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f1byjessie · 6 months

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A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part eleven.

Lando’s hotel room isn’t terribly bigger than yours. The bathroom is definitely a bit more spacious, and he’s got an actual seating area off to the side next to the bed rather than a single uncomfortably stiff chair, but the only difference you care about is that he’s got a balcony looking out over Manama and it provides a gorgeous view of the city’s nightscape.

The lights glimmer and gleam down below, a sea of liveliness that contrasts the peaceful quietness of the world from where you stand so high up above it.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how beautiful some of the places we get to go to are,” Lando says, breaking the silence as he steps out onto the balcony with you. There are two glasses filled generously with the promised wine, and he hands one off to you before coming to rest against the railing beside you. “Six years now, and the view still takes my breath away.”

You hum in agreement, taking a sip from your glass. The taste of the wine is still sweet on your tongue when you answer back, “Getting to see the world like this always reminds me of how lucky I am to get to work in this sport.”

“Me too,” he murmurs softly. When you peek over at him, his gaze is cast out across the city, but there’s a look on his face that suggests the lights and streets below aren’t really what he’s focusing on.

You take a moment to observe. He’s no longer clad in the endearingly obnoxious papaya orange that makes up McLaren’s teamwear, and is instead dressed in a pair of baggy sweatpants that sit low on his hips and a T-shirt that’s been worn thin and hangs loose enough around his necklike that you can see the defined contours of his collarbones. His hair is freshly washed and the curls are still loose with the lingering dampness. From where you’re standing, you can make out the familiar tea tree scent of his shampoo.

It’s so domestic— and close to what things were like before Garrett Ward threw a wrench into it all—that it makes your heart clench painfully in your chest.

The dark circles are still there and you imagine they will be until he’s able to get some real rest, but there’s an easiness to him that wasn’t present earlier in the day. His shoulders aren’t as tense, and neither are they sagging under an invisible weight. He looks lost in thought, but not in the way you’ve seen in the past when his anxiety grabs hold and forces him into a worsening spiral of insecurity-fueled self-doubt.

Part of you wonders if it’s because of you— if your agreement to spend time with him and now your presence here beside him is partly responsible for this change in demeanor. The other part of you is desperately trying to bury those thoughts beneath the reminder of why you can’t think those things.

“I promised you stupid TV,” he says all of a sudden, turning his head and meeting your eyes.

You’d be embarrassed about being caught staring if it weren’t for the fact that his own eyes seem to trace every feature of your face before gesturing with a nod of his head towards the balcony’s door.

It’s easy to fall back into the swing of things from there.

The loveseat is quickly agreed to be too stiff and much too small to fit both of you and your shared tendency to stretch out and take up as much room as possible. Back at your flat, the two of you would’ve sat on either side of the couch with your legs tangled together in the middle and a blanket or two draped over your laps. Normally, Lando would poke the meat of your thigh with his cold toes, and in response you’d kick his shins until both of you were lost in fits of giggles and cackling so hard you’d have to rewind the TV to catch what was lost beneath the sound of your laughter.

There’s no cold toes pressing against your thighs or shin-kicking tonight, but you’re both bundled up under the covers of Lando’s bed and it feels right in a way that you haven’t had in a long time.

You’re watching pretty people clad in pretty bathing suits run around a pretty island complaining about their pretty people problems. A girl who looks like she could be a runway model falls into a sobbing mess after finishing a dramatic retelling of how the guy she fancies is tripping over himself for the other girls who all, also, look like they could be runway models.

Lando scoffs. “He looks like he’s a bad haircut away from being a troll. What does she even see in him?”

“The haircut combined with the abs are enough to make up for the rest of what he’s lacking in the visual department—” you drain the rest of your glass and bump him with your elbow to fill it back up again. “But if he got a haircut,” you continue when he’s taken your glass, “it’d be game over. At least the guy she was with before was nice and listened to her talk without interrupting every five seconds to say something about himself.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Lando exclaims, handing your newly filled glass back over to you.

The glasses you’ve already had sit warm inside you, like the relaxation the alcohol has brought about within has ignited a fire in your chest and is working to melt away the frost and the bone-deep chill of your loneliness.

Lando seems to be faring similarly, if the heated flush to his skin is anything to go by. His cheeks and, adorably enough, the tips of his ears are a rosy pink that remind you of what he looks like when he’s sunburnt. There’s an upward curl to his lips that looks more natural than some of the other smiles you’ve seen these past few days, and it gives him a lighthearted appearance that contrasts greatly to the frustration of earlier today. He’s giggly in the way he only gets when he’s tipsy, and the joyfulness is infectious.

You both started on opposite sides of the bed, leaving room in the middle like a physical reminder of the distance that still exists between the two of you until you can sort everything else out. But that distance has slowly disappeared as the night has progressed. You’ve each somehow migrated into the middle of the mattress and now his arm is pressed against yours and you can feel his body heat seeping in through the fabric of your hoodie.

You should probably be trying harder to regain and maintain the distance, for Lando’s sake if not your own. You don’t want to lead him into thinking that everything is fine and dandy again, especially when it isn’t. There are a number of conversations the two of you need to have still, and though you’re just as desperate to cling to the comfort of familiarity as Lando seems to be, you know that if you don’t hold yourselves accountable to confronting the misunderstandings then he certainly won’t.

Lando’s always been like that. He’s not afraid, persay, of confrontation, but he’s keen on avoiding it if possible. It’s one of many things that sets his anxiety off and you’re often very understanding at letting things go if only because they’re petty and small and not worth making him feel so bad over. But, despite how little joy you find now at the idea of forcing him to acknowledge his mistakes— the complete opposite feeling you imagined having weeks ago when you were still fueled by anger and frustration at his avoidance and seemingly lack of desire to take responsibility for the hurt he’s caused— you know it’s something you need to do.

Even still, having him close like this both physically and emotionally is so comfortable and familiar, and the wine has done it’s number on you and Lando both. The barrier you’ve kept around yourself the last few days— the barrier that serves as a reminder for why you need to be careful and stay away— has been chipped away by the sweet tartness of the alcohol and it feels liberating to be free of it, albeit temporarily as you keep telling yourself.

You think that if you tried to pull away now, to reinstate that distance and the subsequent reminder that it’s meant to be, it would be and feel like tearing off a limb and then expecting everything to be fine as you watch yourself bleed out.

So, instead, for the time being, you bask in his warmth and cherish what you have while you have it, until the alcohol fades from your system and your head clears and it’s time to be the bigger person again.

It’s significantly later into the night when Lando speaks up again. The clock on the nightstand says it’s nearing three in the morning, but the TV is still on and you and him are still curled beneath the sheets watching with rapt attention.

The bottle of wine is empty and on the floor, but the buzz of being a little more than tipsy still lingers in your blood, and in Lando’s too, considering his occasional fit of giggles.

“This is really nice,” he says quietly into the darkness of the room.

You raise an eyebrow at him, head murky with thoughts all swirling together in a whirlpool inside your mind. “I mean,” you shrug, “it’s a more interesting episode than the last, but I wouldn’t really call it nice. It’s still reality TV—”

He laughs and the sound is like bells ringing in your ears. It occurs to you briefly that you don’t recall having ever heard a more beautiful sound, but then you shove it down and brush it away with the reminder that it’s just the wine talking.

You try not to think about the fact that you weren’t drunk the last time you had that thought.

“No,” he shakes his head, “I mean, this. You and me, here, hanging out again.”

The silence hangs heavy between the two of you, broken only by the muffled sound of the voices on the TV and the occasional squeal of flirtatious laughter that’s louder than everything else. You let it linger for a few moments longer, tracing the profile of his face with your gaze and taking note of the downward twitch of his lips as his words sit unanswered.

Until finally, you whisper back, “I wasn’t the one who stopped, Lando.”

He swallows thickly, and suddenly the exhaustion is back on his face, painted across his features like a mask has suddenly been lifted. The soft flickering glow of the TV accentuates the bags beneath his eyes, making them appear deeper and darker, like bruises across his tanned skin.

“I know,” he whispers back. “I was afraid.”

“Of what?” You ask.

He shrugs, but the flinch he just barely suppresses tells you he knows perfectly well what he was afraid of. He turns to look at you, meets your eyes for a few fleeting seconds, then looks away once more and heaves a sigh that seems to carry with it all of his current troubles.

“That you wouldn’t need me anymore," he hesitantly reveals.

Lando’s anxiety is something you came to terms with relatively quickly into your friendship. It was hard, at first, to imagine someone who portrays themself with such confidence and friendliness to be so insecure and afraid, but the more you got to know him the more you realized that Lando has always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders whether people asked him to or not. It was a burden he took onto himself as a way of proving— more so to himself, than anyone else— that he deserves everything he’s been given

He’s a perfectionist, you know this without a doubt. He’s too hard on himself, and doesn’t understand that failure is a part of growing.

He once tried to take up painting, but despite you mentioning multiple times that he didn’t need to know how to perfectly mimic a Rembrandt or a Caravaggio, the fact that he wasn’t immediately great at it was enough to have him spiraling into an anxiety attack that you coached him through in the family bathroom at a library in downtown London.

Afterwards, he’d reluctantly admitted that he was a perfectionist because nobody could argue he didn’t deserve to be where he was if he was the best.

But a person can’t be the best at being a friend. And you suspect that between changing schools as frequently as he did and karting taking up a majority of his freetime, Lando didn’t have many friends growing up. He never learned that some people genuinely enjoy him for who he is, rather than what he can do or offer.

“Lando,” you murmur sadly, reaching out from beneath the covers to take his hand. You shouldn’t, but seeing the way his eyes immediately focus in on the contact and the way his fingers squeeze back desperately at yours is enough to justify it. “You don’t ever have to worry about me not needing you. You’re my best friend. You’re the first person I’ve ever called my best friend. I will always need you.”

He sniffles. “I guess, I thought you wouldn’t want to, though. Still be my friend, I mean. If you had someone more important in your life to go to instead of me.”

“I’ve never wanted to be friends with someone more than you,” you answer back, squeezing his hand.

“But that’s the problem,” he says suddenly, voice upped an octave in a distressed whine. He turns to look at you and shakes his head, eyebrows pinched together like he’s in pain. His cheeks are still flushed from the alcohol, and the wine has stained his lips red. He looks so different from the Lando you know— from the Lando you’re usually allowed to see. “We’re just friends.”

“Lando…” you whisper.

He’s watching your lips.

When he kisses you, you can taste the sweetness of the wine on his tongue. It’s frantic and desperate, and he holds you with both hands like he’s worried you’ll slip away if he doesn’t. There’s no butterflies in your chest or fireworks in your head like they always write about in novels, but there’s a buzzing at the tips of your fingers and toes━ pins and needles━ like your body’s been numb and is just now regaining sensation for the first time in forever.

You kiss back, despite a muffled voice in the back of your brain screaming at you not to. How can you listen to something that sounds so clearly like self-sabatogue when you finally have the opportunity to have what you’ve always wanted?

Lando pulls away first, only to catch his breath. His eyes dance across your face, like he’s trying to sear each and every feature into his memory. He caresses your cheek softer than you’ve ever been touched before, a brush of his thumb against your skin so gentle that you’d think you imagined it if not for the way his gaze follows the path of his stroke. He’s treating you like you’re precious━ not in a way that implies fragility, but like he’s too afraid to even take the risk of hurting you.

It’s a sentiment you can share, though you’ve never admitted it to anyone else and are reluctant to even acknowledge it yourself.

Lando is special━ all of the athletes you work with are special, but Lando is a different kind of special. Carlos, Daniel, Oscar, and Jack are all wonderful people that you’re incredibly thankful to have had in your life, but Lando’s the only one that you need in your life, that you’ll always need in your life.

He’s everything to you.

When he smiles, it’s like he’s taken a piece of the sun itself and found you worthy of being shone upon. When he laughs, it’s the most magical sound in the world, like music to your ears in a song composed for only you to hear. When he wraps you up in his arms, it’s like coming home and knowing that nothing can hurt you when you’re there. When he━

“Y/N,” he breathes. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, needy and whiney. He’s still panting, but he’s already leaning back down to take your lips again. You meet him half way in another heated kiss that rivals the desperate passion of the first, swiping your tongue against his lower lip and feeling a spark of heat jolt through you when he opens himself up to you easily.

Emboldened by his reaction, you brush against the hem of his shirt. You let your fingers dance teasingly across the sliver of warm skin that peeks out beneath, swallowing down the next desperate sound that threatens to slip past his lips.

“Lando,” you murmur against him. “We shouldn’t.” It’s a pathetic last ditch attempt to stop now while you’re ahead━ to do what you should’ve done from the beginning and pull away, go back to your hotel room a few floors down, and pretend this didn’t happen. To keep the distance.

He pauses, pulling away just far enough to give you a look. It takes you an embarrassingly long moment to stop staring at his kiss-swollen and spit-slick lips and actually meet his eyes. Between quick breaths he says, “Last I remember, you weren’t actually dating Garrett Ward.”

“But━”

“Do you want this?”

You nod.

“Then have it.”

And who are you to say no?

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @leclercsluv @f1luvur @formulaal @a-disturbing-self-reflection @starlightpierre @chezmardybum @marshmummy @405rry @sideboobrry11 @d3kstar @mcmuppet @happylittlereader @casperlikej @5starl1ght @bellezaycafe @whentheautumnleavesfall @mess-is-my-aesthetic @ssprayberrythings @landosgirlxoxo @lifelessfan @81ja @wcnorris @a-disturbing-self-reflection (CLOSED).

━━ a/n: writing this last bit had me kicking my feet and giggling like a school girl i swear. but huzzah! it's here! i mentioned in the last author's note that i was ill, and i unfortunately still am. i've gotten over it enough to at least entertain the idea of doing more than sleep all day, but i'm still pretty much confined to my bed which makes it hard to get over to my desk where my computer is. most of this was written on my phone, so i do apologize if there are more errors than usual. similarly, this part is also a bit shorter than some of the past parts due to the same reason. anyways, talking about the actual story now, i have a love-hate relationship with this part because i like it but i also found it very frustrating and felt like i repeated myself an annoying amount of times with certain things. i hope it's enjoyable nonetheless, and that you're all happy they finally (after eleven parts, jesus christ) kissed.

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #social media au #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 #oscar piastri

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asongofgoldenfireandblackblood · 15 days

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Coming soon on A Song of Golden Fire and Black Blood

Half a year after the coronation of Westeros' first Ruling-Queen...

Court has been called back to session in King's Landing to celebrate the wedding of Crown Prince Jacaerys and his future Queen, Princess Baela. To celebrate the occasion Queen Rhaenyra and Princess Baela have put enormous efforts over the past six moons to revive Good Queen Alysanne's "Women's Court" proceedings, and host the first of a new era where they are as frequent as they are highly regarded, lending the Crown's often overwhelmed ear to women of every strata and station so the voices of those that ground and uphold their kingdom may be given their proper due. Meanwhile, Lords from across Westeros and all the Seven Kingdoms, have found the revival to be their greatest evidence yet that Rhaenyra has far overstepped the position she ultimately holds by their good grace: To favor a sister over a brother because the King's word is law, and Lords must remain firm in their right to name their own heirs, is one thing, for that woman to ascend without seeming to spare any mind towards the precedent they have overlooked and privileges they have granted her is another entirely. Whispered judgements and quiet dissatisfaction are growing into the rumblings of a war headed by Lords who were once Kings in their own right and backed by the Faith many have begun to believe their Dragon Kings, and Queen, have forgotten holds this Realm together in ways even the beasts they're bonded to who bring them close and closer to divinity never will. As the days dwindle to her first child's marriage, and the final assertion of the last two decades she's spent continuously cementing Jacaerys oft-speculated, but never outright contestable, claim Rhaenyra is eight moons pregnant with twins, faced with her first true challenge as a ruler, and to maintain the hard-earned peace of two acclaimed Kings, will have to put not only the future of her reign but her faith in those she once considered her greatest threat and rely on the council and support of her Prince Half-Brothers and The Dowager Queen to ensure The Realm does not spiral into a civil war fueled by grudges and led by forces much greater and more powerful than any conflict that may once have been capable of dividing The Realm into Black and Green. House Targaryen must reforge old ties and relearn what it means to be not just one House but one family, it is no longer a matter of success, or stability, but of their very survival.

Arc II of A Song of GF & BB begins on September 14th.

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azsazz · 1 year

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Dogfight

Fighter Pilot!Cassian x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Lowkey, I think that Modern Cassian would be a fighter pilot.

I.E. A rewrite of a Top Gun scene but with Cassian as the pilot. 🤷🏼‍♀️

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1,193

_________________________________________

The sky is an ethereal thing, vast and wide, hues of all colors brushing the heavens in luxurious strokes. Cassian always loved it, sleeping out under the stars as many nights as he was allowed, finding shapes in the billowing clouds and connecting stars into forms, learning stories to go with them.

He always knew he’d find himself up here one day, a pilot after years of training, best in class.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters, steering the jet away from the fighter on their tail. The plane lurches severely to the left, wings tipping sideways to avoid enemy fire. “Shadow, where are they?”

His wingman twists around in his seat from behind Cassian, scouting the clear skies for the two jets behind them. There’s nothing but tense silence for a long moment before one of the planes careens into sight and he’s shouting through the comms, “On our six!”

Cassian yanks the yoke and the jet pulls upwards with enough force that he feels his heart in his gut. With a well-practiced maneuver, the plane twists and he’s pulling the trigger, releasing rounds of ammunition on the plane that's clear in sight.

It happens quickly. He watches with hawk eyes as the bullets land, tearing through the pristine metal and ripping open its body. A lucky shot destroys the stabilizer and the plane spirals out of view, the carcass dropping faster than a box of rocks.

A picture taped by the fuel gauge calms his racing heart. A photo of the girl he’d left back home, the woman he swore he’d propose to on his next leave. A pretty young thing that has stood by his side through all of his endeavors, even this most dangerous one.

He takes a breath. One down, one to go.

“Let me know when you see smoke in the air, Shadow,” he exclaims, righting the plane after a precarious turn.

Shadow, his wingman that he’s been working with since he joined up, scours the area for signs of movement. He’d been teased a lot, having the quietest recruit on his team being the one calling positions, but his eyes are as sharp as they come, and Azriel can be loud when he needs to be.

A jet lines up just behind, locking them into its sights, and within a split second it fires a missile their way.

“Smoke in the air! Smoke in the air!”

“Hang on,” Cassian calls back, taking the jet into a steep nosedive. The missile follows, agile as ever, but it’s Cassian who’s quick to fly by the already downed jet, the missile striking its side with an explosion he doesn’t stick around to see.

“Yes, Bloodshed! Direct hit,” Shadow calls, bracing his hands against the windows as he seeks out the plane again. It cuts through the black smoke like an avenging angel and his heart pounds in his chest as the pilot fires again. “Here comes another one!”

Cassian uses both hands to pull the plane up again, helmet sticking to the back of his seat as the plane climbs at a fast rate. “Boost the flares, now,” he orders, and Azriel does, letting them rain down for the missile to connect with.

His plan works, but they’re not out of the woods yet. Cassian splits the throttles and the jet swings around, flipping upside down for a moment of sheer terror they’ve become accustomed to. It puts them at the advantage, coming up behind the enemy plane. “Coming around!”

“You got him, Bloodshed, you got him!”

And he does, sights locking onto the enemy. “Taking the shot,” he says, pulling the trigger and setting their own projectile loose. He prays the missile lands but the pilot in the other plane is a skilled one, and maneuvers his jet in a way Cassian’s never seen before. The missile misses by a hair's breadth and the plane free falls for a moment, careening past their windows like an assailant of stealth.

“What the–”

“Holy shit. What the fuck was that?”

“Hang on, we have to get low,” Cassian grunts, flipping them so the belly of the plane is facing the sun and they’re dipping down, down, down at unnatural speeds. “We can try and dodge his attacks from between the mountains.”

Indeed, the large mountains he stared at for nights on end are enough to be able to do so, the plane nimble enough to avoid the rocky edges. Cassian pictures the three stars that are always settled over the peaks of the mountains and hopes that their other friend, Nightstalker, is doing okay. He lets them lead his way.

“Here he comes,” Azriel warns, and a second later they’re being fired at blindly. Cassian grunts, sending the jet into a series of jerks and twists to avoid the fray.

“Tell me where he is, Shadow!”

Azriel’s checking behind them again, watching the enemy burst through a cloud of debris with ease. “He’s still on us!”

They’re being shot at again, and this time, one makes their mark, he’s told by Azriel. Cassian curses low, steering through a wicked curve, not slowing down. Again, the pilot behind them fires, and Azriel’s calling out to him. “C’mon, Bloodshed, do some of that pilot shit!”

“Brace yourself,” Cassian warns before he’s pulling levers and the wings sweep open. He tugs on the yoke again and the lever switches, sending their jet into a steep climb that has both pilots struggling for breath before he’s leveling them out and nose diving towards the rushing river below.

The skill of the pilot takes them behind the enemy once more, weaving around the expanse of mountains, dangerously close.

“I’ve got a shot, I’m taking it,” Cassian says, pulling the trigger on the steering again. The missile soars through the air with undisturbed grace, locked on the enemy jet trying to outrun it. They let their flares fly and in an unfortunate turn of events, the missile strikes the rogue flares.

“Shit,” Azriel spits, “Out of missiles.”

“Switching to guns,” Cassian responds, hazel eyes flickering to your photograph for the split second they’re smothered by the missile's smoke. But as quickly as it’s cleared he’s taking his shot, firing round after round in hopes to take down the enemy plane.

He pauses for a breath as he takes in the amount of ammunition he has left before firing again and again.

None of his hits land.

“You’ve got him, Bloodshed,” Azriel encourages, peering over his shoulder to watch the battle.

“It’s not over yet,” Cassian mutters, pulling the trigger again. The ammunition is dangerously low, this is his final shot. “One last chance.”

By the grace of the Gods his hits land, flaying metal from the flaps and engines. Cassian watches the pilot eject from the plane just before it careens into the side of the mountain in a ball of fiery explosion, thick smoke coating the air.

“Yes!” Azriel cheers from the back, and it’s all Cassian can do to try and calm his breathing, the picture of your smiling face a beacon of brilliance.

Another day survived, another day closer to coming home to you.

#cassian au #modern!cassian #cassian x reader #cassian/reader #fighter pilot cassian #azsazz #acotar #acomaf #acowar #cassian

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marblemoovt · 2 years

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Winter Soldier - Simon Riley/Sunny (Reader)

Masterlist

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Angst. If I have to hurt, so do all of you.

Summary:

What if...? Sunny doesn't die. What if the enemy finds them and brainwashes them onto their side? What happens when Simon meets the ghost that's been haunting him?

Note:

Birdy and Sunny belong to @darklordofthesimp. Highly recommend you check the blog out if you want fluff and to get your heart stomped on. Someone did an ask which lead to a drabble where Sunny ended up dying, sacrificing themself to save Birdy. That shit tore me up inside, and someone brought up the idea of a winter soldier moment. I don't watch Marvel but I think I get the gist, thus this was born.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

The plane rocks. The roar of the engine and the occasional scuffle of feet disrupts the silence. Simon stares at the floor, keeping a tight leash on his self-control. Fists so tight his fingers might snap themselves and shatter his bones into tiny pieces. He squeezes and squeezes until Simon is gone and all that remains is Ghost.

Half a year. Six months. 182 days. 4383 hours since the remaining sliver of his cold heart finally shrivelled up and died. Now his chest rattles like an empty soda can; hollow and spent. He promised himself he would never let anyone get close. He couldn’t go through what happened with his family again. But then came fuckin’ Sunshine. Unapologetically blunt and a thorn in his side. Little by little, his cold heart started beating with warmth, fueled by anger and jealousy at times—but for once he felt something.

They say the line between hate and love is blurry and easily crossed. Sunshine was a right cunt, an absolute menace, a demon in a military uniform, and the love of his life.

A quiet chuckle sends his head snapping toward the source. König and Birdy are seated in the far corner. The pair are huddled close together with Birdy leaning against him. A flash of anger simmers in Simon’s veins. Crescent moons dig into his palms and the heat bubbles to a boil. How dare they? How fucking—

“Easy, Simon,” Price speaks in a low tone, like he’s comforting a startled animal. Simon is a raging bull that refuses to look away from the red curtain taunting him. “Sunshine—”

“Don’t.” Simon cuts him off. “You don’t get to say that name. Why don’t you go back to what you originally used? The body?” It’s a low blow and completely uncalled for, but hearing the name flips a switch. Price presses his mouth into a thin line, brows furrowing under the weight of guilt.

“I didn’t mean—”

Simon interrupts him again. “Leave me alone, John.” Not Price. Not Captain. John.

Simon goes back to staring at the floor, unable to look at Price’s face. He’s sick of the pitying looks. They don’t understand anything.

Once again he’s been left behind. Had his heart ripped from his chest and beaten like a tenderized piece of meat. Maybe that’s why his chest still aches, still stings when he sees the mats in the training room or goes to sleep at night, the other half of the bed still untouched.

The quiet laughter grates his ears; makes him want to claw at his skin until there’s nothing left but blood and viscera. His eye twitches as he glances at the corner. Look at them in their own little world. Laughing. Smiling. Simon hasn’t done either in six months. They don’t get to act so happily while Sunshine rots in some ditch. Why must he be the only one that remembers when everyone else has already forgotten? Everyone lost a friend, a comrade, and a family member.

Simon lost fucking everything.

The plane lands before he has time to spiral into a monologue. He heaves himself off the bench and forces his legs to walk down the ramp. Orders are repeated, but Simon hears none of it. He heard it the first time; he knows what he’s doing.

“Ghost,” Price barks. Dead eyes blink in acknowledgement. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Roger,” Simon rasps, already feeling the adrenaline pumping through his body. The team was concerned there would be complications given the location. He’s still calm and calculated, a killing machine, but there’s an edge of recklessness in all his actions now. It’s almost like he wants to brush up against Death. He fought tooth and nail to come on this mission. He was prepared to hijack the plane if necessary.

Six months is a long time to be exposed to the elements, but he was going to—no he will find Sunshine. Even if it means meeting in the afterlife. He checks the silencer on his pistol and the knives stowed across his suit. A simple scouting. Go in, disarm the system, and dispose of any hostiles. Clear the way for the rest of the team.

Simon slips between covers, moving like a shadow. He reaches a building and creeps inside. It’s quiet. The warning signals in his mind go off and he reaches for the radio.

Bang.

A smoking hole indents the concrete column behind him, inches above his shoulder. The red dot on the wall moves toward his head, and he darts for cover. Another shot rings in the air, and a chuckle turns his blood to ice.

“Y’know, I thought you would be much more impressive when I read your file.” Simon pales, the ache in his chest threatening to swallow him whole. No. It’s not possible, he tells himself. “Are you going to keep hiding like a coward?” It’s glacial, apathetic, and mocking, but he recognizes that voice anywhere.

His steps are silent. He needs a closer look. He has to make sure he’s not losing his mind. There, leaning against a pillar with a rifle in hand is Sunshine. Questions form one after another. How? Why? His brow creases.

“What happened to you?” It slips out of his mouth before he can stop it, and the bullet misses again.

“Intimate question for someone I don’t fucking know. Why don’t you come out so I can kill you?” Sunshine says, staring at the concrete protecting him. And then memories hit Simon like a freight train. Sparks and Washington. He clenches his fist. Not this, not again. What are the odds of a brainwashed teammate trying to kill you? Multiply that by three, and the answer is still bullshit. How fucking unlucky do you have to be for the universe to take every little thing you love and either: kill it, or have it kill you? He won’t let it end like last time. He’d rather die than give up.

“Sunshine,” he speaks with a waver in his tone.

“Sunshine? What kind of shitty name is that? Is that what I should call you? You’ve got some weird kinks.” It’s not the same, but he feels like a stray that’s been offered scraps. “Tell you what, I’ll drop the gun and kick your ass the old-fashioned way.” The voice is much closer than it was a few seconds ago. He barely has time to dodge the fist coming his way. He grabs onto their arm and pins them against the pillar.

“You’re Sunshine,” he states. Simon wants to cry, he can feel the tears pricking his eyes, but his body still senses the danger oozing from them. He wants nothing more than a hug. Six months of no touch has left him starving. His arms remain in place, wary of the firecracker trapped between them.

“I’m your ticket to Hell,” Sunshine spits, face drawing close to his mask. Narrowed eyes burn him with their intensity. This hatred leaves him numb, it doesn’t excite him, and he certainly doesn’t find it amusing. “I don’t want part of whatever bizarre fantasy you’re having.”

The faraway look in their eyes reminds him that the person he loves is gone right now. “Who are you? What did you do before this?” he asks, hoping the brainwashing isn’t irreversible. Maybe if he can poke some holes in the programming, Sunshine will snap out of it.

“And why should I tell you? What are you? My best friend?” Sunshine scoffs, but he notices how uncertainty tugs their lips into a frown.

“We were,” Simon whispers. “And so much more.”

A hollow chuckle bounces off the concrete walls, it grips his lungs and squeezes until all the air turns to dust that sits heavy in his chest. “Pathetic. What would I want with some masked weirdo?” The arm slips out of his grip and Sunshine ducks, pivoting away from him. “Hate to break it to ya, pal, but I’m here to kill you. Wipe you off the face of the Earth. End your existence. The only thing you can kiss is my fist.”

“Come with me. Let’s go back home,” Simon pleads.

“I don’t take orders from you,” Sunshine sneers.

Simon smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Used to, not like you really listened anyway,” he rasps.

A glint flashes in his peripheral vision. He moves his head to the side. One slash and his cheek stings. Sunshine tsks disapprovingly. Three more slashes and the mask is torn off his face. “Good to see you, Simon,” Sunshine drawls, lips crooked in a smirk. His eyes widen, and he freezes. The indifferent stare doesn’t change, and his shoulders sag. “What’s the matter? Sniper got your tongue?”

They continue their little back and forth until Simon manages to knock the knife out of Sunshine’s hand. He tackles and sits on top of them, forcing all his weight to minimize the struggle. “I can’t hurt you. I love you!” His shout rips through the vicinity with enough force to bring the building down to its foundation.

And he’s naked, exposed. Skin flayed open for the world to see that the rattling in his ribcage is now an erratic drumbeat. Vulnerable like a frog on a dissecting tray; so open and honest. The confession leaves his throat raw and sets his skin ablaze. His shoulders heave with each pant and he stares into Sunshine’s eyes for an inkling of recognition. The cloudy look dissipates, and it’s like six months never even happened. He wants to scream, to cry out in joy. Because he did it, he got through.

A sharp pain ruptures from his side as cold steel sinks into his flesh. The serrated edge of the blade shreds him on the way out. Warm blood leaks from the wound, almost masked by the burning. His hand instinctively applies pressure to the area. Of course, it wouldn’t be that fucking easy. He feels like shit. More so than usual.

“Feeling a bit woozy, Lieutenant?” The taunt is full of mock concern. A feral grin exposes sharp canines. “Then the poison’s doing its job.” Simon is shoved aside like a ragdoll. He lands on the ground with a thump and crumples into a ball. Sunshine stands up and dusts off their clothes, watching him writhe with amusement. “I thought you would be more of a challenge. How disappointing.”

“Ngh,” Simon lifts his head with a groan.

Sunshine tsks and crouches down. “What’s the matter, ghost face? Any last words before you’re completely paralyzed? I hear your organs shut down next.” Hands grapple their shirt, and Simon smashes his forehead against the bridge of their nose. A scream pierces his eardrums.

“What the fuck, dude?!” Sunshine cradles their nose, blood streaming down their mouth and dripping off their chin. Mustering the last of his strength, Simon rises and performs a body slam. Sunshine is flung to the ground, landing on their back.

A crack followed by silence.

“You always get too cocky when you think you’ve won.” He grunts and rummages through his pockets, using zip ties as makeshift restraints. Sinking to the floor, he leans against a pillar for support. Shaky hands reach up for the radio. “Found Sunshine, but I’m injured. Possibly fatal, definitely poisoned.” Wincing, he lifts his hand to check the wound. Fuck it doesn’t look good.

Price’s voice crackles on the comms. “This isn’t the time for jokes, Ghost. What’s your status?”

“Wasn’t jokin’. Found Sunshine. Requesting medical aid and evac,” Simon wheezes. It’s becoming harder to breathe. He hopes the medic has anti-venom on hand.

“Don’t move,” Price orders.

Simon rolls his eyes. “That’s a shame. Was gonna see if there were any hostiles who wanted to have a cup of tea together.” He chuckles and sucks in a sharp breath when it agitates his wound. “I’m bleedin’ out, Captain,” he whispers the last sentence. Slick hands press harder to no avail. The poison is spreading through his system.

“Don’t you fucking die on me. That’s an order.” There’s a wobble in Price’s tone. Simon chuffs at the old man’s concern. The frantic shouting over the comms fades to background noise.

He crawls to Sunshine. Sticky hands stain the floor crimson. His limbs feel stiff, but they no longer feel heavy. The invisible sandbags filled with grief are untethered from his body. He caresses Sunshine’s cheek, admiring their face instead of a picture for the first—and possibly last—time. “I love you, you fuckin’ cunt.” His grin is watery. Pressing a kiss to their forehead, his eyelids flutter shut. The doors slam open and footsteps rush to his location.

“Bloody hell, Simon. You could have told me to leave the body bag behind.”

“That’s not a body; that’s Sunshine,” Simon murmurs, slipping into unconsciousness.

Fuck you, universe. Not even death can separate the two of them.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

I totally headcanon in this timeline that Simon calls Sunny 'Zombie' afterwards.

I was going to do a sad ending, but I like happy ones too much. I'm too nice, unlike some people, and do not wish eternal suffering on others.

Time to crawl back into my den and finish that Price fic I've been delaying for far too long. I blame the discord server for giving me Simon and König brainrot,

I’ll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #cod mwii

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blurglesmurfklaine · 10 months

Note

I was going to send this earlier, but from that prompt list you reblogged earlier: pressing foreheads together

*cracks knuckles* they say practice your weaknesses until they're your strengths so LETS FUCKING GO get ready for some tooth rotting fluff

EDIT: I lied. It came out so angsty im sorry im a one trick pony

***

It's the kind of stupid fucking argument that spirals into neither of them even remembering what the hell they were fighting about in the first place. And Davey--

Well, Davey has a way with words. Jack reminds him often enough. Not only is Davey a craftsman with the English language, he's a fighter, and wields words as weapons that shoot to kill when they're fueled by his anger.

"If you're so fucking unhappy here, then why don't you just leave," Davey spits venomously.

He regrets the words the instant they leave his tongue. It's torture, actually, to watch them reach Jack's ears and see his face fall not into the anger that Davey expected, but hurt. Which is so, so much worse.

Jack's jaw and shoulders go slack, like a piece of him has just died a little, and now Davey has to live with being the one who killed it. If that wasn't enough, his eyes go big and sad and doe-eyed and god dammit, why did Davey have to go and aim right for the jugular?

In an instant, he's closed the space between them and cupped a hand behind Jack's neck. "Jack, I--"

Jack dips his head, eyes fluttering shut at the skin to skin contact. "I know," he whispers.

"I'm sorry," Davey croaks. And he is. Because nothing--not whatever the fuck they were fighting about, not winning an argument--not a single thong in this world, means more to Davey than what he has with Jack.

"Me, too," Jack says. "You ain't getting rid of me that easily."

***

DOUBLE EDIT: Added a fluffy one down here because I felt bad about the angst I really DO need to practice fluff so here ya go two for the price of one

***

"Been quite a year, eh?"

Davey turns from where he's stationed at the lodge window, flashing Jack that gorgeous smile of his and all of a sudden Jack's forgotten how to breathe. "I'd say so. Starting a union. Winning a strike. Don't know how we're going to top this one next year."

"Bigger and better and bolder, that's all."

"Ah, such is the Jack Kelly way."

"Whaddya mean by that?" Jack asks, although a laugh creeps into his voice.

"I just mean that's the way you do things. Big and bold or not at all."

"Oh." He's not wrong.

A gust of winter wind brings silence between them, and Jack never quite knows what to do with silence except break it.

"You know, you're supposed to kiss someone on New Year's Eve," Jack announces, hoping he's not being too obvious. He is. He knows it. Subtlety was never his forte. Davey's eyebrows raise, but he stays staring out into Manhattan, the chaos of the lodging house continuing behind them. "When the countdown gets to zero," Jack elaborates. " 'S'posed to be good luck or somethin'."

Finally Davey rewards Jack with his full gaze, something playful poorly hidden in his crooked smile. "And are you in need of some good luck?"

The voices of thirty or so newsboys enthusiastically counting along to the raidio cuts through the crisp air.

"Ten, nine, eight!"

"Actually, no. I'm on top of the world, in case you ain't noticed."

"You work for The World."

"Yeah, well, so do you."

"Jack."

"Davey."

"Seven, six, five."

"Well. Even if you were in need of any luck, I presume you'd save the kissing for someone you actually like."

"Davey."

"Jack."

"Half this conversation's just us sayin' each other's names like a pair of idiots."

"Four."

"You're telling me we're not a pair of idiots."

"Three."

"You're really gonna make me spell it out for you, aren't ya?"

"Two."

"Like a vocabulary test."

"One."

Jack cups a hand to the back of Davey's head, pulling him close until they're foreheads gently press against one another. "I've liked ya since before I even realized I did. Does that make any sense?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Zero! Happy New Year!"

Screw it.

Jack closes the distance between them, burst of lights from the fireworks creating a kaleidascope of colors behind his eyelids.

As the world turns into a new century, Jack and Davey stare out into the city with their shoulders pressed together, silently letting the ambient light and noises wash over them.

Ten seconds into the new year and it's already better than the last.

#okay sorry that second one is ROUGH im on a bus and very eepies so #wow look at me im writing!#newsies #newsies uk #javid #javey

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ssuperficialspacecadett · 2 years

Text

Lose One Sense, Heighten Another

Chapter Six of the One Condition Series | Chapter Seven

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5K

TW: Blindfolds?? Smuttttt

Summary: You are feeling the effects of Mando's 'performance' when you wake up.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

You’re woken up this morning by a strong arm wrapping tighter around your naked waist. You blink the last of your sleep from your eyes and listen to Tin Man’s deep breaths puffing out through his modulator above you. He has you nestled deep into his chest; his arm acting as your pillow throughout the night. You let out a quiet sigh, not wanting to wake the man next to you, and allow yourself to just exist in this moment with him.

He seems so vulnerable right now you think to yourself as you run the pads of your fingers up the clothed arm that's currently acting as your personal seat belt. No beskar, no weapons, and no stern disposition. He’s just a man. Just a man laying next to you in bed. Just a man that fucked you so good you came.

Holy Shit. You fucking came.

The events of last night hit you like a ton of bricks all at once. A chill runs down your spine as you recall the things he did to you and the things he said to you. Oh Maker, the things he said to you.

“Your moans have been echoing around inside my head since I heard you the other night.”

“Hearing you call out my name while you came, do you know what that does to a man?”

Your heartbeat starts to pick up its pace the deeper into your memories you go. Unconsciously, you scoot your body closer to the one behind you. Craving the warmth that his body is exuding. This will probably just be a one time thing you try to tell yourself. Don’t get so wrapped up in what happened. The two of you were fueled by lust built by forced proximity to each other. It was a release you both needed. Nothing more, nothing less. Another strong tug from the arm around your waist pulls you from your spiraling thoughts. As you lay your head on his bicep, that same arm’s forearm lifts up to lay across your chest and comes to rest holding your shoulder. While someone might find this position claustrophobic, you can’t help but let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding in. Sex is amazing, you finally know that after years of being disappointed, but to be just held in a firm embrace. You had been touch starved for years and were determined to soak up as much of it as you could before this blissful moment was inevitably stolen from you.

“Morning” Mando says through a yawn above you, still modulated. You can feel the vibrations of his voice against your bare back.

“Good morning Tin Man.” Still stroking his arm with your fingers, feeling his yawn get passed over to you.

“How’d you sleep?”

You're embarrassed how such a simple question manages to leave your heart swelling. No, stop it. He’s just being polite. “Not bad. I didn’t have any dreams actually which is strange because I usually do. How did you sleep?”

“Surprisingly well given the fact that I’m on the floor.”

“Hey! It’s not so bad down here,” you chuckle. “I have actually grown fond of my floor bed thank you very much.”

“What do you dream about?”

Alden.

“Umm I usually dream about…” A muffled cry saves you from coming up with a pretty lie to tell Mando.

“I’ll grab him.”

“No stay here, I can handle him. Plus it will be good practice for when I have my own.” You feel the hand that’s on your shoulder tense at what you say. The weight of your own words crushing you simultaneously.

He didn’t pull out.

“But that won’t be anytime soon.” You rush to add. “I have that nifty little implant in my arm.”

Mando’s hand relaxes on your shoulder with your explanation and you feel his chest connect with your back as he lets out a long breath of relief. You aren’t stupid after all. You would have never let him cum inside you if you weren’t on birth control. The last thing you need in your life is a fucking kid. You already have your hands full with the one you babysit.

You pat on the arm he has around your waist.

He reluctantly releases your body from his grip and watches silently as you pull the blanket over your bare chest to cover yourself. You stretch over him to grab your tote bag in order to throw on a large shirt and underwear. You can’t help but hold your breath as you do this. When you are finally clothed you look down at The Mandalorian next to you and laugh slightly at how big he is compared to your small living quarters. You aren’t even entirely sure how he managed to squeeze himself in here with you. He holds out his hand to you and helps you stand up. As you do you feel your knees buckle, your stomach clench, and a foregin throb in between your legs

“Ow. What the fuck?”

“What happened?” Mando sits up on his forearms and peers up at you.

“I’m…holy shit…I’m really sore,” you let out a sheepish laugh. “That’s a new feeling.” You weren’t lying either. Sex in the past had been nothing like what last night was. It’s almost embarrassing how startled you are when you could still feel lingering traces of him on your body this morning.

Mando never thinks of himself as having a big ego. In fact he prides himself on being grounded and always keeping a cool head. But making you cum after you told him it was something you had never been able to achieve with another guy and then saying that you had never been sore the morning after? Fuck. That definitely made him feel good.

“Are you alright?”

You maneuver yourself, on shaky legs, to the edge of your bed before replying.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I promise.” You look back and smile down at him, but hearing the baby cry out again pulls you from your trance and you head over to check on him.

When you open the pram the baby is thoroughly fussy. His eyes welling with tears and snot dribbling out of his tiny nose.

“Oh my baby! Were you in here all by yourself?” He makes a small nodding motion, but continues sobbing nonetheless. You pick him up and kiss his bald, green head. Taking the wailing babe in your arms you sit down on the hull floor and hold him close. Choosing to ignore the chill that you feel from sitting on the cold floor with no pants on. You take the sleeve of your shirt and wipe away the tears that have spilled over his enormous eyes and then repeat the same motion with his runny nose.

“Is that better, buddy?”

He nods again, this time his sobs have subsided significantly. He nestles close to your chest and tries to catch his tiny breath. You close your eyes as you start to lightly rock him in your arms. The light swaying motion envelops you both in a wave of calmness. The soft sounds of the baby breathing more normally now are interrupted by a low grunt coming from your bed. Tin Man must be up and moving. You listen further and hear his steady footsteps coming towards you and the child. Part of you wants to open your eyes to look at him, but you end up keeping them closed. Just listening to Mando do menial, domestic tasks, like eating or walking around, is something you have found beauty in.

Mando’s footsteps grow nearer and you feel your body shake a little with anticipation. As he walks behind you he brushes his hand along your shoulder blades. You relax into his touch and feel him linger slightly before he continues to his room. A drawer opens and you hear his beskar armor being lowered onto the floor. You listen as he places each piece on his body and adjusts it so. He then walks back behind you and trails his hand, now gloved, across your shoulders again. Earning a full body shiver from you. Then the hull is quiet. You can’t hear him anymore. Right before you open your eyes the clink of beskar stops you. He sounds like he's heading back your way, but when he gets to you there is no hand on your shoulder. This time your hair is getting swept to the side and a leather covered hand brushes against your neck as something gets tied in place. You finally open your eyes and feel your neck. He found the band you discarded on the floor last night before the two of you…

“I figured you would want that back.”

You turn to face him and hold out the child. He takes him in his arms and strokes his cheek tenderly. The baby babbles some nonsense up to him and is rewarded with a small nod of The Mandalorians helmet.

“Yeah, thank you. I was wondering where it ended up.”

He starts to walk with the baby over to the pantry, surely to start on the little one's breakfast.

“It was on the floor,” He opens the pantry door. “Next to your…discarded towel.”

“I sound like quite the slob.” You blush as you walk over to them so you can make yourself a cup of caf. Tin Man is preparing a bowl of Maker knows what for the ravenous child as you get the water and hot plate set up. While you wait for your water to boil you watch the child. He, now drooling, watches his father banish a blade from a concealed spot on his right vambrace and cut up chunks of meat. It’s strange that a knife in his hand doesn’t make you nervous. Usually you flinch or look away when one is near you, but not this time.

“Maybe next time,” He hands a bowl full of food to the child and sets him on the floor. “I can hold on to it for you. You know, so it doesn’t get lost.”

He looks down at you while you pour your boiling water into your cup and begin stirring. Mando catches a small smile that forms on your lips at what he says. He was scared he might have been overstepping in insinuating that last night escapades would be a recurring thing.

“Next time, hmm?” you take a sip of your drink. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mando.”

He lets you know he’s headed up to check on the nav and leaves you and the child alone on the floor downstairs.

Once Mando reaches the cockpit and sits down he begins checking how far away the next planet is. Corellia to be exact. He has been there a couple of times in the past few years and it hasn’t bothered him, but that was before he had the kid with him and before he had you. The dangers of that planet now at the forefront of his mind as the Crest plummets through hyperspace. Corellia is known to house a plethora of crime syndicates, spice runners, and all around dangerous people. He saw the fear in your eyes the day he brought the quarry that was a spice runner on board. You looked ridged before he even started spewing those vile things at you. He sits back in his chair and remembers what you told him at the cantina on Tatooine.

“This guy I used to know came to me asking for money to fuel his spice habit. I told him I didn’t have any to give him, but he was so high that he pulled out a knife and kinda…well he kinda…”

Mando feels his grip tighten on the armrest of his chair. Of course. The quarry reminded you of the man that murdered your family. And with the way you were awkwardly standing there looking at him before the quarry came into view, he was sure you smelled the spice long before you saw the man the smell was attached too. The smell was awful, he could admit. It took him days to get that rancid aroma off his undershirt and pants. It seeped into the very fibers of the fabric and seemed to almost stain it with its stench. Mando makes a mental note to pick the safest hanger he can find to dock the Crest at while he's gone. He knows you know better than to leave the ship and that you know how important the child is, but he doesn’t want to take any chances now. It won’t matter how much it costs him. While he’s thinking of this he hears the door behind him open.

“How’s it looking up here?”

“Fine. We are about a day, give or take, away from Corellia.”

“I’ve never been to Corellia. What's it like?” Still holding your cup you take your usual seat to his right.

“Not a place you go on vacation too.” His voice sounds hard when he answers. You know his tone isn’t directed at you personally so it makes you wonder what he's thinking about.

“Noted. I’ll keep my swimsuit and towel on board then.”

He swivels his chair to face you now. You hold up your unoccupied hand, palm facing him, up.

“It’s a joke Tin Man. I trust you to know which planets are baby and I friendly.”

He just nods at your response and turns back to staring out the front window. You follow suit and get lost in the stars again. You don’t know how much time has passed before you snap out of your daze.

“I’m going to head back down and check on the gremlin, okay?”

“Alright.” His tone is softer now as he speaks. “Give him this.” He unscrews the silver ball from a lever and hands it to you. So that's where it came from.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

You get dressed properly and spend the next few hours playing with the baby while Mando stays holed up upstairs. You even try to teach him to count using the dried bugs.

“One.” You set it down in front of him. “Two.” Followed by the second. “And Three.” You place the final bug down. He looks at them and then back up at you. He makes some cooing noises at you and then proceeds to grab them and shove them in his mouth.

“No, you little thief. I said count them, not consume them!” He just laughs at your pleas with his mouth full.

“What’s all this?” You look up to see Mando descending the stairs.

“It’s me finding out that your son is just as stubborn as you are. I’m trying to teach him how to count and he ate my teaching tools!”

The Mandalorian squats down next to the child and rubs his hand on the kid's head. “Well he’s fifty so I’m sure he knows how to count by now.”

“He’s f-fifty?” You let out a gasp as Mando picks up the babbling child from the floor.

“Apparently his species develops a lot slower than ours.”

“So he’s been faking helplessness this whole damn time?” You let out an airy laugh as you watch the kid hold onto Mando’s thumb.

“Not exactly. He still needs to be treated like a youngling, but yeah he’s older than you and I.”

You feel like you just got hit by a landspeeder at full force. How can this squirming, little being be so old? Well now that you think about it, it kinda makes sense. The way he would look at you always made you feel a sense of comfort, his ability to use the force in a controlled way, and the fact that somehow he was able to read your mind when he touched your scar.

Mando leaves you, jaw hanging open, on the floor as he walks the kid over to his pod. He tucks him in and closes it up. Clearly hoping the kid gets the message that it's nap time and that he is going to take one whether he likes it or not. When he turns back around to face you, the energy in the ship shifts. You know you both can feel it. You slowly rise to your feet; never breaking eye contact with the obsidian visor. You can’t help but feel shy under his intimidating gaze.

“So this is that ‘next time’ you were talking about?”

“This is next time.”

In an instant he is on you. You squeal slightly as he picks you up and carries you over to his bed. Maker his fucking bed. He hits a button on the wall panel with his left hand, his right arm firmly under your ass holding you up. When the door opens he sets you down on the edge of the bed and peers down at you. You’re already slick with need and you rub your thighs together hoping to alleviate some of the tension you feel building. Mando takes his gloved hand and rubs it against your cheek. You preen under his touch. He brushes each of his fingers over your lips.

“Take it off, pretty thing.”

When you reach up with your hands to remove the glove he stops you.

“No. With your mouth.” You bite down on your bottom lip to stop a moan from escaping. You cautiously open your mouth to bite on the tip of his gloved thumb and pull slowly. Then you then repeat the action with the rest of his fingers.

“Good girl.”

He takes off his other glove with his now bare hand, takes the glove out of your mouth, and tosses them both behind him, forgotten.

“I want to do something a little different.” His voice is laced with desire as he says this.

“Whatever you want, Mando.”

He places both of his hands on your cheeks and moans at your words. “I’m going to need your band. Is that okay?”

“M-my band?”

“Yes. I want to taste you and I can’t do that if you can see.”

A wave of wetness rolls through you. He wants to take his helmet off. Your mind is racing a million light years a minute, but you gulp and nod up at him regardless. Mando trails his hands from your cheeks to your band. He unties it with shaky fingers and holds it between both hands. You shiver at the air now freely touching your neck.

“Lean forward and close your eyes.”

You do as you are told. He takes his knee and spreads your legs apart so he can stand in between them. Now you have nothing to satiate yourself with while you wait for him. He takes the band and gently places it over your eyes before tying it firmly together behind your head. You are submerged into complete darkness. You feel him take a step back and whimper as his body’s touch leaves yours. A small click echoes through the hull: he turned the lights off.

You hear him coming back towards you, ears now heightened with the loss of your sight. He returns to his position between your legs and runs two strong hands up your thighs. You flinch at the sudden pressure on your skin, but his hands hold you steady.

“I’m going to go down on you.” He says your name as he starts to rub his right thumb on the inside of your thigh. You haven’t ever had a guy go down on you before, let alone want to go down on you with such eagerness.

“I-I haven’t had anyone do that b-before.” Your breath is caught in your throat as his hand ghosts over your clothed pussy.

“Then they don’t know what they are missing. I would be honored to be the first one to taste that sweet cunt of yours, pretty thing. Now lie back.”

Again, you do as you are told and lie back. Still feeling the tightness from last night in your core as you move around. He wastes no time in ripping your pants and underwear from your body. Another shiver shoots through you as the cold air is now reaching places it doesn’t normally have contact with. You hear a soft thud in front of you and clench at the realization that Mando is on his knees in front of your weeping pussy. Another sound follows, a sound you have only heard once before: his helmet being set on the ground. Adrenaline pumps through your body with the knowledge that this man is on his knees, helmetless, and thirsting over you.

You feel your legs being lifted up as he places them over his shoulders. The cool sting of the beskar pauldrons on your skin do nothing to ease your burning body. The erotic position you’re in only adds to the growing throbbing you have. He hasn’t done anything to you yet and you can’t take it anymore.

“Please, Mando. Touch me.”

“You sound so pretty when you beg.” His voice is completely unmodulated. It’s still just as warm as it sounds coming through the modulator, but only it's slightly softer. He places peppered kisses on the inside of your thighs. You want those lips on yours. “All good things to those who wait.”

Your body twitches at the feeling of his lips on you and a moan slips out. His name falling out of your mouth as he etches closer to your cunt.

“I love hearing you say my name.” With that he connects his mouth to you. You cry out and your body shoots up at the foreign, but not unwelcome, sensation. He must have known this would happen because he places a heavy hand on your stomach to push you back down on the mattress. His mouth envelops you and his tongue explores you. You try to squirm away from him, the feeling already so overwhelming, but his grip on your thighs tighten, anchoring you to your spot. He moans into you as he laps up your arousal. His tongue doesn’t leave an inch of your unexplored. He is firmly nestled in between your folds, taking his fill of you. You feel his nose rub against your clit as he ravenges you. Without disconnecting his mouth he licks a stripe up to your pulsing clit. A cry rips through your body and you connect your hands with his hair. It's thick and feels like it has soft curls in it. It’s also longer than you expected it to be. All the more room to grip. He moans into you again at your action and the sound reverberates through your whole body.

“Fuck. You taste so good.”

His words stoke the fire in your belly and you pull harder on his hair. He suctions his lips back to your aching cunt. He alternates between sucking hard and long on you and then adorning you with sweet kisses. The changing of his tempos makes your body thrash against him violently.

“Oh Mando.” you whine, pushing your body hard against his face.

“How could a man not want to have his face buried in between your shaking legs? You taste even sweeter than I imagined.”

Mando has been thinking about going down on you longer than he wants to admit. Unfortunately, he couldn’t figure out how to do this without going directly against his creed. He knows he can’t take his helmet off in front of you, but the carnal urge he has to feel you quiver against his tongue is debilitating and all consuming. The answer came to him this morning when he picked up your band off the floor. He knows he trusts you, but the risk is too high not to have a precautionary measure. Plus, the chance to see you blindfolded, laying in his bed, and writhing against his mouth has his cock hardening quickly.

As he sucks on your clit you feel your climax coming. He must have felt that you were close too by the way you were moaning and reacting to him.

“I covered your eyes, not your mouth. Now use it. I want to hear you”

“I’m close! I’m so close, Mando!”

With your admission he sinks a thick finger into your hole. Causing your back to arch at the sudden intrusion.

“Oh fuck.”

He begins pumping into you quickly as he continues to suck and bite at your clit. Your body feels like it's levitating with the pleasure that is coursing through your veins. You start to rock your body down onto his face and finger. Desperate for your release. You feel him smile against your thigh and give it a nip before returning to you cunt.

“I’m going to cum.”

“Do it. I want you to soak my face and fingers.”

“Fingers?-”

He sinks a second finger into you and curves them both up to find that spongy spot inside you. Your orgasm rips through your body. Even with the blindfold on you see bright whiteness. You scream out his name as he continues to thrust two fingers inside you making your orgasm all the more powerful. He groans as you release onto him. You untangle your hands from his hair to grip the sheets under you. The sounds he is making as he laps you up are sinful. You feel his fingers slide out of you and hear him place them in his mouth. He licks himself clean, humming the whole time. It sounds as if he hasn’t eaten in years and you are the best thing he has ever tasted.

“Mando?” you say breathlessly. “I want you to kiss me.”

He doesn’t make a sound, but you hear him rise and start to climb over your trembling body. He lowers himself between your legs, careful not to put all his weight on you, and breathes onto your neck. You reach up and cup his face, his helmetless lightly bearded face, and pull him towards you until his lips are hovering just above yours. When you finally connect your lips with his you swear you could have cum again. Mando’s lips are soft and pillowy. As he kisses you, you can still taste traces of yourself on him. He slips his tongue into your mouth and you moan into him, hands sliding up to his hair again. You want to feel as much of him as you can before he hides away under his helmet. Mando kisses you hungrily and grunts as you bite down on his lower lip. It should be a crime to hide this mouth from the world. You aren’t sure how much time has passed since the two of you started kissing. Somewhere in the middle of it all Mando repositioned you to be on top of him. You smile into his lips when you feel his hand grab your bare ass.

“Ow.” you toy with him.

“That didn’t hurt, you baby.”

You laugh and kiss your way down to his neck before resting your head in the crook. It feels so strange to be able to lay your head here. There is nothing restricting you, nothing to cut into your cheek. Just skin on skin. The beskar you’re laying on top of isn’t as uncomfortable as you once thought it would be. You drunkenly kiss him, already addicted, while his hand has found its way under your shirt. He is drawing random shapes on your skin. He adjusts himself a little underneath you.

“Am I too heavy?” You move to slide off of him. Mando grabs your hips to keep you stationary.

“No. Not at all.”

You move your head back down to where it was previously laying. Trying to get your breathing to sync with his. You can feel your body move up and down with each deep breath he takes. The rhythm lulling you into a sleepy haze. You wake briefly when you feel yourself being carefully moved off of Mando.

“What’s going on?” you mutter.

“The alarm is going off. I need to land the Crest. I’ll be back.” You feel the bed dip back up as he gets off it and shiver at the loss of warmth. He tucks a blanket around your naked lower half and closes the doors, sealing you inside.

He comes back some time later and the opening doors stir you from your sleep. Hands, gloved now, come up and untie your blind fold. He doesn’t attach it back to your neck. You hear the faint sound of him pulling open a drawer out above your head and then closing it again. You swear you hear a faint jingle.

“I have to go now.” His voice modulated.

You groan out and rub your uncovered eyes. “Hmm?”

“The quarry. I have to leave to go find the quarry.”

“Right. Right.” You feel sleep pulling you back under.

“Don’t leave the ship while I’m gone. I’ll be back soon.” Mando pats his hand on your ankle and closes the doors once again. You are already asleep by the time he reaches the ramp. You don’t hear it as it opens or as it closes back up.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

You wake up with a start a few hours later alone in Mando’s bed. While it is a little jarring at first you quickly find your bearings. You reach up habitually and remember that Mando had taken your band off you. Looking around you spot the drawer that you heard him open. When you open it up you see your neck band and the silver bell you gifted him. Your throat tightens at the sight. He keeps it so close to him. You take your band out and slip it on after shutting the drawer. You find the button to open his door and find an eerily quiet hull.

“Tin Man?” Oh shoot that's right he left.

You get up and stretch, soreness almost gone, before going to wake the baby. When you open the pram he’s peering up at you with beaming eyes and gives you a loud screech.

“Good morning … or maybe afternoon… to you too sweetie!”

You take him and prepare some food for the both of you. You make sure to tell him that Tin Man left a while ago to go on a hunt and that he said he would be back soon.

But it will be a long time before he comes back to the both of you.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #din dijarin fanfiction #din x reader #din x you #slow build #slow burn

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clint-bennet · 8 months

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Intro Post for Clint

[Cis-male, he/him] Welcome to Aurora Bay, [CLINT BENNET]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [GARRETT HEDLUND]. You must be the [THIRTY SIX] year old [SCUBA CLUB BOAT DRIVER]. Word is you’re [HARD WORKING] but can also be a bit [ABRASIVE] and your favorite song is [GLITTER AND GOLD BY BARNES COURTNEY]. I also heard you’ll be staying in [FISHERS COVE].

Full Name: Clint James Bennet

Age: 36

DOB: June 10th 1987 (Gemini)

Parents: James Bennet (Father) Joanna Michaelson (Estranged Mother)

Siblings: Michael Bennet (Older Brother)

Hair color: Dirty Blond

Eye color: Blue

Height: 6'3"

Piercings& Tattoos: None

Sexuality: Bi-Sexual

Occupation: Scuba Club Boat Driver

History under the cut (Triggers: Childhood Physical Abuse, Drug Abuse)

Triggers: Childhood Physical Abuse, Drug use Clint grew up in Houma Louisiana out in what was considered the sticks. Having an abusive father and an absent mother, he and his brother preferred to spend his time out in the wilderness, enjoying the company of gators, raccoons, and whatever other wildlife he shared he space with over that of his family and his father's drunken rage. When he was 10, his older brother of 16 ran off to escape his father’s abuse, leaving Clint to take it all on himself, it didn’t take long before his father gave him a blow to the head at 13 that resulted in him losing most of his hearing. While it was a hard adjustment to make, Clint was able to adapt by learning lipreading and sign language through his school. At 15 a few DCF calls by his teacher resulted in Clint being removed from his home and his father’s abuse. A double edged sword, while he was saved from the physical and psychological violence he was also removed from the only sense of normalcy he knew and was instead shifted from foster home to foster home, having no real connection to any extended family nor the families he was homed with found themselves with a difficult teen. He tried to get away on several occasions, becoming a frequent flyer and a regular face in the town jail to wait to be picked up by the social workers and returned back to whatever foster facility or family they placed him in. In his late teens he started to experiment with drugs, introduced to him through other teens in the system.

After leaving the foster system and setting out on his own with some aid from social services, he was able to get his own place but found more difficulty in dealing with the trauma and the effects it had on his mental health, resulting in him spiraling into drugs more. He took whatever jobs he could locally to make enough money to keep a roof over his head and to get his next high, in just a couple years he had gained the reputation of being a junkie and began using more manipulative tactics to get what he wanted, what he thought he needed. As his reputation spread and he became more desperate, he found himself behind bars by the time he was 25 and forced into an in patient rehab center before he could be put on parole. Already having a bad relationship with the systems that be, he found rehab difficult and actively fought against it until he met one of the volunteers, an older Jamaican lady, that helped turn him around and start dealing with his problems. At 28 he was released from rehab and at 30 from his parole though being out on the same streets that had fueled his addiction, he found himself craving again. He convinced his social worker to help him get away, move as far from Southern Louisiana and it's influences as he could, bringing him to Southern California. Again he worked odd jobs, kept himself busy, he wasn't one to go to therapy, having a difficult time talking about the things he went through and the guilt he carries from his time using. Once he was feeling more settled he even got a dog from the local animal shelter, a border Collie named Luna. It was through a reference of a coworker at a bar he bounced at when he was 34 that he made the move to Aurora Bay to help the local scuba club, captaining the boat for their excursions which he had been enjoying for the past 2 years Personality: Clint is really hard around the edges at first meeting, he's sarcastic and likes to joke but has little patience for people he feels are bullshitting or putting on a facade, he'll try to break that facade down, many times by pissing them off or trying to get under their skin. He respects people more if they're straight with him. After he's warmed up he's much more mellow, though still sarcastic. He's a fish out of the water in this community, despite living within the community for the past 2 years, he's mainly kept to himself, living in a small bungalow in Fishers Cove. Recently he's started to try integrating more with the locals, but finds it difficult. Luna follows him everywhere he goes and is a social butterfly. He enjoys going out with her on his small fishing boat on his time off

Headcanons:

Clint has a tendency to keep people at arms length when it comes to serious topics especially about himself

Clint has a THICK southern Louisiana accent. The only time you won’t see the accent in the dialogue is when he’s signing.

He masks a lot with sarcasm and humor, a coping mechanism he learned from his childhood. At times, especially if Clint is feeling anxious or unsure how the other will react, it’ll be hard to get a straight answer from him

Clint is not completely deaf, he is Hard of Hearing (HoH) and can hear pitches of peoples voices and sounds past a certain decibel, if someone is talking softly, he won’t be able to detect their voice, but if he does hear someone talking he’ll normally turn his attention to them in order to read their lips

Reading lips is not an exact science and requires Clint to do a lot of guess work using context clues. Sometimes he’ll mess up or need to ask for clarification if he’s unable to fill in the blanks himself.

If someone is speaking to him, he needs to look directly at them in order to understand them if he doesn’t have his hearing aids in.

If Clint gets drunk, he has a harder time understanding what other people are saying even if he focuses hard on their lips, usually in those situations he just gets quiet, if he's REALLY drunk, he'll just make shit up.

Clint does have a hearing aid, but he only wears it when he’s working as a preference (He doesn't like how they feel in his ears, nor does he like the noise as it can overwhelm him).

For those that Clint cares about, he’s extremely loyal to them and protective. He would do anything for the happiness and safety of those he loves.

Though Clint isn’t super educated, not being able to achieve a high school diploma, he’s very witty, has great street smarts, and is quick on his feet, adapting quickly to changes in situations and coming up with plans to overcome challenges. Many people’s first impressions of him are that he’s aloof and messy in the head, which he doesn’t mind people thinking, but he spends a lot of time observing his surroundings and the people in it.

#aurorabay.intro #aurorabay.aesthetic

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sapphim · 2 years

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so I don't think I've ever really sat down and done a full writeup of my canon multiwarden worldstate, and it's been a hot minute since I've posted bits and pieces of it, so I'm gonna do this as a series of posts until I lose interest and stop abruptly partway thru ☺️

first, the origins~ or, one of them, anyway~

Duncan's hoping to find a few more good Warden recruits on this tour of Ferelden, but his main impetus for this trip in particular is because he has reached out to Orzammar about a venture into the Deep Roads to confirm the Blight has started, and he has received word back that the Wardens are, of course, formally invited, and they'll throw their honored guests a party while they're there. So Duncan and a few other wardens—including Alistair, who has only recently undergone the Joining and not done much Warden stuff beyond scouting in the Korcari Wilds around Ostagar—make the journey to Orzammar.

Duncan purposefully chooses a route that will take them past Kinloch Hold, and sends the other wardens to travel ahead to Orzammar to start getting things set up while he takes a quick detour at the Circle.

Bound in Blood and Magic

The three OCs of interest here are Rowan, Rafael, and Spiro Amell.

Rowan is an apprentice at the Circle. She's ~17 years old, nearly six feet tall, and half-elven, albeit not very visibly. She was raised in the Gwaren Alienage, where she assumes her mother still resides. She's friendly and extraverted but also gangly and awkward. In a kinder world she'd be sporty. She attaches herself to Jowan and Lily's plot to destroy their phylacteries and flee the Circle early and eagerly.

Rafael [Surana] is ~20 and a lil nerd who just passed his Harrowing with flying colors, although his aspirations to study spirit healing under Wynne have been dampened as she's been recently dispatched to Ostagar. He's a bright student and believes in the promises of the system—that by excelling scholastically he can overcome any prejudice introduced into the meritocracy from external sources. He seized the opportunity to reinvent himself with a new identity when he was brought to the Circle at a young age, and they've provided support for his gender transition. He's got a nerdy lil elven boyfriend, Eadric, he's been seeing on the dl. He's pretty content with his lot in life and he really doesn't want to confront anything that could ruin this for him.

When Jowan approaches Rafael about his fears about being made tranquil, Rafael 100% believes Jowan's in a conspiracy theory-fueled anxiety-spiral, and relays his concerns to First Enchanter Irving, who manipulates Rafael into giving up more about Jowan's plan than he intended and extracts an agreement that Rafael will monitor his escape attempt for him. Raf will spend the rest of the origin trying anxiously and unsuccessfully to talk Jowan out of the escape without giving away his role in the ordeal.

Spiro Amell, being in his early 30s, is in Anders' cohort rather than that of the elder apprentices. He's another Circle success story: attractive, clever, but most importantly charming. Academically he's coasting somewhat, but socially he's popular, he's likable, and he refuses to get tied down in fraternity politics. Being from a noble family, even a disgraced and foreign one, has absolutely started him with a leg up in the Circle hierarchy that most other mages would have to fight tooth and nail for. He is extremely chill and easy-going, and he doesn't make it a habit to make waves, though he's not unwilling to spend the social capital he's accumulated to help out a fellow mage.

Jowan & co. are not being as subtle as they think they are, and not nearly as subtle as they should be, which is how Spiro gets involved. He can't talk them out of it, but he might be able to keep them from getting themselves killed and dampen any fallout should they get caught. It's definitely not the first time he's assisted someone else's escape attempt.

Spiro may get a little bit uncharacteristically clumsy and in the basement while Jowan and Rowan are taking too long to locate their own phylacteries and Rafael is anxiously unraveling his own robes thread by thread in the corner of the room and—oops, aw dang, there goes an entire shelf. Let's skedaddle, fellas. The Circle won't have completed sorting that mess out by the time Uldred enacts his takeover of the Tower later.

When they emerge, they're confronted by First Enchanter Irving, Knight Commander Greagoir, and a host of templars. Raf's outed as a snitch. Jowan reveals his blood magic and flees. When everyone else comes to, Spiro, Rowan, and Lily are groggily and unceremoniously escorted away to the dungeon to be held until a fitting punishment can be enacted. Rafael is absolutely losing his shit over what he's learned about Irving deliberately entrapping apprentices with blood magic and setting them up to fail. Greagoir would like to completely disregard the amnesty Rafael was promised and haul him off the same as the others, even though he was acting entirely under orders from Irving, and Raf's attitude is not helping. This is when Duncan—who was pretty impressed when he spoke with Rafael earlier in his visit—steps in and conscripts him out from under them.

Duncan and Rafael—after a very brief moment for Raf to grab his things and wake Eadric to say goodbye—leave the Tower and make their way to Orzammar, arriving only a day or two after the other Wardens.

(Not long after this, Anders will take advantage of the chaos caused by Uldred's rebellion to spring Spiro and Rowan from the dungeons in the process of his own escape. The three of them will spend the duration of the Blight engaging in shenanigans just slightly off-screen from wherever the main action is located.)

Next up! Orzammar and the Deep Roads.

#oc blab #rafael #rowan #spiro amell #this was gonna cover all the origins in one post but the length of this got out of hand #worldstate writeup

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residentdormouse · 2 years

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Unrelenting Use of ‘U’ Words

Unimpressed with what I uncovered, I was unaware that my usage of uncommon words was utterly underwhelming. Undoubtedly unlimited access to unique language and I’m left feeling unworthy of this undertaking. Yet undaunted and unbroken, ultimately I will upload more unusual variations with utmost urgency.

(Sorry short intro today. Maybe it's all the Ides of March posts, maybe I need some more sleep, maybe I just want to watch capitalism burn, but I’m just a little bubble of rage today and want to stab things. My useful focus is shot.)

My Words: Ultimate, Unless, Undo/Undone, Up, Union/Unite

Your Words: Vent, View, Vivid, Verify, Vanish (if these aren't readily available, I think we’re at replace with ‘v’ word of choice status.)

Normal Note - this is an OPEN TAG - if it would bring any enjoyment at all to partake in this absurdity, please consider yourself tagged and ‘@’ me.

Ultimate:

Another burst of expletives came out as his hands went to his head. He took a few more paces to ponder information before he came to his next question. “Is he going to be okay?!”

“I don’t know…”

“Do you know anything?!” As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he had gone too far. The various calls of his name in reprimand, Hayden being one of them, only solidified this fact to him. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay. I just… Can I see him? Or can you check and… let me know?”

The vulnerability was a new side to Harold that Hayden was not used to. Ultimately that was the goal, for him to just open up. Let somebody in before he burst. It may have come a bit late, but it was nice to see the progress, even if it was in the worst circumstances. Steph also picked up on the change, and her tension relented a bit.

“Yeah. Yeah of course. I don’t know what’s going on back there though, so… No freaking out, okay?” A finger was pointed at him, with as severe a look as she could manage. It wasn’t severe.

Unless:

If Max wouldn’t have seen it with her own eyes, she may have called bullshit on it all. Anybody could practice strategy. Anticipate attacks.

Not everybody could write out next Friday’s exam answers hidden inside doodles along the margins of their notebooks.

And maybe that was were the real issue lay.

Max fought, struggled, persevered. Her training took over every aspect of her life. When she came to the school, she was taken in with comforting arms. The poor broken girl that had nowhere else to go. Their pity fueled her along. Spite pushed her further. Nowhere else to go her ass; this is where she belonged. And she’d show them all.

Della drifted through it. From the start, she was here. Hell, she probably couldn’t even remember what home even was before joining the Bright Futures program. If she did, she certainly wasn’t telling anybody else about it. She wasn’t telling anything for that matter; girl was a mystery herself. There was no push, no fight to prove her place.

Unless there was a test, you wouldn’t find her in class. Unless she was called upon, you wouldn’t find her in meetings.

Mid conversation, her eyes would glaze over and off she went. Were you telling her something important? It didn’t matter, she already knew what she needed to and truly didn’t care. She just sat under the trees, off in her own daydreams, letting life answer everything for her while she worked on her art.

That was their star pupil. Valedictorian.

Undo/Undone:

(I typed ‘Undo’ in Spiral and saw 6. Okay. All six were ‘rundown’. Fail. Diving has two, so dealers choice between smut and spoilers. More comfortable with slight spoilers.)

"Rayna put a banishing spell on her. Very nasty blood magic. One that isn't going to be undone any time soon. If ever. She can't come back here. The longer she's here, the more her blood will rise in temperature until it cooks her from the inside out. I only have rudimentary knowledge of this type of thing, so you'll want to confer with Hayden for anything specific, but…"

"So there's nothing we can do?!"

Again Gwen worked as a middle man, and her agitation about that was beginning to show. Quinn at least had more patience in his replies.

"Even if we knew how to get her back, I wouldn't know where to even begin on reversing what was done. We'd be killing her without solving that problem first. Best we leave now. Run to live another day, as it were. You'll be of no help if Rayna finds you first. Or those things."

Up:

(Holy shit - feel my shame - there are 1,301 instances of ‘Up’... my words suck… Used this one for the added ‘unnaturally upward’ alliteration to make up for it.)

“You’re being a fuckhead, and you know it.”

“Language.”

“Is English. Give me some time, and I'll tell you to fuck off in any language. Look, I know sign too.”

Holding up her middle finger, she forced a defiant smile on her face, ignoring the dread as his eyes flashed red and he closed the gap between them. “I admire the spunk.”

Placing a hand on her chin, he directed her attention solely to him, thumb running across her bottom lip. White hot anger burned inside of her, and she clung to it like a life preserver; it was all she had standing between herself and the chill he imposed.

Continuing its movement, his hand ran down along her neck, stopping right above her chest. She barely had enough time to recognise the unnaturally upward smile now displayed on his button before she flew backwards, back hitting where the door should have been. Wood splintered apart around her as she crashed to the ground, and the sound of boot heels against the hardwood floor punctuated the tension with each step.

Trying to scurry back to her feet before he closed the gap proved difficult as her head screamed at her for the excess movements. Pain radiated from her temples while Flagg took a look around, eyeing up the papers on her desk, fingers dragging along the spines of her books, even picking one up as he walked by.

Union/Unite:

(A few ‘re’unions, but none as is, and only one Unite.)

Stu also looked very pleased with the result, but Glen didn't seem sold as sat next to her, “It’s a good first step. Long way to go.”

Shrugging, Stu wrapped his arm around Fran to pull her closer. “Aw, c'mon, Glen. Could use the support right now, y'know.”

“You’ll be fine, East Texas, but looks like it's about that time…” With a nod of his head, Glen directed their attention to Nick, who was walking their way, Larry in tow.

Even without the formal announcement of an ad hoc committee yet, it was agreed that presenting themselves as a united group in the eyes of the community would be advisable, and Larry seemed on board as well. The idea was for a subliminal connection to help make a formal transition easier down the road. It had been Glen’s idea, of course, although he again made his disdain with 'appointments from above' very clear. While Nick might have seen his involvement here as a resolution, possibly Stu and Fran as well, Hayden saw it for the concession it was. This discussion was not over.

“Well, here goes nothin',” Stu stepped over to the edge of the pavilion to address the group.

#i dont want to think of #what to do with the time when this runs out #i was in an anxious limbo #staring at a blank page #and screaming at the universe #prior to this 😬#so thank you for the distraction #mouse's tag games & reblogs #riding the train to alliteration station

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ailtrahq · 1 year

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Non-fungible tokens took the world by storm, garnering attention from art lovers and crypto enthusiasts worldwide. NFTs are rare digital collectibles that redefine art through embedding creativity on the blockchain network. The Bored Ape Yacht Club (BAYC) NFT collection is among the most prominent group of digital collectibles. The collection became popular through celebrity endorsements from public figures such as Jimmy Fallon and Justin Bieber. However, recent reports indicate the NFT collection has been continuously spiraling downward for six weeks. NFT investors are now investing in Bitcoin Spark. What is the Bored Ape Yacht Club (BAYC)? The Bored Ape Yacht Club (BAYC) is a collection of 10,000 unique non-fungible tokens minted on the Ethereum network. The collection represents art-like cartoon apes of different rarities and metadata, including earrings, gloves, and themes. The Bored Ape Yacht Club debuted in 2021 under the development of Yuga Labs. Yuga Labs was founded by two art enthusiasts, Gargamel and Gordon Goner. After its launch, the project had an impressive performance track, gaining celebrity endorsements from prominent public figures like Eminem, Snoop Dog, and Jimmy Fallon. However, the NFT market peaked at the height of the bull market and turned bearish afterward with the onset of the ongoing bearish market sentiment. The BAYC collection has raided six-week lows. Bitcoin Spark reports record numbers amid BAYC bears While BAYC art collections record low numbers, a new Bitcoin hard fork is blossoming, recording record numbers in its initial development stages. For the project’s probable immunity towards bearish market sentiments, Bitcoin Spark is trending among crypto lovers and NFT enthusiasts. As part of the project’s plan to reduce the impact felt by DeFi platforms, Bitcoin Spark plans to develop a self-sustaining ecosphere for network participants. To fuel the ecosystem, Bitcoin Spark developers have minted BTCS tokens. The maximum supply of the platform’s utility token is curbed at 21 million tokens. BTCS tokens will be the gas token of the ecosystem. Bitcoin Spark’s network users will pay for transactions on the network in BTCS tokens. All the gas fees collected from transactions will be sent to mining pools and distributed to network validators and miners as rewards. How does the Bitcoin Spark network have miners and validators? The Bitcoin Spark network is a unique decentralized network embedded with a new consensus mechanism called proof of process (PoP). Proof-of-process crosses between the merits of proof-of-work and proof-of-stake. However, the work done on the network yielded more than the amount of BTCS stake in the staking pools. In other words, proof-of-work outshines proof-of-stake in the Bitcoin Spark ecosystem, allowing miners to earn more, but in a way that creates an imbalance in the rewards. Three independent DeFi auditing platforms verify Bitcoin Spark’s smart contract. Vital Block and Cognitos also verify the founders’ KYC. While currently in phase 7 of the ICO event, Bitcoin Spark’s enticing returns have lured investors from all DeFi corners, including the NFT arena. Investors are fleeing the BAYC ecosystem for its massive downwind and are buying into the ongoing presale by purchasing BTCS tokens worth $3 each. Learn more about Bitcoin Spark on:- Website: Buy BTCS:

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preppernewstoday · 2 years

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The word hyperinflation has been making its way into news cycles and our daily conversations with family and friends for the past few months. Hyperinflation has been seen before and will again. Hyperinflation has been a problem in the past, with Germany, Zimbabwe and Argentina being just a few examples. It seems that we are heading in the same direction. This means we might not have much time to stockpile before prices soar. Fuel Inflation is not necessary to cause fuel prices to soar. Hyperinflation is a reason oil companies will use to increase the price of fuels. Although it is not practical to store large amounts of fuel, it is a good idea to keep a few jerrycans on hand. Related to Best Places To Store Fuels In An Emergency To extend the life of your fuel, make sure you stabilize it before you store it. I rotate my small fuel tank by emptying the next can into my truck's gas tank, and then filling it up with new gas. It is difficult to choose a day when the price is lowest. Paper Products COVID taught me that panic buying could cause store shelves to be empty of the most unusual items. I didn't think toilet paper and paper towels could become such a hot commodity they could be used as currency. Recall what we learned during COVID and have a healthy supply of paper towels and toilet paper. Canned and dry goods We all need food. While most people have food in their homes, it is still important to eat. Hyperinflation will make a lot these products extremely expensive. So stock up while they are still reasonably affordable. Preppers routinely buy extra canned goods and dry goods on every shopping trip. It is a good idea to get into this habit if you don't have it yet. Related: 22 Cans That You Can Buy for $1 or Less The food prices have risen dramatically and there are no signs of them slowing down. Now is the right time to rectify any food storage deficiencies. Seeds Growing your food is the best way to reduce rising food prices. But, you need heirloom seeds that are high quality to plant in your garden. In case inflation spirals out-of-control and leads to a complete economic collapse, now is the time for you to start thinking about purchasing seeds. = Get Here Everything You Need To Start Your Medicinal Herb Garden Also, seeds are a great barter item. They will benefit others much more than the many supplies we normally save for bartering. Tobacco and Alcohol These items should be kept for barter and not for personal use, particularly tobacco. Anyone who wishes to be ready for an economic collapse must get rid of any unhealthy addictions to alcohol or tobacco. We should all try to quit caffeine. Bartering with those who are desperate to get their vice is easy by keeping a carton of cigarettes and a few bottles alcohol in your possession. People who experience alcohol withdrawals may find their withdrawals life-threatening. These individuals can be stabilized by having some alcohol available until the crisis passes and supply chains are restored. Ammo It is almost criminal that ammunition prices are being charged to people. The price of ammunition will skyrocket when hyperinflation strikes. Ammo is a resource that we must use to safely and effectively use firearms. It is worth investing in reloading ammo, if you have the funds. Stock up now, regardless of whether you reload or purchase ammo. Medical Supplies Some people require regular medication to manage chronic conditions. If you don't have insurance, the costs of these medications will go up as inflation increases. It is a good idea to keep at least three to six months of prescription medication stockpile. Also, should stock up on over-the-counter medications. In my country, there was a shortage of prescription-only pain medication for children. Although supply chain problems were the reason, many people could not afford these types of medications in hyperinflationary times.

Meat We have all witnessed the grocery store prices rise. Meat prices are no different. You can combat this by stocking up on meat when it is cheap and then vacuum sealing the meat for long-term storage in a freezer. To preserve the meat for a long time, you can make pemmican jerky. Hunting is a great hobby. Take advantage of the many opportunities in your area and stock up on food. Gold and Silver Hyperinflation can bring out the best in gold and silver. These precious metals have a long history of value for humanity. They are immune from the collapse of fiat currencies because they are not tied to gold, silver, or other precious metals. As a hedge against inflation, it is a good idea to have some gold coins. Silver is still better for smaller transactions that we might make in the event an economic collapse due to runaway inflation. At the time of writing this article, silver was hovering at $20 USD and gold was around $1750 USD. A gold coin is too expensive to purchase groceries. A silver coin, however, would be more affordable. Hyperinflation is not something we can control. We can increase our preparedness to combat the effects. Make the most of what's likely to come in the future by taking steps to improve your life today. Also, you might like: Ten Reasons to Allow the God of Fungi into Your Backyard How to Get 295 Pounds of Extra Food for Just $5 Per Week Video First Counties to be Relieved by The Government Following SHTF Survival uses for soda cans

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timetorace · 2 years

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𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭

Hi, this is a enemies to lovers one shot. Hope you enjoy it. Y/S/N= ship name with Carlos. niña bonita = pretty girl.

requested by: @alexiabuono

ship: carlos sainz jr. x fem!reader.

summary: you two can’t stand each other, especially after he apparently broke your best friend’s heart but somehow, everyone ships you. (You can read the full request here).

warnings: choking, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), hair pulling, unprotected sex.

word count: 5.9K.

You had known Carlos almost all your life. You started karting together when he was a kid and you had quickly taken a liking to him. The boy kept a low profile despite being the son of a great rally driver, simply going to work and meeting expectations without bragging. Before Fernando Alonso arrived in Formula One, there weren’t that many Spanish drivers who had made it that high up the grid, so it had been a surprise when two more spanish drivers joined the top category. First Carlos had done it and a couple of years later you had followed him too.

Your opinion of him quickly changed when he started dating your best friend Irene and things didn’t end so well between them. Now, Carlos had never talked about it, but Irene had told you how she had broken his heart and that was enough for you to hate him intensely. Although you had known Carlos for a long time. Irene had been your friend since you were both little girls and had been together for the last 20 years, almost as long as you had known Carlos.

Their relationship ended as soon as it began. Six months worked for everything to blow up and the chaos to begin. The problem with Carlos and Irene’s breakup was that sent the fans down the spiral of speculation. You almost felt like a member of a boy band seeing the way the racing fan base had grown. At first, it was mere curiosity about the reasons apparently you and Carlos had known each other since they were children but did not speak to each other, obviously his breakup with your best friend had something to do with it, and then the fact that you had made no effort to hide your dislike for him at press conferences where if you were asked about him you would go off on tangents or not answer at all. It’s not that you didn’t like him, but Carlos had broken your best friend’s heart and Irene was crying on the TV show where she works, throwing hints at Carlos and posting posts on Instagram that implied a lot of things. This, of course, was the fuel for all the fans who were putting together a soap opera between you and Carlos after his thing with Irene.

The first time you realized something was happening was when you were in Australia signing a couple of autographs when you saw a huge sign that said ‘I ship (Y/S/N)’. You did not understand very well what was happening. It seemed part of your name but it was not spelled correctly? So when you finished signing autographs, you leaned in next to Pierre.

“What does that mean?” you asked Pierre under your breath as the three of you walked back to the garages.

“That’s your ship name” He answered, and you frowned.

“Ship name?”

“For Carlos and you”

“What?” You asked in a small cry without being able to avoid it “When have said more than two words with Carlos in public that justifies having a ship name with him?”

“It’s because the fans found out that you guys were friends when you were kids-“

“We weren’t friends” You interrupted him

Pierre rolled his eyes “Then it seems you stopped talking to each other and then people are speculating about what happened”

“How do you even know all this?” You must have been on the other side of social networks because, in your beginning, not even the smallest sign of all had appeared to you.

“It’s all over the internet” He replied before letting out a laugh “I know because ‘liked Pierre Gasly’ too” he added referring to the joke. At least he had taken economic advantage of that. You didn’t see yourself making some t-shirts with your ship name.

After Australia, you made a mistake. You went to Tumblr and investigate further on Twitter. That was your first mistake because Pierre had not been wrong. Literally, you and Carlos were all over the fan accounts and the ships of the other drivers. You had always teased Max that Lestappen had some sexual tension simply because you loved messing with him. How did you become friends with Max? Well once when you were both still racing go-karts you had an accident and he thought it would be a good idea to yell at you about it, you yelled back three times louder and you had been friends ever since. Mainly because that day you had earned his respect even though you thought he was an idiot. Also, you had always known that you had a ship with Max, but you definitely didn’t know that the fans thought that what you and Carlos had was a childhood love. The very idea was ridiculous; how could you be in love with him after what he had done to your best friend? He had treated her like a piece of trash by leaving her and letting himself be photographed with another girl just a week later. You wouldn’t do what Irene would, but if he had cheated on her as she told you, then he deserved to be roasted by Irene in the press. Carlos had already let you know what he thought about you answering the journalists like that.

“Why do you answer them like that? You know all you do is fuel the fire, right?” He told you after a press conference.

“They are the ones who believe that you and I have a secret intense romance” You shrugged. You couldn’t even be bothered to hide how much you didn’t like him.

“Let me see, so you feed the rumor by showing them how much you hate me?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Well, you cheated on my best friend so you’re pretty high on my hate scale,” you replied, and Carlos just rolled his eyes. You growled at her. How could she treat your friend with such discouragement?

At the next race, things with the fans got more intense. When you arrived at the hotel, when you arrived at the paddock when you were strolling with the golf cart from one place to another, some fan always had something clever to shout at you, which of course made Max crack up with you.

“(Y/N)! Marry Carlos already!” someone yelled at you in the crowd as you and Max signed a couple of T-shirts.

“Yeah sure, the day hell freezes over,” you muttered in response, and Max next to you burst out laughing.

A few minutes later another person shouted again “(Y/N)! If you don’t want Carlos, give it to me!”

“I’ll give it to you with a bow and everything whenever you want,” you responded with a shout, making most of the crowd giggle.

“Hey (Y/N)! How big is Carlos?” You let out a growl. You knew she wasn't talking about his height. Why the fuck did they think you knew that stuff? Max let out a laugh that could probably be heard all the way across town.

“What the hell?” You mumbled signing a cap “I don’t know, ask him, dude” you added to yourself as you and Max finished signing and headed to the paddock entrance.

“I’m going to bother you for this forever,” Max told you, making you glare at him.

“I don’t understand why, of all the people, the fans decided I have a thing for the one person on the entire grid I don’t talk to.” You complained, swiping the card to get into the paddock.

“Hey” you saw Carlos approach you and Max with a jog.

“Oh great, get lost” You weren’t in the mood for any picture someone could take off them for fans to speculate on.

“Are you OK?” He asked, placing his hands in his pockets.

“Do I look ok? They just asked me what I think of your cock” You grunted and Max next to you let out another laugh “I’ll never be able to erase that image from my head” You shuddered before Carlos took your arm to that you would stop walking and Max was chatting with one of his engineers.

“Are you OK?” He asked again, and you looked at the grip he had on your arm, which made Carlos instantly let it go.

“We are not friends, so why are you worried about all this?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’m sorry my affair with Irene got you into this situation.” He apologized, running his hand through his hair.

“Then you wouldn’t have messed with my best friend in the first place”

“Believe me, I’m sorry about that “

You stared at him with raised eyebrows. The audacity that he had to admit that in front of you “Wow, you are a thing”

“Ok that sounded bad”

“So you think?”

“Things are not what you think,” Carlos said, and you rolled your eyes. That was the oldest excuse in the whole world, pretending that the other person was hiding something when Irene had told you every detail of what had happened.

“Things are exactly how I think,” you replied, “And she’s my best friend so I’m standing by her” you finished before turning around to enter the hospitality.

Two days after the race and while you were at home, you entered Twitter and saw how it was flooded with the same photo of Carlos and you. It was a grainy photo, clearly taken by someone on his phone, however, it showed the two of you talking very close together and it had just been taken when he grabbed your arm, so it seemed like you were doing something else. Great, now you couldn’t even enter your social networks without receiving comments about Carlos and you.

“Omg, those fans were so rude. Is he comforting her?”

“Yes Carlos, get your girl”

“Enemies to Lovers is a thing, (Y/N). Fuck him already.”

“Isn’t she Irene’s best friend?”

“I live for them, the best couple of the grid”

“Up (Y/N)! Down Irene!”

It was crazy how everyone seemed to be involved in a romance that wasn’t real and was based on speculation. While you were watching a movie, someone knocked on the door of your apartment. When you opened it, Irene came in like a storm.

“Those photos of you and Carlos are liquid gold,” she shrieked, turning to look at you “We have to think about what we are going to say next”

“We? I won't say anything about it, Irene,” you replied frowning “Mainly because nothing happened in the first place”

“Oh honey, it doesn’t matter what happened but what they think happened,” Irene answered “Like the marriage proposal”

“What are you talking about? He asked you to marry him”

“Oh no, he didn’t, honey, I told him we should get married,” Irene told you as she typed something on her cell phone “Why look at me? Who wouldn’t want to marry me?”

“Apparently he” You muttered so low that Irene didn’t even hear you.

“But he didn’t want to marry me, so he had to learn the lesson”

“So everything you said about him cheating on you when you were engaged is a lie?”

“Oh no, that’s true, but it was only a matter of time before I convinced him, but a month later he was already with a whore”

“A month? I thought you said one week later,” Something didn’t add up in that story.

“Well yes, we weren’t officially over yet when he was already with that whore before even thinking about marrying me,” she said with a small pout.

It sounded like Carlos had literally run in the opposite direction from Irene as fast as he could. “You made everyone believe Carlos was a cheater just so you could get free publicity?”

“Didn’t you hear me? He didn’t want to marry me!” Irene squealed with a snort hitting her heel on the ground as a sign of impatience “Then he broke up with me and a month later he was dating a whore,” She definitely hadn’t understood that Carlos wasn’t interested “He wanted to make me look like an idiot”

“A month is not the same as a week,” you pointed out.

“The details don’t matter, only what they think” Irene crooned “Look at me, less than a year later and I have more work than ever” The portals, magazines, and brands had known Irene after all the scandal with Carlos, basically she was going used as a catapult to success.

“Did you use me so you could still have speaking material on your show?” You asked, suddenly worried because your friend, the person who knew you since you were six years old, would have put you in the middle of all that trouble.

“No honey, of course not, I would support you anyway,” Something told you that was a lie. Irene had always been selfish, if she had something she rarely shared it and was very jealous, besides, she didn’t like the races but the boys she could find there “But a girl has to use all her resources, doesn’t she?”

“You lied about him, you made him look like a womanizer and a cheater,” you murmured, suddenly feeling bad for Carlos. The gossip press had roasted him for months after Irene’s breakup and still did, mainly because of her, but in part, you had also collaborated with all that media circus. Suddenly, you felt dizzy from so much information.

“Oh honey, you don’t know him there, he’s one” Irene answered while typing on her phone “I have to go, I’ll call you later,” She said and when she closed the door behind her, you never felt so relieved to be alone. Irene’s presence was always overwhelming, but now you felt sick after her visit. She had used you. You had been a means to achieve what she wanted. Now you understood why she kept insisting and accompanying you to the races, even though she was sad. Carlos. You had been a bitch about something that had never happened. The feeling of guilt that invaded you then made you pick up your phone intending to send him a message, but finally, you didn’t send him anything.

However, you decided that the new information you had learned didn’t matter. You and Carlos would still not speak to each other anyway and everyone would still believe that you were secretly together. It was the same as nothing, so why should you care how he felt? At the next press conference in Monaco, you just made a joke about you guys and the rumors which got the entire room laughing and earned you a weird look from him, probably surprised you weren’t grunting in public when you heard his name. For the rest of the conference, you could feel his eyes boring into the back of your neck.

“What was that in there?” He asked, reaching out to you as you walked through the paddock after the conference “Why are you being nice to me suddenly?”

“Nice to you? Are you high?” You asked him with a frown. Of course, you refused to admit that you were cutting him some slack.

“Last time I checked, no.”

“And you need to check that?” you asked, raising your eyebrows

“Don’t change the subject”

“I’m not being nice to you” You signaled to roll your eyes

“But you’re not being a brat either, so it’s technically the same thing?” Carlos shrugged.

You turned to look at him with raised eyebrows “Did you just call me a brat?”

“You are, your scenes at press conferences speak for themselves”

“Scenes? It was my way of deflecting questions,” You complained, “Sorry if I’m not a PR expert”

“And you put the spotlight on us you got the exact opposite” He pointed and you hated with all your being that he was even slightly right in what he was saying.

“There is no us, Carlos” Because that was true. No matter how many rumors there were, you two couldn’t be further away from that.

“If you wanted me all to yourself, you just had to say so.” He called you before you entered the garage.

You turned to look at him and rolled your eyes “In case you hadn’t noticed, I wouldn’t lay hands on you for all the money in the world, Sainz”

Two days later, it was Sunday and therefore, the day of the race. By then, no one on the internet could stop talking about a photo they had taken the other day at the press conference. It was a photo of you and Max laughing and you could clearly see Carlos looking at them out of the corner of his eye. You were laughing at how ridiculous Max seemed to fall asleep in the middle of the conference and how it didn’t even seem to bother him that everyone noticed. The problem was that the look that Carlos was giving you in that photo had been interpreted in multiple ways, but the most popular was that you, Carlos, and Max were in the middle of a love triangle. Speculation had gotten wild and was already bordering on the ridiculous. While you were waiting to get into the corresponding car for the parade, you leaned against the wall and closed your eyes, enjoying the rays of the sun hitting your face. It didn’t last long, because a few minutes later someone stood in front of you, covering you from the sun. You opened one eye to see who it was and found Carlos staring at you.

“You, my friend, you need to get a hobby that doesn’t include chasing me or teasing me,” you muttered

“Do you think I’m chasing you?” He asked, leaning against the wall next to you.

“How do you explain you are always where I am, then?” You asked, raising your eyebrows.

“Why do we work together?” It was a good point, but the paddock, the garages, and the whole damn place were huge for you guys to always end up talking about.

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” You asked with a growl of annoyance, “How can you stay on your side of the paddock and I’ll stay on mine?”

“Wow, your two personalities are like fuck you and fuck me”

You saw that the parade was about to start so you stood up in your place “Unfortunately for you, you only get to see one of them”

“I really hope is the one that involves the bed,” He replied and you raised your eyebrows. Now he was smarty?

“Are you deaf? I already told you yesterday, that I wouldn’t lay hands on you for all the money in the world,” you mocked, walking towards the car that belonged to you.

“See you at the finish line” That sounded like a promise. Bold of him to think that he was going to even touch you a hair.

“You’ll have to get to me first” You challenged him “Good luck with that though” You finished before letting out a laugh.

That day had been your day. Not even Max had caught up with you and he ended up not finishing the race because of an engine problem. You win. You fought tooth and nail against Charles and Lewis, they hadn’t given up but were there. Your first win in Formula One. That felt exciting on another level. You felt powerful and obviously, you went out to celebrate like a champion.

“Oh c’mon, don’t be grumpy,” You said to Max sitting next to him in the VIP section of the nightclub. Your feet were already hurting from dancing so much and alcohol was already coursing through your veins.

“If it wasn’t for the fucking engine,” he complained

“I know” You patted his thigh

“I don’t know what the fuck is happening to us this season.” It was the third DNF for Red Bull that season and they weren’t even halfway through it yet.

“They’ll figure it out I guess,” You shrugged “I mean; I hope you don’t, so I can continue my streak,” you joked.

“Shut up,” Max groaned before taking a sip of his drink “I’m glad you won”

“No, you’re not” You replied. He didn’t enjoy losing.

“Well, I’m happy for you,” he clarified.

“Yeah, that’s more like it,” you agreed before you both burst out laughing.

Then you saw him. Carlos was staring at you from across the club. Was he licking his lower lip and looking at you? You adjusted the straps of your dress, feeling a little uncomfortable at his scrutinizing gaze. It didn’t matter if you were talking to someone else, you knew that if you turned to look, he would still be there watching you. It was awkward and, to be honest; he was getting on your nerves. Every time you leaned in to speak to Max or when he placed his arm on the back of the couch behind you, you looked up at Carlos, and, almost as if in response; he ran his thumb across his lower lip. The gesture was hot. You had to admit that. When you saw him heading towards the bathroom, you simply went after him and leaned against the wall next to the bathroom door. When he came out, you took him by the arm and threw him in the darkest part of the corridor.

“I don’t like your games” You snapped at him pointing a finger at him “Whatever you’re trying to do, stop”

“What games?” Carlos asked and you groaned. Now he wanted to feign innocence? He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Those looks”

“What? Now I can’t look at you?”

“You know what I mean,” You snorted “You look like a stalker”

“Nothing, I’m just surprised to see you so close with Max” There it was. He was jealous. You didn’t understand why, but you couldn’t miss the opportunity to make fun of him.

“I’m sorry, anyone who heard you would think you’re jealous of Max, Sainz”

“Oh, I’m” He admitted, which made you raise your eyebrows.

“It’s not that he’s in your business but Max is my best friend. I wouldn’t cross the line with him” Not that you had or owed him any explanation, but somehow you were giving it to him.

“didn’t look like that”

“He has a girlfriend”

“And?”

“I know you have trouble understanding it, but not everyone likes to cheat on their girlfriends,” you responded by being smart. You knew perfectly well that it was more than likely that things had not happened, as Irene had told you.

Your words made Carlos take a step towards you and corner you against the wall “Watch your mouth,” He murmured, leaning over you.

Who did he think he was to tell you what to do? “Or what?” you replied.

“Or I’ll have to do something about it” Carlos captured your lips between his in a wild and hungry kiss with no kind of warning. You definitely didn’t see that coming. It was intense, and it was a mere question of domination where he and you fought to see who had control. He passed his hand around your waist and you pulled him towards you by the nape of his neck. He took you by his thigh and gently lifted your leg to hug his hip. You felt the brush of his cock against the fabric of your panties. Despite the TV between you, you could tell that he was hard and that your panties were wet. You hated to say it, but no one had ever kissed you that way, so wild and so visceral. He ran his finger down your slit over your panties, but you still knew he had felt how wet you were cause he bit your lower lip between the kiss. You moved your hips against his finger. How the hell did you end up like this? You were both struggling to catch your breath, but you eventually broke up. You both stared at each other for a moment, trying to catch your breath.

“I’m pretty sure you are wet enough to wait” Carlos’s voice sounded hoarser than usual but you liked the way it sounded. When did you start to like something about him? Before you could think of anything to say, he was already walking away, back into the crowd.

After what had happened, you couldn’t stop looking at Carlos’ hands, who was now sitting next to Max, having a casual conversation with him. Had he sat there to control more closely what was going on? And you decided you were too sober for that shit. So you started drinking at a fast pace and it couldn’t end well because after a while Max dared to take the glass away from you so you would stop drinking. You kept thinking about Carlos’s words and you were more than aware of the moisture between your legs. You couldn’t deny that it was because of him.

It probably wasn’t the best idea, but you couldn’t walk to the hotel in that state if you didn’t want someone to post a picture tomorrow of you walking drunk through the streets of Monte Carlo. It made sense for you to go back to Carlos because you were both staying at the same hotel. Max lived on the other side of Monaco and, according to him, you couldn’t go back to the hotel alone without proper supervision. Moron.

“Ok, you need to fuck me or stop looking at me like that,” you told him as if you were talking on something random as you both walked into the hotel. You were too drunk to process what that whole situation meant when he kept looking at you.

“I see that alcohol makes you have an attitude” He pointed, and you stuck your tongue out at him

“Words, words, words, and no action,” you crooned, calling the elevator button

“I swear to god you’re a brat.” He rolled his eyes.

“You gonna complain about my attitude or fuck it out of me?” You asked him, entering the elevator and turning to see him. Tomorrow when you were hungover and sober you were going to hate yourself for sure for even opening your mouth and then you were going to kick Max’s ass for letting you go with Carlos. “I’m pretty sure I deserve a good spanking too” You winked at him.

“Yes, you do,” He answered, entering behind you and pressing you against the wall of the elevator while you giggled. How silly your laugh sounded. You sounded like a little girl.

“How drunk are you?” He asked, taking you by the waist.

“Not enough” You cocked your head slightly to look at him. Was he asking you why he didn’t want to fuck you if you were drunk? After what he had said before at the club? “You better not be thinking about backing out”

“Is that a threat?”

“I don’t need you to be a gentleman right now” You appreciated that he was trying not to go overboard with you but you really didn’t want to keep talking because the more you did, the more you thought back about what the hell was going on.

“I wasn’t planning on being one,” he murmured back before the elevator doors opened. You knew that was a lie because of the way he was, but you would have to prove your theory. You walked the path of the corridor that led to your room in silence when you both reached your door and you took the card from your bag to open it.

You turned to look at him “Kiss me” You had run out of clever phrases to say to him. It was a simple request and Carlos seemed to comply because, after a few seconds, his mouth was on yours once again. He closed the door behind you with his foot before pushing you against it. With your back against the door, you wrapped your legs around his waist. His mouth moved down to your neck and then to your shoulder as he alternated kisses with soft bites with his teeth. He gently slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders, exposing your boobs. You unbuttoned his pants to take them off, but that was as far as you got. As his lips moved over your tits, so did his hands and his fingers moved to the sides of your hips to slide your panties down your legs to remove them. He took as much as he could into his mouth and he sucked hard before withdrawing, leaving your nipple between his teeth. You felt how his finger slid through the lips of your pussy, testing your moisture. You moved your hip against his finger. His hands slid up your legs to your knees, and he knelt beside you, placing your legs on his shoulders. You knew what was coming next, and you shuddered in anticipation.

Your lower back lifted from the door as you felt his mouth all over you and he started licking you up and down. His fingers slipped inside you and his mouth gently sucked on your clit, teasing you with careful touches just where you really needed him to touch you. You heard a gasp coming from somewhere in the room and realized it could only be yours. The way he looked at you as he licked your pussy, even when you looked away from him because you couldn’t help but throw your head back. When you looked back down, he was staring at you. With your thighs parted by his firm hands gripping you hard enough to leave marks, Carlos devoured you. You almost wanted to cry with pleasure, each regret, each blow, each nervous touch brought you a little closer to orgasm. When you felt you were on the verge of orgasm, you took him by the hair, nuzzling him closer to you, earning you a growl from him. With the heat that had been building in your belly and the wetness between your legs, you warmed when his tongue catapulted you to orgasm.

You were barely recovering with your head still wrapped in the fog of orgasm when Carlos grabbed you around the waist and carried you to the bed. You weren’t sure you could use your legs anyway, they were made of jelly. He yanked off his pants and underwear before you nuzzled his chest so that he lay on his back on the bed. Between his legs, you knelt. You would never admit it out loud, but Irene had told you what sex with him was like, and you hated to even think about it. But the bastard’s cock was bigger than usual. You took his cock in your hand before wrapping it between your lips. The moan he let out suddenly seemed like the hottest thing you had ever heard. You worked the rest of his cock with your hand, including his balls, which caused him to pick up his hair with your hand, tugging gently. After hearing him moan, you wouldn't see him the same way. You took his cock deep in your throat, causing you to gag slightly, but you repeated the movement, anyway. You knew he was on the verge of cumming, but instead of him, he pushed you back onto the bed without letting you finish the blowjob.

“Condom? I don’t have any” He asked looking over at your nightstand. You weren’t planning on having sex in Monte Carlo with a stranger to need protection, so you had brought none.

You shook your head “Pill” simply gasped, still trying to catch your breath. You were on the pill since you were a teenager.

The smile he gave you made you flinch slightly. “Better,” he murmured back. Perhaps...? Was he admitting that he wanted to fuck you without a condom? You had never done it because you had not had a stable partner that lasted more than a couple of months and you were suspicious enough not to want to risk it. However, you trusted Carlos enough to not have a problem with that. Besides that, the very idea of having unprotected sex with him was incredibly arousing.

His eyes lit up as he guided your cock into your cunt, resting just the tip between your folds before moving it to force your clit drenched in moisture from the previous orgasm. You let out a small moan before giving him a look to cut the fucking games off and get down to business. Of course, he didn’t and stuck the tip of your cock inside you one more time, only for you to throw your head back in exasperation.

“Use your words,” He murmured, repeating the movement.

“It’s just-I-” You moaned in exasperation “I don’t have any”

“Did the cat eat your tongue?” He scoffed “I think you should start finding them quick”

Damn bastard, he sure loved hearing you beg, but at that moment, you wanted to cum much more than you cared about your pride. You needed his cock more than you wanted to hit him for playing with you like that.

After a few seconds, you let out a gasp “Please?”

“Yes, that’s better, niña bonita”

He slid his cock inside you to his balls in a single thrust that took you to heaven. You let out a little cry of surprise mixed with a moan of pleasure because you didn’t expect that movement. You had to close your eyes for a moment to revel in the way his cock worked its way inside you and how your walls tightened around it. After a moment, he moved inside you, and with one hand; he lifted your leg to place it on his shoulder while with the other; he rubbed your clitoris. The angle your leg was at just made you feel like his thrusts were reaching deeper inside you.

Carlos stopped caressing your clitoris to surround your neck with one of his hands. He was deep inside you and you were sure that your moans had already turned into little screams a while ago. Your back arched with pleasure. Carlos caressed the skin of your neck gently before you took that forearm and squeezed it. He must have taken that as a sign because he applied a bit of pressure. You tried to moan, but all that came out was an almost gasping sound as you felt his pace pick up. His thumb caressed your lips as he continued to apply pressure and you let out a little yelp or at least tried to because it came out a bit strangled. The walls of your pussy involuntarily tightened around his cock when you were already on almost there. Carlos let out a throaty growl, and the sound sent you into orgasm. A few seconds later, he came after you while your pussy continued to cringe around his cock. He removed your hand from around his neck before rolling next to you. Your lungs were begging for air, your brain was a complete mess, and your vision blurred until you could catch your breath. You felt Carlos’s semen rolling down your thighs.

“That was...” You gasped after a moment.

“Incredible? Impressive? A piece of heaven?” He suggested and you let out a laugh.

“I was going to say overwhelming, but all that too” You agreed tilting your head slightly to look at him. The way Irene had described sex with him? It wasn’t even close to what you had just experienced, and you were damn sure you were going to repeat it.

#carlos sainz one shot #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz jr x reader #carlos sainz jr imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 one shot #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula one one shot

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daddyreid · 3 years

Text

dusk til dawn. (stucky x reader)

summary: you had a terrible day and all you want is to be home with your super soldiers, but saving the world is a busy job.

pairing: steve rogers x bucky barnes x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k

content warnings: polyamory, dd/lg dynamics (no age regression), slight angst, reader has a bit of a break down and goes into sub space, daddy!bucky, eventual daddy!steve (if you need any additional tags, please let me know!)

a/n: hi!! oh my gosh i haven't written a oneshot in like six months but i'm back and bringing you stucky x reader content!! this is my first time writing for the mcu, and i really hope you enjoy! <3 sab

☆☆☆☆

This wasn't like you. You were sure of that, and your strong belief in that statement made you feel even worse. It was five PM on a rainy Tuesday, and you had just finished with all your responsibilities for the day. The entire day seemed like it was testing you, throwing obstacles your way at least once every hour. You were exhausted, to be honest, and wanted nothing more than to come home to the Avengers Compound nd be greeted by your two super soldiers. Unfortunately, you knew that one was away on a mission and the other was busy overseeing an entire task force.

You had prepared yourself for the empty apartment, but your heart still sank when you entered it, the silence confirming and elevating your sadness. You shut your eyes, recalling the times when you would come home to Bucky in your shared bed, arms open and waiting for you. You sighed at the thought of being in his warm hold, feeling so safe and shielded from the entire world around you. It was even better when Steve was home, too, and you were sandwiched between two men who you knew would do anything to protect you. These thoughts only made things worse, making you feel guilty for wanting them there when they had such important work to do. You also knew Steve would be back at some point tonight, but Bucky's homecoming remained unknown. His mission status was on a strict need-to-know basis, and even as his girlfriend, you didn't make the cut. Steve, however, did, making you even more anxious for his return so he could tell you how your partner was doing, and if he was safe.

You sulked over to your bed, replaying the unfortunate and frustrating events of the day over and over in your head. Each time you recalled the inconveniences, you got angrier and sadder, annoyed with yourself for getting so emotional. It really wasn't like you to be so broken up over their absences, but something about today had really, really bothered you. You thought of Bucky again, somewhere far away and most likely dangerous, and shivers went up your spine. You knew he was built and trained for combat, but that didn't stop you from worrying.

The sight of your empty bed stung, the smell of Bucky's aftershave and Steve's cologne ghosting over your sheets. You so badly longed for them to be home, to take over and baby you and let you forget about everything else. Your anger rose, not at them, but at yourself for feeling so needy and lonely without them. The dynamic you were used to made your bed feel even bigger and emptier, making your chest tighten.

Your thoughts drifted back to Bucky, and how he would normally calm you down after a hard day. Bucky adored being dominant and your caretaker, taking every opportunity to spoil and coddle you, forcing you to leave all your adult worries behind. He would run you a hot bath and sit you in his lap while it filled, pressing kisses all over your face and whispering reassurance into your ear. While Steve was equally as caring and protective, he hadn't labelled himself as your daddy yet, while Bucky had.

You felt your brain spiraling and felt equally as helpless as the thoughts flowed. You balled your fists up and squeezed your nails against your palms in frustration, a bad habit that Steve had been trying to get you to break. Knowing you were engaging in a forbidden habit fueled your emotions even more, guilting you further and making your head pound. You felt tears forming under your eyelids and shook your head aggressively, refusing to let yourself be taken over by the growing storm.

As you fought your ever-growing emotions, there was a knock on the door that startled you from your thoughts. The last thing you wanted was to be bothered, and you felt your anger rise at the audacity of whoever had arrived to engage with you.

"What?!" You nearly shrieked, a new wave of anger overtaking your senses. You stormed over to your bedroom door to swing it open, ready to unleash your frustration on whoever stood behind it.

Unfortunately, the one person you could not do so with was standing awkwardly behind the wooden frame, their eyes wide at your outburst.

"Steve..." Your heart sank as your eyes met his, immediately feeling incredibly guilty for yelling at him. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean- I didn't know..." You mumbled, tears welling up in your eyes as you refused to meet his gaze. You were already so upset over one of your boyfriends' absence, you couldn't believe you just screamed at the other one. Your anger towards yourself outweighed the relief of having Steve in front of you, and he could practically feel you beating yourself up. Steve stepped towards you carefully, not wanting to overwhelm you.

"Hey, hey, it's okay..." He started, slowly and gently moving you into his arms. "I know." He held you against him for a moment as you breathed heavily, desperately trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Steve then pulled back to look at you, tilting your chin up and forcing you to meet his soft blue eyes. You sniffled as he looked at you with such care and concern, tucking some stray hair behind your ear as he caressed your cheek with his other thumb. He surveyed your face, reading loudly and clearly what you wanted. "You miss Bucky, huh?"

And with that, the dam broke. The mention of his name caused you to burst, tears flowing freely as you let out soft cries. Steve quickly pulled you back against his chest, squeezing you tightly as you sobbed. You felt so guilty, knowing Bucky had a job to do and you should be grateful that Steve was there, but your heart ached too much to listen to logic.

"It's okay, babygirl." Steve shushed you and rocked you slowly back and forth, trying to push every ounce of love he had onto you. "I do, too." He confessed. You felt even worse at his confession, suddenly feeling incredibly selfish. You knew Steve missed Bucky, too, and you weren't the only one in pain when he went away.

"I don't know why I'm crying..." You mumbled into his chest, your hands gripping tightly onto the fabric of his t-shirt. "Today has just been so hard and I'm so tired and I wanted him to be home to hold me but he wasn't and-"

"Baby," Steve shushed you again, not silencing your words out of annoyance, but to tell you there was no need to explain; He understood. He held you as you continued crying, feeling absolutely pathetic in his arms.

"I'm so glad you're here." You whispered, pushing your body against him even tighter. "I love you so much." The reminder made Steve smile. He knew it wasn't that you preferred Bucky's presence over his, you just wanted both your boys home after a hard day. He had had times when you were away where Bucky was spooning him but all he wanted was your touch, and Bucky had understood then, too. That was a crucial part of your relationship for all three of you- acknowledging that you loved each other equally, and loving two people meant sometimes you missed one more than the other. There was no jealousy and no hostility, you made sure of that.

"I love you, too." He sighed into your hair, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head. "Why don't we go lie down?" He suggested once your breathing slowed. You nodded silently, wiping your tears with the back of your sleeve. You sniffled again as Steve placed his hand on your back, gently guiding you back to your bed, where he helped you sit down before climbing in himself. You reflexively moved so you were pressed tightly into his side, your head resting on his chest and hands on his abdomen. Steve wrapped his arm around you tightly, tangling your legs together and pulling the comforter over the two of you.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He whispered, running his fingers lightly through your hair. You shook your head and cuddled into him further, breathing in his familiar scent, trying to erase all memories of your day and just be there with Steve. "That's okay, baby." He reassured you, scratching your scalp in an attempt to relax you. Steve knew all your sweet spots and smiled to himself as you melted into him, your breath evening out and your body finally relaxing. Steve decided to take a page from Bucky's book (quite literally), and read to you, slowly lulling you into a calm and submissive state. He watched as your body language changed, still clinging tightly to his t-shirt as your brain let go of the day's events and let Steve take care of you. Eventually, his voice put you to sleep.

Steve put the book down and watched over you as you rested, still running his fingers through your hair and feeling grateful to have you in his arms. He was glad that he could still calm you down on his own, something he hadn't had to do very often since the three-way relationship was formed. He wasn't jealous of your and Bucky's dynamic, but rather cherished the one he had with you when you were feeling more yourself. He truly loved you and Bucky more than anything, and watching you two share something so special made his heart warm.

His watch suddenly buzzed with an alert, a red light flashing briefly as the small screen read:

MISSION 214-A77 COMPLETED

ALL AGENTS EN ROUTE TO BASE

Steve sighed in relief and glanced back at your sleeping form before reaching for his phone. He tapped the necessary buttons to compose a new message to Bucky.

"How did it go? Everybody okay?"

"Tip-top shape. Full mission report is uploading as we speak. I'll give you the handout in the morning."

Steve chuckled to himself, appreciating that Bucky remembered his preference for paper copies. Before he could type back a retort, another gray bubble appeared.

"How is she?"

Steve glanced back at you again, letting his gaze linger for a few seconds as he watched your chest rise and fall. You were still curled tightly into his side, sleeping seemingly peacefully, but the way your hands gripped his t-shirt, he knew you were still missing Bucky's touch.

"She misses you. She had a rough day but she's sleeping now."

There was a beat of silence while Bucky typed back, Steve absentmindedly running his hand up and down your back softly.

"Tell her Daddy will be home soon."

A smile crept onto Steve's face as he read the message, his heart warming as he thought of his boyfriend coming home, and how happy you would be to hear the news. He checked Bucky's location on his tablet, seeing that the jet was only thirty minutes away from the compound. Steve didn't want you to have to miss Bucky any longer, so he gently woke you from your slumber.

"Hey, I have some news." He whispered in your ear, rubbing your back in an attempt to awaken your senses. You groaned into his chest, still exhausted and barely making sense of his words. Steve chuckled again, before bringing his lips to your jaw and whispering once more. "Daddy's on his way home."

It was as if he had said the magic words, you perking up immediately to stare at him with wide, excited eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah, princess, he'll be here in just half an hour." He reassured you, your heart pounding as a smile grew on your lips. Your energy quickly faltered though, relief flowing through you and making you aware of just how tired you really were. Steve noticed and pulled you back into his grip, strong arms wrapped around your shoulders. "Go back to sleep, baby. I'll wake you up when he's home." You nodded sleepily, falling back under with a soft smile on your face.

☆☆☆☆

"How was it?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

You awoke to soft whispers, the room now dark as the sun had completely set. You squirmed in Steve's arms at the noise, peeking your eyes open to see Bucky sitting at the foot of your bed, pulling off his boots.

"Well, hey there, gorgeous." He smirked once he noticed your gaze, quickly taking off his other boot to crawl towards you. Steve released his hold on you, letting you scramble to sit up and fall into Bucky's arms. You hugged him as tightly as you could, earning a chuckle from the man himself as he squeezed you back, holding your head firmly against his shoulder. "I missed you, too." He sighed, reading your thoughts. Steve sat up to wrap an arm around you both and you felt your eyes well up with tears again, overwhelmed with joy to have both of your boys home. Bucky held you in place but swiveled his head to give Steve a quick kiss on his lips.

"My beautiful girl," He started, turning his attention back to you and lifting you into his lap. "Daddy missed you so much." You buried your face in his neck, squeezing him tighter and relishing in the sound of his voice. "Stevie took good care of you, though, right?" You nodded, mumbling something against his skin. "Speak up, princess."

"I've got the best daddies in the world." You whispered, and Steve couldn't help the grin that broke out on his face. Bucky shared his expression, his perfect teeth on display as he smiled down at you.

"Damn right, you do."

☆☆☆☆

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader #steve rogers fluff #bucky barnes fluff #steve rogers oneshot #bucky barnes oneshot #stucky oneshot #sfw #sab's works

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tawaifeddiediaz · 3 years

Text

the demon chase

I know this episode isn't out until tonight, but a girl spiraled, bon appétit. spoilers for the 5x11 sneak peek.

[Read on AO3]

Word Count: 2541 words

The demons come for him six days after he starts the new job.

He’s not expecting it, but a part of him feels like maybe he should, because all he feels like these days is like he’s one breath from shattering into a million pieces.

He surges out of bed still hearing his old commanders barking in his ears like they’re standing next to him, still hears the sounds of grenades and bullets and gunfire and explosions and dust storms like he’s standing right there again, still smells the raw dust and sickly-sweet stench of blood.

But above anything, it’s the silence after he wakes up that rings loud — that rings of the sudden cut-off of a fellow soldier’s sentence, or of the spray of blood when an IED went off wrong, or of the drip of blood into pillows of sand.

It shouldn’t sound so loud, but to Eddie, it does.

So he stumbles out of bed, terrified of his own shadow and only barely makes it to the bathroom to throw up that first night.

And the second.

And the third.

And the fourth.

The night after that, sleep doesn’t come for him at all.

He waits, stares at the ceiling, counts sheep, turns this way and that, tries music, tries the podcast Buck recommended a while ago, tries the meditation techniques Karen shared with him, tries going to bed at the same time as Christopher instead of watching TV for an hour or two.

Nothing works.

In the back of his mind, he knows he sleeps. There are times where which he wakes up only to find the clock having turned to a new hour than the last time he remembers checking.

But he never, ever feels like he’s slept, because come the ring of his alarm at 5:45am, he’s rolling out of bed like he’s pulled an all-nighter.

Being out in the field meant that he could tire himself out enough that he’d have no choice but to fall straight asleep. Being at a desk? The most taxing thing he does is argue with the call center printer.

By the end of the day, Eddie’s brain is buzzing with the need to do something. The monotony of the desk job is driving him just as crazy as when he was working night reception back at the only hotel that would hire him, because it had been then that Eddie had decided that desk jobs were decidedly not for him.

It feels like a universal joke to be stuck at yet another one, nearly ten years later.

He goes to work, listens to people doubt his existence as a firefighter, doubts his own existence as a firefighter, pretends the jammed printer is a patient, and fills his coffee cup like he’d inject it into his veins if he could.

When everything else fails, Eddie falls back on a familiar pattern.

Or rather, he falls into it.

One of his neighbors sets out a garage sale two weeks after this routine starts, of catching the bare minimum hours of sleep at unequal times of night and fueling himself with coffee.

Eddie’s eyes land on the treadmill hidden away behind a rack of old soccer balls, pool noodles and three hula-hoops, a piece of cardboard propped up on the handles with the price crudely written in thick permanent marker — big enough to be seen across the street. He forks over the $50 instantly, and within the next minute, the machine has a new home.

The treadmill stands obscenely tall in the middle of his bedroom, a menacing shadow when the moonlight falls on it, but it’s in his house and not in public, so Eddie thinks it’s fifty dollars well spent.

Every night, after he’s sure his kid has fallen completely asleep, Eddie thanks God that Chris is a heavy sleeper, pulls on his exercise clothes and starts to run.

Before, he thought his demons only touched him in the middle of sleep, only dared to enter dreams. Now, as his feet pound on the exercise machine, he thinks now he’s having to run from them even when he’s fully awake, staring at nothing but air.

He keeps the windows shut, not wanting the light to touch him while he out-runs the dark.

“Let’s move!”

“We got one shot, get going! Move your ass!”

“Let’s go! Diaz, we need you over here!”

His feet slam harder against the belt as he pushes the buttons to increase the speed, higher and higher until he can focus on nothing but the burn in his legs and calves and thighs and the need to concentrate so he doesn’t slip off and slam himself into the wall behind him.

The whirr of the machine fills the living room until it’s like static in Eddie’s head, leaving no room for any memory to touch him.

When he finally slows, his legs feel like jelly and the floor feels like it’s rolling in waves underneath his feet as he stumbles off, but his shirt is drenched in sweat, his muscles burn and it’s still dark outside — enough for him to catch a couple hours of sleep.

So he strips his clothes off, showers off the sweat and climbs into bed, blacking out the minute his head hits the pillow.

For the first time since he left the 118, Eddie sleeps dreamlessly.

Sometimes, though, he runs long and hard enough that the light pushes past the curtains and onto the display pronouncing the alarming number of hours that he’s spent on the machine. His alarm ringing is the only thing that drags him out of it, and when he finally opens the curtains, sweat glistens on the frame and belt as distinctive proof of the demons chasing him to new ends.

He knows this is a destructive pattern. He knows that it means something significant for the nightmares to come back, for the insomnia to come back, but he pushes it down.

He knows he can’t cope with it like this, but God help him, but he can’t stop.

His new pattern becomes wake up, take Chris to school, go to work, go home, eat dinner, treadmill, try to sleep.

And repeat.

And...repeat.

The treadmill doesn’t always tire him out, so Eddie desperately casts his net for new hobbies.

There are benefits to this, Eddie finds — silver linings that he tracks in an attempt to keep him afloat, because he doesn't want to look at what it means for him to go down this rabbit hole.

He starts making a real breakfast for them every morning. Where he could only really manage cereal in the mornings, he can now get eggs, potatoes, sausages and a glass of juice in front of his son before school.

Chris looks at him warily the first day, but Eddie only grins at him, strategically hiding all the eggs he did burn while learning to make them perfectly in the bottom of the trash can.

He learns to cook better things, cook more things, learns how to fix the leaky faucet in the hallway bathroom, wipes the dust off the ceiling fans, manages to clear some of the clutter from the shelf in his living room, and sets out a bag of too-small donation clothes.

It’s productive, sure, but not in the way it needs to be, because by the end of all that, Eddie’s still no closer than getting himself to knock out for a few hours.

He’s a ghost in his own house, fixing little nitpicks everywhere, but refusing to look at the things in him that need to be looked at.

He gets more time with Christopher like this, at a job with set hours and very little leeway for overtime. Above all else, the biggest silver lining he has is that he’s the one who gets to drop Chris off at school every night. The only times Eddie stays at the call center past five are the days Buck’s off-shift and spending time with Chris, because those are overtime dollars he can’t let go to waste.

It’s one of those nights where his destructive pattern of letting the demons chase him is found out, two months after it all starts.

Eddie unlocks his door only to find Buck standing in the living room, staring at the photo of Eddie and Chris from the station all those years ago.

“How’d your night go?” he asks by way of greeting, setting the keys down. He’s expecting a half-quip about Eddie not having the right console for the game they play, or about the insane stories Buck shared with Chris, but when Buck doesn’t answer him, dread grows in Eddie’s gut. “Buck?”

“When were you going to tell me about the treadmill?” The other man’s voice is soft but when Buck turns to face him, his features are creased in something that looks bitter, that drips and sticks like ash in Eddie’s ears.

Buck steps forward, past the couch to look Eddie in the eye. “All of this is something, isn’t it. The changes around the house, the way you’re walking up earlier to make full breakfasts instead of just cereal in the morning. It’s not you just randomly deciding you want to focus on home décor and cooking skills, is it.”

He doesn't frame it as a question, which is good because Eddie doesn’t have an answer anyway.

Eddie stares at him, frozen in place with his bag strap cinched tight between his fingers.

He hadn’t intended for Buck to ever find out about the treadmill, or the demons that chase him through the night, or about any of this, really.

He should’ve known that the man would’ve found out anyway.

Buck takes his silence as its own answer as he huffs out a humorless laugh. He turns to walk down the hall, and it hits Eddie too late that he’s making a beeline to Eddie’s bedroom.

Eddie drops his bag and pushes behind him. “Buck, wait—”

It’s too late, because the door is already propped open, the only thing that’ll get him a few hours of sleep standing incriminatingly in the middle of the room.

He knows this isn’t about the damn treadmill. It’s about what the machine represents — what Eddie knows he can’t hide anymore.

“It’s the only thing that’ll get me to sleep,” he admits quietly, scrubbing a hand down his face as he looks away from him. He doesn’t mention that it doesn’t always work, but with the way Buck’s face falls and crumples, he hears it anyway.

“Treadmills only stay in one place, Eddie,” Buck says quietly. “One day, you won’t be able to outrun yourself.”

And the thing is…he knows that. He knows this isn’t healthy, but he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Yeah, you do,” Buck says, stepping into the room to pick up the business card laying on the nightstand. Frank’s name and credentials peer back at him when he hands it to Eddie, who’s still cursing himself for saying the sentiment out loud.

He’s been toying with the idea for days, ever since he found Frank’s card precariously jammed in the kitchen drawer. He doesn’t believe in signs, but he has to acknowledge the coincidence of finding it exactly when he needed it most.

Chris still saw Dr. Lim. Eddie just can’t make himself go see Frank.

“Eddie,” Buck whispers. “You’re not doing okay, and that’s okay. It’s okay for you to need help, too.”

He bites the inside of his cheek hard to try and stop the tears from instantly springing to his eyes as he stares down at Trauma Specialist underneath Frank’s name.

Briefly, he wonders if he should be a little ashamed at how quickly he gives in to the concern in Buck’s voice, but Eddie’s known that he needs to do this for weeks — years, really. It was just the push he needed.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, swiping at his eyes as he sucks in a breath. “Yeah, okay.”

It’s tense, the silence that stretches between them, an awkwardness between them that never used to be there before.

Before everything went to hell and dragged itself back.

“Fuck it,” Buck mutters, mostly to himself before he reaches for Eddie, dragging him into a hug like there haven’t been miles between them since Eddie got shot, and for a minute, everything is okay in the world. A sob climbs itself through Eddie’s throat, unbidden and unwanted but Eddie manages to swallow the harsh sound before Buck’s shirt can muffle it.

He closes his eyes and lets himself sink into the familiarity for a single minute before he sniffs and pulls away, avoiding his gaze.

He can feel Buck studying him and tries to imagine how he must look to the other man. This is the first time he’s been in his presence for longer than two minutes, and he knows that Buck’s cataloging Eddie the same way Eddie’s been cataloging Buck every time he sees him, taking stock of every bruise and injury as if he’d personally put it there.

He knows what Buck’s seeing. Sometimes, he’ll catch sight of his haggard, exhausted reflection in the matte black of his computer, or see his darkly-smudged eyes in the rearview mirror, or study his warbled expression in the silver surface of the call center elevator, and he’ll wonder exactly what road this is that life is leading him down.

Eddie doesn’t seek his reflection out anymore.

“Do you want me to stay tonight?” Buck offers quietly.

He wants to say yes. He wants to say yes, but stay forever but he can’t because Buck isn’t his to say it too.

But mostly, he doesn’t say it because he knows he’s not okay, and he refuses to drag Buck into that with him.

He swallows it all down as he shakes his head, stepping away. “No. No, thank you, I...I got this.”

The emotions that flicker over Buck’s expression are too quick for Eddie to pin down any one of them, but he nods curtly, his fingers reaching for Eddie. This time, they fall away before they can land on his skin and Eddie tries not to think about how that image seems eerily symbolic to the past few months.

He’s still standing in the silence of his home when the door clicks shut behind him. He stares at the card in his hand like it’ll catch on fire, the letters of Trauma Specialist jumping off the cardstock to mock him in belittling words that sound eerily similar to his parents.

He’s reached his breaking point — he knows it. After this, if he continues like this, there will be no coming back, and Eddie knows that this time, therapy has to be for the sake of himself.

That night, he runs an extra hour on the treadmill, pushing himself to a speed higher than any other night.

The next morning, Eddie calls and schedules an appointment with Frank.

He’s not done running, but he’s done letting the demons chase him.

This time, he’ll be the one chasing, and he’s not going to stop until he catches them all.

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