#and even then any given thing only works once

[nathaslosthershit]

Tensions Fall (Teen Dad!Oscar AU)

(part 2 to Tensions rise, also apart of this AU although these two fics can be read separately)

A/N: 7 weeks since the once happy couple have actually talked. 7 weeks since they shared a bed, but with their two toddlers starting camp for the first time, maybe they can try and mend their problems.

Warnings: Parental separation, a super mean mom like the ones I have to deal with at work, angst WITH A HAPPY ENDING

May 28, 2024

It had been 7 weeks since the fight in Suzuka that effectively ended Oscar and Honey’s relationship. It had been 7 weeks since Oscar had taken a leave of absence from racing in order to try and make amends with his family. He still trained everyday, he still worked with McLaren and did Sim Racing, he just never attended any of the Grand Prixs. 

It had also been 7 weeks since Honey and Oscar had shared a bed. 

Since that night she left their room, she had stayed in her kids’ hotel room till they got home. She then packed her things and moved into the guest bedroom. Things had been far from amicable between the two parents. In the beginning, Oscar had done all he could to try and make up with Honey but when she continued to give him the cold shoulder, he had given up and reciprocated her attitude. The children, about to turn 4 years old, didn’t know the full extent of what was happening at home. They knew that when they would go to their parents’ room in the morning, only Dad would be there, but this was easily explained away when Honey told them that Oscar snored too loudly and it kept her up at night.

They had of course also noticed how different their parents had acted towards each other, and how often their father was home now, but they just didn’t question it because at the end of the day, they were too young to begin to understand, and they still had two parents who loved them as much as they could.

Since the fight though, it was clear Oscar was making much more of an effort to take his kids out to do activities. At first it was nice, Honey got some time alone, something she rarely got anymore, but the more Oscar took over planning activities, the more she began to hate being alone. After three, almost four, years of being around her kids almost 24/7, the silence started to eat away at her. And in turn, her kids started to miss their mom more. 

Finally though, Honey had put her foot down, after a long conversation, ending in a fight, Oscar had agreed to more full family activities, even if it meant having to pretend with Honey that they were still the happy and perfect family. 

While their kids loved going to the park as a family, any parent around could see that the two parents watching their twins on the bench were fighting but trying so hard to conceal their whispered harsh words behind smiles. 

With the twins' fourth birthday coming up on June 8th, Oscar and Honey had been stressing on how they were going to plan their birthday while they couldn’t get through a conversation without being at each other's throats. They also had the kids’ first day of camp coming up May 29, a day that may seem insignificant to most parents, but as the kids had never been to preschool, nor a daycare, camp was their first introduction into that whole system. It was a big step for everyone.

Honey had been trying to prepare the kids the best she could for their first day at camp. She knew they didn't fully grasp the concept and she was nervous about leaving them alone, scared they would feel abandoned as child-care with non-familial adults wasn’t something they had experienced with their mother being a stay at home mom, only ever enlisting help from grandparents, cousins, and even ‘honorary uncles’ such as Logan and Lando. She had to keep telling herself that in the end, they will at least have each other. 

Oscar and Honey decided to make a day of it. Camp wasn’t until 9, so the pair took the very excited Hudson and Frances out to breakfast where the 3 year olds managed to cover themselves head to toe in maple syrup and chocolate from their pancakes, causing them to have to rush home to change, thus leading the family to a late arrival to the preschool building that the camp was held in. 

“We are so sorry, oh my goodness!” Honey said to one of the two teachers who were clearly waiting for them outside the door to the classroom.

“We decided to take these two to breakfast and they got more food on their clothes than they did in their mouths. Which reminds me, I added two extra changes of clothes to their bag in case they need it.” Oscar added, causing Honey to shoot him a glare that was luckily not seen by the younger of the teachers, as the younger teacher was too busy ogling at Oscar to notice. It was her that added the clothes to their bag, it was also her idea, he was being petty by taking credit.

After a few moments of silence as they waited for the woman’s reply, she managed to snap herself out of whatever daydream she was concocting only minutes after meeting the young father in front of her to reply with a quick, “No problem! We know how these kids can be.”

The older woman next to her clearly could sense her coworker was a little two focused on one of the parents and pointedly urged her to take their bags to their cubbies while she sorted the family out, which Honey was grateful for. She may have not been with Oscar anymore but that lady didn’t know it and had no right to eye fuck him in front of her and her children of all people. 

“Why don’t you all say goodbye out here, we are just about to start morning meeting with the other kids.” The older woman said as she stepped to the side to give the family privacy, thought she was close enough to hear all they would say.

Oscar and Honey both felt tears begin to form as they squatted down in front of their kids. 

“Alright, Mommy and Daddy have to go now, but you both are going to stay here and make some new friends. I know this is new and might be a little scary but if you guys get through today, we can all go get ice cream later. How does that sound?” Honey asked, nervous one of her kids was going to break down in tears at any moment. 

“Okay! Bye Mommy, bye Daddy!” Frances yelled as she ran through the open door to the classroom, clearly ready to get started.

Oscar and Honey weren’t necessarily shocked at what their very clearly extroverted daughter had just done, but they still had expected a little bit of pushback from her. They could see the older woman by the door laughing softly to herself at that interaction. 

Their son, Hudson, was less enthusiastic. He didn’t cry, which they had fully expected him to, but he gave them crushingly tight hugs, or as crushing as he could manage, and a quick kiss on the cheek before following after his sister.

Wiping away tears, they both stood up and laughed once they looked at each other's faces, realizing they were both far more of a mess than their kids.

“Wow, maybe we should have been giving ourselves pep talks for weeks instead of them” Oscar joked. Honey laughed, it was the first normal interaction they had had in what felt like forever. 

The older woman, still by the door, quickly joined in, “Oh don’t worry, we find parents are usually the ones with the most trouble at dropoff, but that moment they find you both after a day of camp or school, you will feel just how much they missed and love you. Plus you two are young, you’ve got plenty of more time to make more of those babies. You have grown yourself a real sweet family by the looks of it. Relax for a few hours! Enjoy the time off, maybe even add to your family.” The woman said, laughing, as she closed the door.

“Did she really just suggest we go make more babies?” Honey asked in disbelief.

“I think she did, yeah.” Oscar answered, just as confused as she was. 

The air felt light as they both walked to their car, relishing in how nice it was that they weren’t arguing, realizing how miserable they had been.

But that didn’t last long. 

“Come on, Oscar, you can’t be that dense! She was so clearly eye fucking you!” Honey argued. The conversation in the car had been light for a few minutes until Honey made a comment about the younger teacher and unintentionally started an argument.

“She was not! And if she was, who cares? We aren’t together anymore, you can’t get jealous over something as trivial as someone who thinks I am attractive. Sometime in the future I will get a partner so you better learn to stop being jealous.” Oscar yelled. He didn’t mean it of course, he knew even if he and Honey never got back together, he would remain single. She was the only one for him.

But what he had said, wording it in a way that made Honey fully think about their situation really tore her apart. Yes, they were separated, but she never felt like they were fully broken up. And from what he said, it sounded like he planned on moving on much faster than she ever would.

With tears rolling down her cheeks, she decided to not dignify his comments with a response. Once exiting the car, she swiftly went to the guest room she had been staying in since the separation and slammed the door.

After a few minutes in the car, Oscar had mustered up the courage to apologize, knowing what he did was uncouth. Hearing her cries as he walked up to her door made him stop just short of knocking, deciding maybe it was better to give her a bit of time for now and come up with a way to make it up later.

After two hours of contemplation, Oscar had decided to get a lunch reservation at her favorite restaurant that always had a live band playing. It was impossible to get a day of reservations but with a bit of bribing, he had managed to pull it off. What was also nice about the band was that they could sit and eat silently without any awkward silence. If they were going to fight, they didn’t need to speak. 

She wasn’t crying when he knocked on her door, having managed to seemingly get all her emotions out in the two hours by herself, then clean up to look presentable for pick up. But now she felt empty, like a shell of a person in a house with a man who once loved her to pieces but now seemed to despise her, and no kids because they were away at camp. 

“Come in.” Was all she said.

“I um, I got us a reservation to your favorite place. I understand if you aren’t up for going- or if you’d like to go alone, but I did kind of bribe them so one of us at least has to go, I fear.” Oscar muttered out fast, clearly sensing the awkward energy between them, not knowing whether they were going to ignore the fight or not.

But Honey’s heart burst at the idea of him trying so hard to get into her favorite place. She always urged him to use his name to get into places, like Lando loved to do, but he was always too humble to do it, so it meant even more that he had this time. 

“That… sounds wonderful. Thank you, Oscar.” Was all she said as she started to tear up again but quickly turned so he wouldn’t see. “Let me get my stuff and I can meet you in the car.”

The energy in the car wasn’t light like it was before, but it also wasn’t heavy. A comfortable silence stayed between the two until it got too much for Honey and she burst out into tears, seemingly unprompted. 

“Darling, what's wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Oscar asked, openly concerned for her well being for the first time in what felt like years.

“I c-can’t take it, Oscar! We used to have so much love for each other, god, you used to look at me like I hung the stars in the sky, now you can’t seem to look at me for more than a second without realizing how much you hate me now. Then after saying you are going to move on to someone else- you do this really sweet thing and I am- I am so confused and hurt and don’t know what to think or do!” Honey rambled, everything truly coming to the surface. Everything she thought, everything she felt, everything she had tried too hard to push down and pretend wasn’t there.

“Honey, I have never hated you for even a second,” was all Oscar was able to reply as he registered everything she had just said.

“What?”

“I don’t think I am capable of it. Truly. I have tried so hard to be the best I could be for you after the fight. I stopped racing, I planned more activities with the kids, but I couldn’t do anything right. I let rumors continue about you making me stop racing, which I wanted to stop but was told to leave alone. I took the kids to do activities and left you out too much. When you continued giving me the cold shoulder, I gave up when I should have kept fighting. I then tried to love you less, to make it hurt less, but I couldn’t, even if I acted like a dickhead to you. I am so sorry, Honey, and I would never in a million years be with someone else, even if you had an entire other family and were happily married. You are it for me, always have been, always will be.”

With all finally being said, the two went to lunch happier than they had been in weeks, ready to work on their relationship. It was surely not going to be easy, but how they had been these past two months had broken them enough that they were certainly willing to try. 

Near the end of the meal though, things once again got tense. These two couldn’t catch a break it seemed.

Zak Brown, CEO of McLaren, called Oscsar out of the blue and as the phone rang, Honey’s heart sank, awaiting Oscar’s reaction.

“Shit, I should get thi-” 

“It's okay. I promise.” Honey said, already feeling doubt beginning to creep in.

She couldn’t hear much of the conversation as Oscar quickly walked out the door to talk to Zak. He was also turned away from her so any chances of learning information by reading his facial expressions went out the window.

Finally, he returned to Honey biting her nails waiting for what he would say to her. She already started to panic thinking he could have to go to work, race again, and this vicious cycle would never end, that nothing would ever be right between them.

“What did he want?” She asked.

“Asked when I would be ready to come back to race. I said I didn’t have a date in mind. He told me to come in next week for a meeting on it, but I said I wouldn’t make a decision without talking to my family. I am not going to lose you all over this.” He reassured her. 

Honey smiled, doubt leaving as quickly as it had come. Until she herself got a phone call, this time from the camp her kids were at. Stressing that they had missed pick up, she realized after checking the clock that they still had an hour and a half. Confused once more, she answered the call.

Being told on your kids' first day away from you that there was an issue you needed to go deal with immediately, that you needed to fill out both incident and accident report forms wasn’t something that the young parents had envisioned for themselves. 

Rushing to the classroom, Oscar and Honey saw both of their kids crying in the hallway with the older teacher when they arrived, accompanied by another mother and her upset son. Concern laced their features as they took in both their kids, looking for any hints of injury on the two, but they seemed fine, apart from the crying.

“God, don’t tell me these two kids are the parents, no wonder this happened.” The other mother muttered under her breath. Before Oscar could question her, the older teacher spoke up.

“It seems there was a problem between the kids today.” She began, clearly trying to mediate the situation before it got ugly between the parents. “Mattias here stole a toy Hudson was playing with and pushed him over when he tried to get it back. In turn, Fraces bit the Mattias. It didn’t even leave a mark so I know it wasn’t hard, and both kids got a talking to as well as exchanged apologies, but it seems that they might need to go home early for the day to recuperate. We will certainly work on sharing and using our words tomorrow.”

Both Honey and Oscar were shocked. While Hudson was quiet and they had been worried it would make him a target in the future, and they knew their daughter was fiercely protective of her twin, they didn’t think she would result to biting.

“Wow, alright. You two, let's discuss this in the car, yeah?” Oscar said, ready to leave the place as he felt the wrath of the other parent glaring at him. “Really? You are just going to walk away without so much as an apology to me and my son? Unbelievable.” The mother scoffed. “This is why young people shouldn’t be parents. Clearly you two need to grow up just as much. I pray your already terrible daughter grows out of this and doesn't end up like you, spreading her legs too young and becoming up a teen mom because of it.”

Both Honey and Oscar were stunned. They had faced backlash before, sure, but never to their face, and never from someone so clearly in the wrong.

“Excuse me?” Honey asked.

“Oh, you heard me.” The mother replied.

“No, I don’t think I did, because what it sounded like was you were asking for an apology for something your kid started, because I am sure as hell my kids do not have sharing problems. Then when my three year old daughter retaliates to seeing her sweet and vulnerable brother being so blatantly bullied, even though she apologized, you believe you and your snot nosed brat deserve anything else. Guess what, we don’t owe you shit. And while you are so worried about how our kids will end up, why don’t you worry about your own child, who clearly takes after his bully of a mother. Grow up, asshole.” Honey retaliated. She shouldn’t have sworn in front of the kids but damn was it wonderful to see the look on that lady’s face. 

Oscar had never been more turned on by Honey in his life.

After the fight, the family of four got out of there as soon as they could, stopping for ice cream on the way home. They hardly scolded Frances more than a “If someone does something mean, you can’t bite them, use your words” to which she replied “Like Momma did with that lady?” 

The kids were playing quietly in their room once Oscar got alone time with Honey. 

“That was the sexiest thing I have ever seen.” He said, arms circling her waist.

“When I went full bitch mode on that lady?” She asked, laughing at the desire so evident in his eyes.

“When you stood up for your family, and cursed that dickhead out.” He replied as he started kissing her neck.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, I liked it too but in a different way than you did.” She laughed.

Laying on the bed, cuddling as they basked in the love they still had for each other. Oscar managed to ask the question that had been plaguing him for weeks.

“Honey, will you please move back in here and be with me again? I miss you too much.” Oscar pleaded.

“Fine, but you need to work on another proposal. It is only fair since this all kind of started because of you.”

“Deal, this time I will knock your socks off with my proposal, but first I intend on showing you just how much I missed you.” He said as he began to kiss her deeper and more passionately.

Life was starting to get much better. 

#oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #lando x reader

[joonsytip]

Only for Love || Mingyu - Part 2

Pairings: Mingyu x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Husband!Mingyu, Cold Wife!Reader, Arranged Marriage au, Contract Marriage au, Divorce au

Synopsis: When an accidental discovery has your perception of happy married life crumbling down, you do what you think is the best for everyone involved. Naturally, your opinion of the best doesn't cater to your husband's. So what happens when things spiral out due to unforeseen events?

Warnings: NSFW, virgin reader, cunnilingus, consensual and penetrative sex, couple uses protection (you do too), mentions of past accident, workplace politics allusions, mentions of getting stalked and periods.

Word Count: 6.1k

Minors DNI! Minors DNI! Minors DNI! Minors DNI!

[ SVT Masterlist ] [ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist ]

Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2

It's been half an hour since your arrival to the party and the lack of interaction between you and Mingyu starts to raise some brows.

Mingyu stays rooted to the same place, his eyes fixated on you as he realises that it was wrong of him to totally wring you out and knowing your temperament he's not brave enough yet to place himself in the periphery of your vision.

"The marriage is really a sham, afterall."

Mingyu scoffs, not bothering to look at the source of the voice.

Kim Hanjun has been demoted under the obvious reason of underperforming and it's boiling his blood having to work under Mingyu because being a man with connections and boasting about it openly would have eventually come to bite him back given he's not even good at his job.

"Your wife isn't even interested in you it seems."

Fisting his hands, Mingyu decides to mute out his words.

"Oh so you're not gonna speak because you might accidentally spill something?"

But there's a limit to how much one can endure. Even though he has the patience of a saint, Mingyu just can't tolerate this obnoxious colleague of him.

Just as he opens his mouth to retort, he feels a hand circling his arm. It's you.

"You must be Kim Hanjun?", you say with a poker face, "You're quite the infamous one around here."

Both the men are caught off-guard by your presence.

"Now if you could excuse us.", your grip tightens on your husband, "I have some making up to do, as you can see husband's upset is at me for not spanning attention to him."

Hanjun is rendered speechless when you step forward and say in a dangerously low tone, "If I see you pestering my husband one more time, you might not find your company ID working while swiping."

The man is suddenly sweating and you cross over your arms with a smirk, "I usually don't interfere but sorry to break it to you, if we come down to this, I'd like you to always remember what position my uncle holds in the company. You're not the only one who can exert connections."

Mingyu looks at you in awe. He wants to record this on his phone so that he could watch this again and again. His wife is standing up for him and that's the absolute hottest you've looked.

Once Hanjun leaves, you also turn on your heels to do so but Mingyu doesn't let you.

"I'm tired.", you say turning to look at him, hand trying to scuffle out of his strong grip, "I'm leaving."

"We're leaving.", Mingyu says leading the way, hands still held together.

While it's a sight for others to finally see the couple, might be romantic to some as well by the way Mingyu is not letting go of you but you know the truth so does your husband.

The car ride back home is silent because halfway neither of you speak and for the rest of the path, you somehow fall asleep.

You wake up in Mingyu's arm as he carries you to the bedroom.

"Let me down.", you say tiredly.

But your husband only sets you down on the bed and once he does he starts spilling the apologies.

"I was mad at you and thought you won't come if I asked you.", he says lowering his gaze, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay.", you say not meeting his gaze either and fumbling your fingers, "You should tell me if any of my behaviour has hurt or is bothering you. I can't read minds, Mingyu."

There's a pang in his chest as guilt consumes him. His mind lingers back on how he had been ignoring you for the past few days. And now that he looks at you, he realises the chronic tiredness ghosting over your features.

"Now if you could please move so that I can get changed.", you say, hands gesturing the way out.

Mingyu swears he hasn't had a drop of alcohol present in his body at the moment so why is he all of a sudden, seeing and feeling things differently?

Why are you glowing in the poorly lit room? Since when did you have such deep beautiful pair of eyes? How are your lips looking so luscious?

Mingyu loosens the tie round his neck, clearing his throat. As he has been crouching, he stands up and sides himself so that you would get out of sight because somehow though it's chilly but by doing absolutely nothing you've managed to heat him up.

You walk upto the closet and after searching for a while you turn around to look at your husband.

"Can I wear something of yours?", you ask, leaning against the door, "I think all of my comfortable nightwears have ended up in the laundry."

The man chokes, he wonders if the stars are plotting against him tonight. He settles with a subtle nod, looking everywhere but at you.

You mumble a thanks and grab the first thing that looks comfortable, going into the bathroom to change.

Mingyu rushes out of the room grabbing a pair of clothes and proceeds to wash himself in the guest bathroom just to cool off. He watches his red tinted cheeks in the dazed vision in the mirror, notices his heavy breaths and eyes down to the semi grown tent in his pants.

Something's wrong with him. He can't comprehend his state. His mind lingers back to the moments when you were defending him against Hanjun. His heart beats erratically when he remembers the accidental view of your cleavage through the dress when he was carrying you inside. The slit of your dress wasn't helpful at all as he could see your trained thighs on display everytime you moved. And your long manicured nails, he's sure that they would look beautiful running through his nape and back.

Mingyu slaps himself twice on both the cheeks, he takes a cold shower.

But he's just a man afterall, so when sees you standing in front of the dressing table in his shirt and shorts he breath hitches and he gasps. Loud enough to catch your attention. As you look at him, he looks at your collarbones peaking out because his shirt is too loose on you.

And before you could say anything he's already laying on the bed hurriedly facing away, pulling over the covers to hide the re-emerging boner.

You follow his actions, laying beside him but facing his back. You wonder if you should sleep at the guestroom because your husband is still mad at you. And his actions are clearly saying so as the person who can't sleep without hugging is maintaining the distance, not bothering to even face you, like he has been doing for the past days.

With a heavy sigh, you tell him, "I'll sleep in the guestroom. We can talk when you feel like you can bear to look at me again."

Just as you turn on your back to get up, you're being held back and within a span of seconds your husband is hovering on top of you.

"I'm sorry, I can't control myself anymore."

And admitting that he crashes his lips onto yours. You gasp grabbing his arms before sighing into the kiss. Mingyu sucks onto your lips pacing them slower now. His hand roams up to rest on your neck, gently rubbing along the column, the sensation of his touch eliciting another gasp out of you.

His tongue enters your mouth and it's lewd in the way they slotting perfectly on each other. His mouth descends to press kisses on your chin and collarbones.

The one time he detaches his mouth off you to unbotton your (his) shirt, you're tapping on his forearm. His gaze follows your hands which are now covering your eyes.

There's a bit of silence. Mingyu wonders if he's forcing himself on you, without your consent and with the thought just as he prepares himself to get off, you say something that wracks his head.

"This will be my first time. I've never been touched before.", you say shakily, evidently embarassed enough to not uncover your eyes until Mingyu does so.

Though Mingyu has his mind too clouded to be pondering over anything but the first question he asks with those eyes now turned soft, after urging you to look at him is, "Do you want to do this? Is it okay for me to proceed? Tell me if you want me to stop."

"Please don't stop.", you breathe out immediately averting your gaze which causes you to miss the smile your husband directs at you before placing his hand under your head to raise it swiftly to kiss you.

"I'll make it worth, Y/N. I'll make you feel good.", he whispers in between the kisses.

You lay naked, all bared out under him as after spanning enough attention to your boobs, Mingyu shifts all his focus on your wet, leaking core.

"Gonna prep you first", he says in his husky voice, "and let me know if you want me to stop."

His tongue laps a long stripe against your cunt and you grip the sheet underneath desperately to hold onto. He keeps tonguing your cunt, holding your legs apart as they try to close off, his nose bumping against your clit making it impossible to hold your moans anymore.

You are squirming under the mercy of yoYir husband and his tongue. There's a knot tightening in the pit of your stomach and you could do nothing, not even speak out any coherent sentences.

"Cum for me, Y/N.", Mingyu urges you and that's the push you need before pouring out the juices all over his face. You're catching breathes when sensitivity hits you as your husband licks you clean off the juices.

You are biting down on your arm when Mingyu decides to prep you a bit further by scissoring his long fingers in your hole until it's oozing out for the second time.

Mingyu presses a soft kiss on your forehead before scurrying away for a few seconds and coming back holding a bunch of condoms in his hands.

"You had those?", you ask propping yourself on your elbows, genuinely amused.

Mingyu cocks his brow, "Not sure who it was but one of the guys has kept them in the drawer at one of the times they visited."

He climbs on the bed, straddling over you as he tears the wrapper with his teeth and rolls up a couple of condoms up his girth, "I didn't even know until all of them sent the same picture in the group chat."

You nod in silence, looking at his big veiny cock and it's red tip that's leaking precum, wondering if it's gonna even fit inside of you.

Mingyu hovers over you, pressing another soft kiss on your forehead.

"It's gonna hurt a bit at start but it's gonna feel good, okay?"

You nod again letting Mingyu hold your hands over your head, intertwining the fingers. He slowly pushes his length and sensing your ragged breathing he stills for sometime before continuing until he hilts all the way inside.

Tears roll down, as you try to adjust and your husband does nothing but kiss you softly trying to soothe you, divert your mind from the pain.

"Let me know when you want me to move."

He waits patiently and once you ask him to move, he thrusts ever so slowly, his lips never leaving yours.

"Gyu, faster please.", you say breaking the kiss.

And who is your husband to deny your wishes. He picks up his pace steadily thrusting in and out, as both of your moans fill the room.

Mingyu fiddles with your nipples by taking them into his mouth while his fingers rub your clit at a fast pace.

You're too dumbified by the way your body is reacting. Your legs are shaking, your stomach is pitting a knot again, your hands are gripping onto your husband for dear life and you swear you're seeing stars.

"Y/N?", Mingyu calls you out, seeing your dazed vision, "Are you okay?"

Your reply comes as another moan as your nails dig crescent shapes onto his back deeper, running through the back of his neck, grabbing onto the hair on the nape.

"Can you hold on for a bit more?", he coaxes you once he realises your gummy walls are clenching harder around his cock, "Let's cum together, can you do that for me right?"

Mingyu looks at the juncture where the bodies are meeting, where your cunt is swallowing him wholly. He groans at the sight of white foamy ring around his cock and kisses you hard making you squeak into his mouth.

"Let it go, Y/N.", he encourages you, his calloused fingers now rubbing your sides as his thrusts turn sloppy, "Cum for me."

Both of you are catching breathes. You lay eyes closed, not feeling your body at all. Mingyu lies looking at you, admiration laced in his eyes, his heart doing dibs thinking about how you trusted him enough to give your firsts to him. He realises that unlike him, you're not vocal so he has to focus on your body language to understand your needs. He also makes his mind to have a conversation with you like a descent person in the morning but before that--

"You need to pee.", he tells discarding the condom in the bin and while you groan he continues, "And we need to wash up. I'll run the bath, clean us up and change the sheets so please don't fall asleep till then."

You are incapable of registering his words so you just let him do whatever he wants to do with you.

Late in the morning, the conversation gets shelved until evening because Mingyu fucks you again because he is insatiable and so are you. Well, you both end up being each other's breakfast in bed.

It's the day, you dread the most. It was the same day sixteen years ago when you lost your family. It's your birthday.

If only you hadn't thrown a tantrum about not wanting to celebrate the day at home as it had been done for all the years. Birthdays had always been a great deal to you. You wanted the celebration to be a bit grander which led all to unanimously decide to go the soaring picnic spot, inviting all your friends as well. Uncle being your favourite person, the rest of the family drove the to venue as it was an hour drive away a little earlier to set up things while you and your uncle drove in a van along with all your friends.

But instead of the picnic spot, you ended up in the hospital with your uncle identifying the bodies. The collision of two vehicles were severe enough to claim the lives of all present in them.

Though your uncle had never expressed anything as such but you know you are to blame for everything. You wondered if seeing you was even bearable to him. The guilt and regret changed you whole as a person. After the incident you distanced yourself from everything, everyone.

Birthdays mean nothing to you now. Unlike for other workers, no one receives your birthday mail as you have requested to the officials. No one knows, no one asks, no one cares and that's perfect for you.

It's been a long day, with you driving successive review and checkpoint meetings. One of the rare days where you want nothing but to fall to the comfort of your bed.

Just as you enter the house, you see a string a shoes lined one after another. You enter the hallway and come across the faces of your in-laws, your husband, his friends and your uncle.

Gatherings on any other day is always welcomed but not today. You have this look of disapproval on your face and the entire flock of people freeze. Without a word, you disappear into your room and it's about half an hour when you don't come out, Mingyu assures everyone and goes into the room.

"What are they doing here?", you ask as soon as he enters.

"Why? Are they not allowed to visit us?"

You glare at him, "They are. But why today? And you always inform me beforehand if anyone is coming so why's there an exception today?"

Mingyu sighs but walks upto you, "Y/N, they're just here to spend sometime with us. But if you want then I'll tell them to leave and trust me they'll leave instantly."

"Tell them to leave then. I don't want to entertain anyone today.", you say stoicly.

Mingyu nods, "All of them have brought something they've cooked for you. Hansol cooks occasionally and almost burnt his house but he came in so proud, bragging how he was able to cook something for you that's edible. And oh", he raises his finger plastered with a bandaid, "I've got a cut while chopping the vegetables. So are you gonna atleast eat them or should I tell them to take those back as well?"

There's a pang in your heart, it's constricts within your chest. Your eyes glistens with tears, the resolute within you starts to dissolve but you could never afford to do so. You don't deserve to be celebrated.

"It's the death anniversary of the people I love.", you say helplessly, "I don't remember them vividly, each year the memories of them are fading away. I can't bear to look at uncle without feeling guilty. He lost his son, his wife, his brother all because I wanted to celebrate a stupid birthday."

You are sobbing now and Mingyu holds you in his arms, letting his own tears fall. He hates that there's nothing he could provide to soothe you.

"There are so many words on the tip of my tongue but they're all meaningless.", he says and bites on his tongue to stop those tears from spilling, "I'm sorry but I won't let you wallow in sadness, I won't leave you all by yourself."

After staying quiet in his embrace, you tell him, "People are waiting for you, you should go. I'll be fine, I'm used to this."

Mingyu pulls away and holds your face gently, "Do you trust me?"

Your eyes say a lot, even if you hadn't given a nod, your husband would've known the answer.

"Then let's go and spend time with them.", Mingyu coaxes you, "They wouldn't do anything to make you uncomfortable, if they do, I'll send them back."

You ponder over for sometime. Past years have always been the same, you wanting the day to pass by anyhow. You've preferred to be alone but you think you'd make an exception for your husband and all those people who are waiting for you outside knowing they genuinely care for you.

When you both step out of the room, you could see the worried faces and it makes you feel bad.

"We're are really sorry for barging in.", Seokmin breaks the silence as he stands up and following his suite everyone does so well, "We'll get going."

And there's a lot of shuffling. Everyone is off their seats and packing the stuffs when you decide to interrupt.

"I'm hungry", you say everyone halt, "And I'm bored of eating his cooking.", you point at your husband who gasp in offence but smiles nonetheless.

And that's how the dinner table was set with everyone sitting together eating and chatting happily. No one wishes you birthday, none of them have bought you gifts and it does seem like another normal gathering except for the subtle wishes of wellbeing they launch softly at you.

"You are beautiful, Y/N, inside out.", Minhee says as she secures the seat beside you, "I hope to see you healthy and beautiful always."

Sometime later, when the topic of work is brought up, Soonyoung slickly tells, "Y/N is handling such a big project.", and looking at you he speaks with a mouthful, "I know it'll be a huge success. Hope we get to see you achieve many more milestones in your career."

And throughout the dinner you recieve such praises and wishes from every single one of them. You didn't want to send them off but you had to with a heavy heart. First time, in several years you feel like you have a family, you want to hold onto people, want to expect certain things and be a part of them.

First time in several years, your birthday didn't haunt you rather it gave you a reason to smile.

Lying the bed, tired after a long day when you feel an arm drape around your waist, you turn to face your husband, snuggling closer in the comfort of his embrace when he opens his arms for you.

His eyes droop in sleepiness but he strokes your hair saying, "I wish you to be happy.", smiling sheepishly he adds, "Thanks for trusting me."

And when you watch your husband drift off to sleep, stroking his hair with a hesitant hand, you whisper, "Thanks for tolerating me."

Your relationship with Mingyu progresses steady but it's beautiful in it's own way. To you, Mingyu hasn't only been a good husband, he has been a great companion. He takes care of you, knows your limits and shortcomings, never makes you feel weirded out and makes sure to sort things out to be on the same page.

Your calendar previously which had only meeting dates marked on them are now filled with many more events such as your anniversary, Mingyu's birthday, Minhee's birthday, your uncle's birthday, your in-laws' anniversary etc etc. A smile appears on your face when you reminisce how late you were to your second anniversary party and how pissed Mingyu was at you, avoiding you the whole night until after the party was over and you had stripped yourself naked in front of him which worked to dissolve his anger as you let him fuck you dumb till the dawn.

You have a best friend now and her name is Minhee. You've always liked her and over the years you two have grown closer. Mingyu's friends, well more of yours, are not scared of you anymore, they've dropped all the formalities to pit long ago.

Junhui shares every funny thing he sees on the internet, on appointment days he rants to you about patients and work. Soonyoung now shares table with you during lunch and eat your ears off. Seokmin calls you randomly during work and if you don't pick up, he just sends you a candid picture of your husband with a caption 'thought you'd be missing him, so here's your husband. Don't thank me, just name one of your gaming character after me.'

Hansol is the most random of all, he just pings you any fact he learned out of the blue without any context. Sometimes when on asking when you confirm that you're free he sends you a bunch of pics telling you to choose the best among the lot. Jeonghan is the quietest among all, he'd only talk to you during the gatherings.

You have started calling Mingyu's parents as what Mingyu calls them because you are comfortable to call them so. They've blended into your life making you feel as their own. These changes in your life have helped you bond better with your uncle as well.

It's been over two years and you think you're happy. You think your married life is perfect and you're in love with certain things.

You love the back hugs, love those forehead kisses, love the smell of coffee that hits the house in the morning, love the way his mouth opens and closes in sleep, love when the fangs graze his lips as he smiles wide, love when his hand sneaks to wrap around yours on a busy road.

You're in love.

In love with your husband because how could you not, he's so easy to love. Though you feel there's still a lot you both need to discover about each other, you hope he'd also love you one day. He's your first love after all.

You are in the middle of a meeting when your phone keeps vibrating continuously. Trying to ignore it, your brows knit in agitation but that soon turns into worry when you check the caller ID. It's Minhee. Excusing yourself, you call her back.

And now after a drive of an hour you find yourself in front of the park, near her apartment.

"It's okay, I'm here now.", you say patting on Minhee's back, "Once you feel better, tell me everything."

And after some moments Minhee does relay everything. There's a thug-like guy who has started visiting the café she regulars at because somehow Minhee has piqued his interest. Even though she didn't notice at first, it started to strike her that she has been seeing a face almost everywhere she visits.

He has been following her to and back from the school she teaches in. He's been bold enough to get in the way and ask her to sleep with him for a night, if she wants to stop getting bothered by him.

Minhee has had enough to slap him straight across his face, even threatening to report him to the police. And that seemed to work because he didn't appear before her for a whole week until today.

As she describes it terrified, he had an ominous gaze, when he had given her an ultimatum to be compliant or be ready for the worse.

"I was so shocked and scared. I could only think about calling you. If Gyu knows about this he'd kill that guy even before police knows about him and would never let me work here. I don't want that.", Minhee says, "I am planning to go to the police today."

"You're so brave", you tell her as your gaze sweeps across the surrounding, "Let's deal with that guy now. Is it that guy standing over there?"

And Minhee now ponders over if it would have been safer to call her brother because the stalker guy, all bruised from the beating he got from you is kneeling in front of you both with hands up in air.

You've called the police and as soon as they arrive, that guy is mumbling confessions of all the harassment he did and tried to perform on Minhee.

"Did I tell you, I'm trained in taekwondo?", you ask her frowning, "Uncle also made me take specialization classes on self defence.", you suddenly hiss because of the bruises inflicted on you during the hassle and look at her.

Minhee engulfs you in a hug, "Thank you so much. You're a lifesaver."

Your lips curl up and you say pulling away, "Let's go to the station and complete the formalities and then we'll have to inform Mingyu and mom & dad as well."

Minhee hesitates but she knows she'll eventually have to so.

"Let's do that.", she agrees, "I have something else to tell you."

Your brows quirk up questioning as you both head towards your car.

"I have developed a liking towards Soonyoung.", she smiles looking at your flabbergasted demeanor, "No ones knows except you and him."

You swear, your head spins at this.

And as if she could read your mind, she adds, "I don't know how he feels but he said he'd never date me because I'm his friend's sister and that's against bro code."

You scoff, how typical of Soonyoung.

When Mingyu stumbles upon his sister's apartment that night, he finds her sleeping peacefully in her room. And when he goes searching for you, he finds you in the bathroom clutching the slab. Your eyes are red, forehead glistening with sweat.

"Oh god, Y/N...", Mingyu rushes inside as the door was open and holds you up on your feet, "what happened?"

"Stop shouting, you'll wake her up.", you say groaning, "and why do you care anyways?"

Right, you both rarely fought but when you did it would go on for days, like now. It started with a simple matter but escalated real quick causing Mingyu to lash out on you and give you a silent treatment. You tried to talk to him twice, which was more than you think you have done but were met with radio silence. He went as far as being petty enough to not even wait for you at dinner table or sleep facing you. And that's how you decided to shut him out as well. It's been a week since you both talked.

As Mingyu holds your waist to support you, you cry out in pain. You tried to resist but when he glares at you, you give up. He unbottons your top and his eyes almost gauze out on seeing the cut on your waist.

"How did it happen?", he sits you on the counter and pulls out the first aid box.

You stay quiet.

"Y/N, I'm asking something.", he uses an authoritative tone, looking at you.

"I thought we are not talking.", you snark at him but gasp when he dabs the cotton with antiseptic gel on the cut. He does several other sorts of things which makes you think he's a trained nurse before pasting the adhesive.

"Y/N, please.", he gets up and holds your face, "I know I have been an asshole and I'll keep apologizing to you until you forgive me. But please tell me are you hurt anywhere else? Did that bastard do this to you?"

You sigh and peel his hands off your face, "Yes, he was swinging his knife at me so while tackling him, I got that wound. And I got some bruises but Minhee treated those, didn't want to worry her so hid this one. You should be worried about Minhee. I'm fine."

Mingyu looks at you with so much admiration. His heart swells within his chest when he thinks about how you saved his sister and handled the situation well while he was being a jerk to you.

"The first thing Minhee asked on calling me was how did I manage to marry someone as amazing as you. That I should have seen you, you were looking like a superhero fighting off the evil.", he smiles pinching the bridge of your nose.

You bite your lower lip, your brows crease and Mingyu instantly deflates noticing the obvious signs.

"Are you on your periods?", he asks concerned.

"The cramps are killing me."

"You should have told me sooner.", he immediately lifts you up and takes you to the guestroom and lays you on the bed, "I think I know what all things Minhee uses for her cramps and where they are kept. I'll be back."

"I was supposed to sleep with Minhee tonight.", you say frowning.

"No, you're sleeping with me", he smiles, crouching to peck your forehead, "Minhee rotates around the bed all night in sleep. Doesn't matter though, I won't be letting you out of my sight."

And while he spends the whole night making sure you get a good sleep, in the morning he makes you apply for sick leave. He scolds Minhee for not calling him sooner as it could have been dangerous for you both but in turn gets scolded by you.

He doesn't take his car, rather drives your car back home because you were scheming on sending him away first, not wanting to go with him. He sulks throughout the way back because when he leans in to you, in the guise of helping you putting on the seatbelt just to give a kiss, you slap a hand over his mouth. But that doesn't stop him from not letting you go to your office room the whole day and spend the time in taking rest.

It's an important day for you. It's a success party of the new game launch and playing the key role in leading back to back projects you're going to get felicitated at the party by the director herself.

You have informed Mingyu beforehand and he has promised to reach the venue before time, also squealing for days on about how he'd capture everything and show others, that how proud he is of his wife.

Your eyes boringly scan through the crowd, waiting for your husband.

"How am I looking?", Soonyoung's voice startles you.

As he takes a seat beside you, you tell him, "As usual. Are you supposed to not look like a human but something else?"

He scowls, "Wow, you're really doing this to me."

He brings over a glass of wine from the waiter who was passing and says, "I heard there have been some changes in the management and they'll be announcing it today."

You take a candy from the bowl kept on the table, "I'll be reporting to someone who has joined the company recently. My previous boss is gonna take over the strategy planning unit."

Soonyoung laughs, "There are rumours about him being eccentric."

"Let him be anything, I don't care as long as it doesn't hinder my work.", you tell him, eating the candy and checking your phone, "They're gonna start soon. Any idea when your dear friend is gonna arrive?"

"He was supposed to leave from work early", he tells you, "Don't worry he's punctual."

Mingyu curses when he checks the time. He's late.

"Min, I think you should leave as soon as possible.", Seokmin says as he helps him pack his bag, "You'll go home, get changed and then leave for the venue, right? You're running late by almost an hour already."

Mingyu is hot on his heels as he hurriedly takes his bag and rushes out of his cabin.

"Be careful!", Seokmin yells seeing Mingyu's fleeting demeanor, knowing how clumsy he can be and as he takes the keys to lock the cabin as requested by his friend his gaze falls on the USB drive which he knows Mingyu would need to work on some presentation.

Seokmin rushes to catch him so that he can give him the USB just in time. As he punches out his employee card, he sighs in relief as he recognises Mingyu standing still just outside the main door.

He pushes through the door and is just about to call him, something catches his eyes from the periphery of vision.

Just like Mingyu, Seokmin freezes on spot.

Because it is Sora who's standing in front of them.

Seokmin doesn't know what or if they had any conversation prior to his arrival but he grabs Mingyu's arm when he sees Sora open her car door and his friend heading in the se direction.

"Min, don't go.", he speaks the next part in louder tone, "your wife is waiting for you."

"I know what I'm doing, Min.", Mingyu frees his arm, "Trust me on this."

Seokmin watches helplessly as the car drives off to who knows where.

You are dejected. Even when recieving the award your eyes kept scanning the crowd just in hopes of seeing your husband's face. And still now doing so you keep on checking your phone, too upset to call or text him.

"I'll call him after they make the announcement.", Soonyoung says equally upset, "I'm sure something really urgent came up otherwise he'd have not missed it."

Everyone is asked to stand near the stage where they announce the key changes in management.

You are shocked when you hear a certain name being announced, see a certain figure taking the centre of the stage.

Xu Minghao is going to be your boss tomorrow onwards.

Minghao seems to have taken notice of you as his smile widens, his gaze locking on you.

Soonyoung has noticed the change in your demeanor, has followed the gaze of Minghao. He observes quietly before motioning you to come with him to a quieter place.

He then calls Mingyu putting his phone on speaker who doesn't pick up. There's an uneasy feeling settling at your chest and hope that your husband is fine wherever he is.

Soonyoung then calls Seokmin and regrets putting the phone on speaker because you hear what he says.

"Mingyu left with Sora and I can't reach him."

Your heart sinks because even though no one has ever talked to you about her, you know that name very well. Your husband's ex girlfriend whom he to marry.

"Trouble in paradise?"

Both you and Soonyoong turn to see Minghao standing, his gentle gaze bestowing upon you.

You decide to forget any other thoughts and wear a tight lipped smile, "Been a long time, Hao."

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip.

#only for love #kim mingyu #mingyu #svt mingyu #kim mingyu x you #kim mingyu x y/n #kim mingyu x reader #mingyu x y/n #mingyu x you #mingyu x reader #mingyu angst #mingyu smut #mingyu fluff #mingyu fanfic #seventeen mingyu #svt au #svt angst #svt smut #svt fluff #svt fanfic #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #seventeen au #svt fic #mingyu scenarios #seventeen fic #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen

[11rosebunny]

— CHARACTER WITH STUPID READER !!

content: f!reader, fluff

characters: Haruka Sakura, Hajime Umemiya, Toma Hiragi, Hayato Suo, Jo Togame, Tomiyama Choji

Haruka Sakura

He is equally as stupid so it's not surprising whenever somebody sees you two, they can expect one of you to start jumping from building to building like a monkey.

Nobody knows how you two are even living, especially with the way you meet new people could rub off the wrong way, you two are known for your notorious insults...

However, you are dumber than him which is terrible, when two stupid people pair up together, what do you expect? He sometimes gets frustrated if you two end up arguing, you can't even help each other when none of you know what to do, and the worst part is he can not have peace and quiet if you're around.

Hajime Umemiya

This boy finds it funny because of how stupid you are. If anything, he will still treat you well just like everybody else but sometimes, when he sees you mess up during an argument, say something abominable that could get you locked up in jail, start a fight because someone looked at you funny, or genuinely mess up any task your given, he does end up getting a bit annoyed, because how do you mess up watering plants?

It's like he has a personal dog, like a border collie that runs around in circles chasing their own tail, it's funny, cute, but also a lot of responsibility...

Toma Hiragi

He feels like he's raising his own child. Suo had noticed that he'd always have to pick you up and toss you over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes before you did anything remotely moronic that could lead you in a huge mess.

He needs double the stomachache pills when he's around you... which is all the time.

He still finds it cute and engaging to see you act all clumsy and oblivious to anything, the only down part is he doesn't like it when you can't read the room. He has to cover your mouth with his hand before you continue to talk about something that would get you beaten up, drag you away and apologize on your behalf before scolding you in a random alleyway, if it was from a different perspective, a person would have assumed he was babysitting his friend's younger sister.

Hayato Suo

Surprisingly, he deals with you very well.

He knows how to correct behaviours in a proper manner, something Toma lacks... he's learned the different tricks and plans to get you to stop acting like a nuisance whenever he doesn't approve of the way you're acting, and it works very well!

He'll tell you to stop and let you off with a warning, cherish the way you light up whenever you're speaking a little too loud in public, he even lets you insult someone as long as you don't take it too far.

Jo Togame

To be honest, he has the slightest interest in stupid girls.

He wasn't aware that that could be a type of personality he was interested in till he met you. Your outlook on situations, people, objects, drama, made him have to take a double guess on you, he convinced himself for a while you were maybe just outgoing, till listened to you speak one day that you used to think the moon would always follow you as a kid whenever you were in a very long car ride.

'Maybe she is just stupid...'

Like Umemiya, he will love the way how funny you are without even trying. If he were to just look at you from across the room and you were simply just standing there, he would start snorting to himself to refrain from bursting out laughing. But, instead of stopping you from doing dumb things, he lets you continue to do them. The only reason why allows you is because he knows he can always stop you whenever you go to far.

Tomiyama Choji

Everyone has to run and hide from you two if you manage to come in their sight.

Choji was already bad enough in the beginning, especially for Togame who had to withstand if from the very start, so once you rolled around, he oddly began to fall sick even more, weird...

You two are known for being trouble makers, because this boy does not stop you from doing stupid things, in fact, he might even encourage it if it's just you two alone and have no one else to tell you otherwise.

You're not alone when you do your stupid things, because 99% of the time, he's joining you. The only time he'll stop you is if he or you gets hurt, not even before you get hurt, it's only after.

He loves the way you're just as outgoing as him, he finds it amazing that you're able to keep up with his personality.

#wind breaker #windbreaker #windbreakerxreader #hajime umemiya #hajime umemiya x reader #haruka sakura #haruka sakura x reader #taiga tsugeura #jo togame #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker manga #hayato suo x reader #toma hiragi #toma hiragi x reader #tomiyama choji x reader #tomiyama choji #jo togame x reader

[brainrot-of-a-thot]

quickie.

or, you just really need each other, featuring: jo togame

a/n: okay I swear this started out as ‘caught mid lip-lock’ but uh, I was writing togame’s part first and… let’s just say it turned very quick. in return, I do plan to make similar one-shots for sakura, umemiya, and suo.

c/w: explicit sexual content, fem!reader, reader is wearing a skirt which provoked toga 🤭, unprotected p in v, creampie, quick sex, needy sex, semi-public sex, dirty talk, sloppy makeouts, needy!togame, pussydrunk!togame, bigdick!togame, general filth

god, you needed him so bad.

and considering the desperation in which he gripped your hips and devoured your lips, you knew he needed you too… there was just one teensy problem —

“togame,” you murmured between wet lip strokes. “how much time do we have?”

“enough.” togame husked back, using his hold on your hips to guide you backwards until your rear touched the edge of the stage. you knew it was risky to do this kind of thing in the middle of the theatre — ludicrous, even — but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

togame’s hot hands against your clothed flesh and his soft lips against yours were quickly draining all coherency from your brain, and when he prodded the seam of your lips with a slick, insistent tongue, you gave up on the notion of attempting to retain any entirely.

you opened your lips and accepted his skilled tongue easily, initiating it in a fluid, familiar dance — one rehearsed many times.

small mewls and pants were swapped between your mouths, growing in both volume and quantity when togame slipped his large hands beneath the hem of your shirt. long fingers danced up your ribcage and teased the underwire of your bra, shooting anticipation straight to your gut. god, you just wanted his hands on you.

you wanted togame on you. or, more preferably, in you.

“togame,” you interrupted the lip-lock once more, needing to physically draw your head back when togame chased your lips in an attempt to capture them again. “d-do we have time to—?”

“god, yes.” togame cut you off before you could even finish your question and dropped his hands from beneath your shirt in favor of reaching them down to hook behind your thighs. in one fluid motion he hoisted you up until your ass was planted firmly on the stage, your body pulled forward just enough for his large frame to slip in between the plush flesh.

with speed that you hardly got to witness from your laidback boyfriend, he pushed your torso down until your back met the wood of the stage; he placed one quick hand behind your head to cushion it, and the other tapped against your thigh as he commanded, “legs around me.”

your body was quick to obey, slick pooling between your folds as the position allowed togame to press his crotch snug against your clothed cunt; fuck, he was so hard.

“shit, toga,” you whined, pushing your hips against his body in an attempt to garner a better feel of his cock. need rooted deeper into your core at the mere promise of what was to come. “I want it so bad.”

a soft groan followed your statement.

“holy shit, baby, don’t make me bust yet.” togame drawled, leaning down to connect your lips once more. the kiss was far less coordinated this time, sloppy and wet and more open than closed, but the sheer desperation within had you reeling and frothing for more.

there was no time to waste — normally, you’d indulge in each other for far longer, and togame would work you up slowly until you were quite literally crying for his cock; but given your current situation, indulging in that would lead to more complications than your sober mind could handle.

togame’s sweats dropped faster than you’d ever seen them do, and you couldn’t even delight in the sight of his cock springing out of his boxers because of the speed in which he shoved your panties to the side and wedged himself between your legs.

your breath hiccuped in your throat when his hot tip pressed between your folds, and the only warning you received was a breathy “breathe” against your lips before togame was pressing himself inside.

dual sensations of pain and pleasure ripped through your body as togame sunk himself in inch by inch, not giving your body much time to adjust to his size before he was rapidly thrusting inside.

“sorry, baby,” togame murmured in between hot pants. “you’ll have to bear with me for a bit, I can’t — fuck — can’t hold back right now.”

all you could do was nod, thighs tense and ankles locked around his gyrating waist; it felt so unbelievably good, but togame was so large that it stretched you to the point of pain — which was exhilarating in its own right.

each sharp thrust was like a punch to the gut, his tip crushing against your cervix and shooting sparks all the way up to your ribs. one large hand gripped the meat of your thigh while the other held your waist in place by the hip, keeping your body positioned just the way togame wanted it as he ravaged your insides.

slick squelches, slaps, and moans reverberated around the theatre, and if you weren’t currently being fucked stupid you probably would have worried yourself sick by the volume of the sounds; anyone just outside the doors of the theater could no doubt hear the activities taking place within.

“god, yer so fuckin’ tight.” togame slurred, fingers digging crescents into your bare thigh. his eyes were hooded and dark, his fringe a mess and sticking to his head by sweat — he looked about as fucked out as you felt.

“‘s like it won’t lemme go. you love my cock, don’t’ya?” togame growled, hips snapping into yours at a velocity that you were sure would leave bruises behind. you felt as though you couldn’t speak; every time you opened your mouth, all that would come out were mewls and moans — it seemed as though togame didn’t expect you to actually answer, however, as he leaned down capture your lips in a sloppy kiss.

it wasn’t so much a kiss as it was a mere meeting of mouths — open and loud, with your tongues only meeting by occasional grazes. it was sloppy and uncoordinated, but when paired with togame’s thick cock stretching you open and touching every sweet spot within your walls, it was a catalyst that pushed you to the brink faster than you could blink.

you couldn’t even warn togame before your orgasm was crashing over you, fluid gushing around the base of togame’s cock as he fucked it back in with every thrust. your walls constricted and fluttered around him, pulling various groans and curses from togame that were broken apart by husky praises.

“tha’s it, baby — fuck, so good. make a mess on my cock…such a good girl…”

you couldn’t even truly come down from your high, not with the way togame continued to ruin you through your high. your sensitive walls could detect the faint throbbing of his cock, and your heart soared at the implication — togame was close too.

“fuck, I’m about to — where do you want it, baby? hurry, tell me, I can’t — can’t hold out much longer.”

you weren’t sure what possessed you, but without explicit permission from your brain your ankles tightened around togame’s waist as if to hold him in place, and your voice was barely stronger than a croak when you whined, “i-inside, toga — wan’ it insiiiide!”

togame cursed deep in his throat and pressed his face into the dip of your neck, his sharp teeth pinching the sensitive skin as he thrusted sharply once, twice — and then his hips were stilling, dick pressed deeply into your soppy cunt, twitching as he groaned against your throat and released himself inside.

warmth filled your chest and cunny as togame rocked his hips slowly, milking his cock with your walls until there was nothing left.

eventually, togame’s hips stilled completely, and with the subtraction of movement that fog in your head began to dissipate; coherency was slowly leaking into your brain once more, but as togame pulled away from your neck to flash you that lazy, content, fucked out smile, you couldn’t bring yourself to do much else but return it with a small, airy giggle.

a haze of contented afterglow settled around your bodies as your highs faded in tandem, bodies still connected, breathing shallow and harsh and skin coated in a sheen of sweat — truthfully, it would have been perfect if it weren’t for the shrill, indignant voice that ripped through it —

“the stage isn’t for that type of brawling, you know!”

tbh needy pussydrunk boys are my kryptonite.

also, this was written in one sitting, so i apologize for any rushed-ness/mistakes. the togame thirst hit reaaaaal bad and my fingers just took off with it

#wind breaker x reader #wind breaker #jo togame x reader #jo togame #togame jo #togame jo x reader #togame jo smut #jo togame smut

[littlerosetrove]

Full acknowledgement that this is a first initial reaction, and I am in my Feelings about it. I may change my mind on some of this later, as I’m allowed, but as it stands right now? …..Do these writers even like Eddie? A bit of hyperbole, but hear me out. 

What. Was the POINT. of Eddie cheating with a doppelgänger of his dead wife when, I’m sorry, but it amounted to nothing. Not for Eddie at least. I THOUGHT the point of this soap opera stuff was that Eddie was going to start learning and healing from his trauma surrounding Shannon, but after this episode? That’s not what we got, not that I could tell. Honestly, I feel like Eddie is in the same place with his issues with Shannon if not potentially worse. Like jfc will these writers not allow Eddie, after five years, to move on from Shannon in any way? 

This is TV land, not reality. Things will not play out as they do in the real world. As a viewer this is super frustrating to see this issue be dragged out for five seasons, and what will now be beyond that. I’m sorry, but I’m So Tired of Shannon and Eddie being perpetually on this hamster wheel with her. Unless I’m sorely mistaken, but Eddie has learned nothing and dealt with nothing when it comes to Shannon, and now this show is going to drag it out into a SIXTH season of this particular issue.

The ONLY thing we got from the doppelgänger stuff was a traumatized Chris who, frankly, while he’s allowed to be upset, didn’t talk about WHY he’s even upset, not really. He at the very least said to Buck that he thought his mom was back, but she wasn’t. That’s something, but even that was not relayed to Eddie from Buck. 

So Chris is mad and called his grandparents and is going to stay with them indefinitely??? The writers had No One really communicating when it came to Chris, Eddie, his parents, or even Buck. There was some acknowledgment that Chris needs space, but idk…. Right now this feels like drama for drama's sake. I could have understood Chris wanting space for the summer, but there being no timeline to this??? That’s just unnecessarily cruel to Eddie. 

Bringing Eddie’s parents into this. I’ve seen people say “but Eddie has worked on rebuilding things with his parents, and now it’s all regressing.” That’s only partly true. Eddie has never started to work on his issues with his mom. He only worked on rebuilding something with his dad in season 5. There has been zero work to reconcile with his mom. So Helena was in character for being perfectly fine (happy) to take Chris. She may have not meant it cruelly, but her saying “if Chris forgets anything we’ll buy it for him or replace it” was mean. To me anyway.

The two good things for Eddie this season have been his new friendship with Tommy, and a consistent and strong relationship/friendship with Buck. Other that that this season has just: → made Eddie feel like he’s perpetually failing as a father → Eddie has been given no real closure or growth when it comes to Shannon, not that I could tell → continual mother issues, because Helena was happy to take Chris away from Eddie for an undisclosed amount of time

To break it all down even further, this season gave Eddie a relationship with a woman that, let’s be so for real, was pointless. Marisol was never a character. Eddie may at the very beginning gone into this relationship looking for the “magic” he had with Shannon, but that fizzled real fucking quick. There was nothing to this relationship. More than once Eddie “joked” about breaking up with Marisol, and he clearly showed disinterest in her early on. Then she was kept around to In The Background be cheated on. To tie it up the nothing burger of a relationship, there was a less than 10 second mention of an off screen breakup. Marisol had no weight in all this. Was the point of Marisol to show Chris, again, that “people don’t stick around”? Chris’s commitment issues come from his mom. Perhaps Ana leaving didn’t help matters (although we never got any insight into what Chris felt about that), but so what. We needed a third woman to leave to just compound Chris’s abandonment/commitment issues?? Nah. Just like Buck’s abandonment issues always come back to his parents, so do Chris’s (his mom). That’s the root of the issue, which means that Chris needs to go to therapy about it and Talk to his dad (although Eddie needs a ton of his own therapy first, since Eddie has Still not dealt with his Shannon issues). 

We got Chris in 7x1 maybe starting to work through his issues with his mom. Then we jump to the last episode where now Chris is angry and traumatized at seeing a clone of his mom…. For what purpose? Really. Eddie doesn’t seem to have gotten anything remotely positive out of the doppelgänger stuff, and clearly neither has Chris. So… So what was the point? To just create a rift between Eddie and Chris? To make Chris not trust his dad? Idk, pick a different method, ‘cause this was not it for me. 

When it comes to Eddie the only thing that the mess of the doppelgänger stuff has, apparently, taught Eddie is that when he does anything for himself, it will hurt Chris. Eddie, as far as I can tell, didn’t really get any kind of closure when it comes to Shannon, not based on this episode (7x10). No, instead we just have the recurring theme of Eddie feeling like he’s a failure of a father, and that all he does is hurt Chris. That’s what we’ve been given is Eddie feeling really fucking low, feeling like all his worst fears about himself are true, and now his son is gone for an indefinite amount of time. 

Eddie is left miserable, and for what? Well it damn well better be to build him back up in season 8. I know this is a drama, but come on.  Season 8 better give Eddie the time and respect he deserves. He has so many unresolved issues to work on and work through. - His issues with Shannon because apparently this show is still not fucking done with it. At this point I may accept season 8 starting with Eddie saying he went to therapy (off screen) and has worked through his Shannon issues just so that can be finally put to rest. - Eddie’s massive self worth issues especially when it comes to him being a father. His constant thought - compounded by his mom who has only ever seen Eddie as a failure - that he’s failing as a dad. - Eddie and his mom issues. Will those ever be addressed? - Eddie and Chris will need to rebuild a bridge together and heal. - Eddie is having an identity crisis because he does not even know what he wants (brought up in 7x9). He’s never been given the time or space to think about who he, just Eddie, even is. - Here’s to hoping this show sticks with the hints they’ve given, and that is Eddie going on his own queer journey. It clearly won’t be as smooth sailing as Buck because nothing is ever easy for Eddie.

EDIT: Some will miss this because it's been reblogged, but in short? Um. Eddie had no growth this season... Superb.

#911 spoilers #911 discourse #9-1-1 #Eddie Diaz #I hope this all made sense #my thoughts #long post

[mphoenix-7]

Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 1: The Mission

Summary: John "Soap" MacTavish has hated you since the very first day you arrived on base and joined their Task Force. You argue all the time, and one day, it pushes Captain Price to his absolute limit. He sends you both away to an isolated cabin in the woods for a week in hopes you can put aside your differences and bond. Will it work? Or will you two just end up hating each other even more?

This is a slow burn enemies to lovers fan fiction featuring Soap and you, the reader.

Word Count: 5,585

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Soap is mean, like really mean, smut later to come, lots of swearing, violence, descriptive, blood

A/N: Just a reposting of my story on Wattpad to help generate attention for it! Please go give it some love if you’re liking it so far. My user name is Emily7love or just look up the title.

Master List | Next ->

Bitter Allies • Part 1

"Bravo 7-1, this is Bravo 0-7, give me a sit rep on your position, over."

Soap is currently kneeling in some brush, staring at the small military camp in front of him when the radio call comes through. Despite the fact that he'd most likely need to be adjusting the volume up soon on his ear piece, he still turns it down a little for now.

"This is Bravo 7-1, I've been in position. Waiting on 7-4 to move her ass." He all but growls back to Ghost. His hand tenses on his rifle at even saying those numbers. Bravo 7-4.

You were Bravo 7-4. Also known as (y/n) "States" (l/n). The all too grumpy Sergeant by the callsign Bravo 7-1 was John "Soap" MacTavish. Also known as the biggest pain in your ass since you joined up with Captain Price's Task Force about six months ago.

Now anyone who knew Soap would be shocked to hear you say that you thought he was literally the worst and most insufferable human being to ever stain the Earth. To everyone else, Soap was a funny, charismatic, rather easy-going, and quite friendly guy. Everyone loved Soap. He was the golden boy of the Task Force, of the entire base. People were just naturally drawn to him, and his warm personality.

You can't say you blame people for being shocked when they learn just how much you can't stand him. Cause all those things about Soap were true. He was funny, and friendly, and relaxed, and just a great guy to be around. He was all those things when he wasn't around you. The second you stepped into the picture, his amused grin turned into a stiff scowl. His sparkling eyes turned hard. His relaxed posture turned rigid.

Yeah, John "Soap" MacTavish hated you. And you hated him.

Why did he hate you? You weren't entirely sure. It just seemed like it has always been that way since day one.

You transferred into the Task Force at the request of Captain Price himself. Originally, you had been stationed at a military base in the United States, where you were from. Then one day your commanding officer called you into his office and told you that you'd been given a new assignment. You would be working with a British Task Force across the pond for the next year. A group of four SAS men. If things worked out, then you'd be staying there indefinitely.

You'd been thrilled at the news. You didn't join the military only for the benefits and the opportunity to serve, but for the opportunity to travel and to potentially live somewhere else in the world. Getting to be that while also being SAS was the dream. You worked so hard to get to where you were today. Sleepless nights of studying, hard days of working out and trying to improve and hone your skills, and now it was finally happening. You were being sent off to a new base and a new team. And not just any team, an elite task force. You'd finally been selected.

You met the whole team day one of your arrival. The first person you met was Captain John Price. He was a friendly but very stern man. The no nonsense type of guy. He gave you a tour of the base, and showed you to the female barracks. Once you were semi-settled in (all your belongings piled into your room) you went to meet the other members of your new Task Force.

Price introduced you to each teammate. They'd all been in his office by the time you and Price showed up. Two had been seated, and one was standing despite there being enough chairs. That had been Soap.

"Alright you lot, here she is. This is (y/n) (l/n). Straight from across the pond." Price introduced you. "(Y/n), these are boys of the 141. This is Sergeant Kyle Garrick."

"You can also call me Gaz." Kyle fills in, giving you a nod and a handshake. "It's nice to have someone from the States joining us." He was the one responsible for your callsign being States.

"This is your Lieutenant. Simon Riley. He goes strictly by Ghost." Price continues. Ghost doesn't make a move to shake your hand. He just stayed quiet. Didn't even give you a nod of any kind. Quite intimidating coming from a guy wearing a skull over his face. "And lastly, this is-"

"Soap." The man barks out before Price can say anything. You remember hearing Price sigh before finishing his sentence. "Sergeant John MacTavish."

"You can call me Soap though. Nothing else." His voice was harsh, and carried a tone of warning. If you to call him by anything else other than his callsign, there were going to be harsh consequences.

His arms were folded across his chest, and he'd glared at you during the whole introduction. It made you so nervous, the reactions you got from both Soap and Ghost. Price assured you later though that they would come around. They just needed to warm up to you. He'd been 50% correct.

At the time, Ghost had been the most terrifying of three, and the one you worried you wouldn't be able to connect with (boy had you been foolish). At the time though, Soap had at least said something to you. Ghost never said a word or even acknowledged you. And when Ghost did talk to you, it was always in a gruff voice like you were annoying him. But over time, you came to realize that was just who Ghost was. It wasn't anything personal. He was like that with literally everyone. It was rare to catch him laughing or to hear his gruff voice become lighter.

Soap, on the other hand, also spoke to you the way Ghost did, but he only used that tone with you. He was so cheery and light when speaking with the guys. Even with strangers, his voice may have been slightly more gruff, but never as harsh as when he spoke to you.

His personality was vastly different around the others as well. Whereas he could joke, laugh, and relax around them, he was the opposite around you. You thought for a moment that maybe he was sexiest and just didn't like women, though every woman he spoke to around base, he was the kindest and most respectful guy.

Now six months later, not much had changed. Soap still spoke to you in a gruff voice. He still scowled when you entered a room. He still glared at you any time he needed to look at you. He had gotten more "comfortable" around you. But really that just meat he was far more comfortable with insulting you directly. From the way you shoot to the way you eat, he could find anything to gripe about. And eventually, you decided that if he was going to be difficult, then you'd return the favor.

The first time you insulted him back, he looked shocked, then just flat out angry. Your encounters went from quiet insults being thrown back and forth and dirty looks to all out yelling at each other. Never physical fights, but Soap had punched a hole in the wall during one particularly bad argument.

The others couldn't stand you fighting. Gaz would do everything in his power to keep you separated and distracted from each other so you wouldn't start. Ghost tried to never be involved, but he would sometimes break up the fights by using his scary lieutenant voice and sending you both to different parts of the base to cool off. Price... he got the most upset. He was normally so calm under pressure but hearing you and Soap bicker pushed him to the limit. He'd yell at you both until he turned red and then normally punish you by making you do extra cleaning, harder workouts, or something else just as labor intensive.

You lost count of how many times you'd been in his office with Soap, getting reprimanded on your behavior. One of the worst had been when Soap actively tried to get you kicked off the team while you were sitting right there.

"She is a right pain in the arse, Price! I didn't even start it this time!" He claims, doing everything he could not to look at you.

"Oh blow it out your ass, Soap. You were giving me a look."

"Then don't fucking look at me." Soap growls through his teeth.

Price slams his fist onto the table, making you both jump a little and halt your bickering for a moment. "Can you two shut the hell up? It's just constant with you. I have had a headache for five fucking days cause of you idiots. What is it going to take for you two to get along?"

Soap is quick with his answer. "All this could be solved if you just deported her little ass back to the US. Seriously Price, she's caused nothing but trouble since she got here."

"I am right here, Soap." You huff out a laugh, not too shocked he'd say something like that though.

"I wish you weren't." He throws back, making Price intervene again.

"Enough! She's not going anywhere, Soap. Whether you like it or not, she brings in a skill set we are missing in this team."

"Like hell she doesn't! We can find someone else." He argues, earning a glare from Price.

"She is staying. I signed a contract that she stays for a year. If we break that, we lose our funding, our reputation, and a whole lot more." Price says, making Soap cross his arms and sit back in his chair.

"So after however many months she has left, we can get rid of her?"

"You'll be lucky if I keep you once your contract expires!" He shouts at Soap, which shuts the Scot up. Sighing, Price continues. "I will reassess at the end of year once States' contract has expired." He says more calmly, which makes your heart sink and Soap smirk.

You were dismissed then, but Price had you stay back. Probably to keep you and Soap from walking with each other, but he also has a few words for you. He reassured you that you were doing great. That you truly did bring a lot to their team and that he was happy to have you there.

"Are you going to send me back at the end of the year?" You'd asked him before you left, looking over your shoulder by the door while he stayed seated at his desk.

"Don't worry about that now, States. But know, I like having you here, and remember, it takes both of to sign the renewal contract."

That gave you hope. Price most likely would want to keep you, but he was also going to leave it up to you to decide whether or not you wanted to stay. At the same time, if things continued the way they were, it wasn't going to be good for team morale. If Price had to pick between you and Soap, you were sure he'd pick Soap. He'd been with the team longer and knew them far better than you did. This was your dream though. Being SAS. It could take years before you got another team. You liked Price, Ghost and Gaz. Could you live with Soap?

That meeting was only three weeks ago. You'd been with the Task Force for almost six months. Halfway through.

Your current mission landed you in Naryn, Kyrgyzsta. You were hunting down a military leader, General Azamat, who was accused of doing an illegal arms deal with Russia. Photos and weeks of gathering intel suggested he was guilty and currently at this military base in Naryn.

This was purely a stealth mission first. You and Soap were tasked with infiltrating the small military base while Ghost provided overwatch. There were three security stations. One on the East, what Soap was in position for, the South, the one you were headed towards now, and the West, where you and Soap would meet to take out the last one.

The East and South stations were backup generators and needed to be taken out first before the main one to the South was. That way you kept the element of surprise and didn't need to worry about the backups going online. After that, your troops would push in and secure the base, capture the military leader, and you could all go home.

Soap had given the update on his position, saying he was where he needed to be, about two minutes ago. Two fucking minutes ago. And he was already griping that you weren't to your position yet. His words rang in your ear through your comm earpiece.

"This is Bravo 7-1, I've been in position. Waiting on 7-4 to move her ass."

"Calm down, I'm almost fucking there. Don't be so impatient." You growl back. "Seriously Ghost, how do you even deal with him?"

"Haad yer wheesht." Soap growls at you, some Scottish slang you don't understand. No doubt he was telling you to shut the fuck up or something along those lines.

"Either speaking fucking English or don't speak, MacTavish." You bark, voice getting a little too loud for a stealth mission. Even if you weren't too close to the camp yet, there could be patrols you needed to be mindful of.

"How about you fucking learn about other's cultures and then we wouldn't have this problem. And don't call me MacTavish."

"I do know about other's cultures! I just don't care to know about the one that you came from." You throw back before Ghost gets involved.

"Shut it. Now. Not another word. Fuck's sake." You could practically see Ghost shaking his head. "States, how long till you're in position?" Ghost asks, directing attention back to the mission.

"Give me two minutes."

"Bloody fucking Jesus." You hear Soap mummer through the comms.

You take a deep breath to try and focus your energy back on your current tasks. Soap was not going to get in your head and mess this up for you. For anyone else, he would have stayed quiet. In fact, it probably wouldn't have even bothered him.

"Hold up, 7-4." You hear Ghost say to you after about 30 seconds of creeping your way to your position. "You've got a small patrol further up from your position. Just over the hill. Two men, I don't see anyone else. When you're in range, get a good shot of one, and I'll dump the other for you."

"On it. Thanks Ghost." You whisper back, readying your rifle and trying to be as silent as you can while you approach the men.

"You telling me it's gonna be even longer now." Soap complains, making you roll your eyes.

"I'm sorry your side didn't have rough terrain or anyone to fight off, Soap." You tell him sarcastically. "Some of us didn't get the easy baby route to take."

"I'll have you know I took down two fucking patrols all by myself while I made my way over here. And I didn't have Ghost's help to do it either."

"Fuck you." You growl at him.

"What did I bloody fucking say?" Ghost growls, his lieutenant voice coming out. You curse yourself as you let it happen again. Just ignore the Scot and focus on what's ahead.

"In position, Ghost. I see them. Clear sight on both, your call."

Ghost does the quick calculations in his head as he prepares his shot, trying to determine which of the two men he had a better chance of taking out. "The one with the flashlight is mine. Dump is mate. In three, two..."

You both took the shot, Ghost pulling his trigger just a millisecond before you to account for the distance. He landed a clean headshot while your first bullet landed more in the shoulder of your guy. You took a quick second shot, which finished the job with another headshot.

"He's down. Clean shots. Though try for the head first next time." Ghost quips. There was no malice in his words. Just Ghost joking around to ease tension. Soap clearly needed to take lessons from Ghost on how to tell a joke without being a total ass about it.

"Noted. Thanks for the advice, 0-7." You banter back, earning a scowl and an eye roll from Soap.

"Less talking, more getting to where you're supposed to be." Soap cuts in, ending the fun you'd been having with Ghost.

"Don't get your skirt in a knot. I'm in position." You huff, pulling out your binoculars and scouting the area. Despite this base housing a military leader, and having two back up generators, they really didn't have much security. No walls, no floodlights. Just a few patrols outside. They weren't expecting trouble.

"It's a bloody kilt. Not a skirt." Soap seethes, his jaw clenched. At this rate, he wasn't going to be able to finish this mission. Everything about you was just pure annoyance to him.

"Yeah whatever you want to tell yourse-"

"Are you two going to be able to finish this mission or am I going to have to pull you both from it?" Ghost barks over the comms, clearly fed up now.

You feel your face flush hot in embarrassment. Ghost has never threatened to remove you from a mission before. You've always been good and reliable. You can't fail and have it on your record that you were pulled from a mission due to not being able to get along with others. That was a death sentence for your career with the SAS.

"No, sir. Sorry, 0-7." You apologize, not hearing anything from Soap's end. He was probably pouting and internally cursing you for getting him in trouble, even though this was all his fault. "Going to head out for the South station. Bravo 7-4 going dark." You turn your radio from the public channel between you three to a private one used only for emergencies. At least now you wouldn't be able to hear Soap for a little bit.

Soap hears your radio beep once, signaling to him you'd disconnected for a moment while you advance towards your target goal. Once you had, he huffs and takes a moment to squeeze his eyes shut and collect himself.

"I can't fucking stand her, Ghost." He complains to his friend. "Why the hell did Price ever think it was a good idea to put us together on a mission?" He looked out into the field, making out the little shadow of you making your way slowly to the base.

"She's part of the team, Soap. Price has his reasons. Just focus on the mission and make it work." Ghost replies, not offering too much help aside from stating the obvious and putting Soap's mind back in the field. "Better get going. Your path is clear right now."

Soap sighs heavily and stretches out his neck a bit by tilting his ears toward each shoulder. One side pops a little, only relieving a little tension. "Alright. Bravo 7-1 going dark." He clicks his radio to the private channel and begins to make his way to the East backup generator's building.

By the time Soap reaches his building, you are already working your way inside the South building thanks to the small head start you got. You stick to the shadows as much as you can, thoughts wandering to Soap from time to time. Wondering if he's cleared his building already or if he ran into trouble. Then again, if it was really bad, he could have contacted you or Ghost and there would have been alarms going off. And as much as you hated him, you had to admit he was really good at this kind of stuff. Sweeping through a place and clearing it out. Quick and clean. Of course he'd never ever hear you utter any praises directed at him.

Your building wasn't too heavily guarded. You assumed most of their men were either asleep in the barracks, standing guard of where the military leader was staying, or off patrolling areas they deemed more important than the backup generators. The main building to the West would have most of their patrols since it was the more important building. That was the reason you and Soap needed to work on clearing it together.

You managed to clear your building fairly quickly with only one close call. One guard had seen you shoot someone else, but you managed to take them out before they could radio for backup, and no one seemed to have heard him yell. Once cleared, you plugged in the flash drive and uploaded the virus it contained to make the generator go offline.

You bring a hand to your radio and speak into it. "This is Bravo 7-4, generator down, South building secure. I repeat, generator down. Heading to the West building to the rendezvous now." You begin to head out the way you came in as Ghost speaks to you over the comms.

"This is Bravo 0-7. Confirm. You're all clear." Ghost responds.

"You got a sit rep on our precious Bravo 7-1?" You ask, forgetting to switch over from the private channel. You duck behind some ammo boxes and sneak along them, not expecting to get an answer from Soap. You expected him to be busy still and not on the public channel that you thought you were on. Before Ghost can answer, 7-1 graces you with a response.

"States, shut your fucking mouth and switch your radio over to public. How the hell did you get selected when you can't even use a damn radio." He snarls, making you pause. Soap's words always kinda stung a bit, but some more than others.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I not allowed to have a sit rep on you?" You ask, ignoring your slip up of being in the wrong channel.

"No." He answers flatly, making you sigh and roll your eyes. So much for working as a team. "And switch-"

You switched over while he was mid sentence, not wanting to hear his grating voice anymore. You were getting a little worn down at this point. It wasn't like you enjoyed arguing with Soap as much as you did. It was exhausting. Being out in the field where you were already stressed was making it a lot worse.

"He's almost done." Ghost answers you, keeping you updated since Soap clearly wasn't going to. "Just head to the rendezvous, States."

You grumble softly but do as you are told. You mutter a "copy" into your radio before slowly and carefully making your way to the rendezvous. You hear a soft beep shortly after, signaling Soap had reconnected to the public channel. You try to avoid using your radio after that, even skipping check-ins since it seemed that Soap was going to make any use of your radio an unpleasant experience. Though eventually you do need to give an update that you were at the rendezvous, that way Soap wouldn't shoot you.

You move to the side of a building and crouch down. "Bravo 7-4 approaching rendezvous." You sigh to yourself before adding, "Bravo 7-1, please let me know when you are on your way."

"I'm already here. Look to your bloody right 7-4." You look almost directly to your right, which is met with an annoyed sigh. "Not that far. Back to your.. straight.. just- Fucks sake, by the crates!"

"You're not giving me good directions!" You silently yell back, still looking for him.

"By the crates! The only crates in the area! I'm practically in the open."

You see him then. His stupidly handsome face turned into a scowl and his piercing blue eyes glaring at you. He was not in the open, only his head poking up from the crates. You sent the same look right back to him and make your way over, looking around and making sure the way was clear so you wouldn't compromise your position. He was kind enough to at least raise his gun and cover you as you made your way over. Once behind the crates, back pressed to them, he relaxes his position and ducks behind them with you.

"States, look at me," Soap says, his voice deep and gravely. The only tone he ever seemed to use with you. "I want this done clean and easy. No fuck ups. You're going to follow my lead and stay out of my way. And I don't want to hear a single word from you unless it's mission related. You got that?" He lectures you.

You are so, so tempted to roll your eyes at him. He was talking to you like you were a marine fresh off selection. Not a five year veteran who was selected for an elite special forces team. He didn't even outrank you by that much. Not enough to make a real difference. The only thing he had up on you was experience and maybe two years in age.

You're silent for a long moment, glaring at him until he repeats himself a little.

"Do you understand?" He annunciates each word, and you swallow down the choice of words you had for him. This wasn't the time or place for that. You were in the middle of a mission that could go belly up and turn dangerous. You didn't need to be fighting the sergeant on this.

"You got it." You say tightly, mustering up all the strength you possessed not to say more than that to him.

Soap seemed surprised you agreed so easily, but he eyes you suspiciously for a moment before nodding. "Good." He nods before reaching for his radio. "Bravo 0-7, this is 7-1. Going in. Rest of the troops be ready in five minutes and wait for the signal."

"Copy, 7-1." Ghost confirms. "Be warned, I see multiple troops in the vicinity of the West security building. Some men have different uniforms. They look to be General Azamat's men. He could be in there."

You furrow your brows at that. You were expecting a lot of troops in that area, but the military leader you were after wasn't supposed to be in there. There was a bunker in the middle of the camp that he was supposed to be in. It wasn't going to be a significant change the mission though. It just meant your job had become a lot harder. More men to clear out without raising alarm.

"This is Bravo 7-4, 0-7 what's the best way in?" You ask, refusing to look at Soap. You saw his head turn to look at you from the corner of your eye.

"If you wanna come home looking like Swiss cheese I'd go with the front door. Around the back might be your best shot, but I can't get a clear view from my area." Ghost informs you.

"Can you reposition and-"

"No." Soap immediately cuts you off, making you glance to him. "We don't have time for a reposition. We need to move before they realize their backup generators have been breached."

"You just don't like it cause it was my idea." You accuse, watching as Soap visibly becomes agitated.

"I don't like it cause it's a bloody stupid idea!" Soap says through clenched teeth. He was getting right in your face. You were about to tell him off until Ghost's voice filled your left ear.

"Soap's right. There's no time. Head to the back and make due with that entry point. We'll go loud if we need to."

Soap wore a smug look as Ghost sided with him. You despised it. "See? Told you it was a stupid idea." He reiterates, still way too close for comfort.

Your anger flared, and you shoved him back with a forearm to his chest. He reacted instantly, grabbing your arm and flinging it away as if it had burned him. The movement was so quick, it surprised you a bit, and all you can do is stare at him with wide eyes.

"Touch me again, and you're going to regret ever signing up for the military," he growled, his finger jabbing the air between you before standing up and storming off without attracting too much attention.

You're left stunned for a moment, though you're not sure how you thought he was going to react to you pushing him. Within a matter of seconds, you gather yourself, reminding yourself that you were still in enemy territory and needed to focus. With a reluctant sigh, you followed after him.

You managed to make your way to the back of the West Building with Soap without too many complications. The most you needed to really do was duck behind some parked trucks as a military jeep rolled by. It exited the compound, likely heading out to meet a patrol for a shift change.

You and Soap didn't say a single word to each other the whole way. For a stealth mission, that was preferable. However, you could feel the tension between you and Soap. Disdain was radiating off him, and you didn't want to get too close to him in fear he was going to blow up at any second.

There's a line up of vehicles that serve as your cover for the time being as you sneak along one side of them. Suddenly, you nearly collide with Soap when he abruptly raises his hand, signaling you to stop. There's a group of four men all standing in a small circle, talking and smoking together. They're isolated from other groups but taking out a group of four could be very difficult to do.

Soap takes a few steps back, waving for you to back up as well. "We can't take that group out by ourselves, we're going to have to go around." He tells you in a hushed voice as you attempt to peak around him to get a good view of the targets blocking your path.

"It's only four. We can both take out two." You suggest, but, just like all your other ideas, Soap is fast to shut that one down too.

"Not a chance. You suck at hitting multiple headshots." He accuses.

That makes your blood begin to boil. You were not the God awful shot he made you out to be. In fact, back on your base in the US, you were considered to be one of the better shooters.

"I don't suck at making headshots." You glare, making him huff at you.

"Oh really? You missed the one earlier. Ghost managed to hit it from hundreds of meters away, and you bloody miss from a few feet. Your aim is absolute dog shite, States. I'm not going to have you mess up this entire mission cause you think you're better than you are."

His voice was harsh, as always, and his glare was biting. You felt your eyes burn as tears formed, but you refused to let Soap see you cry. He'd only roll his eyes and call you a baby. Crying would only give him more reasons to think you didn't belong here, that you weren't as good as the rest of them.

There were so many things you wanted to say to him in that moment, but you couldn't. The words got caught in your throat, and you feared that if you opened your mouth, a sob would escape. All you could do was look away and clench your jaw, masking your hurt feelings as anger instead.

Soap seems to take your silence as you submitting. "Come on. We'll go around that way."

He was motioning to a camp-like area that seemed mostly deserted, though there were probably men sleeping in the multiple tents that were set up. Along with the tents, there was some campfires and some small boxes of what looked to be filled with MREs.

As Soap quickly moved to the new area to bypass the group of men, you glanced back at them. You knew you could land those headshots. If Ghost had been with you, you would have taken them down already. You were tired of Soap thinking you were inferior and wanted to prove him wrong so badly. You knew you could land those headshots...

Raising your rifle slowly, you lined up the shot for the first target and mentally mapped out the sequence. One on the right, then left, then back right, and then back left. A simple zig-zag pattern. Easy enough.

Right as you're about to pull the trigger, you hear Soap's voice crackle through the comms. His voice was deep and full of warning and venom. 

"Don't you fucking dare, States."

But you dared. You wanted more than anything to prove him wrong. You slowly exhaled and pulled the trigger.

#call of duty #ghost riley #soap cod #soap mactavish #ghost cod #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soapghost #soap mw2 #soap call of duty #soap x you #soap smut #john mactavish #captain price #john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #smut #enemies to lovers #slow burn #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x reader #rough smut #ghost #ghost call of duty #price cod #kyle garrick #soap x fem reader #soap x y/n #johnny mctavish x reader

[satans-helper]

Back From the Dead

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x (F) Reader

Word Count: ~6700

Warnings: lots of angst & tears (Sam really is my token boy for that lmao sorry to my Sam girls <3); some sexual content (PIV--18+)

Another post-concert Sam fic. Hope you enjoy <3

---

Countless photos and videos of the boy who broke your heart, the boy who you loved so much it made you sick, continued to assault you day after day, month after month. You couldn’t help but become transfixed despite how it made your chest ache so deeply–Sam in shimmering cream, backlit by pillars of orange flame. Sam in glittering crimson, dripping jewels. Each photo and video captured that natural charm, that honed magnetism, all of that slick seduction that had won you over so long ago, and you were left feeling whiplashed with each scroll.

When the end came, your friends all told you that you were better off without him. They tried to raise you back up, tried to paint you as the victor despite you feeling like you’d lost the most precious thing in your life. You’d tried to rally along with their support but you never really felt it, not for one second. And as the months dragged on, your quiet heartache and gray despondency became old. Your friends didn’t want to hear about it anymore, not for one more second. You couldn’t blame them. You were sick of your own thoughts that tormented you–no matter what you did with your days, Sam was at the forefront of your mind, always. 

Not even sleep was much of an escape. You dreamed about him frequently, in situations that were nonsensical sometimes, but sometimes in situations where he’d come back to you. Sometimes the dreams erased the breakup entirely and there you two were, together like nothing had ever happened. Then you’d wake up covered in sweat and chilled with grief, your heart once again like a dead-weight in your rib cage.

Summer was here, but instead of feeling excited for beach days, boat rides, barbeques and all the weekend trips that had been tacked onto your calendar, you just felt the same old familiar grief and desperation. You were so exhausted from the pain that came from that horrible breakup that had come out of nowhere, a pain that should have left you long ago. 

Of course, despite the clear blue skies and beaming sunshine as you drove to meet your friends–yet another gathering that wouldn’t distract you–your thoughts found Sam and that final day with him. You never thought you’d beg any man for anything but when he’d dropped the bomb, you’d begged him not to, to take it all back, to just stay, to work it out. Because you loved him too much and truly couldn’t imagine your life without him. And you’d said all of that–you’d laid your heart out on the line, vomited your love, adoration and commitment up, but it hadn’t mattered. Sam said it was over, so it was. 

What made it so much worse was that you couldn’t even talk to him. You’d given up quickly–he’d made it clear that friendship was not part of the breakup package. For a little while, you’d held onto hope that he would reach out and at least mend that. But he never did, and it was another hard thing to accept. But what was harder was how everyone else in the world got to see him and experience him every night and it didn’t take long before you found yourself scrolling through apps just to see his digital beauty in the palm of your hands since you couldn’t have the real thing anymore.

The evening at the beach with your friends moved slowly. You tried, as always, to smile, to laugh, to match everyone else’s energy. But the cold drink in your hand only reminded you of how much you missed Sam’s warm hand holding yours; the blazing sunset, brilliant and beautiful reflected in the lake, only made you think of the flames that reflected in Sam’s dark eyes each night. The sand beneath your bare legs and feet only made you want the sensation of his silky skin against your own, and when you brought a cigarette to your lips, you knew you could still feel the long-lost ghost of one of his kisses. You’d never feel that again, you reminded yourself for the millionth time, and it almost made you cry right there.

But you managed to save your tears for the drive back home. They swelled into big droplets that rolled down your cheeks in the dark and you wiped them away continually, rubbing at your eyes too so the road would stop being a blur. Dejected and lonely, you dragged yourself back inside your home that always felt so empty without Sam’s scattered messes, even without his smell. 

The only one that you still managed to keep in touch with, though infrequently, was Josh. Bless his heart, and bless it even more because when you kicked off your shoes, dropped your back and checked your phone again while standing idle in the hallway, you had a text from him waiting for you.

Hey baby doll, what’s shaking? Sorry it’s been so long since we’ve talked. I was thinking about you tonight!

For the first time all night, a real smile curved along your lips. You started to type as you meandered over to the couch, sinking down just as you hit send.

Josh! I miss you <3 Did you guys have a show tonight?

Ironically, it was only when you got to talk to Josh that you ever felt relief. He was not only your one remaining link to Sam, but he was also just so pure of heart and kind–such a gem that you couldn’t not feel comforted whenever you two reconnected. Josh was your last thread to a whole world that you missed dearly and he was a true friend even if you wished you could talk to him more. 

Not even a full minute passed before your phone began to ring with Josh’s name and contact photo illuminating the screen. You took the call quickly and eagerly, settling back into the couch, your whole body feeling so much more alive than it had in ages.

“You know I’m not big on texting,” was the first thing he said when you picked up, a smile evident in his tone. 

“I’d much rather hear your voice,” you told him, smiling too. “I was thinking about you tonight too. Well–all of you.” You sighed, though Josh being on the other line kept the smile on your face. “As always.”

Josh said he missed you too. He launched into a whole recap of how much he and the boys had been writing and jamming, working on new songs, in addition to the touring that you were well aware of thanks to your incessant internet upkeep. You could visualize so much of it–you had garnered a fairly intimate knowledge of the boys’ creative process through dating Sam, plus you had seen them play numerous shows in the flesh. One thing you’d always loved about Sam was how he always found what you did and what you loved just as fascinating as you found his life.

Your life felt even less fascinating since Sam left it, but as you told Josh all of your most recent updates, he followed along with so much intrigue that you began to feel as though maybe things weren’t as boring as you once thought. Despite the constant heartbreak, you’d been pushing forward, carrying on doing things you love in addition to the regular grind. Even though you’d felt so broken, Josh affirming everything you’d done and were going to do made you feel whole again, if only temporarily. 

But then, just when you thought you were in the clear of even bringing him up, you blurted, “I still miss him so much, Josh.”

Josh let out a soft sigh on the other end. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ve never been able to understand why he didn’t think it’d work. To me–to the rest of us–it always looked like it was working.”

“I thought so too,” you said, lying back flat along the length of your couch. You were vividly remembering some of Sam’s final words to you: “I’m not unhappy. I know you’re not unhappy. But eventually, we will be.” It had made you more angry than hurt the moment he’d said it–what a cop out. It had been way, way too late in the relationship for him to suddenly become noncommittal or to pull out a random excuse of fear. A preemptive breakup with no reasonable cause in sight, as far as you could tell. Fame wasn’t enough of a reason for you. It never was, it never would be. Eventually, you began to realize that Sam maybe–probably, if you were being honest with yourself–just never loved you all that much.

But as you conversed with Josh, his next statement gave you a light of hope that you wanted to dash away before you ran with it in futility: “Honestly, Y/N…I think Sam misses you too.”

You shot up into a sitting position, feet flat on the floor. “Why do you say that?”

There was such a long pause that you thought Josh had hung up. Then, slowly and softly, he said, “Well, for one, he hasn’t really been with anyone else since. Not that I know of anyway, and it’s not like there’s an abundance of privacy while we’re touring, anyway.”

“Okay…” you said, also slowly, the wheels of your brain already turning.

“He’s been bringing you up lately. Just like, in normal conversation…it’s like he openly reminisces about you. He didn’t do that before.”

You frowned. “Oh.”

“I also saw him looking at pictures of you, and of you and him together, recently. I don’t think he deleted any of them.” 

Your frown twisted into a confused purse of your lips, your brow tightening along with it–the statement, though encouraging, was so stark that it made you flinch. 

“I don’t–” You began, then shook your head. “Why won’t he just talk to me?”

“I wish I had an answer for you, love. But I do know, as you do too, that Sam is incredibly, ridiculously stubborn.” Josh clicked his tongue. “I think that his feelings for you are not totally gone. Personally, I never thought they were.”

-

Instagram alerted you to yet another end of the band’s tour. Well, a break–they’d all be off again soon and you were once again left to eventually play catch up with Josh, whenever that would be. You sighed as you paused on a photo of Sam. You gave yourself permission to look for another second, then just one more, before you locked your phone. It was time to move on, not only with your day but with everything. Sam wasn’t coming back to you. 

But then, when Sunday came around and when you were simply trying to focus on some back-to-basics self-care, Josh called.

“Hey, listen, mama,” he began, sounding a little on edge, which instantly put you on edge in turn. “I was sworn to secrecy but I just can’t keep it in. You deserve a heads up so you can figure out what exactly you want to do.”

“Josh,” you said, pausing your words as you began to peel away the Korean face mask from your cheeks. “What the heck are you talking about?”

“Sam’s coming to see you. Today. He flew in last night.”

A terrible, overwhelming wave of emotions swept over you. You didn’t know what to do with your hands–the used up face mask was stuck to one of them, your fingers clinging to it, with the bathroom trash can feeling so far away. The entire room surrounding you suddenly felt too small though, like the walls were closing in on you, and your heart began to beat frantically as the blood rushed into your ears.

When actual words entered your personal stratosphere again, you were tempted to ask if it was a joke. But Josh wouldn’t joke about this. Never. So you asked, “He was serious? How do you know?”

“Because he told me. He told all of us. He got on a plane, Y/N. He wants it to be a surprise and I just–” Josh let out an exhausted-sounding sigh. “I just don’t know what’s going through his head. I mean, do you want this?”

For the first time, you weren’t sure. 

But it didn’t matter–Sam showed up, just like Josh said he was planning to, just a few hours later. 

Nauseating panic made it hard to move right after the doorbell rang. You remained standing, totally frozen, right outside the door until it rang again and then, without having a coherent thought to drive your actions, you opened it.

No picture or video could ever compare to the real thing–you already knew that, but finally seeing Sam again in the flesh after so long was so uncanny and surreal that you wobbled back on your heels, so physically and mentally unstable. Josh may have warned you about Sam’s incoming presence, but there was nothing that could have warned you of the feelings his presence evoked–anxiety and confusion were at the forefront, so much anxiety that your vision blurred for a moment as you met Sam’s gaze, but also softer things. Adoration was there–that same adoration you’d felt throughout all of your time with Sam. Once upon a time, you’d looked at him like he was the sun, stars and moon combined. You just adored him that much.

“Hey,” Sam said, the first one to speak after what seemed like an eon of silence to you. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, long legs flexing slightly but visibly in just a pair of shorts. He inhaled deeply and his chest and shoulders rose and fell beneath the cream button-down shirt that you didn’t recognize. It looked like it could have been a thrift find, but you bet it wasn’t. 

“Hi,” you finally said, your own voice sounding strange to your ears. You left it at that, though there were so many other things another person might say–what are you doing here? Being the most reasonable one, and a question you were wholly justified in asking. But you didn’t.

“It’s been a long time,” Sam replied, and instead of the impossibly self-assured rock god you saw online every day, he looked sheepish. Trepidation wafted from his energy like a perfume, like he himself wasn’t even sure what he was doing on your doorstep.

You took a deep breath through your nose, trying to center yourself, and got a whiff of what Sam actually smelled like–amber and patchouli. A little bit of smoke. “Yeah,” you agreed. “It really has.”

Despite all the emotions that were gearing up, it took absolutely no convincing for you to let Sam inside. It was like muscle memory to open the door for him and to step aside, to follow behind and watch the subtle movements of his traps, shoulders and thighs as he made his way into your home. But now, he moved more slowly and his head turned from side to side, looking around as if to see what had changed. Not much had, you realized, apart from his own missing pieces. 

You needed a drink; Sam probably did too. So you both sat there on the couch, the ceiling fan above circling, sending drift after drift of his scent to you, and slowly sipped from beers you only ever started buying because of him. Awkward, tormenting silence ensued for far too long before you finally asked the necessary question of, “Why are you here?”

Sam looked at you, then looked down at the can in his hand. He brought it to his lips, tilted his head back and chugged the rest. After he wiped his mouth with the hem of his sleeve, he answered with, “I miss you, Y/N. I made a mistake.”

Your jaw dropped–then, quickly you realized you didn’t want to be so vulnerable again. Sam didn’t deserve to see you surprised. He didn’t deserve to see any emotion at all. You looked away, to the blank space of the wall above your TV–once upon a time, there were pictures of the two of you, and of you and all the boys, hung up there. 

“Oh,” you said, taking another drink. The beer tasted extra bitter on your tongue, and you felt your own bitterness, all the hard feelings that had been locked away inside your heart for so long, begin to seep out. “You seemed so sure of your decision before. I don’t see why anything would have changed.”

“At the time, I didn’t think we’d make it. We barely made it through that first tour together. Don’t you remember?” Sam asked, stuck in your peripheral vision.

You thought back to that time a couple years ago. Sure, it’d been hard–you couldn’t be with Sam as much as you’d wanted, but you were never the clingy girlfriend. You never made him feel guilty about any of it. Yet you’d come to learn that he felt guilty anyway, which led to resentment, all of which could have been avoided if Sam just learned to communicate better. But you never made him feel guilty for that either.

“You barely made it through,” you corrected, turning to face him again. His beauty struck you again like a slap in the face, making you falter silently–just a few weeks ago, you would have done anything to kiss those soft, plush lips. Has anything really changed for you?

“I know,” Sam said, one of the few times he’d ever admitted any kind of fault. “It was stupid. I should have trusted what we had.”

You looked away again, blinking as you felt a surge of rage and deep pain in your chest that was threatening to make you cry. How many times could you cry over one person? You were so drained. Then you felt Sam’s hand on your knee but refused to look down at the touch, though the sensation sent a shiver up your spine and a whirlpool of desire in your belly. 

“I’m so sorry,” Sam said, his voice soft, but too sad. You didn’t think he deserved to feel sad. 

You shoved his hand away and shrank back against the arm of the couch, knees drawn up to your chest. “What did you think would happen here?” you demanded, the threat of tears in your eyes traded for blazing anger that you hoped was cutting through Sam’s soul. “You don’t talk to me for all this time–you didn’t even want to be friends, Sam!” Your voice was rising like the tidal wave all your heartache felt like. “You toss me aside like trash then just decide to come back when, what? When you’re desperate? Because you finally feel real guilt, not just your bullshit self-pity?”

Sam’s mouth gaped in shock, just staring at you. You stared back until he stood up, shaking his head. “You’re right,” he said. “This was wrong. Another mistake.” 

But as he began to head out, steps trailing a line right for the front door, you knew you couldn’t bear to see him walk out again. 

You shot up to your feet and grabbed his arm–you pulled him back with more force than intended, making him stumble back against you with a surprised grunt. He actually looked scared when you physically turned him around but the anger you felt was drifting away–now you just felt charmed. Despite the changes there, you saw the same boy you fell in love with years ago.

“You ruined everything, you stupid idiot,” you said quietly, no heat in your words. Surprisingly, Sam smiled. He brought his hands to your shoulders and gently rubbed them as if he could massage all the turmoil of the past straight out of you.

It was also like muscle memory to have Sam beneath you as your legs splayed over his hips, knees pressed into your mattress. His hair was fanned out against your pillow as you swept your fingers through the long strands while your other hand kept a determined hold on his face, your thumb aligned with his jaw to keep him in place. 

His hands roamed down your sides, his touch fluid and familiar, his kisses the same, and all the daydreams and real dreams of doing this again flooded your mind, making you question if what was happening was even real. You pulled back to look at him, to assure yourself that he was here, that it was real, and those dark doe eyes looked back into your own, his lashes fluttering as a little smile graced his rosy lips. 

“Did you really miss me?” you asked as you released his jaw and touched your fingers to his mouth, tracing down his chin, his neck.

He nodded, hands squeezing your hips. “Every day.” Then he answered the next question you had: “I felt too embarrassed to go back…to try to undo it.”

You shook your head with a sigh, stroking his hair. “For being so smart, you really are so stupid, Sam.”

“I know.”

You sat back, removing your hands from him entirely. “So…what does this mean? Are you just gonna ditch me when the tour starts up again?”

“That wasn’t my plan. But I don’t expect you to forgive me or get back with me either.” He sat up as much as he could, propping his upper body up on his elbows. “We can stop right now if you want.”

Maybe you’d jumped back into things too soon. Especially without a real declaration and a real commitment to, well, commitment, it seemed way too likely you’d just end up heartbroken again. 

“What do you want?” you asked, still keeping your hands to yourself. 

Sam sat up more and wrapped his arms around your middle. He rested his head against your chest and sighed, but didn’t answer–not with words, anyway. You knew what that hug, what that hold on you, meant. You could remember like it was yesterday the first time Sam hugged you like that.

“I was such a fucking idiot,” Sam said, breaking the silence. He pressed his face into your sternum and groaned. “I am such a fucking idiot. I wanted you to come back to me so bad. Why would I have ever expected you to do that?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, finally wrapping your arms around his shoulders in return. “Why would you expect that?”

One of the many troubles you were now experiencing was how you knew sleeping with Sam right away wouldn’t be fair to yourself. It’d be like rewarding bad behavior, you thought. But you wanted to–that was never an issue. There had never been a moment with him where you hadn’t wanted to do but, more than that, there had also never been a moment where you’d felt even mildly uncomfortable with him. From the beginning, despite his chaotic, fiery and slightly unpredictable nature, you flowed into him easily, like a steady river.

With a sigh, you moved off him and sat up against the headboard. Sam followed, sitting next to you without touching. “You still haven’t told me what you want,” you reminded him as you glanced at your dresser across the room. Inside the top drawer, the photos of you and him and you and the boys that once hung above the TV and all over your fridge were trapped, hidden beneath socks and underwear. 

It was against his nature to not be touching you–you knew it was probably taking a considerable amount of willpower to curb that–so when Sam leaned against your shoulder, you stayed put. 

“I wanna be together again,” he told you, and the words sounded sincere. “I should have never ended things. I never should have stopped talking to you. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

You were inclined to agree, but you kept that thought to yourself. 

“You came back…and came back to me,” you began while Sam leaned more of his weight on you. “But it doesn’t really feel like it.” At that, you felt him shift away, almost not touching again. But not quite–his knee was still just barely pressed into your thigh. 

“Why not?”

You hadn’t completely realized it until you said it, but it felt so painfully true as the words came out of you: “I feel like I don’t really know you anymore, Sam. The last time we spoke, you were telling me it was over. You were dumping me for–for what? I still don’t get it. Maybe I never will. All it seemed like to me was that you just didn’t love me. Like you never did.” You turned your head, not even wanting to see a glimpse of him. “I’ve had to try and swallow that epiphany all this time. And all this time, not only did I feel like you never loved me, but you never spoke a single word to me to try and correct that.”

Silence returned, heavy and confounding, for a long minute, maybe even two. Then Sam said, “Fuck.” You physically felt more than you actually watched him get off the bed, but you looked right at him when he was standing on the other side of it. “You think you don’t know me anymore, Y/N. You don’t love me anymore.”

That wasn’t true, but you weren’t opposed to him thinking that for a little while. Who the hell was Sam to just waltz up to your door out of the blue, to step right back into your home and your life as if he’d never left after all the shit he’d said to you? After he tore your heart right out of your chest, threw it to the ground and stepped on it? He could sit with some heartache himself, you thought, for a little while. You’d had enough for a lifetime.

Still sitting on your bed, you watched him in silence–instead of actually leaving, he stepped over to your desk chair and ran his hands down the cardigan that was lying over the back of it. Like he was waiting for something, because he also knew what he said wasn’t true. 

Your hand found the warmth his body had left behind on the sheets and you definitively, without a shadow of a doubt, knew that you really couldn’t ever let him go again. 

“Don’t go,” you said, standing up and moving to meet him at the chair, standing behind him. You laid one hand over his. “I do love you, Sammy. I never stopped.” Before he could reply, you went on, resting your cheek on his shoulder: “Even though you’re selfish and stupid and infuriating. Even though you don’t deserve it. I can’t help it.” You closed your eyes and rubbed your nose into the fabric of his shirt before you added, “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, turning his hand over so he could lace your fingers together. “I know that.”

Despite craving any words from him for so long, you wanted something else now. You wanted Sam’s skin under your hands, his kisses back on your neck–as you both fumbled to get your clothes off, writhing on the bed, you got those wishes. And now that Sam knew he had you, his kisses were a little softer, a little slower as he straddled you; now that you knew you had him, you felt like you could breathe again. Your fingers danced easily over his skin, from the subtle slope of his shoulders down to his warm chest; he let out a soft little huff when your hands squeezed his sides, then used one to press against his belly, your thumb lingering right at the waistband of his briefs.

“We really can wait, Y/N,” Sam reminded you when you slipped your hand beneath the cotton. “If you think that’d be better.”

“I don’t wanna wait. I’m sick of waiting.” You arched your back, trying to get more of Sam’s weight on top of you. A confession, one that you’d been shamefully keeping all to yourself, rolled out next: “I haven’t been with anyone since you left.”

“No way,” Sam said, sounding both smug and in disbelief. He smiled a little while his own fingers roamed, making their way down between your legs. “Does everything still work correctly?”

His ticklish touch along your inner thigh made you giggle and tremble a bit. “As far as I know.” You looked down, watching his fingers slide down the center of your panties. When Sam didn’t confess on his own, you felt inclined to pry–against your better judgment: “What about you?”

Sam wrapped his free hand around yours, encouraging you to keep touching him–he was as hot and as hard as ever. “Feel for yourself,” he said, making your hand wrap more firmly around his length.

Your cheeks were blazing hot. “Seriously,” you insisted, keeping your hand still. “What about you?”

He planted his hands on your hips. “Just a few. Probably less than you’d expect, honestly.” He leaned down, bringing his face close to yours, his hair hanging down like a curtain. “I realized fairly quickly that no one made me feel like you did and I didn’t want to keep trying.”

“Oh really?” you replied, sounding more haughty and jealous than you’d intended. But Sam always unraveled you so easily, without even trying–it was no different now. You were honestly surprised you hadn’t burst into tears at some point since he’d shown up. 

“Yes, really, Y/N. What do you want me to do to prove how much I missed you? Want me to sing all your accolades and beg for forgiveness?”

You scoffed. “Yes, actually.”

Sam didn’t even look surprised. He smiled and leaned back, his hair falling back over his tanned shoulders, and shimmied down to sit between your thighs instead of on top of you. “Fine. I can do that.” He cocked his head to the side while his fingers tapped your thighs, looking you over. You were already almost naked but his gaze was lingering and penetrating over every part of your body, making you uncomfortable–what did all those other girls look like? Did he try to find ones that looked like you, or the opposite? Did he miss your personal brand of warmth and softness as much as you’d missed his? 

His hands reached out and quickly you were freed from your bra, it being cast aside to fall to the floor, and your underwear too. Your body tensed up instinctively, feeling far too exposed in front of the boy who’d destroyed your heart so easily, but then Sam stood up just long enough to match your nakedness.

He settled back down between your legs, draping his body over yours so he could meet your lips again. The kiss was deep and slow–no tongue, just his impossibly soft, sweet lips on yours while one of his hands cradled the side of your face and the other swept through your hair.

“Don’t get me wrong–I missed this,” Sam told you, pulling back. He looked down as his hands smoothed down your shoulders to gently squeeze your breasts. “But I really just missed being with you. I missed talking with you–you’re always so good at calling me out on my bullshit.” He laughed a little and your heart began to race harder–Sam was always more natural and skilled with physical action to express his feelings than words. The fact that he was letting his thoughts flow freely from his lips, speaking of love instead of destruction, made you wonder yet again if you were just in a dream. 

“I missed your voice. I missed you singing in the car,” he went on, lowering himself–he began to press kisses to your neck and chest as the rest of the words emptied out of him: “I missed the smell of your perfume on my clothes and your lipstick on my mouth.” You brought your hands to his head, finally feeling like you could move again, and let your fingers glide through his hair. “I missed hearing you laugh, especially when I was the one who made you laugh. All the noise from the crowds every night–” He shook his head with his face pressed against your sternum. “I always wanted to somehow hear your voice in all of that. I kept wondering if you’d surprise me by showing up at one night. But that was very selfish, wishful thinking.” 

He looked up into your eyes. “This is just the first step. But if you keep going with me, I swear that I’ll never let you go again.”

You let that declaration hang in the air for a moment before you asked, “Really, Sam?”

Without hesitation, he replied, “Yes, Y/N. I won’t go anywhere unless you want me to.”

Traitorously, the tears returned. They swelled big and hot in your eyes and you turned your head away, bringing one hand up to try and wipe them away as if Sam might not notice, which was impossible. You felt his whole body stiffen, like he didn’t know what to do–you didn’t either. But then, a second later, his arms were around your shoulders, holding you up against his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head, just letting you cry.

“Shit. I’m sorry,” Sam said softly. 

“I just wish you’d never left in the first place,” you said, the words strangled with the attempt to suffocate your sobs. 

“Me too, baby. Me fucking too.”

All the times you’d cried since he left, you’d just wished Sam was still the one to hold you. Now you had just that–shocking and destabilizing, he was really there, and when the tears wouldn’t stop, you became desperate just for some relief from the ocean of emotion that you needed to break free from.

“Please say something funny,” you pleaded, sniffing, embarrassed that your tears were soaking his hair and his skin now.

Sam laughed. “Okay. Hmm…the last time we played Houston, I got so drunk after the show that I went to the wrong hotel room. I kept trying my key card in the door, wondering why the fuck it wasn’t opening, and eventually after me making such a racket out there, the person staying in the room opened the door.” He pet your hair and your shoulder blades and you found your tears slowing, your chest feeling more open. “And instead of just like, recognizing it wasn’t my room, I started arguing with them because I was so wasted I still really thought it was my room.”

That little story did make you laugh–the crying was traded for giggles, then louder, open-mouthed laughs. “God, Sam. What’s wrong with you?” you asked, hugging him tighter.

“So much. But you already knew that.”

Your laughter was contagious for Sam; all the laughter turned into silly, giggly kisses and then, when your skin was warm from love and not fear and your heart felt whole for the first time in a long time, Sam was all over you once more.

“Jesus, you feel so fucking good,” he panted with his mouth pressed just below your ear. His breath and saliva had made your skin and hair there wet–you didn’t care. You were both sweaty already, with Sam thrusting even and deep inside of you, his hips pounding against yours, and your hands all over him to keep him as close as possible. 

He felt amazing too. Not just the way he was fucking you–or really, as cheesy as it sounded in your head, making love to you–but his entire body. His whole essence. From his hair to his chiseled cheeks, the slightly scratchy beard, his warm chest with the fast-beating heart beneath and all of the silken, golden skin on yours, his beautiful body back in your arms, Sam was amazing. 

One particularly dense thrust against your tight walls made you gasp and dig your nails into his back. Sam groaned and sank his teeth into your neck, growling, “Fuck yeah, baby. Mark me up. I’m all yours.”

The sharpness of his teeth was brief–he resumed soft kisses to your neck then your mouth, capturing your moans and signs with his lips and tongue. You’d been on your back with your eyes closed moaning and sighing about him countless times since he’d left, but could never capture even a fraction of the real thing in those fantasies. When you would come, his name would crescendo from your throat like another sob, and when you’d open your eyes, you found yourself more alone than ever.

This time, when you came, his name didn’t sound like a desperate, aching plea–it sounded light and free even to your own ears, and when Sam kissed you right after the sound echoed through your bedroom, you could feel his smile on your lips. 

You hooked your fingers in his hair and held him against you while the movement of his hips actually slowed instead of sped up. Confused, you opened your eyes and turned your head to break away from his lips, to look at him instead. 

Flush-faced with his eyes bright, Sam smiled again and brought his hand to the crown of your head, his thumb stroking your forehead, his fingers curling into your hair. “That’s good,” he said, voice as soft as the summer breeze whisking through your open windows. “I wanted to look at you too.”

“I can’t believe I really am,” you said a little breathlessly, the last few aftershocks of your orgasm rippling through you. “After all this time.”

Sam smiled and worked up to his previous pace, never taking his eyes off yours; when he let out a huff and bit his lip, you pulled him down to do that yourself–your lips captured his in fierce kisses that you hoped wordlessly translated into “you’re mine forever,” your hands gripped his body like you’d never let go, and you squeezed yourself around his cock to make him whimper, then whimper your name in return as the muscles in his thighs fluttered and he let his whole weight drop on top of you.

Thankfully, he really didn’t weigh all that much. You hugged him, the two of you just breathing together, recovering from the confusion and madness and anguish to, as you now knew, steadily blossom together like the backyard garden you’d tended to in his absence. There was so much to catch up on, you thought while you stroked his hair and he stroked your skin, and so much to look forward to. 

Later, when the sun had almost completely dipped behind the trees and the stars were beginning to sparkle overhead, the two of you sat in the backyard, hands clasped together.

“How long are you going to be back home for?” you asked. That question had never bothered you before the breakup but now, you felt a little edginess as you asked it. You were now sure Sam meant everything that he said, that you two were as solid as ever, but simply knowing he’d be on the road again for however long after he’d finally come back to you made your heart feel heavy. 

“Tour starts up again in a month,” he told you, catching your gaze in the last little lingering bit of the warm sunset. “I was hoping I’d be here until then.” He brought his hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles. “If you still want that.”

A month. It wasn’t enough, because nothing with Sam was ever enough, but you silently vowed to yourself to make every second of it count more than it ever had before.

“I want infinity with you, Sam,” you told him, unable to help the smile that broke out on your face as he smiled with a lot of glee and just a little of that familiar smugness. “Always have, always will.” 

---

Tagging: @kissingsun @starbuggie @lightsofthe-living-gvf @sanguinebats @gvfrry @milojames16 @mindastreamofcolours @brokebellsgvf @wetkleenex-gvf @itsafullmoon @heckingfrick @clairesjointshurt @bizzielisteningtogreta @jjwasneverhere

If you’d like to be tagged in any of my fics, you can go here or DM me :)

#longest Sam fic i've ever written I think... #Sam kiszka #Sam gvf #Greta van fleet #gvf #Josh kiszka #Josh gvf #Sam kiszka x reader #gvf fanfiction #Sam fic #gvf smut #jake gvf #danny gvf

[feroluce]

For some weird reason, I've always been fascinated by how wildly different Sampo operates in the Underground vs the Overworld.

Sampo is present in both places and even in official sources, he's not really counted as one side or the other- now that the theory has been confirmed in-game, he's generally just lumped in with the Masked Fools.

But there really is a big difference!

Probably the most obvious and well known instance of Sampo's...business practices *cough burglary and fraud COUGH* in the Overworld is from the Belobog Museum event. In it, you don't find out Sampo is the main culprit until near the end, because Pela has to set up a sting just to catch him in the act. And that sting is necessary all because the initial suspect they arrested, Norbert, had pretty much no idea of his partner's identity. Sampo wouldn't even speak to him face-to-face.

And whereas Sampo is normally very pleasant and friendly with the trailblazer...when he thinks he's talking to Norbert here, he straight up says that they are NOT friends. Like he really shuts that shit DOWN.

There's also an Overworld NPC, Chavez, who heads the "Dark Blue Scam Support Group." And he. Really really really does not like Sampo fjkdasjklfdj

Chavez clearly wants Sampo caught, and has literally no positive feelings about him. So. Why call it the Dark Blue Scam? Why not just out him by name? Chavez obviously doesn't give a single shit about Sampo's dignity or privacy. But he never once refers to him as "Sampo," and even the pamphlets he passes out make no mention of it. No one in the entire support group seems to know how to identify him or how to refer to him except by his hair color. If the trailblazer says his name, Chavez reacts as though he's never heard it before.

(I've seen people say this means Sampo Koski is an alias and not his real name? But Ray pointed this out, and honestly I agree; even the Fools call him Sampo, after all. I think it's just that Chavez never knew Sampo's name in the first place, and given his immense distrust, immediately assumes it's an alias.)

And then there's his characters stories, where he proceeds to pull off a heist in the Overworld while in disguise as Brughel Poisson the entire time. Literally his own stories don't mention Sampo's name even once.

So anyway, all this shows that when he's up in the Overworld working cons, Sampo is incredibly slippery and secretive about his identity. The only people who seem to know him are Pela, Serval, and Gepard. He doesn't get close to anyone else, and is even surprisingly unfriendly. Nobody knows his name. No one knows his face. He has zero qualms about backstabbing or double-crossing, and even plans for it in some cases.

Meanwhile, down in the Underground, I'm pretty sure literally the worst thing we hear of him doing is scalping tickets in front of the Fight Club. Which isn't even illegal in a lot of places (although it's certainly a dick move).

In Hook's companion quest, a vagrant miner steals Fersman's equipment and tries to sell it to Sampo. Even before the trailblazer and Hook jump in and out the vagrant as a thief, Sampo hesitates to buy it because it sounds like stolen goods, which he doesn't want any part of.

Even knowing that a geomarrow detector is rare and incredibly valuable in the mines, Sampo makes no attempt to double-cross Hook or profit off of her loss, and even tells her who to go to to get it fixed.

And my favorite example of Sampo in the Underground is the Survival Wisdom adventure mission. In it, Sampo starts up a business with Peak, another miner. And like. In wild contrast to all the cons he pulls above ground, Sampo is actually super nice and helpful here.

Just the same as with Hook's quest, Sampo talks to Peak face-to-face, with no disguises or barriers. When the trailblazer finds them, they're just in the Great Mine, no secretive meeting places. Peak knows Sampo, is familiar with him, and calls him by name. It's not even a con! There's nothing illegal going on; it really is just a business partnership. Peak is more than happy with their deal, he's even pretty enthusiastic about it, because thanks to Sampo he can now make enough money to get by while also accommodating his chronic fatigue.

The only person Sampo lies to in this whole ordeal is the trailblazer, who he manipulates into getting Peak's mining equipment back from the vagrants that stole it in the first place. And when it's done, he rewards them with a legit treasure map.

So when he's working in the Underground, Sampo is MUCH more upright and lawful. Part of this is probably to do with his "business" model- Sampo only takes advantage of the wealthy, and poverty runs rampant in the Underground. When he charges Peak an extra 30% (the same percentage he charges Norbert as a consultation fee in the museum heists- Sampo seems to go by percentage instead of a flat rate, which means his prices are more fair for lower incomes) for carelessly losing their supply, Peak literally starts counting out pocket change.

Dude's working for pennies and good will down there dknsmdmd

And you can twist this into a Robin Hood thing if you want- Sampo IS technically working to feed orphans and heal the sick. He says himself he's more than happy to make up the shortfall between the greedy and the marginalized- I mean he says it in the shadiest way possible, but I doubt the people benefiting from his work really care that he's a slimeball if it means they can survive another day. Even the two heists he pulls in his character stories are literally just him stealing absurd amounts of food.

Personally though I think it is solely because of Natasha, and Sampo is hilariously well-behaved specifically for her, because she keeps him on a short leash JSKZJMSMSKS

#honkai star rail #sampotasha #hsr natasha #sampo koski #hsr sampo #hsr #today's post is brought to you by the letter Y. for the Yaps fdklsajfkd #'for some weird reason' I say only to realize through writing this post that the reason I like it so much is because I think- #-Natasha having Sampo by the short hairs is funny dkxjmskskdmdm #so sampotasha if you want or Sampo & Natasha if you want either or #I love Sampo behaving just for her because she holds a LOT of power in the Underground and he knows she could destroy him if she wanted #she could blacklist his business and run him out of Boulder Town if she really thought she needed to #Natasha exiled her own brother who eventually died in the cold because he was running unethical medical experiments on unknowing civilians #and granted what Sampo does is nowhere NEAR as bad as that but she also probably does not have nearly as much mercy for him dkdjdmkskd #I'd like to think they hold a decent amount of camaraderie for each other though. and maybe even some affection. #they work together like all the time after all. sampo is in the clinic with natasha so much that hook thought he was really sick. #and for as much as he relies on her for business she also relies on him for resources. #it's not really an exaggeration to say a LOT more people would be dead without Sampo constantly smuggling goods across the border. #maybe I should just make a post about their relationship sometime because I do very much love it skzjkskdk

[maravinc]

From my 3 AM musings:

1) If Alastor is like a deer and Vox is like a shark, is it possible that their family patterns were similar?

I mean, for example, if Alastor was raised mostly by his mother, much like a mother deer takes care of her fawns, is it possible that Vox didn't have any parents as such? Maybe they did, but they didn't take care of him much, or maybe he was a post-war orphan? Because it's not often that sharks have a situation where even a mother shark looks after her offspring... No, there are a couple of species, of course, but that's more of an exception than a significant proportion...

And there are also species of viviparous sharks, whose cubs are characterized by intrauterine cannibalism...

2) Could it be that Lucifer, being a swan, misses Lilith so much that he even became depressed, because swans are monogamous? Well, that is, they choose a partner only once and for life, and they behave exactly the same if their partner dies...

3) Apparently, Vox will not only be the main antagonist, but will also die in the end, and most likely he will die as stupidly as Adam... So it is worth preparing for his demise in advance.

Perhaps this will not even happen at the end of the second season, but somewhere in the future, but I can say a couple of things already now: for him (or his company) there is no benefit from continuing the war between Heaven and Hell, and also, given the leak of the fragment script for one of the episodes of the second season, I don’t think that Viv will leave him alive.

(Unless, of course, she plans to somehow redeem him in the future, but I wouldn’t count on that...)

And I would say that Alastor would not be very happy about this, since the death of Vox is an even greater responsibility for Al...

4) Today, when I was rewatching the pilot episode of "Hazbin Hotel" while working in the background, I had the idea that Charlie's opening song REALLY could end up in the finale, only with a slightly different video sequence.

Now imagine how all this can be used in fanfiction...)~

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin hotel thoughts #hazbin hotel vox #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #radiostatic #staticradio #staticlovetune #radiosilence #one sided radiostatic #vox x alastor #alastor x vox #lilith x lucifer #lucifer x lilith

[kingofthering]

if you write for them 9. things you said when i was crying for beznaia

Mandalika 2023, Sunday Night.

His left hand playing with the bedroom access card, Pecco uses his right hand to refresh his text thread with Bezz, very aware that this is not how things work and he’s not going to have an answer appearing to him like this.

It’s not unusual for Bezz to forget about the existence of his phone but given his current condition, Pecco couldn’t help but worry. He hadn’t managed to catch up with Bezz after the race but he knew the heat and the distance must have taken a toll on his collarbone.

Pecco looks at the slim piece of plastic that Bezz had placed in the back pocket of his jeans on Friday night after they shared an elevator ride after dinner, the words “I know the view in my room is better than yours, you should come check it out before we leave” liberated in the air between them like Bezz was simply talking about the weather before he disappeared from the elevator, getting out on his floor.

People always tell Pecco that he needs to learn how to turn his brain off, stop thinking so much, go for his instincts, don’t overthink so much. That’s what Pecco does as he pockets his phone and heads out of his bedroom to knock on another door two floors down.

“Bezz, it’s me,” Pecco tries when he hasn’t received an answer after rasping his knuckles against the door a bunch of times.

Any other person, any other time, Pecco would have taken that as a sign to leave.

Trust your instincts.

Pecco swipes the plastic card against the magnetic reader above the handle. The LED at the top of it goes green, mechanism of the lock making sounds that appear stupidly loud in the otherwise silent hall.

Pecco calls for Bezz as he walks in but he only needs to take two steps in the room to find him sitting at the top of his bed, left hand holding his right arm against his chest, his head bent down over himself. 

“Pecco?” Bezz lifts his head and that’s when Pecco realizes that he’s crying, the red of his eyes an harsh contrast to how pale Bezz’s skin looks.

The short distance between them gets eaten up fastly and once he’s in front of Bezz, Pecco’s hands immediately want to reach out before he sees Bezz wincing in pain, his eyes blinking away a couple of new tears. 

Pecco settles for a hand on Bezz’s nape that has Bezz slipping his eyes closed for a second.

“Hey, I’m here, it’s okay,” Pecco says quietly, his thumb drawing circles against Bezz’s skin while his brain tries to take in the situation.

“How did you get in?” Bezz asks after wiping his face with the palm of his hand.

“You gave me your key, remember?”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Did you try to reach me? I left my phone in my pants and I haven’t had the force to get it.”

Pecco winces. It’s been a long time since he has seen Bezz like this, years, even. He was there when Bezz injured himself at the ranch and he kept a brave face in front of everyone —they all do whenever they need to— but Pecco knows you can’t always win against pain.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Pecco says easily, now not the day to guilt trip Bezz because he made Pecco worry. Maybe later, when Bezz is back on his feet and the injury is far enough for them to be able to laugh about it. Not now. Now— “Marco, when’s the last time you took pain meds? Do you have some with you or do you need me to call someone?”

“Flavio gave me something after the race but I think it’s starting to wear off. He gave me another pill for tonight, it should be in my jacket.”

Pecco checks the watch on his wrist and does the quick math to figure out how long it’s been since the race ended. Then, he turns around, looks for bright yellow in the mess that is Bezz’s bedroom and find his jacket on the floor next to the foot of the bed.

He grabs a water bottle from the mini bar, opens it for Bezz, and takes the pill out from the foil paper before presenting both objects to Bezz who still grimaces as he uses his left hand to take the medication.

“Good,” Pecco says, his hand catching the water bottle again, capping it and setting it on the nearby bedside table. “Have you eaten?”

Bezz shrugs and immediately regrets the gesture, painful wince distorting his face and making Pecco wince in sympathy with him. “I had dinner with the team. Wasn’t very hungry, though.”

Pecco frowns. He’s more surprised by the admission than the fact itself. “Okay,” he nods carefully, thinking about the next step here. 

There is a small part of him that wants to call for someone else, someone more competent than him that will for sure know how to make sure that Bezz is fine. And then there is the part of him that knows that’s not what Bezz wants and the part of him that wants to do this for him, all on his own.

Pecco picks up the bedroom phone from the bedside table.

“Hello, I’m in room 307. Would it be possible to get a bag of ice, please?”

Pecco feels a tug on his t-shirt and when he looks down, he finds Bezz’s fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Pecco smiles, puts his free hand on Bezz’s forearm. 

“You have food options, right? What about sandwiches? Okay, yes, I’ll have the chicken one please. And a side of fries. Thank you.”

Bezz frowns at him and Pecco rubs his thumb against Bezz’s skin. It’s not the most nutritive of food and it's not a piadina but it’s something Bezz can easily munch on now and something he can eat cold later if his appetite comes back.

“You’ve won from the 5th row and you’ve taken the lead of the championship back, you should be out celebrating,” Bezz says once Pecco has hung up and pocketed his phone again after texting the handful of people that were expecting him to go out. 

Bezz’s head is still leaning against the headboard and he looks so pale, Pecco wishes he could put some colors back into his skin.

As things stand, Pecco lifts his hand to Bezz’s face, pushes some curls away from his forehead and uses his thumb to wipes away some leftover tears. “It’s okay, I’d rather be here.”

Was Pecco in the mood to release some tension after how intense and mentally draining this weekend in Mandalika had been? Yes. Could he party without Bezz if Bezz wasn’t available? Sure. Did he want to when he knew Bezz was in this condition? Absolutely not.

Pecco remembers the days after Barcelona, how Bezz had called for Pecco’s physio when Pecco woke up in excruciating pain, unable to get out of bed. He thinks about Bezz bringing him stuff so he wouldn’t have to move and continuously offering Pecco his arm or his shoulder when his crutch wasn’t there.

Bezz had said “It’s okay, Pecchino, you’ll repay me later” with his usual laugh showing all of his teeth and Pecco had smiled back, some heat pooling on his cheeks and at the pit of his stomach.

“Oh,” Bezz muses. “Okay.” Pecco lifts his thumb to smooth the creased lines between Bezz’s brows. In answer, he gets tugged to the bed after Bezz’s hand has grabbed on his belt loops and Pecco stumbles a little, catching himself on Bezz’s thigh, avoiding his chest and the arm he’s still cradling there. “If we find the good position, I might be able to give you a decent celebratory BJ.”

Pecco feels very hot and then very cold, the sensations sobering even if he hasn't had a drop of alcohol. A stupid noise escapes his mouth. “If you injure yourself more because of sex, I’ll kill you.”

What Bezz does with other people is the last thing Pecco wants to think about right now. The concept of Bezz thinking an orgasm or two are the only reasons Pecco came tonight? Definitely makes Pecco feel a little sick.

“I only came for the view, remember?” He tries, conscious that his joke is going to fall flat the moment the words leave his mouth.

Pecco can hear the fingers on his waist fall back down on the mattress right before there is a knock on the door.

Follow your instincts.

Pecco leans down to press a kiss to Bezz’s forehead before turning around to get the door.

#rpf #prompt fill #my writing #6372 #I'm sorry this is not like good or anything #also it's a prompt from early november but whatever #realistically the room service is very fast here but listen that's for the sake of fiction #and then pecco holds the ice to bezz's collarbone and they watch movies together #bezz is not in an ideal position to cuddle but I assure you they make do #they can maybe even kiss #think about bezz whining when pecco cool things off because he doesn't want to hurt bezz #I don’t know how to write people crying so—

[bookshelf-in-progress]

A Garden of Wishes: A Retelling of “The Twelve Dancing Princesses”

We go to the same garden every day, but you never see me. Why should you? You are the Princess Sonatina, youngest daughter of the greatest king on five continents, while I am only a gardener's assistant, with not even a surname of my own, save one that was given to me half as a taunt for my daydreaming ways. If you were ever to ask, I would tell you I answer to Michael Stargazer—but you never will think to ask, and I will never presume to speak.

Instead, I work silently in the gardens, while you wander past with your sisters—eleven of them, all unsurpassed in beauty of face and form and voice—laughing and chatting and singing snatches of songs. You are all more beautiful and vibrant than any of the flowers I tend, and I feel more alive just being near you.

Then the day comes when your morning songs are silent. You drag weary feet through the gardens, look blankly at the beauties of the world, lounge wearily along the edges of fountains and atop retaining walls. The rumor comes that every night, you are all wearing through your shoes.

Were I a prince, I would think no quest too perilous to save you from such sickness. I would climb a million trees in search of golden apples, cross storm-filled oceans in search of the Water of Life, work a dozen years at impossible tasks to find the key to ending your curse.

But I'm only a gardener, and nobody's son, so it falls to those with name and fortune to try their hands at saving you. The king has vowed that the man who finds the secret of where you go at night will win your hand in marriage, and there are many who are willing and worthy to try.

They are wonderful men—strong and handsome, noble and brave, with royal titles, vast holdings, great fortunes. They have skills and talents that a simple gardener could never match. Any one of them would make a fine husband for a princess. Yet all of them, to a man, disappear within a day of taking up their quest.

The rumors turn darker then, casting you not as victims but villains, luring men to their deaths with some dark magic of your own. Those who say such things did not see you in the gardens, or they would know that not one of you is capable of the crimes they accuse you of. Unfortunately, no one will ask a garden lad's thoughts, and I cannot speak unbidden unless I have proof.

So I go to the gardens and find two tiny rose trees. The head gardener tried to tear them out, in my first days at the palace, and I convinced him to let them live. I have watered them, fed them, saved them from disease and decay, told them stories of the princesses they serve. You have never seen them, I'm sure—you have never seen me—but though they are small, they are fine little plants, with dark, glossy green leaves, and little buds that seem always to be waiting for just the right time to bloom. An old woman told me once that they were wishing trees, planted in the earliest days of the kingdom's existence, and my service to them meant they would give me anything I desired.

For myself, I want nothing—wishes too easily become the ruin of those who have them granted—but for you, I would dare all. I ask my two rose trees to make me not only unseen, but unseeable, able to follow invisibly wherever you go.

The rose tree sprouts a single bloom, its petals so white and delicate they are almost transparent. When I pluck it from the bush, I disappear from sight. I place it in my buttonhole and move about the gardens, unseen by all who cross my path, even in the brightest sun.

That night, I follow you into the bedroom you share with your sisters, and I hide beneath the largest bed while the room above fills with the sounds of rustling dresses, clinking jewels, and girlish whispers. At last, your eldest sister Aria declares you dressed to perfection and calls for silence.

I creep out from under the bed and find you and your sisters dressed in ballroom finery—silks and satins and twelve pairs of perfectly-mended dancing shoes. I take my place just behind you, and find you more beautiful than ever in this moonlit room.

Aria pulls aside a tapestry, and the blank stone wall suddenly becomes an wooden door that Aria opens to reveal a torchlit staircase. You all rush through in single file. I keep close at your heels, afraid that I'll be left behind unseen.

I rush past where Aria holds the door, afraid she'll follow too close and crash into my unseen form. In doing so, I trod too near your skirt. The fabric tears beneath my foot as you take your first steps down the stairs.

You shriek and grab hold of Lyra, standing just before you on the stairs. "Someone stood on my skirt!" you scream.

I hold myself flat against the damp stone wall, heart pounding so fast that I'm certain you hear me.

Aria breezes down the staircase, rolling her eyes at her foolish juniors. "Don't be silly, Tina," Aria says. "I was nowhere near you on the stairs."

You protest that you felt someone on your skirt, but your cries for belief are drowned out by eleven dissenting voices, and your sisters continue down the staircase. You go only reluctantly, looking back at me—right through me—a thousand times as you go forth. Were it not for the weight of my mission, I would cast off the rose in the hope of a single moment when our eyes could truly meet.

After what seems like a million stairs, we emerge into an open clearing that would look like the outdoors if there was any sight of sky above. Trees tower over us with drops of silver on their branches, like rain upon the leaves. Further down the path is a gold-spattered orchard, each precious drop catching the soft white light that comes from I know not where. Even further beyond is a forest full of diamonds, every stone flashing fiery rainbows.

The forests are strange, but also strangely unsurprising—as though they've always been here, but simply unseen. Your sisters whisper of the night that this place was wished into existence—a place where they might revel in pure beauty and joy, away from the weighty expectations of the watchful world.

But the forest, it seems, is only a prelude—the true marvel is far ahead. We emerge onto the shores of a shimmering lake—so vast, so deep, and so darkly blue that I can see neither the bottom nor the opposite shore. On an island in its center stands a castle so magnificent that it makes your father's palace seem like a paper toy. Its white, sculpted spires glitter with gems in a thousand colors, every brick spangled with precious stones. Its windows hold wonders caught in flawless stained glass. Music sweeter than any I've ever heard pours out its open doors. Light from within forms a shining path across the lake, upon which float twelve sleek obsidian-colored boats.

Each boat has a boatman who rows swiftly toward the shore, and as they approach, I find that I know all the faces. Every one of these men is a prince who failed at finding your secret—or rather, they found it, and did not return. They are dressed in silks and velvets unlike any I've seen in the outer world, too rich for comprehension. As they slide up to the shore and each offer a place to one of you girls, they wear smiles that shine as bright as your own—but there is also something empty in their eyes.

You, as the youngest, take your place in the very last boat of all, piloted by a king's younger son whose sires have ruled half a continent for centuries. He smiles and bows as he takes you by the hand. The way your eyes light up make me wonder if I've seen what you look like in love.

The prince rows with arms strengthened by a warrior's skill—I doubt he's ever held a shovel in his life—but the other boats still outpace us by far.

"Why are you so slow tonight?" you ask him, half teasing, but with a trace of true annoyance.

"The boat is heavy," he says, "and I know not why."

You glance backward, toward where I sit in the stern, and again, I half-wish you could see me. But I let out a sigh of relief when you turn your eyes back toward the castle and give no further thought to unknowable truths.

We disembark on a dock just beneath the castle entrance, and in moments we are inside the palace of enchantment. This is a ballroom beyond what I could imagine—floors of marble streaked with gold and silver, towering windows displaying fantastical birds and beasts, spidery silver chandeliers holding thousands of brightly-lit candles, and at the far end of the room, tables tottering beneath food enough to half a nation.

But this splendor is nothing compared to the beauty of the music. It is like a living thing—vibrant, rapturous, all-consuming, pulling all into it like a roaring, flowing river. The moment one steps through the door, there is nothing one can do but dance. Your prince pulls you into his arms, and your sisters' princes do the same, and soon you are swirling through that wondrous room, beauty and motion and life all brought to their fullness and put into perfect order. All along the edges of that room are other faces—other princes who've failed at your father's quest—and they all take their turn in the dance.

If I thought you alive in the gardens, you are a thousand times more vibrant now, laughing and dancing so you glow with pure joy. These princes are your perfect partners, matching you with every step, reflecting the glow that you bring to the room. If I ever thought that I could take a place beside them, maybe win your father's wager and claim a princess for my bride, that spark is snuffed by the brightness of your blaze. You are ethereal, almost angelic, and could never be happy with one whose hands are stained from working with the common, solid Earth.

While the princes take their turns, you and your sisters dance without ceasing, and I no longer wonder how you could wear through your shoes in a single night. Those shoes are little more than tatters by the time the last note of the last dance plays, and the twelve of you trudge toward the boats to reach bed. Your princes are silent as they row the boats to the forested shore, and you, Sonatina, do not say a word about his slowness.

When you reach the banks, your prince bids you farewell, then all twelve of them row back to the palace, choosing to stay in the splendor rather than return to the pressures of their ordinary lives. After what I have seen, I cannot blame them for their choice.

But you and your sisters choose to return to your father. You trudge through the diamond, then gold, then silver-spangled forests, and as your sisters file one-by-one up the staircase, I realize that none of this fantastic tale will have a ring of truth unless I have something to bring as proof. I reach toward the nearest tree and snap off a slender silver branch. It disappears from sight as soon as I touch it to my clothes, but the sound of its breaking rings through that silent wood like a gunshot.

You jump at the sound and are suddenly wide, wide awake.

"What was that?" you ask your sister.

Aria rolls her eyes. "Only an owl," she says. "You know it roosts in the castle at night."

The explanation does not please you, I can tell, but having no other, you fall silent and leave the silver woods behind.

When you are all safely asleep in bed, I slip unseen through the door and make my way invisibly to my small cot in the servants' quarters. When I lay on my bunk, I take off the rose, and my face reappears in the reflection off the washing bowl. I look as I did before I left, though infinitely wearier, and perhaps—though it might only be fancy—I carry something in my eyes of the enchantment of the night.

In my hands sits the branch I broke, its leaves as green, its silver dewdrops as solid, as they were in that fantastical land. I imagine myself taking it to the king at dawn, having triumphed where the sons of kings and emperors have failed.

Then I imagine the you and your sisters standing by. In a horrible flash, the daydream shatters, and I see myself for what I am—a sneak and a spook, who crept uninvited into a strange woman's room to steal evidence that would bar her from the place she loves most in the world. If I have a role in this tale, it is as the villain, not the hero. I have triumphed in discovering the secret, but if I have any love in my heart for you, I cannot think of speaking.

After a short hour's sleep, I awake with the dawn, but I do not go to the king with what I've found. Instead, I go to the head gardener and get myself assigned the task of bringing the twelve princesses their morning bouquets. I gather careful handfuls of daisies and larkspur and bind them together with handfuls of greenery. I hand them to your sisters one by one as they come bleary-eyed to your bedroom door. When you come to me, last of all, I make sure that your bouquet contains a single silver-spangled branch.

Then, at last, you see me.

#

Golden sunlight streams down upon a freshly-turned flower bed. I am soaked with sweat and crusted with dirt as I shovel mulch around newly-planted seedlings. I can imagine no scene less like the moonlit enchantment of your jeweled forests and wondrous dances. Even you, when you come into the garden, are nothing like you were last night. Your golden brown hair is unruly, your dress is hastily done-up, and instead of floating with ethereal grace, you storm toward me like an angry warrior goddess.

Only the branch, silver-spangled, is the same as it was last night, when you brandish it beneath my nose.

"Garden boy, where did this branch come from?" you demand.

Your eyes blaze and your golden curls flash in the sun. I could cast myself at your feet in devotion.

I keep my countenance blank and my eyes downcast—the dutiful, lowly servant. "Your highness knows better than I," I reply.

"You have followed us!" you hiss.

I raise my head to meet your gaze. It is a wonder I am not struck dead by your fury. "Yes, your highness."

"How? I saw no one."

"I hid myself."

"It is impossible. I don't believe it."

"Believe as you like," I say. "You will still hold the branch."

You scramble to grasp something at your belt, and you throw a sack full of gold at my feet. "Keep your silence, and you will have this and more besides."

I stare at the bag of gold—more than I could earn with a year's labor—and my heart sinks like a stone. This is what I am to you. Not a man of honor, whose heart and reason can be trusted, but a common blackmailer whose silence can be purchased for a price.

"I will not be bought," I say, and when your face goes white, I add gently, "You have nothing to fear from me."

It is only after dark that it strikes me I may have something to fear from you. I have vowed my silence, but you have said nothing about yours. The secret encompasses your sisters and nearly two dozen princes. What would they be willing to do to ensure my silence?

Though the thought shames me, I cannot vanquish the fear. I must know more about you royals and your hidden world—and I long to spend just one more night in that palace of enchantment. I take the pale rose from its cup on my washstand, place it in my buttonhole, and make my way invisibly to your room.

You and your sisters are already dressed for the evening when I make my way among you. You are pale, and quieter than you were last evening, but none of your sisters remark upon it. I follow you down the staircase, through the forest, and to another wondrous dance. I can tell you are watching for me, but none of your sisters join in the search. They and all the princes laugh and dance as usual. At midnight, you dine upon a feast of impossible delicacies, and though the conversation is steady and quick-witted, none of you makes the least mention of me or the secret I know.

As dawn nears, I take my place in the rear of the boat that you ride in with your prince. Tonight, it is he who comments on the unexpected weight of the boat he steers.

My heart stops. Now you will tell him of my spying, and since there are few places to hide in a small boat, like as not I will be pitched headlong into that bottomless lake.

Your answer lifts my heart like the arrival of the long-awaited dawn. You take up a second oar and say to your prince, "It feels light to me."

The wonder of your defense of me makes me love you more than ever. I all but float behind you as you make your way through the jeweled forests.

In the golden orchards, I stumble and snap off a branch. I hide it against my invisible clothes, just a moment before your sister Melody looks toward where I stand.

"What was that sound?" she asks in fright.

"Only an owl," you answer quickly.

Though you do not know it, you meet my eyes. I bow my head in thanks.

The next morning, the golden-spattered branch I place in your bouquet is a gift of thanks—and an expression of trust.

#

When you storm toward me in the gardens the next morning, the golden branch quivers in your iron grip.

"What is it you want?" you ask. "You won't take gold. Do you plan to win yourself a princess, garden boy?"

"I do not plan to take a wife," I say. "When I wed, it must be to a woman whose love is freely given."

"Then why did you follow us?"

"I had to know if I could trust you. I now know that I can." I pluck an ordinary blossom from a nearby rose bush. I focus on its petals so I do not have to take the daring step of meeting your gaze while I ask my more-daring question. "Why did you shield me? You could have betrayed me to your princes or your sisters a thousand times."

"This is between you and me alone. I saw no need to frighten them."

I nod, understanding, even as I fight a strange sense of disappointment. It is love for your sisters, not care for me, that leads you to keep my secret.

"Do you see need now?" I ask.

You examine me, and you look at the golden branch, and I can tell you are thinking of the events of the last two nights. "You do not merely hide yourself," you say. "You make yourself invisible. How?"

I could no more lie to you than tear out my own heart. "I made a wish, and it was granted me."

"By whom?"

"Rather, by what. Your garden holds a wishing tree."

You seize my wrist. “Show it to me.”

I stand firm. "Tell me, Princess Sonatina, if you found such a tree, would you suffer to let it live?"

"I should tear it out by the roots," you say, and I know it is true that you would do anything you thought necessary to guard your secret.

"Then although it pains me to disappoint you, I must refuse your request. The trees serve me because I serve them. I cannot repay their gifts by bringing about their destruction."

Your eyes flash. "You refuse your princess?"

I bow my head in apology. "Because it is my duty as a gardener to the king."

You release my wrist and pull away. You pace in frustration—back and forth, back and forth, your golden-brown curls wilder than ever. "There is nothing to prevent my finding it?"

"It is not concealed," I say.

"If it is fair for you to follow me to find our secret, it is only right that I can follow you to find yours."

"It is not my place to say otherwise."

You come to the garden every day after that—sometimes openly, sometimes skulking behind bushes or trees. Some days, I am sure, you watch from places I cannot see. But I do nothing save my ordinary gardening tasks, and I do not try to follow you at night. If I were the sort of man to make wishes for my own benefit, this would be the perfect way to make me use that gift against you. I love you more than ever because this does not occur to you—either you are too pure-hearted to suspect such villainy, or too trusting to imagine it in me.

Eventually, your constant watch breaks down the barriers between us, and you begin to speak to me. You ask me the names of the flowers I tend, and I tell you of the lilies that bloom by day and by night. The next day, you ask me about the blue flowers in your bouquet, and I tell you of the morning glories that make a gorgeous arch over the path you stand upon. In the days that follow, you pepper me with questions, wanting to know the names of every flower and bush and weed that grows in your father's gardens. And then, at last, one day, the name you ask to know is my own.

"I am called Michael Stargazer," I say, as I hand you a white bloom like a five-pointed star.

"Is it not your true name?"

"The first was written on a slip of paper in the basket where I was found upon a church's doorstep. The second was given to me for daydreaming too much."

You sit upon the edge of a fountain and stroke the petals of the flower. "It suits you," she says. "Michael the guardian."

"And the Stargazer who spends too much time dreaming of what is unreachable?" I ask, feeling the rebuke I deserve.

"No," you say—firmly, kindly. "The one who watches. So he can know what is true. And know what to do with his knowledge."

"You trust that I judge rightly?" I ask.

"I trust you," is all you say.

After that, you are with me in the gardens—not merely watching, but being, doing, helping. You wish to help the flowers grow, so I teach you of spades and trowels, watering cans and fertilizer, pruning and grafting and weeding. We start out hesitant—you uncertain of your tasks, I afraid to put a princess to work—but soon, you work with enthusiastic gusto, and I am glad to let you do what gives you joy.

Every night, you still wear through your dancing shoes, but yours are less ragged than the other eleven pairs, and you are wide awake with me in the gardens every morning. We talk while we work, but we do not even mention wishing trees or diamond groves or the music of enchanted palaces; there are too many other things to discuss in the sunlit world. You tell me of your sisters, of growing up royal, of books you've read and tutors you've teased. I tell you of the village where I was raised, of the dreams I had of one day meeting a princess—though I do not tell you that I've dreamed I will marry one.

One morning, in the height of summer, you are kneeling beside me, in a gown that you borrowed from a serving girl, wearing work gloves you borrowed from the gardener's shed. There are streaks of dirt on your face, and you smile at me in triumph as you dig up a bulb for transplanting.

In that moment, the sun shines full upon you, setting the gold and brown streaks of your hair alight. Suddenly, you are not an ethereal being, too high and fine for me to reach. You are here, with me, laboring in the Earth—and you glow with joy. It is not the blazing joy of your dances in the midnight palace—burning bright and fast and destructive. This joy is gentler, life-giving—like a hearth fire or a candle flame. It warms and nourishes, comforts and caresses. For the first time, I can picture you as a gardener's wife, laboring with me in a cottage, caring for our children, giving life to sons and daughters and helping me to make good things grow.

I nearly speak something of the joy in my own heart—but the words freeze on my tongue when I hear a laugh high above us.

Five of your sisters—Lyra and Cadence, Harmony and Melody, and in the center of them all, elegant, dark-haired Aria—stand on the other side of the flower bed, peering down at us.

"Is this where you sneak off to every morning, Tina?" Lyra laughs. "Grubbing in the dirt with the garden boy?"

You drop the bulb as though it burns you, desperately try to brush the dirt off your skirt, and back as far away from me as possible on the narrow path between flower beds. Your face burns bright red. "No," you stammer. "I was only..."

"What a charming couple you make," Aria sneers.

"You wouldn't have to leave us if you married him," Harmony laughs.

Her twin adds, "You could live in a cottage at the bottom of the park, and you could bring us our flowers every morning!"

"He is nothing!" you snarl at your sisters. You storm toward the palace, and you do not look back.

I do not see you for two days.

#

On the third day, you and your sisters return to the garden in the company of a prince—yet another who has taken up your father's impossible task. To spare you the horror of seeing me, I keep the white rose in my buttonhole and invisibly tend the wishing trees while you entertain the prince nearby.

Prince Ivan is sterner, more solemn than some of the others. Even I, a lowly gardener, have heard tales of his valor in battle. A thick saber-scar runs from his temple to his chin. He knows the danger he has placed himself in and faces it without flinching. There is something in his eyes that makes me think he welcomes it.

As I watch him, I wonder how he will fare in his quest. Will he reveal your secret or remain in the enchanted world with all the others? For the first time, I question the fate of those other princes. I have assumed they remained by choice, but in such a magical place, can first impressions ever be trusted? For their sake, as well as yours, I must follow you to the dance one more time.

When I reach your chamber in the evening, Prince Ivan is already among you. The twins, Melody and Harmony, focus on flattering him while your sisters tie on the last of their ribbons. His eyes, however, are for the dark-haired, sweet-tempered Princess Melisma. I think she does not dislike the attention.

As you descend the staircase—Melody and Harmony taking the lead with Prince Ivan—Princess Aria keeps Melisma at the end of the line.

"You mustn't encourage him," Aria says. "It might give him reason to follow us back home."

"He is so brave," Melisma says, "and so gentle. Would it be so terrible for me to have him as a husband?"

"If he weds you, he will take you to the Northlands, and we shall never see you again. Is that the life you want?"

Melisma blushes. "No," she whispers.

"Then let him drink," Aria says in a low tone. "He shall be here always, for you to dance with as much as you like. He will be the same brave and gentle prince, but will never take you away from us."

That night at the dance, there is a banquet in honor of the new guest. The tables pile high with delicacies I cannot name, and silent, ghostly servants keep your plates and goblets constantly filled. Prince Ivan looks younger, almost childlike, as he takes in the wonders, and his eyes have lost their haunted look.

"Such a wondrous place!" he breathlessly declares. "All beauty and joy! No sorrow, no politics, no battle."

Aria, seated at his right hand, plies him with red wine, and leads him to speak upon the war he won such honors in. He served with valor and is proud of protecting his people, but he has lost friends and brothers, is haunted by the fields strewn with the bodies of those who died too young.

"I should not speak of such things," Ivan says, putting down another empty goblet. "They are better forgotten."

"Do you not cherish some memories?" Aria asks.

"If I could forget every moment of it, I would," Ivan declares, "and stay always in this dance.

Aria smiles, then takes a golden goblet—the largest and most ornate in the room—from a servant standing at her shoulder. "You may do so," Aria says, "if you only drink this elixir. You shall have no regrets. No duties. No memories of battle. Only the beauties of this world."

Ivan looks to Melisma, seated at his left hand. She squeezes his scarred fingers in her long, delicate ones. "I shall come every night," she says softly.

Ivan takes the goblet from Aria's hand. His face holds the grim determination of a soldier, and the innocent bravery of a child hoping a bitter tonic will bring relief from pain. He drains the cup to its dregs.

When Aria takes the empty goblet, the prince is transformed. His eyes hold the same light of joy as all the other princes, but the honorable nobility of his bearing has drained away, leaving behind an empty imitation, all paper and gold leaf with nothing solid behind. For the rest of the night, he dances every dance with Princess Melisma. She is all joy when she looks in his face, but every time she turns away, she seems close to bursting into tears.

For the rest of the night, I cannot enter into the enchantment of the dance. I see only those princes, and wonder who they were before their will was drained away. I see your sisters dancing, each choosing one partner more than all others, and wonder if they too renounced marriage to someone they admired for the sake of this endless courtship. I travel across the lake in Aria's boat instead of yours, and as her prince hands her off to shore, I see even she seems on the point of asking him to come with her, before dropping his hand and turning resolutely to the diamond forest.

When you alight from your prince's boat, I see no similar love or regret in your eyes. At first I am relieved, and then my anger flares at your heartlessness. I snap off a diamond-spangled branch so fiercely that the sound of its breaking makes your every sister jump.

They glance in all directions, bewildered by the sound. You look directly toward me, your face burning with shame. Though I remain invisible, I know you feel me standing before you.

"What was that?" Melody shrieks in alarm.

"My guardian angel," is all you say, and though your sisters pelt you with questions all the way through the forests and up the staircase, you do not say another word.

When I leave your room, part of me wants to run to the king and tell all, but I cannot let judgment fall upon you without giving you a chance to speak for yourself. The diamond-spangled branch I place in your bouquet is both an accusation and an offer of parley.

You come to me—though you do not know it—when I am tending to the wishing trees, in the most secluded corner of the garden. "You have seen," you say.

"You have witnessed every one and said nothing. I want to know how you can defend yourself."

The innocent confusion in your eyes makes me repent of every crime I imputed to you. "What is there to defend?" you ask. "Every prince chooses to drink. We cannot deny them their choice."

"Do they know what it makes them?" I ask.

"If they do, they don't care," you say.

"Because they have been made incapable of caring for anything but the dance."

"Would you send Ivan back to his wars?" you ask. "Edmund to his awful father? Kristoff to his plague-filled land? They all have horrors they are escaping. It would be cruel to make them remember all the sorrows they were so desperate to forget."

The things that seemed so simple when I stood invisibly at your shoulder are more muddled now that you can look me clear in the face. There is one place in the world untouched by sorrow or strife—can I judge those who have fled for refuge there?

"You have had your wishes granted," you say softly. "Would you deny all of us ours?"

Looking into your innocent, imploring face, I find that I cannot. Your silence, I see now, is not heartlessness, but compassion. Loyalty to your sisters who wish to remain together. Pity for those princes who can find no other peace from their sorrows. There is no simple answer to the riddle that has entangled us all.

"Will you follow us again?" you ask.

"I do not know," I say. "Will you tell your sisters that I do?"

"I do not know," you say.

When you wander at last from the garden, your eyes—and thoughts—are far from me. This game has gone much further than any of us could have predicted. Any bond the two of us have built will break, I think, when pitted against the bond that you share with your sisters.

So that evening, when I pin the rose to my collar and invisibly slip into your room, I am not surprised to find that I am the topic of discussion. You are seated on a trunk in the center of the room, surrounded by a circle of glaring sisters.

"You knew all this time," Aria says, her voice low with anger, "and only now choose to tell us?"

"He vowed to keep the secret," you say. "He could do us no harm."

“Yet now you fear he will speak! He could destroy everything!”

“I told you when I thought you needed to know.”

Aria steps back and smooths her skirts and hair, becoming in one fluid motion the ever-composed crown princess. "There is only one thing we can do," she says. "We hand him over to the king’s justice. He has violated our royal persons by coming uninvited to our bedchamber. He will be hanged before the end of the week."

"No!" you shriek, jumping from your seat.

Your other sisters murmur in surprise—I cannot tell if more of it is directed toward you or Aria.

“There must be some other way,” says soft-hearted Allegra.

“Not if we wish to protect our secret," Aria says. "We have a world of perfection, an escape from all sorrows. We have twenty men who wish to stay there all their lives. We can’t endanger it for the sake of a presumptuous servant.”

You turn to Aria and say, “ He is not the first to know our secret. None of the other princes have had to die.”

Harmony says, "The garden boy is no prince."

Aria gazes thoughtfully at you. "Do you wish us to treat him as one? Let him present himself as a suitor for your hand?"

"I will not marry him,” you say, turning red.

"No one expects you to," Aria soothes. "But he can share the fate of the better-born. Let him dance and dine with us, then, at the end of the night, he will drink and forget there ever was a world above."

Your lips make a thin line, and your face goes white. “He would not like it.”

“Better than death, surely.”

You leave the circle of your sisters, tears in your eyes.

Aria follows you to where you gaze out the window. I could reach out and touch both of you. “Sonatina,” she says, soft and sweet as a mother. “I know you are fond of the garden boy. But you must be realistic. In this world, he can be nothing to you. You cannot marry a servant. He cannot marry a princess. Even friendship between you two can only be a scandal.”

Her words sink into my heart—cold, cruel, yet undeniably true. I have never dared to dream myself worthy of you—but there was, despite all, a small part of me that hoped for the impossible. Yet even if I could wish myself up a name and a title, it would not change who I truly was. Though I will love you to the end of my days, you can never love one such as me.

Aria’s voice becomes brighter, enticing. “But we have another world, where he can be whatever he wishes. You can dance with him every night without shame. You never have to face the impossible choice. You have him, and us, your title, your dances—forever.”

You gaze silently out the window. I stand at your side. I think of the world I would leave behind—the sunlight in the gardens, the wind and the rain and the wonderful flowers—in favor of that underground palace. I think of you laughing in the sun with dirt on your hands, and my wish that we could stay in that moment forever, ‘til death do us part.

It can never be anything more than a wish.

When you assent to your sister’s plan, my fate is sealed. I would risk all to give you the slightest joy. If it is your wish that I drink, I will drink—and gladly.

#

Your sisters come to me with their proposal, offering to present me to the king. They say nothing of their plan to give me the drink that will keep me forever in the dance. You, pale-faced at the rear of the crowd, say nothing at all. I say nothing of my presence at your midnight council. We are all trapped in the deafening silence of our secrets.

I accept their offer, but ask for time to prepare. Before I present myself at the palace, I make another trip to my faithful rose trees.

"Dress me as a prince," I beg. "Give me clothes fine enough to be seen in any royal court."

The second rose tree sprouts a crimson bloom, every petal as crisp as if cut by a tailor's scissors. When I place it in my buttonhole, my gardening clothes become a suit of black velvet, and a white-feathered cap appears upon my head.

As I stride toward the main doors of the palace, not one set of eyes knows me. Guards do not stop me as a presumptuous garden boy. I present myself before your father and he gives me all the respect due a prince.

When I rise from my bow of greeting, your eyes are riveted to my form. As I follow your father from the throne room, you stop me in the doorway with a hand upon my arm.

"Michael?" you ask, all amazed. "Can it truly be you?"

I bow my head—more garden boy than prince. "You need not be ashamed to be seen with me tonight."

Even so, you keep your distance. In the enchanted lake, I ride in a boat as Aria's guest, not yours. During the dance, your sisters all take their turns with me, from eldest to youngest. At last, I come to offer you my hand, but you seem reluctant to take it.

"Will you not dance with me, Princess Sonatina?" I ask.

"What need have you of my hand," you ask lightly, "when my sisters all treat you as a prince?"

"I want no hand but yours," I say.

You look down, your face drawn.

I bow over your hand and say softly, "Fear not, princess. You shall not be a gardener's wife."

I sweep you into the dance, and it is everything I could have dreamed. You are a wisp, a breath, a butterfly, moving at a touch, at a thought, stepping perfectly with my every unschooled motion. There is an energy between us, and at last you yield to it, looking deeply into my eyes.

In your gaze, I see the princess who I loved from a distance in the gardens, the companion who planted flowers at my side, the friend who defended me from her sisters' threats, and now a woman waiting to doom me to an eternal dance.

In this moment, such a fate does not seem a terror—it seems a gift. Here in this enchanted place, I am no gardener, no nameless, abandoned son. I can dwell here and see you night after night, as worthy as any man, if not to wed you, at least to take you in a dance, and know, if only for a moment, that I am the cause of your joy.

We whirl through the ballroom, through dance after dance after dance, neither able nor wishing to stop. After a time, all your sisters and their partners fall still, watching as we move in flawless harmony, our very heartbeats seeming to move in perfect time.

As the final dance draws to a close, you are silently weeping, tears in crystal rivers streaming down your face.

"Michael," you say. "After dinner—"

There is no need for you to speak what I already know. "Peace," I say. "All will be well."

At the dinner, your sisters flatter me, distracting me with delicacies and drink. Yet, they all seem restless, unsatisfied for once with this perfect palace and their empty-eyed princes.

At last Aria approaches with an ornate golden goblet.

"Garden boy," Aria says. "In the world above, you are a common laborer, unworthy even to gaze upon a princess. Here, you are an honored guest, who could dance with her every night should you choose. With this drink, you may stay here always, without the shame of your birth standing between you. Will you drink, Michael Stargazer, and forget all pain?"

I take the goblet between two work-hardened hands. The wine inside is clear as water and thick as blood. The scent intoxicates me, promising me endless joy in exchange for all memories.

There is much I loved in the world above—I love none of it so well as I love you. I close my eyes and set the cup to my lips.

There is a cry, and the cup is dashed from my hands. It crashes to the marble floor, and the wine oozes out in a thick mass.

Suddenly your arms are around my neck, and your face buried in my shoulder as you weep desperate tears.

"Michael, my love! Don't drink! I will love you beneath the open sky, in sun and rain and wind! I will be a gardener's wife! Let this castle crumble into dust! I would rather lose all the world than lose the man I love!”

My despair—though I did not know it by its true name until this moment—becomes hope, bright and dancing. I gather you in my arms and rain kisses upon your brow. It seems impossible that you love me, which makes it all the more wondrous to find it real.

Around us, the princes wake from their trance, and there is life in their gazes. They are men again, with minds and hearts, and the ones who served as boatmen each take one of your sisters in their arms. Your sisters—even Aria—cry with joy to see their restoration.

Suddenly, the ground shakes beneath us. Shards of colored glass and precious stones rain down from the castle walls.

“What is happening?” you cry.

I bend my head to kiss your brow, then look up at the castle. “You no longer wish for this world,” I say. “It cannot last.”

The other princes are already leading your sisters out the door, with Prince Ivan—Melisma at his side—taking charge of all. Each boatman leads one of your sisters to the water. They pile you into boats, and I help them arrange the transport, until you, your sisters, all the spare princes—and, least of all, myself—are safely across to the other shore.

We race through the forests—jeweled branches shattering as they fall—and clamber up the crumbling staircase. You and I are at the back of the line, hand in hand. As we stand at the base of the stairs, we look back at the crumbling palace, the destruction of a wondrous world of wishes.

“I am sorry,” I say, as the palace sinks into the black water of the lake.

You smile at me. “There is nothing to mourn.”

Laughing with joy, you tug my hand and lead me up the stairs.

#

In your moonlit bedroom, you and your sisters are as alive and beautiful as you once were in your mornings in the garden—moreso, because every eye is lit with love. Your sisters stand hand-in-hand with the princes who served as their boatmen. No longer empty revelers, they are men—noble, true, devoted—and overjoyed to be back in the world, despite its pain, rather than trapped in the never-ending dance.

Aria comes to us as we emerge from the staircase. She embraces each of us in turn, then closes and locks the wooden door behind us. The door disappears and becomes a blank stone wall once more. A low roar sounds as the tunnel and its staircase crumble.

“It is gone,” Aria says, "and good riddance.”

We gaze at her in astonishment, shocked to hear those words coming from the one who had been the greatest defender of the dance.

“I lost myself in wishes,” she says, “but I have found the truth again.” She takes the hand of her boatman—a dark man with kind eyes who reigns as prince of a far-southern realm. “I feared the future because I feared change. I thought the dance could keep us together—young and careless forever. Blinded by enchantments, I could not see that I kept us all from the possibility of a better world. You saved all of us.”

Your sister embraces you, and then—one of the night’s most astonishing sights—the crown princess of one of the greatest nations in the world kneels before a garden boy and bows over his dirt-stained hand.

You all ask for forgiveness, but there is nothing to forgive. All your princes—even myself—fell to the despair that kept them in the dance. We can forget the dance and its soulless wonders and return to the real, bright world.

But first, we must tell your father.

#

You all agree that the honor of revealing the secret should fall to me. You give me the three branches I placed in your bouquets, and at first light, still dressed in my princely clothes, I ask for an audience with the king.

Your father needs little convincing to believe my tale—with so many witnesses, and so many lost princes standing before him, there is little room for doubt.

“You have solved the mystery, Michael Stargazer,” the king says, “and have earned the offered prize. Which of my daughters will you have to wife?”

Stepping before all the assembled royalty, I say, “Majesty, I do not wish for a wife that I claim as a prize. I will only take the wife who chooses me freely, with all her heart and mind.”

In the moment of silence that follows, the glimmer of doubt reappears. You declared your love for me in that unreal underground kingdom, but can you do the same in the sunlit world, where your words have real and eternal consequences?

In that dawn-lit room, before all your sisters, your father, and twenty foreign princes, you come to my side and place your hand in mine. “I will be your wife, Michael Stargazer, with all my heart, mind, body and soul, until the end of my days.”

I answer with a kiss upon your brow. “I give you the same, and all my worldly goods, if you will join me in a cottage in the gardens.”

“There’s no need for that,” your father says. “You have helped to save the royal sons of more than fifteen kingdoms. No one would question your right to a title after such service. I can make you a prince, and you and my daughter can have a royal estate as a wedding present.”

After that is a day of rejoicing, your sisters and their princes all celebrating their restoration and my elevation. But before sunset, you and I slip away to the gardens, where I at last show you the two little rose trees that made all of this possible.

“They are beautiful,” you say.

“They have brought me all I could desire,” I say, “but I have one last wish to make.”

In answer to my whispered words, a pink rose blooms on the smallest bush, with a lady’s ring—twined gold and silver, with a diamond at its center—sitting at its heart.

I kneel before you and place it upon your finger. With your ringed hand, you raise me to my feet and pull me into a kiss.

The rose trees are transplanted to a place of honor in the gardens of our new home. You and I tend to them every day, but since we’ve had our three wishes, they grow only ordinary roses.

I am glad.

With you as my wife in such a glorious world, what further need have I of wishes?

#the bookshelf progresses #fairy tale retellings #the twelve dancing princesses #it turns out that finishing this one seemed like less work than starting from scratch #it still took a lot of work #but it's a bit more polished than it would have been if i'd just tried to rush out a new idea

[guardianofnightmares]

Forbidden

At that moment Bumblebee finally realized that he couldn’t keep the paranoid thoughts locked inside his processor anymore.

He desperately needed to speak to his friends, consequences be damned. He had to make sure that he’s not glitched in a processor. That what he got himself into was a right course of action for any good-natured Bot.

... or, rather, for any sensible Prime.

Hence why, after making a deep inhale, a minibot finally forced the dreaded words out of his intake:

"... is it wrong that I feel... bad for the prisoners? That I... periodically... h-help them?"

----------

Hello everyone, long time no see). Can hardly believe it's been a whole year since the last @blitzbee-week event and man, was I glad to participate in it once more. All of works were submitted on time to an event chat, but, unfortunately, I am uploading them here only now (full-time job drains me up).

Anyways, here is my first drawing from BlitzBeeWeek event Promts List. I think it will be fair to mention that this and next couple of my works will be dedicated to my fanfic called "TFA: Icarus". I will leave a link [here] for anyone interested to give it (and an existing teaser) a try. And yes, I am, in fact, going to finally upload first chapters pretty soon, it's happening, guys))). Thanks a ton for everyone who left their kudos there throughout a year, you have given me courage to put this behemoth of a story on paper and actually work it through.

As for the current entry for an event, I will provide part of a draft to one of chapters which is related to a depicted scene. It'll be "hidden" under a cut line for anyone wishing to get a more... fleshed out picture of what's going on here. Hope you'll enjoy reading it)

----------

“Bumblebee… are you listening to me?”

It was beyond confusing for Ratchet to see a younger Bot acting so out of touch with reality. He’s hunched over a console, helm resting in one servo while a wielding tool was twirled slowly in digits of another. Bumblebee looked so tired, clearly not caring about a task at servo, nor about an advice coming from his elder friend.

White and red Autobot knew how cheerful Bumblebee got each time they met via video calls, clearly waiting for a chance to talk to old teammates, even if these calls didn’t last long. That’s why him being so silent and lost in own thoughts was that much more worrying to witness. 

Upon being prompted again, the young bot finally raised his optics, the weight of his gaze almost making Ratchet flinch in surprise - to think that a recently promoted Prime was capable of behaving so out of character was indeed an alarming sign of change. 

The truth was, the minibot couldn’t help but to act all secretive, as if he’s done something wrong. 

Because, all things considered, he has. 

Minibot was well aware of what his actions could lead up to. All those rendezvous and revelations were such a dangerous subject to talk about, something that surely could lead him to being court marshaled if he’s caught by anybot. And what’s even worse - Bumblebee wasn’t certain whether telling friends what’s been troubling him was a good idea. 

Surely they’d not rat him out… but would they continue interacting with a yellow Autobot if he shared said secret with them? Wouldn't it be more mature of him to leave mechs oblivious (in order to protect them) and let his fears to silently fester in his processor?

... yet, to his shame, a minibot felt his resolve to keep his intake shut breaking upon seeing a haunted expression on Ratchet’s faceplates. Bumblebee wished he hadn’t looked up into the wise optics of his, those that seemed to read him as an unlocked datapad. How could he play it cool when a medic was looking at him in such a manner?

“…kid?” Now Ratchet was truly worried for his companion. He wasn’t even certain he’s ready to hear an explanation, but knew in his spark that he had to get to the bottom of a problem for minibot's sake.

At that moment Bumblebee finally realized that he couldn’t keep the paranoid thoughts locked inside his processor anymore.

He desperately needed to speak to his friends, consequences be damned. He had to make sure that he’s not glitched in a processor. That what he got himself into was a right course of action for any good-natured Bot. 

… or, rather, for any sensible Prime. 

Hence why, after making a deep inhale, a minibot finally forced the dreaded words out of his intake:

“… is it wrong that I feel… bad for the prisoners? That I… periodically… h-help them?” 

… a fleeting moment or relief at voicing his concerns instantly evaporated, changed to regret once he saw Racthet’s eyes widening beyond usual capacity and heard Optimus sputtering and coughing on his energon ration off the camera. 

Such reaction made Bumblebee hide his helm between shoulder pauldrons in a clear sign of dread - so much for the support coming from teammates it seemed. 

“What?” Optimus asked after standing up from a table he’s sitting next to, the stool screeching audibly after a mech span in it. “Help them? What do you mean by that, Bumblebee? Are you alright? Do they… force you to do something for them or..?”

Minibot didn’t answer any of those questions. Wasn’t able do it under the searching gaze of an elder mech’s optics which seemed to pin him to his own stool. Bumblebee felt like energon was going to freeze in his lines and tubes from a rising horror. Time seemed to stop for him, not unlike inner mechanisms in a frame of his. He couldn't utter a single sound, words swimming in a jumbled mess that was his processor.

What could he possibly say in his defense, now that his teammates knew of his secret? That there was a proper reason for him to feel pity for the inmates? That he was the only one to keep those mechs alive because nobody else did? That perhaps, Primus help him, all this time they were held in prison, somebot tried to take them out of game by starving them to their deaths?

A yellow Bot clearly hasn’t thought the conversation through, just as he always did, hasn't prepared himself for such a reaction even, and now that mistake was biting his aft. 

But then… then minibot heard something that immediately tore him from a panicking state he got stuck in. 

“I’ll take care of it, Prime.” Ratchet announced in a calm tone, breaking the tense silence which settled over the video call. Bumblebee was so stunned that he didn’t register those words right away, looking dumbly at warm optics of a mech on the other side of a call line. 

“But-“ 

“Optimus.” Medic cut off his commanding officer in a stern but good-natured manner, showing that he knew what he’s doing. Trusting the judgement of an older Bot, red and blue mech nodded to him and stepped away from a console, giving both of his friends some room to talk to each other. 

Young Prime could hardly believe what he’s been witnessing in front of him. Afraid to hope that his situation might’ve not been so dire after all. Baiting his breath, he watched red and white Bot turning to him again and leaning closer to a screen.

“Bumblebee, tell me, what’s happening back on Cybertron.” Ratchet asked his young friend, trying to look as non-threatening as possible, ready to tentatively listen to everything minibot’s about to say. 

And that’s when Bumblebee understood, felt it in his spark which gleefully thrummed in his chest that his old teammates were not mad at him - only worried for his well-being. Said realization made the built up over orbital cycles tension leave his frame and gave him courage to answer as honestly as he could.  

“You don’t know even half of what's going on, guys,” He stated after a breath moment of silence, then scooted on his chair closer to a screen as well and continued speaking in a hushed tone as to not to be heard by anyone else on his side of a video call. 

While retelling the recent events, which took place in Tripticon Prison, young Prime couldn’t help but periodically glance at a screen to his right side, a list of main convicts taking up most of its surface. 

Their stern gazes seemed to burn a viewer with hostility. Evil, cold, sparkless optics on unsightly faceplates. That’s what fellow guards always tended to whisper to each other either in fear or in bold mockery while walking down the hallways.

But to Bumblebee the very same pairs of optics, those he'd looked into more times then any of the local mechs, more then his friends even, told another story. Each time he saw Decepticons, bound and stripped of their weapons, there was no rage in their expressions, nor malice or contempt - only an eternal tiredness, hopelessness... and resignation with Fate.

Warframes. Mighty mechs being brought to their knees and stripped of their pride. Truly a sight which made minibot feel more miserable then three inmates he tried to take care of.

“Bossbot… Ratchet… please, come back here as soon as you can," Recently promoted Prime finally said as a conclusion to his speech. "I… I am afraid I won’t be able to handle this situation on my own anymore.”

#blitzbeeweek2024 #blitzbee #bumbleblitz #tfa bumblebee #tfa ratchet #tfa lugnut #tfa blitzwing #tfa megatron #tfa optimus prime #bumblebee #ratchet #lugnut #blitzwing #megatron #optimus prime #transformers #transformers animated #tfa #TFA: Icarus #gn projects

[alekthefox]

Which Domino Falls First?

Golden Ratio/Aventio/Ratiorine/Dr. Ratio x Aventurine

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, they both need a hug, past trauma(Aventurine), insecure Ratio (trust me), pining, resolved emotional anguish (not completely gone, that takes time to heal), Post-Penacony, suicidal Aventurine, Ratio SIMPING SO HARD, author is crying.

Aventurine awoke, alive. Anyone else would call it a miracle. Aventurine would call it a last minute choice. The note from the good doctor... It made his mind spin in spirographs. Ave was aware of the "mutual respect" they had, and Ratio never strayed from the rocky road Aventurine paved for them all. Yet this simple, short note had given him... "hope" if he can call it that. It was difficult to believe the kindness. Not because the good doctor is incapable of it, far from the truth, but simply due to the fact that the message was aimed at Aventurine.

He emerged from the dream pool, hearing commotion out in the halls. Yet he stood over the doctor's advice, eyes tracing each word, trying to decipher the meaning. It didn't make sense in the slightest. The first part about Death and Dormancy did, unsurprising that his doctor-- his? No. It was unsurprising that the doctor figured it out. Maybe he knew from the start, just how Ave knew death wasn't real in the beautiful dream. Dr. Ratio would never solve an equation for a student of his, he'd give guidance. The second part however... It was so sincere it hurt. In a moment of impulse he felt the need to destroy it. Yet he didn't. Still, he wasn't going to fall for the bait. Aventurine is an investment, a tool, not a person someone could care for. If someone, even the doctor, would make that mistake... Aventurine would let them have a taste but no more. Just enough to satisfy them, just a little bit of honey in their tea. Once that itch is scratched people often move on.

Aventurine's flirting wouldn't be out of character by any means, however now it wouldn't be for fun and the act... Now it would be a shield meant to crack slightly before shoving the... 'friend' away.

Veritas waited, pacing the room. He did everything as he was told, however much it pained him to see that damned gambler tear himself apart. And, oh Aeons, did it hurt. He shunned himself with every clouded thought. The gambler would never settle for him. Him, a man who cannot grasp the one goal he has. He is no genius. Despite the hard work, the Aeon didn't spare him a glance. Why should Aventurine? The gambler needed someone who could steer him away from the danger and Veritas had failed time and time again. He could have deviated, however that would either doom the gambler or... knowing him, anyways go to his advantage. Aventurine's mind was vast despite the lack of proper education, and by no means a void. It was frustrating, it was beautiful. No matter what Ratio did he would have seen it coming, surely. "Luck" he called it. Yet another lie. No, not a lie... a careful misdirection.

His act was nearly flawless. The way he seemed deeply hurt at the 'betrayal', how he toyed with Sunday and everyone else... Aventurine wasn't a player, no, he was the game master. The players had input, yes, but Aventurine was dictating the pace, secrets, clues, the when and the where.

Nearly flawless. The only thing the gambler didn't take into account was Veritas being aware of the hurt behind his confidence. Yes, he was told the plan, but even as it was explained to him Aventurine was acting. A never-ending layer after layer of masks. But Veritas saw through it all. Aventurine was scared. Terrified even. He longed for that death yet never managed to fail at fleeing from it. But it wasn't just fear behind those pretty eyes. It was resentment for himself and others, it was vengeful, hurt. Veritas understood all of those far too well. Yet he couldn't resent himself for... wanting to hold him. Though that would never happen in honesty. It was clear. If Ratio were to pursue him, Ave would allow it and think of him as nothing more than another person who wants to use him. Yet he longs for those eyes to look at him with anything but faux emotions.

"Doctor~"

Ratio stopped his pacing and turned abruptly, looking him over where he stood in the doorframe. A peculiar sight it was. Ratio was extremely relieved and glad, but one thing struck him as odd. Aventurine didn't walk into the room fully and close the door. He used the public's eye as a shield. Therefore the doctor didn't dare approach him.

"You survived afterall."

"All thanks to my friends, including you, dear doctor."

The tone of his voice was the same as always. Ratio prayed to every Aeon that perhaps this Penacony situation might change him even in the slightest for the better. Once he saw he'd learned nothing, but still felt those eyes draw him in, that is when he hated both of them. Mostly himself. Aventurine was a victim afterall, a willing victim, but one nevertheless. He couldn't blame him as much. It was still disappointing.

"Doctor, don't tell me you didn't bet on me! Your face seems displeased. I thought you'd be happy to see me~"

Now he didn't understand him. After everything, he hadn't learned... although change takes time. Another thing didn't make sense. He turned his head away, eyes unfocusing. Why did Aventurine come find him in the first place? What did he want now that the job was done? Did the note actually have an effect on him? And if so why is he playing the same role as before?

"Ratio, are you alright?"

His head turned at an incredible speed, eyes wide. Ratio knew he was silent in thought for too long, as he does when solving a particularly difficult problem, but for the gambler to sound so raw and even use anything other than 'doctor'...

"Yes. I assume you read my advice."

"It was quite helpful indeed! I knew I could count on you, Doc. But don't let it get to your head~"

And there it was again.

"Will you stop that? It's infuriating."

"What ever could you mean?"

"Do you really take me for a fool?"

It hurt deep inside his chest, just like failing a student for the first time. Ratio was ruthless with his grading yet always hoped it would push the student to try harder. It was only fair to offer the gambler the same treatment.

Aventurine couldn't believe his own blunder. He was not one to make such a significant mistake. 'Ratio, are you alright?' So incredibly idiotic. His walls were built anew. Who was to fall first?

"Well~" Aventurine swallowed the unease and took a step in, closing the door without turning his back to him as if Veritas would pounce the moment he did.

"Well what?"

"I know what you want from me, doctor~ It was obvious from the very start. I waited patiently for you. Don't I deserve a reward?"

"And what is it you think I want from you?"

Aventurine swallowed hard as he approached him and placed a hand on his chest. He didn't expect his wrist to be grabbed and yanked to the side. Did he misunderstand? No, surely not. Ave got closer still, looking up at him, flashing his eyes.

"Don't you want to thoroughly examine the sweetness of the last avgin? Isn't it tempting?"

"Your hypothesis is incorrect, zero points."

"You grade me before I've tested it? It hurts~"

Ratio sighed in frustration, trying not to yell some sense into him.

"No, you know what truly hurts? Watching you strap bombs to yourself and eagerly walking alone, waiting to be blown apart."

"So you do care~"

"More than rationally reasonable."

That's it. Veritas fell first, setting off the entire line of dominos. But Aventurine was never in that line, he was the hand to push him. Ave watched the fury in his eyes. How delightful. If he can make the doctor hate him, that will be an easier victory. Before Aventurine could answer Ratio continued.

"I am fully aware you do not want me so spare us both the trouble. Either you will be honest with me or you will walk out and close that door," they both know Veritas would leave it slightly ajar, "and the choice is yours alone."

Despite the disgust in his gut, he did want him. That feeling was out of anxiety that Ratio will be just like everyone else. Aventurine didn't drop his faux happy before getting on his toes to kiss him. But Veritas let go of his wrist and took a single step back. Ave barely managed not to stumble. Ratio couldn't hide his irritation.

"I will not allow you to make a fool of me any longer. Make your choice, gambler. Leave and continue playing games... or stay and fold."

Aventurine thought he understood at least slightly. Now though Ratio's grading was deserved. What did he want then? He laid down an all-or-nothing bet, showing all of his cards, but what he wanted Aventurine to bet in return was unknown to him.

"You want honesty? That's all? You're a terrible businessman."

"I already know your past, for the record. What I want to know is who you really are, not who you used to be or pretend to be. Your mind is on the level of a genius. Something I cannot achieve or even begin to translate."

The praises didn't feel empty. Why? Flattery never affected him. They were always hollow words, sweet nothings. Veritas was far too honest. His shield cracked slightly and now was the time to push him away. He couldn't. Why? Why couldn't he?

"Who are you?"

"A hopeless man."

Hopeless. That is something they shared until recently. Until the reverse suicide note written for him.

"And what if I'm honest and you hate me?"

"I doubt that's a possibility."

"But you do not deny it."

"I don't fear the unknown, I long for it."

Kakavasha bit his lip, bruising it. Not in an attractive, playful way. It was to remind himself this wasn't a fabricated dream bubble. He longs to know him? Not to touch him, not to be touched, not to use him? How could anyone want that?

Now that Kakavasha missed the opening to push him away that would not shatter himself... he let the tears flow. The bitter tears that he's held in his entire life. He covered his mouth and crumbled to the ground, choking on sobs. He didn't know what to expect but all the same Veritas' arms hovering around him, asking for permission wordlessly... they terrified him. Kakavasha was the one to pounce, throwing himself into the good doctor's arms, the good doctor. Those arms made him feel more safe than his Aeon's shield ever did. He couldn't believe himself. His hands clutched at whatever fabric he could reach.

Veritas held him firmly. Ave may be hurt, but he was not fragile. He wasn't a flower wilting. He was a grand temple of Preservation, enduring more than many could, standing tall despite the cracks. So many years he stood, a pillar of endurance. And even so near the ground, seeking comfort desperately, he was still standing.

He learned.

Kakavasha didn't stop sobbing until he passed out in his arms, tears staining Veritas' clothes. He carried him into the bed, Ratio's bed, and walked away. Or rather he would have until he hear that pained, soft voice.

"Don't leave me, please, Veritas."

Ratio had no doubts in his mind. He held Kakavasha, both in the same bed, no intentions from either of anything sinful. Unless holding each other was sinful. Then they both were to suffer together.

Curssed be the Aeon who rejected him, for someone higher than THEM had chosen him. If Veritas could have taught Kakavasha that he can be cared for, that he is not unwanted... that would make all his efforts worth the torment. The tossing and turning. The sleepless studies. Everything. Because he saved a life and he improved it. If only slightly. Yet Veritas doesn't expect a PhD, a reward, compensation. Simply the fact that Kakavasha could continue on with these facts is enough. And if those eyes ever look at him with honesty, whatever the emotion, it would feed his starving heart. He is willing to wait a lifetime even if it never comes.

Veritas was fully aware that this wasn't all that Kakavasha was. He wasn't just a victim, just hurt, just his past. He looked forwards to witnessing all of him if he would allow it.

As Veritas felt Kakavasha's breath stabilise and slow, his tense body relax in his arms... His mind was clear.

#fluff #hurt/comfort #need a hug #past trauma #insecure #pining #Resolved emotional anguish #Post Penacony #Depression #tw depressing thoughts #Author is crying #Aventurine #hsr aventurine #dr ratio #veritas ratio #hsr veritas #Hsr #honkai star rail #star rail fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #ratiorine #golden ratio #aventio

[kimmiessimmies]

Personal post

This will probably be the most non-Sims related post I've put on this blog ever. I'll put most of it under a cut, so you can choose whether or not to read it. The thing is, I could use some advice. And asking strangers from all over the world advice on something important might be weird, but you are also my community, so I value your opinions. Don't worry, this isn't a "Kim being depressed" kinda post. 😉 It's a work thing.

Upfront: This post is about me being unhappy in my current well-paid job and my search for something that makes me happy. It might come across sounding a bit entitled, since I know there are many people who would be happy to have any job, just so they can pay their bills. I'm sorry if this post triggers that, and I know I'm privileged to even be in this situation. ❤️

TL/DR: Do I stay in a well-paid, secure job that doesn't bring happiness and actually negatively affects my mental health because of it? Or: Do I take the plunge into the unknown and give up the securities I have now for something that could potentially (but not guaranteed) not only make me happy but bring me opportunities as well?

Okay, here's the deal. Currently, I work in education. I've been teaching for 19 years, and for the last 3 years, I've held the position that best translates to special needs coordinator at the school where I've been all of my working life. In short, my job entails making sure the teachers have the tools they need to help all kids in their classes with special educational needs, to make sure each child ends up in the right form of education fitting their needs and dealing a lot with difficult or even alarming home situations. My job can be rewarding at times, and challenging at others. Aside from this, I've been part of the management team at my school for almost 8 years. I work at a big school. It wasn't big when I started there, but it's big now. I have a degree in Early Childhood Education, and that's also the age group I've always dealt with. It's the age group I've always taught, and it's the age group currently under my supervision in the position I'm now.

This past year, I've struggled with my mental health, as I've mentioned before, and have not been at work fully for a while. My therapist and I established that while work is "okay", it's also not bringing me joy anymore while my job was once the happiest and most passionate thing I did. Right now, it's blah. This position is not one that really suits me, yet I don't want to go back to teaching either. I've been there, done that. Add to that the fact that, come September, my boss requires me to change my position slightly. I'd be doing the same thing I do now, but for an older age group. This has given me a lot of stomach aches, because the thing that still drives me to do my job now is the fact that I'm doing it geared towards the youngest kids in school.

All in all, the job is not bringing me happiness in the slightest anymore. Having said that, I know a lot of people do jobs that don't make them happy, but it pays the bills, so let's suck it up and just do it. Which is fine, I can do that too, except my mental health suffers...

However, there are a few good things about this job too:

The pay is really good

I have lovely colleagues

I have a lot of credits here because I've been here for so long. They know my worth

I have a very understanding boss who's been nothing short of wonderful during my depression

(If you're still with me, thank you for reading this essay all the way, it's appreciated 💗)

My therapist asked me, "If money weren't a factor, what would you be doing?" My answer was "write." More specifically, I just want to stay home all day and work on ATOH, but no one is going to pay me for that. 😄 So, write, or do a job in which writing plays a role. So, she advised me to start looking for jobs that fit that description. It was a rather depressing search. Most jobs that came close to what I'd like to do require degrees or diplomas I don't have.

And then I suddenly stumbled upon something: Assistent Project Manager at a small, but well established company that creates educational projects (usually based on children's books), books and materials geared towards early childhood education in particular, and currently expanding to do the same for education to older kids as well.

I felt like I had found the holy grail. This is writing, this is editing, this is being creative, this is working with authors, but it's also closely related to early childhood education, the thing I know so well. Despite still being semi depressed, I felt like I needed to at least give this a shot. So, I wrote a letter, enclosed my resume, and waited. I didn't have to wait long, because a few days later I got an invite for an interview.

I went for the interview and was welcomed at a small and very homely office space (with an office cat!). We had a good talk and I left happy. They invited me to do a "trial day" with them, which is what I'll be doing today. They've had a lot of applicants for this position, but from the contact we've had since, it seems like I stand a good chance.

Sounds like a no-brainer? Perhaps, unless you have my brain... Because there are doubts:

Pay. This job pays quite a bit less than my current one. I'm a single parent and therefore sole breadwinner in my household. Currently, I make quite good money because I've been in this job for a long time and hold a relatively high position in the organisation. We can pay the bills, go on holidays, and even splurge occasionally (for example, the very pricey laptop I bought a few months ago). With this job, I would still make enough to pay the bills and go on holidays, but I will need to keep an eye on the money, and there won't be splurging for a while. I do know this sounds like a luxury problem to some.

Job security. In my current job, I'm under a fixed contract. Basically, unless I royally fuck up, I can't be fired. With this job I'd start on a year contract. After that year, they can either decide to give me another year or let me go. This won't just be if I mess up, but also if they decide I'm not the best person for the job after all, or if I don't fit in with their small, close-knit team. Worst case scenario; they let me go, and I'll have to go back to education and probably teach again.

These doubts are few, but strong. So, basically, like I already said above: do I stay in a well-paid, secure job that doesn't bring happiness and actually negatively affects my mental health because of it? Or: do I take the plunge into the unknown and give up the securities I have now for something that could potentially (but not guaranteed) not only make me happy but bring me opportunities as well (since it's publishing)?

I don't need anyone to actually answer those questions, but those are the wonderings on my mind I wanted to write down. Thanks for reading. ❤️

#personal #non sims

[cccc-aus]

au where hms are separately dumped into the fanon characterizations of the album. mind ends up with fanon heart and soul, soul ends up with fanon mind and heart, and heart ends up with fanon mind and soul

mind would probably figure out that something is up the quickest. for one, that creature very suspiciously never argues with him as of late- it won’t even fight back when he provokes it, only begging for the mind to “stop being mean” to it instead of reacting violently like usual. while the mind had initially thought it must be some sort of ploy, it would seem that “the heart” was just… stuck in this oddly helpless and passive state. the soul is also off- the mind hadn’t noticed before the heart began acting strangely, but the soul had started becoming… strangely nonchalant about their situation, despite being the one most compelled to become whole. although the mind enjoys the peace at first, it feels wrong soon enough. he is not meant to rule like this; tridential sovereignty requires all to rule equally, and these one-dimensional illusions of the heart and soul are not his equals. something is very, very wrong, and it once again falls to the mind to fix it.

soul doesn’t notice immediately. the ids are still fighting, and he stopped paying attention to their fights long, long ago because the heart and the mind always say the same damned things, over and over. however, as of late, the mind has been the only one driving the fights, while the heart has become much less violent. it is becoming concerning- while the mind usually starts the fights, the heart always escalates them. as the heart and mind are equals, they are both equally violent, as much as the heart and mind would disagree with that statement. this isn’t right. are really these even his heart and mind? (in the distance far away from the house in headspace, the soul can see a dot of blue and black heading his way.)

heart would probably notice the least because generally his point of view lines up with the fanon characterization. sure, maybe that automaton freak had given up on even the pretense of wanting to work together to become whole, but the heart had known it was only a pretense the entire time. the mind had also become even crueler lately, beyond what the heart had thought possible of a part of him- but why was the heart surprised? the mind electric was cruel but crude, only concerned with his damn efficiency and (seemingly) torturing the heart for the crime of wanting to experience life fully. the soul was slightly more worrisome, becoming oddly uncaring of their horrid situation. the heart figured that he had finally cracked and lost it- the soul had always been one step off the edge, and the mind had probably pushed it.

mind is the first to start attempting to find the real heart and soul. by the time soul also realizes that something is horribly wrong, mind is like 15 minutes away from reaching it. both of them have to go look for heart themselves (because he hasn’t noticed anything wrong lmao)

(how do they find each other? i dunno, i haven’t thought that far. for now i think that if they walk far enough from the house in headspace (like hours away) they find the others’ houses but i’m not set on it lol)

(sorry soul fans i’m not great at characterizing him. if any of you want to expand on this then please do)

Yeah this is basically just their fanon personalities. Half of Heart’s violence is directed into Mind, and Soul is just a bastard who’s along for the ride.

I do love me some criticisms of problematic fanon characterisation! Perhaps you could bring Whole into the mix at some point, seeing as how he’s never technically been canon?

#chonny jash #cccc #cccc au #chonny jash au #cj #cj au #chonnys charming chaos compendium #chonny’s charming chaos compendium #cccc heart #cccc mind #cccc soul

[second-wife-playbook]

@helluvaoutlaw

Coronis had always wanted to come to Wrath. To visit. Wrath was a wilderness with a capital W. The desert that stretched off into the horizon, it's many suns and volcanoes, and it's people...wily, strong, and with quickfire tempers. She had seen it replicated on TV, with adventures in the lawless lands, cowboys and the like.

Well this was an example of; be careful what you wish for.

The transport going through the desert likely boasted some stunning views, but Coronis wasn't seeing any of them. She felt out of place, paralyzed with terror. Her high-society gown was completely unsuitable to the rough terrain, and every time the vehicle jostled over the rough robe, she felt her breathe catch and her pulse quicken.

Andrealphus looked unconcerned. Why should he? He wasn't the one about to become a meal.

"You're so overdramatic. It could always be worse." That was what he said. That was the fucking audacity the Marquis had when Coronis was strong-armed to the ground, hands and feet tied and the horrors explained. "You will be remembered as an exalted martyr, and spare the family a terrible fate. What more could a noble want, really?"

To live, goddammit! To actually live, and not get eaten by a fucking snake-god!!!

Cori had tried to protest. But apparently such attempts at mercy were unpalatable to the ears of her brother and her fated executioner. A simple gesture was all that was needed to tape her beak shut, unable to make a peep aside from muffled whimpers and cries. She wasn't even given the courtesy of knowing what she was being sacrificed for.

The convoy stopped outside of a volcano. A lone cave awaited, with a rough looking imp in a robe bearing a serpent with terrifying eyes. He looked displeased to see the Marquis and Coronis, but nonetheless gestured to a lone minecart. "This will take her right down." He explained gruffly. "Beware Goetia. The Great Destroyer does not take pleasure in meager offerings."

"Rest assured, my heart breaks to see her go-" Andrealphus had said with a long-suffering moan, wrapping an arm around Cori's shoulders, even as she wriggled to break free. "-and I will mourn her passing every day for as long as I live."

A very scripted, very insincere answer. The imp must have sensed it...but didn't question it. "Right. Down she goes."

Andrealphus had brought two large hellhounds for security...and a sack. Coronis fought to break free as hard as she could, but she was being wrangled in with the ease of manhandling a baby chick. The Marquis gave her a last long look.

"I will miss you, you know." He said. Trying for once, to actually sound as if he meant it. "There will never be a soul as easy and soft as you."

Don't! Don't! Coronis begged with all her might, trying to plead with her eyes. Please, please, I don't want to die!!

But as she was dropped into the minecart, everything went very dark. There was a moment's stillness, and then a jolt as the cart went sailing, the sound of the wind whipping past and a heavy dip-

And Coronis entered Wrath's underworld.

______

C'mon, c'mon! Get these stupid things offa me!

The cart whistled down the track at speeds Coronis could only imagine. But within the sack she was trapped it, she pushed her arms around her back legs as far as they would reach until they were capable of being severed by her talons...as fast as she could anyway. It was slow work, and each second felt like it was passing at breakneck speeds.

I-I have to get out! I'll be killed if I don't get out! What would happen should she escape the sack, much less the cart, she had no idea. Run away and join a rodeo? Become an itinerant wanderer in the desert? Turn into a cave dweller?! That could all wait until the ropes-

Snap.

To her great relief, her hands were freed. She tugged and tore at the ropes binding her feet, then clawed at the tape that kept her beak shut, shredding it off. "I gotta get outta here!"

CLANG!

The cart stopped so short that the sack...and all it's contents, rolled out. Coronis yelped in surprise and pain, bruised by the rough landing. She frantically felt for the opening, pulling it open as fast as she could-

Only to wish she had stayed in the sack.

#helluvaoutlaw #rp starter #the serpent and the lady; god au