#they're silhouetted

[tgirlhawkins]

im working on a swordsmen drawing for ides of march idk if i'll get it done today but watch out for that

[savi0rr]

love the viktor with wife scenarios!! can u do one where they're on a date and COINCIDENTALLY (or not) jayce and mel found them!

prollt viktor saying "I genuinely dont know why my brain stops whenever I'm looking st you. Maybe I'm going crazy"

silly arguments and all

jayce finally realizes that viktor indeed has a wife

Sneaky Wife .ᐟ

Viktor x Fem! Wife! Reader

In which, planning dates can be a little difficult, having to sneak around and all. But in the end, it’s all worth it…kinda.

a/n: thank you, queen, for requesting I was starting to run out of ideas

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“Are you ready?” Viktor asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as he tilted his head to the side, his expression serious yet curious. He slowly rose from the bed, gripping his cane tightly, the faint creak of floorboards accompanying his movement. You nodded enthusiastically, wanting to convey your eagerness as you applied the final touches to your outfit at the vanity. “Yes!” you replied cheerfully, your excitement evident as you stood up to face him. With a playful smile, you twirled slowly, letting the fabric of your attire flow around you before your eyes landed back on him. 

Viktor remained silent for a moment, his gaze roving over your carefully chosen ensemble, taking in every detail from the subtle embellishments to the way the colors complemented you. He finally nodded, his voice a gentle murmur as he said, “Looks good,” though his eyes flickered to the side, betraying a hint of something unspoken.

With a playful smirk, you walked over to him, your confidence shining through. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” you teased, winking at him. However, the playful banter was met with an intense glare from Viktor. He huffed in response, his tone light but firm as he said, “Don’t push it,” before taking a step out of the room, the doorframe silhouetting his figure.

You giggled at his reaction, a lightness filling the air as you quickly followed after him. “Wait up!” you called out, your laughter ringing as you hurried to catch up. Viktor rolled his eyes at your antics, a suppressed smile threatening to escape despite his attempts at maintaining a façade of annoyance.

Meanwhile, in a different part of Piltover, Jayce had enlisted Mel to help him pick up some parts for a groundbreaking new project he was working on. However, these components were decidedly illegal in the city, necessitating a late-night excursion to retrieve them. The two of them walked cautiously down the quiet, dimly lit street, their eyes darting over their shoulders intermittently, ensuring they weren’t being followed.

Abruptly, Jayce halted, coming to a stop right in front of Mel, forcing her to pause as well. “Jayce?” she asked, an eyebrow arched in question, curiosity and concern mingling in her voice. The atmosphere grew thick with anticipation as a sense of urgency settled between them, both aware of the risks that loomed ahead.

“Shh!” Jayce hissed urgently as he quickly maneuvered Mel away from the open street, guiding her behind the rough stone wall of an old building that stood in shadow. The air was thick with tension as he peered around the corner, prying his eyes from the dark to glimpse you and Viktor stepping onto the pavement ahead. A sly smile crept across Jayce's face; he raised an eyebrow, tilting his head in curiosity before letting out a knowing smirk. “That’s definitely his wife,” he muttered under his breath, a glint of mischief flashing in his eyes.

His hands moved swiftly, and without a moment's hesitation, he shoved the heavy box filled with intricate, expensive parts into a nearby trash can, the metallic clang echoing slightly in the stillness of the night. Mel’s eyes widened in disbelief, her face shifting from confusion to incredulity. “You just spent a fortune on those parts, and you’re dumping them?!” she exclaimed, her voice low but fierce. She peered over his shoulder, her expression transforming into one of utter disbelief. “Seriously?” she added dryly, disbelief dripping from her words.

Jayce shrugged nonchalantly, a flicker of nonchalance in his demeanor despite the seriousness of the moment. “I highly doubt anyone will see these,” he replied, casting a glance back at the box, half-buried in the refuse. He was trying to appear dismissive, but Mel's worry hung in the air like a thick fog. Mel sighed, exasperation etched on her features as she shook her head, her frustration palpable. “You’re lucky I’m invested in this,” she muttered, her voice laced with a mix of annoyance and affection. 

Jayce flashed her a quick, reassuring smile before darting after you and Viktor, a flicker of determination evident in his stride. 

Meanwhile, you walked alongside Viktor, who moved carefully, his crutch tapping rhythmically against the concrete sidewalk with every determined step he took. Small huffs escaped his lips, a testament to the effort he was exerting. Concern gnawed at you as you glanced over, an eyebrow raised in genuine worry. “Viktor, love, what did I say about pushing yourself?” you gently admonished, coming to a halt to face him head-on. 

Viktor paused, his brow furrowing deeply as he looked up at you, a familiar defiance stirring in his eyes. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though the weariness in his voice betrayed him. He straightened slightly, trying to project confidence, but you could see the tension in his posture, the subtle signs that he was indeed straining against his limits. The night felt heavy with unspoken concerns, but you knew better than to push him too hard—he’d always had a stubborn streak.

“When did you develop an attitude?” you teased playfully, tilting your head to the side with a sly smirk dancing on your lips. Viktor's cheeks flushed a faint shade of pale red, indicating his slight embarrassment. “I do not have an attitude,” he grumbled defensively, shifting his weight against his crutch for support. He hesitated for a moment, avoiding your gaze, then looked back up at you, his expression softening as he added, “I’ll... slow down.” The admission seemed to hang in the air, suggesting he preferred to concede rather than endure a lengthy lecture from you, which he knew all too well could stretch on for twenty minutes.

Just then, Jayce and Mel peeked around the corner, their curiosity piqued by the playful exchange. Jayce raised an eyebrow, a confused frown creasing his forehead as he grumbled to himself, clearly struggling to decipher the conversation between you and Viktor. Mel, ever the pragmatist, rolled her eyes at Jayce's low mumble before quickly covering his mouth with her hand. “Be quiet,” she muttered under her breath, her tone a mixture of exasperation and amusement, before her gaze shifted back to you and Viktor, a look of mild concern on her face, wondering how the two of you would continue.

You and Viktor had made it to a small grassy area near a serene little water body. The two of you settled onto a wooden bench, and Viktor let out a small sigh of relief, feeling his body relax. You giggled and raised an eyebrow. “Feeling better?” you asked, tilting your head to the side. Viktor nodded and placed his crutch beside the bench. “I told you so,” you said teasingly, leaning in closer to his ear. 

Viktor tensed up and shot you a glare. “Don’t even start,” he muttered, a frown creeping onto his face. You giggled again, leaning in even closer. “Don’t start what, dear?” you asked, your hand slowly inching toward his. As your fingers brushed against him, he shivered. Viktor gulped. “You’re… making it quite hard to think straight,” he admitted, feeling his heart start to beat faster than usual. You fluttered your lashes at him, giving him an innocent look. Viktor clicked his tongue in response.

As the night draped its dark cloak over the forest, a tense atmosphere enveloped the scene. From their concealed vantage point behind the twisted trunks and thick underbrush, Jayce and Mel peered intently at you and Viktor. Their hearts raced with a mix of curiosity and dread, torn between the urge to remain hidden and the inexplicable desire to unearth the secrets unfolding before them. They were acutely aware that they were trespassing into a realm of mysteries that were never intended for their eyes.

Jayce, driven by an urgent impulse, shifted slightly closer, doing his best to remain concealed amidst the foliage. Yet, with a fateful crack, his foot stumbled upon a weathered branch, shattering the silence that enveloped the woods like a heavy fog. The sharp sound pierced the air, causing you and Viktor to instinctively turn your heads toward the disturbance. “Maybe it was just an animal?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, glancing sideways at Viktor for reassurance. His silence spoke volumes; his focus was riveted on the shadowy treeline ahead, his expression a mixture of alarm and intrigue.

As if responding to your tension, the thick clouds overhead began to part, bathing the forest in a soft, ethereal glow from the moon. This pale light created dancing shadows among the trees, casting an enchanting yet eerie aura. Viktor’s eyes widened in realization as he caught sight of indistinct shapes lurking within the misty darkness. Confusion painted your features; you leaned back slightly, your heart pounding. “Oh gosh,” you breathed incredulously, the realization dawning upon you. In that moment, Viktor’s grip on your hand tightened instinctively, a silent promise of protection as both apprehension and curiosity swirled in the air around you.

Jayce and Mel exchanged wary glances, a shared understanding passing between them as they realized they had been caught in the act. Jayce let out a long, heavy sigh, the weight of their situation pressing down on him, and he slowly stepped into the dim light, the shadows relinquishing their hold. Mel followed suit, her own resigned sigh escaping her lips, a testament to the gravity of the moment. 

“Viktor…” Jayce began, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with an undercurrent of nervousness that betrayed his calm exterior. Viktor’s brow knitted together in confusion, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the unexpected presence of his friends. “What on earth are you doing here?” he asked, a mix of irritation and concern evident in his voice.

Jayce and Mel exchanged another glance, each hesitant to completely articulate the truth lingering in the air. Mel stepped closer to Viktor, a determined yet uncertain look in her eyes. “Well, Viktor,” she started, her voice faltering slightly as she struggled to find the right words. “It’s hard to explain,” she continued, glancing away momentarily, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

“It was my idea,” Jayce interjected, his voice firm yet gentle as he placed a reassuring hand on Mel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he added, his eyes drifting down to their interlocked hands in a moment of vulnerability. As he glanced from their fingers to Viktor’s face, something clicked in his mind—the unmistakable sight of Viktor’s own wedding ring. The realization hit him like a wave, and suddenly, the gravity of their situation became all too clear.

“I hope you can forgive me,” Jayce said quietly, breaking eye contact as he looked away, unable to fully meet Viktor’s gaze. The tension hung thick in the air, a palpable mixture of fear, regret, and the lingering hope for understanding..

Viktor remained still for a moment, the air heavy with unspoken words, before he slowly pushed himself to stand. With deliberate movements, he grasped his crutch, its polished wood glinting softly in the fading light, and tucked it firmly under his arm. You felt a sense of urgency bubbling inside you, compelling you to follow his lead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jayce,” Viktor murmured, his voice low and almost reflective, before beginning to make his way down the path. You quickened your pace, eager to keep up with him.

As you both faded into the growing shadows, Jayce stood anchored in place, eyes locked on your retreating figures, his expression a mix of curiosity and contemplation. “Did you see that?” Mel broke the silence, her arms crossing tightly over her chest, a hint of disbelief in her tone. Jayce stared after you and Viktor for a moment longer, then nodded slowly, the gears in his mind clearly turning. “Matching rings,” he finally said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, feeling the rough stubble there. “I didn’t know Viktor was that kind of guy.” His words hung in the air, laden with surprise and perhaps a touch of admiration, as they both processed the moment they had just witnessed.

[egophiliac]

So how’s ride kamens going for you as I just pulled my self together long enough to read the other half of the current main story

I've been working on catching up on the event stories since they announced the upcoming main story update! (I totally bombed the last few events...they're so fast-paced and I just didn't have time...😭)

and then of course they went and dropped THIS on us today

(you don't understand, I LOVE Tajador and I already love the two blurry frames they've given us of non-silhouetted Kelka, I'm ready to absolutely lose my shit come the announcement/reveal(?) stream on Thursday --)

[selfloverrrrrr]

hey bae , this is my first time making a req 😭🙏🏻 , so i was thinking about where y/n is a prisoner sent to an all male prison and geto/gojo is the chief security guard who works there. he is very attracted to y/n and at night he goes non con y/n

i love your fanfic btw ❤️

Prisoner~

Warnings : smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, Noncon, revenge, prisoner reader, chief secretary guard Gojo, physically and emotional abuse, biting, torture, size difference....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

Y/n's POV

This shitty people can't even investigate a case properly. First they put me in for the time crime I never did and now they're moving me to another jail?! The iron gates of Blackwood Prison creaked shut behind me, I found myself enveloped in a world dominated by rough faces and even rougher hands. I was the only woman among hundreds of convicts, a fact that made me stand out like a sore thumb.

The first few days were a blur of harsh fluorescent lights, cold meals, and the constant hum of male voices echoing through the concrete hallways. I kept my head down, learning the routines quickly - lights out at 10 PM sharp, wake-up call at 6 AM.

One evening, during dinner in the massive cafeteria, I felt eyes burning into my back. I turned slightly to see one of the guards standing against the wall. His name tag said 'Gojo'. He was tall, muscular, with an aura that demanded attention. His blue eyes seemed to follow my every movement.

As the days wore on, I started noticing Gojo everywhere. He seemed assigned to my wing more frequently than the other guards. Each time our paths crossed, his gaze lingered, a flicker of something - admiration? - passing through his steely expression before he quickly looked away.

One crisp autumn night, as the prison settled into uneasy quiet, I lay on my narrow bunk, straining to hear the faint scrape of metal against metal. Suddenly, my cell door clicked open. Gojo stood there, silhouetted against the dim hallway light, his muscular frame filling the doorway.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft thud. His boots echoed on the cold floor as he approached my bunk. He didn't say a word, just reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me towards him.

"what are you doing?! why are you even here?!" I asked being shocked. Gojo smirked. His grip tightened. "Easy," he said softly, his voice low and urgent. "Thought you might need...company. It's tough being the only woman here"

"what do you mean?" I asked."You know exactly what I mean," he whispered, his face inches from mine. His hand moved to my waist possessively. "Being surrounded by all these hungry eyes...you must be tired of the constant stares, the unwanted attention." He paused, his thumb tracing circles on my hipbone. "I could..."

"I could make them all disappear," Gojo murmured, leaning in closer. His breath was warm against my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "You'd be mine, and only mine. No one else would dare to look at you, let alone touch you." He desperately whispered in my ear.

"y-you should go" I said. "Should I?" Gojo chuckled. And I didn't notice when his fingers start to unbuckle my belt. "You really want me to leave you here all alone, with those little shits inmate dreaming about getting their hands on you?" He paused, his hands pausing at the button of my pants.

"w-what are you doing w-wai-" I finally realised but Gojo cut me off with a firm kiss, his lips crashing against mine. He pinned me against the bunk, his hands roaming over my body as he effortlessly pushed my pants down. I was about to protest when "Shh," he murmured against my lips. "Just let me take care of you tonight."

"N-No....leave or I'll tell the other officers" I said. Gojo pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire. "Go ahead," he said confidently, his hand sliding into my underwear. "Who do you think they'll believe? The quiet little prisoner or the chief security guard?" He started to caress me slowly.

And I couldn't reply. I was silent. "Exactly," Gojo whispered, his fingers exploring further as he hooked his legs around mine to keep me from kicking him off. "Now, be a good girl and stay quiet," he warned, his other hand reaching up to cover my mouth. "Or I'll have to gag you..."

"please leave me I don't want this." I begged. Gojo's smirk widened. "Too good for a criminal's touch?" He pulled his hands away suddenly, his voice harsh. "Maybe I should make you scream instead. Give the guys out there what they've all been dreaming of." He unbuckled his belt threateningly. "Answer me honestly - do you want this or not?"

"I don't.... P-Please" I said. His expression softened slightly at the plea, but his hand remained on his belt. "You're making the wrong choice," he said softly, leaning in close. "You don't know those men they're ready to get their hands on you any time they want. Just for pleasure" His fingers traced my neck possessively. "I don't want you just for pleasure.... I want you permanently....all mine" he whispered.

Fear grabbed me by my neck. I couldn't even think anything when suddenly he kissed me again. He deepened the kiss forcefully, his tongue invading my mouth as he pressed his body against mine. His hands released my wrists to roam my body again, gripping and squeezing roughly. He only broke the kiss to start unbuttoning his shirt with one hand, the other still holding my head in place.

he took off his shirt and threw it on the floor. Gojo leaned down to capture my mouth again, his bare chest pressing against mine as he pinned me beneath him. His calloused hands explored my body roughly, leaving red marks in their wake. He broke the kiss again to nip and suck at my neck, marking me possessively.

Then he tore off my shirt. I wasn't wearing any bra. "You're fucking hotttt," he muttered, eyes darkening as he took in my exposed body. His rough hands traced my curves before moving to my breasts, squeezing and kneading. He lowered his head to capture one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard while his fingers pinched the other.

"P-Please stop" I begged. "Too late for that," Gojo muttered, releasing my nipple with a pop. He raised his head to look at me, taking in my scared expression and half-naked body. He grabbed my pants and pulled it down with my panties. "Spread your legs," he ordered softly, his voice lower than before.

I didn't do anything. I was too scared. Gojo growled in frustration as I refused to comply. His eyes narrowed dangerously. "I said, spread your fucking legs," he repeated, more forcefully this time. With lightning speed, he grabbed both my thighs and forcibly pushed them apart, settling himself between them.

I cried out. He unbuckled his belt and pants with one hand, kicking them off his legs. He was left in just his boxers, the bulge prominent. He hooked his arms under my knees, pulling my legs up and back, exposing me completely.

Gojo shoved his boxers down, freeing his rigid cock. Without hesitation, he thrust forward, brutally piercing into my pussy. He groaned loudly, not caring if the entire jail heard my screams. "Fuck, so tight..." he grunted, starting to pump into me violently.

Gojo reached between my legs to rub my clit roughly, the stimulation making my cries even more desperate. He fucked me mercilessly, his cock pounding into my pussy like a jackhammer.I was through my legs with pain and begging him to stop. And he liked it so much. His thrust became harder and harder.

I clenched around him tightly and he moaned loudly " ughhhhhh....ahhh s-so...ahhhh....so f-fucking tight " he started rubbing my clit with his thumb and I bite his shoulder scratched his back to control myself. With a few more thrust I came. He was still thrusting roughly. I felt his cock pulsing inside me. I tried to push him away with all of my strength." Ughh...no no no no...ahhhhhh... I don't want this ..." I moaned. Suddenly I felt his teeth gazing at my neck. "No no no d-don't please don't Mark me please " I cried out. He just ignored my please and bite my neck harshly. I dig my nails more deeper into his back as he Marked me. He continued thrusting. Within a minute he came inside me I could feel his seed inside me. He pulled out. He was panting.

He sits on the floor. The sound of his panting filled the room. Suddenly he started laughing. "I've heard you're in jail for a crime you didn't even. And you also don't have any family to help you.... and also I've heard that you are going out of jail this year. Don't worry darling, I know how to make you permanently MINE" He said darkly.

Give me your requests guys....

I love when you give me your requests 💕

[cc--2224]

I'll Show You Heaven

Pairing: Crosshair x F!Reader

Summary: Crosshair was always someone of interest to you, much to the other clones’ dismay. When he hears a Reg disrespecting you, he doesn’t hesitate to step in. You were told that there was no point trying to fix him, but you knew you could handle dangerous; although it turned out that to you, he wasn’t dangerous at all.

Warnings: This is very much 18+ Minors do not interact! Alcohol and smoking mentions; drunk clones being assholes including one putting the reader in a dangerous/uncomfortable situation but nothing happens! Smut - masturbation, Crosshair having dirty thoughts, oral (m and f receiving), biting/marking, unprotected p in v - wrap it before you tap it!!, praise kink, one instance of Cross being too rough but he corrects it, porn with feelings, language, tons of compliments/pet names, jealous maybe slightly protective Crosshair

Notes: Very slightly based on the song I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

Word Count: ~6.4k

Taglist: None, let me know if you'd like to be added!

Masterlist

It was just another day. The haze of smoke lingering in the bar, the loud laughter and chatter amongst the patrons, and him. 

You had gotten to know most of the regulars at 79s, including Clone Force 99, but you never made it a point to become their friend. The clones, usually drunk, would flirt with you endlessly, but never the 99s. They kept to themselves, and you had learned over the months that they weren't very popular with the others.

You hadn't considered there were social hierarchies among the clones, but you supposed they were no different than any other group of people.

You traced the smoke back to the tall, silver-haired man. He sat at one of the tall tables, not quite facing the bar, but enough that you could see his sharp features silhouetted by the pulsing lights. 

He never looked pleased to be there, he seemed to have a permanent scowl, and you couldn't even recall a time where he said more than three words at a time, and none of them kind. 

And while these might be negative traits to most, but to you, these traits mixed with his deep brown eyes that you had caught on you once or twice, and the smirk that came along with it, the expression of an all-too-confident man, only helped to draw you in to him. 

You had a feeling that he was one to put up a front, wall himself in so that he didn't appear vulnerable. it made sense for a soldier, but there was a part of you that wanted to see what he was like when the walls came down.

"Hey! Cyar'ika!" You heard from behind you, you turned to face the clone holding his glass up to you. "You gonna give me a top up or stare at the reject squad all night?"

You rolled your eyes and turned to him too quickly to see the sharp glare of the man you were just staring at point at the rowdy clone. After refilling his glass, you set it down in front of him and gave him a warning, "Everyone is welcome in my bar, and everyone gets attended to while they're here. Understood, trooper?" 

Before he could answer, you walked toward the centre of the bar, making a point to keep an eye on all your patrons so they wouldn't also get the wrong idea about who was getting more attention. Your eyes naturally wandered back to where the 99s were sitting, briefly meeting with the same brown eyes you had been silently admiring just moments ago, the tattooed crosshairs outlining one of them perfectly. 

He turned his head back toward the rest of his squad but you could almost see him glance at you through the corner of his eyes at least once before you were called away again. 

"Y'know what?" The loud clone called out again, "I think you should just come home with me. I could make you forget all about them." He jerked his head toward the 99s. 

"And I think you've had too much to drink." You chided, ignoring his request for another top up.

"C'mon," He groaned. "If you're gonna cut me off, you should at least make it up to me. Wanna come home with a real man? I bet those 99s could never measure up to us if you get my meaning. Whattaya say, copikla?

Several clones laughed at his words, your Mando'a wasn't perfect, but based on their laughs, you assumed it wasn't nice. 

Before you could get security to kick him out, you heard a chair scrape against the floor and then the crack of knuckles on flesh. You didn't even see the tall clone cross the bar before he was laying into the loud one.

You ran out from behind the bar and tried to pull him back, as much as you didn't want to, you also didn't want him to be permanently banned either. 

Once he noticed you pulling his arm back, he stopped. 

"What's going on?" One of the security guards had come over, hearing the commotion.

"Nothing," you said before gesturing to the floor, "He had too much to drink. Best if he goes home."

The security looked at you carefully, making sure you were okay before helping the clone to his feet and walking him out of the bar.

You sighed and returned back to where you were standing before, watching the other clones glare but cautiously move out of the way of the 99.

He started walking back to his table before pausing and turning to look at you, his features almost seeming softer now. 

"You didn't have to cover for me." He said, a toothpick lodged between his lips.

You shrugged, "He was getting on my nerves, deserved the punch if you ask me. As long as you’re okay, I’m okay." You smiled up at him. 

You could handle yourself, you've been working at 79s for a while, you knew how unruly people could get when alcohol was involved, and as much as you could handle people yelling at you, you didn't like when your regulars hurled insults at groups who were just minding their own business. Especially when, to your understanding, they got enough of that back on their homeworld.

He hummed in response.

"Can I get you guys anything?" You asked after a brief silence had fallen.

"No, we're heading out. See you around." Almost on cue, the rest of his crew stood up and began to leave.

— — —

“You shouldn't have done that.” Hunter warned him quietly when they had returned to the Marauder.

Crosshair shoved past him to get into the ship.

“Regs will always take each other's side, if you get reported for starting a fight…”

“Again,” Tech chimed in.

“I'll deal with it if it happens. Regs are probably too drunk to remember anyway.” 

“Why'd you attack him, anyway?” Wrecker asked. 

His eyebrows furrowed, “Didn't you hear him? He was treating her like his little pet.”

The others looked at each other, seemingly sharing the same thought between them.

Hunter's voice didn't betray his thoughts, “Even still, you should go back and apologize. Probably scared the poor girl.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes at Hunter's order. 

“No promises.”

He went to his bunk and discarded his armour, laying on his bunk in his blacks. He couldn't seem to get your face out of his head. The way your eyes met, how you took his side even though his squad was right, he did start the fight. Your smile when you made sure that he was okay.

This wasn't the first time he had seen you, but it was the first time the two of you had ever spoken; he didn't do small talk, Hunter and Wrecker did.

But he wanted to talk to you again, he wanted to see you again, see you smiling up at him. 

The more you crept into his thoughts, the more he couldn't get you to leave. 

Eventually with the solitude of his bunk, his thoughts got the better of him. He imagined how you would look, naked and squirming under him. How you'd taste, how you'd feel around him. 

He couldn't shoo these thoughts away, he found himself palming his cock over his blacks at the thought of you taking it into your mouth. 

He had been with others before, but it was rare for him to feel like this. Usually when he’s with someone it’s just to get his own release, but thinking of you was different. He wanted to make you come, to hear you cry for him, to feel you come on his cock, on his fingers, whatever you’d allow. 

He wanted you, all of you. And he couldn’t stand the thought of some Reg pretending to flatter you just to get you into his bunk. You deserved better than that, you deserved someone who would treat you right, make you feel good, someone who could be good for you. Someone like him.

He reached his hand into his blacks, pulling himself out and stroking it. He let his mind continue to wander, imagining everything all over again as a loop. He thought of your voice, telling him how good he was, telling him how he was made for you, how no one else could satisfy you like him. He thought of marking your neck, your tits, your thighs. 

As he began to reach his climax, he stroked himself faster, he thought about filling you up with his release, he didn’t know where, whether it was your throat or your cunt, he just knew he wanted to come inside you. 

This thought sent him over the edge as he spilled out over his hand with a groan.

He knew it wasn't right to think this way, he didn't even know you, but he also knew there was no way for you to know what was going through his mind.

But would it be so bad if you did? 

— — —

Something about his expression when he finally came back to the bar was different than it had been a few days ago. Not bad by any means, just not how he normally looked. 

Part of it was likely due to the fact that he was in civilian clothes instead of his armour, nut most of all, his ever-present scowl seemed softer, and he didn't wear a smirk when he noticed you looking at him, instead he almost seemed nervous. 

He walked toward the bar and sat on one of the stools, scanning to make sure none of the gathering clones were the one from a few rotations ago. 

"Can I get you something?" You asked him with a smile.

He blinked like he still somehow wasn't expecting you to talk to him after what happened, but then shook his head. "No, nothing."

He sighed, looking down at the counter in front of him. "I wanted to..."

You looked at him, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"My actions the other day, that wasn't okay."

Your face softened into a small smile. "Don't worry about it, nothing to apologize for."

"Did the Reg apologize to you?"

"Oh, no I haven't seen him, but like I said, nothing to apologize for. I'm used to it." You told him nonchalantly. His gaze snapped up to meet yours and his eyes narrowed.

"Used to it? Being drunk doesn't give them an excuse to be assholes to you." His voice raised slightly.

"Really, it's fine. I'm just sorry you had to hear him talk about your squad like that for so long."

He laughed quietly and used your words back at you, "We're used to it."

Neither of you said anything for a bit. You worked on pouring another glass for one of the other patrons at the bar and then turned back to face him.

"I see you guys around here often, but until the other day, you and I have never spoken, I'd like to change that.” your kind smile at him caused his heart to pound in his chest, but when he didn't answer, you continued. “You have a name, trooper?" 

"Crosshair." 

You smirked then told him yours. 

"Where's the rest of your squad today?"

"They stayed back, wanted me to make sure you were okay. But since you are, I should be going."

He was out of the stool and heading toward the door before you could convince him to stay. He needed to clear his head, it wasn't like him to feel so reserved and shy, but he felt your presence hammering on the walls he had built for himself and he didn't know if he was ready for them to come down.

You watched him as he left and smiled to yourself. Was he really concerned about your opinion of him so much that he came all the way here just to apologize? Or maybe he just wanted to make sure the other trooper kept his distance. Either way, seeing him was always a treat, and now you had a name to go with his face.

"I'd be careful of him." One of the clones said, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"What do you mean?"

"Clone Force 99 isn't known for following rules. They have the highest success rate out of any squad, but the way they complete their missions goes against most protocols we have. That one, Crosshair, he's their sniper, a dangerous one at that, and definitely not a friendly sort of person, someone you don't want to get on the bad side of. Not someone you can just fix with that pretty smile of yours." 

You listened to him as he warned you, but even still, Crosshair and his squad intrigued you. You wanted to get to know them better.

Crosshair had caught your eye from the moment you had first seen him, and now the gap between you was finally starting to close.

You wanted to be his friend, but you were also curious about being more than that. You wanted to see what he was like when the two of you were alone. Was he sweet? Was he demanding? Was he some mix of both? 

You wanted to know what his lips would feel like, what he would taste like, how he'd feel. Thoughts that sparked a flame in your core. You didn't know if you'd ever get an answer to any of them, but the world worked in mysterious ways.

— — —

Once everyone had cleared out and you got some cleaning done, it was finally time to go home. 

It was late, too late to be wandering around the understreets of Coruscant alone, but you knew the most direct way back to your apartment, and had a blaster set to stun, just in case.

You turned down the alleyway, and you saw a figure push itself off the wall and walk toward you. 

"Awful late, isn't it?" You could hear the faint accent of a clone, and the audible slurring of one that had too much to drink.

"Come on, copikla, let me walk you home."

He stumbled toward you. When he came into the light, you could see the black eye that Crosshair had given him, still purple and blue despite the days that had passed.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Don't be like that, I wanted to apologize and do something nice for you. C'mon." He got closer to you and you felt your hand shake as you reached for your blaster.

"There's no need for that," He told you when you had the blaster fixed on him. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Then go back to your barracks, trooper."

He smirked, "Y'see the other day, your friend from the reject squad, he gave me this-" He said as he pointed to his eye. "All because I gave you a compliment, so really, you o-" 

Before he could finish his sentence you saw a blue bolt whiz past you, hitting the clone and stunning him.

You turned to see where it came from and at the other side of the alleyway, Crosshair stood with a pistol drawn.

He walked toward you, "He hasn't had a very good week." He pointed out, looking at the clone on the ground before bending down to look at his armour, looking for his identifier.

"What are you doing?" 

"Getting his ID. He'll probably be sent back to Kamino for a while for breaking protocol."

He brought his comm up to his face. "Tech, I’m sending you coordinates and a trooper ID, arrange a pickup."

"Copy." You heard the distorted voice through the comm link before Crosshair began typing in numbers.

"You seem confused." He said, looking at you now.

"I thought your squad didn't care about rules and protocol."

He smirked, "Regs have been talking about us, huh? That's true, we do our own thing and don't take orders very well but.. we wouldn't put a civ in danger in a dark alleyway, he should have known better."

"Well, thank you for helping me, but.. how did you know I'd be here?"

"I didn't. After I left the bar earlier, I went back to our ship, but there aren't many places there to think quietly so I went for a walk."

"I see. I guess it's a good thing you were here. I have a blaster for my own safety, but I froze." You looked at the gun in your hand and sighed.

"Don't worry about it, the Coruscant guard will be here before long to deal with him.”

He turned on his heels and began walking away and you watched him before looking down.

“Crosshair?” You called out before he could get too far.

He turned to look at you again but didn't say anything.

“I'm not too far but.. could you walk with me? I just…” You trailed off looking at the stunned clone at your feet.

He walked back over to you, “Of course.”

He was silent for the remainder of the walk, but he walked with you to your door.

"Would you like to come in?" You asked as you punched in the key code.

"You sure?" 

You nodded and the door hissed open, you walked in, followed by Crosshair.

He looked around your place, it was small but it was inviting.

He knew he should have just gone back to the Marauder, but part of him wanted to make sure you felt safe, and another, much more hidden part of him thought that if you had invited him in, maybe his thoughts of you hadn't been as one-sided as he thought.

"Make yourself at home." You told him.

He sat on the small sofa in the living room, his arm draped over the back, and you stared at him, remembering what the clone had said at the bar. If Crosshair really was someone to look out for, you didn't see it. You would even go as far as to say that he was being kind to you. 

"Like what you see?" He asked when he caught you staring at him, his tone slightly huskier now that he was indoors. 

You rolled your eyes, and walked over toward the couch, sitting at the opposite end from him, but turned to look at him.

"What does copikla mean? I know cyar'ika and mesh'la because I get those a lot from the regulars, but that guy was the only one to call me that."

He looked at you and frowned slightly. "It means cute, but in a way you'd say to a child or a tooka kit, not a woman. That Reg wasn't paying you a compliment when he called you that."  

"I see. And that's why you jumped him?"

"I had enough of him long before that point, but yes."

You didn't notice that as you spoke, the more distance had been closed between you and Crosshair until your knees brushed lightly.

"What if it were a compliment?" You asked.

"I guess it depends on how you reacted, if you weren't comfortable." His eyes bore into yours now. "But you seem to like the compliments from the Regs." 

You shrugged, "As I said earlier, I'm used to it." 

His hand moved toward you, gently caressing your face. You could feel the calluses on his fingertips brush against your skin and you leaned into his touch.

"Would you react the same if I complimented you?" He asked, his voice a little more than a whisper.

"You could try." You answered. “See what happens.”

His hand traveled down to rest on the side of your neck, with his thumb stroking your jawline. 

He shifted slightly closer to you, eyes half-lidded. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you were certain he could hear it with how quiet it was in the room.

Crosshair leaned over to you and looked into your eyes, looking for any hint of hesitation, and when he didn't find any, he pulled you into a kiss. It wasn't demanding, but it wasn't gentle either. You could tell that this is what he had been thinking about when he said he had to clear his mind. 

Neither of you had been sure if the other wanted this, but when your lips connected, you both figured it out.

His tongue pushed into your mouth and he swallowed the moan you gave when you tasted him.

His other hand had made its way over to you, resting on your waist. Your hands rested on his chest at first, but slowly wrapped around the back of his neck, drawing him closer.

He sat back to look at you, leaned against the arm of the couch, lips starting to swell, pupils dilated, and he smirked.

"You're beautiful." He told you. You knew he was trying to get a reaction from you, but his voice was sincere. 

You could feel yourself getting warmer, and your stomach beginning to coil with the dull ache you felt between your legs. 

You slid off the couch and gently took his hand, pulling him up with you.

He seemed confused for a moment, so you clarified.

"Figured you'd want somewhere a bit more comfortable."

His smirk returned, "Presumptuous of you."

"If I'm wrong, we can continue to sit here."

"Oh no, you’re not wrong. Lead the way, mesh'la." 

You had heard the Mando'a compliments so many times they didn't even feel like real words to you, but Crosshair saying it brought new life. 

When you didn't move, he leaned in to kiss you, but you ducked out of the way and began walking to your room.

He watched you walk away, slightly offended when you dodged his kiss, but that disappeared when he looked at your hips swaying, beckoning him to follow you. 

When you walked into your bedroom, you turned on the lamp beside your bed before sitting with your back to the pillows, watching the door for him.

He entered slowly and you finally took a good look at him. He seemed much taller in your apartment than he did at the bar. You eyed him from head to toe, feeling your core clench slightly when you noticed the raised outline of his crotch straining against his jeans.

"Come here," you said, your voice low.

He walked around to the end of your bed, crawling over you with one leg on either side of your ankles.

"Closer." You breathed. 

He moved upward, hovering parallel to your hips, eyes fixed on your core.

"Good boy,." You praised him. You didn't expect him to groan at that, but as if something ignited in him, he dipped down, kissing your stomach, then your hips, and moving down to kiss your thighs before hooking his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, looking up at you to ask permission.

"Yes, please, Crosshair." 

He worked your jeans and panties off in one fell swoop, throwing them to a corner somewhere once they were off. You gasped when you felt his lips on your upper thigh, slowly trailing higher.

You arched your back slightly, desperate to feel him, but he smirked against your leg, biting into the soft flesh, before kissing the mark he had left. 

He moaned when he felt your fingernails scratch against his scalp, trying to guide his head when you needed him.

He left another mark on your other thigh before licking a stripe from that mark all the way to your centre.

Your back arched again, pulling his face closer to you.

"You like that, mesh'la?" His voice vibrating against you.

"Y-yes!" You threw your head back in pleasure when you felt his tongue circle your entrance before swiping up between your folds, tasting all you had to give him.

"G-good boy, keep... keep going." 

His hands found their way to your hips, holding them in place, you were certain that he was going to leave bruises on each one but you didn't care.

His lips clasped around your clit and he sucked so hard you saw stars, and then he went back to using his tongue, circling the bud slowly, trying to pull every moan from you that he could.

"Say it again." He said against your centre.

"Say what again?" You teased, knowing exactly what he wanted.

"Call me a-" He licked you up and down again, not finishing his question.

"Oh, you want me to call you a good boy?" You asked sweetly.

He rutted his hips against the bed as his tongue dove into you.

You cried out his name. The intensity of him drinking you up had begun to build and with it, you could feel yourself beginning to come undone. You were so close, you could feel your walls clench around his tongue, and he pulled it out.

You looked down at him in time to see his hand slide down from your hip, and he planted two fingers inside you, curling them against your walls.

"Go-good, you're so good, Crosshair, know just what I want." 

He groaned, grinding against the bed again before adding another finger, drawing a cry from your lips.

His thumb took over for his tongue against your clit as his long fingers worked on opening you up. He placed gentle, yet desperate kisses wherever he could, nipping at your soft flesh.

"Cro-Crosshair I- I'm so close."

He sucked another mark onto your thigh and groaned when he felt your hand tighten around his hair.

Your hips bucked as you felt yourself get closer and closer to your release.

"That's it, come all over my fingers." His voice coaxed you further, "Let me feel you."

His tongue went back to your center, working circles around you again as your walls continued to clench around him.

It didn't take much else to pull the orgasm out of you, you cried out his name as you came undone, legs twitching and hips bucking as he continued to work you through it.

He pulled his fingers out of you, and kissed your center once again before leaving a trail of kisses up toward your neck, slowly lifting your shirt as he went before it, too, was thrown into the corner of your room. He nipped and kissed the sensitive skin, leaving you another mark before kissing your jawline and lips once more.

He was perched above you, leaning on one of his elbows while he straddled your hips, his jeans doing little to hide the feeling of his stiffness pressing into you.

“How was that, beautiful?” He asked you, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Perfect,” you replied. “I think you deserve some attention now too, for being so good to me.” He bucked his hips involuntarily into you.

He brought his hand up to cup your face. His fingers still wet from your slick. He rested them against your lips before pushing them past. You moaned against his digits as he pressed them against your tongue, making you taste yourself. You circled each of his fingers with your tongue before sucking on them gently. He pressed his head into where your shoulder and neck meet as he reluctantly pulled his fingers out of your mouth, thinking of nothing else but how your lips would feel wrapped around his cock.

“Do you want me to fuck you, cyar'ika?” 

“Gods, yes, but first I want to taste you.”

His cock twitched against his jeans.

“I didn't know you could read minds.” He said, his voice low.

“I can't, I just know how I want to reward my good boy.” 

Before he could say anything else, he got up from you and sat back on his heels, undoing the button on his jeans, and unzipping them just enough to relieve some of the strain. 

You sat up and crawled toward him, resting your hands on his thighs, looking up at him for any sign of discomfort before you pulled on the waistband.

“You know, it's not very fair that you're so covered and I'm not.” You told him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“No? Well, we can fix that.” He quickly pulled his shirt off before throwing it aside, revealing his toned chest. Your hands brushed against his abdomen and he sighed. You began idly tracing the outlines of his muscles and scars, and he took your chin between his fingers and tilted your face up to his, kissing you gently at first then with more passion. You felt him bite your bottom lip and you moaned into his mouth. Your hands glided across his skin before finding the waistband of his jeans again.

Without breaking the kiss, he helped you to disrobe him, and when you pulled down on his briefs, he sucked in a breath, feeling his cock spring free.

You looked down at it and instinctively parted your lips slightly, feeling your pussy clench around nothing in anticipation.

“You just going to stare at it all night?” He asked you.

You shook your head, “Can't wait to taste you, to feel you fuck my mouth.” 

You saw his cock twitch at your words and you looked up at him with a smirk. “Is that what you want?”

Instead of answering, he laced his fingers through your hair, guiding you down toward him. You were bent over, using your elbows for support with your ass in the air. 

“I could get used to this view,” Crosshair said. You didn't have to look up to know he was staring at your ass, but you pulled his gaze back to the back of your head when you kissed the side of his length. His breath hitched at each gentle kiss you gave him, and you heard him try to subdue a moan when you licked a stripe along the vein at the bottom all the way to the head, cleaning up any pre-cum that had already begun to spill out. 

“F-Fuck,” He sputtered.

You peered up at him through your lashes and his grip tightened around your hair, trying his hardest to not buck his hips and force himself into your mouth.

Your tongue swirled around his head before you took it into your mouth.

He whispered your name as he guided you further down onto him, and you took him inch by inch. 

You couldn't fit him all, you felt yourself gag slightly when he got to the back of your throat, which earned another moan from him, and you wrapped one hand around whatever had been left out. 

“Gods, you're taking me so well, wanna feel you gag on me again.” 

You moaned around him as he began using your mouth. He bucked his hips into you as he brought your head further down onto him. Your throat closed around him once again and you felt tears prick in the corner of your eyes. 

You ran your tongue across the bottom of him again, bobbing your head up and down on him, swallowing around him, sucking on him, all while he was bucking his hips into you.

His thrusts started to quicken, becoming slightly more erratic, and you gave a warning tap on his leg, you couldn't take him that quickly. He understood and slowed down.

“S-Sorry, beautiful, didn't mean to hurt you, I'm just getting close..” 

You removed your hand from the base of his length and gently caressed his balls as you continued bobbing on his cock.

“Gonna make me- I'm gonna come down your throat if you- if you keep that up.” He said between pants. 

You hummed around him and kept going. You felt him begin to tighten up and you could hear quiet curses fall from his lips. 

He moaned your name as your cheeks hollowed out around him. He stilled inside your mouth, and you felt hot spurts of him hit the back of your throat. You swallowed everything he gave you before pulling off of him, a trail of saliva keeping you connected to him for a moment longer before you sat up on your knees.

He was breathing heavily and when he looked at you, you could still see his eyes full of lust. 

“Cyar'ika,” He breathed out. “You are so incredible.” 

You leaned forward to kiss him before you felt yourself fall back onto the pillows with him caging you in with his arms.

His kisses were hungry, he pushed his tongue into your mouth, tasting himself and you on your tongue. 

“Want to fuck you. Want to be so good for you.” He said almost into your mouth. “Want to hear you scream my name as I come inside you.” 

His words elicited another moan from you, and he took the opportunity to push his tongue between your lips again.

His cock began pressing into your leg as you felt him getting hard again.

“Crosshair,” you said quietly. He stopped and looked at you, afraid he might have crossed a line. “Lie down.” 

He got up from on top of you and rolled onto his back as you moved to straddle his torso.

You kiss him gingerly on the lips, and then his neck. You felt his hands come up and rest on your hips.

“You gonna be good for me?” 

He nodded quickly. You kissed the tip of his nose before positioning yourself above his cock. He bucked his hips once trying to close the distance.

“Patience.” You told him before sinking down on him.

Heaven. 

That was the only word that could describe how he felt inside of you. His eyes screwed shut, your tight walls felt like they were suffocating his cock as they fluttered around him and he needed to feel more of it. You threw your head back and he tightened his grip on your hips. You sunk yourself down slowly until he had fully disappeared into you. 

Once you had adjusted to how he felt, you moved your hips against him as you leaned over him, seeking out his lips. He kissed you back with fervour as his hands slid around to your back and he bucked his hips to meet your movements.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him back up with you. His face was buried in your chest when you straighted your back, and you could feel his lips press against your breasts, and then his teeth. 

You moaned at the feeling, rolling your hips into him faster. His hands glided along your skin back to your hips. He held them tightly as he lifted you off of him slightly before shoving you back down. 

“Fuck, Crosshair!” You cried, feeling him even deeper inside you. 

He groaned as your walls constricted around him again, this time when he lifted you off of him, he had nearly pulled out completely before slamming himself back in. 

You panted out quiet curses as you tightened your arms around him.

“This okay?” He asked you as he did it again.

“Yes, gods, you feel so good. Want you to fuck me harder, feels so good.” 

You didn't need to ask him twice. His hands slid up to your back as he eased you down on the bed before putting his hands on either side of your head.. He used his knee to push your leg up, opening you up more for him. 

His slammed himself all the way in again, each thrust seeming to reach further and further. Your hands fell above your head and he used the opportunity to grab both of your wrists with his hand, pinning them above you as he drove himself into you again at a brutal pace, relishing in the way your tits bounced with each of his thrusts. 

“Gods Crosshair, being such a good boy for me,” you panted.

His lips landed on your neck, kissing you then biting you, leaving another mark on the soft skin.

“You're marking me up so well.” You said as he gave you another love bite just above the last one.

“Gotta make sure everyone knows that you're mine, make sure that trooper knows who you belong to.”

You arched your back with a moan, just as he thrusted into you. With his relentless pace, you knew you wouldn't last much longer, his words were only sending you further over the edge.

“Getting so close, Crosshair,” you said between thrusts. 

He answered by bringing his free hand down to rub circles around your clit.

“Come on my cock, wanna feel you come, wanna hear you scream for me.”

The coil tightened again, he felt your walls squeezing him and his breath hitched.

“I'm gonna come with you, angel,” He told you. “Tell me where you want me.”

“Inside, I want to feel you fill me up.” 

His grip on your wrists tightened as his pace with his other hand quickened, pulling moans from you with each thrust.

“Pl-please, I'm so cl- so close,” you whined, getting more desperate for your release.

He knew that he couldn't keep going for much longer as his thrusts became more erratic, but he was determined to wait for you.

Your moans grew louder and you clamped around his cock more with each thrust. The build up was getting to be too much, until eventually the knot in your stomach came undone, you screamed his name as your orgasm finally crashed over you. 

“That's it, just like that,” He said, his hand moved from your wrists to intertwine his fingers with yours as he thrusted as far into you as he could, spilling into you, painting your walls with his his release. 

You both stayed as you were, panting, looking into each other's eyes and then his lips came crashing down onto yours as he pulled himself out of you.

“You're incredible,” you told him, completely blissed out.

“So are you.” He buried his face in your neck, not moving from on top of you.

“Shower?” You asked, and he sighed and nodded into you.

“Please.” 

He got up off you and took your hand, waiting for you to lead him.

“I take it you liked the compliments.” He said, more of a statement than a question.

“Hm?”

“Unless that’s how you always act when a clone compliments you.”

You shook your head, “No, that was reserved only for you.” 

He had a smug smile as you began to walk to the fresher with him in tow.

“Can't wait to see what the others say when you walk into the bar, with my marks all over you.” He said, grabbing your hips from behind, pulling you back toward him.

“Well, not all over me, but there's still time, if you're good.”

You escaped from his grip and he all but dragged you into the refresher.

[melody-sy]

what if clover remembered their neutral routes

Images: A 7-panel comic featuring Clover and Martlet (from Undertale Yellow), taking place on the apartment complex's rooftop. The two are silhouetted by ominous lighting throughout.

Panel 1: The two are seen from the side and are facing each other, with Clover on the left of the frame and Martlet on the right. The image is animated to show wind lightly blowing their hair, feathers, and clothes. Martlet says, "You've gone through so much more than any child should." "And I think you can change for the better." "You can come stay with me and live a happy, violence-free childhood..."

Panel 2: Martlet is now drawn from Clover's perspective, from the front. Her eyes are visible now, and an animated gust of wind blows some golden flower petals behind her. She says, "What do you say, Clover?"

Panel 3: Clover from the front; they're looking away from the viewer mournfully, and no facial features are visible. The background is animated, and changes rapidly between TV static, many red silhouettes of Martlet being impaled by thorny vines, and the outline of a giant Flowey with a creepy smile.

Panel 4: Return to the side perspective. Clover runs towards Martlet with outstretched arms. Martlet says, "...?" "Clover, what are you..."

Panel 5: Clover is now hugging Martlet. The now-empty space on the left shows a conversation between the two. Clover says, "Please don't leave me again." Martlet says, "Huh?" "Clover, you know last time was a mistake!" "We don't have to go on the raft again if you don't want to." Clover says, "I just want both of us to be happy." Martlet says, "So do I."

Panel 6: Martlet is walking away to the left. Clover drops to the ground, facing away from Martlet and looking devastated with their hands on the floor. Martlet says, "Come on, Clover. Let's go to Snowdin."

Panel 7: An animated gif; the background turns into TV static, and a thorny vine comes in quickly from the right as the image fades to white. After this, Martlet's limp silhouette is visible, impaled by the vine. Clover is still on the ground, looking away. Martlet turns into dust, leaving the vine empty. end id!

[appocalipse]

something good ⋆ bucky barnes

summary: bucky is about to go to war without confessing his feelings for you. you are about to watch him leave without confessing your feelings for him. that is, unless one of you gets up the courage to do something about it...

"I...need some fresh air. I'll be back."

Steve looks like he's going to argue with you as you push the chair out, but then you glance toward where Bucky disappeared in the crowd of people dancing, and Steve's face softens before he gives you a nod.

"We'll be right here," he says, pointing to your barely-touched drink. "Be careful."

The alley behind the bar is damp and quiet, cool from the rain earlier in the day but blissfully empty. You lean against the bricks and tip your head back, closing your eyes.

Steve was wrong — you should have stayed home.

He'd begged you to come out tonight; it wasn't just the two of them, he'd said, his eyes wide with hope. A few others had been invited, too, old friends who Bucky had wanted to see one last time before shipping out tomorrow.

And girls, of course. Girls with big smiles and bright eyes, who looked at Bucky as if they were hungry and he was a steak dinner.

To his credit, though, Bucky had asked you to dance first, and you'd said no. No, because it would have been impossible to act casually around him with your hands on his chest and his on your waist.

So, yes, you’d needed some fresh air after that. How could you not, when—

"Are you mad at me?"

You turn toward the voice that came from down the alley. Even though it's dark, you, of course, recognize him instantly, silhouetted against the weak light coming from inside the bar.

"Me? No, you—I'm not," you reply, your tongue feeling like it weighs three pounds. You attempt a smile. "What are you doing out here? You should be inside, enjoying your last night, no?"

Bucky shrugs and walks closer, but only far enough so you can see each other without straining.

"I was looking for you," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Steve said you'd come out here."

"I'll go back inside soon, I promise. Don't worry."

He doesn't move except to kick a loose pebble away from his toe. "Why didn't you want to dance with me?"

Your stomach plummets at the question. He sounds almost hurt, and you wish you could explain yourself to him in a way that doesn't include blurting out your stupid feelings in the process.

"Uh...I don't know, I just...well, no reason," you stumble, wishing desperately that you weren't such an idiot. "I thought I'd keep Steve company while you...you know."

"Danced with the rest of them?"

You nod silently.

Bucky makes a scoffing sound before running a hand through his hair. "They're all the same."

"Okay..."

"It's not, uh, it's not what you think," he continues, taking a step forward, then back again as if he's unsure of how close to stand. "The girls — they're nice and pretty, sure, but...they're just not... I don't think they're my type, I guess."

"Uh-huh," you murmur, turning your gaze downward toward your shoes, suddenly finding it easier to look anywhere but at him. "Yeah, well, we better get back before—"

"Is there somebody else?"

The air in your lungs vanishes at his abrupt question, and you look up as your heart starts beating out of rhythm.

"Excuse me?" you whisper, surprised that you've even found your voice. "Somebody else?"

"Somebody that you...that you're seeing," Bucky says slowly, his words strained, as if every one causes him pain.

You stare at him for a second, hoping this is a joke, that maybe Steve put him up to asking these ridiculous questions — or maybe he's been drinking too much — because, surely, Bucky couldn't possibly be trying to ask you what you think he's trying to ask you.

"Bucky, let's just go back inside—"

"It's Steve, isn't it?" he cuts you off with the most absurd statement yet. His expression softens. "It's okay, really. If you are, I mean. He's a really good guy."

"Steve?!" You actually laugh at the absurdity of it all, shaking your head until the shock fades away into incredulity. "Jesus Christ, no! I mean, Steve is...he's like a brother to me, what...what the hell are we even talking about?"

"But...there's someone?" he asks again, sounding less upset than he had a few moments ago.

"No, not—no," you say, slouching against the wall and shrugging halfheartedly. "There's no one. Honestly, there hasn't been since..."

"Since when?"

Since I met you.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose and praying that a sinkhole will open up and swallow you whole. This has gone on long enough. "I don't know. It's...been a little while. I don't know what you want me to say, really."

"I just wondered."

"Okay, fine."

You start to walk back to the door leading inside, but Bucky moves so quickly that you run smack into his chest.

"Wait, just—"

He grabs your hand and holds it gently, thumb softly brushing along your knuckles.

Your breath hitches at the unexpected contact. You glance down at where he's holding onto you, then back up again, confused, curious, wondering if this is real and not some strange dream you'll wake up from any moment now.

You exhale with a shaky laugh when he lifts his other hand to your cheek and rubs his thumb across it, stopping at the corner of your mouth.

Slowly, so slowly, he leans in.

"Bucky," you breathe, his name soft on your tongue.

His forehead touches yours, and you reach up to rest a palm against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your fingertips.

"Do you not want me to...?"

He's never been this close to you, but everything about the moment feels familiar — the heat radiating from his body, the light scratch of his stubble on your cheek, the smell of him surrounding you.

You lift your chin slightly. "I do, but..."

"Just..." You feel the warmth of his breath on your lips; he's so close now that they brush against yours as he speaks. "I wish I'd...said something before it came to this."

"Before what came to this?"

"That I'd have...asked you. Proper, like. Dinner, movie. You know, the way it shoulda been. Before I...before I leave."

You stiffen at the word leave, pulling back so that you can look him in the eye.

"Bucky..."

"I wish I would've asked you to dinner. Would've loved to take you to dinner," he says, his eyes searching yours. "Wouldn't that have been nice, doll?"

A small smile lifts the corner of your mouth. "It would've."

"It could've been nice, you and me."

"I think it could have been."

"Yeah?" he chuckles quietly, lifting your hand and bringing it to his lips. He presses a kiss to the back of your fingers, then your palm. "I think it can still be. You see, I'm quite selfish. I'd like to go to war with something good to think of. Something — or someone — to come home to. That'd be worth coming home to."

"Like...Steve?"

It's a joke, of course, and Bucky, to his credit, does laugh, too. Then, he slips a finger under your chin and tips your face up toward his. You hold your breath as he dips his head to place a gentle, barely-there kiss on the corner of your mouth. "Not like Steve. No."

The music from inside the bar becomes louder, a woman's voice singing softly, sweetly. Stars fading, but I linger on, dear...

"I..." You clear your throat nervously, fiddling with the collar of his jacket. "You better come back to me in one piece."

"You gonna be waiting for me?"

You smirk. "I mean, I already waited this long, so I might as well—"

The rest of your words disappear into his kiss. You gasp at the sudden, almost desperate press of Bucky's lips on yours, but then he brings his hands to the sides of your face and kisses you more gently, more slowly, more purposefully, as if he has a lot to say to you in this moment but words fail him and the only thing left to do is this — to kiss you, over and over, again and again, to say, with his lips, with his hands, with every inch of himself...that he'll come back to you.

You whimper as Bucky's teeth catch your lower lip and tug before letting go. He pulls back far enough to look at you, to see your swollen lips parted. "So...that means yes, right?"

"Yes," you murmur. You slide your hands over his shoulders and into his hair, pulling his mouth back down to yours. "It means yes."

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 5 part 1

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

in which I FINALLY get to episode 5 Darkest Hour/Wake Thy Power

oh wow this is legit the first time I see the Salem Seven's face makeup, a world is revealed every time I brighten a scene.

jen with her leaf mask. sweet baby alice with her hands tucked between her knees

rio just squatting there watching everybody else sleep. agatha nowhere to be found, because after what happened with rio she had to be dramatic and sleep on her lonesome

doesn't rio just like to torment lilia? just a little bit? keep her on her toes for shit and giggles? she would not be above sneaking behind her at night and going boo! in her ear

rio: I'm so fucking angry at agatha.

also rio: okay she might have killed the whole salem coven but her mother was a humongous piece of shit so let's jot that down real quick. just so we are all on the same page

jen: look here girl I'm not being dragged in the agatha harkness defense squad just because you two smashed

alice is STILL the only adult in the room

agatha always had a soft spot for children

lmao she was absolutely listening from behind a tree trunk, waiting for the perfect moment to make her clown entrance

kathryn hahn was given a swooshy coat and by god she's gonna make it swoosh every chance she gets

I love shots where they're all together because that's some excellent costumes and character designs. look at all the silhouettes silhouetting.

rio is ready to cut a bitch. "but rio you're the natural order of things you're not supposed to intervene and harm-" AGATHA IS IN DANGER. NEXT QUESTION

everybody being like no ew we're not using brooms!! meanwhile rio is going AW YASS BROOMSTICKS

lilia I adore you but also time and place, time and place

agatha making a pretty leafy broom for rio

rio making a cool butchy broom for agatha

"pro te delecta aperio via" for you my beloved I open the way???? WHO IS COMING UP WITH THESE SPELLS I JUST WANT TO TALK

lilia is pissed because she put lil flowers on jen's broom! why didn't SHE get flowers too, jen???

tfw you just had a fight with your ex so you have no choice but to look at them wistfully from behind a broomstick

selflessness? the iRONY

they brush hands and she SNAPS it away. clown behavior! clown!!!!!

LET'S GO LESBIANS LET'S GOOO

awwwww alice made a broom for billy and she's being shy about it

no transformation from actual owl to owl makeup because we're running on vibes and zero cgi budget

alice has a big stick!!! alice SMASH!!!!!!

aubrey skipping along pretending to fly lmaoooo

look at the athletic gesture

this is so grainy, they really had no budget. only a lot of heart.

and I just covered a whole 5 minutes of show. I'll never see the end of this

go to episode 5 part 2

[aashiqeddiediaz]

one last thing.

(for @oneawkwardcookie)

[ID: 8 gifs from Top Gun Maverick of Maverick and Iceman, sharing a moment in Iceman's study.

GIF 1: Iceman leaning forward to hug Maverick. Maverick's expression over his shoulder is tight with pain as he holds Iceman tightly.

GIF 2: Iceman holding Maverick tightly, his eyes closed like he knows it's the last time he's going to hold his friend like this.

GIF 3: Iceman pulling away from the hug, holding Maverick's shoulders as he endeavors to ask something.

GIF 4: A closeup of Iceman as he asks Maverick, "who's the better pilot?"

GIF 5: Maverick's befuddled expression as Iceman continues, "you or me?" Maverick blinks twice, slightly shaking his head.

GIF 6: Maverick, playfully condescending, telling Iceman, "This is a nice moment. Let's not ruin it." He shakes his head before his expression curves into a smile. In profile, Iceman starts laughing.

GIF 7: A closeup of Iceman laughing as he leans forward, his eyes downcast as he reaches to pull Maverick back into a hug.

GIF 8: A wide shot, silhouetted against a large window, of Maverick and Iceman hugging tightly.

/end ID]

bonus:

[bonus ID: a black and white photo of a younger Iceman and Maverick, after they solidified their friendship. They're smiling at each other widely. /end ID]

[roosterr]

i've known war

john 'soap' mactavish x gn!reader wc: 9.3k (whoops) summary: you're alive. he can get you back, he can hold you in his arms again. warnings: established relationship, angst and sadness and depression, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, graphic description of injury, mentions of torture, eventual happy ending, military and medical inaccuracies, pls ignore any plot holes i beg

requested here! follow up to love you from afar, but can be read as a standalone. im so sorry this took me so long to write lmao.

it always feels like the first time when you kiss him. even now, years down the line, the sparks, the warmth, the daze that you leave him in; he truly believes it will never get old.

the way you look, standing in the open doorway of the helicopter, silhouetted against the bright blue sky, it makes his head feel so fuzzy he almost forgets why you're all here in the first place.

it's the sweet sound of his name passing your lips that pulls him back to the present, your voice sending his stomach fluttering.

"earth to johnny," you chuckle, turning to face him and resting your weight against one side of the open door, "what're you thinking so hard about?"

he can't help the smile that breaks out at the sound of your laughter. "just you." johnny replies, closing the small distance between you and snaking an arm around your waist. you smile as he leans in closer, murmuring low in your ear, "and, how i cannae wait to get ye home."

you laugh again, placing a hand on his chest but not quite pushing him back. "we've got a job to do first."

he takes your hand in his, running his thumb over your knuckles. "then we'd better get a move on, eh?"

"i'll race you," you grin at him, haloed by the light of the sun so beautifully he has to snap himself out of his reverence to respond.

"oh, you're on." 

perhaps it was slightly irresponsible the way he was rushing the others along for his own gain, but within a matter of minutes they're breaching the facility and well on their way to being done with this.

it's only when he's stalking along a dimly lit corridor that he slows down. something was bothering him, an off feeling in the back of his mind that he just can't ignore.

before he can think about it any further, a boom shakes the walls, filling the air with dust and obscuring his vision even more. it was close enough to start a faint ringing in his ears, coming from back the way he came; where he'd split up with ghost and, more importantly, you.

he should stay on target, continue with what they're here to do, his job – but what if you were in trouble? if there's a chance you need his help, he couldn't risk it. it takes less than a second for him to turn back, making the decision to check on what caused the explosion before continuing.

quietly stalking back down the corridor, it takes him slightly longer to register the fact that he hasn't heard anything over the radio; no updates, no clever remarks from ghost, nothing. they worked not fifteen minutes ago, just after you'd split up and checked them. surely nothing could've happened in such a short space of time?

he does his best to push through the sinking feeling that tries to drag him down, but it's stubborn, creeping in from the corners of his mind.

he reaches where he left you in half the time it took him to walk away, the intersection of two corridors just as empty as the rest of the halls. he points his flashlight in the direction you went, and the feeling in his gut gets worse.

something glinting in the light catches his attention. the end of the corridor is collapsed, when it definitely hadn't been before, but it's what lies in front of the rubble that he zeroes in on. partially obscured by the layer of filth and blood coating it, there's no mistaking it when he kneels down, dropping his rifle to the ground beside him, and carefully takes the metal in his trembling hand.

it's a pair of id tags.

he numbly calls your name. it bounces off the walls and echoes back to him. the blood runs through the creases of his hand, staining the flesh. the letters of your name are clear through the dirt.

no. you can't be gone.

he looks up to the rubble, shrouded in darkness, back down to your tags, back up to the rubble, and there's a hand just visible under the concrete that looks sickeningly like yours and–

he tears his gaze away, back down to your tags. the chain is snapped, like it had been ripped off in a hurry, as if you'd known you were going to die and wanted to make sure he would find them–

no, no no. you're not dead. you can't be. he just saw you fifteen minutes ago, he bumped his helmet against yours in lieu of a kiss like he always did before you parted ways. you were fine and you were smiling at him. it was only fifteen minutes, you were right here, he can still hear your voice taunting him about the race between you, it was only fifteen minutes–

a heavy hand comes down on johnny's shoulder, startling him out of his panicked daze and instinctively he jumps up and swings his arm at whoever stuck up on him.

ghost catches his forearm easily, his eyes moving between your tags clutched in johnny's fist to the wreckage behind him. when he meets johnny's watery eyes again, the coldness in his gaze seems to soften as he arrives at the same conclusion.

the ringing in johnny's ears hasn't left. in fact, it's gotten worse.

"we– we gotta find 'em," johnny's breath comes out shallow and ragged, the panic slowly rising in his chest through the initial numbness. "fucks sake, they cannae– we– we–"

"johnny." ghost interrupts his sputtering short, bracing both hands on his biceps and giving him a gentle, grounding shake. "...come on."

"no! simon we–" his breath catches in his throat, heart constricting painfully beneath his sternum as he grips the front of ghost's vest in desperation. why was ghost giving up so easily? didn't he care? didn't he want to find you?

ghost lowers his gaze, tearing away from the distraught expression on the sergeant's face. "they're gone, soap."

"shut the fuck up!" johnny growls, despair seeping into his voice with every second that passes without you. he tries to shake ghost's hands off, but he doesn't budge. "ye dinnae ken that! they're still here somewhere, we cannae leave without 'em!"

he's gripping your tags like a lifeline, the metal searing against his palm and heavier than anything else he'd ever carried. he shouldn't have them, they shouldn't be in his hand, they should be around your neck, you should be here, with him, and not…

it's too much. his knees give out from under him and, despite ghost's firm grip on his shoulders, he sinks to the floor with his head in his hands.

"simon, fuck– please…" it's a whisper, under his breath, but he knows ghost heard from how he crouches down beside him, laying an arm over his heaving shoulders as he steadily begins to sob.

it's not real. it can't be real. he wants this to be a nightmare so fucking badly, but the pain in his chest is far too real, his tears burning tracks down his face, the weight of your absence pressing down on him and crushing him under the pressure.

he barely notices when price and gaz appear in the hall ahead of them, just about registering the sound of the debris crunching under their boots as they approach. the pair don't say anything as they take in the scene, looking down with furrowed brows at where johnny and ghost are crouched on the floor.

the captain opens his mouth to ask, but ghost cuts him of with a solemn shake of his head.

words are exchanged, but johnny doesn't hear them. his head feels impossibly light, an expanding pressure beneath his temples that makes it hard to think. the ringing keeps getting worse.

the sound of gunfire makes it through the fog. gaz and ghost each take one of his arms, hauling him to his feet and essentially dragging him after the captain as they make their way back out of the building. he can't bring himself to fight them. he blinks, and finds himself strapped into his seat, the one next to him hauntingly empty.

price is talking into the radio, to laswell he assumes, but johnny doesn't register anything he says – anything except the last two words:

"...one k.i.a."

the air is thick with a kind of tension he's never felt before, a shroud of numbness that he can't seem to shake. when they land it follows them, seeping into the air on base and pushing down on whoever crosses their path. none of them have to ask to understand what happened.

johnny keeps your tags, clutches them close to his heart, and practically bites the head off of anyone who tries to take them from his white-knuckled grip, even as he gets checked out in the medical wing. his quietness puts the medics on edge, he can tell. something about the way he doesn't even flinch when they cleanse his wounds, the polar opposite to his his usual talkative nature, it tells them there's no use trying to console him. they try to convince him to let the tags go, but he doesn't acknowledge their words.

the broken chain stays firmly wrapped around his palm until he's staring down his own hollow face in the bathroom mirror. he'd turned the sink on fifteen minutes ago to wash the blood away, the water so hot it fogs up his reflection, but he can't bring himself to put his hands under the stream.

because it's your blood, not just the usual grime from missions. if he washes it off, he's washing you off, and he doesn't want to do that, no matter how disgusting it is.

there's a knock at the door, and only then does he realise how long he's been staring at the red that decorates his hands. he still makes no effort to move. 

despite his lack of response, gaz opens the door and meets his eyes in the mirror. there's a pause as he waits for johnny to say something, but when he only lets the silence go on, he takes it upon himself to approach.

"soap…" he utters, brows tilting in concern watching his friend continue to stare absently into the mirror. with a deep sigh, kyle takes his empty fist and pries his fingers from his palm. johnny's eyes gravitate to the fresh blood that wells up in the crescent indents. watching the red droplets fall, disappearing into the running water, the pain finally registering in his mind when kyle presses a cloth to his hand.

the sting of the hot water is there, a distant feeling as johnny allows him to wash the blood away, never saying a word as he watches kyle's efforts, like an observer of his own form, right there but looking in from the outside.

kyle reaches for your tags, but his fingers barely brush the metal before johnny is shoving him back with a rush of anger that happens so fast he doesn't even have time to process his own reaction.

with a thud, kyle's back hits the wall and for a moment neither of them dare move. they watch each other in silence, wide-eyed shock mirrored in both their expressions.

"i…" i'm sorry. the words catch in his chest, falling into the void there and never escaping for gaz to hear. he can't let him touch your tags. it's the only part of you he has left. "...don't touch 'em."

kyle squeezes his eyes shut, breathing a deep sigh through his nose. "alright, i'm sorry, i won't touch them." his tone is low and careful as he steps closer again, hands open so johnny can see them. he feels like a feral animal, being coaxed to let kyle approach. "but you need to rest, mate."

the weeks blend together after that day. some days johnny feels like the shock will never wear off, like he's living on autopilot. others, it all comes crashing down on him and even dragging himself out of bed becomes a challenge.

his dreams are plagued with images of you, lifeless and cold. it stops him from sleeping most nights, but others are filled with memories of your life together playing on loop, a constant reminder of what he can never have again.

the room you used to share is always filled with flowers; gardenias, gladioli, forget-me-nots, and anything else he sees that he thinks you'd like. when they wilt, and eventually die, he presses the petals in the pages of his sketchbook, keeping them in a box next to the very first flowers he ever got you, the memories preserved forever under your – his bed.

that same sketchbook that's filled with page after page of your image, some from the multitude of pictures he keeps of you, and when he inevitably runs out of references, he draws you from memory. it gets to the point where he can't pick up a pencil without your face haunting him; you always did love his art, even if he didn't think it was any good.

he knows he's not the only one taking it hard. the others are different too; gaz is quieter, something more serious in his eyes now. the captain doesn't appear moved on the surface, and neither does ghost, but when they look at the empty seat where you used to sit, the memory of you is evident in the way their shoulders deflate ever so slightly.

once word spreads about what exactly happened, the never-ending condolences and pitying looks from the people around base gets old very quickly. they tell him how they're so sorry for his loss and what happened to you was so tragic, and it shouldn't annoy him as much as it does, but he can't help the anger that bubbles up in his chest when they talk about you.

he doesn't want to hear it, and every time he has to listen to their pitying comments it only makes him resent them more. they didn't know you, they didn’t care, they probably didn't even know who you were before you died. they could never hope to understand what you meant to him, to the taskforce, the gap in their team that you left behind.

it's when someone suggests moving on from you that it all finally bubbles over.

six months later, a long time since that day but somehow no time at all. he'd gone out for drinks for the first time in a while, after some gentle coercion from simon, along with another group of soldiers staying on base.

he didn't even want to go, not really, but something in him knew he couldn't carry on like he had been. he needed some form of normalcy, one night where he can pretend everything is fine and you're just waiting for him back home, to just forget.

it didn't take him long to realise going out with them was a mistake. almost immediately he was dragged into a conversation with a few guys from another unit, and despite his many attempts they just wouldn't leave him be.

somehow, after about an hour of mindless chatter, they land on the topic of their love lives and recent conquests, and johnny immediately felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. he wanted to slip away, avoid what he knew was coming at any cost, but he couldn't get away fast enough.

one of them brings up your name, they all look to him with a sort of curiosity that makes his skin crawl. they ask him if he's planning on staying hung up on you forever. johnny says it's only been six months. one of them laughs and tells him it's just sad, and from the looks of it you weren't anything special.

johnny smashes a glass over his head. price benches him for a few weeks after that.

it's hell, being left behind, alone, while the others went on like usual, and truthfully he starts to resent them all, bit by bit from the first time he's left on the tarmac. it felt like they didn't care, that johnny's heart, his life, his soul has changed but they carried on without looking back once. he isolates and shuts them out in a fit of misplaced anger, building the walls around his heart higher and higher and letting that resentment fester.

the day of your funeral brings it all crashing down. after all those months of waiting, johnny didn't even make it more than five lines into the speech he'd prepared before he's breaking down and stumbling out the side door in a hyperventilating mess. simon follows behind like his shadow, sitting down with him when he slides down the wall with a hand clutching his chest. he cries into simon's shoulder for rest of the service, releasing all the pent up anguish he'd been trying to keep inside in a catharsis he didn't realise he needed. 

when they get back to base the next morning, johnny’s practically begging to be allowed back in the field. he found himself missing the chaos, the unpredictability of the battlefield was where he was in his element. this job was how you met, how you got together, how you lived. he never felt closer to you than when he was out in the field with adrenaline pumping through his veins.

it takes some convincing, but price gives in and everything feels like it's back to normal. missions are quieter than they'd ever been, but johnny finds it doesn't bother him anymore. he feels your presence by his side like the sun on his back, always with him, like his guardian angel.

it's six more months before anything changes.

in the back of the helicopter, a few minutes out from the landing site, an oddly comforting sense of déjà vu washes over him. the bright blue expanse of the sky, the warmth of the sun on his skin, he almost feels that if he turned to his left, he'd see you sitting there with that same smile lighting up your face.

his fingers tighten around your tags.

"you watchin', bonnie?" he presses his lips to the cool metal, feeling your name under his skin as he mumbles to himself. his gaze finds the roof of the helicopter, and even without looking he knows the others are watching him, that familiar solemn look on their faces.

they were doing this for you. everything johnny did was for you. he puts your tags safely away in the pocket if his vest closest to his heart.

the helicopter jolts as it lands, and with no more than a second's hesitation he's shooting up from his seat, a renewed energy flooding his body to the tips of his fingers. they step out into the biting air, a chill than not even the afternoon sun could stave off, and quickly begin their march into the small facility.

"you two, take that side. gaz, with me." price commands, and with a sharp nod from the three of them, they split up and begin their canvassing. they were here for intel, but there was no guarantee they were alone, despite the emptiness of the halls they move through.

their footsteps echo off the walls, only the distant howling of the wind outside to accompany them. the hairs on the back of johnny's neck were on end, an unease setting off alarm bells in the back of his mind following behind ghost.

the déjà vu from earlier isn't comforting anymore. he doesn't feel you watching over him, and the feeling only gets stronger as they approach a doorway ahead, bathed in a red light.

ghost pauses in the entrance, looking back at johnny and waiting for his affirming nod before pushing forward. the room is empty, the same as the rest of the building, save for the table sitting against the far wall.

there's something else there, he notices as he creeps closer to get a better look. a frown darkens his expression. it's a laptop, untouched and central on the table, a strange contrast to the almost methodical emptiness around it.

"oi, check this." johnny calls, turning around as ghost stalks over with a similar confusion on his face.

"that what we're here for?" he asks, examining the laptop with a deep frown casting shadow over his eyes.

"looks like it." johnny replies, slowly and carefully picking it up as his frown deepens. he was half expecting it to somehow blow up, but when he lifts the screen it lights up to the desktop with no issue. "that's convenient."

"very convenient..." ghost grunts, jerking his head in the direction of the door and speaking into the radio as he walks ahead of johnny. "price, we've got it. headin' to exfil now."

back on base a few hours later, the four of them with the addition of laswell sit around the table in a meeting room with the doors firmly shut, eyes locked onto the laptop with rapt tension as gaz opens the only file they could recover from the device.

the video starts abruptly with 'the mask' – the pretentious alias of man that heads the organisation they've been steadily eliminating all this time – in front of the camera, the dingy room behind him barely lit, the walls splattered with what johnny could only assume was blood.

"i trust that my message has found you well, task force one-four-one." his voice comes through the speakers, crackly and distorted by the low quality recording. "you have been relentless in your pursuit of us, and i applaud you for your efforts, but it's time to put an end to this."

johnny looks back at price, watching as his expression hardens and his fingers dig into his arms where they're crossed over his chest. it's obvious they've been set up, but it's too late to be concerned with that now. the problem now is how they're going to continue knowing the enemy has information on them that they shouldn't have.

the sound of something being dragged brings his attention back to the video, facing the screen again to see another masked man dumping a person with a bag over their head onto a chair in the centre of the room.

"i have something i believe you will be interested in." the chuckle is audible in his voice even beneath the mask and through the screen.

their wrists and ankles are tied together, and if it weren't for the laboured rise and fall of their chest, johnny wouldn't be sure if they were even alive.

"fuck– a hostage?" price spits, and even without looking he knows laswell is already working on finding a location, if the sound of her rapidly typing is any indication.

"something very… precious to you."

the figure moves to stand behind the person in the chair and yanks the bag from their head. he grabs their jaw and forces them to look up, a sickening laugh meeting johnny's ears as they make eye contact with the camera. 

it's…

it's you.

you're beaten and bruised and covered head to toe in blood, but it's undoubtedly you when the faceless man yanks your head up.

johnny's sure his heart stops.

you're alive. you've been alive all this time. in the hands of a terrorist, and within an inch of your life, but…

you're alive.

"drop your investigation of us, and i will let them live." the masked man stalks back around to your side, still holding your jaw in a vice grip. the way you cower, as much as you can with that man's filthy hands on you, it breaks something in johnny. how long have you been in their hands, how long have you been abused by them?

how long have you been waiting for him?

he feels sick to his stomach, but he can't tear his eyes away. the lacerations on your face, the endless bruises littering your skin – when he spots the ones around your neck, he has to swallow down the bile – and how you just seem so tired, barely even fighting to keep your eyes open.

the masked man looks down to you again, pausing as he directs you to look at him through what seems like a black eye. the five of them watch, frozen by shock or anger or both, as the man rears his hand back and slaps you across the face so hard your head whips in the other direction. a pained, defeated sound escapes you, and johnny’s sure a knife to the chest would hurt less.

"do not disappoint me, captain price, or your sergeant will regret it."

the video cuts to black.

the sight of your face is burned into johnny's retinas, every time he blinks your features are there, dripping in your own blood, the only thing he can see.

"kate, tell me you can find this." price growls behind him, his words sounding distant to johnny's ears.

she hums distractedly. "working on it."

their conversation doesn't register, floating in one ear and straight out the other. you're alive. he can get you back, he can hold you in his arms again. it's like his prayers have been answered for once in his life, and it may be some cruel trick from god to find you like this but johnny finds himself praying his thanks anyway.

"johnny…?" simon lays a hand on his shoulder, turning him in his chair to make worried eye contact with his shell-shocked expression. it jolts him out of his thoughts, the energy of the room a controlled kind of frantic as he comes back down to earth.

"that's– it's them, they're–" johnny sputters, gripping ghost's forearm with an absent desperation in his glassy eyes, "simon, they're alive."

he can't stop thinking about how empty your expression looked, the way you didn't have any fight left, and the gravity of what's been happening to you since the moment he lost you slowly creeps up on him.

have you given up hope of them finding you?

"we'll get 'em back, soap, listen to me," price drops a heavy, grounding hand on his other shoulder, halting his spiralling train of thought, "they're comin' home." his voice is resolute, no room for argument where he speaks it almost like a command.

johnny can only nod. 

his head is still light as more rushed conversation happens around him. simon's hand is still on his shoulder, and that might be the only reason he hasn't completely fallen apart yet, but the thread is pulling taught enough to snap. his nails carve dents into his palms but he doesn't have the mind to unfurl them.

"sir, we've got a hit." gaz speaks up from where he's leaned over kate's shoulder, a determined glint in his eye when he meets the captain's gaze. johnny’s head snaps in his direction, his pulse quickening with every word that sparks new hope in his chest. "two hundred klicks northeast of where we found the laptop."

"good work, you two," price is pacing back and forth, scratching his beard with a calculating look on his face. they watch him for a moment, waiting for his command on what their next move will be, but johnny finds his patience wearing incredibly thin.

"the fuck we waitin' for? let's get out there'n go after the wee bastards!" he growls, his narrowed gaze darting between price and the others as he steadily grows more and more restless.

simon shakes his head from beside him, "hold your horses."

"this is delicate, we have to do this one right." price pauses, his eyes losing their hardness as he meets johnny's desperate face. "i know how much this means to you, but you're too close to this, soap."

the pause that follows that is so thick with tension it makes it hard to breath. a boiling type of rage bubbles up in his chest, extending to every trembling limb and turning his vision red. there was no way in hell he wasn't going to be there for you every step of the way when – not if – they rescued you.

"ye can get yersel' right tae fuck!" he spits, his face contorted with anger as he shoots up from his chair and points an accusatory finger at the captain. "that's too far, price, ye cannae keep me outta this!"

"johnny, sit down." simon warns, using the hand still on his shoulder to put some space between him and price, but johnny doesn't budge; this was far too important.

"yer aff yer heid, both of ye's! if ye won't let me come, i'll go mysel', ye fuckin' hear?" he growls, shaking free of simon's hand. his glare travels between him and price, hands wound into fists at his sides.

the air turns heavy as they stare each other down. if price thinks he'll back down on this, johnny would love nothing more than to prove him wrong.

he's moments away from meeting his fist to price's face when gaz stands up and gets between them. "that's his other half, sir. respectfully, he deserves to be part of this." he reasons, giving price a firm look and a small nod to johnny. "you'd be the same in his position."

the tension is palpable. he watches  over gaz's shoulder as the captain deliberates, clearly having an internal battle over the decision, but eventually he sighs and fixes johnny with a stern look.

price closes the distance between them, patting gaz on the arm as he passes. "screw your head on, mactavish. we only get one shot at this, i need to know i can trust you not to fuck it up."

a spark of hope makes johnny's heart race, and he gives price a single resolute nod of confirmation. "i won't, sir."

laswell stands and walks around the table to stand beside price, a similarly firm expression. "we have to play this carefully. they wanted us to find that laptop, i have no doubt they wanted us to find where they are too."

"so what's our angle?" gaz asks.

laswell and price share a look.

"this has to be off the books, there's no way we'll get clearance for this." laswell answers, her expression turning noticeably darker, looking over to price as she continues, "if we want them back alive, we'll have to act fast. that means we're on our own."

the captain nods with no hesitation. "we are getting my sergeant back. i don't care how we have to do it."

they're loading into the back of a helo not even an hour later. the five of them, along with two field medics and the pilot, with the strict instructions in johnny's head to bring you home or to not come back at all.

there's only one coherent thought racing through his mind for the entire; you. getting you back, taking you home, finding the man that took you away from him – and hurt you – and making him pay.

he fishes your tags out of his pocket and presses them to his lips in a lingering kiss, just like he always does. soon, he thinks, it would be you he'd be kissing, not just a remnant of you.

the flight passes by so quickly it's almost as if he'd blinked and they were landing again.

the air is glacial as they ready themselves, preparing for the mask to put up a fight that they fully intend to win. the plan was decided on during the journey; kate and ghost would provide support from a distance while price, gaz, and johnny would confront the bastard head on. his focus is razor sharp, marching through the trees and underbrush, blood rushing in his ears and jaw clenched painfully tight.

the sky is just as strikingly blue as the day he lost you.

bring you home, or don't come back.

they reach a break in the trees, surrounding the small facility they tracked the video to that looked more like a derelict warehouse than a base. either way, the dark figure of their target is visible against the brick wall, surrounded by a number of his own soldiers – johnny counts six as he, price, and gaz make themselves known coming through the treeline. they share a quick look; they know how this will end.

"well met, captain," the mask calls, slowing to a stop and leaving a few metres of space between himself and the three of them, "will you make the right choice, or will your sergeant suffer for your pride, i wond–"

his monologue is cut short by a shot from the darkness of the treeline and lodging mercilessly into the base of his throat. his deadweight hits the ground with a thud that echoes, and in less than a second bullets are flying.

soap tightens his grip on his gun, raising it to glare down the sights and firing at the soldier nearest to him and dropping him with one well placed bullet to the leg and another to the face once he was on the floor.

another shot from the treeline drops one more; four left.

gaz and price take out another two between them in a similar fashion to soap, leaving two still standing – one of whom was advancing fast with the barrel of his gun pointed at soap while the other backed away.

one more shot rings out from the trees and one more body falls, but the last hostile was far too close for comfort now, johnny had no choice but to tackle him to the ground, narrowly avoiding being shot himself on the way down.

a few seconds pass as they wrestle on the ground, both trying desperately to gain the upper hand but falling just short because of the other. from his peripheral soap can see price running to his aid, but his momentary distraction allowed his assailant to take the upper hand and roll on top of him.

hands constrict around his neck, cutting off his airflow, but a well timed shot from price sends him falling over sideways, sputtering blood from the wound in his side.

soap heaves and cough, pulling air back into his lungs and glaring at the body of the man who almost got the better of him. this only meant they were one step closer to getting you back; he was one step closer to having you in his arms again. it didn't matter if he got hurt in the process.

price's outstretched hand suddenly appears in his vision, "get up soap, we've got a job to do."

his daze melts away and he takes the captain's hand, allowing himself to be pulled upright with an affirming nod shared between them.

"good aim, ma'am." gaz calls over the radio, looking down his nose at the steadily declining state of the mask; his infamous facade now cracked and broken, revealing the agonised face beneath.

"bring 'em home, boys." kate replies, and though he can't see her face johnny can imagine the commanding look she's undoubtedly wearing.

gaz backs away as johnny crosses the mess of crimson and dirt to where the mask lays, sprawled out and immobilised by his injuries but still very much alive, giving the fellow sergeant a respectful nod as he goes. "he's all yours, mate."

johnny stands over his fading form, watching with a detached look in his eye as the blood spills from the gaping wound in his neck with every struggled breath, his disjointed intake of air and the pathetic sputters as he inhales his own viscera. there's not a shred of mercy in him as he gazes down at the man, every bit of agony was completely deserved for what he did to you. the death that claws at him would be a blessing.

he gurgles to johnny, raising a weak arm to brush the hem of his trousers as he attempts to expel the words, "pl–ea– plea-se–"

johnny scoffs, dry and venomous. he has half a mind to leave him to suffer until the life finally bleeds from him, but the pure rage he feels listening to this bastard plead for help after putting you through hell for a year is far too strong for him to restrain.

it's unconscious, the way johnny's arm raises to point the barrel of his pistol squarely at the centre of his forehead. he pauses for a moment, if only to see the fear creep into the bastard's expression before his fingers squeeze the trigger and the light is gone from his eyes.

his chest stops heaving and his hand drops back to the mud,  leaving nothing but a few bloody fingerprints in his wake.

johnny pulls the trigger again.

and again, and again, and again, until his face is nothing more than a cavity of gore and lead and the ringing in his ears blocks out everything else around him.

a firm hand comes down on his shoulder and it’s only then does he notice the tension in his muscles and the fierce sneer pulling at his features. his eyes snap to the dark figure in the corner of his vision, meeting the bone white of simon's mask and the frown underneath.

"that'll do, johnny." simon murmurs, his own darkened eyes glaring down at the mangled corpse laying at their feet. he nods, somewhat absently, and turns away from the offending body.

there were more important things he needed to keep his head on straight for.

neither him or simon spare the remains of the mask another glance as they leave him behind. price and gaz are waiting by the entrance for them, and as soon as they're close enough they head together into the dark corridors of the building.

as the creep through the abandoned building, now deep in the cold basement, weapons poised and on high alert, there's a new sense of dread that forms in the back of his mind; what if you're not here after all? what if the mask was bluffing and you're already dead?

johnny grits his teeth and shakes his head to rid himself of that damning train of thought. he couldn't afford to think like that, he wouldn't, but another corridor of empty rooms has his heart sinking like an anchor to his stomach. he's trying to stay hopeful, but every dead end only makes him feel worse.

price grips his shoulder, firm and comforting, with a look in his eye to match as he catches johnny's gaze. "we'll find 'em, soap." 

"i know." he replies, but there's a waver in his voice despite the certainty of his words. price doesn't release his gaze or his shoulder until he moves to follow the others.

he doesn't say much else as the search continues. the ringing in his ears is back, amplified by the eerie silence of the halls. he can feel the air getting colder after each empty room the clear.

the time passes arbitrarily, until there's one last room to check. johnny watches gaz and ghost pry it open, the sound of the lock breaking only just reaching him through the fog over his senses.

gaz pauses once the door swings open, his eyes locked onto something in the room as they widen dramatically. he still doesn't tear his gaze away as his jaw falls open, something frantic in the way he yells, "soap!"

a spark of hope strikes his heart and travels to the very ends of his limbs, a new burst of energy filling him as he shoves past his teammates to stand in the doorway and look into the room himself.

it's you.

curled into yourself in the corner of the damp cell, shivering with your face buried in your knees with your hands clamped over your ears. it's almost uncanny, how small you look. the tremble in your limbs, the fear in your quickened breaths, it was the exact opposite of how you should be, but despite it all…

it's really you.

johnny feels his heart swell painfully with relief, and without another second of hesitation he's skidding to his knees beside you and gripping the cold skin of your wrists. you let out a muffled sob at the contact, and johnny feels his blood turn cold when it meets his ears.

"don't!" you cry, weak and desperate. johnny's caught off guard with how you try to rip yourself away from him, the shakes that wrack your body only increasing when he keeps his hold on you. "get off! please– please don't!"

his heart cracks anew at the distress in your hoarse voice. he feels his eyes well up with hot tears that he has to fight to keep from falling.

"hey, it's me! it's johnny, it's your johnny! look at me, sweetheart, i'm here!" he tries to calm you with his words, keeping his voice low between you both, but you keep your eyes screwed tightly shut.

johnny lets go of your wrists to cup your face in his hands instead, gently turning your head towards him and using his thumbs to stroke soft shapes into your cheeks. the gesture makes your breath hitch audibly, and your eyes slowly open to meet his. "that's it, I'm here, i got ye, yer alright."

"don't– i don't– i can't…" whatever you're trying to say is broken up by the effort it takes you to keep breathing through your sobs. you still try to lean away from his touch, but johnny doesn't let you move far. he has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back his own breakdown.

"no-one's gonna hurt you again, darlin', i promise ye." he murmurs, searching your glassy eyes while he continues to smooth his thumbs over the skin of your face, wet with your tears. "c'mere, i've got ye…"

with little more resistance from you, johnny gathers you into his arms and presses you close to his chest, they way he'd been dreaming off all the time you'd been apart. he pays no mind to the way the hard ground digs into his knees, and instead focuses on feeling the rise and fall of your ribcage against his own, your heartbeat under his fingertips, and the very real sound of your voice.

"you– j-johnny…" you stutter, your hiccuping sobs gradually fading away as you grip the bulk of his vest like a lifeline. "are you… real?"

"i'm real, darlin'," his voice cracks despite his efforts to stay strong for you. he presses his lips to the tip of your head in a lingering kiss, partly so you won't see the glossy tears in his eyes as he tries to stamp them down. "i'm here. i swear, i'm never lettin' you out of my sight again."

the simple feeling of your weight leaning against him is so overwhelming he's worried he might faint. he lets you calm down, rubbing soothing patterns up and down your arms and back and wherever he can reach, even when the position becomes uncomfortable and the dampness from the floor has seeped into his bones.

eventually though, he does pull back, softly shush you when you protest in the thought that he's leaving you, and cups your head in his warm hands.

"let's get you home, eh?" he smiles. your uncertain eyes dart between his for a moment, searching, before you nod. it's weak and hesitant, but the gesture makes his grin stretch a little wider all the same. "c'mon then, think ye can walk?"

johnny sighs when you shake your head, looking down and seeming almost embarrassed by your frail condition as if any of this was your fault. if he could kill that bastard again, he wouldn't even hesitate.

it's no bother to him to haul you up with him, holding you carefully against his chest with an arm under your knees and the other around your back. you still gingerly grip the top of his vest, your free arm looping itself around his neck and pulling yourself as close to him as you can muster. he gives a concise nod to the others, crowded in the doorway, and they begin the trek back to the helo.

the sunlight causes you to bury your face in the crook of johnny's neck, shielding your eyes from the blindingly bright rays. he allows himself a moment of distraction as they cross the clearing to revel in the feeling. he'd feel the sun on his face again, but he'd never again take for granted a single moment he spends with you.

they're almost to the edge of the clearing, almost departed from that haunted place with a graveyard of mangled bodies in their wake, but he doesn't quite make it to the treeline.

a single gunshot echoes through the clearing and before any of them can react, the shell has found its mark in johnny's leg. the force and shock of it sends him tumbling to the floor, scrambling through the blossoming pain to brace his fall on his arms so he won't land on top of you.

there's yelling, returning fire, but johnny can only focus on covering your body with his own, shielding you from any harm that might find you. even through the agony travelling up his thigh, even when the air is still again, and even when his own eyes are threatening to follow yours in falling shut and succumbing to the weakness that drags him down.

when did you shut your eyes? johnny slips his hand under your hand, grunting in his chest as his weight shifts, and to his horror his fingers come back red.

no, no no. he only just got you back, he cannot lose you again.

he doesn't even register that he's shouting – for help, a medic, something – until his weight is being heaved over ghost's shoulder and you're being taken by price, the cracks in his stony expression only fuel the sick dread making its way up johnny's throat.

back in the helo, in no time but he doesn't remember the journey, he tries to push the medic away who starts working on his leg, slurring for them to help you first. they ignore him, obviously, and if he had any energy left he would've berated them for not listening. ghost holds him down as they secure the tourniquet, and as his vision finally begins to fade, he turns his head to the side so you can be the last thing he sees as he slips into unconsciousness.

for once, he doesn't dream of you.

there are no images of your body, laying motionless under the rubble. he sleeps in blissful oblivion, his head completely silent, and wakes a day and a half later feeling more rested than he ever has despite the wound in his leg.

simon is by his bedside when he finally opens his eyes. it's late, the room dark apart from the fluorescent light bleeding in from the gap under the door and simon's phone highlighting his balaclava. he notices the moment johnny turns his head to watch him, because of course he does, and reaches over to turn on the lamp on the side table without a word.

"mornin', lt…" johnny mumbles, voice hoarse and eyes heavy as he pushes through the tiredness clinging to his senses to sit up in his bed. the light is abrasive to his eyes, but he blinks through the sting and manages a lazy smile towards simon.

"evenin', more like." he replies, a trace of humour in the way his eyes lift at the corners. "been asleep nearly thirty-eight hours."

johnny baulks at that, suddenly feeling a lot more awake from the cold shock that passes through him. "thirty–? jesus wept, i need'ta–" he sputters, wide-eyed as he throws the blankets from his legs and starts to get up, "i need'ta see 'em, how–"

before he can get his feet on the ground however, he's pushed back by simon's hand on his chest, forcing him to sit back and acknowledge the pain radiating from his thigh.

"they're fine, johnny." simon tells him, punctuated with a roll of his eyes before he continues, "been in and out of consciousness, but they're stable."

johnny sighs deeply, relief flooding through his body as he slumps back against his pillows. you're okay, you're alive, you're here, and you're home and safe. his thoughts have already begun racing and despite how much his wounds are aching, he's already set his mind to how he's going to see you as soon as possible.

as if sensing his plotting, simon leans forward to catch his gaze and even through the mask johnny can see the look he's sending him.

"i'm goin' back to bed, so don't do anythin' stupid." simon begins, pushing himself to stand using the arms of his chair and narrowing his eyes as he leans even closer. "if you rip these stitches, i'll put 'em back in myself, clear?"

"crystal, lt." johnny nods, and simon holds his stare as one last warning before he turns to leave – but not without giving him a firm pat just below his bandages that makes him wince, feeling the silent threat behind the gesture as he watches simon exit silently out into the hall.

johnny swings his legs over the side of the bed the second the door swings shut again, a sharp intake of breath following the movement as his weight shifts. surely he could get to where you are without making his wound any worse, he hard could it be?

he makes it two doors down before he realises that this might've been a bad idea. the muscles of his thigh burn and his breath comes out in heavy, stuttered huffs, but despite the strain on his injured body he refuses to give up before he's seen that you're okay with his own two eyes.

the fourth door he peeks through is where he finds you, the sight of your sleeping form instantly overpowering the pain in his leg. he shoulders open the door and beelines in a limp to your bedside, his gaze never once leaving your face until he's close enough to grasp your hand in a slow, featherlight touch like you'd disappear if he made a wrong move. you don't react as he strokes your knuckles, but johnny is more than content to just sit with you, perched on the edge of your bed and taking in the way your breath fills your lungs, the gentle thrum of your pulse under his fingertips on your wrist.

time passes easily like this, until the minutes have gone by and he can find the strength to lift himself into the bed beside you, snaking his arm around your neck and shoulder to hold you close as he settles in, careful not to agitate any of your own injuries.

"i missed you, my love," johnny whispers, dragging his fingers up and down your arm, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, "i missed you so much…"

your fingers twitch in his hold, the steady rhythm of your breathing hitching as a shaky sigh leaves you. johnny freezes, his hand stilling on your bicep and his eyes growing wide.

"john–" the sound of his name passing your lips pulls him out of his shock, and he pulls back to watch your eyes twitch and flutter open. your voice is raspy and still weak, but not even an angel choir could sound sweeter to him. "johnny…?"

"i'm here–" his voice breaks, but he continues anyway, "i'm here, i got ye." he murmurs, careful to keep his voice low despite how much he wants to cry from joy. "how ye feelin'? you comfy, sweetheart? any pain?" he asks, shifting the both of you to sit against the pillows and keep you nestled against his side.

"i'm okay–" your hoarse response is interrupted by a cough that devolves into wet hiccups, your hands curling tightly into his shirt as you look up at him, "it– am i– it's–"

"shushsh, i'm here darlin', i've got ye." he coos, his eyes welling up to match yours, resuming his soothing touch over your arm. you stay like that, for minutes that could've been hours, gazing into each other's eyes while you softly cry and johnny comforts you.

it aches him to see you cry, but he can't help but awe at how beautiful you still manage to be, with cuts and bruises and tears littering your face. his heart swells in his chest with the love he holds for you.

your hand finds its place on johnny's cheek, your staggered breaths calming down at last. he covers it with his own to feel more of your skin on his. a wince crosses your expression as you try to lean up towards him, but he stops you before you hurt yourself any further and leans his forehead against yours.

you pull his face even closer, digging your fingertips into his cheek in an almost uncomfortable sensation, before brushing your lips against his in something like disbelief. "am i dreaming?"

"no, my love," he utters against your skin, taking your bottom lip between his teeth, nudging your cheek with his nose, "this is real."

your breath hitches again when he closes the little space left between you and presses his lips to yours, encapsulating you in a kiss that holds every ounce of desperation he's been holding on to. it's passionate, all-encompassing, and it reminds him of the first time he kissed you all those years ago. your free hand travels up to his hair, tangling the longer strands around your fingers and drawing a groan from deep in his chest.

he's reluctant to let you when you pull away for air, tasting the salt from your last stray tears as he chases your lips.

"say it again…?" you ask in a murmur, your eyes fluttering open again. the look you give him, one of pure hope that you won't suddenly wake up alone, it makes johnny's heart miss a beat.

he squeezes your hand, turning slightly to leave a kiss on your palm. "it's real, bonnie. i'll die before i ever let you go again."

your mouth opens to say something, but you stop yourself just before you can choke the words out, fresh tears building in your eyes again. johnny gives you an encouraging nod, holding your gaze while you muster the courage to voice what you're thinking.

"i–" you begin, your words catching on a lump in your throat, "i watched you leave without me, i had to watch the helicopter disappear and, and you…" your voice fades, eyes darting between his while they gloss with unshed tears once again.

"sweetheart…" he frowns, his heart breaking anew from the anguish that he never wants to hear in your voice.

you swallow thickly, your hold on his hair tightening ever so slightly. "i thought– i didn't think you'd ever find me…"

"i'd always find you." johnny replies, his resolute tone leaving no room for argument. he touches his forehead to yours again and lowers his voice to continue, "even if i had to go tae the ends of the earth, i'd never stop lookin' fer you."

his words release the fresh tears you've been holding back, and with a quiet sob you drop your face to the crook of his neck, gripping his hair and face tighter still. johnny softly shushes you, rocking the two of you back and forth as much as he can with you held close in his arms.

"you're staying with me tonight…" your voice is muffled, spoken into his neck and sending goosebumps rippling across his skin. a comforting nostalgia follows your words, one he can't help but chuckle at.

"would'nae have it any other way, darlin'."

[immortalbumblebee]

Under The Table

This idea was given to me by the always-lovely @conretewings! Check our their stuff, they're the one who inspired me to write Vander fics in the first place.

Not to mention the Lord of the Rings reference, lol.

Masterlist

The Last Drop was alive tonight, the usual haze of pipe smoke and lantern-light casting warm, flickering shadows on the weathered walls. The hum of chatter filled the room, punctuated by the clink of glasses and bursts of raucous laughter from the regulars huddled around mismatched tables. Vander stood behind the bar, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the shelves of well-worn bottles, pouring a round for a trio of dockhands boasting about their latest haul.

At your usual corner table, a small crowd had gathered, hanging on to your every word. You’d just finished recounting an exaggerated tale of a drinking escapade—one that ended with you walking out unscathed while your opponent was passed out cold. Your grin widened as the group erupted in cheers and skeptical jeers, challenging your story.

"Come now," you teased, leaning back in your chair and raising your drink. "You think I’m bluffing? I’ve got more tolerance than anyone in this place."

Vander’s deep laugh cut through the noise, drawing your attention. He set down an empty tankard with a thunk and crossed his arms, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Anyone, huh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a bold claim, love.”

The crowd stilled for a brief, charged moment, the weight of Vander’s challenge hanging in the air. Then, like a spark igniting dry kindling, the room erupted into a cacophony of excited whispers and scattered cheers. Vander was rarely one to involve himself in the bar’s games—his presence was usually that of a steady hand and a watchful eye—but when he did, it was something that drew everyone’s attention.

You leaned casually against the bar, your arm resting on the worn surface, a sly smile playing at your lips. Tilting your jaw up just enough to meet his steady gaze, you let your eyes linger on him a beat longer than necessary. The faint flicker of amusement in his expression told you he noticed.

“Careful, Vander,” you teased, your voice light but laced with challenge. “I’d hate to see the great protector of the Lanes lose face in his own bar.”

A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd, some already placing bets, others simply eager to watch the spectacle unfold. Vander stepped closer, his imposing frame casting a shadow over the bar as he leaned in, his smirk widening.

“Lose face?” he rumbled, his voice warm and steady, though there was a glint of playful defiance in his eyes. “You talk a big game for someone who might not make it past the third round.”

The crowd roared their approval, and you couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his boldness. You straightened, stepping away from the bar with an exaggerated flourish and a grin that you hoped looked more confident than it felt.

“Guess we’ll see, won’t we?” you said, your voice carrying above the noise as the crowd surged to clear a table for the contest.

Maybe, you thought, as excitement buzzed in your veins, this was more than just a game. If you played your cards right, tonight might turn into something far more interesting.

The crowd erupted into cheers and hollers as an impromptu table was cleared, tankards rapidly filled, and bets thrown down with reckless enthusiasm. You couldn’t help but laugh, the buzz of excitement in the room infectiously lifting your spirits. It wasn’t just the thrill of the contest, though; it was the way Vander’s full attention was on you, his warm, steady gaze locking onto yours.

Your not-so-hidden crush on the burly bartender had been the worst-kept secret in the Lanes for ages, but having him focus on you like this—like you were the only person in the room—was enough to send butterflies swarming in your chest. And to think, you hadn’t even touched a drop of alcohol yet.

Vander stepped out from behind the bar, the crowd parting instinctively to let him through. He moved with an easy confidence, rolling his sleeves further up his forearms as he approached the table. With a nod to Benzo, who grinned like a cat about to watch a mouse get caught, he motioned for two fresh tankards to be filled.

“Don’t tell me you’re already getting cold feet,” he teased, settling into the seat across from you with a smirk that sent a thrill straight to your core.

You scoffed, playing it cool as you slid into your chair. “Not a chance,” you replied, though your heart was pounding loud enough that you were sure he could hear it.

The rounds started, each tankard emptied in a clatter of glass and thunderous cheers. You held your own at first, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through your chest and easing your nerves. But as the drinks stacked up, the edges of the room began to blur ever so slightly.

By the time the final tankard hit the table with a decisive thud, your vision was swimming just enough to make you blink hard, willing the room to steady itself. You were fine, you reassured yourself, though the growing smirk on Vander’s face said he might not agree.

“Still standing?” he asked, leaning forward on his elbows, his voice low and teasing. His gaze swept over you, equal parts playful and impressed.

You straightened in your chair, forcing a grin even as the butterflies in your stomach threatened to rebel. “Barely breaking a sweat,” you shot back, though your slightly unsteady hand betrayed you as you reached for the table to steady yourself.

Vander chuckled, the rich sound filling the space between you. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

It was about seven more beers in when the world began to tilt, just slightly, and everything became inexplicably funnier. You found yourself giggling uncontrollably at nothing in particular, your cheeks warm from both the drinks and the absurdity of the situation. Long ago, the crowd had begun to disperse, with only a few curious (and admittedly concerned) looky-loos poking their head over to you ever once in a while. Across the table, Vander glanced down at his hands, a faint look of concentration creasing his brow as he flexed his fingers in slow, clumsy motions.

You tried not to stare, but the way the low lantern-light caught the lines of his face, the way his lips curved into a subtle smile—it was impossible not to. Damn him for looking so good, even with a faint flush creeping up his neck from the alcohol.

“I think,” he rumbled, his voice warm and gravelly in a way that made your chest flutter, “I’m starting to feel it.” He flexed his fingers clumsily, the movement oddly mesmerizing. “There’s a... slight tingling.”

You blinked, your gaze tearing away from the way his hands moved to his face, where he was watching you with a glint of amusement. Your mouth moved before your brain caught up.

“Big, strong Vander,” you slurred with mock solemnity, lifting a shaky finger to point at him, “brought down by a few pints. I always knew you were human!”

The laugh that rumbled out of him made your stomach flip, and for a moment, you forgot to be embarrassed by your boldness.

“Is that so?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table as he gave you that infuriatingly attractive smirk. “You seem pretty human yourself, love. The hiccups kind of give it away.”

You hiccupped immediately, as if on cue, and the heat in your cheeks spread down your neck. “That’s—hic—just strategy,” you said, waving a hand as though brushing off his words. “Keeps you off guard.”

Vander chuckled again, the sound low and rich, and it sent a shiver down your spine despite the warmth flooding your body. He leaned back once more, tilting his tankard to his lips and draining the rest of his beer effortlessly, the muscles in his throat shifting in a way you had no business noticing but absolutely did.

“Impressive strategy,” he drawled, setting the tankard down with a solid thunk. “Let me know how it works out when you’re trying not to fall over.”

You narrowed your eyes, your lips twitching into a grin despite yourself. “I’m not the one looking like they forgot how fingers work,” you countered, pointing at his hands with a dramatic flourish. Your words floundered slightly as your eyes became trapped on the digits in question, “nice hands…”

His laughter was louder this time, full and unrestrained, and it sent another wave of warmth crashing through you. He was utterly magnetic like this, his usual calm composure softened by the drinks and the laughter you had somehow managed to coax out of him.

“You like my hands, do you?” Vander hummed, his voice dropping a note lower as he leaned slightly closer to you. His elbows rested on the table, the light from the lantern above casting shadows that made his smirk all the more dangerous.

Your brain short-circuited. You blinked hard at him, utterly incapable of forming a coherent thought as your mouth opened and closed like a fish. “Umm,” you finally managed, the sound weak and embarrassingly stupid.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening at your obvious fluster. His fingers drummed idly against the table, drawing your reluctant gaze to them before your eyes darted back to his face. “What’s the matter, love?” he asked, his voice smooth and teasing. “I thought you had plenty to say a moment ago.”

The heat in your cheeks surged, your thoughts spiraling as you tried desperately to pull yourself together. “I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t say I liked your hands!” you blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush.

“Didn’t you?” Vander leaned back, his broad shoulders settling comfortably as if he had all the time in the world to tease you. “Could’ve sworn I caught you staring. Not that I blame you,” he added with a low chuckle, his voice rich enough to make your stomach flip. “These hands can do a lot more than pour drinks, you know.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt your face go molten. The implications of his words hit you like a freight train, your mind running wild with thoughts you definitely shouldn’t be entertaining right now.

“I—I wasn’t staring,” you stammered, though the way your voice cracked on the words probably didn’t make you very convincing.

His smirk deepened, his gaze unwavering and entirely too knowing. “No? Then what’s got you so flustered?”

You sputtered, unable to come up with a retort as the crowd around you roared with laughter and excitement, still caught up in the drinking contest. Meanwhile, Vander’s eyes stayed locked on yours, a flicker of something unspoken lingering between you—a challenge, a tease, or maybe, just maybe, something more. 

[annabelle--cane]

Stop! You have reached the saloon of your wild west inbox. The doors swing dramatically as you step inside. Some of the patrons turn and nod in your direction. You plop down at the bar. The bartender tries to slide you your usual but she's a bit overzealous and it slides right off the edge. She gets it to you the second time. "I'll get it on the first try one of these days!" She says. You wonder how she can afford to constantly be breaking so many glasses, it's not like they're easy to get out here in the wild west. You're just settling in when the doors bang open. Who's that in the doorway, silhouetted by the setting sun? Ah hell, it's an anon asker, by the glint in their eyes you can tell they're here to take something you've said in bad faith. With a sigh you slide off your stool and confront the faceless stranger. "You better turn around and get goin' pal," you say, "no one here wants to hear your nonsense today." The anon gives you a blank stare, then they open their mouth and keep opening it, wider than should be possible. A terrible cry fills the room. The other patrons clap their hands over their ears. Oh no! You didn't recognize them at first but now you can see plain as day what you're dealing with, it's a terf! You have to act fast. In a flash you pull your trusty blocking pistol from its holster. A single shot rings out. The terf lets out a final yowl as they fall backwards through the swinging saloon doors. There is a moment of tense silence, then a cheer goes up among the patrons. You return wearily to your seat. The bar tender tries to slide you another drink but it flies right past and knocks two other people's drinks off the bar with it. Peace has been restored once again. But you know the out here in the wild west inbox that peace can never last.

anon are u single

[k8fics]

‘Does anyone want a Lucy Maximus throu-“

YES I DO. YES I DO. ME ME ME

Surfaced Hearts

summary: headcanon of lucy, maximus, & surface dweller!reader throuple

rating: R (?) - nsfw, the apocalypse, killing people, just fallout, fem!reader, the use of Y/N, maximus has his armor bc..hehe

- i can think of so many ways you guys could meet

- maybe you're a surface dweller who meets lucy & maximus when they stumble upon your shop

- OR maybe you're childhood friends with lucy, you guys leave the vault together, and then meet maximus later on along the way

- surface dweller!reader tho (*❦ω❦)

The sun hung low in the sky casting long shadows across the broken pavement as Lucy and Maximus approached the dilapidated storefront. Their steps were cautious, hands gripping their weapons, ears perked for any sign of danger in the eerie silence of the wasteland. As they neared the entrance, a sudden cacophony shattered the silence. Raiders faces twisted with malice, emerging from the shadows, brandishing rusted weapons and hungry eyes. Lucy's grip tightened on her pistol, while Maximus aimed his mechanical arm, gears whirring in anticipation. Suddenly, before the raiders could even position themselves for a second attack, a sudden onslaught of gunfire erupted from the shop's interior. Bullets flew through the air with deadly precision, finding their marks in the chest of the unsuspecting raiders. Stunned, all Lucy and Maximus can do is merely watch as the assailants fall one by one, their bodies crumpling to the ground. Standing amidst the carnage, a figure emerged from the dust. A surface dweller, standing tall, your weapon still smoking in your hand as you surveyed the aftermath then began rummaging through the dead bodies' belongings. As you do so, you look up at the two standing beside you, "Y'all don't plan on causing any trouble like these asshats right?" Lucy and Maximus stare at each other before looking back at the scavenger, all they can do is nod.

- from that point forward, they want you SO bad

- you have would kill for them

- (and vice versa) you're is just more unhinged aggressive about their devotion

"Phew! That was a close one," Lucy gasped, her chest heaving as she cast a glance toward Maximus, her eye lingering on his rugged features. Maximus nodded, a bead of sweat tracing a path down his face. "Yeah... Hey, where's Y/N?" His gaze flickered between Lucy and the shadows of where the surface dweller once was. A few anxious moments later you emerged, your form silhouetted by the dim light of the land. Lucy and Maximus approach you, their hearts racing with a mixture of relief and concern. "Sweetie, where have you been?" Lucy's voice was soft, tinged with a hint of worry as she touched your arm. Your eyes met Lucy's, and a flicker of something unreadable fades away immediately after making eye contact with her. "And why are you covered in blood?" Maximus's voice was low, his gaze lingering on your disheveled appearance. "They're gone now," you replied cryptically, your voice barely reaching a whisper as you leaned into their touch. As the weight of your words hung in the air between them, Lucy and Maximus exchanged a glance. Amidst the chaos and uncertainty, they found themselves drawn to the surface dweller in ways they couldn't quite explain.

- babygirl, girlboss, and malewife

- i imagine you're a little rough around the edges considering your predicament

- but lucy and maximus soften you up :D

You've always had a hardened exterior, having learned to rely on keeping your guard up at all times. But when Lucy and Maximus entered your life, you found yourself grappling with the unfamiliar territory of trust and vulnerability. One day, as you guys were traversing the rugged terrain, you encountered Dogmeat. Your instincts kicked in immediately, muscles tensing as your eyes followed the tog warily. "Easy there, Y/N," Lucy said, her voice calm and reassuring as she approached the canine companion with outstretched hands. "He's a friend, not a foe." Maximus, with his gentle demeanor, echoed Lucy's sentiment. "Trust us, Dogmeat is as loyal as they come." You remained skeptical, "Still, I'm not sharing my food with the mutt." You grumbled, Lucy and Maximus exchanged knowing glances. After less than a week, Dogmeat stood by your side as you cooked the meat you had just scavenged, the canine getting pieces here and there from the surface dweller.

- you love gifting them things

like when lucy mentioned that she missed watching old westerns in her vault, you're immediately searching for the best copies and a working television

- maximus's love language is definitely words of affirmation and acts of service

- he's a sucker for verbal expressions of love and appreciation

- but he actually goes weak to the knees (like on the ground, begging, clinging onto you and lucy's legs) when it comes to acts of service

- like helping him repair one of his arms and he's just shaking and blushing

- or scavenging for oysters just to gift it to him, he's purring and surrounds you

- lucy's is so physical touch

- sometimes, when you guys can find clean water, you and maximus take a bath or shower with her and it's her favorite thing ever

- babygirl asf

- imagine lucy teaching you and maximus different self-care practices

Lucy grinned, her expression filled with excitement as she gestured toward the jar in her hand. "We're going to start with something simple: exfoliation." You and Maximus exchanged a puzzled glance before turning their attention back to Lucy, who wasted no time demonstrating the proper techniques. With gentle motions, she applied the scrub to her skin, massaging with care. "And that's how you exfoliate!" Lucy declared, her skin glowing with newfound radiance. While all you could do is stare in horniness amazement with your mouth open, Maximus scratched his head, a look of confusion across his face. "...But why?" he asked, only to be met with a punch on the arm by the surface dweller.

- honestly, i feel like you guys don't even talk about being a couple or anything, it just happened over time

- like a few subtle touches and stolen glances over time turns into staring lovingly into the eyes of each other and .........

tiny nsfw

- "intercourse?"

- just a room full of switches

- you're on top most of the time tho

- maximus is a giver all the way

- bro's mouth is always full

- lucy is a pillow princess and you cannot change my mind

- and very vocal

- maximus likes to watch you and lucy

- the cuck chair lives past the apocalypse!!!

- he's mostly quiet with the occasional praises, telling you to keep going, that you're doing so well, that you make him and/or lucy feel so good

- it's like he's taking notes

- "you wanna make my cock explode now?"

anyways! back to the planned program

- lucy does your hair most of the time

- the first time she suggested it she asked for you to find a hairbrush so that she could "fix up our hair"

- you immediately jumped up to rummage around for that old hairbrush in that one file cabinet

- so now she does your hair most mornings while maximus makes or scavenges for some form of breakfast

- for some reason, i feel like maximus knows how to play cards

- and i just know it would be lucy's favorite pass times

"oh! can we play that card game you taught us, maxie?"

- do you guys think lucy and maximus would have nicknames for each other?

- like lucy calls him 'max' and/or 'maxie' (maxi? maxy?) and maximus calls lucy 'luce' (EEEE)

- you and maximus LOVE the way lucy smells tho

- i know it's weird but imagine always being surrounded by the most putrid stenches and here comes this beautiful, very clean lady comes along

- it can't be helped

"what are you guys doing?" "nothin" "you always smell like roses"

-

hope you enjoyed! lmk if anyone wants more lucy x max throuple fics, i can make a longer fic going into more depth. thank you!!

[findafight]

Wait. Wait. Kinda part 2 to this post. For the angst of it all. Cw: implied and assumed homophobia

Because sure, after that dinner Joyce relents in not being, y'know, openly confused or frustrated with Steve being around. El obviously adores him and Jim is always glad when he comes around. Joyce can put up with Steve for them. But she's a stubborn woman, and somewhere in her mind, Steve is a Bad Egg. So she's still not 100% on board.

All this rears its head one night after a lot of their world saving group has had a movie night and ended up in a puddle on the floor. Steve is squished between Robin and Eddie, snuggled up all cozy. Joyce sees this when she quietly pads out of her bedroom to just. Check on the kids.

Eddie and Steve are sat up, Robin's face pressed against his hip. They're whispering something, heads leaned close. And they lean in further, silhouetted by the moonlight filtering in, and kiss. It's pretty chaste, though not a peck.

Joyce's blood boils. Steve has a girlfriend, he should not be going around kissing his friends like that, stringing them all along. She feels strangely vindicated, that her assumptions about Steve were right, that he wasn't actually a good guy or had changed at all. She almost yells at him then and there, but holds off. No need to wake everyone up. She can lecture him in the morning.

Once everyone is fed and lounging in the late morning, she pulls Steve out onto the porch.

"I saw you kiss Eddie last night" she says, without preamble. "And I cannot believe you would think behaviour like that is acceptable in my house."

Steve blinks, clenches his jaw. "Jo--Mrs Byers. I--"

"I don't want any of your excuses! It's despicable what you're doing, and I won't have it. For whatever reason, those kids look up to you. What kind of example are you setting for them? For El?" Steve's eyes widen, and if Joyce hadn't been so caught up with her anger she probably would have seen that instead of being ashamed or embarrassed, Steve is scared. "She looks up to you so much, though I can't imagine why. You need to clean yourself up, Steve. For real this time. You can't go around doing whatever you want. It's disgusting and disrespectful. Did you even consider the people you'd hurt? How doing shit like that would affect the lives of people who care about you? They deserve better than that." She shakes her head. Arms crossed. Steve is tense in front of her, but he doesn't say anything. To her, that's as good as confession. "Everyone talks about how you've worked hard to improve yourself, become a better person. But after last night? I just don't believe it. No one who's really changed, really a good person, would do what you did." She sighs. "You should probably leave now."

Steve nods stiffly. "Right. I'll. Uh, I leave. Can you...please, don't tell anyone, ma'am. I'll Grab my bag and I'll get outta your hair, but don't tell. I'm so sorry. Please." She purses her lips. His girlfriend deserves to know, but Joyce has no clue who that is (it might be the Robin girl attached to his hip, but she has no way of knowing). She nods once. Steve's shoulders slump.

Stepping back into the house, Steve quickly and jerkily snags his backpack from the corner it was shoved into before leaning over to whisper something in Robin's ear. The girl nods, looking worried.

He doesn't look at Eddie.

For a while, her house is Steve-free. Joyce breathes easy, hoping their talk was a wake-up call for steve. He is painfully polite when they bump into each other, Robin usually by his side with a strained customer service smile. Small talk is non-existent.

But then Will starts getting quieter. Maybe avoiding her. Certainly does his best to be small and doesn't look in her eyes. She has no idea what's going on, and she's worried.

What if the Upside Down came back? What if there's something wrong with her boy? What if everything they've fought for and sacrificed didn't mean anything and it's never actually over?

She tries to talk to him, but he shrugs her off, says he's fine and not to worry about it. Assures her it is definitely not the Upside Down.

Finally, after two weeks of Will looking absolutely miserable when he talks to her, she gets Jonathan to try. Tension around the house is high, Steve is barely around and always skitters away when he sees her, and in combination with will, it's out everyone on edge.

She doesn't mean to eavesdrop. But she doesn't not mean to either. It's just that they're on the porch, and she was in the kitchen and heard something, and when she went to see, she heard them talking.

"it's not--i want to tell you but it's not my secret to tell."

Jonathan sighs. "Will. I can't help if I don't know what's wrong. Please. Talk to me. I'll love you no matter what, you know that."

Will heaves a breath. "I had a talk with Steve --" and oh, the rage in Joyce's chest when she hears that. What did he say to her boy?? "And...uhg. fuck. Okay, you have to swear, swear! You're not going to tell anyone what I'm going to tell you. If you figure it out, because I don't. It's not mine to tell."

"okay. I swear. I won't go spilling Steve's secrets."

"you have to mean it, Jonathan. It's dangerous!"

There's ruffling fabric. Jonathan's voice is softer. "I promise."

"Steve said he was telling me because he thought we might be...similar. In some ways. And he talked about who he's dating. And that Hopper and El and Robin and Eddie know. And that they're all safe. Y'know? Like you are."

"okay..."

"and I said you were, and he said that was really good, and then emphasized that if I ever wanted like, and actual grown up to talk to, not just another teenager, Hopper was safe. But. The way he said it made it seem like...I don't know, but something was off? And I asked him." There's a pause. "I asked him if Mom knew. And he said yes. But he hadn't... Before that, he hadn't said she was safe. Jonathan..."

Something...wasn't adding up. Joyce was trying to puzzle what she wouldn't be safe to talk to about. She'd been in the tunnels and Upside Down and through it all. Her children, and by extension the children that had helped save them, were always safe in her house. To come to her if they felt unsafe. Why Steve would tell her own son she wasn't --

Will continued. "Steve said that it'd probably be different because I'm her kid, y'know? She--she did all this stuff to get me back and to keep me safe and loves me. So she could. So she'd maybe change her mind. For me."

"Will..." Jonathan's voice sounds pained.

"but what if she's not? What if that's where it ends? Shell save me from a demogorgon but not love me for this. Steve's saved my friends half a dozen times, Jonathan! He got--he got tortured" that is not something Joyce knew. When the hell did that happen? "with Robin to protect Dustin and Erica, Billy beat him half to death when he stepped in to protect Lucas and Max! He's good! I'm not as close to him as the others but he still told me. He trusted me enough with a secret that I can't even say outloud about myself yet! And Mom still-" will hiccups, and Joyce wishes she knew what he was talking about. Wishes he was saying these things to her, so she could comfort him.

Heaving a breath, Will is quieter. "Steve's the reason no one's died. He's El's first brother. And she still called him disgusting for-- for kissing someone he loves."

Ice fills Joyce's veins, a heavy pit balls in her stomach. Because that's not--she didn't--it wasn't like that.

But Steve had begged her not to tell anyone. Had stood still and not tried to justify anything and called her ma'am when he asked her not to tell. Held himself still when she was around and bolted at the first possible opportunity, leaving disappointed people in his wake. Oh, shit. Oh, she's fucked up so badly. Hurt some kid because she was suspicious of him from over three years ago and assumed the worst. Instead of realizing that maybe the reason he and his girlfriend were keeping it quiet was because he didn't have a girlfriend at all, and that the boy he kissed that night was his boyfriend, she had just assumed he was cheating. And then she'd told him he was disappointing and disgusting and a bad influence on the kids. Even after, he still made sure Will knew there were safe people around, that he'd have someone to talk to. And all she'd done was make him scared of her.

"oh, buddy."

Will's voice is muffled, and Jonathan has probably pulled him into a hug. It cracks when he speaks. "how can she say that about Steve but still love me? When so much of this shit's been my fault?"

"none of this is your fault. Don't believe that, will. No one blames you or El for any of it. You know that, right?"

"okay..."

"it's true. And as for mom...I don't know." Jonathan huffs "I'm not sure. I'm sorry, buddy."

Joyce turns then, feeling sick. She shouldn't have eavesdropped on her children, but now she had she was going to make things right. Hopefully.

Ensure everyone, including Steve, knew she was safe.

Part 3

[walkingstackofbooks]

The Garashir wedding: Lower Decks style

Mariner's called into her mom's office. Freeman informs her that something very special but currently classified is going to be happening in the next week, and she knows Mariner is going on leave tomorrow, but she might want to consider postponing it. Mariner declines - "Nah, my thing is more important".

Mariner and Rutherford are left at the space station to go on leave. It transpires that Mariner has been invited to Julian's wedding, and taking Rutherford as her plus one because Julian Bashir is one of his heroes. (augment-cyborg solidarity, anyone?)

Boimler, Tendi and T'Lyn are all trying to find out what the mission they're being sent on is. Boimler reports that Shakx seems pretty unhappy. Tendi suggests it's just because T'Ana has apparently discovered a drink she prefers more than Bajoran springwine.

Mariner and Rutherford encounter Hijinks and Troubles as they try to hitchhike their way to the wedding.

Freeman is stressing over what to wear for the occasion and has dragged Ransom in. Dress uniform, obviously, but can she get away with accessorising a little? And if so, how? She doesn't want to be a regular Starfleet officer, she wants to be a cool Starfleet officer. ("I literally cannot help you I don't even know what we're doing because you STILL haven't TOLD me." "It's classified." "You told Shakx!" "Have you tried keeping a secret from Shakx? He's terrifying!" "I can be terrifying!" "Nice try, Jack... Is a scarf too much do you think?")

Mariner and Rutherford have managed to trade his engineering abilities in exchange for passage on a merchant ship. Unfortunately, he is too good, and the ship now want to keep him.

Boimler is on navigation. They're approaching their destination but Freeman still wants the information to be known only to Bridge crew for as long as possible. (Boimler: "But what are we doing on--" Freeman: "Shh. Even the walls have ears, you know.")

The merchant ship have arrived and reluctantly agree to let Mariner and Rutherford go. They change into their fancy wedding stuff ready to be transported down. They are in the middle of a desert. "Screw you!" Mariner shouts uselessly at the sky.

Boimler is in the mess with Tendi and T'Lyn. Boimler is sweating profusely and tapping anxiously on the table. He cannot keep a secret this big. Tendi looks at him curiously. "Why do you keep tapping out "Cardassia" in Morse Code?" she asks, just at the moment when the room has gone silent. All eyes are on Boimler.

Mariner and Rutherford are hot, sweaty, bedraggled and exhausted. The doorkeeper reluctantly lets them in. "It's just started," he says. They sit down quietly in the back. Rutherford think his UT is playing up. "Did they just wish them many happy arguments?" he whispers.

Captain Freeman is nervously playing with her red scarf. "I wouldn't wear that if I were you," Ransom says. "I hear his reputation is quite formidable." Someone gestures that she's up.

We see her begin to walk out, and begin the "Since the days of the first wooden vessels, all shipmasters have had one happy privilege..." speech. The happy couple have their backs to us, and are silhouetted.

The camera zooms further back, and we are now at the back of the building. "Mom?" Mariner whispers to Rutherford.

We finally get to see the couple's faces as the camera pans back to Freeman and looks over her shoulder. Julian and Garak are facing each other. "...Of course, the legal part of this marriage has just been taken care of by the Cardassians -- but it is my privilege to bring this very human tradition to a Cardassian wedding ceremony and tell you that, Julian, you may kiss your husband."

Garak and Julian smile at each other, but the camera cuts away to the crowd. Federation guests are clapping and cheering; the Cardassians tend to be trying to avoid eye contact with anyone else in their vicinity.

We cut to the reception. Mariner's asking Julian "It all seemed so... Federation? Even the Cardassian bit?" Julian shrugs. "When you end up making every compromise in the book in the name of interstellar relations, it turns out all you get is a nondescript, bureaucratic service." He winks. "This is going to be when the fun starts."

Garak is complimenting Freeman on her scarf, and we can see in her face that she is totally lording it over Jack. Garak returns to his husband. "But you hated that scarf?" whispers Julian. "The things I do for diplomacy," replied Garak sorrowfully.

T'Ana is downing Kanar like it's nothing in the background to Shakx's distinct disapproval.

Mariner's managed to sneak Boimler, Tendi and T'Lyn into the party. "I can't believe we could have just come on the Cerritos," she moans, "but anyway, go wild."

Of course, her deeply uncool friends go wild by fangirling over their DS9 idols. At the end of that montage, Rutherford finally gets the chance to say "Thankyouforallyou'vedonefortheaugmentcommunityDoctorBashir". It's sweet.

Aaand endings are hard so sorry, I don't have one to neatly wrap this all up 😅 I will leave it to your wonderful imaginations.

[mtkay13]

My version of the wardrobe template! yay!! I had a LOT of fun doing this and feel like I could elaborate a bit more on each of those.

It's already linked up here, but here's once again a > link to the post.< Anyway! More about these designs below!

So first, for WKX's template! - Chapter 2: Grey robes I had already made my design of those for the full TYK lineup I made a while back. I really, really like those, and took inspiration from some of the robes SHL!WKX wears in the show for the shapes. - Chapter 69: dark robes with dark red belt I expected to like that style for him, but not that much! I had seen a tutorial on how asymetrical hanfus were worn by archers in the past and that inspired me, purely on a fashion level of course. I like how intimidating he looks with those and enjoy the touches of blue in the inner layer of the robes. - Chapter 75: dark red robes The GVM robes! which I also designed a while back when researching for the illustrations of the Mt Fengya battle scenes that I wanted to make. I reworked them just a little bit and got rid of some details that I didn't like anymore. I tremendously pleated skirts for WKX so I went at it once again. I also used shifts in hues to make it look like it could have been drenched in blood. - Extra 5: deep red robes For the reminder (since apparently some people are not aware of extra 5's existance), this extra is set 5 years post-canon. I wanted WKX to wear something that looked comfortable for traveling but also practical and fashionable. The teal jacket is of course another nod at SHL since the red and teal combo was an absolute banger. Let's say I didn't want WKX to just sport an all-red look. Furthermore, the teal really works to adorn the red hues. - My personal favourite I actually don't really know whether those are my actual personal favourites, but I've come to LOVE WKX dressed in red and white thanks to @kwehxing's designs. I think it really suits him and on top of that it avoids the question "is this Hua Cheng" LMAO--okay jokes aside, I combined most of the shapes that I really like for WKX (wider shoulders, wide sleeves, and long robes with pleated inner robes) and I find him very elegant like this. Now, for ZZS! - Chapter 1: sapphire blue scholar robes Those had already been designed before as well! They're my go to generic TC!ZZS robes, haha. I was a bit extra with the blue colour here, but oh well. I'm quite obsessed with the silver brocade cynching his waist, haha. - Chapter 2: stolen farmer robes A classic as well as far as I'm concerned--of course, inspired by his hobo fit in SHL because it was quite efficient. I'm forever fond of my scruffy hobo!Xu and his toes poking from his sandals. - Chapter 18: luxurious robes from the Gao family Those were a new design! Which I had a lot of fun coming up with. Putting ZZS in a different colour scheme was also really nice. For those who don't remember, ZZS feels quite ridiculous when he sees himself in a mirror wearing those fancy robes while being so emaciated and still sporting his hobo mask. I wanted to give this "out of place" feeling; and also work on a very "wuxia" style for the robes, since this is jianghu and they were provided by Gao Chong. - Extra 5: black robes I'm incredibly fond of this design. I worked quite a bit on it, since I wasn't sure of where I wanted to go. My main guidelines were: practical and cool. I really like ZZS having a lot of room to move so ideally not too much fabric in the way, and I think he also needs arm braces to be rid of annoying sleeves. Of course, him looking much healthier and having a dynamic ponytail really works to "complete the look", and I find that he looks really cool there haha. - My personal favourite This one has been refined over the months, but it's definitely, overall, my favourite look for him in terms of shapes and construction. I like that the robes are short, I like the more fashionable jacket. I'm especially into the "pants tucked into the boots" silhouette, as well as the little ribbons keeping them tight around the ankles. I'd say that this leg shape + short robes + a bun (or sometimes a ponytail) is THE ZZS design combo for me, haha. It looks practical and fun and adventurous, just how I like it.

To conclude the whole post, I had more fun doing this than I even expected, and needless to say that I'm very excited to see other versions of them following this template. It was a good opportunity to try and project what the characters look like throughout the book, and a fun design exercise as well. I actually don't really like doing character design usually, but for characters I'm obsessed with, it's of course a much nicer experience. Anyway, thank you for reading!