#or will like it if it's horrible or i don't really know

[takerfoxx]

Miorine: How DARE you ruin my escape plan! You owe me for this! Take responsibility!

Suletta: Wow, you're cute.

Miorine: SO ARE YOU, BUT I'M STILL MAD!

...

Miorine: Congrats. We're engaged.

Suletta: But I'm a girl!

Miorine: ...yes, and?

...

Miorine: Don't worry, this is just a mutually beneficial arrangement. I'll help you adjust to school life around here, and you keep the other suitors off my back until I dip, then the engagement will be broken and you can do whatever you want.

Suletta: Okay, gucci.

Miorine: ...kind of actually want to gay marry you, though.

Suletta: What?

Miorine: Nothing! Idiot!

...

Miorine: How DARE those cheating assholes arrest Suletta! I'm going to go down there and give my lousy father a piece of my mind!

Feng Jun: You know, we can still take you to Earth. Actually, we can leave right now. No need to bother with all that other stuff.

Miorine: ...

Feng Jun: So, is that a yes?

Miorine: I've decided that I actually want to gay marry that girl. Take me to her!

...

Suletta beats Guel for the second time.

Miorine: I would let her do terrible things to me and thank her for it.

Shaddiq: What?

Miorine: Nothing!

...

Miorine: I will protect that girl, because I am her bride!

Suletta: Oh shit, I actually want to get gay married.

...

Miorine: Our communication SUCKS, but I really do need you and want you to need me too. Do you want to get gay married for real?

Suletta: YES!

...

Suletta makes tomato sauce of that guy.

Suletta: Ms. Miorine, I came to save you!

Miorine: That was the most horrifying thing I've ever seen in my life! I have PTSD now! Kind of hot, though...

Suletta: What?

Miorine: Nothing! Murderer!

...

Miorine: Suletta, I'm breaking up with you, because you're a sap and I'm a bitch. Peace.

Suletta: NO! I WANT TO GET GAY MARRIED!

Miorine: ME TOO, DAMN IT! I LOVE YOU MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF AND IT'S KILLING ME TO HAVE TO HURT YOU LIKE THIS, BUT I HAVE TO BREAK YOU AWAY FROM THIS HORRIBLE WORLD IF YOU WANT TO HAVE HALF A CHANCE OF LIVING A NORMAL LIFE, EVEN THOUGH I WILL HATE MYSELF EVERY DAY FOR HAVING TO DO THIS TO YOU!

Suletta: ...what.

Miorine: I mean...see yah, loser!

...

Suletta: Ms. Miorine, could you please come out?

Miorine: I'm the lowest of the low. I did terrible things to you and other people. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was only being used, and ended up hurting those closest to me for no reason. I'm a fool.

Suletta: So...do you still wanna get gay married?

Miorine: Yes, please.

...

Miorine headbutts Suletta

Miorine: Don't you dare die on me, idiot! We still need to get gay married!

Suletta: I swear to God, if I had working limbs and we didn't need these suits to survive the vacuum of space, I'd tear them right off of us and ravish you so hard it'll send you past Permet 8 and your dead tomato mom will feel it.

Miorine: What?

Suletta: You heard me.

Miorine: I'm taking that as a promise, then!

...

Suletta: So. We got gay married.

Miorine: Yes, we did.

Eri: Please don't make out sloppy-style again.

Miorine: We're doing it.

Eri: I'm still right here!

Miorine: Cope.

[moondirti]

sorry to the soft simon lovers but i am fixating on the idea of him being too abrasive for greater society. no, hear me out. he can't be normal after what he’s been through. after what he's done.

cw: dead dove. sadism. inferred sexism and stalking. punitive harassment. idk guys he's gross. 18+ MDNI

he's just a little too odd, grim, ugly, cruel, rude. he stares too long and makes jokes that strike the wrong chord in most. he's into things that are not as sexual as they are humiliating to his partners, and can not be satisfied by any relationship his therapist would deem as healthy. even physically, he's torn in all the wrong places. his scars aren’t rugged but almost painful to look at. his hands are huge and calloused and 60 grit sandpaper against soft skin. his nose is crooked. his hair is shorn short. he has a mean smile, watery eyes.

the one thing keeping him from being completely ostracised is the flag on his arm, the one he fights for. but it's like putting a tarp over some horrible, disfigured mess – you can still see the general shape of it underneath. most shrug it off as fine, go figure. you teach a soldier to kill and they cope by being killers. it's funny because simon's issues began way before he enlisted – he spoors it back to conception, when his father gave him a part of himself that can never be scoured clean. the military is just where he resides to conceal the stink of miasma he'll never rid of. piss over piss. putting a reason to the barbarity.

for a while, it's enough. he sticks to the corners. for all his sadism, he's not keen on subjecting the general public to his complications. he's smart enough to separate good from what makes him feel good. he only interacts with others like him – price, mostly, who's better at playing pretend but has issues that bury their roots just as deep. or maybe he's able to see simon for what he really is, and the novelty of not having to bite his tongue is enough to form a gossamer bridge of friendship. he sleeps with masochists who don't know what's good for them, all of them men (though it never pays when they're into what he's inflicting). in between missions, he'll disappear to his shitty apartment that he pays for in cash and drink himself to oblivion as he scrolls through a deprecating XXX site.

if he gets inebriated enough, he'll open up tinder and swipe through the birds advertising themselves, as if he were the holy arbitrator of what's attractive. safe because he made it so that no one would match with him; his profile is blank. no bio, no age. Riley as his first name and a picture of a shutterstock german shepherd because having one photo was a requirement.

the lifestyle probably exacerbates his problems.

maybe that's why he reaches a point of no return when he gets a text late one night. he doesn't give his number to anyone, so the only app it could be from–

your dog's cute. what's his name?

it's to his sloshed astonishment that someone swiped right on him. not even him, but a barebones, dodgy profile he curated to keep everyone at arms length when he chooses to indulge in his destructive habits. you're cute too, suspiciously darling and a whole open book – five pictures, a colourful description and your city of residence. you cannot be short of options, certainly not enough to drive you to a point of desperation, so there's no mistaking what this is.

you're setting up a little pet project. something to bat at like a cat does a ball of yarn, with no intention to commit or ever see him in real life. perhaps you chose him because there’s nowhere to go but up. or because his disinterest seems glaringly obvious, and a simple risk assessment told you that you wouldn't suffer an obsessive stalker if you ever chose to ghost him.

unfortunately for you, that couldn't be further from the truth. that simple question is enough to push him over the edge.

he's tired of holding back.

[norrisleclercf1]

hi I hope you are doing good!! what do you think about writing a mafia osc?? I feel like there are not enough fics abt him hehe. Really angsty something abt him finding out his wife/gf was mistreated and abused at her workplace (as a nurse I’d love if she was a nurse) and he brings hells to her workplace

A/N: I'm doing this as a patient having caused harm, to the reader

You don't even know how it happened, one minute you're checking on a patient the next here you are lying in the ER, dazed and bleeding.

People rush around you, yelling muffled as the ringing in your ears becomes unbearable, that you're so close to sobbing. A familiar face hovers over you, saying something but you shake your head unable to understand. Horror and worry are itched into their face as they look up and say something.

Closing your eyes, you squeeze them trying to remember what happened, but nothing but black fills your head, you can't even remember how you got to work, all you know is you're hurt, bleeding, and scared.

Oscar

Your husband's somber face appears, and the tears held together by nothing finally break as you sob, wanting to wipe them away but your hands tied down by IVs and bandages. Your friend leans over you again, and gently wipes your tears, the ringing starts to slow. "Sweetie," You whimper and your friend whispers an apology.

"We've called Oscar, he's on his way. You have a concussion, slight amnesia, a perforated eardrum, with some horrible cuts. Your left hand is broken, we're going to be moving you upstairs soon. I'm not leaving, I'm right here," She whispers low enough for you to hear and you nod.

Oscar

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

He was far to calm, far to calm for any husband to get a call that your wife has been put in the ER. And while one would panic, being told that your own wife has been harmed at her job, from a patient, Oscar just said okay, and hung up.

Oscar was lucky that he had drivers, because him driving would be a very bad idea. Oscar was that calm that sent his men to tense and be terrified. His men, sat so still he wasn't sure they were even breathing, he didn't care if they were, he was far more worried about only one person.

Pulling up to the hospital, Oscar didnt even let the car stop before he was out and walking with his men behind him. Shoving the ER's doors open, everyone in there freezes, seeing the calm and cold fury of Oscar Piastri. "Mr. Piastri," Your friend calls from your bay, and Oscar feels the hot rage boil under his skin, but he pushes it down.

"Love, baby," He clears his throat, voice cracking as he rushes past your friend as leans over you. "They had to set the bones in her hand, so she's asleep from the sedative," Your friend whispers and Oscar's fingers tighten on the rails of the bed.

"The animal that did this to her?" He whispers, and your friend sighs. "Just had restraints put on them, said that's all they can do. All she did was ask them to take their heart medication, patient has a history of being violent apparently." Oscar nods his head, placing a shaking kiss on the top of your head.

Resting your foreheads together, Oscar takes a slow deep breath trying to stop the shaking in his body. "So that's it hmm, what'd you bosses say?" Oscar knows you don't have the best management, from the countless nights of you coming home to complain. "Said she could've handled the situation differently," That has Oscar's eyes growing wide and looks up.

Shaking their head, Oscar stands to his full height and rolls his shoulders. "Where?" Your friend swallows hard and points down the hall towards the office door closed. "They in there?" Nodding yes, Oscar moves, stalking towards the office door. He doesn't knock, nor slam the door open, just sliently slips in and closes it with the tiniest of clicks.

"Excuse me you're not allowed-" Yelping as they're thrown into the wall Oscar growls as he grabs the pathetic manager by the neck, squeezing slowly. "A patient comes after my wife, and you say it's her fault. Maybe I should put a bullet between your eyes and your euology could be them saying, "it's sad, but they could've handled the situation better and they'd still be here," Oscar whispers, squeezing tighter as your boss thrashes.

"She's done here, if you can't fucking protect her at her own job then you don't deserve her," Oscar seethes and pulls them forward before slamming their head into the wall. "You know who I am, so you'll think twice before you ever, touch my wife again," Oscar snarls, letting them go as they sink to the floor.

Turning Oscar slips back out the same way he came in, heading straight towards your sleeping figure. "Did you?" But your friend stops herself, knowing who Oscar was, knowing what he could've possibly done. He takes off his suit jacket, lying it ontop of you the smell of his cologne has your body relaxing. Pulling up a chair, Oscar sits down and holds your non broken hand, and doesn't move all night.

tagging: @piastrification and @leclerced my little oscy girlies

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

What Happens in Cars, Stays in Cars

dbf!jake seresin x fem!reader 9k words

summary: After a month-long deployment, Jake is finally coming back home. Well, not home home. You're too desperate to wait until you've actually got him home. But who needs home when there's a perfectly good car anyway?

a/n: porn with plot. a lot of plot. and a lot of porn. 18+ obviously. reader is twenty-five in this, jake is forty-seven. as always, a list of things to watch out for:

nudes. mentions of masturbation. pet names used in an unholy way. the word 'brat' is dropped twice. safe sex (yess they still have a condom!!! i feel like i deserve a round of applause for not forgetting it). car sex, so a tiny smidge of exhibitionism. dom!jake. a lot of begging, as always. a tad bit dry humping. first finger sucking, then fingering. any more, uh....? i don't think so. there's not much space in a car for anything else.

top gun masterlist | dbf!jake seresin masterlist

(the gif has nothing at all to do with the fic, but tell me that's not dbf!jake working out in his backyard knowing you're watching him istg)

It's a one time thing. That's what they told him. A one time thing.

He isn't supposed to do these anymore. He's supposed to be stationed permanently, sitting in his office and doing what an admiral does. Important work, surely. It's a high honour and he's proud, of course. But office work... Office work has never really been his thing. And if they'd deployed him for this mission four months earlier, he would've been thrilled.

He's the best of the best. The navy knows. He knows. Which is why he's an admiral by now. And also why they want him coaching the new hotshots for a month, halfway across the country.

And, yes, he would've been thrilled - four months ago.

Four months ago, when you'd not yet moved back home. Four months ago, when he hadn't yet met you. Four months ago, when he hadn't known what it was like to hold you, to touch you, to miss you.

His phone chimes and momentarily distracts him. It's not that he didn't mute it - he's standing in front of a bunch of twenty-something year olds who he does try to be a role model for - it's just that you'd tampered with it once and ever since then, you've had a personalised ringtone that still somehow works even when everything else is muted. (He could totally turn that off if he wanted to, though. Definitely. Ab-so-lu-tely. He just... doesn't.)

His jaw clenches and he has to restart his sentence, but other than that, he manages to pretend nothing happened. Nonetheless, he has to glare at the snickering wannabe-pilots in the first row, who remind him very much of a young version of himself.

You're three hours ahead of him and probably just got off work. It's likely nothing but a sweet "having a good day?" message or maybe a photo of you all dressed up, ready for dinner with your friends like you'd planned.

Either way, knowing your message is sitting unopened in your chat has him talking quicker. He finishes his lecture half an hour early and fishes his phone from his pocket before the first of his pupils have even got up from their seats - which turns out to be a horrible, horrible idea, because the photo attached to "don't know how long i'll stay out, have a nice night, admiral" with the winky face emoji is not one of you all dressed up for a night out with your friends, but one of you in just a pair of panties in front of the mirror. The mirror in his bedroom.

Fucking god-

He seems to let out some kind of choked up groan or something of the sort, because a few of his pilots turn to look back at him. One even has the audacity to ask if he's alright, which he certainly isn't. But that's absolutely not their problem.

So he grumbles something about how they should all use their free time to go to the gym instead of bothering him before he collects his things and flees to his room. One of the many advantages of being an admiral, of course, is that he doesn't have to bunk anymore, which is always the greatest nuisance for anybody who's ever looking for privacy. The times he's had to listen to guys jack off a foot away from him- fuck, the times they'd had to listen to him.

No, right now he is incredibly thankful for the privacy of his bedroom as he locks the door behind him and opens his phone again. Goddamn, why were you in his house? His fingers hover over the call button for a few seconds, but then he decides against it - you're going out with friends for the first time in months, he doesn't want to bother you.

He's popping the button of his jeans and sitting down on his bed right as you come online.

"Like the pictures, baby? I've got more"

And before he can even respond, you've sent a bunch more selfies, half of them in front of his mirror, the other half on his bed and none of them decently clothed. Fucking hell, in one you've got your fingers down your panties and Jake is really thankful for the privacy of his room then because he groans so loudly that a bunkmate would definitely have heard.

"Are you still at dinner?", he asks, his fingers flying over his keyboard while he tugs at his zipper with his left hand.

"Yeah, won't be home soon", you write back. "Sorry"

"Don't be", Jake responds, as quickly as he can, because he definitely does not want to make you feel bad for spending time with your friends. "Have fun"

"Have fun with the pics", you send. Jake can picture your grin, sitting all dressed up in a restaurant and ignoring your friends to text him. "Thought those could maybe make up for no phone call tonight"

He swallows hard as you log off, leaving him with those pretty pictures of yours that certainly improve his night by a lot. Hell, he's already moving his briefs out of the way and clicking on your photos again. Just seeing you half-naked in his room - fuck, the thought of you sneaking over there only to do a goddamn photoshoot... You're really unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. And he can't wait to get back home to you.

...

"I miss you", you mumble into the phone, blinking at the alarm clock on your nightstand. It's eleven thirty, not nearly late enough for you to feel as exhausted as you do.

"I miss you too, darling", you hear Jake drawl on the other end of the call. "I'll be back soon."

"Not soon enough", you whine - god, you sound pathetic and miserable to your own ears already, you must sound ten times worse to him. You let yourself fall back into your pillows and let out a deep sigh. "Would it be rude to say I hope the mission gets cancelled?"

Jake chuckles. Fucking hell, you miss that chuckle so much. You miss him so much. You miss cuddling up to him under the covers and tucking your head under his chin. You miss running your fingers through his hair and having your hands on him. You miss seeing him, standing in the kitchen or working out or tinkering in the backyard or fresh out of the shower. Shit, you even miss sneaking around with him, because at least then you'd gotten to watch him from a distance, maybe steal a kiss when your parents hadn't been looking or spend an night at his house pretending to be at your friend's.

Now he's halfway across the country and absolutely, completely out of reach. You'd barely gotten to see him at all - twice it had worked out to video-call during a lunch break, once he'd even managed to virtually show you around his office after work. The camera quality is hardly any good, of course, which means video-calls aren't all that great, plus the connection never seems to really be stable, so with a few exceptions, you've only seen Jake in pictures over the past two and a half weeks.

His deployment would take another one and a half and then, finally, he'd be back home. Back home with you.

"I won't answer that", Jake says, and you can almost hear him grin. "But I wouldn't mind either if they moved the mission up."

You have to bite down on your lip to hide a smile.

"So you think you're good to go?", you ask softly, not wanting to bring the mood down further, instead opting for the non-classified work questions. You've already been bringing down the mood enough back here at home - you don't need to fill the few minutes a day you get with Jake with your whining as well. Your parents already hear enough of that. Of course, they don't know why you've been in such a bad mood ever since Jake left. And they can't know, either. You can't tell them. You can't tell anyone.

You can't tell anyone because no one knows that you've been sneaking around with your dad's best friend for the past three months. So you resign yourself to moping around and keeping out of everybody's way as much as you can. For one and a half weeks more, one and a half...

...

Exactly one and a half week later you're standing at the airport in your best heels and a little yellow sundress and are positively buzzing with nervous energy. Jake's plane got in at half, he'd said, when you'd last spoken him six hours earlier. Then the plane had taken off and so had his wifi.

You're playing around with a strand of your hair and doing your hardest not to start chewing off your nails, which proves more difficult than you'd thought (even though you'd put on nail polish).

You're just so excited.

It's been a month since you'd last seen him. A month. And at the early stage of your... relationship, if you could call it that, that's basically half a year. God, how long it's been since you've run your hands through his hair, since you've felt his arms around you.

You miss him so much.

Your phone chimes and you fish it out of your pocket with trembling hands, only to be disappointed when it's not a message from Jake. It's not like you'd told him to text when he'd landed, just... A part of you is kind of scared you're waiting in the wrong place. Maybe he's on the other end of the airport - it's not a particularly small one. It'd take you hours to find each other if you were waiting in the wrong place.

Then again - maybe the plane is late. Maybe he's had to wait for his luggage.

You check the time, just to be safe. It's 11:46. For all you know, Jake is still in the air. Or less than a door away.

You bounce on your feet, nervously shifting back and forth before checking your phone again. The text you'd gotten is from one of your friends, who you text back only to distract you. It barely works anyway. You can't put it away again quickly enough.

It's not even that you don't want to distract yourself. You just physically can't pay attention. You've been a nervous wreck for the past three days, ever since you'd made the plan to pick him up from the airport. Which is probably why you almost don't spot him.

Almost.

He walks through the opened doors with his suitcase rolling behind him, his backpack slung over his shoulder and at least five other people rushing past him.

He sees you before you see him.

But then, then when you see him-

You're already sprinting towards him before your mind even tells your legs to move. You can't control it and you can't be bothered to. Why would you?

You don't care about the people glancing at you with raised eyebrows. You only care about Jake, about Jake who's standing there, pulling his hand from the handle of his suitcase and grinning at you. Grinning at you as you run at him and throw yourself into his arms.

He catches you effortlessly and steadies you as you cross your hands behind his neck and press your lips to his.

God, how you've missed him! How long you haven't kissed him!

His palms flatten against your back and he holds you tight, so tightly to him. You push even closer. He's here. He's back.

You don't realise you're crying until you taste the tears.

That's when Jake pulls back.

"I've missed you", he mutters, raising a hand and brushing the tears off your cheeks. You lean into the touch and tighten your arms around his neck. You're really touching him. He's really here.

"I missed you too", you try to say, but you're choked up and crying and it somehow comes out a blubbering, stuttering mess that you're not quite sure Jake can even understand. "Missed you so much."

He smiles one of those gorgeous smiles that you haven't seen in far too long before he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean into him, your fingers trailing up the nape of his neck. His breath mingles with yours as he draws you in again and catches you in another kiss, tugging gently at your bottom lip as if he has all the time in the world to do it - slow and languid and real. Finally real again.

He pulls you in by your waist, his hands splayed wide and so, so big against your thin sundress. Your nails scratch against his neck and he lets out a groan and suddenly, he's got his hands on your thighs and you're wrapping your legs around his middle and tightening your arms around him and his lips are working against yours feverishly, heavily, messily. You're crossing your feet behind his back when one of them hits something hard. You've flinched away from him even before you can hear the dull crash of his suitcase kissing the airport floor.

There's blood rushing in your ears and you're sure if someone measured your heart rate right now, you'd be sent to the ER immediately. You probably look like a tomato with all the redness in your cheeks. But Jake stares at his suitcase silently for two seconds too, breathing heavily as his grip on you tightens further.

As much as he likes having you in his arms, his suitcase reminds him that you're still very much in the middle of a well-used airport. So he turns back to you and lowers his voice.

"I think we should get out of here, darling."

Your lips tug up into a grin and you lean in to give him just one last, quick kiss.

"Yeah", you breathe, carefully jumping back down onto your own feet. Jake lets go of you only reluctantly - if this wasn't a public airport, he'd never have let you go again. But it is, so he swallows hard as you brush your palms down your dress and blink up at him with a smile.

You're wearing heels. You're still shorter than him by quite a bit.

His amusement melts into a frown when you grab the handle of his suitcase.

"I've got that", he says, reaching his hand out to take the suitcase from you, but you're already maneuvering it away from him and starting to walk in the direction (you think it's the right direction) you'd parked your car in.

"I want to do it for you", you hum.

"Sweetheart, you're already doing enough for me", he says, and he really does mean it. You've driven all this way to come pick him up, you'd watered his plants while he'd been away, you'd even cleaned. That one mostly because you'd desperately needed something to do and Jake's house had always smelled like him, but still.

"Doing enough to you, you mean." Your grin borders on lewd as you dig your teeth into your lip.

"Yeah, that too", he sighs, but he has to grin as well. You're absolutely unbelievable. Instead of trying to argue (he knows it'd be fruitless anyway), he wraps an arm around your back and pulls you into his side, his hand resting on your waist again.

You glance at him.

"I'm not letting go of this suitcase", you warn, even as you lean into his side and swallow. God, he looks so good. And he smells so good. And he feels so good.

"Got it", he chuckles, brushing a kiss to your temple and pulling you even closer into him. He can't have you close enough. Does this fucking airport not have an end? He just needs a little more privacy, a little more space-

"This way", you say and point right. Jake smiles at you as you guide him down the halls. He can't help but watch, can't help but stare at you, at your dress in that soft shade of yellow and your matching heels. Autumn doesn't seem to have caught up with you yet. Then again - autumn hasn't caught up with this place yet. And he's used to Texas heat, he likes that it doesn't get cold here. Also, those sundresses... Yeah, he certainly isn't complaining about the weather.

You speed up when you finally catch sight of the doors, dragging him along with you, almost falling into a jog. The suitcase rumbles against the airport floor, the wheels click-clacking over uneven ridges and bumps and then, thank god, you feel the sunshine on your skin. His hand tightens around your waist.

"Home sweet home", you grin as you take the first step onto concrete. You swivel around and steady both palms against the handle of his suitcase behind your back, bouncing on your heels and looking up at him. "After about a three hour drive."

Jake chuckles and looks back at you with raised eyebrows.

"You'll drive?", he asks. You hum.

"Maybe", you grin as you turn away again and walk over to your car, parked only three rows away for whatever holy reason. You'd been incredibly lucky. And you'd almost run over a grandma. "Or maybe not."

Jake follows you with another low chuckle that sends a pleasant tingling sensation down your spine. It's been so long since you heard that chuckle behind you.

He's next to you again within a few long strides, reaching out for you and you slow your steps to intertwine your fingers with his.

His hands are so big. He's holding onto you so firmly. Fuck, you've missed him so much.

You squeeze his hand and walk a little quicker. Car, home. Car, home. That's it. Then you've got him all to yourself. You can see the car glinting in the sunlight already - and then it's three hours. Three hours next to him in an enclosed space before you've truly got him back.

You stop and let go of his suitcase to fish the car keys out of your pocket without dropping his hand. You push the unlock button and open up the trunk before you turn to Jake and grin at him.

You want to say something, really. It's on the tip of your tongue, still running through your mind, but you've completely forgotten it when you look up at him.

Because while you'd been dragging him to the car, he'd pulled his sunglasses out and put them on and for whatever reason... That kind of does it for you. Holy shit.

"Are those new?", you ask hoarsely and swallow hard, the car keys digging into your palm as you tighten your fist around them. Maybe it's just that you haven't seen him in a month. Or maybe it's the way the sunlight catches his hair, slightly longer than when he'd left. Maybe it's just that with the sun behind him, you've got no choice but to squint at his broad shoulders.

"The other pair broke", Jake explains, letting go of your hand only to wrap his arms around your waist. Fuck, you're just standing there, doing absolutely nothing and he already can't keep from touching you. He has to touch you. He's got to put his arms around you and pull you close. "Why? Don't like it?"

You steady your palms against his chest and let out a breath as your eyes drop to his lips - he's got that cheeky look on his face that's not really a grin but not really not a grin and that nobody but him can do.

"I do", you counter, because it's the truth, and there's no way you can lie to him. "I very much do."

"Very much?" Jake does grin then, raises his eyebrows and pulls you fully against him. "That's more than just a yes."

Your fingers fist his shirt, the car keys digging into his chest just as firmly as they're digging into your palm now. He doesn't seem to be too bothered. He really isn't too bothered.

"They look good on you", you mutter, pulling him even closer. It's been too long since you'd pulled him close... And he feels so good, smells so good, looks so good. Fuck, he's so big and broad and-

"Thanks", he mutters, his grin all cheeky and self-assured and god, is it really this hot? Do you just feel this hot? Because you feel really, really hot. Your skin is burning. How the hell are you supposed to manage a three hour car ride?

"Jake", you whimper, without even meaning to. It's barely above a breath, barely above a whisper, and still too much of a whine to sound anything close to appropriate. A sort of grunt leaves his lips before his arms tighten around you, before he slots his mouth over yours hard. His thumbs drag circles against the small of your back, catching on the fabric of your dress. Your fingertips dig into his shirt, into his chest.

The sun beams down on you, warming your thighs and your arms and every exposed inch of skin, brightness behind closed eyelids as you push further and further into him. He's so sturdy, all hard abs right in front of you, broad arms around you.

You don't even notice the breathless moan that escapes your tongue. You can only feel the heat boiling inside of you, the desperate heat inside of you crawling up your body, every inch of you burning. Burning with want for him. With need for him. Fuck, he's been gone for way too long.

And then he pulls back.

You need a few seconds to even blink yourself back to reality.

"Home?", he suggests, even though it's less of a suggestion and more just a fact. He's getting you home. Now.

"Please", you whine, already halfway through pulling back and dropping the car keys into his palm. Three hours. Three fucking hours, you... You simply won't manage to sit down behind the steering wheel with your skin crawling and your underwear soaked through.

You'll barely manage sitting in the passenger seat.

Jake presses another kiss against your temple before he grabs his suitcase and leaves you standing there, trying to pull yourself together. He's breathing hard and his muscles are tight, his jaw clenched as he heaves his suitcase into the trunk and drops his backpack into it right after.

You force your legs to work, to carry you to the passenger side, force your arm to raise and your hand to close around the handle. It's heavy and hard work. Your body feels leaden, entranced. You let yourself collapse onto the seat and close your eyes.

Fuck.

You'd forgotten how much... how easily...

"Seatbelt, darling", Jake reminds you as he climbs into the driver's seat and adjusts it. You swallow hard and strap yourself in, trying to even out your breathing and pull yourself back to reality while you fumble for the confirmative click.

"Three hours", you remind yourself breathily.

"Three hours", Jake agrees lowly and turns the key in the ignition.

You settle back in your seat and close your eyes, clenching and unclenching your jaw as the radio starts playing and the car rolls out of the parking lot. You just have to relax. Just relax. Relax.

So you breathe out deeply and open your eyes again. Jake glances over at you as you lean forward, flick through the radio channels and then adjust in your seat - it's touching too much, too little of your skin, and the way you're rubbing against it somehow doesn't help in the slightest.

Before you can tuck one of your legs under the other and press the heel of your foot against your core, Jake puts his hand against your thigh. Against your bare thigh. His big fucking hand against your bare thigh.

You bite down on your lip and look up at him.

God, he looks so good. His features are chiseled, his hair that sunny, beachy kind of blond-

"Stop that", Jake grunts, his eyes trained on the road in front of him. It takes you two seconds to even realise he's talking to you. You'd kind of lost yourself in staring at him there.

"Stop what?", you ask, voice hitching as his fingers tighten on your thigh. Damn it, he needs to stop that. He's hardly been driving five minutes, he can't already be teasing you.

For once, actually, he doesn't even mean to tease you - not that you know. He just can't help but touch you, not when he hasn't touched you in a month, not when you're sitting so deliciously, tauntingly next to him.

"Stop looking at me like that", he says, taking his hand off of you to change gears before grabbing even tighter onto you again. "Or I'll have to pull over."

You brush your fingers along his wrist. Your chest feels tight, so tight. It takes everything in you not to push his hand further up your thigh. And you'd actually thought you'd manage a three hour car ride.

"I'll stop", you breathe, even though pulling over doesn't seem like the worst idea. "If you want me to."

A muscle twitches in his jaw.

"Don't do that", he warns, his voice staggering into that indecent gruff of his that has you clenching your thighs together, trapping his fingertips between your legs.

"Don't do what?", you ask, trying your best to sound somewhat innocent while you continue this little taunting game, not as though you're deliberately riling him up. You aren't, really. It's more just a reflex.

He turns his head to you then. His eyes are narrowed and his jaw is clenched and honestly, the way he's meeting your gaze all serious, as though he's trying to reprimand you just by looking at you - for no more than five seconds, of course, before he drags his eyes back to the road - has your lips tugging up in a teasing grin.

"Jake", you whisper, drawing your nails slowly up his arm, all the way from his wrist to his elbow. "Baby. You've been away for so long. You know how lonely I've been, right?"

Jake glances at you again and grunts his agreement, eyebrows raising as he starts to realise what you're doing.

"You can't blame me for looking at you", you go on, digging your fingertips into a spot right above his elbow and drawing one, two circles there. "Or for touching you."

Then you shift in your seat, spread your legs a little and run your fingers down his arm again. You grab his hand and brush his fingertips against the soaked spot on your panties.

"Or for being this wet", you whisper, your breath hitching from the sting in your stomach. He lets out a low curse. "I've just missed you so much."

He sucks in a breath then and trails his fingertips up your panties once, just once, before he jerks his hand back and clenches it hard around the steering wheel, so hard that his knuckles turn wide. Fuck. Fuck! Fuck! You're driving him crazy. You're driving him fucking crazy.

He's supposed to be responsible here. Somewhat responsible. You're young, you've got that risky twinkle in your eyes that he knows so well because he'd seen it in the mirror himself for over twenty years. He knows the thrilling buzz that's running through your veins. He still feels it whenever he's in the air. And he feels it around you.

Which is why he's not responsible, not when it comes to you. Not when you're sitting next to him in that pretty dress, with no shorts on and completely fucking soaked through.

You grin to yourself as he pulls off the highway and bite down on your lip, shifting in your seat once more, fighting the urge to trail your own fingers into your panties.

You haven't even asked how his deployment had been.

But goddamn, you'll have enough time to do that once you've got home. Or got off. Or got him off. At this point, you don't fucking care.

He pulls into one of those parking lots that mainly trucks use, one of those where there's hardly ever a toilet and if, then one that hasn't been usable since the last century. Right now, there's two trucks right at the front that Jake just brushes past. He parks your car at the far end and turns the motor off.

The silence is heavy.

Your breath comes much too quickly. Your eyes are fixed on him. And every inch of your skin is crawling with heat. But you don't move. You can't move.

He rolls his seat all the way back.

"Jake-", you whisper, catching on his name when he looks up and meets your eyes. There's a ghost of a grin on his lips, but... Maybe you're wrong.

"Yes, darling?", he asks, raising his eyebrows and leaning back in his seat. You have to strain your neck to keep looking at him. Instead of an answer, you just softly shake your head. You're suddenly unsure of what to say. His eyes weigh you down. You're painfully aware of every inch of your skin under his watchful gaze.

"Come on", he drawls, the grin that's growing on his lips more obvious now. "You were all eager to talk just then, baby."

Your teeth catch on your lip as you let out a breathless sigh. Your fingers hover over the buckle of your seat belt. Can you? Or...

"I missed you", you whisper, letting your fingertips glide over the hard plastic. "Can I-"

You swallow.

"Can you what, darling?", he repeats, grinning widely now.

You chew on your lip as you push down and unbuckle yourself slowly, your eyes still trained on Jake, who simply watches you with raised eyebrows.

"Can I touch you?", you whisper, your breath disappearing into the thick air of the car, the seatbelt still caught between your fingers. The corners of his mouth only tug up further.

You look angelic with your wide eyes and rosy cheeks, so obviously desperate to feel him - but still you don't move. You sit there and wait for him to tell you what to do. To allow you to do something. Anything. It's almost endearing how well behaved you are in moments like this.

"Go on, darling", he drawls. "Come here."

Without hesitation, you reach over the centre console and grab onto his shoulders, steadying yourself against him as you throw one of your legs over his and climb into his lap. His hands find your waist, grab onto your sides, hold you softly against him. Your teeth dig into your lip as you sink down, your fingers trailing along the outline of his collarbones over his shirt, your dress riding up and pooling around your hips. You suck in a breath when your panties drag against his jeans.

Fuck. It's been so long. It's been way too long.

"Jake", you mutter as you lean in, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, brushing your nose against his cheek. "You look good."

He lets out a breathy chuckle, his grip on you tightening.

"I know, darling", he can't help but say with a grin. "Thanks."

You giggle onto his skin as you trail your lips down his jaw. Sometimes he's incredibly unbelievable. I know. How cocky. Not that he shouldn't be - goddamn, he should be! You can't even fault him. And confidence is sexy. Especially on him. Though, then again, anything on him is sexy.

"I've missed you", you mutter, pressing another open-mouthed kiss against his skin, this time against the spot between his neck and his ear. "Missed looking at you. Missed touching you."

"Yeah", Jake breathes, digging his hands into your hips and pulling you harder onto him. "I've missed you too."

He's missed you so fucking much that he's hurting, straining against his jeans so hard that he feels like he might combust. And you're kissing down his throat, pressing your lips against his skin, wanting, needing to touch him, to feel him-

A month away from each other. A month too long.

"I need you, Jake", you whimper into his ear, all breathy and desperate, rocking softly back and forth in his lap and letting your eyes fall shut.

"You need me, baby?", he echoes, grabbing you as tightly as he can and dragging you against him, his head thumping back against the driver's seat.

A filthy moan slips past your lips as your hips roll against his, finally, for the first time in weeks. Fuck, yes, you need him so badly. You need him now. Here and now, in the passenger seat of your car.

"Please, Jake", you breathe, steadying one palm against his chest and grabbing one of his hands with the other. You wrap your fingers around his wrist and tug it off of you, but before you can drag it down to your panties again, drop it between your legs and beg him to fuck you, before you can do any of that, he's turning your grip around and taking your hands in his instead.

"You're getting ahead of yourself, baby", he chuckles, before settling your hands against your thighs. He's painfully hard by now, yes- But that doesn't mean you can just drag him to where you want him. "Seems like you forgot your manners."

You're already shaking your head before he can finish. No, you haven't, you haven't, you just need him so badly... and you can feel him, you can feel that he needs you too, so why doesn't he just take you? Why doesn't he-

"I haven't, Jake, I promise", you whisper, looking at him and forcing yourself to still on his lap. It won't help you if you move. It definitely won't help you if you move.

"You haven't?", he asks with raised eyebrows, looking all but amused at you. You keep shaking your head no, no, no. "So if I'd told you to stay in your seat and wait, you would've?"

You bite down on the inside of your cheek and look away. He's grinning. He knows. He's not even really asking. But if you'd learnt anything, anything at all about him, it's that he doesn't like to be ignored. If he asks a question, he wants it answered. So you'll answer.

"No", you breathe truthfully, because you most definitely wouldn't have managed a three hour car ride next to him. There's no way you would've managed a three hour car ride next to him. No fucking way.

His grin widens.

"No", he repeats lowly. "No, darling? You wouldn't have listened?"

"Couldn't", you correct, fighting the desire to rock against his thighs that's growing with every passing second. He looks so fucking good. He smells so fucking good. He feels so fucking good. And he'd fuck you so good, you know that, if he'd just finally get to it.

"Couldn't", he echoes, his fingertips rubbing circles onto the bare skin of your thighs. "That desperate."

It's just that he's that desperate, too. Desperate to feel you wrapped around him, desperate to hear you whimper and moan. He needs you as much as you need him.

"You want me to fuck you, baby?", he asks, all smooth and casual and your fingers dig into your thighs to feel something, anything. It's unbelievable how easily something so dirty slips off his lips.

"Yes", you gasp. "Want you so bad, Jake. Please. I'll be so good for you. I'll be perfect."

A muscle ticks in his jaw.

"You are perfect", he breathes, even though that hadn't been his plan at all. But he has to say it. He has to tell you. You've got him wrapped around your little finger, even if you don't know. And he's not all that sure you don't know anyway.

Your teeth catch on your lip, your hands dig harder into your skin and-

And Jake's thumbs trail along the inside of your bare thighs, brushing up naked skin, drawing a shallow breath from your tongue. A shiver runs down your spine as you clench your legs around his and force yourself to keep still. He's touching you. You have to remind yourself of that. He is touching you. There's no reason at all for the urge to defy him, to pop open his jeans and just sink down on him. He's touching you, he's touching you...

Yeah. Barely.

"Let me feel you", you beg, drawing your hands away from your thighs and trying to put them against his chest - but before you can, he's pulled his hands away from your thighs as well and grabbed your wrists. Again.

"You're not in charge here, darling", he chuckles, pushing your hands back down. He grabs for your waist again. "If you can't behave, I'm gonna put you back in the passenger seat and keep on driving, got that?"

You nod.

You want to be good for him. You will be good for him. God, there's no fucking way you could have managed the car ride already, and if you had to sit through it now, after this- No. You'll be good for him. You'll be so good for him.

He flashes you a grin and goes back to dragging his thumbs along your thighs.

"Ask nicely", he says. "Maybe I'll-"

"Please", you blurt out, your hips involuntarily bucking into his touch. "Can I kiss you?"

His eyes drop down to your mouth then.

"Yeah, baby", he mutters, his thumbs catching on the hem of your dress. "You can kiss me."

He expects you to jump at him, to slot your lips over his and lick into his mouth eagerly - but you only steady your palms carefully against his chest and lean in, your eyes focused on his, your breath meeting his skin. You kiss him softly, lightly, with your lips just so grazing his and your eyes fluttering shut. His fingertips run down the soaked spot on your panties.

That's when your teeth catch on his lip. You sink them into his skin gently and tug, your heart missing a beat as he groans into you. He hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them to the side just like you'd hoped, just like you'd begged for.

Jake's right - you're not in charge. But that doesn't mean you don't know what buttons to push to get what you want.

His fingertips trail through your wetness for the first time in a whole fucking month. It's long overdue. So long.

You moan into him, pressing your chest right up against his and fisting his shirt, and push closer. You need to be this close. You need to be even closer. You need him to fuck you, now, not only to drag his fingers up to your clit.

But he's too focused on you, getting too drunk on the feeling of you. He's finally got you here again, finally on his lap again, finally kissing him again, finally eager for him again. He's finally touching you again. And he has to touch you.

You're so fucking wet. You're soaked. He wants to take his time to notice that. He needs to take his time to notice that. He needs to touch you, to feel you. He doesn't even mean to tease you. He doesn't even realise he is teasing you. Not until you rock into his hand and let a whine slip into his mouth.

You really don't intend to. It's an accident. You don't want to rush him. What you want is to be good for him. But you can't help yourself.

And he knows you can't.

Which is the only reason he doesn't pull back and leave you high and dry. Well, that - and his desperation to have you.

So instead, he pushes two fingers into you and catches the languid moan you let out. Fuck. You sound so sweet. You feel so perfect. It's been so fucking long.

"Jake", you whimper, just because it's also been that fucking long since you've whined his name into his mouth. Into the low-quality mic of your phone, yes. But with his lips on yours? With his fingers thrusting inside you so precisely, hitting the right spot immediately? No, that's been too fucking long.

It's dirty. Not quick, like the other times neither of you had been patient enough to look for a better spot to have each other and had opted for the car instead. No, it's just dirty, with his fingers pumping in and out of you, his tongue running along yours and your knees rubbing against the seat.

Maybe it's because the radio had turned off alongside the car, or maybe it's just the long month you'd spent apart - either way, all sounds are louder than they should be, your ears ringing with your moans, your wetness around his fingers and his lips against yours.

Goddamn.

He's working magic. You don't know how he hits the right spot again and again and again, his fingers curling, his thumb catching on your clit - but he has you clenching around him, warmth pooling in your core, wetness dripping down your thighs and onto his jeans within minutes.

You pull an inch away from him, your eyes still squeezed shut, your palms flattening against his shirt, and the only reason he knows he isn't just dreaming of you again is because you're warm and wet around his fingers. Everything else about you is unreal.

You're gorgeous. You're so damn stunning, rocking your hips back against him and moaning his name, your lips parted and your skin sweaty.

"Fuck", you pant, your chest rising and falling so tantalisingly that his eyes drop right down to your cleavage. "Just like that."

He has to grin to himself, but he lets it slide, if only because you're looking so pretty holding onto him as he pushes his fingers into you and circles your clit - just like that. Again and again, until you're digging your nails into his chest and catching your lip between your teeth and moaning his name, Jake, baby, fuck, fuck, fuck, until you're clenching around him and shuddering in his arms, until you're reaching your high on his fingers, not on your own for the first time in four full weeks.

"Attagirl", he mutters, straining so hard against his pants that it hurts. "I've got you."

You press your lips against his jaw sloppily as you come down, your breath shallow, your skin burning, just needing to get your mouth on him. You can feel your heart beating, every thud, thud, thud against your chest. God. You hadn't come like that in a month. You'd come, sure, to the low rumble of his voice over the phone, calling you all sorts of sweet names and telling you just how to get off for him. But nothing could ever possibly beat the way he works you.

And still - even as you come down from your orgasm, you already crave the next, long and lust and hunger for him inside of you, not his fingers, but his cock.

"Jake", you mewl, slotting your lips over his and desperately dragging your tongue over them before you draw back an inch, your breath meeting his. "Fuck me? Please?"

He pulls his fingers out of you and raises his hand and before you can even really realise what you're doing, you're parting your lips and watching as he grins and presses his fingertips down on your tongue. God, he fucking tastes like you. You suck his fingers into your mouth obediently and lick them clean, looking at him out of lowered, half-lidded eyes and he fucking grabs at your waist with his other hand like his life depends on it.

Goddamn, it's been too long since he's watched this. Since he's had this sight in front of him. And holy mother of hell, what a sight that is.

Your cheeks hollowed out, your gaze caught on his, your lips wrapped around his fingers. His jeans are too tight. Too fucking tight. He needs relief. Now.

So he pulls his fingers out of your mouth with a low grunt and fumbles with the button of his jeans, quick and hurried. He's barely popped it open before your hands slip between his and push them out of the way. You drag down his zipper, reach into his briefs, finally, finally, finally! and he lets you, steadying his palms against your thighs and watching you tug your lip between your teeth.

"Condom", you breathe, then you glance up at him and blink - once, twice, thrice to get yourself back to reality. Condom. Condom, fuck, you're sure you've got one, you know you've got one, somewhere-

Jake takes his hand off your thigh and reaches for his pocket, pulling out a condom before you've even finished thinking.

You grab it from him almost reflexively, your fingers closing around it, tearing it open - quick and frenzied now, because you're not sure how much longer you can hold out. How much longer you can manage without having him.

You glance up at him before you roll it onto him, waiting, checking, if you can, if he'll let you- And how could he not? Fuck, he's got to clench his jaw and grab onto your waist just to hold back, to stay still. He hadn't meant for it to be like this. He'd meant to fuck you back at home, slow and steady, preferably in bed where he could really see you, where he could see every inch of you, not in the front seat of your car that he'd probably have to get cleaned tomorrow. But he can't fucking help himself. He can barely fucking wait until you've rolled the condom onto him, already grabbing at your bare thighs, slipping his hands below your dress, grasping at your stomach.

You steady your palms against his chest and breathe out a whine as his fingers slide across your boobs, pushing the fabric of your dress up, up, up, circling your nipples, hardened and sensitive and damn, you've missed him. You've missed him so fucking much. It's been so fucking long. And you're so fucking desperate.

So you slowly sink down on him and let out a moan, rolling off your tongue so filthily he has to groan. Shit, shit- You hold yourself against him, drop your head against his shoulder and an open-mouthed kiss onto his skin.

"Fuck", he grunts, his fingers working frenzied circles onto your boobs, trying, desperately, no, needing to touch you, to feel you. God, you feel so good around him. Finally around him again. You take your time sinking down on him, catching your breath and pressing your lips against his neck, your eyes squeezed shut. Inch by inch, you take him - and the only way he can keep from bucking up into you is by trying not to concentrate on the way you feel around him (so, so fucking perfect), but instead do his best to breathe. Just... breathe. It's been too fucking long. And you're too fucking pretty. And he'll go fucking crazy.

"Jake", you mewl, your lips dragging against his jaw.

Instead of an answer, he turns his head and catches you in a kiss.

You whine into his mouth, your legs clamping around his, stilling as you adjust, your tongue running along his lips, his teeth, your hands fisting his shirt, clenching and cramping and pressing against his chest.

"Go on", he urges, pulling away no more than an inch, his breath shallow, mingling with yours. "Take what you want, darling."

"Fuck", you breathe, arching into his palms and steadying yourself against him, your teeth catching on your lip as you move - up, slowly, steadily, then down, faster, quicker, and again, and again. Holy hell. Moan after moan rolls off your tongue. He feels so fucking good. You're so fucking full of him. You find a rhythm, then that spot inside of you. Your head tilts back, your fingers clench into the collar of his shirt, your nails scratch against his skin.

He watches you, every inch of him tensing. You're gorgeous, so damn gorgeous, bouncing in his lap like this. You're stunning, your dress pooling around your hips as he drags his hands back down to your waist, thumbing at your stomach, circling and drawing against your skin. He's touching you. Now, here. It's not just a dream. It's not just his imagination. It's you, you, wrapped around him, moving up and down him, your palms against his chest, your eyes fluttered shut, your teeth digging into your lip.

"Just like that, keep going", he encourages, all low and deep, smooths his hands down your body and can't help but grin as you let out a soft mewl. It's been so long since he's heard you whine for him - so long since he's heard it without hundreds and hundres of miles between you, without the microphone ruining what have to be the sweetest sounds he's ever known. "Feeling good, baby?"

The air is heavy, heavy and sticky. It presses down on you, pushes against your skin, settles on your body and flattens your breath. Every single one of your nerve ends is on fire.

"Yes", you gasp, your eyes fluttering open to take him in, him in all of his very, very real glory right in front of you. He looks so handsome, so fucking handsome. Your thighs tighten, clench. You can feel yourself growing closer and closer and closer with every stroke, with every time you sink down on him. Fuck, he doesn't just feel good, he feels heavenly. He feels like everything you need. "So good, Jake."

The grin on his lips sends sparks through your body. It's confident, self-assured... Yeah, you're on top of him, you're moving, you're taking what you want - but he's in charge, you can see it in his eyes. He's in control. It's in the way he breathes, in the way his hands grab at your hips, in the way he palms at your skin. If it weren't for the red on his cheeks, for the sweat beading on his forehead, you wouldn't even have guessed he's all that affected. But he's hard, he's hard as a rock, and it's taking everything in him not to just buck up into you and come right on the spot.

He prides himself on his stamina. In all his years, he's always prided himself on his stamina - on how he can keep going long enough to make you come twice, thrice. And he'll hold out now, too.

But you're gorgeous. And you feel perfect. And you're close, you're clenching around him as you lean in to press your lips to his, to slot your mouths together and kiss him with all your might.

So you're not making it easy for him. Not at all.

He brushes his hand down to the inside of your thigh, leaves a trail of tingles on your skin before his finger finds your clit. You breathe out a whine that he easily catches on his tongue, your nails digging into his chest as he draws circles on your clit, on that sensitive bundle of nerves that has you melting, your eyes squeezing, squeezing, squeezing shut.

Fuck, fuck, you're close, you're close-

Just for a fleeting second, Jake debates pulling his hand away again and leaving you there, on this edge you're teetering on. Not forever, only until you'd got home or so. But he's too desperate to come, too wound up already, too close himself, and there's a much bigger part of him that wants to just fill you up in the driver's seat of your car, in this random parking lot, a month after he'd last had you. The part of him that will revel in knowing that you'll be sitting in the passenger seat for the next three hours with soaked panties, probably leaving behind a wet patch when you'll get out, the evidence of two orgasms right there-

"Fuck, Jake", you gasp and your head rolls back, your lips parting as your entire body clenches, every single muscle cramping and tightening at once, your nails digging hard and harder into his skin, your eyes squeezing shut. His finger on your clit doesn't still, just keeps drawing circles, keeps guiding you through your high, through the foggy haze you're swimming in as your body writhes and tingles.

Jake is too entranced, too enamoured, too captivated by you to even realise he's spilling inside the condom, coming as you do. He can't feel, can't see, can't touch anything but you - his hand grabs at your hip, it palms at your thigh. Anything to feel you. Anything to be with you as you unravel.

"Jake, fuck", you breathe, a lot more softly now. Your grip on him loosens. He'd barely noticed how your nails had still been digging into his chest, but now that you're pulling them away, stretching your fingers and steadying your palms flat against him, he can't help but miss them. You blink at him with the sweetest smile, your lips plush and kiss-swollen, and the view of you is so disarming that he can just so resist opening his mouth and letting those final three words roll off his tongue. But it's too early, it's way too early, even as you're sitting in his lap, even as you're squeezing his cock, even as he draws his finger away from your clit. He's never been the type to say it early. He won't now.

No, instead he raises his hand and rests his fingers against your lips. Once more today, you part them obediently and wait until he's pushed them onto your tongue. Then you close your mouth around them - he still tastes of you faintly - and suck, slathering them in saliva in that sloppy, messy, dirty way you know he likes, your head bobbing as you clean them off. You pull back just far enough to dig your teeth into his fingertips and bite down on them playfully.

Your lips tug into a grin as he draws his hand back, eyebrows raising, his gaze settling on you - still so very heavy, so intense, so fucking full of sex.

"You're a brat, darling", he chides, but he's already brushing strands of hair out of your face, tucking them behind your ears and then wrapping his arms around you to pull you even closer, even tighter to him. Your grin only grows as your fingers clench into the collar of his shirt.

"Maybe", you laugh breathily, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips, one that's so addicting he thinks he might need to stay in this car, in this parking lot for the rest of eternity. "But you love it."

Jake chuckles as he chases after your lips.

"Such a brat."

[simplyholl]

The Interview

Summary: After a talk show interview where secrets are revealed, things get heated in your dressing room.

Pairing: Rockstar Bucky x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ Only. Minors DNI. Rockstar AU.

See My Masterlist Here

A/N: Sebastian Stan as Tommy Lee has me in a chokehold. So this was born from my tatted, horny daydreams.

"Who is your celebrity crush?" The host of the Midnight Show, Chet Smith asked you. Your newest movie was a box office hit, so you had to do every talk show to promote it. To say you were exhausted is an understatement. Luckily, this was your last stop for today. This show was the most fun because Chet brought out all the celebrity guests together. At least you weren't by yourself answering awkward questions.

The other guests were Red Star, the hottest rock band at the moment. They went viral while playing at their local bar. An audience member threw a bottle at their lead singer, Loki and the whole band jumped off stage to fight. They were offered a record deal the same week.

They are known for their wild videos on TikTok. Women everywhere love them. Currently, they are squeezed on the small sofa with you for the interview. Bucky Barnes, their drummer sat on one side of you, his tattoos drew you in like a moth to a flame. You were doing your best to not stare at him the whole time.

The Odinson brothers, Thor and Loki were on the other side. Loki is the lead singer, his long, dark curls and piercing stare made men and women weak in the knees. Thor plays guitar and he is the band's himbo. He's a charmer, flirting with you the whole interview. Steve Rogers is their bassist, an All-American guy to balance the others out. He plays the part well, flashing his megawatt smile at the live audience. But you can tell there is a darker side to him lurking under the surface.

You consider Chet's question; your PR team warned you about questions like this. "Well, I don't really have one." You shrug your shoulders, as the audience begs for a real answer. "Come on, darling. I know you're lying." Loki smirks, reaching his hand over Thor to rub your thigh.

"If I go first, will that help?" Steve asks, being the helpful guy that he is. You nod smiling shyly at him. "Okay, but when it's your turn you have to be honest." He winks at you, and the audience goes wild. He answers one of your costars. You promise to hook them up later. You feel your cheeks heating up, suddenly embarrassed that you have to answer now.

Chet repeats the question, and you bite your lip, pointing beside you to Bucky. "My celebrity crush is actually this guy." Bucky looks ecstatic, high fiving his band members as they congratulate him as if he has won an award. Thor's answer is a pretty pop star who he had been spotted out with twice already.

Loki's celebrity crush is a famous author whose upcoming book features a main male character who looks suspiciously like him. Dating rumors swirled even though there was no proof, except for a few flirty comments between them on Instagram. When it's Bucky's turn he says you, draping his heavily tattooed arm around you. You smile, grateful that he lied to save you from public humiliation. You were sure he was going to say someone who didn't look anything like you.

You're already dreading what the headlines tomorrow had in store. You and Bucky cuddled up on this sofa would no doubt be on every website. You should have lied, you tell yourself. People will start shipping you, his fans would be saying horrible things about you. You should have said anyone else.

Red Star took the stage to close the show. They were playing their latest number one hit. The audience was on their feet, some girls were crying as Loki's sultry voice came over the speakers. You watched Bucky closely. He played the drums like it was his life's purpose. He tossed the drumsticks in the air, pointing to you and winking as he caught them. It was the sexiest thing you had ever seen.

When their set was over, Bucky walked toward the dressing rooms with you, stopping outside yours. "Thanks for saying I was your celebrity crush back there. I would have been so embarrassed if you would have said somebody else." He flips his hair out of his eyes. "You don't have to thank me. It was the truth." You tell him goodbye, feeling awkward about the whole thing. You turn to go inside your dressing room to change into comfy clothes before you go back to the hotel.

Thick fingers catch your wrist, pulling you back toward him. "I wasn't ready to tell you bye." Bucky's lips curl, the light shines on his nose ring, bringing attention to his face. When you look into his shining blue eyes, you realize you don't want him to leave either. You grab the sides of his leather jacket, pulling him toward you. His mouth is on yours instantly. He presses you against your dressing room door, his large body covering yours.

You tangle your fingers in his long locks, needing him closer. Bucky hungrily kisses down your neck, while one hand travels under your dress. He rubs his thumb against your soaked panties. "All this for me?" You whine when he rubs harder, your clit making contact with the silky fabric. You move your hips, lost in the moment.

Voices echo down the hallway, bringing you out of your horny haze. "Bucky" You whisper, trying to warn him so he has time to stop before they see you. "Shh. I got you." He moves his body, so he is blocking you from view. His fingers are relentless, dipping inside your panties. His rough thumb rolls over your clit, you bury your face into his chest.

"Oh my God, It's Bucky! We are huge fans!" A woman's voice comes from behind him. You aren't brave enough to look, so you keep your face hidden. "Thanks guys. I love meeting fans. So, what's your favorite song?" You try to pinch him so he will get rid of them, but he continues talking about the world tour they are about to go on.

He enters you with two fingers, curling them as you moan out loud. The women look around him, finally noticing you. "Is she okay?" The second one asks. "Yeah, she's fine. She just ate too much so she has a stomachache." His fingers caress your inner walls, thumb rubbing in small circles. The band in your belly snaps, arousal flooding his hand as you come apart. Your legs shake, and you hold onto his arm to steady yourself. You clench your teeth to keep from making noise.

"You better get her inside; she can barely stand." One of the women says. They tell you both goodbye, as Bucky leads you inside your dressing room. "You did so good for me, but I need more." You look at him incredulously. He just made you cum the hardest you ever had in your life in front of two strangers and that wasn't enough.

Your legs are still trembling as he lifts you onto the vanity. Your back hits the cool mirror as Bucky slides your panties down your legs. His hot breath tickles your thighs as he lowers his face, pressing kisses to your inner thighs. He takes his time, nipping your sensitive skin. He licks a lazy stripe up your center, avoiding where you need him most. His tongue sinks inside you, firm nose pressing against your clit.

You cry out, head falling back, knocking into the mirror behind you. It bangs against the wall, hard enough to rattle the pictures hung there. Bucky drinks every drop of you, moaning as you writhe against his face. His plump lips fasten around your swollen nub, sucking and tugging like he can't get enough.

Your shaking legs close around his head, trapping him as you ride out your high. You cry his name, not caring who hears you. Bucky lifts you, slamming you against the wall. He holds you with one arm, the other works quickly to bring his pants down. His cock springs free, pink tip leaking. You swallow hard, intimidated by his size. "You're so big." You shiver, anticipation putting you on edge. He holds you, lining your bodies up.

"You can take it." He snaps his hips up, slamming into you. You try to adjust as he stretches you, wiggling around to see if the stinging will go away. When it starts feeling good, your arms wrap around his neck, holding on as he pulls out, leaving the tip in. He thrusts back into you, bottoming out. You have never felt so full, he fills every inch of you. He sets a steady rhythm, every part of him feels like it was made for you. You pulse around him, your back hitting against the wall as he sinks impossibly deeper.

Bucky bunches your dress around your hips, thick fingers digging into your skin as he fucks you. You try to meet his thrusts, but you're too weak from the explosive orgasms he already gave you. You hold onto him as he uses your body, his ragged breath on your neck brings forth the familiar pressure in your lower stomach.

"You're doing so good. Fuck! You take me so well." He praises, moving your thigh higher up his torso. He holds it in place, tilting his hips. The new angle makes your vision blur as he deliciously drags against a place you were sure was a myth until this very moment. Your nails dig into the back of his neck as you shatter around him.

Bucky's thrusts grow brutal, taking what he needs from you. "Oh fuck" He moans as he spills inside you. For a moment, you just look at each other, trying to catch your breaths. Thankfully, he knows you can't stand on your own, so he carries you to the sofa. Your dress is still around your waist, arm over your eyes. You can already feel a dull ache in your stomach where he had been just moments ago.

"Do you mind?" Bucky asks, pointing his phone toward you. You narrow your eyes, not understanding. "You're just so fuckin' hot and I wanna remember this." He says, his meaning finally dawning on you. You nod, almost too tired to speak. He angles his phone camera toward you. "Fucking perfect." He examines the photo he just took before showing you.

Your hair is disheveled, giving you the appearance of being caught in a windstorm. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes blown wide with lust. The top of your dress barely contains your breasts. The bottom is by your hips, your exposed cunt glistening with his cum. Bucky set the picture as his phone's background. You protested because you looked like a mess. Bucky stopped your arguing with a kiss. "You know what you look like?" He asks, smiling wide as he turned his phone screen toward you. "What?" You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling insecure. "Mine."

Tags

@cindylynn @wheredafandomat @multifandom-worlds @loz-3 @megharat-barnes-reid @kats72 @crimson25 @mochie85 @cakesandtom @lokidokieokie @theallknown213 @alexakeyloveloki @tmilover1993 @yeaiamme2 @pigeonmama @yeehawbrothers @lokischambermaid @fictive-sl0th @nomajdetective @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @weirdothatwritess @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @freegardenbanananeck @lamentis-10 @jainaeatsstars @queenshu @justsebstan @kcd15

[lowkeyremi]

"Dada fart!" Your daughter, Miu, who happens to be a three year old that thinks anything with farts or butts is funny, giggles while pinching her little nose with her index finger and thumb.

"Rintaro that smells atrocious! Go to the bathroom!!" Within a few seconds Mui parrrots, "Dada troshus!"

There's a cat-like grin gracing his sharp face. Leave it to him to be devious and handsome at the same time.

"What are you guys talking about? I don't smell anything." It physically pains you how childish he is. Both you and Mui smell that rancid smell, he can't seriously be saying he doesn't smell anything.

"Rintaro. Don't pretend like you don't smell that." It takes extreme patience for you not to curse right now. Mui doesn't need to be taught language like that, especially not while she's only lived three little years on this earth.

"Dada smell like a stunk!" You really do wish you could find this whole thing funny like Mui does, but it smells absolutely awful.

"You mean a skunk?" She nods rapidly.

Rintaro being ever the childish man he is, runs right past you and sprays something on your clothes.

Fart. Spray. He was pranking you, and now he just sprayed you with fucking fart spray.

"RINTARO YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SH- SHIITAKE." If you thought the smell was bad from afar it's even worse up close. You curse whoever has made that horrible stuff, hoping they get a first class ticket to hell.

"Mama fart!" Since Mui hadn't noticed the fart spray she just thinks you "farted" along with her father.

"No- I mean- Dada has a spray that smells like farts." A mischievous sparkle glistens in her eyes, just like it does when Rintaro has a bad idea.

"If little kids use it though, it might burn." You make up completely on the spot. Hey if it works it works.

"I no wanna get burnded." The way she pronounces burned is absolutely adorable.

"Sorry babe." Rintaro's right behind you. He's sincere but that crooked smile on his face pisses you off. Before he can even grasp what happens you snatch the spray from his hand and start spraying like crazy.

"HOLY SHIT- that ugh- DAMN THAT SMELLS LIKE A BAG OF ASS!" His eyes widen, as do yours, once he realizes what he just said in front of his daughter.

"Bag of ass????" Sweet little Mui repeats.

"That's a no no word, Honey." She too widens her eyes. Rintaro instantly groans knowing what that means.

"Dada give Mui three paper moneys for bad words." The man in question sighs as he pulls out his wallet.

[sihtsisdrowkcab]

DP x DC prompt - Villainess AU

Hey! So I found this promt and just had to write something with it!

https://www.tumblr.com/kuroishuuha/714717053010984960/dp-x-dc-prompt-villainess-au?source=share

Prompt

-Danny is transported into a novel/game where he is the villainess fiancé of the male lead.

Knowing that only death awaits him at the end, Danny tries to end the engagement (who knows if death will stick this time - Danny is not gonna risk finding out)

Meanwhile, Jason finds himself as the male lead of a novel/game he never read/played

The system in his head is telling him that the only way to get back home is to have a happy ending with his fiancé

So we have Danny who is desperately trying to end his engagement and a Jason who is trying to woo his fiancé (and cursing the original male lead - because the guy must have done something horrible for his cute and nice fiancé to be desperate to break up with him)-

Story

Danny was so over this. He thought this would have been easy, maybe not on his parents part god knows they don't give up without a fight, but his fiance has shown nothing but disdain for him his whole life (even if he wasn't here for 90% of that life) He thought he'd only have to tell his fiance that he didn't want to marry him, his fiance would be ecstatic and run into the sun with Ophelia and he'd get the weight off his shoulders and wouldn't have to worry about dying anymore and yet...

"No."

Danny just looked at him with horror "What do you mean no?" He practically yelled.

"No, I won't break off the engagement."

"Why not!? You hate me! You've hated me since the moment we met! I know you want to be with ophelia!"

Daminan looked like he was trying to read his face which makes no sense, if anyone should be trying to read the other's face it should be him!

Danny grabbed Damian's shoulders and shook them, he knew he wasn't acting like a proper gentleman, but his life was on the line! "Have you lost your goddamn mind? What in the world is wrong with you?" He paused, took a breath and let go of his shoulders. He was sure this had something or the other to do with politics, he just couldn't wrap his mind around it at all. He took another step back, he had to appease Damian somehow. "Look, neither of us wanted to get married and neither of us really knew what we were getting into when our parents signed the agreement and had us agree to this, my parents won't back down but from what I know of your parents they'll let you back out of this no problem. My parents will be pissed but that's neither here nor there. There is really no reasonable excuse for why we shouldn’t break off our engagement." Danny said smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. There was no way Damian could deny all of that.

-

How could Jason deny all of that?! He was acting completely out of character, which was funny because he hardly knew what his character was like at all besides from second hand accounts. When he was told he just had to get a happy ending with his fiance he had thought this would be a piece of cake, he had brushed everything else off and took this as a really weird miny vacation, how hard could it really be to marry your fiance? Everything was already set up, it couldn't fail.

Except for the fact that apparently he was a dick and hated his fiance and she was done with all that, which he would have cheered on the fiance any day, get rid of that dick 100%. But now he was here in that dick's place and having to deal with his stupid problems and his fiance wanted to divorce him! How was he ever going to get a happy ending out of this? He did eventually want to get home no matter how annoying Bruce could be at times.

His fiance huffed drawing his eyes to him, he really was very pretty, he had no idea why Damian seemingly hated him. Sure he was being annoying as hell right now but really that was all Damian's fault.

"look i don't know why you seem to be fighting for this, it seriously seems like you just forgot everything!"

Jason froze, should he go with that? It really would be rather convincing seeing as he really didn't know Damian at all.

Danial paused, his eyes widening as he fixed on Jason's hesitance, seemingly picking apart all that he was and assessing him not adequate.

"You really don't act like Damian at all..."

He froze again, was that a good thing? Was this gonna be what gave him away?

"Did you hit your head or something? Temporary amnesia?"

"Y-yes!" Was he messing this up, would Danial believe that?

"Then why are you fighting so hard to keep the engagement? You don't know me at all."

Shit. shit what did he say? How did he convince Danial to keep the engagement if his other self hated him and this self didn't know him?

"I-I heard how wonderful you were from my parents and- and fell in love!"

Danial backed up with a distured look on his face, fuck he shouldn't have said that. "Love? After just hearing about me? That’s… kind of creepy."

“I just want to get to know you!”

Danial looked at him, his shoulders slumped and he looked resigned as he said "fine we'll keep up the engagement for now.” yes! “But when you get your memories back, we're breaking it off.”

Not great, but at least he knew that wasn’t going to happen. 

 He turned around to leave, oh wait. "I haven't told anyone else I've lost my memories so could you keep that one to yourself?" He asked, turning back around.

Danial looked at him suspiciously. "Why haven't you told anyone else? Not even your family?"

Fuck again! Why couldn't he just get this right? "Of course my family knows!" He really hoped Danial never met them because they absolutely did not. "but no one at this school does, i don't want them to treat me like i'm made of glass like my parents." Not completely off base, they've been tiptoeing around him all summer, probably because he was acting so weird.

"that makes sense." Danial sighed, he looked suddenly like the whole weight of the world was upon his shoulders. 

Jason screwed up his face, he had definitely been the one to place it there. He wanted to go over to him and tell him that they could break off the engagement after all but he really couldn't do that. "I'm sorry." He settled for instead.

Danial looked surprised. "You’re apologizing?"

"Yeah, I've made this so much harder for you than it really had to be. And you don't really know me anymore and I really don't know you."

Danial looked at him with something akin to empathy. "It's hard being thrust into a world that's unfamiliar to you isn't it? No one you trust or know around you and having to be something your not."

Jason looked at him in genuine shock. "H-how?"

Danial looked panicked for a second before he gave a light laugh. "I may not have amnesia but I do have expectations from everyone around me." He rubbed his arm. "Everyone says you're way out of my league and that I'm lucky to have you." This time his laugh was bitter.

"If anything you said about the old me was true it was really the opposite."

Danial gave a snort that Jason couldn't help feeling was the prettiest thing he's ever heard. "oh believe me i down played it."

Jason looked at him aghast. "Downplayed it!? Just how bad was I??"

Daniel gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and a smirk, "Now that, my friend is a talk for another time. Danial moved past him brushing his shoulder, what felt like a shock passed through him and he went stiff. When he finally came to his senses he was all by himself, What had just happened?

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I told my DM (who is also my best friend) about how bad the dopamine crashes after our sessions are?

(🎲〽️ so I recognize it)

So, I play dnd with my friends every second Saturday. Now, I absolutely adore those sessions.

The problem is the Sunday after them I tend to feel like shit. I constantly want to cry, getting out of the bed in the morning is a chore, I feel like I am the most horrible and annoying person in the world... You know that kind of stuff. I've been told this is most likely a dopamine crash (which makes sense as those are the only time I get to really talk to people and the happiest times of my week) so I wanted to ask him for advice because I don't know anyone else who'd be able to help.

And about our DM: he's my best friend and practically the only support network I have outside of my family. He's helped me with a lot of stuff in the past and I know he doesn't mind listening to me talk about my issues. I am however worried about making him feel guilty about it. It's not his fault I feel bad, my brain just acts weird.

(Also he is definitely not the asshole because he hasn't done anything. I'm just not sure how he'd react because even though we've been friends for years I'm still not used to this friendship thing)

So WIBTA if I talked to him about it?

[whoishotteranimepolls]

I've been waiting to respond since you made that post mocking us for wanting problematic characters banned from your polls because apparently you are not taking legitimate criticism of anime seriously. Because it is full of poor representation of minorities and lgbtq+ and you and all of your followers are laughing about it like it's nothing.

I will start with Yamato because everyone acts like one piece even though it's so full of misogyny. Having a trans character is amazing when I don't even think Yamato is actually trans. I'm pretty sure it's a translation error and everyone has latched on to it. So again that is not good representation if it's not confirmed representation and even if it was confirmed, it's not good representation. Yamato because of the one piece art style by default Yamato is full-blown a fetishization of trans people because all one piece characters if they are drawn, female presenting are drawn like sex dolls. So unless they go through an actual gender transition and not just a pronoun change. There cannot be good representation with Yamato because Yamato is a fetish, not a fully fleshed out character. I mean to boil it all down. I don't think the author is capable of having any good lgbtq+ representation one piece is just not a sophisticated enough story and the characters are just too shallow for that to be possible

Bleach did a similar thing with Yoruichi acting like it was so amazing to have a character of color and she is supposedly bisexual but she's just waifu bait and it reeks of misogyny and fetishization of BIPOC. She's a furry to top it all off. It doesn't help that the bunny chick from my hero is basically the new gen version of the same character, but at least she is disabled too. So at least they tried to do something with her character other than waifu bait

So I would like to know why every character I've seen promoted as great representation in anime for either the BIPOC or LGBTQ+ communities seem to only be horribly fetishized, useless, waifu bait. Not actually a good character.

And even when Japan is dealing with its own ethnic minorities and indigenous populations it still does a horrible job by playing into the Noble Savage stereotype Hollywood likes to play into. Have you not seen the anime Golden Kamuy? It's about Japan's own first Nations tribe and it's So disrespectful to that. I swear they could not have had a single person from Hokkaido, much less a member of the actual Ainu people involved in the creation of that anime or manga. And yet I've seen so many people brag about that anime and manga and how it's so good for diversity. When again, every single Ainu character acts like a bad native American stereotype from like a 1950s American Hollywood western. It's that bad and don't get me started on the fan service in that show. It's at a level that could be considered exploitative but it's okay. Some of the characters might be gay so it's representation. To top it all off it reinforces white colonial beauty standards because the main Ainu character is specially because she's half white and has blue eyes like her white dad and she talks about how she's going to be a new kind of better Ainu for the future because she's white passing. That show is a reductive racist dumpster fire and I can't believe anyone says otherwise.

But you said you won't ban characters unless the fandom becomes too toxic. But you really should consider looking out for the LGBTQ+ and BIPOC communities by not promoting toxic problematic characters and actually banning these toxic problematic characters and shows

Fandoms vs Illiteracy #1

Feel free to critique the essay but not the person nor the person's intelligence. Do not call names, degrade the person, or personally attack them in any way. The purpose of this series is to critique/analyze the arguments contained in the essays.

For those unfamiliar with the characters mentioned, here are pictures. The names are in the alt text.

And here's one of the promotional images for season 2 of Golden Kamuy

So now that everyone is a little bit more familiar with everything mentioned in the essay and knows the rules, feel free to do your own research and respond.

[rockrosethistle]

Workin Boys was literally the only thing that saved Hidgens from being flanderized beyond recognition

(Spoilers for Workin' Boys)

So what I think a lot of people don't give much thought to is how much Professor Hidgens as a character has evolved since tgwdlm, essentially becoming a parody of himself.

Think of Hidgens as a character. What are his defining traits?

Did you think about how he is a doomsday prepper who has been stockpiling supplies for 20 years? Because that's how he's introduced in Guy.

Did you try think about how he has a weird relationship with his Alexa? Or did we forget about that?

In fact, for the majority of TGWDLM, Hidgens' main character trait is that he says weird shit with a Doc Brown voice.

The whole concept of Workin Boys isn't even introduced until the last half hour of the show. That's where he reveals his real motivation: to live out the musical he wrote as a young man.

Actually, no, that's not right. Because his motivation was world peace, and Workin Boy's was just a convenient means to that end.

I won't disregard the fact that Hidgens clearly has an emotional connection to the show, but in Guy, it serves as a punchline rather than a driving force.

So now we have this lovely, morally-grey, multi-layered character that we can work with.

By the time we get to Time Bastard, the fandom is expecting a show stopping number reference, so of course we get that.

But at this point, Hidge is still that multi-layered character. Sure, showstopping number gets a callback, but we also get a callback to his strange relationship with robots. They make up an equal part of him as a character.

By the time we get to Honey Queen, we have lost several aspects of Hidgens altogether. He is no longer a doomsday-believing recluse. He is now active in the community and his only motivation is to get his show funded. He brings it up at every chance he gets, and his loyalties lie with whoever is more likely to make Workin Boys happen.

So how the hell do we come back from this?

Well, at first it seems like we're not going to. Workin' Boys (the short film) comes out, and it looks like we're leaning even harder into this aspect of his personality than before. But then we get hit with something we're not expecting: Hidge gets the Ted Spankoffski treatment.

I'm referring to Ted's backstory in Time Bastard, where we learn that all of his actions actually stem from a single, traumatic moment, which in his eyes forced him to alter his behaviour, so as to not go through the same trauma again.

Can you see where I'm going with this?

The backstory we get from Hidgens certainly puts things in perspective. No, it's not enough to explain why his behaviour has been so laser-focused on this one show, but it's a start.

Then comes the part that changes everything.

It's left up to interpretation whether these ghosts Hidge is seeing are actually there, or just hallucinations, but that doesn't really matter.

Hidgens had been through a horrible experience, so traumatizing that he is still literally being haunted by it decades later. For one reason or another, he believes that the only way he can relieve himself of these ghosts is by bringing honor to the loved ones he's lost and telling their stories.

This reveal recontextualizes everything we know about Hidgens as a character. Suddenly, this isn't a story about some guy who just really wants to put on his musical, this is a story about guilt. Of course it would be the driving factor in his life. Look at him apologizing to his boys. He feels like he is slandering their memories with everything that goes wrong for the show.

This is supported even more with the ending.

Henry Hidgens dies with a smile on his face, believing he's finally achieved his goal: to tell the real story of what happened that night.

It finally makes sense as to why we've lost those parts of him--we've retconned the character by revealing that all that simplification of his goals and traits wasn't flanderization at all, but a steady downward spiral of grief over his loved ones. It wasn't Hidgens getting a little too into being a playwrite, it was him descending into madness caused by the inability to please the part of himself (or the literal ghosts, if that's how you interpret it) that believes he's not doing enough.

And if not for Workin' Boys, he would have remained that one-dimensional character.

[andromeda-nova-writing]

Hate at first sight - Alhaitham Requested by @isekyaaa

Contains suggestive lines for the sake of a joke

“Tighnari, You know anyone who could translate this?” She brought over the book to him. It was an old book she found while cleaning up her grandpa’s house. A book in a foreign language that her grandpa had forgotten over the years leaving its contents unknown to his family. “It’s supposed to be an heirloom.”

Tighnari looked over the book she had handed to him. A language that was unrecognizable to him but recognizable in that he had seen one of his friends reading a book in what looked to be a similar language. “I know a guy. If you're free tonight you might have a chance to get it translated or at least be pointed in the right direction.”

“Why tonight?"

“Cyno made a new deck again. Your translator should be there.”

“I forgot you have game nights with the General Mahamatra. I shouldn't take up too much of your time. Well as long as this translater of yours is good at their job.”

“He is. Just know he can be a little blunt. Though little may be an understatement. And with Kaveh there, don't be surprised if you see some sort of argument.”

“You're friends must be a lively bunch. Wait Kaveh is the one with blonde hair right? He was the one who was here two weeks ago?” She asked making sure her memory was correct.

“He was. Why?”

“He gave me advice on what rug I should pick. He didn't even see where it would go and gave me perfect advice. I really would like to thank him. My living room actually feels like a separate room even though it's an open floor plan.”

“I'm sure he'll appreciate it.”

-

It was nice to say hello to Cyno even though she didn’t know that super well. Most of her knowledge came from Tighnari mentioning him. But that and the fact she didn’t talk to him much meant that she really didn’t know him. It was entertaining to hear a few of his jokes though. The juxtaposition of the wordplay with how stoic his delivery was may have been the only reason she enjoyed them though.

While Kaveh acted as if he had known her for their entire lives. He was warm and welcoming. But also the moment she thanked him it was like he became a second sun in the room. He was extremely giving, offering to give her home interior design advice any time. It was evident in his face and how he spoke how much he appreciated the thanks even if it was just over what shape of rug to get.

It was enjoyable to be around all three of them. Though as nice as their company was it wasn't the reason she Had followed Tighnari along to his game night With his friends at the tavern. She still had a book in her bag that needed to be translated and there was no translator in sight.

“Tighinari, are you sure your translator is supposed to be here?”

“I’m sure he’ll show.”

“Translator?” Kaveh asked before his smile evaporated away. “You’re here for Al Haitham?”

“That’s a first,” Cyno commented.

“Well, now my translator has a name. But yes.” She pulled the book out of her bag. “My grandpa said it’s a family heirloom but no one in my family can even read it. Tighnari said that he’d be able to translate it for me.”

“At a horrible cost though. You couldn't have just sent her in the direction of the Akademiya?” Kaveh asked, being quite dramatic about the situation.

“I'd rather have someone that Tighnari trusts than some I don't know who. The book is an heirloom after all.”

“It will be fine,” Tighnari reassured, he pointed at the door. “Even then, he’s here.”

Al Haitham made his way over to their table. He sat down at the table already looking annoyed at who knows what.

Tighnari was kinda enough to briefly explain the situation to him along with a basic introduction. Even though Al Haitham had agreed to translate he looked as if Y/N's simple request was asking too much. Maybe a frown was just permanently etched into his face.

Al Haitham held the book looking over the cover. “To count the ways.” He translated the cover before flipping through the pages. His eyes widen skimming through the contents. He looked over at Y/N who looked brimming with excitement to learn what was in the book. “This is just erotica.”

Cyno slowly placed the cards in his hands on the table now fully paying attention to what was unfolding in front of him. Kaveh choked on his wine only for Tighnari to pat his back as he coughed. 

Y/N’s face dropped. “It's a heirloom. It’s been in my family longer than my grandpa has been alive. It can’t be. You must be mistranslating it.” She reasoned.

“Your heirloom is in an old form of a Fontaine language. A language I’ve been reading since I was 17. Do you want me to translate it aloud for you?” His words were an insult and a challenge to her.

“If you know it so well then could you give me a real translation.”

Al Haitham rolled his eyes opening the book back up. “Her eyes widen at the sight of his toned chest. In a frantic haze of want she quickly moved to help remove his belt excited to see the sight of his-”

Y/N snatched the book from his hands. Her face was warm with embarrassment. “It was nice talking with you three but I have to go.” She politely excused herself from others before turning to face Al Haitham. “You could drown in a ditch for all I care.”

[its-avalon-08]

can u do a carlos sainz x reader, where reader forgets him birthday oop- he's is really hurt by it! thanks

let me dry your eyes (cs55)

✦ pairing - carlos sainz x female!reader

✦ genre - major angst, alot of tears, happy ending

The smell of tears hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the tension crackling between Carlos and Y/N. Empty plates sat abandoned on the table, the remnants of a dinner that neither had the heart to finish.

"You didn't even remember," Carlos choked out, his voice thick with emotion. Y/N flinched, the color draining from her face.

"What? No, of course I did!" she sputtered, scrambling to mend the situation. Work had been a relentless beast lately, consuming every waking thought, but forgetting his birthday? That was unthinkable.

"Don't lie to me, Y/N," Carlos said, his voice barely a whisper. "There wasn't even a card, a stupid text... nothing."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes. "Carlos, I..." Her voice cracked. A horrible dread settled in her stomach. Had she truly forgotten? Memories flickered - a discarded calendar reminder, a half-written email draft... the mounting pressure of a looming deadline. Shame washed over her.

"You what?" Carlos snapped, his eyes blazing. "This isn't some random Tuesday, Y/N! It's my birthday!"

"I know, I know!" she cried, scrambling to her feet. "But work, it's been..."

"Work, work, work! That's all it ever is!" Carlos roared, his voice echoing off the bare walls of the apartment. "Is that all I am to you? Just some inconvenience in your never-ending schedule?"

Tears streamed down Y/N's face. "No, that's not it! You're everything to me, Carlos. I just..." Her voice trailed off, the enormity of her mistake hitting her like a physical blow.

"You just forgot," Carlos finished for her, his voice laced with a bitter resignation. "Because apparently, my birthday just wasn't important enough for the woman I love"

"No! That's not true!" Y/N reached out for him, but he flinched away. The hurt in his eyes was a reflection of her own carelessness.

"It's okay, Y/N," Carlos said, his voice hollow. "Don't worry about it. I obviously don't matter that much."

The finality in his voice struck a raw nerve. "Don't say that, Carlos. Please," she begged, desperation creeping into her tone.

He looked at her, a flicker of pain crossing his features. But then, his face hardened.

"I need some air," he said curtly, brushing past her on his way to the door. Y/N lunged after him, but he was already throwing it open.

"Carlos, wait!" she cried, tears blurring her vision. But he was gone, leaving her alone in the wreckage of their burnt dinner and a birthday celebration that never was. The silence echoed louder than any scream, a chilling reminder of the carelessness that threatened to tear them apart.

The sterile white walls of Lando's house offered a stark contrast to the warmth of Carlos's apartment. Lando, ever the friend, had found Carlos pacing outside his building, tears threatening to spill over again. Now, Carlos sat slumped on the plush couch, a beer untouched in his hand.

"And then she just... said work was busy," Carlos choked out, his voice thick with a mix of anger and hurt. "Like my birthday is just another meeting she can reschedule."

Lando, ever the calm presence, sat beside him, a sympathetic hand resting on Carlos's shoulder. "Mate, that's rough. Birthdays are supposed to be special, you know?"

Carlos let out a humorless scoff. "Special? Apparently, to Y/N, it's just another Tuesday." He took a shaky breath, wiping at a stray tear that escaped. "The worst part? I know she didn't mean it. She's been swamped at work lately, but..."

"But it still hurts," Lando finished gently. "It's the forgetting, the feeling like you don't matter. Trust me, I get it."

Carlos nodded, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. The anger that had fueled him earlier was starting to ebb, replaced by a bone-deep tiredness. "I just... I don't know what to do, Lando. We haven't been fighting much lately, but this feels different."

Lando squeezed his shoulder. "Look, give her a chance to explain herself. Maybe there's more to it than just work."

Carlos scoffed again, a flicker of the earlier anger returning. "What more could there be? It's my birthday, Lando! Not exactly rocket science to remember that."

"Easy there, firebrand," Lando chuckled, though the sound lacked its usual cheer. "I know you're mad, but blowing things up won't fix this. Talk to her, Carlos. But talk when you've both calmed down."

Carlos slumped further into the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're right," he muttered, the fight finally draining out of him. "I'm just... so fucking tired."

Lando gave him a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, well, birthdays can be draining, especially when they go sideways. How about we forget about the whole girlfriend drama for a bit and play some Call of Duty? My revenge skills are legendary, you know."

Carlos managed a weak chuckle. "Sounds good, mate. Just promise me you won't go too easy on me. I need to vent my frustrations somehow."

Lando grinned. "Don't worry, Sainz. On the virtual battlefield, there's no such thing as mercy for you."

As the familiar sounds of gunfire filled the motorhome, Carlos closed his eyes, the image of Y/N's tear-streaked face flashing behind his eyelids. He knew Lando was right; they needed to talk. But a part of him, the part that had been so excited to celebrate another year with her, couldn't help but feel a cold ember of anger rekindle. He was tired, yes, but he was also starting to feel overwhelming pain.

Exhaustion finally claimed Carlos. The emotional rollercoaster of the evening, coupled with Lando's relentless (but admittedly therapeutic) Call of Duty onslaught, had drained him completely. He slumped against the back of the couch, his breaths deepening into a steady rhythm.

Lando, controller still clutched in his hand, watched his friend with a mix of concern and amusement. He muted the game and pulled out his phone, a determined glint in his eyes. With a sigh, he dialed Y/N's number.

"Hey, Y/N," he started, his voice gentle. "It's Lando."

There was a choked sob on the other end, followed by a shaky, "Lando?"

"Yeah, listen," he continued, his voice low. "Carlos is here. He's pretty wiped, but…" He hesitated, gauging her reaction.

"But what?" Y/N's voice trembled. "Is he okay?"

"He's… hurt," Lando admitted carefully. "He's more upset than he lets on Y/N."

Y/N flinched at the nickname, a painful reminder of the way she'd let Carlos down. "Oh God, Lando, what can I do?"

Lando could practically hear the despair in her voice. "Look," he said, his tone firm but kind. "You messed up, big time. But Carlos cares about you deeply. He's just… well, he feels forgotten."

Y/N sniffled. "I know. I feel like the worst girlfriend ever."

"Don't beat yourself up," Lando soothed. "Here's the thing – you can fix this. But it'll take effort."

He outlined a plan. It involved a grand gesture, a little creativity, and a whole lot of groveling on Y/N's part. As he spoke, a slow smile spread across Y/N's face, a spark of hope rekindled in her voice.

"Lando," she whispered, "that might actually work. Thank you. Thank you so much."

"No problem," Lando replied, a genuine grin breaking out on his face. "Just promise me one thing – make it epic."

"Epic it is," Y/N vowed, a newfound determination hardening her voice. "He won't forget this birthday, not in a million years."

Lando hung up, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. He glanced at the slumbering Carlos, a small smile playing on his lips. "Looks like we're in for a wild ride, mate," he murmured. He grabbed a blanket and gently draped it over his friend, a silent promise that things would be alright. (my carlando heart is sobbing brb)

The rhythmic rumble of the engine lulled Carlos further into sleep. Lando, ever the watchful friend, kept a careful eye on the road, a smile tugging at his lips. Y/N's plan, as he'd suspected, was a winner.

As they neared Carlos's apartment, Lando broke the silence. "Hey, mate," he nudged Carlos gently. "We're close."

Carlos stirred, blinking blearily at his surroundings. Memories of the argument and his subsequent meltdown flooded back. Shame washed over him, quickly followed by a pang of longing. All he wanted right now was to hold Y/N, to feel her warmth, to hear her apologize.

Sensing his friend's turmoil, Lando offered a playful nudge. "Come on, sleepyhead. Looks like your princess is in another castle... or rather, apartment." He winked, throwing a knowing look towards Carlos's building.

A jolt of energy coursed through Carlos. He sat up straight, a sudden desperation filling his eyes. "Lando, I just… I want to hug her and give her the biggest kiss. Right now."

Lando chuckled, a hint of mischief in his voice. "Well, looks like your nap is officially over then, Mr. Sleepyhead."

Finally, Lando pulled up in front of the building. He gave Carlos a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Go get her, tiger."

Carlos didn't need telling twice. He practically sprinted towards his apartment, his heart hammering in his chest. He fumbled with the keys, the door swinging open with a creak.

The sight that greeted him stole his breath away. Fairy lights twinkled in the darkened room, casting a warm glow on everything they touched. Carlos's favorite flowers, lilies and sunflowers, bloomed in vases strategically placed around the room. Simple silver streamers fluttered gently, catching the soft light.

A low hum filled the air – the familiar score from his all-time favorite movie. The scent of sizzling garlic and herbs wafted from the kitchen, a tantalizing promise of his favorite pasta dish. And then, there she was.

Y/N stood in the center of it all, a vision in a dress that shimmered like moonlight on water. Her eyes, though puffy and red-rimmed from crying, shone with an intensity that sent a jolt straight to his heart.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the weight of the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Then, Y/N's eyes welled up again, and she ran towards him, a sob escaping her lips.

Carlos met her halfway, engulfing her in his arms. The scent of her shampoo, a familiar comfort, filled his senses. He held her tightly, burying his face in her hair, his own tears threatening to spill.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I…" Words failed him, so he simply held her closer, letting the embrace speak volumes.

Y/N clung to him, her body trembling slightly. "Carlos, I'm so sorry. I was an idiot. Please forgive me."

He steps further into the room, his eyes searching mine. "Y/N," he starts, concern lacing his voice. "You didn't have to do all this."

"But I had to," Y/N interrupts, her voice gaining strength. "I messed up, Carlos. Big time. Work was a monster lately, but that's no excuse. You… you deserve to be celebrated. Every single day. But especially today."

Y/N stepped closer to him, the space between the two shrinking. "You see, Carlos, forgetting your birthday wasn't just about a missed date on a calendar. It… it showed me something about myself, something scary. That I, in my whirlwind of stress, could almost lose sight of what truly matters. And you, Carlos, you matter more than anything in this world."

Her voice cracks a little, but she presses on. "You're my best friend, my confidante, my biggest supporter, and the person who makes me laugh until my sides ache. You're the calm in my storm, the sunshine on a rainy day. You're… you're my Carlos."

She reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead "And I promise," she vows, her eyes pleading with him to believe her, "I will never, ever forget that again." A single tear escapes, tracing a glistening path down Y/N's cheek. "Can you forgive me?"

The silence stretches for another beat, then his lips curve into a slow, understanding smile. He pulls Y/N into a tight embrace, the warmth of his body chasing away the lingering chill of doubt.

"There's nothing to forgive," he murmurs against her hair. "Just… maybe a few extra birthday kisses?"

She laughs, the sound echoing through the room like a promise of a new beginning. "As many as you want, birthday boy." Tonight, with the flickering lights and the promise of a shared future, they celebrated not just his birthday, but the strength of their love, a love that can weather even the most forgetful storms.

He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hands, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. "Just… no more forgetting birthdays, okay?" he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Y/N's lips curved into a watery smile. "Never," she promised, her voice barely a whisper. Then, she added, "The movie's just starting, and your food will be ready soon. Can we just… stay like this for a while?"

Carlos leaned his forehead against hers, a wave of relief washing over him. "For as long as you want," he murmured. And in the quiet embrace, surrounded by the soft glow of fairy lights and the promise of a new beginning, they knew this birthday, though starting on a rough note, would be one they'd never forget.

As they pulled away from their embrace, Y/N's eyes darted around the room, landing on a small table decorated with a single wrapped box. "There's, uh, one more thing," she mumbled, her cheeks flushing a light pink.

Carlos raised an eyebrow in surprise. "More surprises?"

Y/N nodded shyly, biting her lip. He watched with a growing smile as she carefully unwrapped the box, revealing a framed photo of the two of them, beaming at the camera during a recent vacation. The edges were decorated with tiny seashells they'd collected on the beach.

"It's for you to remember all our birthdays," Y/N said softly, handing it to him.

Carlos's heart melted. He held the photo close, the warmth of the memory radiating from it. "Y/N, this is perfect. Thank you." He looked at her, his eyes shining with affection. "You really went all out."

Feeling a surge of confidence, Y/N reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. "There's actually one more tiny thing," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Carlos's eyes widened as she opened the box, revealing a delicate silver bracelet with a tiny race car charm dangling from it. "Y/N," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "It's beautiful."

Y/N helped him clasp it around his wrist, a shy smile gracing her lips. "It has your number on it," she explained, tracing the car charm with her finger.

Carlos's smile widened into a full-blown grin. He was about to say something when his stomach rumbled loudly.

"Oh my god," Y/N gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Dinner! I completely forgot with all the excitement."

Carlos chuckled, pulling her close. "Hey, it's okay. Birthdays are for celebrating, not worrying about schedules."

They decided to ditch the fancy dress and uncomfortable shoes, opting for their usual cozy sweatpants and t-shirts. As the delicious smell of garlic and herbs filled the room, Y/N set about preparing their plates, a newfound lightness in her step.

Curled up on the couch with the movie playing in the background, Carlos took a bite of his pasta, his face contorting in blissful satisfaction. "Mmm, Y/N, this is amazing," he mumbled, his mouth full.

Y/N, nestled comfortably on his lap, beamed. "I'm glad you like it. I put extra love in it after… well, you know."

A momentary shadow crossed Carlos's face. "Hey," he said gently, "about that… I'm glad you apologized. But honestly, I was more hurt that you were so stressed with work you forgot. It made me feel like…"

He trailed off, not wanting to upset her again. Y/N, however, anticipated his words. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. "Like you didn't matter?" she choked out, her voice thick with regret.

"No, no," Carlos quickly assured her, placing a hand on her cheek. "I never said that. It's just… you're the most important person in my life. And seeing you so focused on work… it scared me, a little."

Y/N leaned into his touch, tears spilling over. "I'm so sorry, Carlos. I promise, I'll find a better balance. Work will never be more important than you."

She snuggled closer, burying her face in his chest. "I love you," she whispered over and over again, seeking forgiveness and comfort.

Carlos wrapped his arms around her, his heart overflowing with love. "I love you too, Y/N. More than words can say." He kissed the top of her head, a silent promise that he would always forgive her, as long as they communicated and worked together.

The rest of the evening melted away in a warm haze of movie magic, shared laughter, and whispered apologies. As the movie's credits rolled, Carlos leaned back, Y/N's head resting contentedly on his chest. He knew, despite the rocky start, this birthday would forever be etched in their memory – a reminder of the importance of communication, forgiveness, and most importantly, the power of love.

[anarchy-and-piglins]

As promised: emduo-centric royalty AU with sad little child hostage ward Techno I can't stop thinking about.

Techno is the second son of a tiny kingdom. The kingdom is feared far and wide for its military prowess and the production of high-quality weapons. However, a lot of this reputation is hot air. Their numbers are actually small enough that a bigger nation could come and overpower them relatively easily if it really wanted to, and they do not hold any significant trade routes or harbors. It's solely their fearsome reputation that scares people off.

Or it used to scare them off.

Another (much bigger) nation led by King Dante came and took over, using overwhelming forces to their advantage despite their weapons and strategies being subpar. When they were done, Dante allowed the king and queen to keep ruling, but on the unspoken condition that it was actually Dante pulling the strings behind the scenes and every decision goes through him

Dante leaves some of his trusted generals in the higher ranks to ensure an eye is kept on everything, and as an extra insurance, he takes one of the princes with him. Obviously not the heir, that would be a scandal! But the second-born son would do just fine

Dante takes Techno in and to much of the outside world, they presume this is a wardship, as is common between allies.

When in reality, it's more like a semi-polite hostage situation.

Dante uses the military powers he has gained from Techno's country to quickly overthrow a few other surrounding smaller nations by aggressive, militaristic means. His reputation suffers for it, but that doesn't really matter when within a blink of an eye, Dante is ruling over the 'United Nations of Hypixel', one of the biggest countries in the world and thus a significant player on the political stage.

The other countries that remain are of similar huge size and a lot stronger than any of the smaller countries Dante trampled thus far though. And while Dante is greedy, he's not a moron. So he knows that going to war with any of them heedlessly would be a bad idea.

So he changes tactics. He sends delegations, he invites nobles and other royals, and tries to make diplomatic treaties. Maybe there's a little bit of assassination and blackmailing and information laundering and stuff going on too but shhhhh. No need to worry about that, Dante is proving he can play nice.

Techno, eight when he was taken from his home, remains at the court all the while.

To the outside world, he's living a cushy life as a prince. They only see a spoiled little boy who has everything he could ever wish for, lavish clothes and fancy food and servants helping him with whatever he wants. Little do people know that's only the image Dante wants to project, now that he's trying to play nice with other countries. The fine silk and heavy velvet hide the scars and bruises Techno gets from Dante and his generals behind closed doors.

Hell, even from the servants. Dante has made it clear he doesn't care how Techno gets treated by them, as long as they don't inflict permanent damage.

Others wouldn't know that those fancy public appearances are the only times Techno gets to eat proper food, and even then Dante will punish him if he eats too much during them. He can't appear greedy, after all. But Techno has been taught politeness. And how to decline courteously. He's been taught manners.

He's been taught how to obey Dante perfectly, and be a sign to others for Dante's goodwill.

Of course, anybody who would actually bother to investigate this with more than a passing glance could see that Techno is being horribly abused.

The problem is that they don't give it more than a passing glance.

The truth of the matter is that Dante has skewed the narrative enough to make Techno's nation seem like even more of a bloodthirsty, war-mongering one many people already believed it was. And Dante is merely the man who has leashed the feral beast.

They're allies now, and people don't like Dante, but they don't like Techno's family and the nation he came from even more. So even most outsiders coming to the court will avoid Techno when possible, or even regard him with disdain and mistreat him.

Commoners hate him for being royalty and being a symbol of the nation that caused so much war, royals/nobles from other countries hate him for his heritage, Dante and his men just hate him, period.

Techno can't catch a break.

His only hope is to wait until this is over. He's turning twelve in a few weeks. He misses home.

[Dante tells Techno that his parents don't want him back

Dante says that since he has secured his position enough and the game has changed, he doesn't really need a hostage anymore. But he asked Techno's parents, and they said they didn't care to have him back.

They were always rather cold to Techno, would always tell him he was an accident and the only son they needed was Billiam, Techno's older brother. The heir. It saves them the trouble of having to stage an 'accidental death' for Techno down the line, when his existence becomes a threat to the succession rights.

But maybe part of Techno had still been wishing they loved him.

Sometimes, Dante wonders out loud if publicly executing Techno would be a good move for his reputation; especially since people hate Techno's family so much.

If Techno shows fear at the prospect of death, Dante punishes him. So very quickly Techno becomes numb to that too.]

Techno doesn't really have anybody in his corner at this point. Until Phil comes to court.

Phil is the emperor of the Antarctic Empire, a nation far up in the north. The country is harshly cold and rather mountainous. It's also almost entirely self-sufficient, despite the strange climate it manages to completely feed its populace and provide its own resources. It barely trades with the outside world and since the borders are lined by a mountain pass on the south and oceans on all other sides, it doesn't see a lot of travelers. It is, for all intents and purposes, an enigma. Some people rumor it doesn't exist.

The country also manages to stay out of any foreign politics 90% of the time because of its solitude, so having the emperor come out himself for a summons is quite something.

[Dante send the invite not expecting a response. It was more of a formality, honestly. Because not at least addressing the Antarctic Empire would have been worse, in terms of what's polite. And he can't risk catching their ire.

Little does Dante (or anybody else) know, but the Antarctic Empire is very aware of what's going on past their borders, because of a spy network all official documents simply refer to as 'the crows'. So Phil and Kristin have been keeping informed on the fact that somebody was making The Next Big Nation (tm) and that it could spell trouble later. Phil came down to see what's up.]

Phil knows about Techno's nation/family too, through the crows. But Phil also has a very strict policy that boils down to "the crows are little shits and they lie". Or more accurately, Phil knows how to treat secondhand information and always takes it with a grain of salt. That's why when something truly matters, he goes down there himself instead of sending somebody to speak for him like most other royals do.

And thus, Phil is the first one who tries to scrutinize Techno's situation and ends up going "Hey what the fuck! this is not how you treat a child."

He knows the Blade family does not make allies, and that Techno is a hostage. Slowly he starts to befriend the boy, who is extremely reluctant to extend any trust, while also not pissing off Dante or starting a war. It's a work in progress, but Phil is a stubborn bastard.

His original intention is to get Techno back home to his family. Until he finds out the truth of how Techno is treated there too - the proverb 'out of the frying pan, into the fire' comes to mind, perhaps.

That's when Phil goes "free sonboy" and takes Techno home instead.

Slow bonding and healing ensues, naturally <3 (also I'll post a link to my drabble in the replies)

[armenianwriterman]

So, this is it. The end of Rooster Teeth. The end of something I spent half of my life watching. I got into RT through randomly stumbling across Season 1 of Death Battle by chance and I never looked back. I spent more than half of my life watching their stuff, laughing along with their jokes, and being inspired by the people who made it. They were a source of joy in my life, especially in times when I really needed it. The talent and passion of those that worked there always shined through on everything they did. To those who worked there, I'm sorry it ended the way it did, and I wish them the best of luck as you go forwards. I'll always remember the heart and soul they put in, the engrossing stories they told, and hilarious insanity you really can't find anywhere else.

But, while there was a lot of good, there was also a lot of bad. The crunch, the toxic bro culture, the sexual predator that worked there for 12 years, it was a mess. It is horrible that any of this happened at all, and to those who were effected by it, I am so sorry you had to go through that. I felt terrible about being sad it closing for this reason, but after some reflection, I think what I'm really sad about is how much it meant to people. Me, the other fans, and all the employees, anyone who saw the goodbye stream could testify to that.

From that shared meaning spawned a community that I was a part of. One that unquestionably had a lot of problems as well, (I'm definitely not going to miss the anti-woke grifters when they inevitably move on to the next thing), but a community nonetheless. I don't really talk about my personal life on here much but, I'm not good with social interactions or maintaining relationships with people I don't see daily. I haven't ever really had a job before despite my attempts to get one, and well, given that I want to work in the TV/Film industry and the state that it's currently in...yeah. I sometimes feel like a failure, wonder why I should even bother trying.

But with RT, I had a community of people who were like me. People who I could nerd out with and not really worry about alienating. People I could laugh and cry with. I felt like I had a place here like I never really did elsewhere. One of my big regrets is that I never had the opportunity to go to a fan event and meet others in my community in person. But the good news is, despite the company closing, the community is still going to stick around for a long time. The fanmade archives are a thing, and many of the shows are either already going to continue, or in talks to continue.

Tonight, I decided to watch one final thing on their website and I chose Red vs Blue Season 13, partly because it's one of my favorite, if not the favorite, things this media company ever put out. But I also chose it because of the ending. Because even when things are bleak, even when the future is uncertain, there will always be hope that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, that your friends (and Rooster Teeth employees in this case) will all eventually be okay. In other words, because in the end, you just have to have faith. Ain't that a bitch?

Being a fan wasn't always easy, but I look around at everyone talking about what Rooster Teeth and its community meant to them, and I know that is why we were here. And I'm glad I was here with all of you.

❤️🤍🖤💛, 🟨🟨🟨🟨⬛, 🔴🆚🔵

[kazoosandfannypacks]

same premise as a fake dating au, but make it platonic:

"I've never met you before, but you're the only other woman in this bar and this guy's been creeping on me; can you pretend to be my childhood best friend?"

"I told my sister I was going to babysit her son, but only because I accidentally told my date tonight that I'm a single parent and she wanted to meet my kid."

"This indie cafe offers cheaper drinks if you refer a friend; wanna pretend we know each other?"

"You jokingly said that we've been friends for years, but someone believed it, so even though we've never met each other this is objectively a very funny bit to commit to"

"oh shoot i told my parents i was hanging out with friends but it's actually a date and now my parents are here and can't know about this; quick, let's join these kids from school so it doesn't seem suspicious"

"oh the group discount is a family discount? well, I'd like to introduce my 'siblings'"

"This contest is father/son only and it's been my dream to win this for years, but dad's not in the picture anymore. I know you're just a good friend of my mom, but I know your angle; I'll put in a good word with her if you pretend to be my dad today"

"it's career day at school, but one parent is unemployed and the other one's gone. i know you're just an employee at the coffee shop i study at, but do you think you could take their place?"

"we're dating but if my parents find out they won't let you come on vacation with us so we'll have to pretend to be just friends"

"we're coworkers who look so much alike everyone asks if we're related and from now on we're going to say yes."

"i walked into the restaraunt and made eye contact with my ex while he's on a date with another girl. I can't just walk out and I can't eat alone with him right over there; can I pull up a chair and join you ladies?"

"i want to go on this father/son camping trip, but my dad's not around. you've been my mentor figure at church for a while; wanna pretend to be my dad?"

"i come in and visit with the ladies in the nursing home every month. one lady with dementia thinks I'm her granddaughter and it doesn't help to correct her. the nurses said her family doesn't ever want to visit. she keeps asking about my sister [I don't have a sister] and saying how much she misses her, and I know it's gonna sound really horrible if i ask you to help me lie to an elderly dementia patient, but....."

feel free to add more! tag me if you use these :D

[rosetterer]

bucktommy prompt: different (flirty) first meeting 🤭

mornings are sweeter with you

Apparently, Starbucks is a popular place very early on a Monday morning. Who would've thought?

Buck feels like an idiot as he rambles his order to the poor, stressed-out-looking young woman on the other side of the counter, knowing, that he's already five minutes late and will likely have to wait for plenty more minutes, judging by the way the line only seems to keep growing.

And there will be traffic. Bobby is going to be pissed.

He had a horrible night and knows that it’s not an excuse but having only slept five hours because of the stupid nightmares that have taken over his mind ever since being released from the hospital, he needs caffeine before he gets to work.

He pays and goes to stand off to the side, where at least six other people are waiting for their to-go drinks. He stands further away from them and closer to the counter so that he doesn't get in their way and so that he gets a better view of the blonde woman yelling at the manager for having their employee screw up their order.

He checks his phone, only to pocket it soon after when the messages from 118 come in, asking where the hell he is. Buck isn’t the type to be late, he really isn’t. In fact, he loves to be early just about everywhere. But today, coffee is more important than anything else.

When the woman who took his order places a cup on the counter, calls out a name that Buck doesn’t hear because he’s still half-stuck in his thoughts and stares at him for a few seconds, Buck steps toward the counter and grabs the cup in his hand.

”That was fast,” he mumbles to himself, and despite feeling horrible for the workers getting yelled at for making drinks wrong, he has to make sure that it isn’t the case with his own drink.

So he takes a sip and swallows the cold liquid down with a small frown on his face.

It’s not correct. It’s nowhere near correct.

”What the hell?” He whispers and eyes the line that goes out the front door.

He doesn’t have time to go to the end of the line and wait for his turn to tell them that they made a mistake.

And so he speaks up, even though he feels terrible about it.

”Excuse me?” He says, trying to sound as polite as possible despite the stress of being late weighing down on him.

The woman who took his order looks at him as she makes another drink.

”My coffee, it’s made wrong,” he says.

The woman sighs and sets the cup she has in her hands to the side and walks over to him. Before she gets the chance to say anything, somebody comes to stand right next to Buck, casting a shadow on the counter in front of him.

”That could be because it’s mine,” an unfamiliar voice says and Buck turns to look at the person it belongs to.

The man is a little taller than him and the first thing Buck notices is the way that the outer corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

”Here. Look,” the man says, taking the cup out of Buck’s hand, brushing their fingers together for a split second, ”Tommy.”

Buck tears his eyes away from the man’s face and looks down at the cup. Written on its surface with a black marker is a name that apparently belongs to the man in front of him.

Now he feels even more like an idiot, ”Oh my God, I am so sorry, I-”

"Don't worry about it," Tommy tells him with a small wave of a hand and another smile. He leans against the counter. "I guess someone is in desperate need of coffee."

Buck gulps, ”You- You could say that.”

”Is your name Evan?” Another woman, also standing on the other side of the counter, asks.

”Uh…” Buck shakes his head to make his mind more clear again. He’d started telling them his real name after someone misheard him and wrote ’Fuck’ on his cup last year. ”Yeah, it is.”

”Here’s your drink,” she tells him, placing the cup on the counter in front of him.

The two workers hurry off to work on the other orders.

”I can pay for your coffee. As an apology,” Buck tells Tommy, nodding toward his drink, ”Or you can have mine, and- and I can finish yours since I already got my lips all over it.”

God, that’s a weird way to say it.

”I mean-”

Tommy chuckles. Buck has to stare down at his shoes for a moment, allowing the warmth spreading to his cheeks to go away.

”I’m willing to taste yours,” Tommy tells him then, already reaching for the cup in Buck’s hand.

And Buck gives it to him, willingly, and makes sure to touch the man’s hand to feel his skin again. A little rough, a little soft.

He is so confused by everything right now.

He watches Tommy take a sip and frown at the drink the same way he did a moment ago.

”That is… quite something, Evan.”

The way his name sounds like coming from the stranger makes his heart skip a beat.

Buck decides to ignore it and chuckles instead, ”Well, I wouldn’t talk if I were you, I mean… That was terrible.”

Tommy laughs right back at him and Buck bets that if he rested his head against Tommy’s chest, he would feel the rumble of it.

”Well, to be fair, that isn’t my usual order,” Tommy tells him, still leaning against the counter in a way that makes his shirt a little tight around his biceps.

Not that Buck is looking or anything.

”A friend of mine told me that the Starbucks near them is giving out drinks in rainbow cups for Pride Month if you order a certain kind of drink,” Tommy explains. ”Either they were fucking with me or that’s just not the case at this particular Starbucks.”

Buck nods, only half-listening. For some reason, his eyes are focused on Tommy’s cleft chin.

”W- What do you usually order then?” Buck finds himself asking, now looking up at the light blue eyes staring back at him.

”A flat white with two sugars. If I’m ordering from Starbucks, it’s a Venti but if from any other place, it’s just a large,” Tommy chuckles and Buck swears that he sees his eyes looking him up and down for a split second, ”That’s the way I like it. Tall, light… Sweet.”

Buck has to swallow again. He leans against the counter as well, not really knowing what else to do, ”S- So what did you order today?”

”Iced coffee with oat milk,” Tommy says. ”Judging from the way you reacted… Not good?”

”No,” Buck says with a slightly more relaxed laugh. ”Not great. And you didn’t even get a rainbow cup.”

”No, I didn’t,” Tommy chuckles under his breath. ”My friend must think they’re very funny, getting me to order something like this.”

He places the cup with the iced coffee on the counter, pushing it back gently to make it clear that he doesn't want it, and then hands Buck his cup back.

"I could uh…" Buck starts, trying not to focus on the way that Tommy's fingers scrape against his once more. "I could buy you a coffee from this other place I usually go to on my days off. It's a five-minute walk but I mean… You need your caffeine too. I could even draw a rainbow on your cup if you want me to."

Tommy smiles at him widely and tilts his head a little. Cute.

"I'd love that but I've got to take a raincheck," he says, glancing down at his watch. "My shift starts in half an hour, so…"

”Oh,” Buck mumbles under his breath and takes a quick sip of his coffee.

He doesn’t think about the fact that Tommy’s lips rested in the same spot of the cup just a moment ago. He really doesn’t.

"But I'd love to do that sometime," Tommy continues then and grabs one of the many markers on the counter.

He leans forward and for a moment Buck stiffens for no good reason, and watches as Tommy writes something on the side of his cup. He twists it around to see it when Tommy is done and smiling proudly.

On top of ’Evan’, it now says: Call me sometime, and under his name is Tommy’s phone number.

Buck smiles at him, ”I will.”

”Great. It was lovely to meet you, Evan,” Tommy says then and pats him gently on the shoulder. ”I’ve got to get going now, I just know the traffic’s going to be terrible. Don’t forget to call. I’m going to hold onto that promise of a drawn rainbow on my coffee cup.”

”Y- Yeah, I’ll…” Buck has to clear his throat. The spot on his shoulder where Tommy’s hand just was feels like it’s burning. ”I’ll work on my drawing skills.”

Tommy smiles once more as he starts making his way out of the Starbucks. Buck’s eyes follow him.

”Bye, Evan!”

”Bye,” Buck whispers back when Tommy is already out the door.

He stands there, holding his cup until a very annoyed man rushes toward the counter, nearly knocking him out of the way. Buck walks out as well and looks around a bit to see if he can get one more glimpse of the man he just met. He doesn't see him anywhere but just the thought of him makes Buck smile.

Coffee tastes better now than ever before and even the sun seems to shine brighter and warmer.

And despite being late, Buck isn’t in a hurry.

-

This turned out better than I thought it would, so I also posted it on AO3 :) Here's the link: mornings are sweeter with you - rosetterer - 9-1-1 (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Thank you Anon for the idea!