#what the fuck is wrong with them i can't look away

[shouyuus]

more college roommate hcs?? maybe reader tries to tease vi back for bein shirtless all the time which eventually leads to them getting together??

18+ (no sex, just a$$ and tiddies), mdni, college roommate!vi cinematic universe

you have taken to walking around in your underwear.

and at first, vi wonders if she's losing it a little bit, because she's pretty sure you haven't always been like this. no. if anything, in the past couple of months, you'd been strangely... jumpy. and sure it'd been fun to tease you (walking around with her top off all the time just to get a rise out of you made something warm nudge at the base of her belly) but she doesn't think you're the kind of person to hold a grudge.

(she's been wrong in the past though, and vi thinks that it wouldn't be the worst thing to be wrong about this either.)

at first, it looks like an accident, her waking up to you humming, making breakfast like you do, an earbud tucked into your ear, barefoot in the kitchen, sprinkling salt onto the scrambled eggs. but her eyes skate down the length of your body and her breath dies in her lungs as she realizes you're in nothing but a thin spaghetti strap top and baby blue panties. her eyes catch on the lace trimming against the soft of your skin and she swears her thoughts melt into something akin to tv static.

"uh --"

"oh! hey! breakfast is almost ready -- you don't have morning practice today, right?"

"no... i uhm -- i don't..." she blinks several times before tearing her eyes away from your very bare legs, fighting the urge too shake her head like a dog trying to clear it's ears of water.

"cool! oh, i think there's some orange juice left in the fridge, can you grab it?" you turn back to the pan with a bright smile, humming to yourself.

vi swallows, "yeah sure, princess --" she turns toward the fridge, feeling oddly robotic as she opens it to grab the juice jug. all her hairs startle to attention as you lean over the counter, reaching up into the cupboards for a plate, the motion making your already tiny tanktop ride up, a sliver of skin winking at her from above the waistband of your panties.

she nearly drops the juice jug.

three days later, she comes home to the damp cling of steam in the air. frowning, she drops her duffle and wanders towards the bathroom, where the shower's clearly just been turned off, but the door's wide open. and there you are, standing in the steam-ridden bathroom, in nothing but a bra and panties, toweling dry your hair.

"whoa -- sorry --"

"hm? oh! you're home! nice -- i was gonna ask if you wanted to come out to dinner -- i think mel found a really cute wine bar she wanted to try --"

vi stares; she can't help it. you're in a matching set, and even though it's nothing fancy, it still makes her brain feel oddly liquid as she watches your tits bounce slightly in the semi push-up bra.

"wine... bar?" vi asks, her voice slurring slightly even to her own ears.

your eyebrows hitch, a tiny smile tucked into the corner of your mouth as you cock your head.

"yeah, it's pretty close to that one hotdog joint you like so i figured i'd ask."

you make no move to cover yourself up, and distantly, vi thinks that a few months ago, you would've never showered with the doors open.

"sure i -- i'm down -- uh -- is anyone else coming?" vi asks, somehow forcing eyes away from your cleavage. you reach up to hang the towel by the door, dropping back down on your heels.

vi's eyes snap back to the way your tits just bounced.

(what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?)

"-- probably jayce, but other than that no one... vi?"

"huh?" she jerks back slightly, eyes slingshotting back up too meet your gaze. and this time, she sees it -- a flicker of something so very much like mischief caught in the light there before you're laughing, light and airy.

"nothing just... you seem a little out of it. everything okay?"

you squeeze by her into the hallway and she barely catches the way her own eyes trail the shape of you towards your room, the round of your ass cheeks caught in the simple black panties you're wearing.

"yeah -- just..." she swallows, her mouth suddenly very, very dry.

"a long day?" you offer, twisting around to glance at her over your shoulder half a second before you bend down to rummage for a dress in your chest of drawers.

vi feels a curse bubbling out of her --

"holy fuck --"

"hm?"

"no, nothing! i -- i'm gonna shower before we go."

"sure! i washed your towel for you today, so it's fresh," you say, seemingly unperturbed as you finally disappear into your room, though you still make no move to close the door.

"great, t-thanks princess! really... appreciate it..." vi lets her voice trail off into a soft grumble as she nudges the bathroom door closed with an arm and tugs her sweaty practice clothes off. her foot catches something by the bathtub, and she looks down to find a lacy thong with a bright pink butterfly ribboned in the front.

it takes her four whole seconds before she's reaching down to pick it up and hold it to the light. it's not her's, and it's been months since she's brought a hookup home (not since she's started to imagine you between her legs every time she tries to get off with someone else), so -- by elimination it has to be --

yours.

"sweet fuck."

it only gets worse after that -- she'd come home to find you sat on the couch in a veritable fortress of notes and textbooks, in a crop-top and heart-patterned undies, or walk by your room just in time to catch you tugging off your top, your back to the door (thankfully, vi doesn't know if her heart could take it if she saw you fully with your top off --)

"is our ac broken or something?" she asks one day, frowning at the wall controls. you look up, frowning slightly, a highlighter caught between your fingers, as you sit cross-legged on at the dining table, one of her shirts sloping off your shoulder (but you've tied the bottom up with a rubber band so it sits above your abdomen, cutting off right above where a pair of dark red lacey panties is oh so visible underneath).

"hm? no -- why?" you sound distracted, your eyes falling back to your notes.

vi blinks at you.

"you never wear pants anymore."

you freeze, your fingers poised over a line of miniscule text, the highlighter hovering above the page.

when you look up again, there's a fox-fire gleam to the dark in your irises, and a grin that would've made the god of trickers himself puff with pride slung crescent-moon sharp over the shape of your lips.

"what was it that you told me last time?" you ask, your voice sweet enough to slick the skin, "i just always run... hot?"

vi's expression flatlines. she closes the distance between the pair of you in three quick strides and before you can stutter out her name ("v-vi --?"), she's hauling you out of the dining table chair and onto the sofa, pinning you beneath her, one of your wrists caught beneath hers, her other hand skating down the length of your body to tease at the waistband of your panties.

"you little tease..." she murmurs, but there's no poison in her words, only a bone-deep wanting. it rumbles through her to you, shaking shivers down your spine as you whine beneath her.

"mmm you started it," you say, eyes flickering between hers and the shape of her parted lips; the tiny scar there makes your mouth water.

vi narrows her eyes, giving your wrist a warning squeeze as she leans in just a fraction closer. like this, you can almost taste her breath against your tongue.

"so what... are you gonna finish it then, princess?"

"i-if that's what you w-want --" you stumble over your words as vi presses a knee up between your thighs.

"yeah? you're gonna do what i want?"

you let out a pitched whimper; vi delights in the way your pulse jutters in the triangle of your throat. but you nod, a bit frantic, as vi digs her nose into the junction of your neck and breathes.

she lets out a thick groan, an ever-familiar warmth pooling at the base of her belly as she thinks about sinking her teeth into your skin, about seeing the shape of her teeth inked into your skin for days and days after.

it's nearly enough to drive her off the edge.

"but nothing's gonna happen if you don't ask for it first, pretty girl..." she pulls back, grinning when you immediately try to tug her back, the hand pinned beneath hers curling into a loose fist.

"vi... please --"

desire pulses deep in vi's gut. she wonders if things will ever be the same after tonight (it won't) but she also wonders if she still wants them to be the same after all this (she doesn't).

"yeah? please, what?"

you blink up at her, your lashes almost star-lit in the dim light of the dining room.

"kiss me," you say.

vi's breath comes out shaky, her pulse threading through her like some desperate, fluttering thing. she watches you beneath her, thinks to herself that if this is her undoing then so the fuck be it.

"is that what you want, princess?" she asks, and her voice is honest, the edges frayed with all the uncertainty she's ever felt when you've pressed in a bit too close, when she's lingered over the afterimage of your smile, cast against her eyelids at night.

you nod up at her, and in your eyes, she finds something akin to absolution as she leans down to graze her lips over yours, the touch so soft it's almost a memory.

"fuck, vi --" you groan, jerking her down with your free hand fisted at the throat of her shirt, "kiss me, kiss me, kiss me."

she lets out a debauched moan as she tips herself into the heat of your mouth to kiss you, and kiss you, and kiss you.

[mminghaos]

Can i ask a jealous and possesive mingyu that doesn't like you hangout with his friends?? And he's pissed about you not giving him enough attention...

all yours , kim mingyu x f!reader

SYPNOSIS: mingyu doesnt like sharing, especially when it comes to you.

WARNINGS: smut, unprotected sex (dont do this !!), fingering, jealousy, possessiveness, rough sex,

requests open, do send some in !!

mingyu's eyes have been on you all night.

you feel them burning into you from across the room, lingering every time you laugh at something wonwoo says or nudge soonyoung playfully. his expression is unreadable, but you know him too well to be fooled — he's pissed.

he barely spoke on the way home. barely even looked at you, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. now, in the quiet of his apartment, the tension is suffocating.

you lean against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching him as he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the sofa.

"okay, what's wrong?" you ask, breaking the silence

mingyu scoffs, shaking his head. "youre really gonna ask me that?"

you blink. "yes?"

he turns to face you fully, his jaw clenched tight. "you ignored me all night."

you roll your eyes. "i did not—”

"oh, really?" he steps closer, towering over you. "you barely looked at me. barely talked to me. but you had no problem giving all your attention to wonwoo and soonyoung huh?"

you sigh. "mingyu, we were just catching up. you know that."

he crowds you against the counter, his body flush against yours, trapping you between him and the cold marble. his hands grip your waist, fingers digging into your hips.

"doesn't matter," he mutters. "you're mine."

his voice is low, rough with frustration, but there's something else there too — something desperate.

"are you jealous?" you tease, tilting your chin up to meet his darkened gaze.

his lips curl into something that's not quite a smile. "jealous?" he repeats, his hands sliding down, gripping the back of your thighs as he effortlessly lifts you onto the counter. "no. just reminding you who you belong to."

his mouth crashes onto yours, hot and demanding. he kisses you like he's starving, like he's been waiting all night to get his hands on you. his fingers press into your skin, possessive, firm, pulling you closer like he can't stand the idea of even an inch between you.

you gasp against his lips, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, swallowing every little sound you make. he kisses you dizzy — so hard, so deep, you forget why you were even arguing in the first place.

"gyu—" you murmur against his lips, breathless.

"no," he growls, pulling back just enough to look at you. "you don't get to say my name like that after ignoring me all night."

his hands slip under your shirt, pushing it up, fingers trailing over your bare skin.

"you don't get to sit there, laughing with my friends, touching them, when i'm right fucking there."

you shiver under his touch, a soft whimper slipping past your lips. he smirks.

"oh, you like this?" he teases, voice dropping into something sinful. his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, "you like when i get jealous?"

you swallow, heat pooling in your stomach. "mingyu-"

he doesn't let you finish.

his hands grip your thighs, pulling you forward until you're flush against him. you can feel just how worked up he is, the hard press of him against your core, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

"too bad," he murmurs against your throat, lips ghosting over your skin. "you don't get to play with my patience and get away with it."

his teeth sink into your neck, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp. his tongue follows, soothing the sting before he sucks, marking you.

"mine," he mutters against your skin. “yeah?”

all you can do is nod, but he doesn't give you a chance to argue anyways, doesn't give you a second to catch your breath before he's lifting you off the counter and carrying you to the bedroom.

"all fucking mine."

mingyu's grip is firm as he tosses you onto the bed. he towers over you, dark eyes drinking you in, chest heaving like he's barely holding himself together.

"take this off," he tugs at the bottom of your shirt, voice low.

you shiver at the authority in his tone but don't move fast enough for his liking. he clicks his tongue, stepping forward, gripping the hem of your shirt and yanking it over your head himself.

"too slow," he mutters, pushing you back against the pillows.

his hands are everywhere — tracing the curve of your waist, sliding down your thighs, spreading you open beneath him. his touch is possessive, claiming, as if he needs to erase the feeling of anyone else being near you tonight.

his mouth finds your neck again, kissing, sucking, nipping at the sensitive skin.

"you think i didn't notice the way wonwoo was looking at you?" he murmurs against your throat, his hands pushing your shorts down your legs. "you think i'm gonna let you act like that and not remind you who you fucking belong to?"

you barely have time to process before his fingers dip between your thighs, pressing against your core through your underwear.

"fuck," he groans, feeling the damp fabric. "you like this, don't you? like making me jealous."

you shake your head, breathless. "i wasn't—"

he presses harder, cutting you off with a sharp gasp. "don't lie to me."

his fingers push your underwear aside, sliding through your slick folds, teasing.

"mingyu, please—" your hand goes down to grab his wrist, to get him to hurry the fuck up, but he just moves it away, pinning it down next to your waist.

he smirks. "please what?"

you glare at him, but the way your hips buck into his touch betrays you. he chuckles, slipping one finger inside you, slow and deliberate.

"you always act so innocent," he murmurs, adding another finger, stretchiing you open. "but look at you. already soaking for me."

his fingers curl, hitting the perfect spot inside you, making you whimper. he loves it — loves the way you melt under his touch, the way you fall apart so easily for him.

"you ignored me all night," he reminds you, his thumb circling your clit. "so why should i be nice to you now?"

you don't answer, too lost in the pleasure, too caught up in the way his fingers move inside you with such precision.

he pulls his hand away suddenly, making you whine at the loss.

"turn around," he orders.

you hesitate for only a second before obeying, flipping onto your stomach. he grips your hips, pulling you onto your knees, your back arched, your body completely at his mercy.

"good girl," he praises, dragging his fingers down your spine before you hear the rustle of fabric as he undoes his belt, the sound sending a fresh wave of heat through you

"you want me to fuck you?" he asks, voice rough with restraint.

you nod frantically. "yes, gyu— please—"

his hand comes down on your ass, a sharp smack that makes you jolt.

"say it properly."

you tremble, knowing better than to test his patience any further.

"please fuck me, mingyu," you whimper.

that's all he needs.

he thrusts into you in one smooth motion, filling you to the hilt, knocking the breath from your lungs.

"fuck," he groans, head dropping forward. "so tight — so fucking perfect for me."

he doesn't give you time to adjust, doesn't hold back. his hands grip your hips as he fucks into you, deep and rough, his frustration from earlier spilling into every movement.

the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingled with your gasps and his gritted curses.

"this is what you wanted, isn't it?" he pants, his grip tightening. "wanted me to lose my fucking mind over you?"

you can't answer — not when he's fucking you so good, so deep, your mind goes blank.

but he doesn't need a response. he can feel it. can feel the way you clench around him, the way your body trembles under his touch.

"never gonna do that again, hmm?" he mutters, leaning over you, pressing his chest to your back, his breath hot against your ear. "you belong to me."

his hand snakes around your front, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles as he fucks you harder.

"shit— gyu!" you gasp, your body tensing as you teeter on the edge.

"you’re gonna cum for me baby, yeah?" he growls. "now." the command sends you spiralling, pleasure crashing over you in waves as you fall apart beneath him.

mingyu isn't far behind — your orgasm pushes him over the edge, his grip turning bruising as he buries himself deep inside you, groaning your name.

for a moment, the only sound in the room is your ragged breathing, the warmth of his body pressing against yours as he stays inside you, unwilling to let go just yet.

finally, he pulls out, rolling you onto your back, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your swollen lips.

"mine," he murmurs again, softer this time.

you smile, brushing your fingers through his damp hair. "yours."

and that's all he needed to hear.

[usedtobecooler]

the sinclairs' new neighbour arrives out of the blue on a random friday night in may and subsequently becomes the object of eddie munson's desires.

tw: explicit sexual content, 18+ minors dni. virgin!eddie, oral male receiving, eddie's pov. pathetic amounts of pining. no use of y/n.

you've been around after every hellfire meeting for a month now, waiting with legs crossed and swinging from a fold-out table as you sit patiently for them to wrap it up, and fuck if you're not the most distracting thing eddie munson has ever laid eyes on.

you join in on the end-of-game conversations every week, a genuine little interest in the lilt of your voice as you ask questions and join in with the banter, which usually consisted of ribbing mike wheeler for being a little shit.

and, eddie's not dumb, okay? he knows you're only here because you're picking up the sinclair siblings every week, taking a bit of the load off steve harrington, who's been designated chauffeur for a year now, much to his own dismay.

but, sometimes, he thinks you maybe like being here and spending late friday evenings in their presence. and it's a nice little delusion for eddie to live in until he's home and safely tucked under his sheets, thinking of your cute laugh and your flirty smile when he slides a hand under his sleep shorts.

he's only a man. a pervert of a man, absolutely. but he'll feed into his delusions and feed into his daydreams, because it's not hurting anybody but himself in the confines of his room.

things are shadowy and hazy this particular friday, and eddie sure as shit is not on his game. he's stuttering and fumbling over his words, which wheeler is using to his advantage like the dickhead he is, mocking eddie with every fuck up with that stupid fucking face he makes.

eddie calls it a day earlier than usual because his head just isn't in the game damnit, and henderson claps him on the back on his way out, giving him this sincere smile which eddie kind of hates because dustin usually takes every opportunity to add himself into their shithead-ery.

oh god, he was worse than he thought. he needs to hang his hat up and give his job over to zombie boy byers immediately.

eddie doesn't get out of his head quick enough to realise that harrington arrived and left with all of the kids in tow, the sinclairs included.

so when you arrive at the door a half hour later, a confused look on your face, eddie's face fucking falls.

"damn, did harrington want his old job back that badly he kidnapped my kids?" you laugh quietly, all sincerity and jokes as you look around the empty room, eyes landing on eddie with a sparkle.

"it's my fault, i let everybody go early and i-" eddie groans, putting his hands on his hips then dropping them to his sides, "i didn't think. sorry, sweetheart."

sweetheart. why'd he fucking say that? someone needs to get the shotgun and put him down like old yeller.

eddie makes himself busy by packing away all his stuff, pointedly not looking in your direction because he's an idiot piece of shit, and who knows what other mess will come out of his mouth if he keeps letting himself look at you.

"you seem stressed, eddie," you observe quietly, a statement. you cross your arms behind your back, fingertips linking together, "is there anything i can do to help?"

eddie lets out this little self-deprecating laugh, a mirthless smile on his features, "unless you stop showing up here, no, there's nothing you can do."

a hurt look flashes across your face momentarily before it disappears again, masked over with a confused furrow of your brows, "oh. i'm sorry, have i done something wrong?"

eddie's fucking this up. he's a fucking idiot, who apparently can't talk to any girl who isn't ronnie or little erica sinclair.

"just, y'know, consuming my brain so much that i can't focus on anything else lately, so." eddie admits, deflated as he slumps into his chair and rolls his neck until he's looking up at the ceiling. his throat clicks audibly, dry and scratchy.

"oh." you say again, a relieved sigh escaping you as you kick a leg out to bash his shin lightly with the toe of your boot, "why didn't you say something? that's- that's okay. lucas kind of figured, he told me your moon eyes were annoying him."

eddie's kicking them all out. hellfire will be no more. he's sick of these damn kids.

he covers his face with his hands, rubbing against his two day stubble with calloused fingertips. a useless groan escaping him, "sorry, i wasn't trying to be obvious. girls don't. hmm."

eddie stops himself with a grunt, trying to narrowly escape the word vomit that threatens to spill out. he's nervously jiggling his leg, the chains on his jeans clattering together obnoxiously loud in the otherwise quiet room.

he feels your presence enter his orbit, the soft press of your hand on his knee stopping the motion of his jerky leg.

"don't be so nervous," you scold playfully, voice light like you're trying to hide a smile, "i'm not anybody to be nervous around. i like that you noticed me, that i'm somebody you're interested in."

eddie's hands fall away from his face at that, and he blinks blearily, head lolling until he catches sight of you crouched down in front of him, staring up with these gorgeous eyes that eddie just wants to get lost in.

"really?" he asks dumbly, brain short-circuiting at the sight of you knelt down like this in front of him, his stupid mind wandering into filthy territory.

"really." you nod, smiling up at him with this thousand-watt thing that he's sure could power the whole of hawkins, "i'm interested, too. in case i wasn't being obvious enough by hanging around here willingly every week."

you weren't obvious at all. not at all. or maybe you were and eddie's just a fucking moron.

"can i help relieve some of that stress now?" you ask, head tilted to the side in question, "i'm only down here anyway."

eddie's brain melts out of his ears, he's pretty sure. his tombstone is sure to say here lies eddie munson, killed by the insinuation of a blowjob.

"oh, you don't have to- you really don't have to, ha, your hands are on me, fuck-"

the conversation kind of fades out after that, and you're all action dropping from your deep squat to thud your knees against the floor softly.

and you're so pretty on your knees for him, eyelashes fluttering across the apples of your cheeks that are flushed and warm. eddie practically melts into his chair as you paw at his jeans, fluid motions and featherlight touches like you've done this before, and god he doesn't want to think about that right now, that you've done this for other guys before him. not when you're laid out below him and nudging in between his spread legs with pursed lips, spitting over the flushed head of his dick to dampen it further.

"you should- you should know i've never done this bef- fuck, fuck," eddie stutters over his words, fingers clawing into the arms of the chair when you begin mouthing hot and wet over the leaking slit that continues weeping pathetically with every lave of your tongue.

he tried, okay? he tried to tell you, but he's a weak man and - and you're fucking looking at him with these pretty, knowing eyes like you had a clue from the beginning, and fuck was it really that obvious?

he clenches his eyes shut, trying to will away the images of a neon sign over his head that scream eddie munson, adult virgin.

you start off slow and savouring, lapping at him with these kitten licks and mouthing down the bulging vein on the underside. eddie thinks he's delirious, because he's surely imagining the way you're inhaling the musky scent of him, moaning prettily as you do.

"mm, fuck," eddie groans quietly, hips shakily punching up when you finally sink down over the head of his cock properly with your lips wrapped tightly around your teeth, the wet heat of your mouth enveloping him in a way that makes him feel fucking insane.

he didn't know it would feel like this. his brain is gonna explode, scanners style.

your hand reaches blindly for his, guiding his fingers to slide into your hair, and his eyes fly open to meet yours, a pretty haze covering your orbs as you nod slightly to give him the go-ahead to curl his fingers.

"ha, you're gonna fucking kill me," eddie murmurs, but he's gently pulling ever so slightly from the root at the base of your skull, because he may be a virgin but he's not fucking clueless, right? he's read enough skin mags to know how to pull hair properly.

you whimper high pitched and your eyes finally flutter closed, letting eddie move you up and down with his firm hand as you alternate between sucking and drooling all over his length.

he's aware that he's looking at you like he's in love, okay? he can't help it. you're literally sucking the soul out of him, moaning around his girth and running your tongue over him like he's the best thing you've ever tasted. like he said before, he's weak.

"you- you're so good at this, oh my god," eddie's eyes roll back into his head when your free hand runs from where it's gripping the meat of his thigh to slide between his obscenely wide legs and cup his balls, rolling and squeezing them between your fingers.

the room is filled with the whining, high-pitched noises that eddie's really trying his best to hold in at risk of sounding like an absolutely pitiful virgin, and the wet noises of your mouth working over his cock, the slick slide of your fist jerking off what you can't quite reach.

eddie's stomach clenches, and holy fuck this is over too quick, but he can't find it in himself to be embarrassed because, because-

"i'm coming, you're making me come, holy fuck-" eddie's words die with a groan that sounds breathy and pathetic even in his own ears, his fingers burying so tight in your hair and pulling as he arches in on himself and jerks his hips in aborted little thrusts. he feels the plush of your lips brush against the wild, untamed curls at the base of his cock and he lets out a weak grunt, feels his length throb and spurt out another weak dribble of come at the sensation.

he's so delirious when he finally comes to that he's all but dragging you up from where your knees have to be aching on the floor, dragging you into his lap, and fuck sake his soft cock is still out and covered in spit and come and-

your mouth is on his in a hot press of lips and teeth and tongue, eddie's so out of his element here but the taste of his own spend on your tongue is as addictive as it is mildly disgusting.

"you got a mattress in the back of that van of yours?" you mumble between kisses, smiling into it.

"mhm, yup, a-ha," eddie nods wildly as he chases your mouth with his own, "i think i need some more stress relief. i hear burying your face between a pretty things legs helps."

eddie definitely does feel like he's dying when your thighs wrap around his ears and lock him in face-first.

and what a way to go that is.

[kayhi808]

OK, let’s say he comes back from a mission and it was really rough on him and he kind of relapsed into the winter soldier(slightly very very slightly) and Steve let’s reader know that a lot happened. Abby has went away with Natasha for a weekend together as reader was really busy w work. Bucky comes home and is so so on edge and is afraid he will hurt reader and isolates himself especially after he almost hurt reader when she crept up too silent behind him. so he hates himself rn. BUT THEN ABBY RUNS IN OUT OF NOWHERE AND HUGS HIM CUS SHE WAS WAITING FOR HIM TO COME BACK AND BOOM man either lets out the craziest sigh or low keys cries because he realizes he is okay. idk something like that if it makes sense ¯\_(ツ)_/

🧹

Thank you, to my favorite anon!💕 It took me forever to get to this one. This was a lot to go on. It could have gone really dark and angsty, but I'm trying to keep my Abby stories a little lighter. Hope you like it.🤗

Bucky was gone on what turned out to be an intense mission & word just came back that his team was returning. Steve and Bucky were heading the mission so you weren't too worried. You always like when they are sent out together because you knew they had each other's backs. ALWAYS

The quinjet touched down & the crew disembarked. You saw Bucky and Steve walking down the ramp, deep in conversation. As soon as Bucky made eye contact with you, you felt something was wrong. Then he veered away from you to another entry into the Tower and you knew something was very wrong.

You started to follow him, but Steve blocked your path. "What happened? What's wrong with Bucky??"

"Y/N, give him some time, this mission was rough on him."

"Is he hurt? Is he ok?"

"Physically he's fine..."

Impatiently, "then tell me what happened!"

"It's his story to tell. He needs a little bit of time to sort out the demons in his head. That's all."

"That's all?!?"

"It's what he wants."

******

You were able to give him 2 days to himself, until you caved in & tried calling Bucky just to hear his voice. For him to tell you he's ok but needs time to himself. You'd understand that. But for him to send your call to voicemail pissed you off. You left a message last night & today's you were leaving to pick up Abby, you tried again & you got his voicemail.

"Babe? Can you please call me back, text me...or something, so I know you're alive yet purposefully ignoring me? That would be great." You sigh, "Is this how we are going forward in this relationship? This will be the new communication norm?"

You gather your things to head out of the building, but up ahead you see Steve & Bucky. You hurry to catch up with them. You grab onto Bucky's arm & before you can even say his name, his hand is on your sternum, and you're shoved against the wall. A startled yelp escapes & he releases you immediately. "Fuck!" His hands drop to your arms, "Are you ok? Did I hurt you?" Steve pulls Bucky back.

You reach for his hands, "I'm fine. You startled me." You look up at him and he looks so tired. You go to hug him but he pulls away from you. "Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on, Buck?" You turn to Steve, "Would you do me a big favor and pick-up Abby from pre-school, please?"

"Yea, sure " He shoots Bucky a worried glance before he leaves.

*****

Once you're back at Bucky's residence, "Are you ready to tell me what happened?" You flop yourself down on his couch.

"I can't... I can't let those things...touch you. You don't need to know about HYDRA."

"Bucky, I know about HYDRA. I work here! Nick Fury is my boss."

"You don't need to know about the Winter Soldier. You don't need to know about me back then." Bucky stops pacing & drops down into his chair.

"You don't think I've done my research before dating you? Before I let you be around my daughter? What you did back then was not your fault. You weren't given a choice. HYDRA had control of you. Babe, you are not the same person."

"I'm still capable..."

You move to sit at the foot of his chair, "No! Stop it."

"Doll, I could have killed you back there!"

"You didn't. You wouldn't. You're James Barnes, not the Winter Soldier!" You squeeze his hands. "Talk to me, Bucky. Let me share your burden. We're in this life together. Please tell me what happened."

With a deep sigh, "We went to hit an active HYDRA base camp." You nod. "Doll, there were cribs there. In the lab, there were children's bed and restraints." You softly gasp, squeezing his hands tighter. "We couldn't locate any of the children, but now I know they're out there somewhere."

"Oh, Bucky." Tears prickling your eyes, "I'm so sorry."

"I killed them all. Whoever was there." You kneel up to wrap your arms around him. It took a while for him to return your hug, but you didn't let go. He gives in and pulls you tightly to him.

"You think I wouldn't do the same if I could? Wouldn't anyone do the same? The only difference is that we don't have your skill set." Pulling away, cradling his face between your palms to get him to look at you, "Just because you have the skills, does not make you the Winter Soldier." You give him a soft kiss. "The job you took on isn't an easy one, but you're making the world a safer place. For people like me and Abby."

"I saw the cribs and beds and I...I thought of Abigail. And...I snapped." You nod.

"I understand how that could happen." Bucky pulls you onto his lap & he holds you for a long time in silence. You offered him comfort any way you could. You understand now why he was so affected by this mission. "You need to talk to me and tell me what's going on. You can't shut me out, Buck. I was so worried. If the situation was flipped, how would you handle me shutting down on you?"

"Not well." He gives you a slight smile.

Nodding, "exactly." You lean back against him as he wraps you in his arms.

"I'm sorry."

*******

Steve picks up Abby and visits with Ms Grace before returning to the Tower, hoping you and Bucky ironed out your differences. He texts you both letting you know he's got Abs in the common room watching TV.

"You knows what, Uncle Steve?"

"No, what Abs."

"Chloe and Mia says a new Lilo & Stitch movies coming outs."

"Oh, yea? Wow."

Abby stands up on the couch next to Steve and slings her arm across his shoulders. "Rights?? I so 'cited! You know what, Uncle Steve?"

"No, what Abs?"

"You wants to take me to the Lilo & Stitch movies?"

"Won't your Mama and Bucky take you to see it? Did they say no?" Steve has to ask. He's not going to be caught up in one of Abby's tricks and get in trouble with you.

"Mama gonna takes me, but you can takes me," holding up two fingers, "two time." She gives Steve a sweet smile.

"Abigail."

She cackles. "What if I likes it so much and wants to sees it again? Like Wicked?"

Steve rolls his eyes, "Fine. If you like it so much, I'll take you to watch it again."

Abby squashes her cheek against Steve's while strangling him around the neck, "Oh, tank you! Yous the best Uncle in all the worlds!" She sees Bucky in the doorway and Uncle Steve is quickly forgotten. "Papa! You homes!!" She bounces off the couch and runs to Bucky with arms spread wide.

Bucky steps back, away from your incoming toddler, banging into you. "It's ok, Bucky."

Abby doesn't slow down, so Bucky is forced to catch her and lift her into his arms. "I missed-ed you so much!" Abby peppers his face with kisses. She pulls away & squishes his face between her palms, "You missed-ed me, too?" A happy hopeful smile on her face.

Bucky nods, answering quietly, "Yea, baby. I missed-ed you, too," dropping a kiss on her nose which makes her do a happy wiggle.

@waywardhunter95 @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @purplecolordeer @buckitostan @littleredwolf @mcucatlady @silas-aeiou @hzdhrtss @florie1 @thecubanator2 @enchantedbarnes @selella @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @cjand10 @pancake-05 @ozwriterchick @crazyunsexycool @baw1066 @nommingonfood @jvanilly

[nanahachi3]

"I AM GETTING RIPPED TONIGHT" | Skz

Summary: Nothing but hard thoughts with stray kids members.

Warning: This contains short adult scenarios. Minors should not read. This is part 1, and I will release part 2 soon. It's not my best work because I was busy these past months and couldn't write it properly.

Chan

Woah this was big.

Your eyes were still widened as his words echoed through your mind.

It was 20 minutes left before your show, and you were nervous. Heck, it was your first time performing at Coachella, and Chris was here backstage with you, trying to calm you down, and this way was weird. How did he do that?

You already know the answer: he was naked in front of you.

Chris veiny cock hardened in front of your eyes.

You gulped the nervousness down to your throat. You were inexperienced, and you never gave any guy a blow Job, and it was also your first time seeing a cock.

“Pretty, don't worry. I know you will be amazing. It's fine. I know you can do it.”

You needed to touch his tip, Making him chuckle. He looked so cute right now, his blush face and his curls flowing down to his forehead.

Your eyes were hooded, the nervousness was slowing down as he gave you his shy smile, and you touched his cock from tip to whole length, giving it soft strokes. Every touch was tender and made him feel something in his heart.

“Baby use that mouth of yours”

You understood his words and wrapped your lips around his tip, and slowly and slowly, you took the whole cock inside your mouth. It almost choked you because it was your first time giving someone a Head.

And it was not just someone.

It was your boyfriend, Chris.

He groaned and let out a satisfied moan.

“Yes angel”

His fingers ran through your hair, stroking them as you nodded. Your mouth was full of his cock, and you looked so cute like that!

You moved your tongue slowly sending a shiver through his spine. His cock was wet by your saliva as your tongue licked his length and then you moved to suck down his cock.

“So good baby”

“I can't believe that you are this talented”

“Oof angel I love you and you look So pretty with my cock inside Your mouth”

He gave you praises and his groans were softened up because he didn't want the audience to hear you.

Your mouth was making him see the stars. He could feel him grow sensitive shit. He was this close. He didn't want to end up in your mouth. It was embarrassing since he had never come before so fast but now he was climaxing so fast inside your mouth.

He was feeling nervous more than you know because your pace was going fast now he could hear the filthy sound you were making from your tongue while sucking him off.

He tried to move you away because it was embarrassing to finish off Inside your mouth or at your face.

“Move baby I am close fuck!!”

You were stubborn and you gave him a last suction before you could move away, his cum shooting at your face covering your lips and nose with his white liquid.

“Baby I am so sorry”

Hrs grabbed the towel to wipe the cum from your face but you grabbed His hand to stop him.

“What?”

“I want it and I want this inside me”

You kissed his cock and laid him down on the couch before positioning yourself to insert his cock inside you.

“Angel Is needy hmm?” He chuckled and you nodded with your lusty eyes.

…………..

Felix

The relationship between you and Felix was wrong.

It was a stepbrother and step-sister trope between you.

Your parents recently started dating, and you guys were introduced to each other, but the problem was that you were attracted to your soon-to-be step brother Since he was also angelic.

His face was like an angel. It felt like he was carved by God himself. The way his freckles adored his face, the stars, and the glow around his eyes. He was a beauty, and not only his beauty, he was a sweetheart by nature.

It was 2:45 am, and you could not sleep. You continued to roll around your bed again and again. Felix was sleeping by your side, and you could not control how beautiful he looked.

“Angel, I am Sorry I am doing this”, he cursed as he removed all of your clothes. You could not process what was happening as the clothes you were wearing were shoved down somewhere on the floor.

His blonde hair fell onto your shoulders as He was finally inside you.

“I will move slowly, hmm?” Felix asked, and you hugged him, pulling him closer to you.

You bit your lips as the light illuminated you. The 2 AM sounds were relaxing. Many thoughts rushed through your mind as the pressure began building inside your body. The still purple lights fell onto your eyes. Felix pressed a soft kiss on your lips.

“Shall I move princess?” He asked as he slowly grabbed your thighs, leaving Some marks on them, and slowly and slowly, the pace started moving. You could feel the friction between your hips and his cock.

It was a slow and gentle trickle of sweat, glistening on the skin like small droplets of drain, his dark brown eyes sparkled as you could feel a different sense of love around you and him.

“Felix ah”, you cried and hugged him tighter. Your pussy was clenching him well.

It felt like You were made for him. He groaned, his voice crying against your ears. He left the small hickeys on your neck and chest area.

“Angel, You are so good” You smiled at his words.

He was hitting the spots where you wanted him to. The light was dim as you Continued to bounce on his cock. The groans and the messy moans spread around the room, the white bedsheets filled with your cums and sweat as you continued to fuck each other in different positions.

From doggy to cowgirl, he has stretched you well. Your cunt was still taking his Cock so well, so deep.

“Ahh, last time, I promise, sweetie. I know you can cum for me, hmm?”

“Ngh ngh’ you blinked. Your eyes were too tired to move now that you were hooded. As he pushed his cock once more against your cunt From behind and his left hand playing with your nipples and the other hand holding your hair.

“I am cumming, lix”, you cried out as you felt yourself, realising The wet hot white liquid once again on The sheets.

Felix pulled out this time as he was also close. He kissed your lips. Your hands kissed his Cock and jerked it till he finally spilled his cum on you.

“I love you angel this Pussy was made for me” he leaned down a bit and placed soft kisses on your clit.

You blushed and laid down on the pillow as he played with your clit leaving kisses or pinching it.

You were relaxed.

And Felix was elated.

Seungmin

Your eyes were rolled up. The lingerie that you wore was resting on the floor all stripped down from your body when you were busy walking or doing a runaway for your boyfriend while he was sitting on the couch.

Seungmin was hard after he saw the new Victoria's Secret lingerie that you brought specially for him but the poor lingerie was now stripped down somewhere.

Seungmin clenched your hair from behind ‘take it up you are a good pup for me aren't you?” your head was softly laid down on the pillow he was hitting your sweet spot from behind the grip on your ass leaving his nails marks on your skin.

“So sweet this pussy takes me so well huh”

“Who could have that you are such a messy whore” the drool on your lips leaked onto the pillow. He was being harsh on you whenever you disobeyed seungmin. He would punish you this way.

“Fuck fuck it's too much baby” you whimpered the laid back eyes your ass jiggling in the smooth motion. He slapped your clit as he kissed your shoulder leaving Some bites on it.

“Too much min” you once again cried out it was too much for you can't handle the pleasure or the punishment he was giving to you.

He slapped your ass a red mark on it “this ass was made to satisfy me”

“Tell me whore this cunt is mine!?” HE gripped your hair harshly and you nodded weakly.

It was the close moment where your legs gave up and shook as you cum the white liquid dripping from your hole and he smiled licking the cum from your pussy.

“This pussy is mine”

He slapped it before going to eating your pussy once again.

[angelsberrymilk]

I need to know if Sam's puppy dog ​​eyes work on Soldier Boy like they do on Dean 👀

+18. mdni

oh they do, I promise you they do.

they're so effective in fact that Sammy has stopped him from committing many hate crimes and escalating minor situations to deadly degrees. Sammy's puppy dog eyes affect him on a bone deep level, he doesn't know why they work so well on him, but soldier boy is annoyed.

that's one of the reasons why when soldier boy finally decided he wanted to fuck Sammy, he gave him the lube bottle, he didn't want to get too close to those wet puppy eyes, all he did was watch Sam stretch himself out on his own long fingers. eyes zeroed on his pink hole instead. ignoring Sammy's face.

and that's why when soldier boy first took Sammy, he did it while pinning his head down on the bed, by the neck, on his belly, so he wouldn't turn around and flash those devastatingly beautiful eyes at him. so he could have his way without something like guilt stopping him. he knew exactly what he was doing. he's a terrible brute. the worst of them all.

Sammy also immediately realises he has some sort of power over soldier boy; his puppy dog eyes. and he uses it whenever the situation calls for it. whenever soldier boy is about to commit some heinous act. Sammy makes sure his puppy dog eyes are extra big, intense, his hair extra fluffy and his shoulders hunched, appearing smaller than he actually is. and it works everytime.

that's why when soldier boy's blood thirst gets too much, he's pissy and extra mean. he goes out looking for trouble. he says he's patrolling but Sammy knows that he's looking to kill some poor sod, a homeless person sleeping somewhere where they shouldn't be, or a bunch of children kicking ball in a hotel's parking lot. Sammy tries to distract him with a football game, some good brother bonding time, and when it doesn't work, he tells soldier to take it out on him instead, that he can take it (he can't).

soldier boy laughs in his face and goes ahead to leave. Sammy threatens to run away if soldier boy leaves and Ben's solution is to bring Sammy with. he can't run away now, can he?

soldier boy finds his next target, a young couple smoking weed or something in a deserted McDonald's, Sam tries to convince to let them be, they're not doing anything wrong. But Ben doesn't want to hear it.

At this point Sammy is shaking with anger and fear, he can't stop him, can't even hurt him because even when he punches him, Ben doesn't even feel it, his skin is unbreakable, he doesn't bruise, doesn't break. and the only mercy that Soldier boy offers Sammy is 3 simple words, "Don't look, Sam,"

[goldsbitch]

Twelve Grapes

-chapter 7, part 2 - A bit of a bad boy

It's no coincidence Cruel Summer came out that year...

or - ✨ Austria 2019.✨

word count: reasonable warning: hard racing

Two entire races go by before he gets so much as a glance from Charles. In both of those, Charles ends up ahead of Max. It feels like getting personally kicked in the balls. Max plays the PR game the best to his abilities and self-control, but behind the scenes, it's a total mayhem. Anyone who questions him about anything receives a snapshot answer. He hands out sarcastic comments like Halloween candy. The only time he laughs is when he beats Daniel in their little video game nights.

The first week, Max loses all remaining inhibitions and keeps blasting Charles' phone up with calls and texts. Unhinged amount of advances, jokes and random questions. No reaction.

The second week, he goes radio silent and tries to get hold of Charles around the paddock. He never goes looking for other drivers after the race, especially when they get to stand on the podium and he doesn't. As always, restraint regarding Charles never comes as easily. However, the Monegasque is always two steps ahead of him.

Alas, finally, they end up next to each other in a post-qualifying media pen in Spielberg. Max is not subtle about trying to catch Charles' eye. For a brief moment, he does. It turns his stomach over immediately. Max searches Charles’ face like it holds an answer, some kind of hidden message buried beneath the surface, but there’s nothing. Not a flicker of hesitation, no softness, no ghost of the Charles he used to know. They used to share a look that would say it all. No trace of that now.

His expression is cool, unbothered, a perfect mask of professionalism. The same way he looks at a journalist asking a pointless question, or a sponsor he doesn’t particularly care about. Detached. Uninterested.

Max wants to do anything else than be swamped by useless questions now. Not when he's eating crumbs in the form of overhearing Charles' voice. He has to force himself to even look at the journalist standing in front of him, let alone take in what she has to say. Charles, on the other, does not seem to share this problem. His voice is passionate, excited and his words land like a punch in the face. Max can't see it, but since he'd studied Charles from every angle possible, to be able to picture his smile clearly, just based on the tone. It's the nonchalant, I'm-the-world's-sweetheart smile that always works on everyone. Max is secretly present on social media, he has seen the fan edits of his - well, not boyfriend apparently.

"Charles, you seem to be on a great run of form lately, have you and the team at Ferrari found good rhythm after the unfortunate Monaco Grand Prix?"

Max has heard many things on that topic from the restless Reb Bull strategists. All of them flaunting ideas and theories around, none of them realizing what Max knew. That the magic fuel Charles is running on is spite. He asks the journalist in front of him to repeat the question, while he focuses on Charles' answer.

"Ah, you know how it is...The start of the season has been challenging. Changing teams, new environment...All of this takes time to process. But, I am stronger than ever. I've cut away all unnecessary distractions keeping me from being locked in on the target and pulling me to the wrong direction. With the amazing team I have - I am finally recognizing myself in the mirror after few strange months."

Charles must know that he can hear every word coming out of his mouth. Max's blood boils and freezes at the same time. He doesn’t react. Giving away anything more seems like a direct pathway to hell.

He stands there, nodding absently to whatever the journalist in front of him is saying, his mind busy with reading in between the lines, Charles' words echoing through the media pen like a fucking death sentence.

Distraction. That’s all he's reduced him to. His heart beats like it's about to go to a fight. The realization settles in his stomach, cold and heavy. He tilts his head slightly, just enough to catch Charles in his peripheral vision.

He’s still talking, crafting the perfect story. His posture is easy, he's leaning closer to the reporter than one probably should, his voice is smooth and warm. It has the word likable written all over it.

It's hardly a surprise that the reporters eat up every single sentence he says, playing up to be the golden boy everyone wants him to be.

And maybe he is. Charles keeps getting better and better at this - playing the part, giving people what they want. He’s charming and sharp, smart enough to be a goddamn PR dream but ruthless enough to keep them all at arm’s length. Except he wasn’t like that with Max.

No. With Max, he was real. Unfiltered. Messy. The kind of Charles who picked fights just to feel something, who grabbed Max’s face like he couldn’t breathe without kissing him, who pressed his forehead against his in the middle of the night and whispered things he could never say in the daylight. The kind of person who acted on what his heart desired, instead of what reason demanded. That's not the Charles standing next to him.

Something inside Max cracks. It doesn’t come in a rush - it settles, careful and slow, a icy coldness spreading through his chest.

Fine.

If Charles wants to erase him, to pretend he was just a mistake, Max will make him remember. Not with words. Not with apologies or late-night texts, stupid fucking phone calls or dangerous public driving.

Tomorrow, on track - where it’s just the two of them, where he can't pretend or avoid him endlessly. Charles will feel exactly what happens when you try to push Max Verstappen away. If he wants to pretend Max was just a distraction, Max will remind him that distractions don’t just disappear into thin air.

"It's great to be on pole, but points are tomorrow. But of course, the idea of a first win is something you can't not get exited about," he hears the last part of yet another one of Charles' speeches and this time he smiles. Time to prove everyone wrong. Make the damn strategists happy for once again.

//

It's hell. Pure, unfiltered hell. Charles arrives in Maranello in a state of a complete breakdown. He was running on some sort of manic fuel the whole Monaco drive. All was somehow bearable - until Max stopped chasing behind him. The absence of his headlights in rear-view mirror worked like a bomb detonator. He is a crying, miserable mess the whole drive. One time he has to stop over, because his breath gets stuck in the lungs and it sets his head into a dizzy spin. He collapses onto his bed in the small Maranello safe house and spends the night fighting terrifying nightmares.

After losing the next day by being glued to his phone, waiting for Max to call for one more time, he decides he can't take that anymore. He missed his chances. Ran away, fucked up everything and tired Max out. He knows him - if he stopped calling, he stopped caring. Charles can't bare himself to get to be the one to make the desperate move, especially after he let so blatantly known that he's totally under Max's spell. He cried in front of him. Nearly begged - but who knows, the whole conversation is becoming a blur, like an old tape wearing thin from being rewound too many times, the sound glitching, words distorting until they barely make sense anymore. So, the first evening after the fight, he blocks Max's phone number. This way, he can still hope that he is trying to reach him and he does not have to stare the unbearable truth in the face. That Max does not, in fact, call anymore.

He completely drowns himself in work. His trainer has to remind him to eat, even though the thought of food makes him sick. He's floating around, allows the team to handle him about and keeps his focus on racing exclusively. Because, that is the only means of communication with Max he's got left. On track, nothing changed. They still cruise around each other, expertly read each other's moves and for once, it all works out in Charles' favor.

The irony of him finally getting a grip on racing when he feels like he'd rather jump under the car instead is not lost on him.

The first step into the paddock after their fight feels heavier than it should. No matter how much he tries to shake it, there’s still a glimmer of hope that he and Max can fix this. But hope, in all its twisted absurdity, only makes him avoid Max more. Because, if this is suppose to be the end, he wants prolong this uncertain period as much as he can. His own misery is becoming the only thing he has left from Max and if that is the truth, he will cling on it. It's him and Max. Any reminder of that is better than nothing.

Red Bull ring. Half of the grandstand is covered in eye-searing orange, the other in signature deep blue that keeps haunting him. They are all waiting for him to fail. He can't. If he has to suffer, because of his feeling towards the Dutch driver, so should everyone else. No matter how mellowed down their devotion to Max might be compared to his own.

It's scorching hot. As is should be in hell anyway. Charles is sitting in his car, front row providing a clear view to the task ahead. Beat Max on track. It's like he can't see any other of the remaining eighteen cars. Lights out and away we go. The all familiar noise of roaring engines makes his ears hurt. His reaction is perfect, almost divine. He launches forward, sliding through the first turn like a man possessed, and when he glances at his mirrors, Max is gone. Buried in the chaos behind him, swallowed by his own mistakes. A chuckle bubbles up in Charles’ throat, raw and breathless, nearly manic again. This is what he wants. Him being able to prove that he is sharper, better and faster when giving as similar chance as Max. Not only that. To himself, and in extension Max too, he needs to prove that he can exist without Max fucking Verstappen.

He flies away, leaving the rest of pack behind. It's only in lap two where he figures out that Max fell five places down. There is a momentary wave of sorrow, one intrusive idea about Charles wanting to be the only to beat him, regretting that other drivers are doing so too. But they're both on their own. Max would never share this sentiment towards him. Whatever Charles is doing must be working, because it looks like he got into Verstappen's head. He's slowly extending the lead, keeping Bottas in a safe distance, far enough no DRS.

Ten and few more laps later, he notices Max working way up the field quite effectively. He keeps calm, because with every car Max passes, Charles makes up a second on Bottas.

Max's got the fastest lap now. Charles is managing tires, bracing for the future. Pit stop - the one thing he truly fears - gone right. He's in a completely calm and periodic rhythm, none of the cars providing a real challenge. He prays to the gods of racing for no mechanical failure this time. Destiny owes his at least that. Give him the right tools, he won't ask for help when all it lies on is his own abilities. He's making his way through the traffic, lapping cars and occasionally looking behind his back at Verstappen fighting Bottas. And after few more laps of this routine - Max is the first car on his tail. Charles expected nothing less. He digs into everything he has - not only in him, but in the car as well. The whole race was just a prep for this moment. Barely four seconds. Max is faster, a fact his dearest fucking engineer feels the need to point out, as if he couldn’t see it himself. But quick math tells Charles he should survive this. 3,8. 3,6. For Charles, there really is no other car on the track than Max's. The others are just annoying little gravel stones, hitting his visor and robbing Charles of clean air. A half of a second is lost only by having to cruise between them. He tries his best to stay cool. One final wish goes towards his tires.

He gives it all. Five final laps and the gap is dangerously close to one second. He spends what feels like two years stuck between Pierre, who's suppose to let him through and Max who is closing in on him. Two Red Bulls. Please, Pierre. This is the first time Charles regrets not telling his friend about the love affair. He knows Pierre is instructed to make it as hard as possible for Charles to get through while keeping it all legal.

"Verstappen behind, one second."

"Leave me alone."

And then - it's on.

It's like he can feel Max breathing down his neck. The DRS is inevitable. Max is inevitable. Charles defends for his life. He forces him to have to go around the outside, off the racing line. Turn 4 is the Achilles heel and Charles survives the first time they pass it through.

But he knows Max. Understands the way he moves, instinct in perfect symphony with logic, calculating every weakness...No stone left untouched. Why should Charles be the exception. He remembers the way he looked at Charles the first time they kissed - half a dare, half a warning. It's the way he uses his touch - firm, yet gentle - to bend Charles into whatever shape he wants. 

On the next lap, Charles watches his mirrors, waits for the lunge. This time Max doesn’t go for the outside. No, this time, he comes from inside, slicing through the turn with an aggression Charles thought he was ready for. It’s all so quick, just like their fallout. 

The wheels are millimeters apart. Charles tries to force him wide, but Max refuses to back off. Of course he does. Max has never learned when to let go. Never knows when to stop taking.

And then, it comes again.

Max is right there, alongside him, closer this time, pushing, forcing. Charles grips the wheel tighter, body locked in, blood roaring in his ears. He doesn’t lift. He doesn’t yield. Max doesn’t either.

A nudge. A shove. Space shrinking into nothing. Everything slows.

He’s back at the Monaco apartment, late at night, Max’s voice low against his neck. “If I have to take a win from you, will you ever kiss me again?” Charles had laughed, breathless. “You already take everything from me.”

Charles barely registers the moment his tires leave the track, but he feels it. The smudge of gravel beneath him, the split-second loss of control, the sheer force of what Max has done.

Max’s fingers curled around his wrist in a hotel hallway, yanking him back to the room before they could be seen, grinning like it was a game. "You can’t get enough of me," Charles had scoffed. "Give me all you have, Charlie," Max hummed in between kisses.

The back of Max’s neck in the early morning, hair still damp from post sex shower, heartbeat steady under Charles’ hand. "Would you ever crash into me?" Max had asked once, drowsy, barely awake. Charles had said no. Max had never answered.

The car snaps back into control just before he spins. Charles feels it all in his arms, his whole body resisting the centrifugal pull. No. It takes him half a second to realize what just happened. The next half is spent knowing, with absolute certainty, that it wasn’t fucking legal. Max robbed him. They have to make him give the place back.  Charles grips the wheel so hard it might break, breath coming short and sharp. His visor feels suffocating, the heat pressing in from all sides. He should have known. Should have known Max would take everything.

He genuinely can't remember the rest of the race.

Just like that, it's over, he's getting out of the car and his own disbelief is preventing from believing any of this is real. His mind stayed back somewhere around Turn 4 and he's having something he thinks others describe as out of body experience. He understands there are words coming out of his mouth, but no one is in control of them. They roll of automatically and he's only aware that most of them are about the stewards having to have a look at the move.

He is painfully aware of the cameras in the cooldown room. That is the only thing grounding him and not flying into a shout festival with Max. The words he has reserved for this man are intended for him and his ears only. Survival mode kicks in and he tries to ignore him as much as he can.

He'd prefer getting punched instead of having to stand on this podium. Any attempt from people trying to congratulate is met with a face one does not forget. Max's smile is impossible to ignore, bright and shamelessly arrogant, the kind of grin that demands to be seen. Mercilessly cuts through like a knife.

Charles sees the way Max points at the Honda logo on his race suit, exaggerating the motion, playing up the moment. A distant memory flickers in. Charles remembers when Max came home one day, irritated after yet another Red Bull PR lecture about mentioning Honda at every possible opportunity. Max had rolled his eyes, complaining about contractual obligations, flapped himself on the couch and refused to talk. So, Charles came up with a game, with hopes of turning the mood around. Say it so much they beg you to stop. He still remembers Max’s mischievous smirk, the way they looked at each other every time he did that. Now? It feels like Max deliberately twisting the knife he shoved into Charles' guts. As if Charles isn't standing right there, watching it all, bleeding out behind a forced expression. Max took it all. No one would be mad or surprised if he hadn't won today. It means he did all of this on purpose. Inflict as much as he possibly can. Something he appears to be very good at.

Someone puts the dreaded Dutch anthem on and every note drags on and on.  Charles stares to the deep hills, avoiding the crowd below. His nails pressing so hard his racing suit he’s surprised there isn’t blood between his fingers. This is the sound he will die to. The tune that will crawl inside his skull, rot there, and play on an endless loop. If there’s a god waiting for him at the end of it all, this is what they'll hum as the gates get shut in his face.

Max is right there, right fucking there, barely an arm’s length away, standing taller, chest out, sweat still clinging to his skin like it’s something to be proud of. Charles doesn’t dare look at him. Doesn’t trust himself not to flinch, not to break. The heat between them is unbearable, suffocating, a reminder that not long ago, Max had pressed against him in a different way. The hand he now had to avoid from accidentally brushing against is the same one that used to grip Charles like he was something for Max to own.

He knows Max doesn’t even think about that. Not now. Not while he stands here, grinning like he was made for this moment, swimming in the praise from crowd that loves him, while Charles stands frozen beside him, barely holding himself together.

The anthem swells, the final few notes longing out like they’re mocking him, and Charles forces himself to swallow, forces the bile back down his throat. He knows it's over. Deep down inside, he stopped hoping for stewards standing by him.  Another mistake and he looks down the crowd. Roars of people suffocating him, stealing the air directly from his lungs and among all of those, one face stands out. Everyone is looking at Max, apart from this person, who's unmistakable smirk reminds him so scarily of the smirk he used to love. Jos Vestappen is unashamedly staring down at him, even though he's several meters below him. For the first time, he sees the resemblance between Max and his father.

He calls himself stupid about fifty times. The door for Max would not have opened if he hadn’t allowed it. He got burned once. It can’t happen again. Things have to change. He has to change.  The champagne tastes like a spoilt milk, Charles does everything in his power to get out of the podium stand as quickly as possible. He will go on to the stewards with his team, even though he knows the battle is lost. If there is one thing he is grateful for, it's the crying Honda spokesman, that wiggles in between him and Max for the final photo. Charles is spared of the final blow - feeling Max's cruel hands on his back again.

//

The come down of emotions is quick. He did it. Snatched Charles' first victory right from his hands. Celebrated so loudly, encircled Charles so efficiently he was sure he must be getting claustrophobic. Killer instinct called upon him and he gave in completely. Charles can't rely on ignoring him. He won't go away without a fight, without destroying him. Max is hardly a sappy dreamer, but all of today feels like it was written long time ago and he was just following the script. Charles is sitting by his right side during the press conference - exactly where he belongs. There is an evil joy Max feels from having him so close during his first win of this season. Charles has no choice but to endure every second of it. Weeks of silence, of trying to erase Max from his life, and yet, here they are. No matter how hard he tries, he can't escape him.

The questions roll in. "How does this win compare to the ones he's had before?" Oh, he has many words he can't say out loud. The reported receives some basic technical summary, but what he really wants to say - scream, shout to the world - is that this win feels sweeter than any candy, he's reclaiming his strenght back and Charles can try as much as he can, but Max proved today that he won't back down.

"When did you start to think the win was possible today?" Easy. Once the door shut behind Charles when he ran away. When his smug smile started to haunt Max in every waking moment. When he heard the words, his former lover, calling him a mere distraction.

Next question is aimed at Charles. General, basic, nothing out of the order. He steals one glance. A thunder of a feeling he can't name properly shoots through him. His bloodshot eyes, purple lips and hands with practically no nails left on them scream the truth louder than anything else. It's the moment Charles finally speaks, his words rolling out of his tongue when Max's heart stops. It is probably unrecognizable for the crowd of journalist in front of them, but he knows this tone. It's the utterly broken one. His words make sense, it's composed and measured, but the accent creeps in and gives away all. Just like it did whenever Charles felt unsure about their love affair. His voice is soft, too soft for a post-race fatigue. Max has to put his head down, to hide behind his cap for a moment. He hears Charles gulp and surprisingly it's that what breaks Max. Numbness descends over him. Next question is aimed at Valtteri and for once, he's glad.

Max sinks in. He tries to stop the guilt from drowning him. For once, this is a battle he can't win. The darkest worry Max always had about himself is that he it too ruthless. Can't see the line until he's way past by. Cruel, calculating monster, that will destroy anything or anyone standing in his way. Suddenly, he find himself regretting it all. His move was over the top, but he can't admit that now. This wasn't racing anymore, this personal vendetta, childish anger spree, because Max can't have what he truly wants. Maybe it's sadly better this way. By forcing Charles to hating him, he will make sure he stays far away from him. Max knows he'd crumble apart, had Charles given him any inclination that he wants him back. That man could probably ask for anything and he'd give it to him. Max is not strong enough to resist Charles. He's also just proven how much of a selfish dick he can be when things don't go this way. The reality of him coming to the conclusion, that Charles hating him instead of loving him might be safer and better option for the Ferrari driver is a hard pill to swallow. Max had spent years perfecting the art of fighting for every inch, of clawing his way to the top no matter the cost. And now, sitting here, drowning in his own victory, he wonders if the cost this time was too high. Max knows his actions today bought him all the time in the world to wallow around this idea. Because, it's obvious Charles can't stand him anymore. He finally sees Max for what he is. His father's son.

Another question, particularly snarky one comes at him and Charles together and something inside Max takes over. He's saying words, explaining the nature of his specific overtake and it takes him everything he has to prevent his voice from shaking. He ends up defending himself again, but the doubts flood his consciousness. Charles finally throws in a sarcastic comment, calling the move illegal, and something ugly inside Max likes it. If Charles has to hate him, let it be like this - spiteful, angry, not distant and indifferent. At least anger means he still cares, even if it’s in the worst way possible.

He will forever admire Charles for being able to sit through this, so strong and still.

We never gave up, he hears himself saying. His only hope is that Charles won't give up too.

"Charles, do you feel like this one has been stolen from you?" Yes. Obviously. Once again, Max questions the sanity of everyone in the room. Another punchy note about the legality of the overtake and Max revels in it.

"Will you stop being the polite driver you are?" Is this the first time people watched Charles racing? A polite driver? The menace that would rather have them crash into the barrier than get overtaken? The driver Max had to pull out his dirtiest trick only to get a chance on getting in front of him?

"On track I'm a bit of a different person than in the car." Max has never disagreed with something more in his life.

------- @chezmardybum @biancathecool

[staticscreenwriting]

I took the good times, I'll take the bad times II Joel Miller

Summary: Joel doesn't think he's deserving of love after all he did and all he went trough. Or maybe he's just scared. Either way he can't let himself fall for (Y/N). Now if only she'd stop sending him those damn postcards.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader (I always try not to describe the reader physically, if I missed something please let me know so I can change it and make this "applicable" to every reader. Thank you!)

A/N: This is my entry for the dear-uary challenge by @jolapeno . My prompt was "Character A keeps finding X and traces them back to Character B, who might be leaving them intentionally—or not." And I chose Postcards as my form of epistolary.

TW: This is mostly angsty fluff. There is some talk of self doubt and loss of a child but I think that should be it.

Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.

It all starts with a simple postcard tucked into the side pocket of his bag. Joel almost doesn’t realize it’s there, folded twice into a tiny square. It’s only when he’s looking for the list Maria gave him of all the things to look for on this run, that he grabs a hold of the card. 

His gloves make it hard to unfold the small paper but it’s way too cold to take them off. Joel was never big on winter and snow, even before everything went to shit. He doesn’t like the way it lingers, the way it consumes you from the inside out. Now, an unforgiving cold is all he feels as a thick blanket of snow has settled upon Wyoming. 

Bold bright letters scream out to him from the wrinkled paper “ Greetings from Tampa Florida. Wish you were here!”.

It’s one of those campy vintage ones where the letters are filled with drawings of landmarks and beaches. He remembers sending one just like this to his High School girlfriend when Dad took him and Tommy on a trip to Nashville when Joel was 16 maybe 17. It was a good trip, the last one they ever took together. Sometimes Joel wonders how his dad would deal with all of this. This new reality. This fucked up world. He always seemed so strong, so fearless. That man was unstoppable force and immovable object all at once. Every vulnerability Joel finds in himself, he’s sure was absent in his father. Maybe if he was a little more like his own dad he could’ve saved Sarah, could’ve spared Ellie the pain of living in this limbo of knowing and not knowing. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Joel moves closer to the fire, his only light source other than the stars. There’s writing on the back, blue ink on off-white paper. It’s not a handwriting he knows and for a second he wonders if the card has been there ever since he found the bag years ago, back in Boston. But he would know that, right? Would've found it by now. This must be new. This must be meant for him.

“ I know you hate the cold. I know it makes you sad and gloomy, well gloomier than usual. So let me tell you about the hottest day I ever experienced. I was a kid, maybe 7 or 8 and my mom took me to Florida. Not Tampa (it was the only postcard I could find at the library), but Orlando. We went to fucking Disney World!! We didn’t have a lot of money back then so mom must’ve saved a long time for this. Anyway, Joel, it was so hot. Unbearably hot. My clothes stuck to my skin and my hair got all frizzy. Maybe July wasn’t the best time to go. The air was so thick and heavy, so moist (ew). It felt like breathing in honey, syrup maybe. I still had the best time. I know it doesn’t take away the cold but I hope I can take you away to that hot and humid Florida summer for one small moment. If not, there’s a wool scarf at the bottom of your bag. Made it myself. You never told me what your favorite color is. I hope you like blue. xx 

P.S.: I wonder what happened to Disney World.” 

A chuckle falls from Joel’s lips and forms a cloud against the sharp winter air. He's never been to Disney World. The Millers just weren’t a Disney World kind of family. They were more of a local fair kind of family. All corn dogs and funnel cakes and first kisses behind the bumper cars. Sarah would’ve loved Disney World though. Ellie too. Ellie who doesn’t even know what the hell Disney is. 14 years and the girl has no idea who Mickey Mouse is. What a surreal thought. What a strange world. More than 20 years and it still feels strange. Joel wonders if life will ever let him settle in this new reality. If one day this feels like home and not a bad dream. Not a cosmic punishment. A bad joke that no one’s laughing at anymore.

His eyes travel back towards the blue swirly writing. It’s not Ellie’s bad chicken scratch, he could pick that out of a line-up any day. This looks much neater, more deliberate, and thoughtful. 

“There’s a wool scarf at the bottom of your bag.”

Quiet, as not to wake up the others sleeping just a few steps away, Joel opens the zipper on his bag and rummages through it with a gloved hand. There’s a bunch of stuff in there, food rations, ammunition, a second pair of gloves. Going on supply runs is not something Joel enjoys but it is a way for him to give back. To Tommy and Maria and the entire community. Jackson and its people have taken him and Ellie in as one of their own without much hesitation. They provided them with food, with shelter, with trust. He has so little to give in return. Going on a supply run to look for medicine and other necessities, that’s the least he can do. 

Something soft and squishy meets his hand and he pulls out a dark blue woolen scarf. There are so many holes and even in the dim light of the campfire, Joel can tell those holes are not there on purpose. Maybe it was Ellie after all, but then she never showed any interest in knitting, and the idea of her doing just that is far too ridiculous. No matter how imperfect it is though, Joel has to admit the scarf does make him feel warmer as he wraps it around his neck. 

“Hey,” Adam, one of the other guys on the run, speaks up from beside Joel, “you can catch some sleep if you want. I can take over the watch.” 

It’s a strange thing, how sometimes you don’t notice just how tired you are or how hungry you are until someone points it out to you. Until they offer to take it from you. Then it hits you like a brick to the face. A wave pulling you under. 

Joel feels his eyelids grow heavy and nods at the younger man. "Thanks". 

This mystery, it can wait until tomorrow. Until then he will bury his face in the warm soft wool of the scarf and think of that Florida sun. And though it most definitely is just his imagination, Joel could almost swear the night feels a little less cold.

His boots leave deep imprints in the white icy blanket as he makes his way past the Tipsy Bison and the community hall further towards his house. His home. 

No place has really felt like home in years. Not since all of this started. Everything was temporary. 4 walls and a roof. He wonders if this place will ever start feeling like home? Will he ever get to a point where he doesn’t wait for the second shoe to drop? It all feels like he’s Charlie Brown and life is Lucy pulling the football away at the last second. And it always ends with him falling. He’s so tired of falling. So tired of getting back up.

Joel almost expects the house to be silent as he steps inside. Ellie is slowly making friends with the other teens living in the settlement and is spending more time at their houses than she is at home. He can’t blame her. If he was more like his father he’d find it in himself to start conversations with people, get to know them, forge connections, make friends. Of the Miller boys, Tommy is the one who inherited their dad’s social gene though, Joel only got the snarl and the crippling inability to talk about his feelings.

Laughter echoes through the house as Joel rounds the corner connecting the entryway to the living room. Ellie’s laughter, loud and bright and light. As if for a moment all the horrors and the pain and the trauma have been taken from her.

When he steps into the kitchen, Joel understands. 

(Y/N) is standing by the counter, a smile on her face so soft and radiant it might just rival the sun. That joy she brings out in Ellie, it’s familiar to Joel because he feels it too whenever (Y/N) is around. Not always but sometimes. It’s a spark of warmth that starts in his chest and crawls up his spine. It settles in his lungs, his heart, his brain. Like a parasite. Like a virus. Like a wonderful dream. He doesn’t allow himself to feel it all the time but sometimes, sometimes he can’t deny himself this little bit of warmth.

Joel can’t even remember when exactly (Y/N) became a part of their life. It’s like one day she was there and refused to leave. And really that’s kind of how it went. She works at the library and the school, lives across the street from him and Ellie and for some reason, she’s taken pity on them. Joel isn’t sure if it's him or Ellie she pities. Maybe a mix of both. Either way, she brought over some soup one day and that’s the beginning and end of it all. She’s wormed her way into Ellie’s heart and by extension his too. Whether he likes to admit it or not. Doesn't hurt that she's so damn beautiful too.

“Joel, you’re back!” 

Ellie pulls him in a tight hug. It’s something Joel still has to get used to. Ellie isn’t a particularly affectionate person. She’s definitely not a hugger. And neither is Joel — not anymore at least. So when they do hug, it’s still a little strange. Not bad strange just unfamiliar. 

“Yeah, I’m back. 

“How did it go?” (Y/N) asks and meets his eyes over Ellie’s head. A silent conversation happening between her and Joel. It’s that thing she does where she doesn’t need to say a single word but Joel can tell exactly what she’s thinking just by the look in her eyes. He sometimes wonders if this is a them thing. 

“Did someone die” her eyes are saying. “Did someone get hurt?” 

“Did you get hurt?” 

He quickly shakes his head answering her unspoken questions. Not this time. 

“Good. It went good.” 

Maybe the relieved sigh he sees her let out is just his imagination. But Joel doesn’t think so. Joel thinks it's very real.

“Did you bring us something? “ 

He can’t help but smile at that. It feels good to smile. In a world that gives you grief and sorrow, you start to count the moments when it gives you a reason to smile. They are few and far between but the number has surely increased since Ellie stepped into his life — and since (Y/N) did. 

“I brought food and medicine. Isn’t that enough? “

A determined “no” falls from both their lips in a chaotic harmony. 

“Geez, you guys are demanding.” 

“Well — did you bring us something?” 

Joel just rolls his eyes and rummages through his bag for the goods. 

“For you— “ he says and throws the old wrinkled comic book towards Ellie who regards it with that endless sense of wonder she does possess. It’s the kind of spark that flickers and dies once you grow old. Or maybe just his did. Maybe grief leaves no room for wonder. 

Placing his bag on the ground, Joel moves into the kitchen and holds out his loot to (Y/N). Green background. White goats. Yellow bubble letters.

“Oooooh, you did get me something. Pet Sounds, nice!” 

There’s a spark in her too. Dulled and dusted from time but it is there and it flickers and grows every time Joel brings her a vinyl record from his trips outside of the settlement. In a world with so little joy, music seems to be one of the few things that hasn’t changed. In the face of immeasurable pain, humans turn to music. They have done so for a long time and judging by the world as is, they always will. 

“I hope it works still. Didn’t really have a record player to try it out.” 

“I’ll try it out as soon as I get to the library. Feel free to come by and listen with me.” 

“Sure.” 

“Thank you, Joel. I hope you didn’t have to do anything stupid to get this.” 

He didn’t. Not this time. He would’ve though. It scares him how willing he is to put himself in danger just to get her something that will put that radiant smile on her face. He’d walk to the end of the earth if he knew there was a record there she wanted. That thought scares the shit out of him. It’s bad enough he cares so deeply about Ellie, about Tommy. The more people you care about, the more you open yourself up to hurt. Losing either of them would tear him apart. Joel is not sure he can handle opening his heart to yet another person no matter how much his heart wants just that. 

“ Nah. No issues.” 

“Good.” 

She just looks at him for a moment. All soft eyes and gentle smile. There must be something she sees in him, Joel thinks, something he doesn’t see. A version of himself that he isn’t, that he will never be. A version he once was, maybe. A version he so desperately wishes he could be. For her.

“Well,” (Y/N) says and snaps him out of her enchantment “Ellie and I made some stew. I know you must’ve been freezing outside, some good warm stew might help warm you up a little.” 

“It smells great.” 

“You have impeccable timing because we just got done. So, dig in. And uh — I guess I’ll see you guys at the movie screening?” 

He doesn’t want her to leave. The devil and the angel on his shoulders are both screaming at him to ask her to stay. And if he was any stronger a man, any more like his own father and more deserving of good things, he would ask her. To stay for dinner. To stay forever.

But he isn’t. And he doesn’t ask. Just watches as she wraps a scarf around her neck and slips into the thick jacket that's a few sizes too big on her.

“I left the recipe by the fridge. Just in case you ever want to cook it yourself.” 

“Thanks.” 

And he really is grateful. For her. For everything.

“Oh Joel,” she says and stops in the doorway. “I like that scarf. Blue looks really good on you.” 

And then she’s gone, swallowed by the cold winter air. 

Joel hasn’t thought about his favorite color in forever. It’s something you stop thinking about once you start growing hair on your chest and fantasizing about girls in a way you haven’t before. Kids talk about their favorite colors all the time. Sarah did. It’s just once you grow old you lose that sense of self, define yourself through different things. 

Looking at the scarf now, all holes and imperfections, there is no doubt in his mind that his favorite color is blue. 

“Have you ever been to Paris?” 

The lights are dimmed in the big community hall, the movie playing on screen providing the only source of light as the people of Jackson have gathered for another movie night. 

A glimpse into a world that was but no longer is and never will be again. And for some of them, like Ellie, a world that never was to begin with.

Ellie is sitting in the front with some of the other teens, her friends, Joel supposes. She has friends now.

“Joel, have you?” 

A soft hand rests on his arm, shaking him from his gloomy thoughts. (Y/N) sits next to him, eyes focused on the pictures dancing across the screen. Ilsa and Rick, falling in love over and over again in Paris. The beginning of a love story doomed from the start. 

“I uh — no. Never.” 

“Me neither. I would’ve loved to go though. It looks beautiful.” 

He doesn’t know why or how it happens but the words just flow from his mouth like a waterfall. For the first time in a while, he finds himself wanting to talk more. About the past. About Sarah.

“My daughter, Sarah, went to Paris once. Some school exchange program. They don’t usually do it until later but her French class was above average and I guess they won some contest. I don’t know it was a long time ago.” 

“Sounds like she was a smart cookie.” 

"Oh, she was. Too smart for me, that’s for sure. Was hard letting her leave and fly to a whole different continent though. I was scared out of my mind until she was back home. Drove Tommy crazy for a whole damn week.” 

(Y/N) turns her face away from the screen and regards him with that infinite sense of something more. Soft and endearing. If he was a different man he would call it love. He would see the way she looks at him and he would kiss her stupid and life would be all sweet dreams and gentle touches. 

But he is the man he is. Not worthy of whatever she is willing to give.

“What’re looking at me like that for?” 

“It’s just sweet how much you care. About everyone. I think you don’t even know you’re doing it half the time.” 

“Do what?” 

“Care for others. For Ellie and me and all of us. You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I just wish you’d let someone take care of you for a change.” 

He doesn’t need to be taken care of. He can do it all on his own. And anyway, he is not as good of a man as she thinks he is. Good men don’t have the blood of their loved ones stuck to their hands. Good men don’t let their daughters die in their arms. Good men don’t kill. Good men don’t do all the things he did. 

Joel doesn’t want to be a good man. He just wishes he was good enough a man to allow himself to be with (Y/N).

“I ain’t a good man. And I don’t need someone to take care of me.” 

“You wore that scarf, did you not? You allowed me to take care of you then.” 

That damn scarf. He had a hunch it was her. The handwriting on the postcard matched the one of the recipe stuck to his fridge an awful lot. But it’s something else entirely to hear her say it outright. 

“That was you, huh? Had an awful lot of holes that thing.” 

“Hey, I never said I was good at knitting. You wore it anyway.”

Joel turns back towards the screen as Rick and Ilsa share a loving kiss. 

“Yeah, I wore it anyway.” 

And to the sound of bombs and tanks, (Y/N) rests her head on his shoulder.

That’s what you do for the people you love. Even if you don’t allow yourself to love them.

You wear the scarf anyway.

The mailbox flag is up. Bright red against the sharp white of the winter's day. 

It’s never been up. People around here don’t get mail. It’s but an ancient relic of a life they used to live. Remnants of a society long gone. 

But Joel is nothing if not curious. So he stomps up to the mailbox, leaving deep imprints in the freshly fallen snow. 

It’s another postcard. Only this time it doesn’t come with a mystery. This time it comes with that silly little feeling that makes his heart beat just a little faster. That makes his head swirl with stupid thoughts of stupid dreams.

“From Paris with love,” it says on the front. Fucking Paris, of course.

Sometimes the way he feels about her is infuriating, confusing, scary.

And sometimes, like right now, it feels like a ball of warmth settles in his ribcage and warms him from the inside out.

“Dear Joel,

We’ll never have Paris. Not in this life at least. And while I would’ve loved to see the Eiffel Tower sparkle with you and make you eat a croissant (which you would’ve pretended to hate but I think you would’ve enjoyed it secretly), I am glad to get this life with you at least. Or alongside you. Whatever it is we are, I am glad this life gave me that in between all the pain. Despite what you like to tell yourself, Joel Miller, you are a spark of fire, a light in the dark. You are more than the sum of your failures, you are more than your pain. All the good that is in you, that counts. That’s all that matters in the end. And there is so much good in you.

I wish you’d let yourself see it. 

We will never have Paris. But we’ll always have Jackson and that is enough for me. I hope it’s enough for you.

Here’s looking at you kid! ;) “

There’s a tragedy in knowing someone else sees all your good parts and none of the bad. A tragedy in knowing how much they like those good parts and being awfully aware that seeing all the bad parts would destroy them. 

A tragedy in still wanting to show them all of you, even the ugly soul-destroying parts.

But if she thinks he’s a good man, then Joel needs to be just that. A good man who keeps those ugly parts hidden and away from her. Even if that means denying himself the one thing he wants. 

“What’s that?” Ellie speaks up from beside him, a curious look on her face.

“Postcard.” 

“Like what people would send from vacations and stuff?”

“Yeah, how do you know about that?” 

She rolls his eyes at him and it’s one of those moments where he feels like a dad again. Those little moments that mean the world to him because he gets to feel like the old him. The Joel he thought was long dead and buried beside the bones of his own child.

“I watch movies? I talk to people? I read books? Take your pick.” 

“Wow, when did you become such a smartass, huh?” 

She shrugs his shoulders at him “Was born that way. Nothing I can do about it.” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Hey, you’ve grown to love me! You wouldn’t want me any other way.” 

And she isn’t wrong. Ellie, with all her curiosity and her bravery and her lust for life, whatever that life may look like, is exactly what he needed. Which makes him wonder if saving her from the fireflies was ultimately more of a selfish act than that of a heroic savior. 

“Who’s it from?” 

“None of your business.” 

“Oh, so (Y/N).” 

His eyes flick up and he is met with that satisfied, mischievous grin that is so uniquely Ellie.

“What makes you think that?” 

“You always change the subject when I bring her up. And that way you just jumped when I mentioned her? Yeah, you’re not slick, old man.” 

“Hey! Who are you calling an old man?” 

“You! Old and scared!” 

“I’m not scared!” 

Like hell he is. Terrified even. But there ain’t no way in hell he’ll admit that to Ellie. She’ll never let him hear the end of it. 

“Then go talk to her! She likes you, you like her. Why do you have to make it so complicated?” 

If only she knew all the ghosts swirling around inside of him threatening to break free. Things could be so easy. Only nothing ever is.

“Mind your own business, kid! Anyway, don't you have someplace to be? Think Dina came by earlier asking for you. You two are getting along well, huh?” 

“Aaaand on that note. See you for dinner, old man!” 

She’s gone before he can even hurl a reply at her. It pulls his lips into a smile. There’s no better way to get a teen to shut up than to bring up their crush. Nice to see that some things never change.

Another run. Another record. 

Joel feels silly, standing here in front of her door with his heart beating fast and heavy as he clutches the vinyl record in his hand. 

If Ellie saw him now, she’d surely make fun of him. Tommy too. Sarah even. 

What happened, Joel? You used to be so brave. What makes you so afraid now? 

Life, he thinks. Life has made him scared and bitter and sad. 

“Did you wanna knock or — ?” 

Joel turns around as the voice calls out to him. There it is again, that softness, that smile. 

“Uh, yes.” 

“Okay, good. Did you come to see me? Sorry, I was helping Maria at the farm.” 

“Yeah no uh — don’t worry about it. I just came to drop this off” 

Her eyes grow wide as she catches sight of which record it is he’s holding up. 

“No way! The stranger! You found it.” 

“ I did.” 

He had to clear an old dilapidated bar full of clickers to get that record. Almost lost his damn arm in the process. But her smile, that god-damn, life-ruining, world-shattering, heart-beat-faster, smile of hers makes it all worth it. He would give both arms, all of him. He would give it all to see her smile.

“Do you wanna come in and listen to it with me? Got my player fixed so I don’t have to use the one at the library anymore.” 

Say no. Just say no and go home. Be a good man! Be a better man! 

But he’s not. For this one moment, he can’t be that man. He’s just as weak as the rest of them. 

“Sure.” 

This feels so — normal. So before everything. Different and twisted and warped. But normal.

It’s scary and comforting all at once. Like a tipsy dream when you know you’ll wake up with a headache for sure.

(Y/N) is twirling around her living room, a beer in hand and a smile on her face. Joel leans against the door connecting her living room and her kitchen and all he can do is stare. At this woman who means so much to him. Too much for him to ever put into words. If he even knew how to. He’s never been a poet. 

“I said I love you, that's forever

And this I promise from the heart, mmm

I couldn't love you any better

I love you just the way you are, right”

“I love this song. Can you imagine someone loving you enough to write something like this about you?” 

Yes, he thinks. If only he WAS a poet. He would write a hundred songs. A thousand. And all of them would talk of her smile and her eyes and the way there is no single thing about her he would change. 

But words fail him. They always do. 

So he just nods.

“Joel,” she says and moves closer. The bottle of beer now placed on her couch table, her hands find his chest. So warm. So soft. And all he does is stare. 

“I know you got my postcards. I know you know how I feel. And sometimes I think you feel the same. I see the way you look at me. I know the dangers you put yourself in to get me those records. I just — you never say anything. So am I making a fool of myself here? Please tell me if I — “ 

“You’re not.” 

Wow, so eloquent. 

“I’m not?” 

Her voice sounds so small. So unsure. He hates that he’s the one who put the uncertainty there. Be a better man, Joel! Be a good man for once! 

But all he does is stare. Words fail him. Again. again. again.

“Then can I — can I do this?” 

(Y/N)’s gaze falls to his lips then back up to his eyes. She is so close. He can feel her warm breath on his skin. Can smell the scent of her shampoo. Notices the tremble of her fingers as her hands rest on his chest.

And he wants to kiss her. Every version of him that ever was and ever will be wants to kiss her. But all he does is stare.

All he does is stare and pull away.

And it breaks his heart to see hers break in that moment. 

“I uh — oh I’m sorry Joel.”

Tears gather in her eyes, fill them with sorrow, fill his heart with rage. He can’t do anything right, can he? Everyone he’s ever loved, he’s disappointed. But how can he let himself love her, how can he let her love him, when he is so broken? When all he does is break things?  Taint them with this infinite sadness that lives and grows inside his bones? 

“It’s not you.” 

“Oh please, Joel. I made a fool of myself already. Don’t make it worse.” 

“I ain’t trying to. It just ain’t you. It’s all me. It’s always been me”

His palms are sweaty and he feels like someone has reached into his ribcage, cracked every rib on the way to his heart, and ripped it out with bare hands. Snapping veins and arteries and all.

“I want you. I want this but I can’t have it. You think I’m a good man but the truth is, I am not. I do bad things all the time, over and over again and time and life have made me so numb to it. But you, you are so good. You deserve someone better. Someone whole.”

It’s like once he’s started it all comes flowing out like a fucking waterfall. All his fears and insecurities and pain. It’s all there for her to be disgusted by. Because god knows there is no way she won’t be. He is. All the time.

“I have not been the same since this all started. Since Sarah — since she died. I live with this immense grief. It surrounds me. It IS me. All of me. And I so desperately want to claw my way out of it. Rip it apart and leave it behind. But at the same time, I want to bury myself in it. Because what if I do leave it behind and I start to forget? Her and all that she was? How is it fair that I have to remember her far longer than I got to know her? So if I get better, if I become the man I need to be to be worthy of your love, am I still gonna be the man she knew? Can I still remember? Because that is all I have. And that is not a burden I can put on you. Not you and not Ellie.”

Joel takes a breath then another but it does little to calm him down.

“You two mean everything to me and I am sorry I am bad at showing it. That I can’t say it. I need you to know, it’s all me that’s the problem. It was never you. I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t wait for her to say anything. He doesn’t think he has the heart to hear a reply anyway. It’s like he just ripped himself open and spilled all his guts, his heart, his lungs, and all his inside out on her living room floor. 

If he was any better of a man he’d pick them up and try to rearrange them.

But he is not a good man. Maybe he never was.

“There was something for you in the mailbox” Ellie exclaims and slumps down on the couch next to him. “I was this close to opening it but I didn’t want to make you even more grumpy than you already are.” 

“I’m not grumpy” 

He has to admit, the tone in which he said those words does not do much to counter her point. Ellie knows too, judging by the way she raises her eyebrow “Sure, you’re not.” 

She drops a sunflower yellow envelope on his lap. ‘Joel’, it says in that swirly handwriting he’s become so familiar with.

It’s been a few weeks since he’s seen (Y/N). Since he spilled all his sorrows and worries to her and then ran. And, surprisingly, Jackson makes it very easy for someone to avoid another person if you only try hard enough.

Maybe Ellie has a point, maybe he has been exceptionally grumpy lately. No correlation to any recent events though. Absolutely zero.

“Sooo are you gonna open it?”

Ellie looks at him with curiosity and that little spark of mischief as if she knows something he doesn’t. 

“Not with you watching over my shoulder, I ain’t.” 

“Why?” 

“Cause it’s none of your business.” 

“Excuse me? I have to live with your grumpy ass because you guys can’t get your shit straight. I think it very much is my business.” 

“Jesus, Ellie. Language!" 

“Sorry,” she says and gives him that pseudo-sheepish look he’s grown familiar with. “You guys need to get your stuff straight.” 

He used to scold her for it but really, he isn’t one to talk. 

“Anywayyyyy, I’ll go stay at Dina’s tonight … just in case you decide to go over and apologize for whatever it is you did and you guys finally sort it out and need some privacy later.” 

“Why do you think I did something?” 

And there it is again that sassy eyebrow raise. The same one he’s seen on Sarah so many times before. It truly is a woman’s world and he’s but a fool living in it. And they let no opportunity pass to remind him of just that.

They are also absolutely right.

“My lawyer advised me not to answer that question. Anyway, be nice. Have fun. Byyyye” 

Her voice trails off as she grabs her bag and rushes outside leaving Joel alone in this big empty house with nothing but his demons and this mysterious envelope.

Carefully he opens the seal and shakes out the contents. A postcard, a photo, and a — cassette tape? 

His eyes find the photo first. It’s a polaroid of him and Ellie and (Y/N). All 3 of them smiling, yes even him. He remembers that day back last summer. It was one of those warm but not yet hot days. (Y/N) was wearing that agonizingly beautiful red sundress. The one that made his heart beat twice as fast. She brought over a whole basket full of cherries from the tree in her garden. A pie too. And that damn Polaroid camera. 

Of course, Ellie was enamored by it, wasted almost the whole damn film. 

“Come on Joel, let's take a picture together,” she had called out to him and pulled him to sit down next to her and (Y/N) on the blanket they had placed on the lawn. 

“I’m not a picture guy,” he had grumbled, “ ain’t nobody want to see my old mug.” 

“Oh shut up. Joel, you are so handsome, don’t even pretend like you don’t know that.” 

It was the first time (Y/N) had ever called him handsome. It was hard for him to believe it then, hell it still is. But she has done it a lot more since then. Calls him handsome and gorgeous and pretty all the time. At first, he thought she was just humoring him but slowly but surely it dawned on him that she meant it. Means it still.

“We don’t know how many good sunny days we have left. Ain’t no shame in trying to remember this one, right?” 

Her eyes held so much honesty then. Vulnerability too. And gratefulness for all they had then after all they had lost. It made him smile then and it makes him smile now.

The Postcard is next, big bold letters spell out TEXAS and in the corner, there’s a drawing of the Texas State Capitol in Austin.

When he turns the Postcard over, there it is again, that swirly writing he’s grown to love so much. 

“Joel, the ‘Postcards from around the world’ book I got from the library didn’t have an Austin one but it did have a Texas one so that’ll have to do. I’m not even sure if you're going to read this. I hope you do because you didn't give me a chance to say my part when you stormed off & I think I deserve that.

You're not the man you were in Austin, you lived through the worst thing imaginable and it changed you. But you are not just your pain. It is part of you but it doesn't define you. I know you see all the bad but none of the good but believe me I see it! Ellie does! You are your pain but you are also the smile on Ellie's face when you bring her a new comic or teach her a song. You're the guitar chords echoing through the air on a warm spring afternoon. You are those fluttery feelings in my heart whenever you look at me.

Joel Miller, I understand if you don't want to be with me but if it's only because you don't think you're good enough then I think that's a choice I get to make. Taking that from me is a dick move. 

You said you're bad at showing love but you're not. You showed me through all those records. Through all those songs. Now let me love you back.”

Joel can’t quite name the feeling spreading through him. It’s both foreign and familiar at the same time. Like an old friend. A hazy memory. Pictures blurred and dulled by time and age. 

Maybe he was wrong, and he hates admitting that. Maybe he ain’t a good man but maybe that is hers to decide. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

He takes the cassette tape in his hand and squints his eyes at the tiny writing on the label. God, he really is getting old. Those eyes ain’t what they used to be.

God only knows - The Beach Boys - Pet Sounds

You’re my best friend - Queen - A Night at the Opera

Just Like Heaven - The Cure - Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me (you should!) 

In Your Eyes - Peter Gabriel - So

Time After Time - Cyndi Lauper - She’s so unusual

Your Song - Elton John - Elton John

Can’t Help Falling in Love - Elvis - Blue Hawaii

Wonderful Tonight - Eric Clapton - Slowhand

The Book of Love - The Magnetic Fields - 69 Love Songs (!!!! LOVE SONGS!!!)

Just The Way You Are - Billy Joel - The Stranger

"You gave me all these records with all these songs and all these words to tell me you love me and I’m not sure you even knew.” 

And she’s right. He got her those records because he knew they’d make her smile. Because that smile means everything to him whether he wants to admit it or not. He got those records to show her that even when he’s gone on a run, she’s always on his mind. He believed it to be a curse, a ghost haunting him for all his past mistakes and taunting him with what he shall never have.

But maybe it’s not a curse. 

Maybe it’s a blessing. A sweet song to remind him that someone back home is waiting. A gentle reminder that life can and will go on and good things can come from immense tragedy. And moving on doesn’t mean forgetting, in fact, it means remembering. Remembering the bad and believing that there can and will be good and that it’s worth it to go on. Even if you are a different you. Not worse or better, just changed. And that you deserve love. And kindness. And warmth.

Joel drops the envelope and its contents on the table and grabs his thick winter jacket as he rushes outside. The cold feels only half as bad as it nips at his skin, he barely notices. There is a fire inside him now, burning away all the doubts and hesitation. 

He’s back at her door, only this time he doesn’t wait to knock. He’s spent so much time denying himself the one thing he wants that he can’t lose just one second more. The rapping of his knuckles against her door echoes through the winter day. Oh, how he can’t wait for the spring and the summer and her in that gorgeous dress. 

“Joel?” 

Back before — everything, Joel remembers a movie night with Sarah. She got to choose and despite being an avid fan of trashy action and horror movies, that time she chose a romantic comedy. All things considered, Joel can admit that when Harry met Sally wasn’t the worst choice but he still would’ve preferred Star Wars or Terminator. 

He does remember the ending though, the grand finale. He remembers Sarah trying to wipe away tears without him noticing. And he remembers Billy Crystal’s words “When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” 

Back then he thought it was some silly, cheesy movie speak. No one feels that way, right? It’s grandiose and kitschy for the sake of movie magic.

But no, he’s sure now, that one is true. Because it’s how he feels.

“I love you!” 

That confession should come with ribbons and flowers and fireworks but it doesn’t. It comes with honesty and that is all that matters. It comes from the heart.

“Huh?” 

“I got your postcard. The photo too and the tape. And I love you.” 

“I know. Took you long enough to figure it out.” 

“I’m sorry. I — I still believe that I am not a good man and that you deserve better. But it would be selfish to punish you for my own insecurities. I love you and I want to let you love me. If you still want to, that is.” 

“Joel Miller?”

“Yeah?” 

“Please just fucking kiss me.” 

Joel remembers a lot of kisses in his lifetime. Some rushed, some clumsy. Quick kisses in secret. Long drawn-out smooches in smokey bars. Loving, fast, aggressive, and soft. 

This one is different, as cheesy as it sounds.

This kiss makes him feel like all he’s ever been and all he ever will be can live in peace with one another. This kiss makes him feel like none of it matters as long as he has her. 

She tastes like peppermint and sunshine and he’s sure he’ll never get enough of her. The feeling of her skin against his as he gently cradles her face in his hand. The soft movements on her chest as she breathes. The twitch of her lips as she smiles into the kiss.

For the first time in his life, Joel is sure that a kiss is more than a kiss. It’s a healing hand on a shattered heart. It’s a new path to a new future. It’s sunshine melting the ice from his bones.

It’s a promise to try every day and to be better and to be enough. ---

[resident-idiot-simp]

What if MacTavish time traveled back after he died at the end of MW3

Ft: @azilver

(x)

Az:

mactavish fades away with prices voice in his ear and thinks its about time only to come to at his desk with a concerned riley looming over him calling "captain? captain???"

mactavish rights himself and dismisses the lieutenant but its on auto, looking around at the office he hasn't seen in, what? a year? more? he vaguely recalls the paperwork about chemo requesting leave but .... pushing up from the desk he heads outside, stride purposeful even if he can't think of a destination. he remembers the pain, rubbing at where the wound had burst open as he landed, the dull throb of a phantom knife separating his flesh. familiar voices call out greeting and acknowledgements, he feels like choking seeing his men jog past. dead. they were all dead.

Me:

MacTavish just roams aimlessly. He remembers this is before everything went wrong before the start of the end.

Before Makarov started causing issues at least noticeably. World war 3 hadn't started yet and General Shepherd....General Shepherd.

Could he even stop it from starting? No, he couldn't he knows he can't. But he could stop the war sooner. He knows where Makarov will be knows what has to get done.

He's a step ahead but... Shepherd how the hell does he deal with Shepherd? He can't kill him not right now he become haunted immediately.

He would have to play along... maybe send out separate secret operations. Shit where was his journal. He patted himself down And grabbed the small book.

It was covered in blood....his blood...

Az:

alt

he doesn't believe in any supernatural shit, he can't, getting your hopes up in their line of work is never a good idea. but he can try.

he needs to find his place in time and so he heads for his room, digs until he finds his latest notebook and reads. he's back farther than he thought. price isn't back yet, that a month or 2 out still. sheppards still sniffing around, playing them like fiddles.

not for long. he has until the rescue mission to untangle this shit as much as he can. he can't think about price right now, not with the realisations he'd come to after the bastard had let sheppard take his boys from him. had ushered in the war they'd bled and sacrificed for so long to keep at bay.

he needs a fucking smoke.

heading outside he fishes in his pockets for his pack. oh, he's on his last cigar and ain't that a big pointed ironic finger from the universe?

"yeah, yeah, i get ye." he mutters and crushes it under foot.

"sir?" riley sidles up, a predators grace shifting in that odd edginess he always had when alone with mactavish outside of missions. well, he supposes it would be odd to se him talking to himself and destroying a good cigar.

"was damp." he spits, watching from the side as riley leans against the wall next to him. "spot me a fag, lieutenant."

he hears the smirk in the man's voice even as he passes him the cigarette, slipping out another for himself, "only if'n ye spot me a light, sir"

Me:

You KNOW his personality must take a 180. Like it's whole new person or alternatively just different enough to be off-putting.

He has changed a lot over the course of the war and all the losses seem to pile on.

He will stare at his team sometimes like his seeing ghosts. He will turn around and treat them tougher then every before so this time maybe, hopefully they won't be unprepared

You know it's like pulling teeth for MacTavish to go along with Shepherd. Everyone else is super confused because what the hell changed in such a short period of time

Az:

he takes to digging, burning the late night oil in a way that has even the likes of the worst insomniacs of base weary. he needs proof, something tangible to show his men. he knows they trust him, more than the past-future shows/ed they should and he can't just make them go on faith.

as a captain he can't ignore his duties, thankfully he has a damned good memory and what he forgot he has in his notebook. the few ops they're sent on go off without a hitch - if maybe the men start whispering about the captains near psychic ability to just know he ignores it. instead what little time he can spare is spent with his boys.

where before he would watch from the sidelines for the most part he now steps in. he spars and backchats and touches. its confusing and unnerving somehow ...but also appreciated. maybe it just bonding or just maybe how he'd pulled away in the last few years as sheppard wound his way closer into the 141.

soap was always one of them but along the way the captain had taken over more and more. and for all he's pushing them harder and harder they notice the captain is more prone to risks. they see him staring off too often to dismiss it. they know somethings changed and like good soldiers they read their captain and start preparing.

Me:

Riley gets particular snoopy one day and manages to snag the journal. MacTavish kept that thing safe like it was his own child so seeing it covered in blood was alarming.

He worried over what had happened. Opening it there wasn't anything note worthy but the more pages he flipped the weirder it got.

There were things that hadn't happened yet events, betrayals, death, The more Riley read the more he needed answers.

Then his and Roach's death...

He just stared uncomprehending way because what? Shepherd? Sure he'd never really trusted the man but...to kill them?

Then the hunt... Then the blood... Then The last edition that wasn't the neat and purposeful writing of MacTavish...

Az:

it makes sense for all that it doesn't.

out of them all riley was the one who always watched mactavish, was always looking at the man. so he'd seen those little moments, the quickly shuttered pained swallows watching his men, the pure hate that sliced through his eyes the moment sheppard turned around. the little things like stepping between roach and a fire, putting off a mission an hour just to get that much more gear stowed.

and the thing that pushed riley past the edge of his respect for the man, just enough that he allowed himself to snoop: mactavish flirted back.

Me:

He's not a man that would normally go into people's business that's not his own. But he was genuinely worried about Tav and the man was going along with the flirting and stuff. He knew they were close probably closer than anyone else on the team.

That was his job after all he was the Captain's right hand. But what if instead of snooping (this just hit me) he had seen the journal somewhere it shouldn't be and wanted to bring it back to him

Az:

riley's not stupid. he knew mactavish let them, let him, get away with much more than any other CO would. he'd never given a shit about who was fucking who, hell, worm had admitted to the captain walking in on he and meat and just told them to get their reports on his desk before lights out. the captain seemed to be of the opinion that nothing mattered except their abilities in the field, pushing himself same as them.

and riley had pushed back on occasion. being the man's 2nd gave him leeway sure but even then the first time he'd found a proposition slipping out in response to the man sighing in exhaustion he'd fully believed he was about to be murdered. what he hadn't expected was a snort and "fuck off, riley"

it had become a thing he did, so much so that the rest of the unit openly placed bets on if the cap would ever give the man what he wanted. and good god was mactavish what riley wanted. he'd fucked around enough to know who was game and how to get what he wanted. for a while he'd thought mactavish was ace except roach came in one morning and told them all how he'd seen the man take home some girl from the bar the night before. so straight, which sucked but didn't stop him pushing. then a few of them were at a bar a few miles from base and he'd gone for a leak only to see his captain walk out of a stall adjusting his belt, 3 seconds later followed a pretty boy wiping at his mouth.

Me:

Riley has been extatic to know he had a chance and if Tav really didn't want it. Well the man was more than capable of getting him to stop.

The fact MacTavish allowed it in of itself was damn near the equivalents of permission. He let them do as they pleased for the most part sure.

But he was not beyond jumping down someone's throat if they annoyed him too much. People just understood You could do what you wanted but If it was something you couldn't... Well you would find out.

The captain was brutal there was no denying that. He expected perfection and would settle for nothing less and it seemed if only gotten worse his standards raising in the past few weeks. This seems to be the answer for it but wtf did it mean.

It made sense and fit perfectly sure but It was bat shit insane. Riley prided himself in nothing was too far-fetched but this? This pushed the limit for him.

He didn't mention it as he handed the journal back. He didn't mention it to anyone else either. He just continued doing what he always did. Being a nuisance in flirting with the captain

Az:

"if you insist on using that mouth of yours for something other than shutting up, be at my bunk at lights out and i'll use it for you"

mactavish walks away and silence follows. not one of them can believe what they just heard. they all look at each other over lunch in shock. not once in the years the unit has existed has the captain ever responded to a come on and never to riley. everyone to a man knew the lieutenant was gagging for it, would have been the man's personal fluffer at the barest crook of a finger. and yet...

"ok, what the fuck was that riley?"

"what?" the manc is still reeling and under other circumstances maybe they'd let him get away with it.

peasant comes up and places a restraining hand on his shoulder, archer and worm not a step behind. the rest of the unit move the make sure they're alone, pushing out the few straggling outsiders. whatever the fuck is going on is for the 141's ears only.

"riley, cap's been acting different for the last few weeks, we all know it." toad stares him down as the rest nod in agreement. "feels like a storm's coming and no one but him sees it."

Me:

Riley is still shell shocked "What?" He repeated because SURELY that hadn't just happened.

"Something is up " Meat agreed and Riley wasn't having it. "No no no go back did he just....is he serious?" Riley sounded excited.

"Yes and that's half the issue. What the fuck has changed so much?" Chemo answered easily

Riley wasn't listening he had tuned them out. They were onto something sure and he definitely had a piece to that puzzle.

That however was a later issue, right now? Now he had been offered to fallow though on the flirting.

( az: riley, horny and about to combust: "let me go! i need to get to him!"

the rest of the unit, holding him down: "no, tell us what's going on!"

Me: Riley has answers but is overwhelmed with the horny

Az: the man who thought he'd been made immune to torture is about to learn

Me: The 141: What the fuck is going on?? Surely Riley knows I mean he's around the man more than the rest of us combined

*Cut to Riley who is throthing at the mouth*)

Me:

"RILEY!" Worm shouts at him and Riley turns to snarl at him. "You are around him all the time you're his right had you have to know something. Is it confidential just give us something to work with." Worm begged

Riley groaned in annoyance, "I don't know shit. He hasn't told me anything but...yeah it's not right I *know* that."

Riley wouldn't bring up the journal even though he's sure it is the key to all of this. He shouldn't have seen it in the first place, it wasn't his place to talk about it.

"You don't know anything?" Archer asked dubiously and we'll ge kind of did. He had looked into what McTavish was diving into.

It was files on Shepherd he was looking for dirt. He knew something was wrong there even if he couldn't have concrete proof, even if he didn't bring up the journal.

"I'm not sure what exactly but he's digging for something on Shepherd." Riley answered with a sigh.

"Shepherd? Why Shepherd?" Rook asked and Riley weighed his options.

"I'm not completely sure, but I think he's onto something. I don't talk about before..but Shepherd owns me. Sure I'm here but he could pull me away just as easy. He's always been off he'd use me to do a dirty jobs stuff we can't have on the books." A breath.

"He's not a good man and if MacTavish thinks something's off to the point where he needs to look into it. Well I'd say he's onto something." Riley finishes with a shrug

Az:

and it's not like he'd be sad to get out of sheppards leash. not even if it meant a new one in mactavish's hands.

the world tip and he finds himself on the floor before he knows it. a weight settles on his back even as he manages to flip onto his back. roach is sitting on him and signing rapidly. you should have told us before! we've been freaking out for weeks!

it's probably a sign of how they're all on edge that riley doesn't even try and dislodge the man, instead he tries to reassure him, them. "roach, man, you know how the cap is. he wouldn't want us getting involved especially with how dangerous sheppard is."

peasant squats down beside them and flicks riley's forhead. "oi! none of that, ya hear? we're all 141, that includes you and the cap."

meat picks roach up off of him and tosses him over his shoulder as peasant gives him a hand up, "now, this is what we're gonna do: tonight you give the captain what he deserves and we'll get into his shit. if you do your job well enough he'll be too relaxed to be pissed at us and maybe even enough to let us help"

Me:

Riley has never agreed to something faster in his life. Not like he needs insensitive to put in his best effort.

He ends up in the Captain's quarters and it's without a question the best sex of Riley's life. He's used like a toy and he couldn't be happier.

He knows when he wakes up he'll be useless for the day but it's a sacrifice that has to be made. Besides if The captain gets mad about it well it's his fault.

Riley didn't expect as much passion as he got he was blindsided by the desperation the man showed. It was so unlike him but fuck it was hot.

Sure enough he woke up and he was as sore as he had been after his first hell week. To his surprise Tav was still asleep curled around him.

Riley wouldn't complain and couldn't even if he wanted too. Luckily for him it didn't take long for the other man to wake up.

He stirred as be buried his face further into Riley's hair. "Good morning Johnny." Riley chirped and Tav slapped a hand on his mouth.

"Fuckin told ye no ta call me that." He slurred out voice deep and gravely accent thicker then Riley has ever heard it. It made him melt a little

Az:

he'd happily lie there for the rest of his life, feeling the hollow ache in his ass and light stinging heat from the bites and bruises littered across his skin, even the tacky feeling of drying cum can't ruin the afterglow. he feels ridiculous. he feels fucking giddy.

"missed you" he'd miss it if mactavish's mouth wasn't right by his ear and it's said so quietly, almost a mumble. it's ice water. he twists to look at him but the other man is still more asleep than awake.

I missed you

the caps notebook. it described all their deaths, riley and roach's in particular. that had been months of entries before the last one and next to it had been a short list of dates: one about the time mactavish had started acting off, the next coming up in the next week or so. 3 others following, the last a little after that last entry underlined in red.

Me:

Riley had no reason to believe what he saw in the notebook. Hell it could be delusions cased by the last of sleep the man had be getting.

But Tavs soft 'I missed you' is all it took to convince him it was all real. Was that pathetic and probably his own hopes speaking? Probably but this had become proof for him.

Maybe by the time the others had an idea what was going on it would be answered. At least he could hope because things weren't right.

By the time they both got showed (another round in there) and dressed the team was waiting for them.

In Roach's hand was the journal and Riley locked eyes with him. He saw the same apprehension and horror.

MacTavish just froze up before growling and ripping it out of his hand. Roach didn't even try to hold on to it.

"WHAT THE FACK IS THIS?!" Tav demanded and Riley realizes he may have possibly fucked up.

"You're not acting like yourself we got worried so we did some snooping." Chemo said easily and there was definitely a vain popping out of the Captain's neck.

"I can have you all fired for this!' MacTavish roars but not one of them believe he'll do that for a moment. "Sure but then how will you kill Shepherd and Makarov?" Archer asked.

MacTavish came up short. "What?" He asked confused.

"How will you stop WW3 Without us?" Archer asked smugly. MacTavish looks she'll shocked. Riley's missing something but it seems that they're getting somewhere.

"You believe everything you saw and read?" He asked and the others just nodded in agreement. It wouldn't be something MacTavish would lie about they all knew that.

Az:

"why?"

"Why what?" toad asks

"why do you belive any of that?" Mactavish spits, pointing at the book and it really shouldn;t surprise anyone he's defensive. if even half of what's in there is true then Johnny's been very alone for a long time.

"Sir," chemo starts but how do they explain it?

because we believe you roach says and yes it is that simple.

"it makes sense" meat adds

peasant shrugs, "we know you, sir, you don't do anything for no reason. a few weeks ago you started acting ...off. you're our captain. it was like you'd been turned up to 100!"

there are murmers from the men and comments about the little things but it comes down to the fact that the 141 operates on a very simple and very straightforward mentality: look to the captain

Me:

MacTavish thinks he might cry. He isn't sure how to deal with this overwhelming support. He was so used to being pushed aside and ignored and it hurt. He forgot that this team was based off of.

Trust.

He pulls them into a long abandoned confidence room that promised pricey and showed exactly what he had figured out so far.

The room looks like a mess stuff everywhere. There was paper tacked to walls scribbles on the table. It looked like What people imagined conspiracy theorists did in their free time.

He explained everything and what he had proof of and what he didn't. Strings of evidence and spots where he just couldn't find anything even though he knew how it happened.

It was a week later on the exact specified time when they recovered Price.

No one was sure how to proceed with this and MacTavish was in shambles.

"I should kill him." MacTavish had announced to them all later that night.

"If you do that how do you explain it the way?" Riley asked honestly keen on getting rid of the men but still he had to point out the obvious.

'Doctors already took a look at him It can't be passed off his injuries. If you killed him it would be an assassination someone on base would have had to do it. You can't hide that It would be investigated.' Roach pointed out.

"They have bigger fish to fry than whoever killed Price." MacTavish reasoned.

"Yeah because they wouldn't care about a man who was being held specifically by Makarov." Chemo daid sarcastically.

MacTavish groaned

Zombie hummed, "Let us handle it, sir, best if you aren't involved. From what you've said he'll try and dig in with you so you'd be one of the first questioned."

the men agree even if they don't like it. mactavish didn't hold back when he told them about price and how the man got into his head, pulled him along like a trained dog. and gods did riley not want the man near his captain.

he'd been the one to drag johnny to bed, make sure he ate, keep him on track now that the rest of the men were on board. and maybe there was a part of him that wanted as much of the man as he could have just in case....

the other's were supportive, of course, but they'd agreed to let him handle the more personal aspects to getting their captain through this hell. they helped manage the brass and the other soldiers, handed over their meals and wrote up paperwork that didn;t need more than the cap's signature. rook and zach, the most personable of them, made friends with some of sheppards men and kept a more trained eye on them. robot and red exercised their tech skill and bugged the system. everyone had their ears to the ground but they knew they were running out of time.

so it's no surprise when they're in the hidden office, trying to work out what the hell they can do when mactavish slips in and thunks down on a chair. he looks exhausted.

riley's up and fixing him a coffee without a thought, the others going quiet as the man leans back, eyes closed.

"sir?"

he sighs. "ah cannae do it. if price says another thin' aboot us ah'm gonnae shoot 'im."

it's not secret that soon as the man was let out of medical he'd been on mactavish like tik on a curdog. riley had been hard pressed not to punch the man when he'd given the lieutenant a nasty look seeing him lean in against his captain. "here, Tav"

"Thanks, Si" he groaned, taking a big swallow not caring at the heat. eventually he shrugs, "maybe ah could get price and sheppard to kill each other"

Me:

The room paused at that

The batshit idea was.... Well not as insane as it was intended to be

MacTavish looked up at the silence. "That's a good idea isn't it?" He asked the room at large.

Affirmatives rang around the room and he groaned. "Shit we've been trying to make this more complicated than it had to be haven't we?" He asked and another round of agreements sounded.

"How do we get this to happen? Have him overhear us? Act like it's a secret and drop hints? Leave my office door open with all the information layed out for him to find?" He asked the team.

"Why not all of it sir?" Riley asked his eyes crinkling as a smirk presumably crawled across his face.

They deemed it 'mouse trap' even though which was the mouse in this situation was unclear. They started small with cutting off conversations about it when Price appeared. Then to hiding files when he entered a room.

It progressed to vague explanations that made no sense and finally to the office door being left slightly open one night.

The next morning Price was gone

Az:

roach definately suggests just asking price to deliver something to sheppard just for it to go boom

Me:

They wait impatiently for the news to ring one way or the other. Either way it can't be a loss they know that for sure

Az:

the only reason they veto is because of collateral

the brass are in an uproar but since the 141 have no idea where he went there' not much they can do.

what they do know is where makarov will be in a few days time so they plan for him instead. sheppard need to be in washington that week so it's easy enough to fly under his radar. a little hacking here, some misplace paperwork there, and they're a week earlier than the bastards expect. it's too risky to have men on site when makarov gets there, instead mactavish has them place enough explosvies to level a small town and then they wait.

from a very distant vantage point they confirm makarov has exited his chopper and walked inside. they wait 5 minutes and then blow it sky high. nothing is left, from the parking area to the sewers, it's all slag and detritus.

Me:

The aftermath is mayhem But MacTavish refuses to let them leave until they can confirm he is in fact dead.

It doesn't take much convincing as they get out the dogs and have them search for anyone living as well as pulling out the other stops just in case.

Everything comes up negative. And they all sigh a breath of relief

[dervampireprince]

there was a little interest in me sharing my writing drabbles and ideas about lucien (my visiting king oc) and lysander (my villain oc) as a couple so here's all the things i shared in my discord last week (how was it only last week, it feels like forever ago).

[18+ only, minors dni]

note: lucien and lysander are both trans men with bottom and top surgery

i tried to format this in a way that's readable. it's a mix of different little scenarios including my entire summary of their plot of how they'd meet and get together. i had no idea how to format thisss.

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

the message that started it all: peaking in from my uhh 3 hours of drawing as i attempt to make a design for the villain and keep hating what im drawing and scrapping the design and starting again to say hey. you know who'd treat him right? the visiting king

i thought about it as a joke but um. i dont think its a joke anymore.

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

What if I shipped them:

Villain submitting looks like him crying, head throne back, sobbing, the king gently and slowly breaking him down, praising him, cradling him

King submitting looks like him on his knees, begging as the villain’s boot presses down onto his cock, begging to be touched however the villain sees fit, villain telling him how useful he is being 

Luce: I missed you. Ly: I was only gone for a week. Luce: Even an hour without your presence feels like a lifetime [kisses his hand]. Ly: [internally: what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck] [blushing profusely]

Lysander crying the first time Lucien fucks him because he’s being so gentle, works him open so slowly, tells him how beautiful he is, “Oh Zander,” Lucien coos when he’s finally seated inside him, Lysander embarrassed at how emotional he is, but Lucien pulls his hands from his face, kisses his them, tells him he’s perfect.

Lysander leaving Lucien with a cock ring on while he’s away.

Lucien is on his knees, ring around his straining cock. His moans are muffled, his hair tugged back and forth, as Lysander fucks his face. When Lysander pulls his cock out, Lucien begs. “Please Zander, please let me fuck you.” “Hmm,” Lysander pretends to think about it while Lucien keeps babbling, pleading over and over. “And what if I want to fuck you?” “Anything,” Lucien doesn’t even blink. “As long as my skin gets to touch yours, please, give me anything.” And what really can Lysander do with that other than have Lucien bent over the bed, fucking into him over and over, every time he gets close… he stops. He edges himself inside Lucien’s hole, all the while Lucien is unable to come from the ring around his cock. Once Lucien is relaxed and out of his mind enough to stop begging, to just take whatever Lysander gives him, to stop thinking, that’s when Lysander will let him come.

okay so how i see it happening.

lucien somehow finds out about what's going on in lysander's city and wants to help. they start meeting each other. lysander does not trust him, doesn't want to trust him, because he's never been able to put any trust or faith in a nobility or royalty or higher ups. but lucien just seems so... nice. good. and that can't be right, no one can be that nice without something to gain, without some agenda.

but time passes. lucien is really just that nice. and he sees good in lysander. and lysander knows what he's doing isn't wrong, he believes what he's doing is right, but he also doesn't really believe he's a good person. and lucien tells him he is. and that annoys him because it makes him *feel*.

and lucien ends up helping too much. or doing something to help lysander's people that makes lysander feel inept. who does lucien think he is, swooping in with his riches and power. doing things for them lysander couldn't because he didn't have the money. and maybe lysander takes it as lucien trying to make him feel small and poor, but that isn't how lucien meant it. and lysander knows that deep down. but it's easier to get angry at lucien than accept that it's okay if he wants or needs this man's help. so he gets angry at lucien.

and lysander know's he's wrong for blowing up at him. for pushing him away. and after an amount of time of feeling sorry for himself, he goes to see lucien. shows up on his doorstep and apologies. and lucien just accepts it. this stupid fucking kind man just accepts it, says he understands, *he* apologies for overstepping, that he should have consulted lysander, doesn't want to cross any boundaries, tells lysander he's doing a good job and that wall inside lysander just comes crumbling down.

lysander stays the night, in his own room lucien has set aside. and in the morning lucien invites him for breakfast. and then on a walk, touring his gardens. and lysander asks what the fuck all of this is. and lucien says he just wants to help, but admits to having one ulterior  motive. and lysander thinks finally he's got him but the lucien says "i wanted an excuse to keep seeing you".

lysander calls him a stupid man. blusters and tries to act like he doesn't understand what lucien is getting at, but he does. and lucien just stands there patiently, until lysander has finished ranting, and then asks lysander if he can court him. if he can kiss him.

and lysander says yes.

Lysander telling Lucien to stop fucking him like he’s gonna break. Lucien says he’s not into causing pain. But Lysander’s not asking for pain, he’s just asking if Lucien ever wants to just pound into him. It takes some convincing that he’s allowed too (Lucien is worried he’s too big and could too easily hurt someone) but Lysander assures him that he wants to be fucked hard.

[lukie17]

The Next Morning

Part two of

Caleb woke up looking for your figure next to him but he only found a cold empty space. Confusion was replaced by worry as he heard your cries coming from the bathroom, Caleb rushed to the restroom as anxiety cling on to him. Had he done something to hurt you? Was he too intense the night before? Why were you crying?

He felt his soul left his body as he saw you in the shower, cleaning your body until you left a red impression on your skin.

"Pipsqueak?" Caleb saw you jump but you did not turn to see him "Tell me was wrong" He did not understand what he did wrong, yesterday you were desperate for him in the same way he had been ever since he was a teenager. In your eyes Caleb could see the wave of emotions that were plaguing you: regret, fear and even pain.

Stupid idiot, he should have know better, he should have know you better. He should have stopped you, wait for you until your head was not acting out of instinct and anxiety. Slowly, as if he were testing troublesome waters, Caleb stepped into the shower. You were not running away, but you weren't looking at him, it pain him how you flinched when he raised his arm to turn off the shower.

"I am sorry" his movements fast and swift as he used a towel to envolve you "Forgive me, pipsqueak. I should have know"

Swoly his arms moved to your body, waiting for your rejection, when it never came he pressed himself closer to you. His hands drawing soothing patterns in the skin of your arms, letting you cry until you decided to face him. Unable to resist the urgency of his touch, your body betrayed you and you his in Caleb's chest, the same way you used to whenever you had a nightmare or were scared. It felt like home.

"I am sorry" your apology did nothing to tame Caleb's anxiety. Gently he lifted your chin until your eyes meet each other's "I didn't mean to... I got anxious... I didn't want to lose you. I had to do something to make sure you would never go" your hands grabbed his face digging your fingers on his cheeks "I cannot loose you again. I can't lose my Caleb" desesperation filling your voice.

How was he supposed to react? Caleb had loved every second you were clinging on to him, but was that one the only reason? Is that the way you saw what you have done? It hurted him, he had loved you for years, yearning and waiting for an opportunity, waiting for you to feel at least a fraction of what he felt for you to not olose the Caleb you once knew. The possessive part of him, that he tried to buried, made his way to the surface, his big frame towering your small one until you were merely a breath away.

"What?" Disappointment and anger filled his voice "Is that what it was?" His fingers make his way to your throat "Is this some mean to keep your gege?"

"Caleb? I didn't mean"

"Fuck" his embrace holding you even tighter "Do you regret it? I need to know" Caleb last thread of patience had spanned "If you regret, if you think was a mistake, tell me now. We can go back to where it was... I can be your gege again, but please don't give me hope for you to just take away..."

For the second time your hand met his cheek, leaving and angry mark, this time a bruise would form. Pushing him on the mattress, you straddled on his lap, your hands covering his mouth.

"I regret it the way it happened! I regret that I acted out of fear and anxiety and not out of love!" Tears falling on his body, how he wanted to brush them away but he was unable to move "I regret that I did not wait until your last name was mine, to cross that line before our promise"

Promise? What promise? He didn't know what you were talking about, he made sure to remember every singles promise that he had made to you, yet he was unsure about what you were referring to

"Dummy!" A smile making a way to your face. Freeing his mouth, you slapped him on the chest "You have forgotten, don't you?" Bringing your hands together in a pinkie promise you looked at him "I, MC, swear that will be the bride of Caleb..."

Memories flooded his mind, a hot summer and falling trees. Two kids with scrapped knees and full of mud. A warm breeze ruffling their hairs as they leaned together, a pinky promise taking place.

"...I, Caleb will be your broom, to protect you and shield you..." the anger and desesperation going away "... Together forever..." your voices mixing together "Caleb and MC will be married together"

"Dummy" even though you laughed, the tears kept falling from your eyes "Dummy, dummy, dummy..."

"I am such a fool" Gently, Caleb pulled you closer, whipping away your tears "I am so sorry, pipsqueak" his own vision becoming blurry "I forgot... I won't forget again.. I am so sorry...I should have know..."

Your hand rested on the crook of his neck, tracing patterns in the burn scar's in his chest, unable to say something else. Fear, anger, happiness, relief among other feelings were running free inside of you, but the steady beat of living heart calmed you down, Caleb was alive, Caleb was back.

Caleb's was battling against his own feelings, Caleb knew that you regreted what you have done, but you didn't hate him, and for that moment it was enough. Soon, you would need to address the feelings that you both had, to navigate where you were going from now on, but in that peaceful moment there was nothing that the both of you dared to say. Caleb was going to make sure that no one would tear him away from him, not again.

[tragcdysewn]

"yes, exactly. you know it's strong and cheap if it feels like your throat got cauterized. that's the standard for booze." and it's not like kaya was protesting her drinking it, or even abstaining themself, so she clearly didn't take that much of an issue with kriya's philosophies. "drinking alcohol is for mental wounds, little sister. medical grade shit is for physical ones. and this is certainly a mental wounds conversation if i've ever heard one." kaya's insistence on taking some fault in what had happened to her only feels more ridiculous the more they both harp on this topic, and kriya's expression makes that very clear as she looks over at her little sister with a raised eyebrow. they had both been kids, it wasn't on either of them to keep their family together, it had been on their parents. and while more of kriya's blame absolutely falls to their mother, it's impossible not to resent their father for his role in it all coming crashing down. "no, it's called 'taking on guilt that isn't yours', kaya. empathy is relating to people, not blaming yourself for shit you had no say in." she takes another long sip from the bottle, though the melancholy is broken slightly by the snort she lets out at kaya's comment about their mother's vase. "oh, it was karking hideous, i think even dad was happy when we told them it broke, not that he'd have ever admitted it." she's honestly not surprised kaya doesn't remember it, they'd been so young, and it had probably been more terrifying from their point of view. she can't even immediately blame it on the jedi, it very well could have been their mind blocking it out entirely on it's own. "well, he's not your dad." she snaps, an impulsive comment that she does somewhat regret as soon as it leaves her lips. "i didn't mean it like that." she mutters after a moment of silence. "i don't know how i meant it, so don't ask, but it came out wrong." moving on, kriff, she really needs to stop drinking. not that she's going to, she immediately takes another swig to cover whatever the fuck awkwardness she'd created. "i think i could've made it in if i really tried. but brinna never would've let me do it alone, and there was no way i was taking anyone with me. but good, she's basically family to me by now. i didn't have anyone else for a long time." and then she'd lost brinna too, and it had sucked. "no, ryloth. and i didn't exactly ask for a name before i fucked off. i was just trying to get away before i got arrested."

"they totally do, but they're more expensive, and don't make you forget your issues as quick. alcohol cleanses both outside and inside injuries, yaya. if i have taught you nothing else as your older sister, i have taught you that." she laughed a bit at the question, nodding. "it's pretty much the same, honestly. one of the few things that didn't really change between worlds." a relief, because otherwise, kriya would have had to learn better coping mechanisms, and she really had no desire to do that anytime soon. this coping mechanism worked well for her, and figuring out new ones would mean facing her issues. a hard pass on that one, really. she frowns a bit at kaya's protests, shaking her head. "it's not because of you, knock it off. mom and dad were adults, they made their own choices. they could have tried to keep it together and give a shit about their other kid, and they didn't. that's not your fault." but the two of them passing the bottle back and forth was making it easier to discuss this all, at least. a smile actually blooms across kriya's features at the question, nodding as a snort escapes her lips. "yeah, the ugliest kriffing thing, but mom loved it. i would've been happy if it was broken if not for the rest of the bullshit." she snags the bottle back for that conversation, taking a much longer drink, one she's sure kaya will have thoughts on, before continuing. "look, i'm sure that's true for some people, i'm sure there's people who's parents actually just gave them up, but that's not what happened to you." she can acknowledge that she's probably seen the extreme worst of the jedi, that there are likely plenty of them who embody the ideals perfectly, but she's never seen them, and can't help the resentment being a blanket thing after everything she's experienced. "i always wanted to find you. i just never managed to find a way to break into the temple or track you outside of it. brinna was there for all of it, she'll take care of you." she'd trust brinna with her life, and more importantly, with kaya's, if it ever came down to it, though hopefully it never would. "and you're a brat, you do understand that, right?" she teases lightly, trusting that they won't take it nearly as personally as they may have when they'd first met. "kark, alright, but you're not going to like it." she sighs, dropping her head to the arm of the couch as she prepared to speak. "i got hired to find dirt on some corrupt senator. my employer either didn't know or neglected to mention that the asshole, being corrupt, had had assassination attempts on him before, and got a jedi guard as a result. i got caught, obviously, considering i wasn't expecting a karking jedi knight. he took me for an assassin, and took my arm before i got away."

[lucky-clover-gazette]

damen & laurent's soldiers need worker's compensation for dealing with their angsty petty gay bullshit. i present the following evidence:

exhibit a:

He had put those soldiers on the door to bar the way to those men seeking Laurent out for some trivial matter, or for any matter, because when Laurent wanted to be alone, no one should suffer the consequences of interrupting him.  The taller soldier addressed him. ‘Commander, no one has entered in your absence.’ Damen’s eyes passed over the doors again.  ‘Good,’ he said. And he pushed the doors open.

‘Arrest me,’ said Damen. ‘I have raised hands to the Prince.’  The soldiers hesitated. It was the just response to his actions but he was—or had been—their Captain. He had to say again, ‘Do it.’  The darker-haired soldier stepped forward and Damen felt the grip take him. Laurent set his jaw.  ‘No,’ said Laurent. And then, ‘It was provoked.’ 

exhibit b:

A part of Damen’s mind recognised how perfectly this gift had been judged, the exquisite virtuosity of it: Laurent was delivering him a backhanded blow with one hand, and with the other, caressing his generals as a man scratches a dog under the chin.  Damen heard himself say, ‘Vere is generous.’  ‘After all,’ Laurent held his gaze, ‘I remember what you like.’

exhibit c:

He gestured and one of his squires came forward. It was still wrapped in cloth. He felt the sudden tension in Laurent, though there was no outward change.  Damen said, ‘You asked for it, once.’  The squire drew back the cloth to reveal a gold cuff. He felt rather than saw the tightness in Laurent. The cuff, unmistakably, was the twin to the one Damen wore, altered last night by a blacksmith for Laurent’s finer wrist.  Damen said, ‘Wear it for me.’ For a moment he thought Laurent wasn’t going to do it. But in public, Laurent had no recourse to refusal.  Laurent extended his hand. And then waited, palm outstretched, his eyes lifting to meet Damen’s.  Laurent said, ‘Put it on me.’  Every pair of eyes in the tent was on him.

exhibit d (lmao):

‘Who did this to you?’  ‘I did,’ Laurent said.  Damen turned.  Laurent stood in the entryway of the tent. He was arranged with elegant grace and his lazy, blue-eyed attention was all on Nikandros.  Laurent said, ‘I meant to kill him, but my uncle wouldn’t let me.’  Nikandros took an impotent step forward but Damen already had a restraining hand on his arm. Nikandros’s hand had gone to the hilt of his sword. His eyes were on Laurent furiously.  Laurent said, ‘He sucked my cock too.’  Nikandros said, ‘Exalted, I beg permission to challenge the Prince of Vere to a duel of honour for the insult that he has done to you.’  ‘Denied,’ said Damen. 

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Still haven't messaged my mom back. And I don't think I'm going to.

[jupiter--dream]

(cw vent, sorry it's just been A Couple Of Days)

Not really having many irl friends comes at the price of feeling so terribly lonely, I feel like I have no one to talk to because I'm not close to enough people, or maybe I am and I just haven't talked to them in a while and I don't want this to be our first conversation qwq

I'm honestly just. Tired, tbh qwq

[skrunksthatwunk]

eughhh i feel dumb