#both the last man alive as well as the person responsible for that. he meets up with two other survivors and there's standard genre | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

salaciousdoll · 9 months

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✩˚｡⋆ ⋆ ⋆ Reflection and invisibility ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡✩

･˳ . ⋆ Featuring Risotto Nero x La squadra!Fem!reader ･˳ . ⋆

୨⍣୧ ⁺⁎˚ ⋆━━ Be advised to the warnings of Risotto and Reader both being Assassins in Passione, Boss!Giorno, Au where everyone is alive and thriving, smut, hardcore fucking, katoptronophilia( fucking in front of mirror), body worship, reader is a stand user but it’s not used( none of their stands are except illuso, voyeurism, dirty talking, degradtion kink up 1000 in here, there’s praise here and there, dick drunk reader and pussy drunk Risotto, backshots, reader has a voice kink, Risotto cracks subliminal jokes here and there( he’s a little jokester when he was fighting doppio in the anime), pet names in Italian( I really tried here but pet names such as bunny, slut, beautiful, doll, Angel, etc.), your ex is Bruno, Risotto has dick piercings( frenum ladder), Risotto makes you count the amount of thrust he gives you, edging, and mention of somnophillia at the end. Oh and Dark content. Wc: 2.7k

Minors do not interact, 18+ Only!

ෆ ‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿ ෆ ̟ ̇ ┈•ﾟNote from Salaciousdoll: This is my first time writing for JJBA as a whole and my first time writing for Risotto as well… I really hope you all enjoy this fic even if you don’t watch jjba, hope I can convince you babies to watch it with this fic. If you know Italian please tell me if the words are wrong. ‘Grazii assai mia bellissima, bambola’= Thank you very much, my beautiful doll, ‘Angelo’ = Angel, ‘ coniglio’ = bunny, ‘Bambola’= doll, ‘sudicio’ = dirty , ‘troia’= slut

Salaciousber Masterlist

Risotto Nero was a man everyone either heard of or came into contact with. Both encounters could build up the emotion of fear and the feeling of danger, nothing else. The man could kill without a blink of an eye or a movement of cringe. To everyone else, he was a man who they feared just by either his tall stature or his black sclera eyes combining with the red pupils to compliment them.

Risotto was the scary man , your parents warned you about when you were younger, yet when they always told them stories, you never believed them. You had to see the boogeyman yourself in order to actually be scared. Those thoughts lead to your failures and success in the underground world. The failures of almost meeting your end and the success of getting to see Risotto— being able to keep him between your white manicured fingers. Risotto grew to be obsessed with you just because of your beauty and perspective of him. You didn’t judge him by one look of his eyes, not that he cares what other people think. He only cares when he thinks of the person as a colleague or more. You were more. His love, he adored since you came to his team after transferring from Bruno’s gang.

Bruno Buccirati was your first love but wasn’t your last. Risotto may be the last man you fall in love with, especially since you’ve been in a relationship with him for three years now . At first, you didnt talk with one another outside of missions and the missions he assigned. He wasn’t the one for small talk and you weren’t either, the lingering ghost of love you had for Bruno was in the air everywhere you walked and every mission you did. You couldn’t get him off your mind and the rest of La squadra were fed up with your closed off personality, so they complained to Risotto about you. In response to their concerns over the total of two months you were there, he had no choice but to make the first move.

It wasn’t easy for the both of you to talk to one another since he made it clear that you needed to get your shit together and perform your best on missions, otherwise he might as well start planning a funeral for you now. “ Do you want to die?”

You stared at him with wide eyes because that was the first thing coming out of his mouth after calling you in. You shook your head and looked away. He stared at you even more and under his dangerous but alluring eyes, you couldn’t help but to get a little aroused and nervous. A bad combination of feels to have, especially in front of your boss..

“ No, boss.”, You say to the wall and he didn’t like that one bit.

Risotto's deep voice said your name with malice in his tone, “ I didn’t know I was a wall.” You wanted to laugh because you didn’t think he had humor, yet he proved you wrong so maybe you’ll open up a bit more. When you didn’t look at him at all, he took it as disrespect. “ Look at me when I talk to you. You’re supposed to respect your superiors, did Bucciarati not teach you that. Maybe the perception of Bucciarati being painted as a noble man was another lie he shown everyone because no noble man would allow their colleagues to disrespect an su-”

“ Excuse me, Capo… I would rather not talk about Bruno right now. And I’m just nervous, so forgive me for disrespecting you. It’s not my intention to do this unforbidden action.”, You say to Risotto, who raised a pale blue eyebrow at you. You didn’t want to hear Risotto talking about Bruno like he doubted his existence or portrayal of his existence to the people who adored him— you being one of the people who adored him. The more Risotto stared at you, the more he could see that you were obedient and respectful after all. You two stared at each other a bit longer than usual taking in each other's features. You noticed his beautiful and unique eyes, his full lips, the creases under his eyes from the lack of sleep probably or just a result of getting older, his nose, a nose you see yourself riding any moment if you continued staring. He noticed the shape of your eyes, how your nose looked, eyebrows, big cheeks, and finally your lips. Your plush lips with the perfect shape to them. He loved how thick and full they were— always shiny with lipgloss he sees you apply every 2 minutes also. He wanted to bite them but that’ll have to wait now.

He cleared his throat, “ I asked that question because it seems your head is in another place on missions with your squad members, some of them voice their concerns and I’m here to let you know that you can’t slack off into dreamland unless you want to die. Your stand is powerful and you are powerful, so I need you to start showing me that you're powerful and useful as they say. Don’t let it happen again, understand?”

You nodded your head and he huffed before speaking, “ You’re dismissed and { reader’s last name}, you’re going on a mission with formaggio to shake up Riccolo— Boss orders. So get prepared to leave with him in 15.” You nodded your head and left the office.

You used to hate that Giorno moved you to the team you decided to save just because you knew formaggio from a one night stand. That night was fun especially since you just moved from your home country to Italy with your sister two weeks before. You were a foreigner and it was visible yet Formaggio didn’t care unlike half of Italy would. Bare minimum really but that’s not the reason you fucked the man. He charmed his way into your panties and you had him wrapped around your finger even before you gave him some, basically the first time he saw you He was a good fuck, but not as great as Bruno or your Capo now.

Now, though, you were on top of the moon from moving teams, even after four years, because you were too busy getting bent over in front of the mirror by your Capo. His rough hands were squeezing your stomach making some of your tummy melt in between his long, thick fingers, “ Give me one more, bambola. One more for me.”

You couldn’t hold on for dear life. Your left boob was massaged softly as he pounded into you from behind. The feeling of his red eyes was enough to make anyone fold and you were long gone. You folded as soon as he kissed your neck while you were standing in front of the mirror with your new bra and pantie set you got from your favorite lingerie store. “ I— I can’t, Ris’ pleaseuhhh.”

Your moans mixed with your cries of pleasure as he rolled his fat and long cock inside of you. His frenum ladder piercings were adding on to your pleasure because of the cold metals grinding against the walls of your dripping pussy. You felt every vein of his cock as he fucked into you like he’s never gonna see you again. He couldn’t help bending you over to pound inside of your sweet fat cunt because of how amazing you looked in that set. He loved worshiping and showing appreciation for you and your body. Your body was his favorite piece of art— he could stare at it for hours. Your a live painting that he could worship and fuck anytime he wanted.

“ Fuck, coniglio, you’re pussy is taking me so well. My perfect girl. Gonna squirt for me.”, Risotto grunt out his response as his hips snapped into your plump ass creating ripples, which was his favorite thing to watch. He loved watching any part of your body shake or jump. Fuck, you are his heaven. The heaven he will never get to see since his hands were tainted with hundreds of people’s blood.

The wetness of your pussy and the slaps of hips meeting was heard so loud in the room as your eyes rolled back into your head, “ You’re tearing me apart, Ris’ please slow down~” he loved how you stretched the word down out. It shows how brain dumb you are right now for him. Brain was filled with nothing, becoming nothing but mushiness. Just the way he liked you.

“ Slow down you say?” Risotto slowed his hips down and watched your expression in the mirror prior to turning himself invisible. “ Want you to look at yourself being stretched and fucked dumb on my cock in any pace. Whether it’s fast or slow, you still couldn’t, guhahh— you naughty little slut; You dare squeeze me that tight after I told you to loosen up for me.”

Risotto dropped his hands from holding you and bunched up the hairstyle you had in your hair before long stroking your pussy— deep and slow. He let out a wicked chuckle, “ Look at you… shaking all because of my cock, right my little angelo. Look closely in the mirror for me and then I want you to, shit! Your pussy is trapping me inside.” He couldn’t focus on what he was trying to say. Risotto was only this vocal with you. His deep voice was everything you needed to hear in your ear. Voice was sending a strike of thunder inside the blood in your body, allowing you to become even more turned on. His voice alone could get you off, so this act being an add on is what your dreams are made for. You brought his dirty talking and surge of pleasure out of him, none of his past hookups got an inch of words from him. Only moans and that’s if they pulled it out of him.

Risotto slapped your ass causing you to move forward into the mirror. Your fingerprints were imprinted in the big 48’ tall and 83’ wide mirror in your room. You were so glad you brought this mirror. You can use it for this exact reason. Risotto yanked your head back enough for you to see you and his invisibility in the mirror. It was like you were getting fucked by a ghost, spooky and freaky. Such a wonderful feeling.

“ Pay attention to the mirror, tesoro. Now choose a number, any number.”, his groans were heard right after he finished his sentence. You moaned when you saw his eyes staring at you through the mirror. You couldn’t even form words because of how slow and dragged his cock was going inside of your sobbing pussy.

Your fingers bunched up on the mirror and you knew you were close to squirting on this mirror. As his cock dragged in and out of you, you tried to form an answer to his questions. Nothing but moans and fumbling words in between were heard. You were really fucked out and he wanted to cherish the sounds forever.

Risotto continued fucking you with groans in your ear prior to biting your ear lob causing you to scream, “ Do you want me to ask the rest of your teammates? They’re watching, you know. Watching how you come apart on my cock, watching how your tits bounce back and forth as I fuck you like the sudicio little troia you are.” Your eyes widen at that information and his words. You finally took a deep look into the mirror and there stood every last member of La Squadra staring or smirking at you through the mirror, damn you illuso and your fucking stand. You shouldn’t have gotten turned on at being watched, but you couldn’t help it.

Risotto felt your pussy grab his cock like she never wanted to let him go. He hissed when he felt you squeezed tighter, stopping his movements all together. You whined and looked back at him to see his eyes looking at you with lust and anger. “ Number.” You tired to fuck back into him, but his finger nails dug into your hips causing you to bite your lip letting out a short muffled scream.

Your lips quivered as you answered him, “ 10! Ris’ please fuck me. I need to cum.” Risotto smirked at you, yet you couldn’t see it due to his invisibility. You only saw his eyes, which was more than enough for you. Risotto then dragged your back to leave a little space before the mirror.

He bent you over to a 90 degree angle and gripped your wide hips with his big hands, “ Count every thrust I give to your sweet pussy, 10 counts for two rounds. Two rounds because how much I’ve had to repeat myself with you.” Tears started to pour out of your pretty eyes as he grabbed your hair in his hands and snapped his hips forward causing a huge ripple on your ass.

“ Fuckkk! One.”, Your moan was so loud that you didn’t even care if someone delivering your packages for today heard you as you heard the house doorbell ring or was that ringing in your head from how hard he thrusted inside of you.

Risotto pulled out of you leaving the tip in, snapping his hips inside of you again, “ What’s the number? I seem to forgot already, bellissima. Help me remember.” You hated how he teased you as he rolled his hips around, mixing your juices inside of your pussy in the process. His piercings was a foreign feeling inside of you, no matter how many times you two fucked or made love, the metals felt so good inside of your pussy and you will always tell him that whenever you want sex or just wanted to compliment him to catch him off guard.

Risotto repeated this technique for two times in a row with the count of ten each time so it was twenty in total. He made you squirt on the first round at the number 5. He did nothing but chuckle at your pathetic display of shaking, “ So pathetic, can’t take this but was surely running your mouth the other day about how you can take me. You know what you are right now.”

He grabbed you up by your hair— your sweaty back was to his sweaty abs as his arms were now wrapped around your tummy. He whispered in your ear as his team looked on from a distance inside of the mirror at your pathetic attempt of holding on, “ A rookie. You know how much fun I like to poke at rookies.” He threw his head back at the feeling of your pussy and you wished you could see his facial expressions, “ Brace yourself.”

Risotto gripped your body like a mad man and fucked you like a caveman. Pussy was squirting non stop as he slammed into you over and over until he came inside of you with a loud groan.

“ Aughhh, good fucking girl. So good. Shit!l have to get you pregnant. Have our children run around our new house I buy for us, away on the, hahh!, countryside, away from everyone. Just you and me.” , He moaned as he snapped his hips inside of you three more times. His warm cum fills you up so gloriously. You couldn’t do anything but lay limp in his arms— still standing up with him. Your body did shake in his arms so I guess that was doing something. Risotto smirked and turned himself back to his visible self, kissing your head prior to looking at his teammates with his famous death glare. Basically telling them to fuck off and leave him and his lady alone. They obeyed his silent order all due to Prosciutto understanding what Risotto is saying.

“ Grazii assai mia bellissima, bambola”, Risotto whispers to your passed out figure in his arms. His dick always made you pass out from the length, piercings, and girth. He massaged your stomach as he walked to you to bed, carefully laying you down and going to get a towel to clean you off, can’t have you sticking in stickiness and wetness, otherwise he’ll fuck you in your sleep. You already granted him permission to perform somnophilia a few days ago too. Maybe he’ll try it out later.

ෆ ̟ ̇ ┈•ﾟTagging: @chosoist @honeybleed @simpingfor-wakasa @happygoluckyalexis @mastermindenoshimaalicia @angelshub @bxrbie1 @sylisan @lilvampirina @deftrow @uzxotic @tayler17-84

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blazinghotfoggynights · 1 month

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This fandom is turning into a madhouse!

Why? 😢

What is all the arguing about? Why are fans taking sides in multiple standoffs. How are these wars starting?

What I have to say may not be well-received by some sides in the numerous boxing matches active in this fandom right now, but I'm going to say my piece. 🤷‍♀️ I am not responsible for white-hot rage, tears, or epiphanies that you don't want. So, proceed at your own risk. Or whatever.

Buddie vs BuckTommy

BuckTommy fans, Buddie fans were not seeing things. Those characters were written as being pulled into each other's orbits and it was more than platonic. It wasn't blatant, and it has been hinted it couldn't be due to the network. Even now, with Eddie and Buck being in relationships, and Eddie somehow being in multiple, they are still using Buddie to promote the show. If they are not going to happen, then why the use that to get ratings? That is the definition of baiting.

Buddie fans, BuckTommy is canon. They may not last or they may be endgame. We won't know until it happens. Why lose your mind over fictional characters that one man controls? It's simple. If you feel they played the Buddie card only to put Eddie in a mess of epic proportions and make Buck become Evan Buckley-Kinard, tune out and keep fanfic alive. Do you know how many fandoms have followed that process? If Tommy was brought back just as a plot device, then it's not much better than baiting.

You know what would be hilarious? Buck meets a third person, falls in love, and marries them.

It would shut both sides down if it was a woman. (I may have a petty streak and if I were in charge, I could see making it Taylor or Abby.)😈🤣(Maybe then the warring factions could call a truce over tears and beers.)

Tommy Kinard was not a good guy. That's not delusion. That's canon.

BuckTommy fans, the character of Tommy Kinard has done multiple problematic things, and the writers are not addressing any of it. Telling people to get over it is not cool. Being closeted or confused is no excuse for calling Chimney the delivery guy and Hen the b-word. He was actively and willingly participating is some of the worst forms of bullying someone can experience. He wasn't a teenager who was just trying to fit in. He was a grown man. No excuses for his behavior are acceptable and, in the real world, you would be hard-pressed to find his victims forgiving him. They would not be his friends.

I can see why women, especially black women and LGBTQ women, and non-white men, especially Asian men, would say they don't like how his past transgressions are being ignored. He was openly racist and misogynist. That is canon. Nothing was misunderstood or misinterpreted. Tommy was a d*ck.

If you watch how Lou is portraying Tommy, there are indications that what we saw in season 2 is a part of his personality. The lack of discussion about his past could be intentional because it may come up in the future.

How has no one noticed how he speaks to Buck sometimes? Maybe I am just older than most in the fandom and have experienced a lot more, but there are things about Tommy Kinard's behavior that don't seem very...nice. The way he speaks to Buck sometimes is like he is dismissing what he thinks or feels. Sometimes he seems to be speaking to Buck as if he is a child. I was offended on Buck's behalf.

The biggest CAUTION sign so far was when he admitted he is jealous of the 118. What? That doesn't even make sense! Think about it. Tommy went out of his way to make the 118 hostile toward anyone who wasn't a het white male. When Bobby took over and changed the culture, he brought respect and openness which cultivated the friendship, and eventual love, that created the family the 118 is now. Tommy could have easily come out to the team under Bobby, apologized, and began building the bridges he burned. But he did not.

Tommy chose his side but now he is jealous of the work Bobby put in to clean up Gerrard's mess? Could it be something else giving his jealousy life? Could Tommy be resentful that the exclusive, prejudice environment he happily embraced, and helped keep in place, under Gerrard disappeared and because an inclusive tight-knit family created from the outcasts?

That is a very real possibility and if that is the case, it says a lot about Tommy Kinard and could lead to an interesting arc in the remainder of season 7 and season 8.

Eddie Diaz is not a bad guy.

I think Eddie has been teetering on the edge for many seasons. TBH, I am surprised he has been as stable as he has for this long. That man is walking meatsuit full of trauma.

People who are mentally stable and have healthy coping skills do not join underground fighting rings, smash their bedrooms, or ask relative strangers to watch his child and move in. There have been many indications for multiple seasons that Eddie is not in a good place but keeping it together for the sake of his son.

I do not think Eddie is trying to hurt anyone at all. I think he is trying to claw his way out of some hell his mind has had him in for a long time.

That man needs to be taken to the nearest inpatient facility and admitted. (If you are thinking of making a negative comment stigmatizing mental health awareness or treatment, reconsider, choose not to, and move along. Mental health is just as important as physical.)

Eddie Diaz is in no condition to be in a relationship with anyone except a therapist right now.

Whether you want Buddie, Eddie/Marisol, or Eddie/Wife's Ghost, if you want to see anyone with this guy right now, I have to ask you if you are feeling okay.

Remember how Eddie's parents didn't want him dragging Christopher down with him? Right now, it looks like Eddie's carefully, barely held together existence is going to go boom. Anyone in the blast radius is in danger. The only dates Edmundo Diaz should be having is at least three times weekly and begin with a mental health professional asking him if he has something he wants to talk about.

Evan "Buck" Buckley is a grown ass man. Stop infantalizing him! They even do it on the show.

I can't be the only one who sometimes forgets that thick mountain of a man is not a young twenty-something just wandering out into the world.

He's in his thirties. He's been in therapy. He's grown. He has to do what all of us adults do: Make decisions, wait to find out what happens, and deal with the consequences.

Say it with me: Buck is not a baby.

No one who has any real knowledge is going to tell fandom what the future holds for the show.

Who doesn't get that?

There are unhinged fans on every side of every current fight.

If you are attacking actors, writers, producers, networks, or anyone else, I have to wonder if you should be in a room next to Eddie after someone who loves him takes him where he should go.

That type of behavior used to get you a room with soft walls and a free jacket that left you in a permahug.

You can make anything you want happen with the characters.

It's call fanfiction and AO3 is wonderful. If there is a great story that hasn't been told, get on Word, Docs, Libre, or whatever you have and start making it a reality!

Authors have major support and respect from the fans.

If writing isn't your thing, but you are great at prompts and don't mind authors taking your prompts and creating stories, find a way to share them!

There are positive ways to channel your eyerolls, frustration, anger, or whatever. Draw fanart. Write fic. Write ideas and throw them at those who draw fanart and write fanfic.

To the whole fandom: CHILL! PLEASE!

I don't want to watch another fandom I enjoy implode. I don't want to see other fandoms assume everyone in this fandom is in need of the soft room and permahug fashion I mentioned earlier.

Been there, done that.

At the end of the day, everyone needs to remember:

It's not real.

#911 abc #911 on abc #9 1 1 buddie #buddie #buddie 911 #buck x eddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #eddie diaz x evan buckley #eddie x buck #evan buckley x eddie diaz #evan buck buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy #tevan #kinkley #what is even happening 911

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needle-noggins · 11 months

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Volume 7 destroyed me. Part 1 of whatever this analysis is. Lots of talk about childhood trauma. Vash is such a complex character so if there are inconsistencies in my logic here, help me.

So in Volume 7, we get some pretty heavy flashbacks to Vash and Knives' shared trauma of discovering Tesla, and it's juxtaposed with Vash meeting up with Knives in the ark, contrasting then and now. Highlighting how they've changed and developed in response to their shared trauma - which is to say, in opposite ways. And not necessarily just due to their personalities. In fact, I would say that Knives is more sensitive, sweet, and trusting pre-Tesla. Vash is a bit more aloof, although still a good kid.

Also, here's the lily.

White flowers are a common Japanese symbol for death/grief and are primarily used in funerals. Lilies can symbolize purity and innocence (don't quote me on this one though). Rem must have put that flower there and kept it alive. She does say that she opposed the experimentation and regrets Tesla's suffering and death, but this drives the point home in a way that also highlights Rem's character and her love for flowers (which, tbh, seems more of a Tristamp thing I think? Regardless, I hope the next season of Stampede has more Tesla flashbacks with the white lily. That would be a nice nod to the manga).

Back to Tesla trauma. God, it makes me sick. The cold, detached way in which she's described as the "subject" hits home for me because I have to write like that for a living working in healthcare. It's commonplace and required, but man, it's terrifying reading it and understanding that there's 0 compassion in there. Medical ethics (or lack thereof) are my kryptonite. It gets me every time.

To make things worse, it's gory in it's own sterile way. Tesla's body is contained in nice little tanks, but if you look into those tanks... oof. She's riddled with tumors, organs are near-indistinguishable, and her small little child legs make it all the more horrifying. That's a child. With a detached, tiny baby angel arm in another tank. It may be important to note that this is reminiscent of Vash's angel arm (it's the right arm) but also it's the arm that's detached (well, both of Tesla's are, but this one was likely removed first and by Dr. Conrad and the team). Foreshadowing, in a weird way? And Tesla's entire brain is in another tank, with her eye. At what point did this happen? Was she still conscious for that? I want to scream.

Vash is not handling this well. He's the first to cry out about the differences between plants and humans. Also, the composition of that last panel here is incredible - the emotion is palpable. And the eyes?? Eyes of all the humans, watching them as they sleep in the ship, waiting to pounch, or Tesla's eyes, watching from the tank, casting judgement down? Either way, it's evocative. Poor baby Vash. He is so so angry and so scared.

Knives, meanwhile, shatters so badly that he blocks it out and/or represses it without showing a single emotion - as a defense mechanism. This certainly seems more like a Vash-style response, right?

Do remember that these boys are twins. Despite all their differences that have baked in as adults now, they were much more similar as kids. The specific circumstances in their experience immediately post-Tesla then shape them for the rest of their lives and cause the rift between them that we see today (in the same volume, no less). It's nothing but pure tragedy.

Which then brings us to the next scene - Vash, even at such a young age, is already showing tendencies of self-harm and suicidal ideation. He's refusing to eat, wasting away. He'd rather die than live long enough to become another experiment, to be subjected to that torture. There is no safe place for him in this world of humans, and Knives is refusing to acknowledge it (he's literally asleep during this; we love an avoidant king - jk but i'm handshaking w/ Knives; relatable). Rem, bless her, tries to treat Vash to some freshly-cut fruit (also a symbol of familial love in Japan - acts of service and all) but ya know, she forgets the cardinal rule when handling someone who is suicidal - don't let them have access to sharp objects. No knives for you, Vash.

BIG MOM MOMENT. Rem grabs the sharp edge of the blade and lets it cut her to prevent Vash from harming himself. She may not have birthed these boys, but damn if she isn't their mother in every other way. (also, quick point - generational trauma - Rem's grief over Alex's death becomes Vash's grief over Rem's death? I don't have good formed thoughts on this yet).

UGH. The flip side of Rem's blank ticket philosophy - the future is blank, so why throw the present away? There's always, always hope. Isn't that just the overarching message of Trigun?

This is obviously a formative moment for Vash. He never forgets this lesson.

Caveat to this, Vash is still a very self-destructive character as an adult, verging on suicidal without being outrightly so. He has let this moment shape his character, but he still others himself in that he believes this philosophy doesn't apply to him, an Independent. Vash has said before that there's no hope for him, he wishes he had never been born, and he's only really alive to destroy Knives and finish what they started. That's uh, Not Good... what will make Vash want to finally live? (*shhhhh, spoilers!*) Anyway, Vash applies this lesson to Wolfwood in Wolfwood's weakest moment. Vash sees himself in Wolfwood in the "Shoot" moment, no doubt, he sees his fear and anger, even if it's a bit of a different flavor. Wolfwood is simultaneously suicidal in that moment and has this twisted logic of, If Vash can kill me he can kill anyone; this will help him and i'm willing to die for that cause.

Someone tell me their thoughts on this parallel. I kinda just want to scream incoherently about it. That's all I got.

Anyway.

It takes some extra learning in this moment before Vash can figure his shit out. He takes the situation from bad to worse - he's still angry at humans for his pain, still terrified. He's so angry that he stabs Rem - his mother figure, the only person other than Knives that he's ever known and trusted - and instantly regrets it, terrified that he'll lose her (before his worst fears are later realized, and he does and it's his fault, again).

It's like, you know, the feeling when you hurt your sibling because you're so fucking mad at them, but the moment they're actually hurt, you're instantly filled with fear and regret? (THIS WILL COME INTO PLAY LATER TOO I PROMISE.)

I can imagine it's 10 times worse with a parent.

And Knives is asleep! For all of this! I think the one big takeaway with the twins is that Vash has always been the more outwardly emotional one, and Knives has always been more sensitive but withdrawn. Vash expresses his anger outwardly, getting it out quickly, even if it's very destructive in the moment. But this moment teaches him to do otherwise - he sees the result of his anger, and he's terrified out of doing anything to cause harm ever again. Vash tries to kill Rem! Vash, who now wouldn't hurt a soul, even if he wants to! He's terrified of the consequences, and with the added idolization of Rem's memory... yeah. So as an adult, Vash turns away from "flight" and into "fawn" as his main trauma response. He just wants to make things right and he's willing to break a hundred times for it so no one else has to get hurt. (he's also very much a "flight" still, but ya know)

Knives sits back, represses, plots until his emotions have twisted beyond recognition and his resulting actions are a hundred times more irrational and fucked up. Very much "fight". And it's even more terrifying, actually.

When Knives wakes up, he's calm. He's collected. He says he doesn't remember what happened. He's plotting to doom the whole SEEDS project. He's going to kill them all, and he's not showing a single emotion until he's gleefully realized his plan is working. That's horrifying.

I think this is where I'll stop for now. I'm not a therapist or psychiatrist or expert in trauma in any way and this post is quickly running away from me and into a psychoanalysis of the twins, which I just don't feel equipped to do here, never mind have the right words for. But at least this can get a conversation started.

#trigunbookclub #trimax #trimax spoilers #GOD i juST SJKDHGKSJHFKKHS

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kneexcutter · 1 year

Text

It is what it is

Price x (f)reader

Part 1 ((Maybe??))

Summary: You weren't seen as a high-ranking solider, and you were stuck in a position you didn't want, directly by General Shepard's side. You get a call one day about a new opportunity that will help you.

. Reader is presumed female

Note: I've never played any of the games, so please excuse any inaccuracies. Due to the use of Google Translate, any languages displayed may potentially be incorrect.

There will be explicit sexual content, as well as instances of harassment, cursing, and drug usage.

Callsign: Hound

There was nothing you wanted more than to slam this man's head into his desk, ram a pen right between his eyes, and then slam the door behind you on the way out. Maybe even set the building on fire while you at it. Every day you were in his office, standing next to him, every day his attempts to flirt with you were bolder and bolder, every day you NEVER left his sight, he always knew where you were, what you were doing, and how you were doing it.

The only thing he didn't know about were your memories before meeting him. That was the only thing that brought you order and stability, it gave you clarity that you were still alive and breathing. To be able to feel other emotions other than annoyance, anger and discomfort.

Given how much time has passed since you last saw John and Kyle, you've always wondered what they're up to and whether they're still working together. Did they forget about you? Did they meet anybody who replaced you in some way? How are they doing? Given that General Shepard talks about them from time to time, it's good to know that they're both are still alive. Did they miss you... did John miss you?

"Hound."

You cringed, the sound of his voice alone makes you want to pop off.

"Yes sir?"

General Shepard smiled hearing you answer. "How's your day been darlin' I forgot to ask."

"It's been fine sir," you said trying to hide annoyance.

"That's wonderful, so do you have any plans tonight?"

"No sir."

"That's a bummer, then how about you and I go out to dinner tonight, say around 7PM?"

As General Shepard examined every inch of your physique, focusing primarily on your chest and hips, you sighed and gave him a little glare.

"No sir, but thank you."

"You know darlin', it doesn't hurt to smile," Shepard chuckled gently, looking annoyed himself.

You raised your brow, as you showed your teeth in a forceful smile, "No thank you sir."

Shepard stared at you blankly for a moment, before letting out a sigh. He ran his hands over his face then leaned back in his chair. "It won't kill you to say yes."

"It might..." you mumbled.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing sir."

Shepard's brows furrowed as he stood up, eyeing you up and down a slight scowl on his face, "Hound I didn't have to help you to earn your rank."

You stared at him; yes, he was the one who assigned you those assignments, but you completed them on your own, without a partner or team. You were tasked with tracking down those who had wronged Shepard. Finding people was what you were skilled at, turning loose ends into faded memories.

"It's against the rules… sir." you stated bluntly in response to his irritated stare.

Shepard made his way around his desk and over to you. Gritting your teeth, you prepare for the worst. He placed his hand on your neck, making you tilt your head to look up at him.

"I don't give a damn about rules, I give a damn about respect." Shepard said through gritted teeth. "You need to show respect to the person who got you to the spot you are today. Without me Hound you would've been a lost cause, just another war veteran with PTSD and anxiety."

Shepard put his other hand on your hip, firmly pulling you in. You bit your tongue in the hope that he wasn't actually taking pleasure in this when you felt something pressing up against you. You closed your eyes, tears threatening to spill out, but you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you vulnerable, that he was getting under your skin, getting to your head, getting to you.

"Get off me," you said through gritted teeth.

"Hound, I own you, I built you, and I shaped you into the solider you are. So, solider, when I ask you a question, I expect a cheerful yes sir," Shepard scowled at you. He sank his head into your neck giving you a firm nip, going down to lick your neck. You squirmed at the feeling, you held your eyes shut trying to think of anything other then Shepard.

The phone rang, Shepard's phone rang. Shepard pulled away from you with a scoff. You took this as a cue to leave the room, the only time you were free without Shepard was during his phone calls rather the meetings.

You sped walked out of his office and down the hall making a dash to the bathrooms, turning the corner you heavily bumped into someone.

"Jesus!" It was a woman, you turned your head to see a woman with short blonde hair and a red scarf around her neck. You swore you have seen her before. You continued walking toward the restroom, nearly ripping the door off its hinges. You looked in the mirror as you walked to the sink. He didn't leave a bite mark, you sighed in relief shutting your eyes.

You were numb, cold, humiliated, and alone.

You missed your old friends, you missed your life before the military, whether it was good or bad. You loved the military but if you would have known this is where you'd end up. Having a craving delusional war-hungry commander who, for some reason, is attracted to you to the point of obsession and poses a threat to your family at home while you are highly ranked and well-respected by those around you You would never have joined.

After a few minutes you began to head back. As easy it would be if you just walked out the building you knew there would be a negative chain reaction to it. There always was. That's how your family was threatened, because you tried to run.

You knocked against Shepard's door hoping the phone call was still going on.

"Come in."

After exhaling forcefully, you turned the doorknob to find Shepard and the woman you had just run into in the hallway inside. You recognized her now, Kate, Kate Lawsell, Price's close friend.

"Good to see you again, solider."

Your eyes widened, you straightened up, and saluted. "Please excuse my impoliteness in the corridors, ma'am."

You shifted your gaze between Shepard and Kate. What's going on? Shepard looked at you, then back at Kate, then gave her a firm nod and sat in his chair. He was grabbing something from behind his desk, pulling out a file and sliding it to Kate. Kate took it, and you took a good look at the file, which had your picture on it.

Kate turned to you, "You're coming with me solider. So now is a good time to start saying your farewells; I'll meet you outside."

You felt cold again after Kate left the room, leaving you alone with Shepard. His gaze swept over your body once more. "Something came up, and you're being recruited for your services, so we'll have to reschedule that date, hun."

He was letting you go. You couldn't help but bit your lip trying to hold back a smile, you gave Shepard a salute then turned on your heel heading out the door.

"Hound, before you go."

You paused, chills running down your back.

"Remember what I said, I built you, try running from me like the last time, get ready to attend a funeral, have a safe trip my dear."

My dear? He's called you other names, but never MY dear. That was new, strangely new...

When you walked outdoors, Kate was standing next to a black Jeep. At first, she appeared concentrated, but as you got closer, she appeared puzzled. She was looking through the file that had your picture on it.

"Are you alright ma'am?" You asked.

Kate shut the file in her hands and looked up at you, she nodded giving you a small smile. "Yeah, how are you doing?"

"I'm okay ma'am, just ready to get on the field again."

"I see, well then let's get going."

. . .

You lost track of time, you were in the car with Kate, then you were in the 'copter without Kate, and now your in another car with Kate.

"Ma'am?"

"Hey Hound how'd you sleep?"

You yawned slightly, "Not the best... are we there yet?"

Kate chuckled, "A few more minutes, you think you can stay awake until then?"

You chuckled, "Yes ma'am."

A moment of silence fell between you two before Kate spoke up again.

"How was it like being under Shepard all this time?"

You starred out the window, you were hoping you could avoid anything that had to do with Shepard. "It's not something I've gotten used to..."

"Really? It's been years since I've last seen you, I didn't think you and him were close."

You raised your brow at Kate. Close? What did she mean by close?

"Uh- I wouldn't say close, quite the opposite actually ma'am."

"Oh well that's interesting... were here."

Kate couldn't have asked you that out of curiosity, you blinked. She asked because of the file, or was it something Shepard said to her—could she tell by the way you moved in the hallway?—or was it something in the file itself?

The car stopped in front a remote semi large military area. There were not that many soldiers here, you hopped out of the car waiting for Kate. But Kate stayed in the car, you turned to look at her but a rough chuckle caught your attention. You recognized it, you knew that laugh from anywhere.

A smile crept across your lips as you turned around to face John Price himself. Your body relaxed, but your tummy was filled with butterflies that weren't going away anytime soon. He seemed too good to be true standing here, he looked really good. You wanted to hug him. However, your eyes spoke volumes. As Price came closer and put his hand on your shoulder, you blinked slowly, your breath stopping in your throat as you felt your body clench up. What made you so tense? It was only John…

Price seemed to catch on, "You alright?"

"Yeah..." You said trailing off a bit. Price moved his hand away from you then looked at Kate.

Price gestured with his finger to give him a minute as he walked to speak with Kate. You trailed off to the sides, watching the soldiers go about their business. You stared up at the setting sun. You smiled, it had been a while since you'd left Shepard's sight, and even if Price was working for Shepard, which seemed likely, you didn't mind too much. It didn't matter as long as he wasn't anywhere near you.

Right now, Shepard couldn't touch you, he couldn't stare at you, he couldn't degrade you with his words. Right now you were free. You hope so.

"Pretty isn't it?" Price said walking over to you. You looked at him and from the corner of your eye you could see Kate's car heading off back where you guys had came.

"Very pretty, how've you been John? You've been taking care of yourself really well," You said.

Price chuckled, "That I have been, I can see you've been doing the same."

You shrugged, "I try, some days are harder than others."

Price nodded, "I hear ya on that one, one day after another there's always a surprise."

"Yup, so... where's Gaz?" You asked slightly eagerly.

Price hummed giving you a soft smile, one you haven't seen in a long time. It made you feel shy, and the butterflies were not helping. Price gestured towards the building. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the others."

You walked inside the building behind Price, he led you down a few halls and into a mess hall where not many people were in. Everyone was eating and talking among each other not really paying you to much mind until you walked past them.

Price led you to a back table where you could make out a tall guy with a skull mask, a guy with a mow hawk with Scottish accent and there across from them sat Gaz with his back facing you and Price.

The Scottish guy was talking until he stopped Price and gave him a greeting, before noticing you. "Hey captain, who's the lass?"

Gaz turned around, seeing you smiled peering around Price. Gaz shot up almost chocking on his food. You went up to Gaz patting his back as he began to cough.

You giggled, “I just got here don’t die on me now.”

“Hound! It’s good to see you! It’s been so long!” Gaz wrapped an arm around you giving you a quick hug. You felt your body tense up for a moment until he released you, “How are you? Last I heard about you was that were running solo on missions.”

“Unfortunately, but nothing I can’t handle,” you grinned. “Even got the scars to prove it.”

“I bet,” Price chuckled. “Now, as you both heard this is Hound, she’s going to be joining us from here on out, now Hound this here is Ghost and this one is Soap.”

Your raised your brow, “Soap? What type of name is Soap?”

Gaz and Price laughed while Ghost gave a slight chuckle. Soap stared at you in shock but his smile never faltered.

“Pft yeah? What kind of name is Hound huh,” Soap said back.

You hummed, “At least mines makes sense.”

“Wow,” Soap laughed. “Okay fine, we’ll then welcome to the team Hound.”

Price placed his hand on your shoulder gently this time, your eyes darted to his hand. You felt your body tense up again, you did the same with Gaz too… these were people you know, people you trusted. Your mind knew this, so why was your body acting so different?

Price’s tone shifted slightly, “Welcome to task force 141 Hound, I’m glad you came.”

“Me too…”

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tgmsunmontue · 4 months

Text

Take more chances, dance more dances 2/2

~12k EXPLICIT Hangster AU Meet!Cute with Jake as the best man at Natasha and Javy's wedding and Bradley is the instructor teaching them how to dance... (Side Mav/Cyclone (and vaguest hints of Javy/Nat/Bob if you're looking))

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

They didn’t exchange numbers, there was no need to when there’s already been an email with Bradley’s number right there on the bottom. He enters it into his phone and adds a couple of eggplant emojis because he’s nothing if not honest with himself about what he’s entering the number into his phone for. He doesn’t send a message though, he entered his own number into the sign-up sheet when he did the health and safety forms. Bradley can also contact him if he wants.

He can wait a couple of days.

Maybe.

… … …

“What are you drinking?” Jake asks, taking a sip from the side.

“It’s a mojito…”

Huh. That’s the smell of the body wash Bradley uses. Just the scent has his dick stirring in his pants and he can’t believe he’s somehow developed a Pavlovian response to a scent combo from one time.

… … …

It’s been niggling at the back of his head, what Natasha Trace had said, about wanting to bring their wedding forward. Jake talking about needing a grateful to be alive connection and he wonders. There is a lot that Mav can’t and won’t tell him, but he’d kind of hoped the days of him nearly dying while flying were over. Apparently not. He’s already dealt with too much in the last two months; the phone call about Mav being missing and Ice’s funeral. And now there’s a third thing. Of course there is. These things always come in fucking threes, even if Mav is clearly alive and well.

He needs to talk to Mav.

He has nothing in his schedule until after lunch, the morning meant to be for personal practice and yoga and choreography for the students he’s coaching at competition level. None of that is important though, he needs to reassure himself that Mav is in fact alive and well and he pulls up out front of his house twenty minutes later.

“Bradley, hey buddy. Wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

“I know. I just needed to see you though. See that you’re alive.”

Mav’s eyes go sharp at that, and Bradley knows, knows they have both had nightmares about his dad dying. His own nightmares morphed into Mav dying. And he’s lost his mom and Ice to cancer. He has Mav and Aunty Sarah and Uncle Slider and their kids but…

“You almost died on your last mission huh?”

“What? How did you – Why do you think that?”

“Call it an educated guess, which you just confirmed. What the fuck Mav… I’ve already had to deal with one phone call telling me that you were fucking missing and then find out you almost died on a different mission? When you told me you were going to start taking it easy this isn’t what I envisioned!”

“I’m retiring.”

The quick statement pulls him up and stops his internal rant.

“What?”

“Two ejections… almost dying more than once. Losing Ice. I think those days are all behind me.”

“Two ejections! You won’t be cleared to fly again anyway. Holy shit. You’re like a fucking cat. It’s a wonder your skeleton isn’t rattling itself out of your body… fucking hell…”

“Yeah well. It’s a little harder to get moving in the morning now.”

“Yeah, I bet. You should start doing yoga with me.”

“Well, I’ll have time. What with the whole retiring thing…”

“I’ve heard those words before,” he says, still skeptical.

“I mean them this time…”

Bradley hums, takes in the somber expression on Mav’s face and realizes he might actually be serious.

“Okay… well. I’ve got plenty of stuff you can help with.”

“I haven’t suddenly gotten better at dancing.”

“I wasn’t asking you to dance. Pretty sure you can fix my aircon unit though…”

“Yeah, I can take a look at it.”

… … …

The next time the four of them walk into the dance studio he has a better idea of what to expect. Has been anticipating it since he left Bradley’s apartment on Monday night. What he doesn’t expect is the freezing Arctic temperature. It’s not that hot outside. They’re going to need to go and get jackets.

“Hey guys, sorry about the temperature. We had someone look at the aircon, and they got it working but broke the thermostat so it’s either stuck on cooling or heating and we have no control over anything in between. I’ll turn it off now,” Cheryl says, and she’s wearing a puffer jacket and walking toward the control panel. She’s also wearing dance attire, a short sparkly dress, probably fairly revealing on top which has lead to the puffer jacket. Definitely not what she’d been wearing on Monday and he wonders what class is happening later that warrants her wearing it. Wonders what Bradley might be wearing. He spies him coming through the door then, and unfortunately it’s simply black pants and t-shirt, although Jake has to admit he does make it look good.

“Hey guys, good to see you again,” he greets, gives Jake a slow smile which makes him feel warm. Yeah. “Have you guys practiced your steps?”

They have, one night with probably too much alcohol involved for it to be beneficial, but they’re not difficult steps. Bradley takes them through them, corrects them a little but is pretty complimentary on the whole.

“So we’re going to partner up tonight. Nat, you and Javy obviously. Bob, you’ll dance with Cheryl. Jake… you’re with me.”

Of course there are eye rolls, smirks and snorts but Jake doesn’t fucking care. He’s not ashamed that he’s had sex with Bradley, and clearly Bradley isn’t ashamed, just gives Jake a wink that tells him he’s maybe remembering their night together.

Dancing with Bradley feels like foreplay, his body reacting without his permission and Bradley seems to know it too. Asshole. His hands brush over Jake just a little longer than necessary, his eyes falling to Jake’s lips and god he wants. He’s definitely supporting a half-chub, knows Bradley knows it, with all the times he’s brushed up against Jake for no reason, because the waltz doesn’t fucking call for body contact like that. He knows that much. As Bradley pauses, walks them through the steps, the corner-turns, Jake lets his mind wander. Bradley’s apartment is upstairs, scene of the crime as it were, and neither of them have messaged, but there’s interest there. He didn’t think he’d feel this horny after getting such a good lay on Monday, but apparently his body knows when he’s onto a good thing.

“You got another class after this?” Jake asks as they turn into and out of a corner, and he can’t remember the steps exactly, but Bradley is very easy to lead.

“Sure do.”

“Want me to come back around finishing time?”

“Or we could go upstairs and use my thirty-minute break far more creatively than I would otherwise.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah…”

He somehow manages the rest of the lesson without getting fully erect or dry-humping Bradley while dancing. He hopes Javy and Nat appreciate how much restraint he’s showing. Of course it doesn’t stop them sending him knowing looks when he says he’ll see them later, flicks them a one-fingered salute and heads toward the door he knows leads to Bradley’s apartment. Can hear Bradley coming up the stairs behind him, his hand reaching around to push open the door to his apartment, guiding Jake in with his body.

Bradley doesn’t waste any time, drops to his knees and is deftly working Jake’s belt and jeans open, tugging them down, mouth already letting out puffs of warm air on Jake’s exposed skin.

“Jesus fuck…”

“We’re on a time crunch, don’t even think of holding back okay?”

He doesn’t bother answering, just nods, because holding back wasn’t an option considering how he’s been half-hard for the last hour, far harder now with Bradley’s mouth brushing along the sensitive skin of his cock. Then there’s the tear of foil and a condom being rolled down and his cock is encased in tight hot heat as Bradley’s mouth follows the roll of latex down.

“Fuck…”

Bradley just hums, the gentle vibration magnifying as it travels through Jake’s body until he’s also vibrating with pleasure. He’s at Bradley’s mercy, his fingers stroking at Jake’s balls, mouth sucking hard, with distinct purpose and he lets himself just sink into the sensations. Enjoy the confident movements of a man who knows and wants to bring about pleasure as fast as fucking possible. He jerks as Bradley swallows around him, the heat and pressure ramping up for the briefest of moments before it’s back to rapid sucking. He’s not getting the opportunity to settle into any rhythm and he can appreciate the commitment Bradley clearly has to getting this over and done with as quickly as possible.

He doesn’t let himself feel embarrassed by how quickly he comes, hopes Bradley takes it as a compliment that Jake is as clearly as goal focused as he is and he whines and reaches for Bradley, wants to return the favor rather desperately.

“Uh uh. I’m going to save this for later… if you’re going to be here later. You can stay. If you want. Have a nap or shower and then we can have round two when I’m finished.”

“Sounds perfect, I’ll wait here,” Jake says, letting himself slump against the wall so his legs will have less to worry about regarding balance and keeping him upright.

“Help yourself to the food in the fridge and freezer.”

“Wait, what are you going to eat?”

“I’m going to slam back a protein shake and a banana, brush my teeth and hope like hell Cheryl hasn’t already blabbed about what I’ve been up to. I’ll see you later.”

He gives Jake a quick kiss, his smirk clearly amused as Jake just stands there, dazed, his cock still out and wrapped, jeans around his knees and likely looking as blown away as he feels. He realizes quickly, once Bradley’s clearly gone. That he’s pretty much trapped, either he walks through the dance studio to exit the building, or he just stays where he is.

Round two it is then.

Easiest decision ever.

… … …

“So how did you get into dancing anyway?” Jake asks him, looking thoroughly wrecked and Bradley approves of the look.

He’d come up from his class, really needing a shower, to find Jake already in said shower, stretching himself open. It had taken a matter of minutes of Jake’s hands and mouth on him for him to be hard, enough time to feel suitably rinsed off and then they’d been back in bed. And now Jake is making conversation as opposed to running for the door and he approves of that too.

“Ha. It’s… Well. I was an idiot and took my step-dad’s bike, crashed it and almost killed myself. I had a lot of rehab. A lot. Swimming and dancing were the ones which made me feel like I could get back to enjoying life again. And it turned out that dancing and music were just something that came easy to me.”

“A natural huh?”

“I guess. My mom was a dancer.”

“Dancers do have a lot going for them…”

Bradley snorts in amusement, because that’s not the worst pick-up line he’s heard, but it’s close. Jake doesn’t need to use pick-up lines though, he’s already in Bradley’s bed.

… … …

It carries on like that for a couple of weeks, Jake simply hanging around after his lesson, them falling into bed after Bradley’s class. They end up hooking up three, four or even five times a week, always after Bradley is finished with his classes. It’s been a long time since he’s had so much sex, so regular. It’s super convenient and Bradley finds he also enjoys Jake’s company, when he deigns to stay a little longer. He doesn’t mind the whole getting sex on the regular, but is a little surprised when he enters the dance hall and sees Jake loitering near the water cooler.

“Hey. Didn’t expect to see you today.”

“Javy and Phoenix are doing cake tasting. Which seems a little weird considering his favorite is strawberry-vanilla and hers is chocolate. Just… I don’t understand weddings.”

“You and me both, although I’m glad they often feature a first dance. Keeps me busy.”

�� “And are you? Busy that is?”

“Well, I actually have a community class today. It’s a free dance lesson and anyone can come along. I get a lot of kids. You don’t have to hang around.”

“And if I want to?”

“Well, I won’t stop you.”

The room fills with dozens of people, most of them kids but none younger than about six or seven actually come onto the dance floor part of the room. There’s plenty of parents sitting on this side, keeping the younger kids entertained. He usually does two circles of dancers, one inner and one outer but he glances over at Jake and remembers their first meeting.

“In honor of my friend Jake here I thought we’d do a little line dancing today, which is his specialty. Him and I will show you a demonstration and then we’ll see what we can teach you okay?”

… … …

Jake laughs and shakes his head, because he hasn’t done line dancing properly in years, but he did do it for many many years, is still dragged out every time he goes home and he remembers everything; his parents wouldn’t let his forget this big a part of their family tradition and time together. Easy as breathing. Just not something he usually broadcasts, but he’s going to enjoy this.

“Four wall dance to a thirty-two count? No hooks, no bridges? Right?”

That gets Bradley attention and Jake smirks at the flash of arousal he sees in Bradley’s eyes. He was right, dancing does turn him on. Jake is prepared to rock his world if he’s going to think making Jake do a little line dancing is going to make him uncomfortable. He’s got tone on this type of dancing if nothing else.

“You’ve been holding out on me Lieutenant…”

“I haven’t been holding out at all.”

Bradley throws his head back and laughs, delighted and Jake grins, pleased with himself.

“Okay everyone, we’re going to let Jake show us his fancy foot work, I’m going to try and keep up with him, and then we’ll show you something you can all learn. Sound good?”

There’s a little cheer, and this is obviously the format that Bradley uses every time and Jake shakes out his shoulders and rolls his neck, loosening up, wondering what music Bradley is going to put on, trusts him to know what will make a more interesting demo anyway. When the first words announce Good time he barks out a laugh. Of course. He gestures to the empty space beside him, quirks his eyebrow at Bradley expectantly. Bradley steps in, accepts the challenge Jake is laying down and fuck this is fun.

He counts in and kicks off, seeing Bradley following out of the corner of his eye, and as he steps, kicks and toe struts his way through the first quarter-turn. He says the moves, broadcasting what he’s about to do give Bradley a chance to keep up and he does; grinning the whole time and Jake had forgotten how much fun this is. He adds more complexity as soon as Bradley seems to have got it, changing from wall to wall although he keeps the primary steps the same, knows Bradley might try and teach this and wants to give him a chance of it making it look a little similar. The song is only five minutes long, comes to an end far sooner than he’d like, is enjoying dancing like this with Bradley and he’s enjoying it too if the look he’s giving Jake is anything to go by. He’d thought he’d seen all of Bradley’s bedroom eyes after three weeks but this is a new one.

“Holy shit, you can dance. Fuck you’re hot when you move like that… no wonder you’ve picked up the waltz so easily.”

“You think so huh?”

“God yes. You able to stay? Want you to fuck me.”

Jake doesn’t know if he’s ever going to quite get used to Bradley just blatantly stating what he wants, no coy games or making him guess.

“Yeah, okay. We can do that.”

“Good. Now I have to get through the rest of this session with a semi, so thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome darlin’, anytime…”

“Promises promises,” Bradley says, walking backwards away from Jake but his grin is lascivious and he is indeed noticeably half-hard in his pants.

… … …

He’s ready to kill him. He’s somehow fixed and re-broken the AC. Decided the water cooler needed upgrading, which has resulted in them now having to hire a replacement until a proper repair man comes. Bradley’s car needed an oil change, which had gone smoothly, but then he’d decided to tune it, and of course it’s now in pieces. He’s lucky he can walk pretty much everywhere he needs to go.

“Mav, seriously, what is up with you? You need to find something to do which isn’t breaking everything of mine that you touch. Please.”

“I’m bored.”

“Yeah, no shit. Surely there’s someone else you can annoy.”

The expression on Mav’s face breaks his heart and fuck, he realizes it’s usually Ice that Maverick annoyed and he reaches for him, hugs him, feels guilty that he hadn’t realized earlier.

“I miss him too. Have you thought about going and helping Sarah with her grandkids though? Would that help?”

“Maybe. They make me feel old.”

“Mav… “

“Don’t say it.”

Bradley huffs, gives Mav a quick squeeze and steps away, ignores the quick swipe Mav takes at his eyes.

“You want to come to the wedding with me? They’ve given me a plus-one.”

“You mean Javy and Natasha’s wedding?”

“Yeah. Is there another wedding coming up that I should know about?”

“No… but I’m not going as your plus one. Take Hondo. Even Beau would be a better option than me…” Oh. There’s an idea. “Actually, you want to do something truly scary Mav? Ask Beau to be your plus-one to the wedding.”

“Cyclone isn’t interested in me like that.”

“What, so he might say no? Is the great Maverick Mitchell a little scared of rejection?” Bradley goads, because he learnt from Ice that one of the best ways to get Mav to do something was tell him he either couldn’t, or he’d somehow fail if he did. And Bradley has a pretty good hunch that Beau won’t say no.

… … …

“Uh, so I know it’s really late notice, but I was wondering if you’d come to the wedding as my date…”

Bradley laughs and shakes his head, looks up then and realizes Jake has taken that the wrong way, expression shuttering to cool indifference and he doesn’t want that. He presses himself against Jake, nibbles on his ear and kisses along his jaw and enjoys the fine scrape of stubble against his lip.

“I actually already got asked to be someone’s plus one to the wedding. Just this morning in fact…” Bradley says, rolling his hips against the swell of Jake’s ass. “And I turned them down. Was sort of hoping for a better offer…”

“Oh?” Jake asks, and he sounds curious and Bradley pulls back so he can see his grin.

“Yeah… and yes. I’d like to go with you.”

“Glad to hear it…”

… … …

Bradley is happy with how they look, their last practice before the actual wedding day in three days and they’re gliding across the floor beautifully. Natasha and Javy seem relaxed and happy, their respective sisters here for this final lesson and Jake and Bob look equally good although he misses dancing with Jake himself. He’s a little surprised when they switch partners, Bob suddenly switching to dance with Javy, who has clearly been learning how to both lead and be lead. Jake takes Natasha and the sisters pair off, one of them also taking the lead and he feels a little in the dark about the whole thing but he’s not disappointed. He could have helped if he’d known this was something they wanted.

He chances a quick glance at Jake, who’s just looking softly pleased with the whole thing and he wonders if it was a bit more spur of the moment. There’s learning to do something with no intention of ever showing anyone, and then doing this. It’s not like it’s their actual wedding reception, however he’s starting to get an inkling that maybe it would be fine if it was. They switch partners again, this time Bob with Natasha and Jake with Javy. Jake is now being lead and he feels a flash of what he thinks is annoyance and he’s not sure what he’s annoyed about exactly. Then Jake is peeling off and grinning at him.

“You wanna take me for a spin?”

“You know I do…” Bradley says, and then he’s leading Jake across the floor in a waltz, and Jake’s not as practiced as he is when he’s leading, but it’s still passable and Bradley realizes that he’d maybe been jealous rather than annoyed. Huh.

“I don’t have a class tonight. There’s a two-week break. Was wondering if you maybe wanted to go and get dinner?”

“You mean you eat proper food? Not just protein shakes?”

“Shut up, my main meal is lunch because I have more time to cook during the day. You want to go and eat or not?”

“Think I can be persuaded.”

… … …

Natasha and Javy manage to get him alone, asking him if he’d like to attend their wedding and he laughs, says he’s already coming and wonders briefly why Jake hasn’t told them he’s got Bradley coming as his date. Both sets of eyebrows go up when he tells them and he’s not sure how to take it.

… … …

He didn’t know if they were going to be wearing their dress uniforms or suits, but clearly they’ve gone with suits and Jake looks drop dead gorgeous. He looks good normally, but in a form-fitting suit he is stunning. Everyone else looks good too, all of them unfairly good looking really, but it’s Jake that holds his attention and he realizes then that maybe he’s starting to fall a little in love. That wasn’t his plan, and he feels a little disconcerted, because Jake will be leaving. Will forget him and just move on to better and brighter things, far away from Bradley. He needs to be realistic and prepare for that eventuality.

The wedding ceremony is late in the day on a Thursday, held in a small chapel not far from the base and he’s had to get a ride from Beau and Mav, which is amusing (for many reasons, not least Beau insisting on driving) however also annoying, seeing as his car is still not functional; or in one piece. The ceremony is quick but sincere, he likes the fact that both Javy and Natasha have a best-man and a bridesmaid each, clearly not holding to any particular traditions or societal expectations. There’s about fifty people in attendance, and having spent so much time with the wedding party over the last four weeks he actually feels like he knows them quite well, although Bob is wearing a ring on his ring finger and he would swear he never wore one before.

Natasha and Javy almost run up the aisle in their delight, their best men following behind them and Jake winks at him as he goes past, he rolls his eyes but can’t resist smiling. The bride and groom’s sister follow much more sedately, looking bemused at the whoops of congratulations happening from excitable family and friends. There are photos outside, Bradley stands off to the side with Mav and Beau, although Mav gets called up to have photos with the bride and groom, and then Beau is called up as well. He’s glad he just gets called up for a large group photo and then he expects the wedding party to disappear for more photos but instead they’re all heading to the restaurant of a hotel for dinner and he finds himself back in the backseat of Beau’s car again.

… … …

The function room is nicely set out, a sliding divider-wall making the room smaller and more intimate. There’s a decently sized dance floor to one side, decorations and flowers and this feels far more traditionally wedding-like and he suspects it’s the hotels doing rather than personal preference on behalf of either Natasha or Javy. He leaves Mav and Beau as soon as he can, grabs a glass of champagne and walks in any direction that is away from them, stilted conversation and all. It’s weird hearing them try to be polite to each other.

“I forgot you said that Mav was a family friend…” Jake says, coming up beside him and Bradley opens his mouth and then shuts it again. Looks across to Mav who is still awkwardly talking with Beau who looks either amused or terrified, Bradley’s not actually sure.

“Uh… Yeah. I mean… he is. But… didn’t he tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Jake asks, also looking towards Mav, eyebrow quirking upwards as he takes in the fact he’s almost touching Beau with his hand, clearly uncertain, which is an odd look on him. They’ve been dancing around each other for fucking years, and not literally dancing, if it had been actual dancing they would have fucked by now. He knows Beau has been unable to do or say anything with the differences in rank, but now that Mav is officially retired he’s hopeful that maybe they’ll both come to their collective senses. “Did they come together?”

“Yeah, with me in the backseat. This is their first date. Mav is like my dad.”

“What?”

“Uh… which part?”

“You came with them… and this is their first – wait. Maverick is your dad?”

“No. My dad was his RIO. Mav is my godfather, though he pretty much raised me after my dad died. I can’t believe you didn’t know. Shit. Sorry. I seriously thought he would have mentioned it. I would have mentioned it if I had thought you didn’t know.”

“No… just the whole family friend thing.”

“Well, that’s not wrong either, it’s just not quite the whole picture. Anyway, Mav has been bored out of his mind since he retired. He took my car and it’s now in fucking pieces at his hangar, leaving me without a car. And those two have been… antagonistic toward each other, for years, and I was pretty sure it was unresolved sexual tension and watching them now, I know it was.”

“That explains some things.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah. Pretty sure if Admiral Simpson said the sky was blue Mav would somehow disagree just to annoy him…”

“Oh yeah. Mav annoys the people he loves. It’s a thing with him. Beau doesn’t know what’s going to hit him.”

“Can I just say hearing you call Admiral Simpson by his first name will never not be weird.”

“Well, before he died I used to call the COMPACFLT Uncle Ice, or Uncle Tom, so let that rock your world.”

Jake looks suitably weirded out and Bradley grins, takes a sip of his drink.

“How many Admirals do you know?”

“More than any civilian should probably. Maybe ten?”

“Definitely too many.”

They get through the dinner, speeches which are thankfully short, then he’s watching the first dance, feeling proud as Javy and Natasha glide beautifully across the floor. After their first circuit around the dance floor the rest of the wedding party joins them. Another circuit and then it’s an open invitation and just like they’d done at their last practice, Natasha and Bob dance together while the sisters pair up and Jake and Javy navigate around the floor. He lets them do one lap and then he moves, aiming for Jake with purpose, cutting in smoothly, gets a slap on the back from Javy.

“Having fun?”

“Think it’s one of the nicest weddings I’ve been to,” Bradley admits, and he realizes that Jake has been leading him to the edge of the dance floor and he’s a little disappointed. He enjoys dancing, especially with Jake; although the column Jake is now leaning against does offer some potential possibilities that immediately flood his mind.

“Thanks for agreeing to come with me.”

“I’m sure we can come together later too…”

“Way to lower the tone… real classy.”

“We just waltzed around the room, that was classy enough,” Bradley says, because if he can’t dance with Jake then he’ll take up his other favorite activity, turning him on. He shifts slightly, looks around and then moves his hand across the front of Jake’s pants, a casual movement to any onlooker, but definitely not casual for Jake, the quick firm press of Bradley’s hand on his cock making him look a little scandalized and Bradley can’t help but laugh.

“You wanna try me pretty boy?” Bradley asks, knowing Jake likes pushing boundaries as much as Bradley enjoys laying them down.

“Yeah, but time and place. Best friend’s wedding… probably not the place? Or the time?”

“They’re all paying attention to the bride and groom. Trust me. You’ve got all my attention.” Jake shifts and Bradley is pretty sure he’s getting turned on. Good. “You’ve always got my attention.”

Jake doesn’t say anything, but there’s a little hitch to his breathing, enough to tell him that Jake’s definitely getting hard. He’s had weeks of learning his body and reactions in bed, so the only thing different now is the fact they’re fully dressed and surrounded by people.

“Forgot to say, you look absolutely fucking gorgeous.”

He turns his body slightly, pretending to want to look out over the dance floor, but the jut of his thigh and hip brush against Jake’s groin with intent and he hides a pleased grin as he hears Jake moan.

“You planning on keeping me on edge all night?”

“Honey, this isn’t anywhere near an edge, this is just me teasing you… I think I’ll go and dance for a bit, let you collect yourself.”

… … …

He watches as Bradley goes to cut-in, this time it’s Javy’s sister, the accomplished dancer and she moves fluidly with Bradley, definitely looking good and it doesn’t help his burgeoning erection at all. The man can move and he fucking knows it, showing off when he knows Jake is watching.

“So, Bradley huh?”

He freezes, blood running cold. And yeah. That’ll do it. Maverick.

“Uh, what was that Mav?”

“Bradley. You’re the one he’s here with. He refused point blank to consider coming as my plus one.”

“Think your plus-one is happy you asked him…” Jake says, seeing Admiral Simpson dancing with Phoenix. He looks at Mav and then notes the blush, just the barest hint of pink and he wouldn’t have caught it except for the fact that he’d also shifted and ducked his head, looking fucking bashful of all things and Jake wonders just how much dating experience this man has.

But then he realizes that Bradley got asked by Mav to be his plus-one, not some other person like he’d thought, but his father figure and something inside him relaxes, just a little. He could have asked, but he’s not used to asking for what he wants and he’d desperately wanted to know. And now he does. He somehow manages to make small talk with Mav until Admiral Simpson comes over and invites Mav to dance with him. He’s quickly rejoined by Bradley, who is watching Mav and Admiral Simpson with a slightly horrified expression.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Mav cannot dance at all.”

“I don’t think Admiral Simpson cares…” Jake states as he watches the two of them just sway and watch each other while trying to look like they’re not watching each other. He’s pretty sure he’s blushing from the secondhand embarrassment.

“You know I was thinking, I wouldn’t mind edging you, working you up until you’re so desperate to come you cry for me… Think you’d look very pretty like that.”

Jake remembers Bradley saying a similar thing their first night together and he’s never been with someone with that level of patience. Or the patience to put up with him whining about wanting to come. He feels that Bradley would likely gag him to stop him whining and the little sound that escapes him at just the thought is quiet, but Bradley definitely catches it, head turning immediately, eyebrow quirking up and smile slow as he realizes that Jake is apparently very much into the idea.

“Mmm. Shame we can’t really explore that right now. This is not the time or place. And we can’t leave before the bride and groom.”

“I can go and tell them to leave?”

Bradley laughs, angles his head to kiss at his neck just above his collar and he can’t believe that this is just Bradley being playful. Fuck.

“Won’t hurt you to practice some patience. Think you’ll need it.”

… … …

He dances with everyone who seems like they want to dance, meets grandparents and parents, friends, and colleagues and tries to ensure everyone has a good time. Every time he sees Jake alone he takes him for a dance, makes sure the music suits either the waltz they know, or is something close to what Jake can confidently dance to. He finds the music, controlled by a guy called Mikey, and asks him to queue up Good Time, quickly lets Natasha, Javy and Bob know he’s going to organize a line dance, and they’re all enthusiastic. He drags Jake into the center front to help lead and then he has nearly everyone present dancing, tapping and stepping to the music; laughter when they get it wrong but he feels high on the enjoyment of everyone around him.

Between each couple of dances with others he returns to Jake, runs his hand down his arm, kisses his neck or cheek softly, leaves him talking with whichever guest he’s trying to hold a conversation with before he goes back to dancing, confident that Jake is getting more and more wound up. The idea of taking him apart and watching him unwind all in one go has his own arousal simmering away lowly.

Finally Natasha and Javy are walking around and saying goodbye to everyone. There’s no bouquet toss or garter thing, instead the bouquet is handed to Natasha’s grandmother very carefully, who pats her cheek and then gives her a shooing gesture with her free hand. She clearly doesn’t need to be told twice, grinning and waving at everyone as she tugs Javy with her. He guesses that most people have work tomorrow, it’s not even midnight, as now that they’ve left there’s only a small group of people who seem to be discussing staying, while the grandparents are definitely heading out.

“I have a room upstairs,” Jake says, his voice barely above a whisper and Bradley turns, wraps an arm around him and pulls him close, angles their bodies so Jake is rubbing against his side and he can definitely feel a half-firm cock in his pants. Yeah, he wants to leave now.

“Perfect. Let’s go…” Bradley says, and he spies Mav talking to someone, his pinky finger adorably hooked around Beau’s like he’s afraid of letting him go. Seeing as Mav is busy he aims his comments at Beau. “I’ll find my own way home. You have a good night Admiral.”

Beau looks quietly pleased while Mav looks flushed and Bradley doesn’t want to wonder about why. Instead, want to focus on Jake and getting him to a state where he can barely remember his own name. He follows Jake through the lobby to the elevators, holds him and discreetly palms him through his pants, angles his body to stop prying eyes and puts his mouth to Jake’s ear.

“You look so fucking hot in this suit. Seems a shame to take it off…”

“You should see me in my uniform…”

“Meh. Uniforms don’t do anything for me,” Bradley admits. “At least not military ones. Grew up seeing too many of them. This though? Trying to decide whether I want to fuck you in it or not…”

… … …

Jake can barely breathe, unable to take deep breaths with how tight his entire body is feeling. Bradley’s words aren’t helping, and he forces his brain to connect words into comprehensible sentences. Walks stiffly down the hall to his hotel room, Bradley’s hand under his jacket but burning hot through the fabric of his shirt. He pushes open the door and steps inside.

“I want to say not, simply because of how much it cost me, but also, that’s what dry cleaning is for right? And I kind of like the idea of thinking about you fucking me in it every time I wear it in the future.”

That seems to sell it for Bradley, his hands not hesitating in pulling Jake’s shirt out from his pants with one hand, other hand on his belt, mouth on Jake’s and he sways into him, presses his body against Jake’s and god, he’ll never grow tired of the way Bradley moves against him and he leans against the wall for support.

“Wanna fuck you like this,” Bradley says, his voice pitched low in Jake’s ear and his skin prickles at the level of intensity in his voice.

“You can.”

“I know.”

Bradley strips quickly, clearly wants to be naked while he has Jake fully clothed, shirt untucked, belt undone but that’s all that’s happened. Bradley is moving around with purpose, grabbing a couple of towels, getting Jake’s directions for lube and condoms. He’s standing there, fully clothed, and getting harder in his pants at just the thought of Bradley fucking him. He never used to be this fucking easy. Then Bradley is back, gloriously naked in front of him, his cock bouncing around with growing interest, hands running all over Jake’s body, slipping over his shoulders and taking his suit jacket off. Part of him wants to leave it on, an extra layer of protection maybe for how exposed he’s feeling right now.

“How about we at least remove the jacket, don’t want you to overheat… another time though, air-conditioned room, definitely want to explore that.”

Like realizing that Mav was the other person who had asked Bradley to the wedding, hearing Bradley talk about times in the future where they’re still fucking makes his stomach twist with pleasure and relief maybe. Then he’s being shuffled toward the bed, falling onto it, bouncing a little and then Bradley’s pressing him down, naked skin fucking everywhere and he kisses him, lips sliding and he can feel Bradley’s erection pressing against his, separated by only two layers of fabric and he jerks up, wanting more friction.

Without his permission or say-so Bradley’s leaning back, kneeling above him, shifting to be carefully positioned above his knees, hand rubbing with firm intent over his cock, fingers nimbly undoing the button and clasp of his pants, lowering the fly carefully. Then Bradley’s tugging his pants and underwear together, under the curve of his ass before carefully maneuvering the front over his erection. He leans down and licks a stripe up Jake’s cock, sucks at the head far too briefly to be anything but a tease and he groans.

“You good?” Bradley asks, and his tone is lower than Jake’s ever heard it, raspy and fuck he sounds good.

“You know it…”

Bradley hums then, gives his cock another too-quick suck but then he’s moving away, rolling Jake onto his side, bringing his legs up into a curl and he runs a finger over the crease between his ass cheeks. Then Bradley is tugging his tie undone, looping it through one of his shirt cuffs, then the other, and it’s not quite a front hog-tie but both his wrists are now at the mercy of Bradley. He could easily flick the cufflinks out, get free, but he won’t. He wants to see where Bradley’s going to take this, is desperate to see where Bradley might take this.

To his disappointment the tie is released, but not removed from where it’s looped; he hears the snap of the lid and then there’s the press and wipe of too much lube around his hole and he doesn’t want to whine about the amount of lube, but he also totally does. He keeps quiet though. He also wants to complain about the amount of time it’s taking, but he’s learnt to trust Bradley, trust that he has a plan and it’s never let him down yet.

“So hard for you already…”

Oh.

He hears the now familiar tear of foil and more lube, and they’re going to make an absolute mess of the bed, but he doesn’t care in the slightest. Then Bradley’s reaching for the tie again, pulling it into a loop in his hands and then leans down to kiss at the hinge of his jaw, catches his lips in a kiss. The way Bradley has him doesn’t make it easy, his thighs are together, unable to be spread with his pants around his thighs, his shirt cuffs and tie keeping his wrists clamped firmly to the bed under Bradley’s left hand. His right-hand palms over his ass, the only part of him that’s naked and exposed, a finger brushing down the length of his ass crack again before focusing a few strokes just on his hole.

“This okay Jake?”

He groans, thrusts back on the finger stroking over his hole in a too-soft stroke.

“Need words Jake…”

“Yes. Fuck. Yes. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something.”

“That’s all I needed to know…”

Then he feels the slide of a finger into him, and it doesn’t get as deep as he’s used to, Bradley’s knuckles pressing into the flesh of his ass and he wants to spread his legs, wants Bradley deeper. But he can’t, too constricted, all he can do is press back, let Bradley do his whole maddeningly slow thing where he completely ignores whatever it is Jake says and instead listens to his body, somehow able to read it fluently. He’s got one of his knees behind Jake’s knees, and he’s pressing Jake down into the bed with his body and god it feels good.

“Oh god… fuck you’re tight,” Bradley says, sliding two fingers in, and he can feel Bradley’s teeth pressing down on his bicep through the fabric of his shirt and he wonders if he will get the shirt cleaned after all. Maybe keep it as a souvenir to remind him of this. Of Bradley. All he can do is jerk minutely, barely a flex of muscle and he wants to touch his cock, can’t, and he feels increasingly desperate. Bradley’s fingers are moving non-stop, tugging at his rim, knuckles pressing and massaging at the tight muscles, and he squeezes his eyes shut, gasps at the press of three fingers.

“Going to mess you up…”

“Yeah, yeah… come on. Please.”

Jake can’t believe how hard he is. He’s never had sex while wearing a suit, but he’s also never been fucked while being quite this restrained and he wants to know whether it’s one or the other, or the combination. Or is it just a Bradley thing? He’d briefly thought it would be little bit awkward, with Bradley only having one hand to try and hold Jake open and guide his cock. But there’s lube and apparently Bradley’s cock has a homing beacon in it, because the press of Bradley’s cock into him is slow and sure.

“You’re so fucking good…”

Jake makes a sound he can’t even begin to describe, the love-child between a whine and moan, hopes Bradley realizes it’s a good sound, because his tongue feels thick in his mouth, unable to form proper words, his breath stuttering in and out. He’s been turned on for hours, getting more and more desperate for this with every little touch Bradley had given him. And Bradley had known what he was doing, the entire time. His eyes had been dark with arousal as he held Jake in his arms as they danced, running his fingers over the back of Jake’s hand, placing soft kisses on the side of Jake’s jaw. Every single look and touch a promise for later.

“Fuck Jake… how are you so fucking perfect. God.”

Bradley’s thrusting, quick quick sloooow, pushingin fast and relentless, but dragging out slowly, his breathing shifting to shuddery exhales as he clearly lets himself feel Jake’s body around him. Pushing back in quickly before repeating the slow drag out. Over and over and over. Quick quick sloooow. He desperately wants to touch his cock now, is shifting against nothing in the vain hope he might get some friction, something, anything. He can see the head, dark against the unintentional framing of his white shirt, can feel dampness where his own precum has been caught on the fabric.

“Yeah, your cock looks so good against your shirt. So pretty…” Bradley says, his voice rough in Jake’s ear as he continues to move, kissing at Jake’s ear, jaw, lips; all while thrusting. Quick quick sloooow. “You’re close…” Jake blinks. Is he? His body and brain don’t feel attached right now and he realizes that yeah, he is. Bradley now knows his body that well. “Come on Jake, come on my cock. Nothing but my cock.”

That punches the breath out of him and he comes, hard, his body straining to release everything, all his muscles seeming to flex and then immediately relax simultaneously and he shudders, shakes and then he feels Bradley shaking above him, his groans sounding beautifully broken and he was true to his word. Jake is definitely messed up, his shirt and stomach now damp and sticky, the tie stretched and twisted in Bradley’s hands. Then he has both of Bradley’s hands on him, tie and wrists released, instead it seems like Bradley wants to touch every inch of him and he lets him.

… … …

Jake stands there and it’s the first time Bradley has seen him in uniform, knows he must no longer be on leave and his stomach falls. It’s been a couple of days since they’ve seen each other and yeah, this is definitely not sexy in the slightest.

“Guess you’re on a plane or boat out of here soon huh?”

“Yeah, two days. Just. I’ll be gone for five months.”

“Guess I’ll be seeing you then. You get to visit all your other people in all the other ports…”

“And if I only want one person. And one port…?” Jake asks and Bradley blinks.

“You asking me to go steady?” Bradley teases, although the intent of his question is dead serious. “When you’re about to leave me for five months?”

“Yep. Guess I am. Taking a leaf out of your book and stating what I want. Clearly. No room for misinterpretation.”

“I approve. Always in favor of being upfront with what you want.”

“And what do you want?”

“Right now? To take my new long-distance boyfriend to bed. In five months? To be there when he steps off his plane or boat when he comes home to me…”

“And take him to bed then too I hope.”

“Of course.”

#Hangster #Sereshaw #rooster x hangman #Take more chances - Dance more dances

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bluegekk0 · 1 year

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he's just so round. it's very hard to describe the emotion his roundness evokes, it's just,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

little mud man.

the most cutest little baby killer.

aw, thank you for this. i appreciate it, i really do. though i would like to take this as an opportunity to rant a little bit about the last part, i hope you don't mind

the whole "child murderer" thing really irks me personally. and not because i want to pretend like the vessel thing didn't happen and pk is innocent, no. he still did that, their blood is still on his hands, it's a crucial part of his character that you just can't take away. it's more that i believe that label kinda misrepresents what actually happened. "murder" implies something premeditated, out ot of malice. and that's just doesn't fit him. his hand was forced by the infection, he wasn't killing vessels himself because he felt like it, hell, they weren't really meant to be living, feeling things by design. of course, that was a cruel misconception, and i personally see that as his fault. that he either lied to himself about it to make himself feel better, or let them all die knowing that they might actually be alive. it also connects to people saying that he would toss them into the abyss if they were impure and that's just... not what happened? i see this idea everywhere and it confuses me, cause even the game itself heavily implies that the vessels either died after hatching (from eggs which were already placed down in the abyss) or because they failed the climb and fell to their deaths

was what he did fucked up? absolutely, no doubt about that, he's not innocent and i will not act like he is, no matter how cute and pudgy and sad i make him in my au (which, btw, still revolves heavily around his guilt and self loathing about all the deaths he's responsible for, even if most content i draw of it is wholesome or silly). but if you're gonna call him out, i feel like it would help if it was more nuanced than just calling him a baby murderer with a buzzsaw obsession

and on a side note. it would also help greatly if people recognized that the white lady was just as responsible for the vessels and, by proxy, their deaths. i swear, the amount of "wl is so sweet and is such a good mom to the vessels" stuff i see, while wholesome, also kinda baffles me. cause i feel like people forget that she was equally responsible for that plan, and on top of that, doesn't even seem particularly emotionally attached to the vessels even when we meet her. like, come on, not even a "i'm sorry for leaving you and your siblings to die in the abyss"? anything? just "hey so your sibling kinda failed. go take their place ok thanks bye"? okay then. real sweet of you, mom

no shade towards wl or people who like that content, of course, i enjoy that stuff as well, i just feel it's a bit unfair to give pk all the shit and then turn around and spread wholesome mom wl content around, ya feel me? just... keep them both accountable. they're both guilty

nothing against you, the person who asked, btw. no bad feelings about your ask either, it's just something that's been on my mind for a long time and i guess this was a good opportunity to talk about it. hope you have a great day! and thanks for the ask

#ask stuff

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prophecydungeon · 1 year

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man, the gulf between season 8 wash and chorus trilogy wash (or even season 10 wash!) is actually completely and utterly bonkers

Serious Competentman things wash does in recovery one and season 6:

takes down a hornet with exceptional competency

faces down the meta one-on-one multiple times

calmly disposes of many dead bodies, including those of his former teammates and friends

shoot (at best) or kills (at worst) several guards at headquarters

with the crowning "oooooh boy" achievement being: he kills south in cold blood

which is like, alright! neat! we have now gotten another Serious Compenentman freelancer, and this all tracks more or less to what we've seen tex, wyoming, york, and south do. wash in season 6 is the reality check to the reds and blues; he's the straight man (...ykwim) to their brand of insanity.

by season 8, wash is so completely off the fucking rails that he's the one that needs a reality check character. doc plays that part for both wash and maine* in season 8; he's the token blood gulch haha funnyguy character who both offsets our Serious Antagonists and occasionally mediates between them, and he's there to alleviate the tension. (to the audience, at least. our Serious Antagonists have no time for jokes.)

this is epitomized, imo, when they're in the desert dealing with the aliens and trying to find the (discarded) epsilon unit:

wash: you sure that's what he's doing? doc: well, my alien-to-english is a little rusty. i would suggest we get one of those translator balls, but we've got enough jerks around here already. maine: [speaks] wash: i agree. we should just kill most of them. the last one left alive will talk. doc: (patiently) wash, you just can't kill everybody you meet. wash: why not? doc: uh... well, now you've put me on the spot. i don't really have an answer for that. seems like a bad idea, though. karma?

wash has killed people before - many people, in fact! - and he's certainly far from squeamish about it, but this is on an entirely different level. he isn't playing the straight man to the blood gulch guys here. he's entirely serious about killing this group of aliens and so is maine. sure, this is a big and significant turn from how he acted in season 6, but who he is by the time the chorus trilogy rolls around makes this person from season 8 almost entirely unrecognizable.

other things wash does during his baddie arc include:

shooting lopez

(functionally) killing donut

probably genuinely would have killed doc at multiple points if he didn't prove himself useful in one way or another

treating maine exceptionally poorly, even though they were at least superficially friendly at some point in the past, until it serves him to be slightly nicer

(he's also mean to doc, but they don't have a history)

tucker's character arc (rightfully) gets the most screen time in the chorus trilogy, but wash's and carolina's growth - while a little more understated - is also not at all to be discarded. season 8 is wash's ugliest moment** and boy is it fucking bleak. he's mean to maine and verges on downright cruel until things start to go his way; he acts entirely out of selfishness to clear his own name; he's willing to throw anyone and everyone under the bus and kill his way to the finish line. and then he doesn't.

he survives but he doesn't really succeed in clearing his name, and he doesn't really earn his redemption, per se, but we get reminded multiple times over the rest of the series that he was that terrible person at one point and he isn't anymore. going backwards from the chorus trilogy to season 8 is almost enough to cause whiplash and the way his growth gets shown from that point on (while also taking a back seat) is so gratifying. he tells locus, "[...] you’re too afraid to take responsibility for what you’ve done. I know I used to be a real piece of shit, but at least I’m trying to do something about it." and he does! that's the thing. he does.

*i'll die on this hill; see the "elaborate on that" "no" video.

**i say this knowing fully and completely that if wash did not have his baddie arc, i would not like him half as much as i do

#Many Posts kind of a day from me!#for $800 a month i will stop #i have a lot (A Lot) of thoughts on wash and maine in season 8 and specifically #and specifically i have thoughts on why wash would choose to call him the meta while knowing fully and completely what an EMP does to AI #but that's a can of worms best left untouched for now #red vs blue #still not sure if tungle actually takes the first 5 or the first 20 tags

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lordofluxury · 5 months

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Tell me about your ship with 1-A! I can't find the tag on your blog, so you'll have to tell me from scratch! What's your self-insert's Quirk? Is it one big polycule? How did you decide to date the whole class?

I haven’t actually gotten a chance to lay everything out so uh yeah, Enjoy!

*The Basics*

Name: My name so you can call him Atzi

Age: 17

Quirk: Syren (pretends to only have gills and a tail)

~~ Quirk explanation: Similiar to shinsou’s ability he can he can command people although he does not need a response in order to do so. He quirk is more powerful when he sings and when singing he does not have to give direct commands as long as he keeps singing. If he stops singing the person under his quirk will remain doing the last command until completed

Mutation: Blue facial scaling, siren ears, a thick powerful tail only useful for swimming, and the inability to see clearly unless in water

Scaring: two claw marks over his nose from rough housing as a child as well as arm and hip scarring

Photo:

*Description*

A member of 1-A because he impressed Nedzu during the enterance exam, scoring very highly despite his lack of a strong quirk (or so everyone thinks), Atzi is the definition of strange. Very loyal to his best friend Tokoyami Fumikage, Atzi plans on becoming a hero in order to keep Tokoyami alive. He has no loyalty to heroism nor the school. His loyalty lays with Class 1-A and his Sensei(s) which is terrifying later

*The Beginning*

Atzi was born to two mutant parents in a mutant only community in mexico. He grew up speaking nahuatl spanish and in school english, Atzi has a natural talent for languages. He grew up as a girl that often roughhoused with family but faced fierce bullying in his mostly non mutant school and carries that pain to this day.

When he was twelve his parents were given a good job offer in Japan and they moved there. Atzi picked up the language quickly but prefers to speak anything else.

During an exploration of his new city he ventures to what most people call the mutant slums and meets Tokoyami Fumikage. They become close easily as neither were fond of humans and found someone that could understand them. The first day they exchanged phone numbers and kept in contact even as Tokoyami moved foster home to foster home.

One day during a walk together, Tokoyami confessed to wanting to be a hero, not for the fame and glory they explained to him, but to make enough money to never ever hurt again.

Atzi never really came to a conclusion about gender and never told his parents but switch to all masculine terms at thirteen and in most languages calls himself masculine.

On the same walk while discussing heroism, a member of the AML (anti mutant league) confronted them and attempted to kill them both. Atzi and Tokoyami responded by offing the man themselves and leaving him in an alley. He was never found. From then on Atzi and Fumikage used first names for one another

Joining 1-A together and working together whenever possible, Fumikage and Atzi plan to work as a hero duo until they have the money to retire

*The Class*

While Atzi is initially distrusting of the Class moving into the dorms becomes a sort of ice breaker. He starts joining them in bonding activities and by the end of the first year, he’s successfully manuavered the class into a relatiosnhip with one another (with Fumikage’s help of course). He’s dating them because he trust them and knows that together, they can stay safe

(In Atzi’s world the League has just met the PLF by the end of the first year)

*Other People*

Aizawa: Adores his gruff teacher and actually starts using something similar to Aizawa’s capture weapon, though thinner and more for swinging then capturing. Like Aizawa he fights quirkless though he uses his knives and is willing to kill with no hesitation

Hawks: Becuase Atzi followed Tokoyami to Hawks for an internship, he met the hero. Hawks is mildly terrified him though their instincts respond well to one another. The three of them have become something close to flock over six months which is how Atzi and Tokoyami meet the league

The LOV: During a fight with an A rank villain Fumikage gets hit and goes flying. It freaks Atzi out enough that he looses his shit and absolutely murders the villain with just his claws and teeth. Hawks freaks the fuck out because one of his kids is hurt and the other one just murdered someone and is completely unresponsive. He brings them to the only real safe place that he knows which happens to be the league’s base.

In this world Hawks has turned real traitor and is working to take the commission down from the inside. Neither of the kids know that but they di know that Hawks name is Takami Keigo and often call him takami-sensei when they’re all alone.

Anyways he brings the kids to his nest and keeps them there. When Atzi calms down enough to come back to reality he’s confused by not too bothered. It’s then that he reveals to Keigo his real motives for being a hero, to keep the people he loves and only those people alive.

When Dabi comes in (becuase it’s been nearly twelve hours of this) bringing food, Atzi is over Fumikage immediately, not threatening but a threat. Dabi quirks an eyebrow at Keigo says, “you didn’t even bother to tell your kids about your partners, really Kei? How we supposed to blend the families now?”

It takes time, but slowly over breaks and phone calls and occasional screaming matches, Atzi and Fumikage start siding more with the league and start working towards a non violent takeover.

Will it work? No one knows!

#signing off #you’ll never be free of me (dark lovers)#proship selfship #f/o #proship #f/o imagines #decadence loves #tokoyami fumikage #s/i #tokoyami x reader #bnha #boku no hero academia #LOV #the lov #dabi #takami keigo #hawks

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aaronstveit · 2 months

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hello i would love to hear about i used to live alone before i knew ya and/or vampire au 🤲

hiiii okay i love talking so you can hear about both <33

vampire au (sigh) is more conceptual than anything at this point and only exists because SOMEBODY said "exr vampire au so you can use i'm alive lyrics" and i love vampires so naturally this invaded my brain like a parasite. i love the idea of a vampire enjolras who turns people that he finds dying bc he can't stand suffering and that's how les amis started, and then he makes the mistake of turning grantaire.... oh the arguments they would have about the ethics of turning people into vampires without consent, the responsibilities & obligations you have toward the person who saved you/the person you saved, etc.... my opening line is:

Fuck Grantaire’s life. Death. Afterlife? Undeath? He doesn’t know what to call it, but whatever it is, fuck it.

and i used to live alone before i knew ya!!! my roommates au <3 this one has absolutely no set plot, i'm just writing and seeing where it goes! despite the hallelujah lyric as the title it is supposed to be (mostly) silly. so far it has just been an excuse to explore grantaire as a character because i think it's easy to fall into the trap of him being a general drunk mess but i want to focus more on how he is actually generally good with people in brick canon (enjolras notwithstanding), so just for you here is a long passage that i'm actually really happy with <3

So they Uber. Their driver is an overly-friendly middle aged man who asks a lot of questions about where Grantaire is moving to and why he’s moving and where he works and if he likes his job. Grantaire is too polite to give single-syllable responses like Éponine, so he ends up answering all their driver’s questions and then some. He’s not moving too far, still on the same metro line. His old building had a partial collapse last month and was condemned, oh, you heard about that? Well, he’s been crashing on Éponine’s couch since then because she’s a saint, but now he’s found an apartment that is surprisingly within his budget and less likely to literally fall down around him while he eats his dinner, hopefully. He works in the design department of a greeting card company, which is not as cute as it sounds, it is actually endlessly soul-sucking but he can’t afford to quit and anyway the routine is, tragically, good for him. And in return he hears all about the driver’s life, how he used to drive a bus for the city but got laid off, how he works three jobs now and his wife works two just so they can pay the rent and keep their daughter in dance classes, how he does like driving for Uber because he gets to meet interesting people but he also would just like to get a full night’s sleep for once. And Grantaire, well, he’s never been accused of being a bleeding heart, but. There is something about working-class suffering that just. Gets to him. The specificity of it, the humiliation and the exploitation, the way everyone else looks away because it makes them uncomfortable to know that you are paying the price for their comfort. He thinks of this kind man and all the hours he is missing with his daughter the dancer. He thinks of his parents and all the hours they missed with Grantaire, just to put food on the table. So he tells their driver about an opening in the mailroom at the greeting card company, which Grantaire knows pays decently (well, livably, anyway) because he started out in there. They exchange contact information and Grantaire promises to put in a good word for the guy, and he actually means it, and then Éponine is hauling him out of the car and they’re trying to figure out how they’re going to get all of Grantaire’s stuff up the stairs in one trip when suddenly Enjolras is there, holding the door open for them.

also i want you to know i literally reread suckerpunch literally like an hour ago and i am still blown away by how good it is! the way that you wrote grantaire is everything to me. he IS talented and good with people in canon and you put it through so well! genuinely my favorite les mis fic i've read ♡

#thank you sm!!!!<3 #television-bodies #answered #love letters only💛#jamie writes

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notthestarwar · 1 year

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Snippet from: When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it. Chapter 5

Ghost Mace speaks to past Jaster (alive) and tells him what he knows of Jango's future, in the life he lived.

Mace's brow stiffened. "When we realised what we had done, we tried to find him but we could not."

"We tried to find the True Mandolorian's but the survivors had fled in all directions. We did try and see justice done, there was an overhaul of our internal mission preparation process. We changed our training. Dooku left the order as did his apprentice."

"None of it could make up for what we did. Years after the fact, I learnt that Jango was sold in to slavery by the governor. It took him years to escape. I learnt of the weight of what we had done in helping end the True Mandolorian's. In leaving Death Watch unchecked."

He meets Jaster's eyes. "We are here to discuss why we haunt Jango, but it would be remiss of me to not tell you that your son has haunted me every single day since the day I left on a mission to retrieve him; to attempt to offer reparations for what my peoples neglect brought down on him, and came home empty handed."

" We thought him dead, but I did not forget him. From that day, I've carried the weight of what we did to him. I have often thought of him over the years." Mace shook his head.

"You hold no blame here, but we just might."

And isn't that a thing. His son haunting a Jedi even before that Jedi might haunt him.

Jango is tangled up in something here far beyond Jaster's reckoning.

Mace is laying out the constituent parts that when put together, make Jango in to the man that is responsible for the death of every single person standing in that warehouse. Jaster isn't sure where that leaves him, because once he's done hearing this story, in the years that lay ahead of them yet, every single one of these horrible pieces is going to fall in to place. Tragedy after Tragedy ready to be pasted and slapped on to the boy he loves, his son, in order to make him in to the man that did this.

How the hell can Jaster stand by and let that happen?

There are no rules that apply to Jaster, not anymore. He doesn't care about morality or the ethics of fucking with a future that's apparently already happened. He has no care for his own code, not now. None of it matters.

Jaster is Jango's buir, before all else. He has been from the day he stepped in to a smoldering farmhouse and against the odds saw signs of life dancing across his HUD. The Ka'ra gave him Jango and by god, it can stand back while he brings his son back from the abyss.

Mace is watching him. "Jaster, you had no hand in making Jango Fett the man he became at the end. You did not abandon him, you were taken from him. I need you to know this. You should know that none of this was your fault. "

Jaster doesn't care. It doesn't matter if its his fault or not, he is responsible all the same; because he wants to be. He didn't fall in to parenthood, he walked in to it willingly. For Jango, there is no monster that Jaster will not face.

The ka'ra has given him one last gift. The opportunity to see Jango's life after Jaster, and a few precious years in which to try and change them. It may not be in Jaster's power to save his son from himself but by god, he'll die trying.

He looks at the Jedi. "Tell me the rest."

Some of my thoughts below the cut

Some of my thoughts (because clearly rambling in the comments hasn't been enough for me lol)

I had a lot of fun with this one. I've written about ghosts before but with this one, I went at it from another angle. In this au, ghosts aren't bound by linear time. If you do something that leaves a ghost tied to your soul, they are tied to you in the past as well as the future. Jango and Jaster are both Force Sensitive (tho with a Mando understanding of it. They call it 'star touched') and so can see ghosts.

In this fic, moving in with Jaster sets Jango on the path that brings him to the prequels. Once he's on that path, the ghosts that'll be tied to him in his future, can move freely along the timeline, with each of them pulled to a particular version of Jango. Jango will obviously be responsible for the deaths of quite a few people, there are his bounties, the Jedi and the clones and so on; but when the first ghost appears he's just a kid. The story deals with Jaster coming to terms with the fact that his kid, who he loves beyond reason, even if he stumbled upon him quite by accident, one day becomes the person that will make all these ghosts.

At first there's only one ghost in their time, but Jaster can't let it go (tho he knows he should), he needs to know what happens. So he keeps asking until she admits that she isn't the only ghost and that they are tied to Jango as he's responsible for their deaths. Then, he keeps pushing until she introduces him to the others. She gathers them in a warehouse (so Jango doesn't see) and takes Jaster there.

In the part of the story this snippet is from, Jaster has just been confronted with an excessive number of people (including children) who are all tied to Jango as he's responsible for their deaths. He's had a (understandable) freak out, and ghost Mace has taken him aside and offered to tell him what he knows of Jango's future, and how it led to the death of so many people.

What follows is a buddy up adventure between Mace and Jaster (unlikely duo) in which Jaster tries to come to terms with what Mace has told him, and the horrible events that led to Jango becoming the man that would one day be responsible for all these ghosts. While he tries to save Jango from himself, long before he needs saving.

The idea behind the fic is the inevitability of a tragedy. There's a feeling when you're watching a tragedy play out, that it's all so unnecessary, that it didn't need to happen, but you only know that because as the audience you know that they are in a tragedy, the characters don't know. So what if a character did know? Jaster is served advance notice, will having that allow him to save Jango, or will it just feed in to the fulfillment of this prophetic future?

I wanted to explore the fact that there's only so much one particular character can do, in trying to prevent the end another is headed towards and also, the power of familial love, even when it's found somewhere unexpected. Jaster isn't Jango's blood family, he didn't even know him till he was an older child, which I think makes his love for Jango in spite of knowing what he will become, all the more powerful. The glimpse of Jango's future is disgusting to Jaster, it goes against all he believes in, but its Jango so he can't hate him for it, he loves him too much and so, he's determined to save him from himself. He's willing to do the impossible.

Then there's Mace: so in this au, Mace is sent out shortly after Galidraan, when it becomes clear to the order that they've made a mistake, to find the survivor they left in the hands of the Governor, and to right a wrong. He isn't successful, he looks everywhere but he can't find him, and in the end the order write him off as dead. In this au, Jango was 18 on Galidraan and what Mace sees as his failure to save someone that was little more as a child, and suffered so greatly thanks to what the order see as their own neglect, haunts him for the rest of his career.

Its that idea of 'the one case you couldn't close'. It's at the start of his career and he goes on to do amazing things, Mace is peak Jedi, he invents a new form, he's one of the youngest Jedi to be elected to the council, he ends up heading that council, but he is still human (or near human lol sw complicates everything. he's 100% human in a fallible/emotional/sapient sense) I think that as a Master Jedi he's very aware of his own weaknesses, and he tries to work through it, he talks to it with other Jedi, and he certainly doesn't let it affect his judgement, but he can't forget it all the same.

So it's this version of Mace that ended up meeting Jango in the arena. Which I think adds such an interesting angle.

#Jaster Mereel #Mace #I've been thinking about this one (and a part of chapter 7 which i might post as another snippet)#cause i saw a poll talking about who was responsible for Jango's death and I've got a lot of opinions about that #that can not be contained by a poll lol. it's something i explored in this fic #pretty much. i think that Mace had no choice but i don't think he'd agree with that. i think he'd struggle with having killed Jango and #how he killed him. (decapitation. a particularly violent move. which i don't think he had a choice in. but yeah think he'd struggle)#i think that Jango pretty much ensured his own end and was too intelligent to not realise he was doing that so i think that was a #self hatred/survivors guilt/'i have lived past my end' kind of thing #i also think that Jango was only the person that always would have brought death upon himself like that because his past made him so #and i think his past was bad enough to make him that because it suited the greater narrative to have him end up like that #it suited palps ends pretty much. did palps know he was doing that or did the universe just work in his favour? who knows.#still worked out well for him #the poll got me thinking about Mace which got me thinking about this fic but writing about the fic has me thinking about this fic again #kinda tempted to go through it again and give it a bit of a face lift. old once over. shine it up a bit #I've always hated that it's 17 chapters tbh. want it to be 15 or 20. i don't think I'll address that this time tho.#might just try an edit however #has this???? no i won't say it. not to curse it but... the editing/ read back block may... be shifting. possibly.#considering an edit hadn't seemed so possible in a while.#there are so many things i need to look over once i can lol I've posted things still in draft state #that's cool tho. no problem. not thinking about that just thinking about how nice it would be to give this old thing a shine #Mace is so ready here to absorb all the blame for everything on the order (and by extension him) but its really not on them

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queersanddeers · 8 months

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ChainLink: A story of Queers and Deers!

In a modern world of magic, humanoid animals, and religion come to life... It's really rather mundane. The Extraordinary becomes Ordinary and at the end of the day you're still dealing with the troubles of Love, Death and Taxes. Still, it makes for a fun time! And when you gather a ragtag team of the strangest folks around the world, you're bound to get something interesting. So come on in, meet the cast, and dive into this little hellhole of stupid monikers, silly sentences and quite possibly the most dysfunctional family in the entire world. (-of this story's universe.) But first, you gotta know all who's in it, right??? I mean, how the hell do you talk to these people if you don't know them- But that aside! There's MANY people in this mess, some more important than others, but here's a good curated list of the ones you're sure to see poking their heads around here. ,':) Riktor Tellman - The fun-loving but timid sorcerer you can see on the dashboard's banner giving you a SAUCY eyebrow raise! He's silly, he's gay as hell for Noah, and he doesn't like swearing!! So keep your language to a minimum around him or he'll reprimand you like a disappointed mother. Noah Bailey - The cervitaur bard with a prey complex and self-esteem issues. Gay as hell for Riktor and he swears like a sailor. (Just kidding!! please don't kick me Noah-) But he loves to draw and he loves to sing ("Whenever he's not off doing something stupid that'd get him hurt." -R) "Just" Kurt - The Skeleton! 7000 years and it just made him Chaotic. If he's anywhere, he's somewhere stupid or somewhere and doing something stupid. This pairs well with his cohort, Sparrow, who we'll be covering next. Just know, if you see a boney pirate-coat wearing skele, be wary of damages to one's self caused by his antics. Sparrow Reid - The partner in Chaos to Kurt's fun. While that Skeleton knows how to party responsibly, this shifter knows how to party hard, even if it means the end of the universe. (Probably not that far, but still.) A witch and a potion maker, they test so many of their potions on themselves that they could probably beat you in a drinking contest even at their ripe age of 16. Moira Serpentes - The Yuan-Ti Soldier. Served in the Iraqi war with Kurt, (SHOCKING, AIN'T THAT??? Him in War.) she's a woman with some age on her belt and a no-nonsense attitude (Who can't seem to stop adopting people. Jesus Christ Moira, you've got enough kids. ("NUH-UH" -M)) Part of a Warrior Race, she's always felt comfortable in combat, but she still gives plenty of time for home life. Tarrel Clarke - The half-dragon Engineer. After losing the only person he cared about in a horrible infestation upon his ship, the SSG Discovery, he found himself crash-landed on planet Earth, a land that Dragons left a long time ago because of a war. Now forced to blend in with them he's lived a life of self-loathing from being the worst parts of both his races, having been beaten down by everyone he's known. And yet, he found an unlikely family, and even more unlikely lover in Sparrow's company. Hyacinth Jackson - Just call him Jackson or you WILL get your face caved in. A Greek Dryad God of Nature, (who recently relinquished being a god,) who Has The Hots for Moira (boing boing wink wink nudge nudge (they're fucking married, what)) This man is silly but stone cold all the same, depending on who's talking to him. Bring him a coffee and you'll get on his good side though. Julian Montreal - The Slime, a damaged soul caused by horrid government experimentation! He's mostly just a sweetheart who's good with a bo staff. No one would really see him as a fighter at first glance, but that doesn't mean he can't hold himself in a fight. Vyra Mysteise - "I'm dating a slime! :)" She says that every. time. The silly schizophrenic Dryad who believed she was the last of her kind after watching her family burn alive in the war. Wow, that's harsh! All that aside though, she's always smiling, no matter the circumstance! A pretty face and an insanity to match, she's the perfect match for Julian.

#ChainLink #CLRiktor #CLNoah #CLKurt #CLSparrow #CLMoira #CLTarrel #CLJackson #CLJulian #CLVyra #CLDerringer #That's alot of names!#Good luck keeping track of them all #(It's not that hard dw)

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ravens-words · 1 year

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tarlos angst bingo, car wrecking, angst list number 16 with tk being the responding paramedic :)) CONGRATS ON 600

16. “How is any of this ok?”

Thank you so much for the prompt, and sorry it took me so long- hope you enjoy!

come what may

The scene is a familiar one.

A four vehicle collision, a fire truck and four ambulances.

TK's team is the last to arrive.

"I'm just saying," Nancy huffs, "I'm kinda the reason the reason you two got back together and I should be rewarded for it."

He rolls his eyes, catches the bag she throws his way just before it smacks him in the face and glares at her before they both hurry to catch up with their captain.

Tommy catches his eye. "Still haven't decided who your best person's gonna be?"

He shakes his head with a laugh. "At this point, I'm thinking we should just elope," he tells her, and she laughs.

They're not laughing anymore when they reach the scene. Tommy's efficient as ever, directing them to where they're needed, and TK ends up hopping from one car to the next, helping out where he can. He's by the last car when he notices the tread marks on the street, between the third and fourth car. He freezes, looks back at the distance between the two cars, the position in which the last car is placed. He hurries over to the edge, looks around wildly, and that's when he spots the truck, and the faint light coming from the headlights.

"Hey," he barks out, as loud as he can to be heard over the chaos, "there's another car down there!"

He and Nancy get there fairly quickly, almost slip and fall multiple times, but they manage it. Nancy gets to the car, to check on whoever's inside, and TK puts down their gear to set up. His teammate let's out a gasp."Oh my God, TK-" she scrambles for her radio, fumbles with it and TK frowns, gets up to see what has her so rattled, but she steps in front of him.

"Cap, we need back up down here," she says shakily, "it's-" her teary eyes meet his, "it's Carlos."

TK's world collapses in on itself.

He helps Nancy.

The part of his brain that's not paralyzed by fear for the man he loves, for the man he's going to marry in two months, manages to carry him through the initial assessment.

Skull fracture. Unconscious. Not responsive to stimuli.

Two, possibly more, broken ribs.

Legs pinned under the dashboard.

Then Tommy gets there, and he's useless, standing idly by, waiting for orders.

It doesn't occur to him to get inside the car until Tommy gently tells him to do so.

He's on autopilot now, takes his fiance's cold, cold hands in both of his and Wars them up. It doesn't work all that well, so he lifts up a hand to his face, wipes away the blood that's in and around his eyes and scoots forward. TK presses a kiss to the hair just above his ear, lingers there for a second before he pulls away. "I need you to be okay, baby, okay?" He whispers the words in his ear, just for him, then lets his head rest on the side of Carlos'. He breathes with him.

In, out. The world falls away from around him, there's nothing but the two of them existing in this bubble.

He's only vaguely aware of what's going on around him, so he hears snippets of Tommy and Nancy's clipped conversations.

But then Tommy curses, "Owen, where the hell are you? We need to get him out, now! Nancy-"

Blood rushes to his ears, and he feels his breath stutter.

In, out.

He hears his father's voice, and the tight band around his chest loosens just a little bit.

In, out.

His father speaks to him, but he doesn't catch the words. He nods anyway.

In, out.

Judd, or maybe Nancy, squeezes his shoulder

In, out.

In-

He stops breathing, holds his breath, waits for Carlos to let the breath he's taken. The chest under his hand is still- too still.

"-he's crashing, Judd, get him out now!"

TK, against the odds, comes alive in that moment.

I'm not losing him.

He grabs a hold of the steering and yanks. He does it again, and again. "I got it, brother," Judd tells him, and TK reluctantly nods, let's him work on it while he holds Carlos' hand and squeezes. He holds on as tight as he can, tells him not to leave him, doesn't care how desperate he sounds.

Once the steering wheel is out of the way, he doesn't waste any time. TK swings one leg over both of Carlos' straddling him, and begins compressions. It's awkward, and he's terrified it's not going to work like this, but this is all he can do.

He hope it's enough.

God, it has to be.

"It's gonna be okay, kid."

TK laughs, but it sounds wrong- choked off and hoarse, "how is any of this okay?"

"Kid-"

"He's- he could die, dad," he mumbles shakily, "Carlos could die and I-"

"You did the best you could," he cuts him off, "you did your best, and you saved him."

"What if it wasn't enough, what if I-"

His father doesn't let him finish, pulls him close and hugs him tightly. TK's hands clutch onto the back of his shirt, desperately in need of something to hold onto. "He's gonna be okay, TK. He's a fighter, he's got smooch to live for, and he's not going to leave you. He would never leave you."

Mom did, he thinks but doesn't say, and it sends a fresh wave of fear, and grief, rushing through him.

Please don't take him from me. Please, God, please.

Carlos makes it through surgery.

He makes it through the first critical 12 hours.

He doesn't wake up though.

TK's an anxious mess, the doctors try to reassure him that it's normal due to the swelling, but he can tell they're worried too.

He sits by Carlos' bedside, reads to him, talks to him about the wedding, about Jonah, about his mom. Their families come and go, but TK stays the whole time, though not for their lack of trying.

He sits there, eyes never leaving Carlos' face, and waits for him to wake up.

When he does wake up, it's just after 2 AM and TK has finally allowed himself to sleep. His hand twitches in TK's, then he hears a groan.

He scrambles out of his chair, which topples over, then presses the call button a couple of times. "Carlos? Baby, are you with me?"

He recieves another pained groan, and winces in sympathy. His hand runs soothing circles on his chest. "I know it hurts, I know, baby, but can you open your eyes for me? Let see those pretty eyes," he pleads with him, laughing wetly.

"Soulful," Carlos mutters, opening one eye, then the next.

TK laughs, "hi, baby," he leans down to kiss him- his hair, his cheeks, his lips.

Carlos laughs weakly. TK breathes for what feels like the first time in a decade. "Thank you," he whispers fiercely as he holds his face in both his hands. "Thank you."

"Wha' for?" He mutters, blinking slowly.

"Not leaving me," TK lets out in a rush.

His eyes soften slightly, and he lifts a hand with some difficulty to wipe his tears away. "I'd never leave you," he says, "still have a weddin' to plan."

TK laughs, kisses him again, and that's when the doctors and nurses swarm the room. They grab Carlos' attention with some difficulty, start asking questions, taking his vitals. Throughout it all, TK doesn't let go of his hand, and Carlos holds onto his tight enough to hurt, as if to say:

I'm here,

I'm alive,

I've got you.

#ejwritestarlos #tarlos fic #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #ejs700celebration

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purplesong1028 · 2 years

Text

Wrong in All the Right Ways

Chapter 10: Leyenda

Miguel miraculously negotiates himself out of the crisis. Amado leaves Pacho a special gift after their encounter last night.

Rating: General Audience

Pairing: Amado/Miguel, Amado/Pacho

Words: 3,001

Miguel is already awake when Tony knocks on his door to wake him up. Of course he is, since he didn’t sleep last night at all. How could he get any sleep when he had no idea where he was going, how long would he stay in one place, or what would happen next, at all? He tries to remind himself that this is the new norm now, that he’s on the run and will always be on the run, but at least he’s still alive right now, and that’s something. That should count.

He gets dressed, gets ready and calls Tony back in to hand him two duffel bags, one with cash, one with personal items, and these are the only ones that will go in his car.

Tony nods and walks away, and that’s when everything starts happening: screeching tires, yelling, gunshots… It feels surreal, which is weird because if anything, he should be used to all that, even when he was just a cop. But it’s different now because he was just getting ready to leave for good. He thought he had made it.

Instincts and old muscle memories take control at the moment. Miguel picks up a gun from the floor and starts firing back.

The other side has more men and bigger guns, but there’s no time to think about any of that strategically amid the chaos. Some men have come upstairs, and he kills the one chasing him. Other things must have happened after that, but he doesn’t remember how exactly he made it to the backyard completely on his own. He just didn’t stop. He can’t stop.

He doesn’t stop when Calderoni calls out from behind. He runs and negotiates, desperately trying to get out of this somehow, while the police commander puts a gun to the back of his head and orders him to kneel.

Miguel hears the gun click, and that’s when his brain suddenly becomes quiet, on the verge of an immediate death.

That’s when he’s able to think again, and when he can think, he thinks well.

For the past week, he’s been preparing himself for the end, to come to an acceptance of it. But why? Why should he take the fall, when these assholes who were actually responsible for Camarena’s death could go on with their lives? These high and mighty motherfuckers took millions from him but treated him like nothing more than a scapegoat to throw under the bus, to die, so they could sit at some fancy hall in Mexico City and act like nothing happened.

They might have thought they were done with him, but he’s not done with them.

“There are seven tapes.” He tells the commander, just one of his many effortless lies. “In two of them, he was asked about names of politicians involved with traffickers.”

He doesn’t need to look back to know something on Calderoni’s face must have changed. It’s a shame, really. These politicians were so scared for themselves that they tortured a DEA to death, but turns out the guy didn’t even know shit.

Well then good for him! A dead man can’t talk, so now it’s up to him to decide what Camarena said.

“They’re the names of important men, Commander, men like your boss.”

The barrel against this skull moves, barely detectable but he definitely feels it.

“So go ahead, shoot me, and tomorrow those names are released.”

The gun doesn’t go off. Of course it doesn’t. Miguel turns around with a subtle smile on his face.

“But save a bullet for yourself, because the system doesn’t like heroes.”

Amado wakes up naturally around 10 am. It’s one of these rare occasions when he opens his eyes to a perfect world: the bed is soft, the sunshine is gentle, the birds are chipping, and both his body and mind are well rested. That is until he sees the circles of bruises on his wrists. Then all the memories flashback: the sex, the bathrobe, the nightclub, the failed business meeting… The world is anything but perfect, and this beautiful morning is just a temporary illusion, nothing more than a short extension from a nice dream.

He rolls off the bed, still completely naked, feet touching the soft carpet. The white bathrobe is still laying on the floor, a few steps away from bed, just carelessly left there in the cold for the night. From this angle, it looks just like a regular piece of clothing, not worth any attention, yet when it’s neatly folded and wrapped in a gift box with golden ribbons, it somehow looks untouchable, pristine. Amado picks it up, sensing the cool, smoothness between his fingertips. He puts it back into the gift box and closes the lid. After all, he still wants it. It’s his.

Then, he sees the other gift box he brought here, the one he almost forgot about. He probably should just take it back to Mexico since Pacho didn’t even care enough to take it or ask what it was. It was nothing interesting anyway, some fine liquor, but the Colombian could get plenty of those on his own. Amado thinks about last night, the utter bliss and passion, but even more so, the words Pacho said.

You can’t call your own shots. You’re not ready.

No. Fuck that.

He grits his teeth, and takes the liquor bottles out.

When he walks out to one of the large living rooms, Pacho is sitting at the dining table with a cup of coffee.

“Morning.” The Colombian greets him with a big smile. “Care to join me for some breakfast?”

The table is full of food, and he can smell them all the way from where he’s standing, but as tempting as they are, he shouldn’t waste more time here. “Thanks, but I really should get going.”

“It won’t take long.” Pacho gestures at the chair across from him. “Please, it would be very rude of me to let a guest leave with an empty stomach.”

Amado sighs and drops his duffel bag on an empty chair. It’s fucking impossible to say no twice to this man. He sits down and drinks a few sips of orange juice.

“Did you sleep well afterwards?” Pacho asks casually, picking up a grape from the fruit platter.

“Yeah, pretty well.” Amado meets his eyes, just in time to see the purple fruit disappear behind his lips. “Your bed is comfortable.”

“So I’ve been told.” Pacho smiles with the grape still in his mouth, and that makes it look more cheeky than it’s supposed to be. “Glad you had a good time.”

He allows his gaze to wander freely on Pacho, who’s now dressed up again in an expensive shirt with complex patterns, but it’s different now. Now he’s seen what’s underneath, and he can still see everything even when they’re perfectly covered.

Pacho leans back against the chair, open and relaxed, like he’s intentionally giving Amado a better view.

“Well, if you ever miss the scenery,” Pacho glances at the plate of eggs he’s eating, and then looks up suggestively, “or food in Colombia, you still have my number.”

Amado meets his stare and smiles back. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He hurries to finish his plate, which is delicious by the way, and then pours himself a cup of coffee.

“You never opened the gift I brought you. I left it in the bedroom. You should take a look later.”

He takes a small sip of coffee, closely observing Pacho’s expression, and he doesn’t miss it when those brown eyes light up with interest and curiosity.

Amado picks up his bag and stands up, feeling utterly satisfied, and for once in a long time, hopeful.

“A word of advice, if you would allow me.” Pacho calls out behind him, when he’s halfway through the large living room. He turns back silently.

“I would be careful if I were you.” Pacho stands up as well, but doesn’t move closer. “Felix trusted you the most, how would the Arellanos think about that when they become the boss?”

Amado frowns, meeting the other man’s firm stare. It looks serious but not at all threatening. If anything, it’s a well-intended and very rational warning, because whether he likes it or not, Pacho is absolutely right.

“Everything else aside, I would hate not to have another…encounter.” The pause is precise and intentional, so is the way Pacho softens his tone, and he feels like something just tickled the inside of his chest.

“I know.” His voice sounds deeper than intended. “Thank you.”

Pacho simply nods and turns away.

Calderoni holds the open bag, looking at the five tapes inside. “You have the other two?”

Miguel doesn’t miss the suspicion in the commander’s voice. This is still an interrogation, just under a different format and with a different goal.

“Of course. I had to put them away somewhere else.” He lies with ease, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I can’t tell you where they are, Commander. You understand that, right?”

The way Calderoni stares at him in total disdain and rage makes Miguel wonder if he ever offended him personally without knowing, cause why else would this man be against him on such a personal level? He reminds himself to look into that later, but now isn’t the right time to ask.

“You can listen to them if you want to make sure.” He gestures at an audio cassette in the living room. “As I said, these will be enough to give the Americans what they want.”

Calderoni closes the bag, apparently not interested in listening. “And I suppose you can also give them who they want.”

That makes him silent for a while, not because he doesn’t know the answer. He knows, and he knows too well. There is only one option, only one person besides him who’s important enough to take the fall and look convincing on the surface. This is someone who hasn’t done a single bad thing to him, someone who absolutely doesn’t deserve it.

But he doesn’t deserve it either. He didn’t give the order to kidnap and torture a fucking DEA. The person who did will never take the blame for it, and that’s just how this fucking world works.

“Yeah, Don Neto. He’s in Puerto Vallarta now.” His voice is calm and even, but he senses the subtle shakiness in his chest as his heart beats rapidly. “He has 30 to 40 armed men with him. Your team can easily take them, and you…you need to capture him alive, for the Americans to see.”

Calderoni scoffs, cold and mocking. “One day, you will run out of people to sell.”

Maybe, but better than having someone sell him first.

“Commander. There’s something else.” He calls out as Calderoni turns to walk away. “I think we also need to discuss our long term plan here, don’t you agree?”

Calderoni glares at him as if he just grew another head. “You sold out someone to save your own ass, and what? You think we’re on the same fucking team now?!”

“But we are. The men on the other two tapes? They’re not stupid. Once your men arrest Neto and I walk free, these assholes in Mexico City will figure out what’s going on in no time.” He shrugs, carefully taking a few steps closer. “We are on the same team now, Commander, like it or not.”

Calderoni looks like he wants to kill him right now, with his bare hands, but that doesn’t scare Miguel anymore. There are a lot more who want the same thing. They just aren’t able to do it.

“After this is taken care of, I would like to borrow your army for a trip to Ensenada.”

The desert in Juárez feels familiar and welcoming as they land. Amado opens the cabin door, and waves of hot air strike him on the face immediately. He used to be so annoyed by it, but now he feels a sense of comfort, like he’s grounded again, in a safe way.

He greets the two guys waiting here to pick them up, but ignores their questions when they ask about his trip. He doesn’t want to share details with anyone he doesn’t completely trust. After all, this trip to Cali as a whole is supposed to be a secret. The drive back is mostly silent, which he appreciates, but there’s something else in the air that he can’t identify. It’s like the silence isn’t out of respect or consideration for him, but these guys don’t know what to say or how to act around him anymore.

A part of him wants to just ask them what the fuck’s going on, but he eventually decides against it. He will see Acosta in no time, and with everything that’s going on, it’s better to talk directly to the person in charge of the plaza. If he doesn’t even want to share anything with these guys himself, how can he trust whatever they tell him?

They pull into the gate just when he’s deep in his thoughts, and Acosta’s right there outside, wearing his full cowboy costume, brushing that white horse.

Amado gets out of the car, and Acosta just greets him with a simple nod. For a brief moment, he almost wants to say something cheeky or make a joke, but he manages to stop himself promptly, because that would have been a disaster. This isn’t Pacho or even Miguel. This is fucking Acosta.

He needs to get his head back to the right place.

“Hey, how are things going?” He walks over to Acosta and gives the horse a few friendly pets.

Acosta looks at him up and down, and then turns to look at the car where the two guys who picked him up earlier are now taking out his luggage.

“They didn’t tell you.”

Amado feels his heart drop. “Tell me what?”

Acosta takes off his cowboy hat, and then stands up, looking at him eye to eye. “They got Neto, about two hours ago.”

“They…got him?”

“No, they didn’t kill him.” Acosta quickly denies what he’s implying. “They found him in Puerto Vallarta and arrested him. I heard they’re taking him back to Guadalajara.”

“Oh.” The word comes out as a long sigh. He leans sideways on the ranch and takes off his sunglasses. “Well, we knew it was going to happen, right? Could have been worse.”

Acosta doesn’t respond, and he’s fine with letting silence surround them. Amado puts a cigarette between his lips and offers the pack to Acosta. The older man gives him a somewhat judgmental look, probably criticizing his choice of cigarettes, but takes one regardless.

Sunset paints the clouds into a variety of glorious shades, from burning red to dark orange. The edge between sky and ground gets blurry, like the clouds are lit up on fire along with the tips of their tiny cigarettes.

“How did it go with Cali?” Acosta finally asks, when the first glimpse of darkness starts to fall.

He blows out a large puff of smoke and huffs, without actually answering the question. He doesn’t need to.

“You gave it a shot,” Acosta drops the finished cigarette on the ground and steps it out, “and you made it back alive.”

Amado glances at him from the side under the last glimpse of sunlight, trying to figure out if he really meant what he said. But then he remembers: this is Acosta. The stubborn asshole always says what he means! However, that only brings more confusion. Is the bar really that low? The only expectation from a business meeting is to come back alive?!

“All of you motherfuckers with your big ideas, big plans…” Acosta takes out another cigarette from his own pocket and lights it up, clearly enjoying it a lot more than the one Amado gave him earlier. “All of you, will just do anything to get it.”

“I didn’t do anything!” He snaps, all of a sudden feeling incredibly insulted. Why the fuck does everyone think they can read him like an open book? What makes them believe they know him?

Acosta turns to him with a firm stare, not offended, just genuinely curious, and a bit challenging.

He sighs and takes a small step back, easing the tension. “I meant I didn’t agree with what they wanted. That was why we didn’t get the deal.”

He intentionally left out what exactly Pacho wanted, because he wasn’t sure how to explain to Acosta why he didn’t want to kill Miguel, so much that he threw away an opportunity to put Juárez on top of all plazas.

He can’t even fully explain to himself.

Acosta tilts his head slightly, barely noticeable under the cowboy hat, and for a moment, it seems like he’s not going to let that go easily, which makes sense. Why wouldn’t he want to know what Cali’s condition was that they couldn’t meet?

Eventually, however, he just adjusts his hats and turns away, taking another long drag of his cigarette.

“Well, whatever you didn’t agree to, Tijuana did.”

“They’re still having that meeting?”

“Two days later, in Ensenada.”

“You two vetted this gift two days ago, right?” Pacho taps his fingers on the black gift box, looking up at the two young sicarios standing in front of his armchair.

“Yes, Patrón.” One of them, presumably the braver one speaks. “Is there a problem?”

“What’s in it?”

They share a look with each other, both confused and nervous. “Two bottles of whiskey. They were both sealed when we checked.”

“That’s it?”

“…Yes, Patrón.”

“Alright, thank you.” Pacho gives them a comforting nod. “You’re free to go.”

The instant relief on their pretty faces is amusing, but not nearly as amusing as what’s inside the box.

Pacho takes the lid off once he’s alone again, smiling fondly at the gift.

A black leather pilot jacket.

Tag list: @ashlingiswriting @yourlocalspacewitxch @narcolini @mandaloria314 @cherixrosa @cositapreciosa @criatividad-e @alreadywritten @drabbles-mc @sikkui @dashavau @anunhealthydoseofangst (let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged for this story)

#narcos #narcos fanfic #narcos Mexico #narcos mexico fic #pacho herrera #amado carrillo fuentes #miguel angel felix gallardo #pacho x amado #amado x miguel

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thompsborn · 1 year

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found a post tasm2 parksborn fic i started last year,,, and will for sure be finishing because i love it. anyway here's a snippet.

Way back when—as in, before Norman Osborn died and Harry took over the company; as in, before Ben Parker died and Peter shouldered the blame, the guilt, and, of course, the responsibility that is being Spider-Man; as in, before Mary and Richard Parker’s plane went down, when Peter still had his parents around to teach him how to brush his teeth and make his bed—back before all that, Peter and Harry first met.

At the time, Richard was working with Norman, with Oscorp, on something that would one day lead to his own son stitching together a suit and creating a life as an unknown vigilante. At the time, Richard pretended to be friends with Norman, for the sake of having a stable work place where he could build his ideas with the proper interest, the proper funding—and maybe he wasn’t pretending at first, but as the years went on and Norman proved again and again how cruel a man he could be, often forgoing humane methods in the hopes of accelerating into the right results, it became more and more of an act.

Harry Osborn still had his mother, right around this time. He’d have her until he was nine.

Peter Parker had a lot of questions, but he never doubted the love his parents had for him. That wouldn’t happen until he was a teenager, and even then, he would know the answer—it would be hatred towards himself trying to paint positive memories in a negative light, just to convince him that he was never happy. Of course, it would take quite a bit more hardship to reach this point. Like the loss of Uncle Ben. Like Captain Stacy’s death—and the death of his daughter, the death of the girl he loved, as well.

(All his fault, if you asked him. No question about it. Who else could there be to blame?)

But that isn’t the point, if there ever was one to begin with.

Way back when, back before anything and everything went to absolute hell, Peter and Harry met.

They were practically still toddlers, not yet old enough for preschool but definitely old enough to know how to, in one way or another, communicate from person to person. Mary had taken Peter with her while taking Richard his lunch at Oscorp, and Emily must have been doing something along the same lines, because there were two young kids who, upon seeing each other, were instantly infatuated with one another. Once the introduction was made between them, there was no going back.

When one took a step, the other followed. When one ran, the other sprinted along with them.

“Well,” Mary Parker had said, laughing bright and beautiful and lively, alive, alive, alive, watching her son excitedly toddle around with, of all people, the heir to Oscorp. “I guess they found their best friend.”

Sometime after—as in, after Ben Parker’s death and Spider-Man’s creation; as in, after Norman Osborn succumbs to his illness and Harry shoulders the weight of it; as in, after Gwen dies and Peter can’t find it in himself to blame Harry for it because he let both of them down—the two of them meet again.

There was a pale shakiness to the way Harry stood, his chin held high but lower lip tucked between his teeth for him to gnaw on, only allowing himself to show his nerves in the smallest, most subtle of ways. Peter felt like he was on the edge of a cliff and Harry felt like he’d already fallen off and all that they could seem to do was stare, seeing it all while seeing absolutely nothing, waiting for the other to cave.

Eventually, Peter’s shoulders slumped—tension bled out, and he became weary, became tired. “It worked,” he commented, gesturing vaguely in Harry’s direction. “You’re not all… green, and goblin-like, and actively trying to kill me anymore.”

Harry brought up a hand, felt along the expanse of his neck on instinct, and let out a slow, somewhat uneven sigh. “Yeah,” he said. “I heard… I heard you had something to do with that, Spider-Man.”

“Don’t—” Peter flinched back so hard, someone might have thought he’d been hit. “Don’t call me… I—I didn’t do anything for you as him, alright? That’s not what—” And he stopped, closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath and seemed to struggle with letting it out, knowing that Harry was watching. Harry, who hovered mere feet away with a sinking feeling and a growing expanse of confusion mixed with shoved down concern that he was trying so hard to ignore. Eventually, after seconds, or hours, or thousands of years, neither of them could tell, Peter managed to finish with, “I didn’t do—anything—as him. Not for… not for this. So, please, Harry, just—do not call me that. Okay?”

Slowly, Harry shook his head and said, “I don’t think I understand what you’re saying.”

Maybe, this could have been a moment of opening up, trying to make sense of things, bring pain and hurt and sorrow into the light and have it turned into a moment of clarity, of mutual understanding. Maybe, this could have been so much more than it turned out to be—but, as it stands, Peter just shook his head, scrubbed a hand over his features, and said, “Nah, it’s—it doesn’t matter, don’t worry, just… keep it to my real name, will you? Unless I fucked something up and you can’t remember it all of a sudden.”

“If only I could be so lucky,” Harry said—a sarcastic drawl, painted over uncertainty and the urge to ask are you okay? It worked well enough, at least, made Peter offer the slightest pull at the ends of his lips, clearly trying for a smile, even if it didn’t quite reach. The moment would have to be enough.

It wasn’t the only moment they got, though.

Harry settled back into life outside of the simmering anger he had been stewing in for so long—a front, of course, to hide the fear beneath, the fear of his own death, the very same demise his father faced. He learned how to run Oscorp without the influence of his father, sifted through the employees and got rid of anyone who made him uneasy, hired younger and more ambitious minds that aligned with his own ideals.

A letter is sent to the Parker’s house, inviting him to apply. Peter stares at it for a long time, considers taking up the offer, showing up and saying yes, I’ll work here, I’ll do it, but he can’t bring himself to.

For a while, they avoided one another—for one reason or another, whether they be good reasons or bad.

Eventually, it becomes impossible to avoid the magnetism pulling them together—a life spent as best friends, from children to pre-teens to teenagers to young adults to this; how could they ignore something so significant, so vital to the very foundations of who they were?

The first attempt was a series of text messages. A somewhat blurry photo of a magazine cover, followed by, Your hair looks dumb in this picture. And then, a few minutes later, I’m not being serious. I mean, I am, it does look pretty stupid, but I’m saying that in a funny way, not in a trying to be a dick kind of way.

A few hours passed, but Harry responded with, You sure know how to flatter a guy, Parker.

I’m insulting you, Peter said.

I’m being sarcastic, Harry replied.

Oh. That makes sense. You busy?

Almost always, unfortunately. Don’t you have weird Rhino guys to fight?

There was a good lapse of nothing, and Harry, sitting in his office at Oscorp and staring at the screen of his phone instead of looking at the pile of paperwork stacked on his desk, felt himself start to deflate. Until, of course, his phone then began to ring—and right in front of his eyes was Peter’s contact picture.

(To this day, he’s never answered a call faster.)

Peter never liked to answer questions that had to do with Spider-Man, no matter how often or how insistently Harry asked them—even when they were lighthearted, when they were meant to be fun. Matter of fact, the mere mention of Spider-Man made by Harry seemed to visibly distress him, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder why that was. Did it have to do with… before? With what Harry did?

He thought about it a lot—could never shake it, actually, as it pressed into his mind from every possible direction, never letting him even try to forget. Not that he would allow himself to forget any of it, either. No, of course not—he could never deserve that kind of peace, not after all he did wrong.

It boiled over when they met up to get coffee one day, when Harry miraculously didn’t have any meetings on his schedule and Peter didn’t have any classes until far later in the day. The night before, Spider-Man had been on the news, and cameras had managed to get a few shots of him before he swung away from a fight he’d had against some guy being nicknamed as the Scorpion, and the images captured… had not been pretty. Harry had felt his heart drop when he saw them—when he thought of Peter, under that suit and burned, broken, bruised, limping away with a wave of his hand and telling EMT’s that he was fine.

Harry tried not to bring it up—really, he did, because he knew that Peter didn’t like Spidey being brought up, but he could only sit there and watch Peter discreetly flinch in pain so many times until—

“I’m sorry,” he started with, curled fingers tightening around his mug of coffee, wanting to move his eyes but feeling as though his gaze was stuck in place, watching for Peter’s every reaction—the way he froze, brows furrowing together just enough to create a crease between them, as he looked back at Harry in blatant confusion. “For what I’ve done,” he elaborated. “And for whatever else I potentially did to make it so you won’t let me talk about… him. And I’m sorry for bringing him up now, but… how hurt are you?”

For a long, drawn out moment, Peter offered no response, only stared at Harry in surprise and obvious discomfort. “Uh… I—” He stopped, shook his head, and tried again. “I’m… fine. And it’s—you’re fine.”

With a frown, Harry said, “I don’t believe you. I saw the news coverage, Peter—it looked bad. And it’s obviously not fine or else you wouldn’t look like I just punched you whenever I try to talk about it.”

“That has nothing to do with you,” Peter replied. “It’s—I mean, I don’t know how to—I can’t really—”

“I just wanna know if you’re okay,” Harry cut in. Peter could stammer over himself for hours. Used to do it as a kid, never seemed to grow out of it, and the familiarity was appreciated, but he needed an answer.

Peter wet his lower lip nervously, averted his gaze down to the table as he started fiddling with a napkin. “It’s not too bad,” he decided on, a few moments later, offering up a shrug—only to wince, just a bit, at the movement. His eyes flew up, and he winced again when he saw Harry’s eyes narrowing. “Look,” he said quickly, “I promise it’s—it isn’t… it wasn’t—great—but I heal fast, and it’s getting better as we speak, so that—it’s—there’s no need to worry about it, alright? Or, uh—him. It’s fine.”

For a moment, Harry didn’t respond to that, simply sipped at his coffee and tried to maintain slow and even breathing. “Well,” he eventually said, setting his mug down with a clenched jaw. “I didn’t realize I was friends with half of a person, but since everything is apparently fine, I think I’m going to head out.”

“Wh—What? Harry—”

But Harry was already gone.

#parksborn #tasm #tasm 2 #my writing

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