. "please, no more."

you leaned in, mouth brushing over suguru's chest as you whispered your response. satoru couldn't hear you, even as his ears strained to catch a wisp of your words. but whatever it was, it must not be good because suguru is letting out a loud whine, one the turned into the strangled beginnings of a scream when satoru noticed that you had begun to pick up pace.

oh my god.

just as satoru took the first hesitant half step backwards, swaying in place, he hears your drawled out voice—cutting, brave, unyielding.

"now, where do you think you're going, satoru?"

satoru stiffened, and he realised that he wasn't the only one. suguru did, too—his body locking up as a new flush crawled across his skin. satoru had half the mind to apologise to his best friend in his head, a chant of i'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msuchashittyfriend looping in his head as if it could forgive him for not only being a pervert, but also for intruding on his best friend's secret.

satoru cleared his throat. he wanted to make an excuse, to apologise, but all that could tumble out of his throat was a hoarse, "um."

suguru let out a high whine at the sound of satoru's voice, as if he was spurred on by his audience. his back arched, his mouth parting as a deep sound escaped him. satoru watched, mesmerised, as the muscle on suguru's body rippled at the motion, your hands never once faltering in its ministrations.

"come here for a minute, satoru." your voice was calm, collected and almost clinical. as if you didn't practically have your entire fist buried in between suguru's slick folds, your thumb nudging at where satoru guessed must be suguru's clit if suguru's high pitched whimpers were anything to go by. "i need your opinion on something."

satoru swallowed thickly as he was drawn into the room, his motions dumb as if he was a mere puppet on your string. as he moved closer, he realised that there was more to the scene that he couldn't earlier see from his post by the door.

suguru's cunt was fucking drooling, slick dripping all over the place as his hips canted in the air as if to escape and to move closer to the pleasure. his hole would no doubt he gaping if you pulled your hand out, hungry for more. your thumb covered his clit wholly, rubbing at it mercilessly.

satoru felt himself twitching in his pants, throat working around the words stuck in his lungs.

"what do you need?" satoru asked, his voice wrecked. he would be embarrassed by it if it wasn't promptly drowned out by the sound of suguru's choked out noises.

without thinking, satoru moved a hand to rest on suguru's thigh, at the sight of his best friend in distress. he didn't realise what a great mistake it was until suguru did a full body shudder, a ragged gasp leaving him. satoru couldn't fucking breathe.

clearly, you didn't share the same sentiment because you were speaking again. "suguru wants me to stop, but i personally think he can come one more time," you said casually, as if this was a common conversation to have with just about anyone.

suguru let out a weak whimper, pathetic and desperate in a way satoru never knew him to be, at the sound of your words. you must have been trying to convince him about this for a while then.

stiffly, satoru nodded, not quite knowing how to react. "okay," he said dumbly.

he wasn't looking at you, too entranced by the sight of suguru with his legs spread wide open and his messy cunt being on full display, but he could hear the smile in your voice when you said, "well, what do you think? can he come one more time?"

satoru opened his mouth, a half-baked answer on the tip of his tongue, when he was interrupted by the sound of suguru's babbling.

"no. no, please. no more." there were tears in his eyes, dripping down his cheeks prettily, satoru noticed. suguru looked a mess, his hair a halo around his head and his hips lifted in the air as if he was nothing more than a cheap whore. satoru thought he was beautiful. "please. i can't. don't make me. please, please, please, pl—"

his words promptly turned into a loud scream, half-pained and half-pleasured, and satoru's head whipped around to look at the source of it. he swallowed thickly when his eyes dropped from suguru's face to his engorged clit, where your thumb was no longer rubbing at but rather, your earlier free hand was now gently tugging at the hood over it.

holy shit, satoru thought, his head spinning. because he just watched you pinch suguru's clit. you pinched suguru's clit. judging from the nonchalance of your gesture and the way suguru didn't try to fight back, instead canting his hips higher, this was something that you did often.

satoru was going to die. holy shit.

"shh, suguru," you reprimanded, silencing suguru's desperate sobs with a gentle pat to his thigh. suguru sniffled, but he stopped letting out those depressing sounds. "it's not you i'm talking to."

suddenly reminded that he owed you the debt of an answer, he blurted out an answer before he could think twice. "he can," satoru replied. "he's an overachiever, the dumbass. he can come another time."

suguru let out a loud sob at his answer, one that sounded a lot like betrayal.

satoru couldn't properly apologise to him, though, because your lips were curling into a sharp grin, looking like a cat who caught the canary, and satoru couldn't help but think that maybe, he was just in as big of a trouble as suguru was. maybe, with his answer, satoru had condemned not just his best friend, but himself as well.

you pulled your hand out of suguru with a lewd squelch, one that made satoru flush all the way to the roots of his hair—and oh god, he hadn't even realised he could burn up even more—and the way that suguru whimpered, both devastated and relieved by the loss, wasn't helping.

you took a step backwards, letting suguru's body drop onto the mattress. you gestured towards the now empty space between suguru's thighs. "on your knees, satoru. hands behind your back."

satoru couldn't do anything but comply. he dropped to his knees, his hands behind his back and his eyes now at level with suguru's fucked out cunt. holy shit. suguru was twitching, his pretty clit engorged and swollen from the earlier abuse and fucking pierced apparently. satoru exhaled sharply at the sight, his breath fanning across suguru's folds, and earning himself a short, aborted whine from suguru. oh my god.

satoru almost flinched when he felt your hand card through his hair, tangling your fingers into the strands as he guided your face closer to suguru's gushing pussy. "go on," you ordered him, your voice gentled by the sound of melodious laughter. "eat him."

thank you for the meal, satoru thought dazedly as his face was guided closer and closer, until he was buried in suguru's cunt and lapping up the taste of his best friend.

the response was immediate—suguru's thighs started quivering on either side of satoru's head, moving to rest on satoru's shoulders and pulling him in as if to suffocate him. satoru didn't mind, taking that as an unspoken order to start eating his best friend out like his life depended on it.

he didn't bother with hesitating or testing the waters. he licked a broad strip up the length of suguru's cunt, dipping in between his folds to gather the slick there at the centre of his tongue. satoru moaned at the taste, and he was immediately greeted by the feeling of suguru's walls squeezing around him as suguru met him with his own weak whimper.

"suguru's already sensitive." that was you again. there was notable amusement in your voice. "want me to help you make him come faster?"

satoru should say no. he wanted to stay buried in suguru's cunt forever, eating his best friend out until he was shaking all over the place. he wanted to make his best friend feel so good that he stopped being satoru's suguru and instead started becoming your suguru with satoru instead.

but he could hear his best friend's pleas even above the sound of his pounding heartbeat, the sound of suguru's suffering, and he couldn't let this keep going for much longer.

he nodded, the bridge of his nose bumping over suguru's clit in the process. suguru's thighs squeezed around him, a whimper escaping, and satoru quickly drew circles on suguru's hips in apology.

you, on the other hand, didn't seem to have the same courtesy as you told him, "suck on his clit, then open your jaw wide."

satoru obeyed even though he didn't really understand why you were telling him to do that, knowing that you likely understood suguru's body more than he did in this matter.

he pursed his lips around suguru's clit, sucking on it firmly, before he let his jaw drop open.

oh.

oh, holy fuck.

because suguru was squirting directly into his mouth, making a mess out of the lower side of his face, and satoru could only kneel there, his mouth wide open as he swallowed all of his best friend's slick juices. his head was light, and he couldn't breathe—both from the suffocation and the fact that geto suguru, his best friend, his one and only, just fucking squirted into his mouth.

when suguru finally let him free, thighs unlocking from around his head and limply falling onto the edge of the bed. satoru leaned back, unable to process what just happened, when he heard you speak again.

"don't forget your manners, suguru."

it was quiet for a moment, then he heard the small, almost shy, voice of his best friend. "thank you, satoru," suguru mumbled.

"you're welcome," satoru replied, his voice sounding fucked over. he couldn't correct himself just yet, though, his head still reeling.

he was still on his knees as he watched you rearrange suguru on the bed, peppering soft kisses onto his face and his collarbone and his chest in stark contrast to the way you had treated him earlier. there was the lull of soft conversation passing between the both of you, one that satoru didn't try being a voyeur of.

he was content with just kneeling there, his head filled with cotton and static. he didn't even bother with touching himself, still too entranced by the feeling of this all happening.

finally, your footsteps drew close to him. he tilted his head as he watched you approach him. you cupped his chin, tilting his head back to meet your gaze.

"messy," you noted, but the corners of your mouth were quirked into a smile. "but suguru's always been messy." satoru didn't have any response to that, so he simply nodded stupidly. somehow, that must be the right answer because you laughed.

you took a step back, taking a seat onto the edge of the bed. satoru's eyes tracked your movement almost curiously. he frowned when you patted your lap, as if you were expecting something from him.

"over my knee," you said. "i think fifteen should do. usually, i'd give more, but i'm assuming you're new to the scene, hm? don't forget to count."

satoru blinked dumbly. he stayed rooted on his knees. "what?" he asked hoarsely.

you raised a brow at him. "oh, satoru," you said, your voice placating. "did you really think that i was going to let you go unpunished just like that? over my knee. fifteen spanks and i want you to count."

when he still did nothing, your gaze darkened and your voice grew firm. "now, satoru."

oh, satoru thought smartly.

swallowing thickly, he moved to comply.

[sgt-tombstone]

do you think the recruits make chuck norris type jokes about the 141?

lieutenant riley doesn't go hunting, because hunting implies the possibility of being unsuccessful. lieutenant riley goes killing.

one time sergeant mactavish threw a grenade and killed five enemies. and then it exploded.

sergeant garrick sleeps with a pillow under his gun.

captain price has a bear rug in his room. it's not dead, just scared like the rest of us.

oh my god, 100% yes

Everyone thinks it started with Ghost, but Price was the original hardcore spooky bastard (in a very Chuck Norris kind of way), especially after he got promoted to captain. All of the rookies who made those kind of jokes are gone now, though, so he hasn't heard a Norris joke in a while

Enter Simon Riley.

It starts out kinda small, just an exaggerated rumor every now and then (he wears a skull mask; no matter how terrifying he is, people are going to talk), but then someone brings back Ye Olde Chuck Norris Joke, just one, and the entire mess hall lights up

Everyone is SO CAREFUL not to let Ghost hear about it, especially not the rookie who originally brought it up. By the end of the week, every rookie on base is whispering them and giggling about it. They've gotten more and more outlandish, as jokes do, and because none of the 141 do themselves any favors, especially when they step off the plane from their most recent op covered head to toe in blood, guns little more than mangled pieces of metal, their gear nearly in tatters, but they're all smiling and laughing like they're out for a day at a theme park

Price loves it. It reminds him of his younger days, before he got strapped with so much desk duty, when he really struck fear in the hearts of friends and enemies alike. He's always been the monster in the dark for terrorists, but his years have softened him around allies. Hearing the rookies whisper wild jokes back and forth is incredibly nostalgic and very affirming for him

Gaz and Soap? They're in on it, 100%. They both heard about it almost immediately after it happened and all it took was a shared glance to decide to feed the flames. Whenever they have babysitting rookie training duty, they'll drop little tidbits of "lore", most of it fake but some of it true. They don't have to stretch the truth too much because they know the lunch break gossip the next day will have blown everything out of proportion anyway. Whenever they hear a rookie go, "well, I heard...", they'll always pipe up with, "that's not how it happened, here's what really happened..." and the rookies fall for it every time. They have a shared note where they keep their favorite jokes they hear around base

Ghost hates it. He's used to striking enough fear into the hearts of rookies that they stay approximately forty-seven feet away from him at all times because the very sight of him has them shaking in their boots, but as the jokes grew more bizarre, the fear has been replaced with amusement. It's an awed sort of amusement, but still. Every time he hears a rookie giggle behind his back, he can't help but feel a bit mocked. It's fine when he calls himself nothing but a tool in the army's hand, and he's gotten used to (and comfortable with) being seen as nothing more than a walking weapon, but there are enough true stories about him to garner fear and awe; he doesn't need people making up lies.

It all comes to a head when a rookie starts talking a little too loudly, probably unaware that Ghost is even in the room. It's something stupid, so stupid that it's not even funny, but then Soap butts into the conversation, and Ghost tenses. They meet each other's eyes and Soap keeps direct eye contact as he smirks and says, "In an average living room there are a thousand objects Ghost could use to kill you, including the room itself."

Which is, objectively, true. But there's a glint in Soap's eye, the sort of mischievousness that Ghost loves so much, and he realizes that Soap just gave him the perfect opportunity. Like bait in a perfectly hidden trap. Ghost steps close to the back of the unsuspecting rookie, surrounded by a gaggle of even more unsuspecting rookies, and leans down to whisper in his ear.

"And I'll use every last one of them on you if I ever hear another joke on base, Private."

God, he hopes he isn't a corporal.

Apparently he isn't because the man jumps almost two feet in the air, a choked-off scream escaping his lungs as he whips around to find Ghost standing far too close for comfort, staring him dead in the eyes.

"Me, sir?" He stutters out, and Ghost almost smiles at the fear in his voice. The other rookies shoot to their feet as well, already edging towards the exit but unwilling to take their eyes (or ears) off of the conversation.

"Yes, you," Ghost rumbles, deep and dangerous. "If I hear anyone make a Ghost joke, I will hunt you down and show you why they call me The Ghost."

The poor soldier stammers out an affirmative, or maybe an apology, but he and his friends are out the door before Ghost can really parse out the words, and then it's just him and Soap. Soap, who's grinning like a lottery winner, eyes ablaze.

"That was hot, sir."

"You're fucked up, MacTavish," Ghost grumbles, but he can't keep the smile off his face. Maybe he could have some fun with the 141 jokes after all...

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

No time to play. You are being sent away.

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[papanowo]

honestly getting to see spock go crazy go stupid saves this whole movie for me

[chronicowboy]

eddie needs to be held up by buck's big beefy arms and slammed against a wall whilst kissed so tenderly it brings tears to his eyes and then buck gets a little teary eyed too and they both whisper i love you at the exact same time before buck peppers every inch of eddie's face with soft kisses. this has now been prescribed to him by a myriad of professionals including a cardiologist, a therapist, his captain and a priest!