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#but the writing is basic enough to be read by teens

ysrjune · 1 day

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ok ur one of my favorite moots that post Anakin/hayden fics so i have a request 😛

i don’t remember if you write for irl hayden but if you don’t do dilf anakin (it isn’t smut)

basically dads best friend!Hayden/Anakin x bold (kind of grunge/slutty) reader

Hayden goes with reader to get a pricing.

(if you want it to be less fluffy with kinda smutty undertones you can do nip pricing’s but you could also do stomach 🤭)

basically readers dad allows it but dosen’t fully approve so he dosen’t go with her and reader needs comfort as she loves the look of piercings, but is TERRIFIED of needles.

Hayden/Anakin holds her hand and stuff and she makes funny comments like “i just want to look hot for the summer man why does this have to hurt so bad?!” or “do you think ill look sexy with these mr. Christensen/Skywalker?”

they like gaze into each others eyes and lowk have a cute moment as he comforts her (but if they are nip piercings it would be loving for another reason too iykwim!!!)

and if you do anakin because it would be modern maybe sam monroe (obviously not the character just the look/personality) could be him at lauren’s age so he would relate to her more and be more attracted to her. maybe even on the way to the piercer have Anakin show her his old school photos and all of his piercings and reader tell him she’d do him as a teen (she has no shame and we love that!)

sorry if this request makes you uncomfortable. I just had a daydream about this as i’m getting my stomach pierced soon and thought you were the best person to ask because I love your writing 🙏😛

“one of my fav moots” you will be receiving a big smooch 😆💋

Anakin held your hand while waiting for the piercing lady to enter the small room. “God, I wish there was a way to get his damn piercing without the needle.” A complaint fell from your lips as Anakin read something on his phone with his free hand.

“Aren't magnetic balls a thing? Or some people glue them, I hear.” He replied, still scrolling through whatever he was reading. “Duh, those are a thing, but they're so ugly and fake looking.” Anakin chuckled a little, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles.

“Guess you'll just have to deal with the needle then, sweetie.” He shrugged, finally looking at you. His gaze was soft and caring, but yet so sexy and attractive. “Do you think I'll look good with a belly piercing, Mr. Skywalker?” you bat your eyelashes at him.

“Yeah, I think so. Though, I'd think maybe an eyebrow or lip piercing would look better.” He says, looking all around your pretty face and eyes that were covered in dark makeup. “I remember when I was a teenager, I had a couple of piercings myself.”

“You're such a liar.” You rolled your eyes at him. “No, seriously. I have a couple of photos and the holes to prove it.” He pointed to the small, closed hole under his bottom lip, and then the one on his eyebrow.

“Holy shit, Ani! No way you were cool.” You laughed, still keeping your eyes on the hole in his lip. He quickly pulled up the photos for more proof, too. He showed you one with a cigarette in his hand with his eyeliner, piercings (not just on his face, but ears), and dyed hair.

“Wow, Ani. If you still looked like that, I'd definitely do you.” This made Anakin blush a little and furrow his eyebrows. “Yeah, okay, kiddo.” He says and uncomfortably shifts in his chair to hide his hardening dick.

Soon enough, the lady came in and did what was expected. Ani held your hand extra tight to comfort you. “God job, sweetie. Didn't cry like I expected you to.” He says after the lady left the room.

“Does it look good?” You look at your belly. “Looks super good, honey.” He kissed your cheek before heading to the car.

That night, he touched himself to the thought of you having your nipples pierced. How pretty they'd look bouncing up and down while you ride him. Maybe he'll day something about one of his ex girlfriends having nipple piercings and how he loved them so much.

He knew you liked him. He knew you'd do anything to make him happy even if you didn't notice how good he was at convincing you to do things.

—

WAS THIS GOOD? I FEEL LIKE IT SUCKED OMG 😭 LMK IF U WANT ANYTHING TO BE CHANGED!!

#hayden christensen #anakin imagine #anakin skywalker smut #rots anakin #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #dilf!anakin

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thebeautyofdisorder · 2 years

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Sigh. So I finally caved and started ACOTAR. Audiobook, I didn't have the time or really the dedication to try to read it properly.

It was... better than I thought it would be. Damnit. I almost gave up half way through, because it was grating on my nerves but I powered through and the third act was fucked up enough to hook me.

Does Feyre get more or less annoying? Because oi.

And I already know I prefer the spooky bastard, even if the growly one has his charms.

Lucian is highly underappreciated, though, and gets damseled for everyone else's bullshit far too often. Can he get a break, please?

#acotar #i don't get the obsession but I do get the interest #its quite good world and and character building #and it's definitely not ya #i get why it gets categorized that way but its frankly got game of thrones level smut and violence #i was pleasantly surprised #its not as detailed as more typically mature reads would be but its far from innocent and doesn't shy away from blood or trauma #but the writing is basic enough to be read by teens #can she focus on the big picture sometime though like wtf

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ayeforscotland · 3 months

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Trying to limit and monitor kids’ social media usage would make so many problems so much worse and I need people to think about it objectively and not take it into consideration just because the concept is a knee-jerk reaction from a grieving mother being exploited by everyone around her.

— Kids already lie about their age, so an age limit is already unenforceable unless you literally require legal ID, which is an incredible breach of privacy with even further safety risks.

— Vulnerable children including LGBTQ kids living with bigoted families would be put in real-life danger of abuse or homelessness if their families had a way of knowing when they’re seeking support.

— The internet and technology is a requirement to navigate the world around you at the most basic level. That is a fact and schools know it too. Limiting access to that in this day and age would be massively limiting one’s knowledge, safety and basic life skills, especially if their family is neglectful or abusive.

— What constitutes as social media cannot necessarily strictly be defined. Some people consider WhatsApp to be social media despite the fact it’s a texting app, and the people you communicate with there are presumably people you’ve spoken to before if you know their numbers. Kids need a way of communicating with people for both practical and safety reasons, and blanketing almost everything as ‘social media’ and limiting access to it inhibits that.

— If you put a ban on all ‘social media’ until the age of 16 and then suddenly allow access, what you end up with is a child who has zero knowledge or experience of something suddenly being thrown into a world where anything is possible. It’s like when teens are forbidden alcohol their whole lives and the day they turn 18 they go on a massive binge not knowing their limits and end up either sick or in the hospital. It’s a recipe for disaster. They NEED exposure so they can learn.

— Let’s be real, kids would find a way around a ban through VPNs or other means anyway. We all figured out how to dodge the website blockers at school when we were 12. I doubt this would be any different.

While the fact that one of the killers watched gore on the dark web is indeed concerning, I really feel the spotlight is being shone on entirely the wrong issue here. Their conversations about the murder were all on social media and provided significant proof for the case. What kids need isn’t for adults to try to control them and read everything into their lives, it’s for adults to communicate with them and make them feel comfortable enough to talk to them when they have a problem. And that’s ignoring the, you know, whole transphobia thing.

(Sorry to write a dissertation in your inbox but despite my deepest sympathies and compassion for Esther seeing people put any stock into her awful, awful idea when that’s so clearly not the problem does quite frustrate me and I need everyone to know just how illogical it is)

I don’t need to add anything to that besides saying this line of argument is very similar to the people who campaign for an internet where no one can be anonymous, it puts so many additional people at risk.

Thanks for taking the time to share!

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papergirllife · 10 months

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Johnny Suh

(aged up) Alpha Johnny x Omega Reader

Synopsis:

Falling for an older man is still considered acceptable in today’s society, but falling for someone who’s taken, by your own mother even, is never the cliche stories you commonly hear. You thought your little crush for your mother’s fiance was going to go away naturally, that they’ll get married and break your heart to pieces and you’d be able to move on, what you hadn’t expected was for them to break up and it was partially your fault. And when he moved away, you’d thought you'd never see him again, but your job brings you back to that sweet cinnamon scented alpha once again.

warnings: aboverse, daddy kink, breeding kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, heats, ruts, knotting, minor angst, the mother in this story is a narcissist, absent father, fainting (briefly).

DON’T LIKE, DON’T READ, JUST SCROLL, HATE COMMENTS AND ASKS WOULD BE DELETED AND BLOCKED.

wordcount: 11.4k

a/n: so i’m back, but not entirely, mental health is still bad, but um, really wanted to write this, so if this flops i’ll be deleting this and rewriting the story to fit someone else lol, okay, bye, enjoy the story. and this is based on the song cinnamon girl by lana del rey.

Growing up, there’s one thing about your life that has been a constant and that is uncertainty, all your life, instead of having a pair of parents that diligently try their best to pave a smooth road for your life ahead like most parents, they had chose to lay out eggshells instead, their behaviour had manifested a constant spike in your heartbeat whenever you make a mistake in life, similarly to the feeling of prickling your bare feet by accidentally stepping onto a cracked eggshell on the floor, that’s how you’ve always felt ever since you were a child, every step you take, a pinch here and there that’s bound to push you over the edge one day, and that day came sooner and far more unexpected than a thunderstorm.

That thunderstorm had costed your mother’s marriage, and she never fails to remind you, how your attempt of ending your life had driven your bipolar father to the brink of his sanity, blaming your mother for her inadequacy of being a parent while he excused himself so easily just because he has ‘longer hours’ in the office.

Your father didn’t even try to fight for parental rights, he merely signed you away to your miserable mother, and that broke something inside her.

She begins taking more care in her appearance and goes out of her way to meet new people, particularly alpha men, she was particular with traditional first gender stereotypes, it didn’t really bother you, the rancid scent of some alphas could be avoided as long as you were in your room.

Since you were growing into late teen hood, she only gives you the necessities, basic interactions, things weren’t getting better, but they weren’t getting worse, to you, that’s considered a win.

Things were looking bleak until your mom engaged an alpha with honey in his eyes.

Johnny Suh, a young man your mother had picked up from one of the many parties she had attended on behalf of work, a client of her company apparently, he lasted the longest compared to all the others, you thought he’d stay forever and become an addition to your broken family, until another storm brews right in front of your eyes.

That day you had been sick, your mother had to rush back from a date to take you to the clinic, Johnny, being the gentleman he is, accompanies her with you, you still remember that day as clear as crystal.

The nurse had complimented how pretty you were, and that you take after your mother, to which she was delighted of course, gushing that she gave you all the good genes, no one but this nurse thinks the two of you look alike, you have always shared more similarities with your asshole father, not enough to make you feel sickening to look in the mirror, but just enough to remind you that you’d always be associated to that asshole.

After a thorough consultation, the doctor says that you had a bad reaction to the new heat suppressants your mother had switched to for a lower price.

“You better not fail your next driving test the next time around, or else you wouldn’t be able to get yourself to the clinic for heaven’s sake, and why are you always so sensitive to medicine? Can’t you be normal for once? Why do you have to be a freak?” your mother rambled all the way to Johnny’s car.

You had kept your silence, you weren’t feeling well anyways, you don’t have any energy left to argue with her, but instead, someone speaks up for you.

“Hey, why are you so harsh on her?” Johnny asks, at first he dismissed your mother’s odd alter ego towards you as a culture difference, since his own parents have migrated to the states so many years, he had always been told parents elsewhere are harsher towards their kids, but this feels like a personal insult towards you, and he might be 10 years younger than your mother, but not to the point of having such different views on how to children should be treated.

“She’s always been such a handful, all my friends’ daughters are so much more mature than her, they help clean the house, cook, always have good grades, not a burden like you are!” your mother emphasises on the last part by craning her neck to look at you with her hideous eyes, she’s not ugly at all, maybe average if you’re being mean, but she is horrid in your eyes, which is why you never understood why Johnny, a successful man at the ripe age of 28 would ever settle for a single mother omega with the worst mood swings ever.

“Why are you speaking to your daughter like this? She’s your own flesh and blood, you never told me there was such a huge riff between the two of you,” Johnny says, exasperated, oh there’s so much he doesn’t know, this is merely the surface.

She mumbles something under her breath that you didn’t quite catch, not that you bother to listen, you just want to lock yourself up in the safety of your room.

After a week from that day, your mother comes home with a slam of the door as tears stream down her face.

“This is all your fault!” she screams with a weak shove of your shoulder before she, surprisingly, retreats to her room. Later you find out why, because of the absence of the 6 foot tall handsome man who hasn’t dropped by for dinner for days now.

You thought you’d never see him again until you see his car waiting for you one day after you finish your college entrance examination.

“Johnny?” you call out, the handsome man has grown out his hair now, a beautiful lock falls right above his right brow, giving him an even more mature look, you’d always thought he was baby faced for a 28 year old man, but now he finally looks his age, guess this what people call a ‘break up glow up’.

“Hey, just thought I’d drop by to say congratulations, and maybe buy you a meal, you must’ve worked really hard these past few months,” Johnny offers, and who are you to reject him when you’re sick of having the same food your mom cooks.

“Did you get back with my mother?” you ask when you settle down in a fancy restaurant, your uniform looks cheap against the pretty red velvet walls, you note, even the waiters had judged when you walked in.

“Is your mother here?” Johnny asks, looking up from the menu, seemingly having decided what he’s having because he’s flagging down a waiter.

Johnny orders for the both of you, you had only mentioned that you’ll probably try the pasta you want once, and he never asked you to repeat yourself nor asked you to state your order to the waiter yourself, but he waits to see if he got it right, or if you’d like to order more, to which you quickly shook your head no, scared that he just might order more. Now you know why your mother was so heartbroken, you’d cry if you lose an alpha this attentive too.

You always had an odd sense of comfort when Johnny’s around, his scent was never overbearing, he has never once bossed you or your mother around just because he’s an alpha, he has been so respectful towards you, unlike some of the creepy alphas your mother brought back.

Just being in his presence again simmers down your post exam anxiety and general anxiety, you didn’t know Johnny's departure had such an impact on you until seeing him again today, it’s like your omega feels at home again.

The two of you talked with a newfound freedom, away from your mother��s watchful eyes. She never likes it when her boyfriends give you more attention, she’s always seen you as her competition.

Johnny asks about your ideas on how your future might look while he updates you on how he took the leap to establish his own company with the support of his best friends that you heard him speak about to your mother.

But everything good comes to an end, and yours come in the form of your lunch with Johnny ending, but the big blow is what he tells you right after reaching your neighbourhood.

“My new office is in Seoul, I’ll be moving tomorrow,” Johnny suddenly confesses.

“What? You’re leaving? Again?” you ask, a lump building in your throat.

Johnny winces at the wording, he thinks you know the relationship was toxic, how he lets your mother have her way in everything, but you’re just 18, a young girl who’s hurt time after time.

“I’m sorry, this company…has been my dream, and your mother and I, we’d never get back together, I don’t think we were ever compatible, I only stayed because…, nevermind, here, this is for you,” Johnny says, opening the glove box in front of you, passing you a little cardholder wallet.

“My business card is there, it has my office address as well as my number, personal and office, there’s also some gift cards there, Jo Malone, Sephora, I know you love perfumes and make up, get yourself something nice, a small gift from me,” Johnny says.

You don’t know when you started tearing up, but you felt Johnny use the expensive material of his sleeve to wipe away your salty tears.

“It’s going to be okay, just one more year, and you’d be able to move away from your mother, one more year and you won’t be binded to her legally anymore,” Johnny reassures, but that’s not what you’re sad for, you’re sad that Johnny’s leaving again, and so far away from Busan too, there’s no way you’d be able to leave the state without your mother knowing.

“Does that mean I could come find you in a year’s time?” you sputter out, the words taste bitter on your tongue.

Johnny freezes in his spot, the feeling of being on the borderline, he’s an adult, and an alpha more so, it’s not appropriate for an omega this young to be staying with him, yes you’re legal in terms of age, but it feels wrong still, but Johnny looks at you, he really looks at you this time, and he realises how you’ve grown into a beautiful young woman, even with tear streaks and a sour pear scent that makes him miss the soft sweet scent of pears in spring, he still thinks you’re absolutely ethereal in every way.

“Okay, I’ll see you in a year’s time if you don’t change your mind,” Johnny says as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, he can’t have your pretty locks soaked in your own tears, seeing you cry and being the reason of your sadness already has his alpha howling in protest.

“Really?” you ask him once more, thinking you heard him wrongly, that your delusional mind had made things up for you.

“Yes, I promise.”

There’s so many things you want to say to him, but it’s better to keep it to yourself, you’ll just hurt yourself if you don’t.

So many things have changed since that fateful day, you no longer stay with your mother, instead, you’re staying with your rich best friend who has an apartment all to herself after her ex moved out.

You barely talk to your mother these days, merely giving an update or two for her every few weeks, at first she was ballistic when you said you were going to move out, but when you told her that Hyuna wasn’t charging you rent, she was ecstatic to help you move out of her humble abode.

You haven’t thought of looking for Johnny until you realise the modelling agency you’re working for expanded, and so now they’re planning on taking on bigger jobs by moving their HQ to Seoul, which means you need to pack up and find a place in a city you barely know.

“Still looking for somewhere to stay?” Hyuna asks, bringing over a mug of wine for you, she’s always been a day drinker, a habit she’s passed on to you.

“Yup,” you say after taking a sip, just what you needed, “thanks for this, it’ll be perfect for my nap when it hits,” you joke truthfully.

“You’re still having issues sleeping?” Hyuna asks, her brows furrowed in worry.

“It’s been a long time now, don’t act all surprised, it’s not going to go away,” you say, deciding to shut your laptop after bookmarking a few places, still a bit over budget, but maybe if you took on more jobs, you’d be able to make ends meet, and maybe no more indulging yourself in expensive food and groceries like you do now, hopefully you’d still have enough for the heating when days get colder.

“The cinnamon candles don’t work?” Hyuna asks, looking at the direction of your room, probably trying to catch a whiff of how strong the scent is.

“It helps, but it takes me forever to fall asleep, but at least I can sleep,” you say, recalling the gruelling times when you couldn’t sleep at all.

“If it’s this bad, it means what you had for him is more than a mere crush-

“He didn’t even say anything, it’s just me, Hyuna, stop giving me false hope, he only cared for me out of pity, we wouldn’t even have met if it wasn’t for my mom,” you defend yourself, it’s true, if he felt the same, he’d speak up, maybe called you or something, your mother probably gave him your number before, Johnny’s a straightforward man.

“Maybe he wasn’t sure of how he feels, how do you know he’s not suffering just like you are if you’re not willing to even give him a call, maybe you could stay with him for a few months before you secure your own place, just to confirm if what you’re feeling is truly just a fickle crush, please,” Hyuna pleads.

“I’ll think about it after my nap,” you say dismissively, leaving your bestie in the living room, she’s going to miss your stubborn ass when you’re gone, but you’ll probably be in better hands if you’re nearer to Johnny.

You don’t know how’d you get here, at Johnny’s doorstep of his big ass house in Gangnam, standing in between two expensive cars.

You had taken up Hyuna’s advice to contact your ‘almost stepfather’.

When you called him, he was surprised to say the least, he hadn't heard from you for three years, he thought you had moved on in life, leaving him as merely a closed chapter.

The phone call had been brief, just a quick congratulations and brief updates before Johnny had to dash off to attend a meeting.

Needless to say, Johnny has been excited for your arrival, he hasn’t stopped wondering how you were since the day he left Busan, he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s missed caring for you while he was with your mother, but ever since that day, he’s had this emptiness in his chest, and just by knowing he’s seeing you soon has relieved this sense of emptiness that was once a hole in his chest.

You finally plucked up the courage to ring the doorbell, quickly stepping aside when you caught whiff of the familiar scent of cinnamon.

Before you know it, you’re being greeted by the familiar alpha, he’s buffed up since the last time you’ve seen, time isn’t an issue for Johnny when he ages like fine wine.

“Hey, come on in,” Johnny says after getting over the initial shock of how much you’ve grown, instead of the little girl that her mother picks fights with, now the little girl standing before him has grown into a beautiful young lady.

Johnny has a new problem now that the emptiness is gone, and it comes in the form of that emptiness being overfilled.

Your scent, it’s different from how he remembered it to be, yes it’s still has the major notes of pear, but he remembers picking it up notes of your mother’s rose scent, which isn’t surprising since sometimes a mother’s scent lingers onto their children, especially if they’re both omegas, but now that you haven’t lived with your mother for so long, he realised that the scent lingered due to proximity, not biology, and it has him reeling.

He thought his desire to care for you is due to the fact that he once had love for your mother, but now that he’s living with you, he realises that the scent of ripe pears was also lingering on your mother just as her scent lingered on you, and now he’s questioning whether he was initially attracted to your mother because of her own scent or the soft but empowering scent of pears.

“Johnny?”

“Yes?” Fuck, he should stop having these stupid questions filling his mind, he isn’t attracted to you, maybe he should get laid soon, maybe it’s purely an instinct thing.

“I was asking you if you could turn up the heating a bit? My body isn’t as warm as an alpha’s” you remind him, but just then a sweater on the sofa catches your attention, “Oh wait, I could just borrow this, you don’t mind right? If not I’ll head up to unpack,” you say, to which Johnny nods, he forgot to even ask you if you wanted to eat anything after your long journey.

The sight of you drowning in his clothes, god, you’re going to be the death of him.

A few days later, after having gotten used to your new living environment, and adjusted to your newfound proper sleeping schedule, to Hyuna’s happiness and her constant ‘I told you sos’, you decided to cook Johnny dinner as the many forms of 'thank yous’ you’ll be giving him.

You decided to cook him a simple pasta to start off, deciding to make your own pesto sauce from scratch, which is why the two of you are spending your Sunday morning at a supermarket, browsing through the many aisles after deciding to splurge on a block of aged parmesan cheese.

You walk towards a pile of fresh basil, but frown when you see the ‘organic’ tag, these are always unnecessarily expensive, so you put the pack of basil down even though the organic ones look a lot fresher.

“Why are you putting them down? They’re a lot fresher than the brand you’re looking at now,” Johnny says before picking up the basil you had discarded.

“Oh, just thought those were a bit too pricey,” you say offhandedly.

“I’m paying, no worries, you don’t have to fret over these miniscule things when you’re with me,” Johnny says with a comforting pat on your head, god, if only he knows what those words do to you, you think to yourself before willing your emotions to be stable, he can’t pick up the spike in your scent, or he’d think you’re a freak.

“But I’m buying today, remember?” you say reminding Johnny of your promise of thanking him for his generosity of letting you stay in his home.

“You said you’d cook as a form of thank you, not buying the groceries and cook,” Johnny says before he places the pack of basil in the cart, “you don’t have to worry about price tags when you’re with me,” Johnny promises before walking ahead, looking back to see you following him with a huff, not used to walking about with someone with such long legs.

“Johnny? Where’s the blender you used this morning for your breakfast shake?” you ask, looking around the expanse of his large kitchen.

“It’s in the third upper shelf from the left,” he says from the couch, apparently he’s checking his emails despite saying he ended work at 6 not too long ago.

You shout out a quick thank you before you follow his directions, opening the cabinet door, you’re quick to recognise the device, standing on your tippy toes to retrieve the blender, you’re surprised by how heavy it is, and when you felt a slight wobble, you suddenly felt a warmth body pressed up behind you as sturdy hands came up to hold onto the blender supporting your smaller hand.

“Careful, this thing’s heavy at the top too, I don’t know why the cover’s so thick,” Johnny jokes as he pulls away with the blender in hand, immediately setting it up for you to use.

“Thanks, Johnny,” you say, glad that he was there, or you’d be cleaning up broken glass now.

“No problem, let me know if you need anything else from the upper cabinets,” Johnny says, smiling as he ruffles your hair before walking away to let you cook, leaving you with butterflies in your tummy.

“Does it taste good?” you ask after tasting a forkful of pesto pasta, you think it’s okay, maybe a little over for the cheese, but Johnny loves cheese, so you purposely incorporated more cheese.

“Tastes great, you’re really good at this, where did you learn all this from?” Johnny asks with a surprised but satisfied smile on his face, he knows you didn’t learn this from your mother, she was a more eastern food type of person.

“Just picked it up from Youtube shorts, those pasta videos are all over my explore page,” you explain with a bashful smile as you try to keep your emotions in check, you’ll die from embarrassment if he picks up your scent getting sweeter.

“Just from a quick short clip? What a smart girl you are,” Johnny compliments, he couldn’t help it, your mother had always complained about you being dumb and clumsy, always never getting top grades, but here you are, learning a quick recipe from a 30 second clip.

Your breath gets caught at the compliment, fuck, your scent definitely changed, you can feel the fuzzy feeling in your tummy again.

“It’s nothing complicated, really, it’s just a simple recipe, it’s no biggie,” you deflect, not used to being complimented this way.

“No, none of that down playing shit, take the compliment as it is, you watched a short clip of a recipe and you recreated it, that’s an achievement,” Johnny says firmly, but with no ill intent, he genuinely doesn’t want you to put yourself down anymore, he knows your mother had conditioned you to look at yourself in a shitty manner, but he’s going to change that.

You nod, mumbling another quick thank you before you go back to eating, feeling the heat behind your ears still.

Johnny isn’t dumb, he picked up on your spike in scent, and the way you look at him, he just wants to stare back into those pretty eyes of yours when he feels them trained on him.

At first it was tolerable, but as the days go by and the weather gets warmer, he sees you walking the house in nothing but shorts and a tee, and he swears you’re not wearing a bra underneath if he looks a bit longer.

Johnny is now out for a long awaited boys’ night with Yuta and Mark at Yuta’s bachelor pad.

“I thought the biggest concern would be that you can’t bring back hot omegas to your place, but you actually have a hot omega in your house, and you’re not going to do anything?” Yuta asked in disbelief.

Fuck, Johnny shouldn’t have shown them your socials, now they’re spewing bullshit instead of helping him.

“Dude, that’s his step daughter, it feels so weird,” Mark says with a huge side eye towards Yuta, which was rather common, since Yuta is the alpha of every omega’s nightmare, unless they’re into freaky shit that is.

“Thank you, Mark, finally someone who sees the logic in this situation,” Johnny said, his tone convincing, but not convincing enough to forget about the way your shorts fit around your bubble butt.

“Johnny didn’t even marry that bitch, and I know you’re a beta, Mark, but can’t you pick up how sweet she is just from Johnny’s clothes, look, man, if you’re not gonna make a move to tap that, I’ll gladly-

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Johnny said with a growl.

Yuta holds his hands up defensively, a smug expression on his face.

“No matter how much you lie to yourself, your alpha wants her, and recognises the connection the two of you share, you can't run away from that, and it's not like you can kick her out now that you offered to let her stay long term," Yuta deduced with a tilt of his head, daring Johnny to come up with a logical retort.

But the tallest amongst them goes quiet, mulling over his choices.

"Even if it's not Yuta hyung, some other alpha's going to be interested in her some day, hyung," Mark reminds Johnny, "and would you be able to stand aside and let someone love her instead of you?"

Johnny's never thought of it that way, in some twisted way, he had always thought you were his little girl, too young to be courted by alphas, but in reality, you're a grown woman now, even if he thinks he's too old for you, other alphas his age aren't going to think that, maybe not even you, you probably see Johnny less of a father figure than what he assumed.

"He's finally using that brain of his," Yuta says on the side to Mark, the two conversing among themselves while they let their friend gather his thoughts.

"How about this," Mark suddenly speaks up, "you could spend some time away from her to clear your mind, if you really miss her during your time away from each other…then you have your answer, dude," Mark suggests, looking at Yuta for affirmation.

"I mean that could work," Yuta says uncertainly, it probably is going to work, although with added risks that he won't be mentioning, he doesn't need Johnny's angry side out with a few drinks in.

"What am I going to say? Where am I going to stay?" Johnny asks, still doubting that this is a good idea, would you be fine with staying all by yourself? You haven't done that before, he thinks, but on the other hand, your mother was very much an absent parent.

"You could crash at my place, man, what could go wrong? I'll clean up the guest room for you and it'll be just like home," Mark suggests, immediately going to his phone to make a list of things to buy, like toilet paper and booze, he misses having sleepovers with his bro, and this is the perfect opportunity to make up for loss time.

"I'm leaving for a month for a business trip," Johnny tells you in the midst of having dinner together at this Japanese restaurant you had suggested, the fresh prawn tempura doesn't taste as nice anymore, now that he's bringing this up.

"Oh, that's abrupt, where to?" you ask, hoping you don't look visibly upset, but Johnny could tell from your crestfallen eyes, he could feel his own alpha struggling to take over and comfort you, yeah, he really needs time away from you if his alpha is acting this way.

"Back to Busan, my business partners are debating on opening a headquarters there, just to make things easier on the management and shipping side of things," Johnny lies, he already has a HQ in Busan, but he doesn't oversee it, god forbid he runs into your mother after everything.

"Oh, okay, do you need me to do anything with the house while you're gone other than watering the plants?" you ask, taking a sip of your green tea to swallow down your nerves, what if he sees her again?

"No, just be there to look over the weekly maids and everything would be fine," Johnny says with a sense of finality, for him, not you, because after telling you, there's no backing out, he's going to go through this like the man he is.

Everything was fine until it wasn't, and it started off with an ache in his head, it wasn't extremely painful, but it was consistent enough for him to down an advil every 12 hours.

He'd been drowning himself in work and the gym and brushed it off as a sign of fatigue, but when the headache shows no sign of fading even on a long weekend, he starts to worry, and then Mark drops another bomb on him.

"Dude, you’re starting to smell different, is your rut starting soon?"

Johnny freezes up from his position on the couch, the morning news talking about some light earthquake that happened last night, usually he'd be very focused on news like this, but his mind is now blank.

"Dude you alright? That headache you keep talking about, it's probably your rut-

"But it can't be, my rut isn't due for another 2 months," Johnny says in disbelief, quickly checking his calendar, just to double check.

"I don't know, man, but that's how you smelled like when you start your pre rut symptoms, maybe go check it out at the doctor's?" Mark suggests, stealing the bag of chips Johnny opened on the coffee table, happily munching away while his friend quickly books a doctor's appointment.

It's probably nothing, Johnny assures himself, he's been eating well, resting well, it's probably just a flu or something, he brushes off.

"Mr Suh, I fear that there are a few questions I need to ask you in regards to your condition," Doctor Park asks, his face a bit grim, if Johnny's getting some death disease then he's booking a flight to see the aurora lights, stat, there's no way he's going down without doing all the wild shit on his bucket list.

"Am I dying, doc?" Johnny asks, preparing himself for the worst, maybe stage 4 cancer, maybe some incurable shit that's passed down from the family that miraculously skipped his grandparents and parents.

"No, Mr Suh, I'm afraid you had unknowingly imprinted on someone, which is why I'm going to ask you now, are you seeing someone at the moment?" Doctor Park asks.

"No, not at all," Johnny replies, a half truth, since you're on his mind all the time.

"Then are you perhaps interested in someone? And you see that someone quite often?" the doctor asks, sceptical that an alpha this attractive is single, he could hear the nurses gushing about his patient when he walked in, even if he was blind he'd know this young man is considered attractive.

"Well, there is someone I'm somewhat attracted to, but I don't think to the point where I'd unknowingly imprint on them? And what does this have to do with my upcoming rut?" Johnny asks, still in denial that he actually imprinted on you, maybe the doctor just misdiagnosed him.

"Based on the information you've given me, you're having constant headaches, no appetite, and an upcoming early rut? Those are all symptoms of mate withdrawal, or in your case, potential mate withdrawal," Doctor Park says with a slight judgement in his voice.

"Is this…permanent?" Johnny asks, he's never been scared of things, but right now, he feels like he's a kid on a roller coaster again.

"There's a procedure to remove the imprint, however it'll be very painful, and I suggest you quickly check on the person you imprinted on, they might be having these symptoms as well, however usually the one that imprints feels it first, so you still have some time to figure things out, now excuse me while I go sort of your medication," the doctor says before leaving Johnny in the room alone.

Johnny quickly makes a quick search on where to get imprint removal in the country, just in case, and he curses when he sees the many warnings and symptoms of the removal treatment.

Doctor Park comes back in with a bag of medication, he pulls them out one by one.

"The violet pills are to numb the imprint in general, blue for your headaches, twice a day, green for your appetite loss, and red is to defer your rut if you wish to do so, however I don't suggest you taking too many of these as it worsens the effects of your actual rut when the medication can no longer withstand your rut hormones, take all of these after meals, and get sufficient rest, and please think this through as soon as possible," Doctor Park says before dismissing him for his next patient.

"So… what did the doctor say, man, you don't look too happy, but at least you look like you got more life in your face now," Mark says, gesturing at Johnny's face that is now less pale than when he left this morning.

"Yeah, I took some medicine, that's why, and I also found out that I imprinted on her," Johnny spilled, which earned the biggest and fruitiest gasps that he only hears from his beta friend.

"I'm sorry? Imprinted? Like for real dude? How did that happen?" Mark was in shock, but he was also curious, he's heard of imprints, but they rarely happen, especially with the dating culture nowadays.

"Not sure, the only good news is that I'm the one that imprinted on her, so I still have some time to think this through," Johnny says, just a heads up to Mark that he won't be rushing to pack his bags and move out of his home.

"Wouldn't she be affected also? And, what's there to think through? You wanna get it removed? That shit stings like a bitch from what I heard, even if you're willing to remove the imprint, there's no telling she would, and what if she falls sick while you're here-

"Stop, I just need a few more days, then I'll be out of your hair," Johnny says dismissively, heading back to his room for some peace of mind.

"Should we update Yuta on this?"

"Suit yourself, I won't change my mind regardless," Johnny says before shutting his door, ready for a long night's sleep.

Johnny knows you're fine, he's been staying up to date with you by asking you to water his plants everyday, today he even went as far as asking about your personal health, and true to the doctor's words, you haven't been feeling any withdrawal symptoms yet, and because of this, Johnny’s glad he bit the bullet and went for the check up early.

Anxious, that's what Johnny felt the last few days, the dismissive front he had masked on days ago now crumbling as he tossed and turned in his bed.

Johnny had felt tired after work today, which was odd, because he had purposely made himself a coffee before he left work to go to his scheduled workout at the gym, however, he had felt drained once he left the parking bay, which is why he ate a quick dinner of cup noodles and slept.

He had slept peacefully the first two hours, but after he woke up to go to the bathroom, sleep just couldn't seem to come back to him.

The sleep leaves Johnny as the prickling in his head grows, but he's taken his pills, why is he still reacting to the withdrawal symptoms?

Then he feels it, that sinking feeling in his stomach, he immediately hops out of bed, grabbing his wallet and car keys before dashing out of the door, a confused Mark who was watching a basketball game jolts at the harsh opening of his bedroom door.

"What's the problem, man? It's midnight, where are you going?" Mark asks, but nonetheless, he turns off the telly, following behind Johnny, he's never seen Johnny this anxious, he's not gonna leave him be at a time like this.

"I think something happened at home, but I don't know what, I need to check up on her," Johnny replies as he frantically watches the panel counting down to the car park levels.

"I'll go with you, it's late and if you need help, I'll be there," Mark offers, not questioning how true Johnny's hunch is.

It was quiet when he stepped into his home, but that wasn't out of the ordinary for you, you're not the type to stay up watching TV, but the weird thing is that there wasn't a single light on in the living area, you'd always leave a light on at night.

Then Johnny noticed how faint your scent was, you didn't tell him you'd be staying anywhere else tonight, but it smells like you haven't been here for half a day at least.

Johnny quickly traces your scent to your room, he opens the door, and the sight of you lying on the desk with your head down sends a chill down his spine, yes you might have fallen asleep, but you've told him multiple times that you can only sleep on a bed.

So he tries to shake you awake, but to no avail.

Mark was calling the ambulance before Johnny even asked him to, an unconscious omega is nothing to joke about.

Then everything was a blur, Mark drove Johnny's car while he sat in the ambulance with you, holding onto your hand as the medics asked him basic questions.

Johnny met up with Mark in the emergency area where he was ushered beyond the curtains due to your privacy.

"What did the doctor say?"

"Her life isn't in any danger, but they need to run more tests to confirm that it is imprint withdrawal symptoms," Johnny says, still focused on where you were wheeled in.

Then the doctor comes out, a stoic expression on his face.

"As you had predicted, Mr Suh, she is indeed going through withdrawal symptoms, so she's going to be hooked onto some drips and be given some medicine, nothing to worry about, however, please step up as a mate and actually be there for her," the doctor says with a slight edge to his tone.

"Yes, doctor," Johnny said, scratching the back of his head, embarrassed that as a man in his thirties is still struggling with professing his feelings.

Johnny watches your pale face, he did this, he’s to blame.

“Mr Suh, I’m sorry, but visiting hours are going to end soon,” the doctor informs.

“I wish to stay overnight to look after her,” Johnny says, as he texts Mark to find your essentials, thick sweaters and sweatpants, any skincare you have laying around.

“My apologies, Mr Suh, but you’re only eligible to sleepover if you book the VIP room where a proper bed is prepared for you, it’s company policy,” of course they got this greedy policy.

“Just charge it on my tab, get her the VIP room, immediately,” Johnny says, standing up from the chair he’d thought he’d be hunched over sleeping in.

“Gladly, Mr Suh, Nurse Park, please add Mr Suh into the overnight list and fetch your team to have the patient shifted.”

Johnny sighs as he follows you, keeping a keen eye when the team of nurses wheel you to your new room.

Marks drop by your things and he gets to work, cleaning your face with a towel and using the products that he recognises its uses of, he’s not a pro, but he does have a skincare routine himself too. Then, he tucks you in bed, pulling the blanket as high as your chin, knowing that you get cold easily.

Then Johnny slips off into slumber on the bed next to yours, fatigue consuming him after the stressful hour he had, but most importantly, sleep came to him because you’re finally in his presence again.

The first thing that you saw was how obnoxiously white the ceiling was, you’re quite fucking sure you had told Johnny to help you colour the ceiling black ages ago when you first moved in, wait, what happened to the silk sheets Johnny had splurged on you? Why are the sheets so rough against your skin?

You jolted up when you felt the tug of something connected to your arm, your eyes going as wide as saucers when you see that you’re currently in a hospital room, at first you thought you were kidnapped for your organs or whatever, until your nose picked up on the familiar sweet scent of cinnamon, you averted your gaze to the bed beside yours, seeing the view of Johnny’s back.

You carefully walked to him, cursing silently at the IV drip attached to you.

“Johnny,” you called to him, shaking him slightly, his contracting muscles at his shoulders alerting you that he’s waking up.

“Sweetheart? Why are you up? Let me get the doctor,” Johnny says urgently, scrambling up from bed.

“Wait, Johnny, why am I in the hospital? How did I end up here?” you ask, seeking answers in those panic stricken honey brown eyes that usually exude confidence.

“I…,” Johnny looks so lost at words at that moment, his entire confident businessman front is nowhere to be seen, he shakes his head, seemingly trying to get his composure together.

“It’s okay, you can take your time,” you reassure, sitting down beside him on the squeaky bed, an encouraging smile on your lips.

“I imprinted on you and didn’t know what to do, so I lied about going on a business trip to sort out my thoughts, I didn’t know you’d be affected by the withdrawal symptoms so quickly, I shouldn’t have trusted the doctor’s prediction, I should’ve consulted you, I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I put your life in danger even though I promised you I’d do anything to protect you,” Johnny confesses, his shoulders sagging after he’s spilled the entire story, his chest heaving as he struggles not to let his tears fall, he had put you in danger, he doesn’t deserve to be your alpha, he should’ve signed up for the imprint removal as soon as possible back then.

“Hey, Johnny, it’s alright, we all need time to think things through, I’m alive, I might’ve done the same in your footsteps, so don’t beat yourself over it,” you say, mind drifting to all the times you had felt very tired or had zero appetite for no particular reason, glad that you finally found the source of all your problems, all because of this cute alpha in front of you whose scent is so sour,

“If it makes you feel any better, I had the ulterior motive of wanting us to become something more too, when you were away, I thought you’d left me alone for good, so please don't even think about removing our imprint, please,” you plead, you sound a bit pathetic, if you’re honest, begging for a man to stay, but you don’t want his heart constantly out the door while his body hangs around, you went through that with your mother, you don’t want to go through that with Johnny as well, and you think Johnny understands what you mean too, because he releases calming pheromones, pulling you into his embrace.

“I’m not going anywhere you don’t want me to be, sweetheart, never,” Johnny promises you.

You bury yourself impossibly closer, but a crackling sound in his pocket pulls you out of your moment with Johnny.

“What’s that?” you ask, looking at Johnny for answers, watching him dig through his pocket, a packet of medicine is brought out.

“I had to take them while I was away from you, to deal with the side effects of imprint withdrawal from you,” Johnny explains.

“You won’t be needing them anymore then,” you say, ready to go home with your alpha.

Your relationship with Johnny has progressed smoothly, albeit rather slow, what you appreciate though, is that Johnny is a traditional man, going through the process of courting you, buying you flowers whenever he needs to leave for the office, cooking you food, buying you gifts once in a while, from simple things like a box of macarons to expensive jewellery.

What you didn’t expect was to find another package of medicine, when you decided to put his coat into the dryer, a packet of red pills that you recognised from a month ago.

“Johnny!” you called out to the alpha sitting on the couch, the evening news on.

“Why are you still taking these?” you ask, holding up the packet of visible red pills in your hand.

Conflict draws upon Johnny’s face, a frown between the creases of his brows.

“I didn’t want to let you know, but my rut is coming soon, so I’ve been delaying it as long as I can, I didn’t know if you’d like to, or if you’re ready for it, I’m actually prepared to spend it alone, I just didn’t know how to tell you-

“I’d love to spend your rut with you, so you won’t be needing these anymore,” you say, dumping the pills into a nearby trash bin,

“No! Wait-

“Taking suppressants are bad for you, Johnny-

“But you might not be ready, have you ever spent a rut with an alpha?” Johnny asks, but his wolf side is gnawing at his chest at the thought of its omega being with another alpha.

“I haven’t, but my heat is approaching too, and I don’t wish to spend it locked in my room anymore,” you cringe thinking about how your mother had warned you when you first presented that you should never ever sleep with anyone until you’re legally binded to one another, and that you should just suffer through your heats like a ‘righteous’ omega.

“Your heat is approaching soon too? Do you want to spend it at home or would you want us to go to heat hotels?” Johnny asks, but all you could focus on was the wording ‘us’.

“At home would be great, I want to nest a bit longer after my heat breaks,” you explain.

“Okay, we’ll go through this together,” your alpha reassures you.

The sexual tension between the two of you was so thick that a knife would've sliced through it, your approaching heat meant that your body temperature was rising steadily, that meant you had switched out your comfy sweat sets for cropped tees and cute house shorts, and the new expanse of exposed skin has Johnny struggling to concentrate on his work whenever he takes his work to the living room for a change of environment.

“Should he engage with you before your heat hits or should he wait and continue earning your validation?

You probably don’t have any extreme standards towards Johnny, but he has expectations for himself, like just the other day, he took you to a Japanese omakase, it was expensive, but your fascination towards the chef’s skill was worth every penny.

Other than that, he’s bought you flowers almost everyday, Mark had called him old schooled, courting you like what an alpha would do back in the 70s.

Johnny doesn’t really see this as a form of courting, he’s only giving you what you weren’t allowed to access in life, she was a selfish woman, she’d spent good money on a car before spending money on your needs. He recalls how you used to eat more on days where Johnny took both you and your mother out for dates, when he had asked you back then when your mother had walked away to the loo, that you don’t usually get to eat food this good, or this plenty when it was only the two of you.

Johnny curses to himself when he thinks of it, he should’ve realised this sooner, how your mother was treating you with such blatant dislike, he thought your relationship was rocky, he hadn’t known or expected that you were abused and neglected by her all along.

“What’s with the frown on your face, love?” you ask when you came round after fetching yourself a glass of water, taking a seat next to the warm alpha, you’re rather warm these days, which is why you’ve been layering less, so that you could still cuddle Johnny comfortably.

“Nothing, was wondering where you were at,” Johnny says, he doesn’t want to bring it up, you always have melancholy swimming in your eyes whenever he mentions your excuse of a mother, it’s better to not mention the past now that you’re having a good day.

“Corny alpha,” you tease, snuggling to his side, purring when his scent begins to envelope the two of you, you had specifically told Johnny that the scent of cinnamon calms you down, that you love smelling like him, consenting yourself to be scented by him at any opportunity.

“It’s work, isn’t it? Let’s take a break, how about a nap?” you suggest with an excited smile, you love being cuddled to sleep, his scent is a remedy for your insomnia.

“You should’ve become a negotiator,” Johnny says as he lifts you up in his arms, earning a squeal from you.

“I could’ve walked myself, you know,” you say breathlessly in between giggles, being carried by Johnny always makes you giddy, like you were a child all over again.

“What’s the fun in that?” Johnny retorts as he lays you down gently on his bed, and instantly his arms come circling your waist once more, Johnny can’t describe it, but whenever he pulls you into his embrace, his alpha feels like it’s coming home, having memorised your every touch, and when your smile falls a little, his alpha is clawing at his chest to prod why.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Johnny asks, his hand reaching up to cradle your cheek.

“Can I ask you something Johnny?” that question worries Johnny, but he nods regardless, he promised to himself he’d face whatever problems the two of you may come across.

“What did you see in her back then? And what do you see in me? I don’t look anything like her,” you add on, choosing to be honest with him with your insecurities, your physical features have always taken after your father, or your male producer, since that’s all he’s done for you.

Johnny stills, he didn’t expect you to ask anything like that, and he sighs, knowing that he’d have to come clean to you sooner or later.

“I was attracted to the faint scent of pears mixed with roses when I first bumped into your mother, it was so calming to me, and at that time I guess I was young, and I wanted someone who was serious with me I guess, and maybe partly because it was kinda cool, bragging to my friends that I bagged myself a milf, it was just lots of bad decisions, really, especially when I realised that the scent I found comforting didn’t even belong to the person I was seeing, and I never thought you looked like your mother, she is her own beauty, and you are your own,” Johnny confesses and reassures, unknowingly, he’s breathing in your scent now, to calm his nerves.

“All of us make mistakes, Johnny, I’m just glad you don’t see me as an extension of her, that worried me the most to be honest,” you say truthfully, “that was my biggest worry.”

“You have nothing to worry about, if you do, that means I’m fucking something up,” Johnny jokes, but with a full sense of seriousness to it, and he looks into your eyes, trying his best to convey the message that this is serious, that you’re everything to him.

“Stop looking at me like that, go to sleep, you need it,” you say, laying your head on Johnny’s pillow and his shoulder, the support your neck needed after a day of editing videos.

“I think you needed this nap more than me,” Johnny notes with a teasing tone, but nonetheless, does as you’re told, closing his eyes to drift off to peaceful slumber with you.

When Johnny wakes up, he feels your body next to his, impossibly close, and also alarmingly hot, he jerks awake, seeing your forehead beaded with sweat, immediately he knew your heat has approached, or is coming soon, he could also feel his rut arriving, having triggered by your heat, he concludes when he feels the prickly feeling he gets at the back of his neck, a sign of his upcoming rut.

Should he wake you up? You never enjoy being woken up for no reason, but he could smell your scent sweeten, meaning that you’re probably getting wet by whatever dream you’re having.

Johnny made up his mind to wake you up at half past six, then you’d at least have two hours of sleep, for now, he’s going to make some porridge in his rice cooker, so you’d have some light food to have if your heat is put on a pause, Johnny’s never been so glad for having a stocked up fridge more than now, he has to move quick, he doesn’t want you, or more so, your omega in distress if you find him gone from the bed.

Johnny finishes up the last step of his mother’s old recipe before he dashes back into his room, you were still sleeping, rolling around in the pile of clothes Johnny had placed surrounding you, a makeshift nest ro help you sleep better, and it worked, seeing how you’re sweating a bit less, your face a bit less tensed.

Johnny looks at the time on the clock, you’ve been sleeping for almost three hours now, it’s time to wake you up if he wants to make it on time for dinner to be done.

“Hey, baby, time to wake up, you’ve been sleeping for a long time amd, don’t panic, but I think your heat is here, do you still want me around? If not I could probably look for a heat hotel for myself,” Johnny reassures, even though you’ve told him many times that you’re perfectly fine with spending your heat and rut together.

“I wouldn’t want to spend it any other way, Johnny,” you say with utmost confidence, knowing that if you didn’t Johnny’s going to overthink himself not to.

“Okay,” Johnny replied with a shaky breath, he’s never been nervous to sleep with an omega, but this is you, the person that matters most in his life, it’s expected of him to be on his nerves.

Although without mark, you could feel how nervous Johnny is through his scent, the sweet cinnamon having a twinge of sour, any other alpha would’ve lost control at this point, but Johnny hasn’t even complained about his awful blue balls even once, and is instead contributing to his own pain, and so you decide to help him out, or you’d be lying in your own puddle of arousal and still you wouldn’t have came even once.

“Tell me what you want to do with me,” you suggest before you seal your lips with his, in hopes that it’d motivate him to be more expressive with you, that if you can’t lead Johnny himself to make a move on you, that Johnny’s alpha would.

Instantly, Johnny’s hands held onto your hips possessively, his face nuzzles into your neck, his tongue flicking dangerously at the spot which might bind you closer than the imprint, but you expose your neck still, your omega doing the thinking for you in this haze of lust your body is driven to.

When he brushes his teeth against your sliver of neck, you instantly feel a new flood of arousal, your scent now heavily dousing the air Johnny breathes in.

Johnny curses, and you know why, you could feel his large cock twitching in his pants, the tip grinding against your puffy clit through the many layers of clothing, the rough material encouraging you to swivel your hips faster, your mind in a frenzy to seek more pleasure, but Johnny ceases all your movements with his strong hands.

“You asked me what I wanted to do with you,” Johnny says before his hands pry your clothed cheeks apart, dropping his head to your shoulder before he inhales deeply, almost growling at the sweet spike of your scent, “I want a taste, sweetheart, could you give me that?” Johnny asks after pulling away, his eyes hooded, a red hue painted on his honey brown eyes.

“Okay-y,” you say shakily, preparing to hop off of your alpha, but Johnny ceases your movements once more, causing you to whine, your omega disliking the fact that you’re getting denied from your sweet pleasure.

“I want you to ride my face, baby,” Johnny demands, pushing you upwards his body, getting you to move as you quickly nod your head, one of your oldest fantasies of Johnny coming true right now.

Johnny helps you remove your pants and underwear, his eyes zoning in on your slicked up pussy.

“Beautiful, so fucking pretty, and all mine,” Johnny admires aloud before he jerks your body downwards, attaching his tongue to your cunt, lapping away like some mutt, his tongue greedily catches all your sweet juices before he thrusts his tongue inside your core, groaning at the way your warm velvet walls cocoon around his tongue, his mind reeling at the thought of having his cock deep inside you, how tight you’d feel around him.

Johnny’s pace is too fast, he has you grabbing the headboard, toes clenched as you whimper at the feeling of his flexible tongue and sharp nose digging at your clit when he started moving your hips for you, you’re most certainly fucking his face now, and when you thought things couldn’t feel any better, Johnny exchanges his tongue with three of his fingers and he traps your clit in between his lips, sucking hard, he had feared his jaw would really go slack if he keeps up with the strenuous routine for too long.

However, the added thickness and length quickly has you screaming, the tips of his fingers finally reaching your sensitive spot, and so you fall apart, screaming.

“Fuck, so good, daddy,” you say as you weakly grind against Johnny’s face, not registering the fact that the man under you had frozen up, but he lets you continue nonetheless, savouring your sweet release on his taste buds.

When you’re finally done riding out your high, Johnny gently flips you to his spot, now he’s hovering over you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I didn’t expect you to spill that dirty little secret to daddy this soon, my sweetheart,” Johnny says as he brushes your hair out of your face, admiring your flushed face.

Your heart drops at Johnny’s words, cursing at your lack of clarity whilst you're entrapped in this sex crazed heat.

“Don’t be so worried baby, you don’t need to hide yourself from daddy,” Johnny reassures before he kisses you softly, tasting yourself on his tongue.

With Johnny’s reassurance, you uncover yourself and start roaming your hands up his shirt to have a touch of Johnny’s chiselled body, he deduces that he can wait no longer, quickly jerking off his pants, his large cock hung in between his strong thighs, Johnny jerks off his cock with his hands as he admires your bare body, he feels himself battling with his wolf side, the desire to fuck, breed, and claim nagging his mind.

“You can still back out, sweetheart, go while my rut hasn’t entirely consumed me,” Johnny reminds you.

“No, please, I need this, I need you, daddy,” you say as you spread your legs, sitting up to reach for Johnny’s cock, but before you could even touch him, Johnny gently pushes you down the bed with one hand, the other gripping his dick in his hands, guiding himself to your entrance.

Johnny intertwines his hand with yours, hands locked next to your head as you feel his gaze burning into yours, slowly, you feel him breaching your ring of muscle, your walls opening up bit by bit as he fills you up slowly.

A whimper escapes you as you feel him surely filling you up to the brim.

“I’m sorry, baby, just a little bit more, you’re more than halfway in, baby, you’re doing a good job for me,” Johnny coos, his thumb brushing against your knuckles, an action he does whenever he picks up your anxiety spike in your scent.

When you’ve swallowed his length whole, Johnny lets you adjust to his size, distracting you by kissing you passionately, hoping that his lips would suffice as a distraction from the burn you’re feeling down there, and slowly, the burning feeling turns into slow but steady twinges of pleasure, and the fullness is driving your omega crazy, and now she’s craving for a big fat knot.

“You can move now, daddy,” you say, in a reassuring tone, your hand squeezing Johnny’s.

Johnny nods, before he pulls his hand away, choosing to hold your hips for better control, he thrusts shallowly, needing to gauge your reaction before he really starts, and the reaction is immediate, the friction of your walls against his bare cock is too good, moaning at the slight movement.

Johnny takes this as a positive sign, his alpha crooning, he pulls out most of his length, leaving the tip in before he thrusts back into you in one stroke, groaning at the way you clench around him.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so tight, so wet,” Johnny mumbles, more to himself since you’re getting lost by how Johnny almost immediately locates your sweet spot again, a whine leaving you as your toes clench and your nails drag down his back, and the pain fuels Johnny, knowing that he could drive you mad just from his dick alone.

“Alpha, please…”

Johnny’s cock twitches at hearing you beg, he doesn’t even need to dick train you, your daddy issues alone have moulded you into his perfect princess.

“Please what, sweetheart? You need to be specific,” Johnny demands, a hand coming to rub circles on your clit, he knows you’re very wet by now, but he wants you to unclench yourself, it’s not going to be pleasurable if you’re constantly tense.

“I…” you stutter, how can you voice the fact that you want him to move because you’re insanely horny? But the encouraging smile and constant calming pheromones in the air has you caving in, and maybe your omega is getting frustrated too.

“Want you to move faster, please daddy,” you say in a seductive, yet shy whisper, before you add on something absolutely unfiltered from your omega’s mind, “make your omega feel good.”

Johnny lets out an appreciative growl, ready to accept the challenge after hearing you call yourself his.

Johnny ploughs his cock inside you at a rapid pace, his hands grabbing, digging into your ass cheeks as he most literally, rocks your world.

You could feel yourself slipping away from sanity, choked moans leaving your parted lips as Johnny rearranges your guts, hooking one of your legs around his waist so that he could thrust deeper inside you, upholding your request of being filled with his cum.

A loud whine escapes you as you let yourself be manhandled, anything is fine by you as long as you could feel this overwhelming amount of pleasure going through your body.

You hold onto Johnny’s tricep as you feel yourself being rushed into another high.

“Daddy!” you gasp out once the dam of pleasure finally breaks, figuratively and literally, because the next thing you could register in your heat crazed haze is that your pelvis and Johnny’s luscious looking thighs are drenched with your release.

Your eyes widen comically as you take in the fact that you just squirted, the apology on the tip of your tongue.

However, Johnny beats you to it, voicing his positive thoughts over it.

“Fuck, baby, can’t believe you squirted just like that, your tight little hole couldn’t handle daddy’s big cock, am I right?” Johnny asks, his tone so gentle, yet his words so filthy, and that has your heart doing somersaults and your pussy clenching enthusiastically.

Then your heart drops, the love fest interrupts your train of thoughts, Johnny hasn’t cum yet.

“Daddy, you haven’t cum,” you said, immediately clenching onto the girth inside you, but Johnny grips your hips to halt you.

“You must be tired, let your body rest before your heat consumes you again,” Johnny suggests, prepared to pull out of you.

“No! Please, daddy, I need your cum, your knot, or I’d feel empty…daddy,” the last part came out as a whisper, still not being used to voicing out your carnal desires even though it’s perfectly normal, especially during one’s heat.

Johnny gives you a soft smile, a hand caressing your face before he kisses you gently on the lips.

“Present yourself,” your alpha says to you before he pulls himself out, kneeling before your beautiful body, choosing to let you make the move.

And so you did, slowly lifting yourself, turning around and presenting yourself, on your knees with your ass arched up, your pussy glistening even under the minimal lighting in the room.

Johnny curses under his breath before he quickly seathes himself back inside you, groaning at the welcoming walls that he once again sank into.

“Don’t hold back, alpha, take what you need,” you say, twisting your neck to get a glimpse at the beautiful man you’re able to call yours.

Johnny curses under his breath before he resumes the punishing pace he had going on before you reached your high. You’re really starting to think you’re a masochist, the way you enjoy the slight burn from the overstimulation has all the signs showing that you can no longer deny.

“Is my baby a pain slut? Whining that it hurts, but I can still feel your pussy getting wetter for me,” Johnny teases as he slows down his thrusts, putting more emphasis on fucking you deeper, now that you’ve came.

All you could do was nod between sniffles, struggling to agree with your alpha verbally, knowing that most men find that sexy, but Johnny coos, he knows what you want to convey, and the fact that you couldn’t even speak your mind whilst he fucks you just drives his confidence through the roof.

Before he knows it, Johnny could feel his cock bulging up, his knot forming, groaning at the feeling of your tight walls wrapped around him so closely, and his knot hasn’t even finished swelling up.

Johnny whispers sweet encouragements in your ears as you whimper at the foreign feeling of being knotted.

Soon after, his knot starts to deflate, spurts of cum painting your walls white as he calls your name sweetly, almost moaning.

And slowly, the stream comes to a stop, you were in and out of it during the time of you and Johnny being locked together, dozing off as Johnny has his arms wrap around your body, scenting you even though you are most definitely drenched in his scent from the constant physical attachment, but he understands you well enough that you need this on an emotional level.

“You can still leave if you don’t want to spend my rut with me, I can feel it starting soon, maybe give or take a few hours,” Johnny reminds you, giving you one last chance to leave if you decide to not spend a rut with him yet, which is respectable, the two of you haven’t been dating that long, most people at least wait a year of dating before spending such a vulnerable time together.

“I’m sure, Johnny,” you reassured him as you brush the flyaways from his handsome face.

“Then let’s get some food before we fuck like bunnies again,” Johnny jokes before he whisks you away to the direction of his kitchen, tummy rumbling now that you caught whiff of the scent of delicious food, you just hope your alpha is able to keep his hands to himself long enough after you guy finish washing the dishes.

You smile to yourself at the realisation, that even with all the uncertainty that started off between the two of you, the situation with your mother and how Johnny used to keep you at arm’s length, in the end, you win.

#nct smut #johnny smut #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct x reader #johnny suh #nct 127 smut #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines #johnny fluff #nct au #johnny suh smut #nct fanfic #nct fanfiction

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bamsara · 19 days

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A03 Questions Tag Game

I got tagged by: @kagedbird I tag: @onethirdofimpossible, @coffincrows, (first two that come to mind) and anyone else who wants to do the game

1 – How many works do you have on AO3?

At the time of writing this post, currently 30 fics. (Not including any fics or written works that are not posted to AO3)

2 – What's your total AO3 word count?

1,066,633

3 – What fandoms do you write for?

Formerly: Don't Starve, FNAF, Dragons Dogma, Invader Zim

Currently: Cult of the Lamb

4 – What are your top five fics by kudos?

Solar Lunacy, Celestial Omens, Bytes of Lunacy, The Rehabilitation of Death, Saturday Insomnia

5 – Do you respond to comments?

I try to but I also get very nervous responding because I often don't know what to say back and I feel like it's almost rude or disrespectful to respond to a comment, esp the very nice ones that are long and in-deph with just a keysmash or a bunch of emojis, but I do read every single one since I have email notifications on for them

I'd like to sit down and respond to many but I really don't want to make it awkward so pls dear god readers forgive me

6 – What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't like unhappy endings. I enjoy angsty stories but I like when it's at least ending happy to me

7 – What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Not posted? Solar Lunacy

Ongoing? TROD

8 – Do you get hate on fics?

Not really? Most adults (in my experience) know the 'don't like don't read' rule and know basic online etiquette. I've gotten some for discontinuing a fic or switching fandoms though

9 – Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I don't write or draw NSFW! I like to make some suggestive themes sometimes, but I'm a very ace person, it's not something I do often. (I do have a current running goal that if my friend reaches their donation goal for their medical bills that I would give NSFW a shot, but again its not really my cup of tea)

10 – Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nah I haven't written any cross overs, but I do draw them sometimes. Recently I've been spinning a Alice in Wonderland x COTL crossover in my head.

11 – Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yep. I've had people copy and paste my work, go in with a thesaurus to change a few words (like changing 'angry' to mad, 'upset' to 'sad', and so forth) to try and avoid detection and re-posted my written work under a different title name. AO3 staff took them down for violating their policy against plagiarism though

12 – Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. I wouldn't mind it so as long as I'm asked before hand, though not on anon so I can actually work with the person to prevent any mistranslations or mishandling, and that I don't want my work posted to other websites

13 – Have you ever co-written a fic?

I think I did when I was a teen but I cannot remember now

14 – What's your all-time favorite ship?

Eh I don't have any favorites, just ones I really focus on for a long while

15 – What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Pass.

16 – What are your writing strengths?

I can sit down for hours or several days and work on a writing wip completely in the zone. I cant do it on command but its at least something I can do

17 – What are your writing weaknesses?

Spelling and grammar, and sometimes long running sentences. I just kinda write, theres not really a goal for it to be perfect though so as long as the story gist and vibe is right, im fine with it

18 – Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've done it before but only minor, had a friend help me with it (one or two lines of dialogue) Aside from that, I'm not comfortably fluent enough in anything to do it again without assistance

19 – First fandom you wrote for?

Soul Eater, when I was wayyy too young to be posting anything on the internet. My fanfics I wrote are still on fanfic.net to this day

20 – Favorite fic you've written?

It's inbetween TROD and EE&E right now

#sara shush

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yurinaa-world · 30 days

Note

hello!! platonic dr ratio with a teen!student reader who excels at one particular subject but is bad or average on the others? also lacks social skills

(kinda inspired by me lol 💀)

Characters: Dr. Ratio platonic! x Gender-neutral Reader

Synopsis: with student reader who excels at one subject but is bad at the others + lacks social skills

Warnings: Fluff and spelling mistakes, got lil personal

𝒱𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓈 𝑅𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜

He’s so strict about your grades, looking at you with disappointment as if a parent would when their child an F. What? does the information just go through and out one ear? (it does for me 😀) Can your brain handle one sentence at a time since it doesn’t look like it to him with these embarrassing grades?

He immediately got you into summer school so you could at least try to get good at other subjects, one subject won’t get you a future. Even worse with fact you can’t even talk without staring endlessly at your paper contemplating just to ask him the most simple question.

The man knows no mercy, making you write out several essays over the whole summer but just like every teacher that wants to suck the souls from students he’ll make you plan every tad bit of detail, even refuse you from starting to write if one detail isn’t explained and well thought out enough for him.

Then oh don’t forget to make the rough draft of the essay (it’s more like writing the real essay itself with the way he’s being strict with every typo & grammar mistake, but oh don’t think you're going to get this using simple and basic words like “in conclusion.” or “well, I believe.” Throw those out the window along with every other basic sentence that people use to put up the word count or just get the whole thing over with. He isn't accepting it. No exceptions.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Blank.

You’ve been staring at the next part of your sentence but unsure how to use the word “Magnanimity”. How were you even supposed to use this in a sentence?! (he made you pick several high-level words to use in an essay), you look up to silently curse your teacher, Mr. Ratio out in your head before immediately looking back down when your eyes connect.

You begin to contemplate, that maybe jumping out the window ain’t bad, it might be your only way to get out of here. you sigh, just giving up on your constant stalling, getting up from your chair (with your paper in hand) and walking over to your teacher, dreading every step you take.

Before stopping at his desk, “Mr. Ratio, could you tell me what the definition is for magnanimity again?” He just sighs, closing up the book he always reads. (You don’t know why he always reads the same thing, it’s so boring.)

“Magnanimity means the loftiness of spirit enabling one to bear trouble calmly, to disdain meanness and pettiness, and to display a noble generosity.”

you stare at him blankly, he wasn’t kidding, he seriously expected you to know what he was saying?! “I’m sorry but what does that even mean?” you whisper your voice cracking with frustration, you just feel a blood vessel getting bigger.

He sighs once again “Showing kindness towards an enemy or you had been defeated in battle. using it in a sentence would be like he showed magnanimity towards his enemy, understand?”

“Oh, okay. Thank you Mr. Ratio” You nod taking in his words. “Let me see your essay.” He tells you out of the blue, holding his hand out to see your paper, which makes your mouth dry. “you have something written, correct? Let me see it.”

You give him your paper and watch in nervousness before he begins to read out loud “A great man once spoke mighty wor-“ “Mr ratio please read it in your head!” you cut him off with panic, yet what a fool you are since when was he merciful? “a great man once spoke mighty words…”

Listening to him read your essay made you cringe and close your ears. He’s the worst!

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

#✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ Yurinna's Writing :･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #star rail #star rail x reader #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr dr ratio #dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #honkai dr ratio #veritas ratio #veritas x reader

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el-pada · 4 months

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not gonna even dignify this with a direct response cause clearly you motherfucker lack basic reading comprehension

but hey! lets have a talk abt this

i mainly base my iterations of him (rise, mm and the space 2012) on 2003 which i stated and made clear multiple times here

so most if not all of the leosagi started with 2003, makes sense, its the most he ever interacts with leo in the franchise, they have lots of great dialogue and an interesting dynamic

you wanna know what else this iteration started?

making them the same age range by showing it in a flashback the same arc he is introduced in

right there you can clearly see hes a kid in the same time the turtles were, the artstyle itself does make it confusing at times but like, even hearing him with the akward voice acting this is a kid (0:0 to 0:55)

they even refer to him as "young samurai" still in training

youtube

but thats not enough for you? fine, lets look at the comic design

now what are some of the main things that show up in his design?

the scar

the mifune crests

now lets look at the comics!

in the second chapter of volume 1 we get to see a teen usagi a couple years into his training, before working for mifune, what do we see here?

he still doesnt have his scar and mifune crests

he gains those after become a proper samurai, now we can look at history and see that a samurai was able to be trained as young as 15-16, assuming that was usagis age range we can reasonably line it up with the timeline of him serving mifune for a couple years, becoming a proper samurai then eventually losing him and gaining his scar

if we look at canon hes implied to be in his early 20s at most in the comics themselves (the artstyle just isnt kind to him), which is why i dont draw that iteration as leosagi, just draw inspiration from the character writing for usagi

now lets look at the 2003 design!

see something here? thats right!

his scar and crests arent there

the main things that one can use to differentiate between his life as a teenager vs an adult are missing!

"oh but the scar is just stylized, and the crests arent there for simplifying the design"

actually nope! the animators made a concious decision on his design, shown in multiple angles that its a weird eyebrow shape and not an actual scar!

and tomoe's design shows that also shows they very much could add the crests and chose not to, which makes sense as this iteration has the most canon accurate to the comics take on usagis world

and what did i make sure to incorporate into my usagi design? thats right!

no scar or crests in sight!

and if you really wanna get on my ass the fucking writer of rise liked my iteration on twitter lol

so in conclusion suck my dick and balls and do some research before accusing me of something as nasty as that

#rant #pada speak #long post #hate yall stop trying to assume shit abt me and CHECK UR DAMN SOURCES #and proshitters go to hell right now i aint defending any of you motherfuckers

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skylarsblue · 1 year

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✦C.o.D Call Sign Inspo✦

(I've been having a bad writer's block, but, I do have some mini ideas that I can't flesh out. But, I know some people struggle with names/concepts for Y/N's/Characters. So! I'm giving them out for free in hopes it'll inspire something in someone so they don't go to waste!)

✧Somno; Gender Neutral. A y/n that's main trait is being a hyper insomniac. To the point they always seem tired, constantly consuming caffine, etc. But even if they're falling asleep where they're standing, they have incredibly fast reflexes. Could lead to some funny scenarios of finding them asleep in weird places, or, a cute concept (them only being able to sleep when they feel completely safe; ie: with one of the c.o.d characters)

✧Mama; Feminine. Pretty on the nose, but it could also be translated into a different language to match a country of origin. The concept is basically just...an aggressively maternal lieutenant/captain. Because I feel we don't have enough strong MILF's in this world, let alone in this fandom. This could also be used platonically because 141 specifically could use a mom type. Ghost & Gaz specifically.

✧Saint; Gender Neutral. Can be used for a character that's incredibly self sacrificing. Which would make for good fluff & good angst, plus, I think a lot of us can relate to feeling. Partially inspired by a random line I thought of - "If I die protecting you, that's far less frightening than you being gone when I could've protected you. Dying once for you is a peaceful passing, rather than dying every day you're not with me."

✧Salvadora/Salvador; Fem or Masc. Disclaimer; when I had this idea I imagined a woman. An alternative to the cartel story line in Las Almas. Y/N runs a civilian resistance against the cartel and has commandeered a village to keep citizens safe. It's basically a paradise in the crime ridden city. They've been providing sneaky support for Alejandro's men. (Honestly, this concept is pretty specific, and more detailed, and I might break it down more/write it on my own if possible)

✧Copycat/Mimic; Gender Neutral. A y/n that's incredibly skilled at mimicking voices. Whether in different accents or actual voices.

✧Mirage; Gender Neutral. Disclaimer; I imagined this also as a woman because I like powerful ladies. Similar to the one above but instead of just voices, they're just great at disguises in general & particularly sneaky. Like they "fade out of existence" if you look away at the wrong time.

✧Lynx; Gender Neutral. For a small, deceivingly cute looking character that's actually super deadly and quick. Do not trust the toe beans.

✧Nessie; Gender Neutral-Fem Lean. Pretty self explanatory. A character that's illusive and great in water. Bonus points for Scottish rep.

✧Sparks/Fuse; Gender Neutral. Just a fuckin' pyromaniac that can make their own bombs, super impressive and intricate ones. Thought of a scene where they're all in the heat of battle, low on ammo, and Y/N brings up randomly that they were a troublesome teen who almost had a criminal record. Price asks what the charge was and they just light something that doesn't look at all like a bomb, with a giant grin. "It was arson!!" And then they throw a fuckin' devastating bomb.

✧Iris; Gender Neutral. A character known for a very intense/intimidating stare. Inspired by those clips of people losing to Angelina Joline's femme fatal stare. Also, them being able to read a shocking amount about a person purely through eye contact.

✧Sage/Blister/Morphine/Plaster; Gender Neutral. All names for a potential medic!Y/N. (Plaster, for us Americans, is a word for bandaid in the UK. I know y'all prolly know that but just in case)

✧Bee; Gender Neutral. For a Y/N that's visibly smaller than those around them but packs a real hard punch. Also good if they're particularly good at physical combat. "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee."

✧Sugarcube/Honey/Cupcake; Gender Neutral-Masc Lean. I think the idea of a big buff, visibly masculine, intimidating dude being named something like 'sugarcube' is super funny.

✧Lasso/Big Mac/Stallion; Masculine. Isn't it obvious? Big cowboy man who's aggressively American even if he's actually been a UK citizen for years.

✧Bessie/Cowgirl/Chick; Feminine. Once again, aggressively southern Y/N. But, for fem!y/ns.

✧Tex/Stars/Anthem; Gender Neutral. See above, but this time, neutral. Cause I'm about equality in this bitch.

✧Cobra/Mamba; Gender Neutral. For a y/n that specializes in poisons to kill enemies, as well as a character with any association with snakes. Could be interesting for Ghost to hear.

✧Doll/Dolly; Feminine. A more "spy type" for the classic femme fatal who gets intel through allure. If you've seen my two fic concept posts, this is the call sign I'd give to the Y/N in Price's concept.

✧Tech; Gender Neutral. Pretty basic, a character that's particularly tech-y. Good with computers and hacking.

✧Bunny/Hare; Gender Neutral. For a y/n that's small, but super fast & alert. Bonus if they got Hinata jumping powers.

✧Clover/Shamrock; Gender Neutral. Irish rep. Use this for a Y/N that is somehow the luckiest unlucky person ever. Constantly ending up in situations that are stressful/intense but making it out with barely a scratch. Can add some dissonance if they actually hate this call sign because it's not luck that gets them out of these situations, and instead is there skill.

#call of duty mwii #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare #writing prompt #writing inspo #call of duty x y/n #call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty x male reader #call of duty x fem reader #call of duty x gn reader #gender neutral reader #cod x male reader #cod x female reader #cod x gn reader #male reader #female reader

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pinkeoni · 10 months

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The “Will Has Powers” Basics Post

I’ve realized recently that whenever I talk about Will having powers, I kind of just expect everyone to be on the same page as me, without really explaining much of what lead me to believe he has powers in the first place. I don't really have a good foundation to point to.

So that's what I want this post to be, not really too detailed but more of an introductory post. I'll explain the basics of my Will has powers theories, why I believe he has powers, and what kinds of powers I think he has. I'll be using evidence I've used in a lot of other posts while also keeping it simplistic and not trying to add anything too speculative or theoretical.

Evidence & Powers #1) Nancy's Dialogue and Time and Light Powers

I think one of the easiest pieces of evidence and my usual go-to is Nancy's dialogue in 4x07 when the teens are in the Upside Down. Nancy remarks that the Upside Down is stuck on the day that Will went missing, and then brings Will up again in regards to the lights. Both of her pieces of dialogue here implicates Will as the one who froze time and got the lights to work the way they do.

"The last entry is November 6, 1983. The day Will went missing. The day the gate opened."

"Will found a way. Will. He found a way to speak to Joyce through the lights."

(So I used to think it was "The day the gate opened. The day Will went missing." and not "The day Will went missing. The day the gate opened." but after rewatching the scene it is actually the former. My bad.)

Now obviously Nancy wouldn't know that Will is responsible nor do I think she has some kind of psychic intuition, but the writers would know and are writing her dialogue in a specific way that points toward Will in both instances. Bringing him up by name not one, not two but three times places emphasis on him specifically. I think that

El opening the gate had a part in this, but if it was her solely then I think Nancy's dialogue would read as "The last entry is November 6, 1983. The day El opened the gate." rather than trying to tie Will into it in the first place. Moreover, the gates that Vecna is opening with El's powers don't seem to be updating the Upside Down to modern times, Will is an important piece of the puzzle.

The light thing is something that I do think is solely Will, given that gate opening isn't brought up and Nancy brings Will up by name twice in the same line of dialogue.

The word "found" here is also interesting because it could have two meanings.

A) Will stumbled upon the lights ability

B) Will created the ability to communicate with lights

Had Nancy said "Will stumbled upon a way to talk to Joyce through the lights" it would suggest that the lights is a rule from the UD that has always been there. Nancy saying that Will created the ability to talk through lights wouldn't make sense for her to say because Nancy wouldn't have access to that information. "Found" is the perfect balance between the two— it makes sense given Nancy's access to information while allowing enough room to imply that Will had something to do with it.

Evidence & Powers #2) Will as an Artist and Creation Powers

If you created a tv character who had magic powers, but you couldn't reveal it until the final season, how do you pull it off without it feeling out of nowhere? How do you build up the reveal without completely giving it away.

Well, I would do it by attributing his powers with aspects of the character that has already been built up and that the audience has become familiar with.

It's established that Will is an artist from season one, and his art continues to be important to the plot it nearly every season.

In season one, Joyce is able to correctly identify that El is not because Will's drawings are much more advanced than El's stick figures.

In season two, Will uses drawings in order to help visualize his now memories and creates a map of the tunnels.

Not much in season three, but Will does use charcoal in one scene to demonstrate visually how the shadow particles work.

In season four, Will creates a painting for Mike that becomes an important moment in the season and sets in motion important events for the future (aka byler endgame)

I will admit that this piece of evidence by itself is not enough to convince an audience that Will has a supernatural link. Will is an artist -> Will has powers is a pretty far stretch. But I think that this combined with some of my other evidence could support what kind of powers I think he has, which I think is some from of creation ability. Will has powers because of xyz -> Will is also an artist -> Will has powers of creation is a better argument and what I'm trying to get at.

Without getting into all of the chunky theoretics here, I believe it's possible that Will may have the ability to create whole lifeforms and vast worlds, such as the Upside Down itself and the creatures inside.

Evidence & Powers #3) Will the Wise, Fire Powers & Prophetic Abilities

This goes along similarly with what I said about using Will's artistry to foreshadow his powers, or using another facet of Will's character to hint at powers without giving it away altogether. Although, I would say that this piece of evidence is probably a lot more obvious than the previous bullet.

"Will the Wise" is Will's Dungeon's & Dragons name, which comes up pretty frequently in the show. Will the Wise is confusingly labeled as both a wizard and a cleric, although both classes are magic-users within DnD.

Each member of the party has a DnD class and character, although Will's is the one that get's brought up the most. The name Will the Wise is referenced—

Episode one when Will is playing DnD

In a flashback later in season one

The episode title "Will the Wise" from season two

And in season three when we have our most obvious piece of powers foreshadowing, when Will dresses up in a Wizard costume

During this same scene, Will says that he has "seen into the future" which is why I suggest that he may have prophetic abilities. Vecna displays a similar ability when he shows Nancy the future in her vision.

It's also possible that Will may have some kind of fire abilities, based on one of Will the Wise's attacks being "fireball." (@reikunrei made a really great post recently proposing that Will's fire powers might extend to some of his other abilities rather than being purely a fire attack, but alas I cannot find it ((I am so sorry Wilbur)))

Evidence #4) Continued Connection With Vecna

Another reason why I suspect that Will may have powers comes from a series of questions:

Why is Will the first one taken to the Upside Down?

Why choose Will as the host of the Mind Flayer?

Why continue to have a connection with Will?

I think I could write-off the first two as incidental if the show didn't make it a point to continue this connection through seasons three and four, that along with Nancy's dialogue in season 4 discussed earlier. Could Will's disappearance have been a coincidence? Sure. Could Vecna have just needed Will to be a spy, and is completely disposable to him? It's possible. But if so, what is the narrative reasoning for maintaining this connection? Is it to just for the convenience of having Will as a beast sensor?

Something else that tips me off about Will's disappearance is the why it happens as well, which we aren't really told. We are told with Barb that the demogorgon is attracted to blood. Nancy and Jonathan later use this tactic to lure it to the house.

And yet with Will, we don't see any blood. In fact, they make a point to emphasize this when Hopper tells Joyce that there was no blood on his bike.

Evidence #5) Will's focus in season 5

Despite Will always being my favorite character and loving him so dearly, I didn't start seriously theorizing until I saw this tweet by Discussing Film, which came out shortly after vol. 2 was released.

I know that outside cast and crew comment shouldn’t be taken as gospel, as they have lied before for the sake of spoilers. Which is why I put this at the end, and why it’s not my only piece of evidence.

But still, it’s not like every comment is a lie, and even then, wouldn’t this be a wierd thing to lie about? And kinda cruel? Imagine saying “Oh, this gay character who hasn’t gotten a lot of screentime is going to be a focus.” only to say “Haha just kidding, he’s actually unimportant!” So I’m inclined to believe that they’re telling the truth.

So if this statement is true, then how could Will not have powers? How would you make a character the center of a show about the supernatural, if he has no tie to the supernatural at all?

#kinda posting at a weird time for me but whatever #had this in the drafts for long enough #will byers #will byers has powers #stranger things #byler #<- target audience #my theory

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kingdomoftyto · 9 months

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I've started and deleted three drafts now trying to get my thoughts into a coherent recommendation, but there's just so much.

Let's start with the basics: You should read the graphic novel if you're a fan of the original show. You just should. It's new content of your old faves, and I'm telling you now that the art and writing are great and that you should give it a shot based on that alone.

But as for exactly why I'm losing my mind over it this much...?

It... feels like watching the show. But a version of the show unafraid to explore its own worldbuilding. A version of the show where continuity and character growth matter. A version of the show without jokes written by people far too old to understand mid-2000s teens.

And it is actually, honest-to-goodness funny. I went in fully braced for a badly shoehorned "fruit loop" one-liner, and instead I got incredible deadpan asides like this:

The art, too, manages to perfectly ride the line of looking enough like the original style to be convincing, but improving on the expressiveness of the characters' faces and actions to elevate it to something arguably better than the show:

(Like, I'm being so serious when I say the fight scenes are among the best I have ever seen in comic form. I'm the kind of person who tends to go for anime over manga because the fights are harder for me to follow in little sequential snapshots, but I can tell exactly what's happening in these battles AND they still look super cinematic and cool.)

And the story. Man, the STORY.

I won't spoil any of the plot here, but it's... really good. A little winding and goofy toward the beginning, but once things get serious, it really grabs you and refuses to let go til it's done. (Much like the best episodes of the show! Funny how that works.) It has a satisfying conclusion, but it also leaves a massive door open to continue telling more stories in the setting.

And I want more stories in this universe. The threads being dangled here might be even more enticing than those left by the original show. There is potential here for an INCREDIBLE series of comics.

We just have to prove how badly we want it.

If you can't buy the book yourself right now (it's relatively cheap for a graphic novel--I think it was about $15 even with tax from my Barnes & Noble), then please at least let other fans know it exists (I wouldn't have had any idea if not for tumblr) and keep the hype going on social media. I'm stoked to see that DP is trending on tumblr, at least, and I hope the same is true elsewhere. It's a small thing, but it's something corporate decision-makers take note of.

Fingers crossed we get to see more someday. This is one series that deserves to come back from the dead.

But, whether or not we get that continuation: welcome back, Phandom. Congrats and happy release day. 💚

#Danny Phantom #DP comic spoilers #(BARELY spoilers but I did include the images so :/ )#while I'm rambling in the tags lemme say one more thing as a slightly more niche endorsement:#since he's on the cover it's not a spoiler to say Danny's evil future self from TUE plays a big role #I am happy to report that despite the blurb on the back of the book calling him ''Dark Danny''--as all official sources do--#he is instead referred to in-universe exclusively as ''Phantom''#I think that single detail goes a LONG way toward showing just how much this author truly *understands*.#she really is one of us. on the fandom's side and not the corporation's.#this is a project made with SO MUCH admiration for what made the source material special in the first place #and for how the fandom has interacted with it since #it's... it feels awesome. I was so worried this book would be bad or mediocre but it's genuinely a labor of love and I'm so happy

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thattiredanimator1t0mblr · 7 months

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| soft!father figure!Miguel o'hara x teen!spidey?reader | Headcanons | (platonic)

(Miguel o'hara x reader platonic)

(Miguel o'hara x teen!reader platonic)

(Miguel o'hara x reader platonic)

A/n: reminder, miguel is gonna be OOC(out of character) as HELL because I legit forgot how to write, and I lost all my skills because of art block 2 years ago and stopped. So, just a heads up, Ooc!Miguel.

Trigger warning: cursing, mentions of loss of family members/and or friends, mentions of death, mentions of dead family members(?), potentially overprotective/slight platonic yandere!miguel(?), etc.

Miguel....looks at you, the same way he looks at his own pride and joy, which is also you, ofc. (Because you are the main character and are amazing.)

He'll try and brush your hair, no matter how short or how thin it is. if you have a buzz cut, he'll just lightly massage your head. If you have braids or an afro, etc, he'll try and learn hair styles like that for you, like how to do braids, or afro puffs for you (please correct me on terminology, I'm not black, so forgive me if I accidentally say something wrong or call a hair style the wrong name/gen)

He will help you with anything and everything. You are his new pride and joy, sit down, and don't worry about a thing. :)

He'll help you with missions, homework, hell, even on how to build nuclear weapons if you ask nicely enough.

You're his kid(metaphorically), why shouldn't he help you with everything and dote on you?

However if you are more independent or less likely to understand/and or like how much he tries to help you in everything, he'll back off, he trusts you, he just cares about you too much to let you do anything(as horrible as that sounds, it comes from a place of good)

He's like those overprotective dad's that tell you, your outfit is too revealing, or some horror story about some random kid getting kidnapped before you go out. (Is that just my parents? Maybe I'm projecting a little, sorry!)

He will judge your friends, especially if its other spiders, hobie? He won't say anything to you but he will lecture hobie for 2 hours on making sure not to be a bad influence on you, gwen is...alright, he may not really like her but he understands why your friends (whatever that reason may be.), miles? Oh fuck no. Miguel would rather set himself on fire and destroy the spider society instead of letting miles be friends with you, and (aromantics, don't read this part.) If you're dating miles, congrats, miguel is popping a blood vessel from how pissed he is.

Of course, he may lecture you, or even 'ground you'(he'll start to get very emotional after 2 hours of being away from you, he can not risk losing another kid, you are too important to him.), but a little bit of pestering/and or convincing, and he'll begrudgingly accept you and miles are friends/dating.

He may teach you Spanish, if you're up for it.

Calls you spanish nicknames. (Hispanics and people who speak spanish fluently, I am so sorry, I don't know spanish and I'm using Google Translate, please forgive me for this. Please correct me in the replies/comments so I can edit this and fix it./gen)

Princesa/Príncipe, Cariño, Mi sol, mi corazón, mi vida, etc.

He lets(makes) you stay with him on his platform office thingy(sorry, I don't know what to call it.), he'll pull up a YouTube video or movie on some hologram, or holographic screen and let you watch while he works.

Honestly, does not know now to use basic cooking appliances, if you're from a universe where the year is like, anything under 2060, congrats, miguel will not understand any terminology or technology you have(like a regular phone, ipad or a regular computer from 2020, his universe is so futuristic and such, those things are ANCIENT to him, God forbid you quote any vines infront him, he will not understand and there's like a 30% chance his grandparents/great grandparents used to quote vines.)

Will ask you to help him with a fucking microwave,, his universe is so futuristic.

Sometimes, he sends you with him on missions that aren't missions, like jsut going out to soem really nice universe he thinks you'll like, and being 'undercover'(you're both gonna wear whatever you want, hell probably wear casual, you can wear anything you're comfortable in.). To which you'll both jsut be hanging out at some cafe, library, amusement Park, cinema, whatever place you like or he thinks you'll like, and pretends that you're looking for some anomaly but in the end he'll jsut tell you to go back to HQ or your own universe and he'll take care of the anomaly(there was no anomaly, he lied so that he could hang out with you.)

If you lose or are going to lose any family members, friends, lover, etc, maybe from the Canon or something else, he'll do everything to cheer you up, highest quality therapy, stuffed animals(if you like those), the entire series of a book you like, he'll even pay for your favorite Netflix show to get a 2nd/'random number' season, he is a billionaire, he won't let you on any missions, he'll make you rest, help you mourn and even maybe help arrange the funeral if you trust him enough.

This man has severe abandonment issues(hc), he has lost his daughter and family, he cna not lose you too.

He is a bit clingy and overprotective, he doesn't, like, read your texts or anything, but he does silently judge your friends, aswell as sometimes glare at anyone.

He has a huge soft spot for you.

If he's in the middle of lecturing or arguing with someone, maybe because of a mission, and you walk in or he notices you walking by, he will stop and say good morning/good afternoon/whatever time it is.

Warning, 'cringe' below, because I do not know how to use spanish nicknames properly, please forgive me :(

"(Random spiderman) this mission was important! You made mistake that could've costed someone their life!- good morning, Cariño."

^ this is what I mean by that.

Sometimes, he makes lyla monitor you on missions 10 times more then any other spider because he gets worried about you.

He will help you with your spidey suit, and making a suit if it rips or you don't have one yet.

This man will watch soccer, and get pissed off at how badly they're playing, like, you could jsut be in another room or sitting next to him doing your own thing and all of a sudden you'll hear a roar of spanish curses and such, because someone made a stupid move while playing.

He'll make you pack lunches, burritos, Quesadillas, Empanadas, Enchiladas, etc, (now I'm hungry thinking about it😭). If you don't like any of those or are allergic to certain ingredients used in those, he'll make you something else, a sandwich, burger, maybe French fries, sliced fruit, strawberrys dipped in chocolate (if your not allergic), pasta, lasagna, etc. Or he'll just buy you some takeout and put it in a lunch box for you. Whatever you prefer :)

Supports you no matter what, no matter your identity, religion, sexuality, race, etc, he supports you :).

---

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writers-potion · 2 months

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Writing the "Mean Girl" Character

How do we write the "mean girl" without making her another shallow copy of the brainless, pink-clad, cheerleader we see in high teen dramas?

Of course, there's nothing wrong with such a character if you want them to be funny/light in the first place.

However, I can hear myself slowly losing my last two brain cells when I keep reading about such papercut characters for more than an hour - reading clearly requires more effort than watching a class B movie, so I always appreciate when authors put more effort to make the characters dynamic.

No "Mean for the Sake of Being Mean

The classic way to avoid this is to give them a sad backstory. They used to be overweight/ugly and were bullied, or their parents don't care about them enough, or they are too insecure. Obviously these plot points are quiet stale now, but the basic principle still stands - if your charcter is mean, she needs A REASON.

I love reading about a mean character's backstory then feeling, "actually, I would have felt like doing that, too."

Whatever their motivations may be, remember that bullies pick on the weak, not the successful/powerful. While the Mean Girl might feel jealous/inferior towards the protagonist, I hardly think that should be the sole reason why they picked their victim. There must be a flaw in your protagonist that happened to be something that the Mean Girl knows how to exploit, which makes them a target above others.

Give Them A Twist

There are two ways that I can think of: (1) A seemingly nice character is in fact a mean girlie, or (2) A mean character turns out to be kind and well-intended.

Personally, I love Mean Girls who are intelligent/ know what they are doing. They are purposely manipulative:"are you okay?" as if the victim has something wrong with them or providing "constructive" criticism. Or kindly inviting them to a party that she knows they wouldn't fit in.

The conflict deepens when everyone else likes the Mean Girl due to her manipulative nature, making the protagonist doubt themselves.

A Purpose beyond Providing Conflict

Think about what the mean girl aims to gain from bullying your protagonist.

Is she continuously trying to prove herself "superior" so that she can feel better inside? Is she an academic rival who just needs to be the first in everything, even is that means reverting to questionable behavior?

Overly ambitious/perfectionist characters can come off as mean when they feel like others fail to live up to their standards (which only they know about, and are usually up in the sky)

Give Them A Proper Redemption

If you plan on giving her a redemption arc, make sure that she has earned it! The worst thing you can do is make it sound like you approve of the horrible things she has done.

this transition doesn’t mean the character does a complete 180 and is suddenly all smiles and good favors. They can fall back on their old ways of thinking, but is trying to make an effort to step out of their old clothes.

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

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee! ☕

Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

References:

https://writingquestionsanswered.tumblr.com/post/668302340882857984/how-would-you-write-a-mean-girl-character-without

https://www.writingforums.org/threads/how-to-write-the-mean-girl-character.160729/

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softlyspector · 2 years

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Then and Now

Summary: The boys want a second pass at that fucking money. They need your help. The only problem is that you and Santiago aren't talking, not anymore, not since everything went so sideways.

Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x Reader

Word Count: ~15.5k

Warnings: angst, pining, canon level violence, lots and lots of cursing, PTSD and assorted metal health issues, smut (p in v), best friend Benny Miller (yeah it needs a warning), reader has a nickname (Blue) in the same way the others do (Pope, Fish, etc.) sparingly used

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please forgive anything that is militarily inaccurate/inaccurate to the ravine location, I changed some things to fit the story better. I am so very aware I'm basically writing in what is probably a dead fandom for a meh movie. That doesn't matter to me, what matters is all that Oscar Isaac ass and the fact that this is genuinely my favorite movie at the moment. That, and when @velvetofyourheart asks for something, I can't really say no.

Tanya, thank you so much for your wonderful idea and always encouraging my aquarius god-complex. This is your fic, you own it. This is your Santi, never let anyone tell you any differently. I love you. Happy very belated birthday.

Now

Fog is still rolling over your front yard when Benny Miller’s familiar jeep swings into your driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires.

You sit down your cup of coffee, the many rings lining your fingers clinking against the ceramic, and huff out a breath at his audacity, showing up at your place so early in the day.

The morning is muggy but cool, condensation beading along the porch railing where your feet are propped up, booted feet crossed at the ankle.

The jeep’s headlights go out and the driver’s side door pops open. Benny smiles at you when he climbs out, giving you a big, exaggerated wave before he lopes over, all sweetheart golden retriever energy.

Benny is big feelings and big gestures in a body that would never be enough to trap it all inside, that could never cage all that wild energy.

“Well, fuck,” you say when he climbs the porch stairs. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

You haven’t seen him in a couple weeks.

Benny, who you used to see daily.

But not anymore, not since he came home beat to hell and looking like a lost dog. Not since he told you everything that happened in Colombia.

Not since he told you how Tom died, how everything they did was so fucked.

Wouldn’ta happened if you were there. You keep our heads on straight. He had told you that day, crying like you were kids again on your back deck in the setting sun.

Benny laughs and leans against the banister, a brown folder held in one hand. You eye the folder as you flick open the pack of cigarettes in your lap, knocking out a smoke and lighter. “Whatever it is,” you nod at his hand, “The answer is no.”

“You don’t even know what it is,” Ben says innocently. “And you know they say those things will kill you.”

“Fuck you, Miller, this is my one indulgence,” you say amicably as you light up, blowing smoke away from him.

Coffee and a cigarette on your front porch each morning before work, before driving half an hour into town to serve bitchy local teens still half coked out of their minds from the night before and surly truck drivers just passing through town - that was your indulgence, that was all you could allow yourself, all you could afford most days.

Benny reaches up to pull off his ball cap, runs a hand through his hair and replaces the hat backwards, before he sighs. “We’re going back for that money. We need you there. Can’t do it without you, obviously. First time you aren’t with us and everything goes to hell.”

You scoff, taking a long drag on your cigarette, holding in the nicotine for a long moment before you exhale through your nose, “You’ve gotta be kidding, Benny.”

“Not a chance,” Benny says, weirdly serious, “Not with this. Someone else is gonna find it and then what?”

“Suppose it goes to the next drug lord in line,” you raise a brow at him. “Y’all are really going back for that money? That got Tom killed? Didn’t you fuck it up enough already? Leave it lie, it's cursed.”

Benny winces and straightens, moving to drop heavily onto the wooden porch swing hanging from the ceiling. It creaks beneath him as he leans back and sighs, sounding more exhausted than you’ve ever known him to be.

“Redfly wouldn’t want that money falling into the wrong hands.”

“Yeah he’d want it in his hands,” you snap, feeling only slightly guilty about talking ill of the dead. “Or did you forget what happened down there?”

Benny doesn’t say anything for a moment, cornflower blue eyes staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, well, he won’t be there this time.”

“So why go back? Pope’s greed eating at him again? You know you guys don’t have to do everything he says.” When Benny doesn’t say anything, you glance over at him, watch the way he sighs lightly and the circles beneath his eyes seem to deepen in real time. “Hey, I’m sorry, Ben. That was cruel of me.”

You stub out your near finished cigarette and grab your cup of coffee, crossing the porch to slide down next to him and knock your cup into his leg. “You look like you could use this.”

He takes the mug from you, drawing a long swig of coffee before he hands it back to you.

He eyes your hands, taps one finger against yours. “You still wear Santi’s ring.”

Santi’s ring.

It wasn’t an engagement ring, no, you’d have to be in a relationship for that to have happened. He’d picked it up at a flea market somewhere, polished it up himself and presented it to you like it meant nothing.

I know how much you like rings, he had said simply, nodding at the many rings that lined your fingers.

You never take it off.

You sigh and lean back, your shoulder brushing Ben’s as you both stare up at the cobwebbed ceiling. “Just because he hates me, doesn’t mean I feel the same way about him.”

He doesn’t comment on that and the silence stretches between you for a long time.

Ben eventually says your name and you roll your head toward him to meet his eyes. You can tell he’s thinking exactly the same thing you are - that you both look exhausted. You’ve known Benny since forever and reading him is like looking at a jumbotron at a Marlins game - so fucking obvious it was painful sometimes.

“You really wanna keep doing this forever? Stay in this shithole town and do nothing? Serve the fuck ups at that diner?” Benny pumps you, poking your sore spots. He knows you hate being trapped, hates the stupid town you live in. “Treated like shit? Making no money? No thanks for the sacrifices you made?”

You roll your eyes, “You sound like Pope. Save it, Ben.”

“Maybe he’s right about some things. Listen, we paid our dues to Tom’s family. We went through hell and everything is still the fucking same. Maybe we deserve that money.” When you don’t respond immediately, he continues, “Think about it. Hard part is already done. Money’s already stolen, we just gotta go pick it up.”

“Actually got a plan this time though?” You ask, knocking your knee into Ben’s. “Shit went so sideways last time.”

He looks away from you, bangs a fist against his thigh and stands, pacing around your porch as you watch, the Florida heat finally starting to creep in for the day. “It’s gotta be easy. In and out.”

“Aren’t Lorea’s men still in the area? Or whoever’s running the place now? Didn’t half the fucking town see your faces?”

“Who says we need to go into that town at all?”

“Ah. So there is no plan.”

“There is,” he nods at the folder he’d left on the swing next to you. “Santiago’s got something started.”

Santi.

An image flashes through your mind, of him standing on this very same porch, the roar of thunder and rain in your ears as a midnight storm passed through, the din of it so loud as Santiago stood there and hollered at you.

“You really won’t do this with us?” His voice had been harsh, a lingering accusation on his tongue. “When one of us bleeds out and you aren’t there, that’s going to be on you.”

You had recoiled, felt that sting like a slap. “Fuck you, Pope.” And you saw him flinch at the use of that name. You never called him that, you always called him by his true name. “Don’t blame your greed on me. Don’t pretend this is about anything else than that money. Lorea is a sideshow at best to you.”

“And don’t you fucking pretend like this life is enough for you! Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t do anything to get out of this fucking town!”

His hair had been damp, sticking to his forehead, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “I already did, Santiago. We’ve all been to hell and back already.” You had shaken your head, “And this is my line. I’m not fucking up those communities anymore than they already are.”

Santi’s face hadn’t changed, but his eyes had burned hotter, scorching into you. You’d touched a nerve and you knew it. “You’re a coward. I’m not even asking you to take fire. Not like before. Something happens to one of us, don’t bother coming to the fucking funeral. You’re leaving us a man down and without med support.”

“So that’s all you want me to do, huh? Come with you and play nurse? Fuck off, I’m the best shot of any of you.”

“Yeah and shit at everything else. There’s a reason we stuck you out as the sniper. Keeps you away from anything important. But now you’re leaving us without cover.”

And that, that fucking stung, you’d recoiled from him and said quietly. “Fine. I was useless all those years. My answer is still no.”

And without another glance at you, he’d walked off your porch and out of your life.

Only when Benny showed up after Tom was already in the grave did you find out what happened.

Now, you shake your head and glance at the folder, you can see the edges of a few documents poking out. “Did he send you?”

“No. No one knows I’m here. Except Will.” Of course, anything Benny knew, Benny had already shared three times over with his older brother.

“I think you’ve forgotten, Ben. Pope hates me. It’s all my fault shit went sideways for y’all.” You swallow, “According to him anyways. I left you without cover.”

It’s what you know Santi would say to you, if he’d talk to you again.

“You know he didn’t mean any of that shit. He was just pissed he wasn’t getting his way,” Benny says, still pacing the porch, floorboards creaking with every long stride. “He was just pissed he couldn’t get all of Delta back together. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

But as much as you miss Tom, as much as you had mourned him, you can’t help thinking about how much worse it would have been if it had been Benny or Will.

Or Santi.

Fuck, Santiago could have died, and that would have been on you.

A member of your family had died and you hadn’t been there, you hadn’t even been allowed to mourn.

You roll your eyes now and pick up the folder, sliding the edge of your nail beneath the thick cardstock.

But the pain in your heart lingers as you think about the anger in Santi’s eyes that day. The knowledge now that your absence might have caused a rift in the team, that Tom’s reckless play for more money than any of them could handle and Will’s wounded side slowing them down might be your fault for throwing off team dynamics.

“I get why you couldn’t do it then. But now? No one has to get hurt now. Someone worse finds that money, then what happens?”

You’d grown up with the Millers, met Santiago when you went with Benny into the army and eventually got recruited to Delta.

It had been the only way to make it out of your small town, with no money for college and no scholarship opportunities despite your grades, you’d felt it was your only chance. And going with Benny to the recruitment center to follow Will, who’d left a few years before, hadn’t seemed so bad.

You had stuck by Benny and to your surprise, or maybe to no one’s surprise, both of you were good at it. Good at shooting and killing and clawing bloody tracks into the ground beneath your feet. Good at ruining and destroying, good at being disciplined and regimented and hard. Good at following orders and being better than everyone else.

You and Benny were to become the babies of Delta Force, the younger pair that always seemed to lag a bit behind the other four more mature and experienced guys. If it weren’t for Will, you might not have been placed in the same unit. But Will had been adamant about recommending both of you, about placing both of you with Delta.

And the superiors had gotten tired of fighting with him.

Benny and Will were the brothers you never had, the family you always wanted.

Santiago and Frankie and Tom only pulled you in tighter, only made you cling on harder, gave you something solid to hang onto.

Santiago. God, Santiago.

You wanted him the moment you saw him, with that curling hair that grayed as the years wore on, with those crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled that deepened every year, with the way that he stared at you like you held the secrets of the universe, with a gaze so feverish and consuming it was hard not to be pulled into his orbit, right to the center of his world.

Santiago pulled a little too hard, loved a little bit too intensely. You’d known the second he showed up at your place that stormy night that whatever he had to say to you was about to break you, that he was about to rip the thread that he had wound around his fingers since the second you met him right out of your heart.

Something about Santi was so magnetic, so intense, you couldn’t look away, pull away, if you wanted.

He annoyed you to no end, shielded you from nothing despite your awards and metals for excellency in the field, despite your being on a fucking special ops team, and one of the only women to do so no less. He and Tom had taken one look at your record the day you were reassigned to them, and advocated for your shooting skills, that you worked best at a distance, and had taken you under his wing.

You wanted to slap him and you loved him and he was so complicated that you wanted to cry just thinking about it.

Santiago was also lonely, lonely in the same way you were.

You could be in a room full of people, surrounded by those you loved, and still feel separate, apart, alone.

Santi was the same - and so you drifted together.

You were something undefined for years and maybe that was the problem.

There was a tension neither of you dared address when you were in the service together, not when things were so terribly dangerous at all times, not when feelings could get everyone killed, could have the team that was like a family pulled apart by superiors.

When your time was up and as your honorable discharge along with the rest of Delta approached, things got more real, too real. Santiago was always there at your periphery, like a wraith you couldn’t ignore.

He was the nucleus of your world, the center of your universe, and you wanted to hate him for it.

“You and Miller gonna shack up after all this, hermosa?” He’d asked one of those last few nights together, at a base canteen.

You’d looked up from the beer you were nursing. “Which one?” You tried to joke, but it didn’t land, and the tension between you thickened until you felt you might choke on it.

You had never wanted to kiss someone so bad, Santi tilting his head toward yours until he was all you could see, everything else blotted out, until the smell of his aftershave threatened to drown you or resurrect you.

“C’mon Blue. Ben seems keen on it,” he notes.

“Benny’s got more than he can handle as it is.”

You don’t know why you hadn’t just denied it, you knew there was something between you and Santiago, that he bred feelings in you that you didn’t know what to do with. But it felt too close to the truth, like something too close to your heart. So you didn’t correct yourself, and gave a hollow laugh, like it was all a joke.

It was only when you got home and things got restless and bad that it happened. Will attacked some guy in a grocery store, you had to bail Benny out of jail for bar fights twice. Frankie and Tom disappeared into their families.

And Santi…when you called, he came.

He came and he held you while you cried and wondered where everything had gone wrong. You’d escaped the town, gone farther and faster than you ever thought you would, and yet here you were back again, with a broken heart and a broken soul, and friends and brothers you couldn’t help, a listlessness settling between your bones that you didn’t know how to name.

You were still so young, and had seen and done so much, and had nothing to show for it. You had seen and done things you could never come back from.

And then, you were back in the same town, with the same people, and no prospects.

You’d had half a mind to join Benny in his bar fights, just to feel something, just to make the ache inside your bones go away. But then Will would have had to bail you both out and neither of you wanted that.

The loss of your routine, your regimented military life, sent you and the Millers spiraling for a while.

But you and Benny tended to follow Will, and when he pulled his head out of his ass, so did the two of you - group counseling, hobbies, jobs, - things that gave you meaning and routine, that kept you from spiraling into the worst kind of crisis.

Compartmentalizing became key.

But you never really figured out how to compartmentalize Santi, never knew where to slot him in your mind.

He’d been there for you, the violence and reintegration into civilian life hadn’t seemed to phase him, and maybe that was because he’d never returned to it - working with independent contractors and security services abroad, right back into the fray.

He came and went, but he always came back to you.

When you called, he came.

He had come with groceries or take out, stayed with you for a weekend. He’d refuse to let you back away from the violent feelings inside you, fucking them right out of you sometimes, letting you use him or him use you, depending on the mood.

You were something close to a relationship, but not quite.

Things got better with Santi around, with doing group therapy at the VA, your job at the diner, and taking up boxing as a hobby. Poker nights started up, bar nights, going to Benny’s fights together when he started MMA.

And when Santi was in town - even better.

You watch Benny pace around your porch now, and flip open the file. “I’ll take a look, Benny,” you say gently. “You’re gonna wear a hole through my floor.”

You couldn’t lose all of that, you can’t let your family do something so stupid without you again.

“Think about it, sweetheart,” he says, suddenly dropping next to you on the swing again, causing it to jolt and rattle your teeth. “You could do something so good with that money. Someone else finds it first, it's just gonna have more blood spilled on it.”

You laugh, “Fuck you, Benny.”

“And be set for fuckin’ life,” he says. “C’mon, what’s not to like?”

“Pope won’t like it.”

“Fuck Pope. He’ll get over it. We all miss you.”

You miss them too, and you can’t let them go alone again.

Then

The third time you break down after you’re stateside, you call Santi, because he’s your life line, your hook into reality, your tether to the Earth.

Santi always comes when you call, he always knows exactly what you need.

The first two times you called, he came with takeout, with a movie, and sat with you on your couch for two days straight because you had so much fear built up inside you, you couldn’t move.

Going into the military wasn’t the hard part, you found, it was coming home.

The third time, he finds you in the bedroom of the apartment you rented as soon as you were back in town.

“Hey,” he crouches down across from your place on the floor, curled between your nightstand and the edge of the bed. “You okay?”

“I don’t think I can do this, Santi,” you mutter, feeling like your lungs are collapsing, like you can’t breathe. “Fuck, I don’t think I can. Everything - God, it's so loud, but it's too quiet. Everyone is just going around like everything is fucking normal - like - like - ”

Like you hadn’t killed and bled and fought and cursed and -

Santi nods, “I remember my first time on leave was like that. Just sat in my fucking bedroom for two weeks straight because I didn’t know how to be anymore.”

Your frantic eyes seek his out, his intense gaze that was heavy enough to feel like a weighted blanket against you, soothing the ache inside you a little, before he holds his arms out to you.

You crawl across the carpet to fit yourself into his lap when he falls to his ass with a groan. You breathe hard and fast, his scent like catnip to you, fingers tangling hard into his shirt.

“Thought you were gonna hole up with Ben.”

“Fuck you, Santiago. You know Ben is like my brother,” you grit out, pulling so hard on his shirt that you think it might rip in your fingers. You tuck your head under his chin, feel the slow slide of his touch up your side, listen to the steady beat of his heart.

His touch is warm, it grounds you, makes you feel so very safe.

His comment about Benny reminds you of something, of something you should have told him that night weeks ago at the canteen.

“Maybe I shouldn’t say it now, but Santi I -,”

Before you can continue, he presses a finger under your chin, to tip your head up. He doesn’t do anything, doesn’t say anything, just stares at you - just pins you down with that unwavering stare, brown eyes like chips of amber.

“I know,” he says simply, so gentle and cocksure as the corner of his mouth quirks up. “I know, hermosa. Me too.”

You suck in a breath but whatever you’re about to say, dies on your lips. Santiago presses a hand to the back of your neck, holds you firm and doesn’t let you look away, his eyes flicking down your face. “Tell me you want me, baby. I’ll give it to you. Help you shut out the world.”

You’re so drunk on his gaze, at the way he holds you hard and soft and tight and fucking perfect - that you don’t hesitate when you say, “Please, Santi, I want you.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears you.

One strong hand cups beneath your chin, fingers tight against your skin as Santiago kisses you for the first time.

It’s not a gentle kiss.

It’s like breathing in smoke, like choking down hot coal, but you revel in the pain, you take pleasure in the way he fights to consume you, in the way his strong jaw juts forward in a harsh pass of his lips against yours.

He’s rough with you, that first time, because he knows it's what you need, that you can handle it, that you’ve had worse.

But you’ve never had better, will never have better again.

Santiago kisses you like a man possessed, he bites you, he tears his fingers into your flesh, down into the marrow of your bones. He pushes you down into the carpet and doesn’t waste time with helping you out of your clothes.

He shoves his hand down the front of your cotton shorts without preamble, his fingers expert in seeking out your wet heat. His mouth stays on yours as you tug at his hair, pull and pull until he hisses and shoves a finger inside you.

You forget about the world, about how you don’t recognize your town and recognize it all too well - how the ordered madness you were used to sustaining you was gone.

The pain you feel is subsumed by Santiago’s heavy presence, the way he pulls back from you but hardly lets you breathe - his fingers in your mouth, the taste of yourself in your mouth, his hand insistent on the back of your neck.

You claw at his back, raking your nails over him as he licks into your mouth, holding your head still with a hand on your neck, beneath your jaw. He pinches your nipple through your shirt so hard it stings but all you can do is arch up into him.

Santi pulls back from you, a whine you can’t control rattling out of your throat.

“Fuuuck,” he groans into your skin, “Fuck. Fuck.”

He pulls back and yanks on your shorts, “Off.”

You scramble to remove your hands from him, to push your shorts down your legs until they get caught up on your ankles.

Santi doesn’t bother with undressing, just yanks down the zipper of his jeans until he can free himself. He sits back with a groan, knees protesting, so he can yank your shorts off your ankles before he slots himself back over you, his dick slipping against you.

The heat of him clears your mind, the anxiety and the thoughts you couldn’t stop from consuming you before, washing away until your mind is pleasantly empty, a blank white space that only Santiago can fill.

The town doesn’t exist, the past doesn’t exist, none of the things you’d done exists, you are purified, you are only the tips of your toes and the edges of your fingers, one long nerve ending.

His mouth is back on yours and you curl your hands back into his hair again, groaning into his mouth when he roughly yanks up the hem of your shirt to your armpits, large calloused hand palming your tits roughly, his mouth skating down your throat to your chest, until he can pull one stiff nipple between his teeth and tug.

You can only moan, fisting your hand into his hair to jerk his lips back to yours.

“Santi,” you murmur against his mouth. “Santi.”

“That’s it, hermosa. Say my name,” he breathes into your skin as he notches his cock at your entrance. “Say my name,” he demands when you don’t immediately answer.

“Santiago,” you whimper, pathetically needy, the air punched out of your lungs when his hips snap forward. He’s fully seated within you in one hard push, your thighs burning, the stretch of him so painful you cry out. “Don’t,” you hold onto his arms, force him to stay where he is when he starts to pull back. “Fuck, don’t, feels so good.”

Santiago doesn’t need anymore encouragement, hips drawing back just far enough to slam into you again, pushing you up the carpet.

He sets a brutal pace, your cunt stretching to accommodate him, the burn easing and the pleasure settling in.

Santiago whispers to you in Spanish and even though you speak the language well enough, you can’t make yourself understand what he’s saying.

The heat builds inside you until you feel like you might scream, until you feel like your body might give out on you.

But Santi always knows what you need, always knows you.

And so he slows the pace of his hips, dips his mouth to your neck and presses a finger through your folds, tracing circles around your clit until you come with an earth shattering force.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he’s muttering against the sweat slick skin of your throat, the only thing real in the whole world to you in that moment him. “Look at you, fucking soaked my cock, baby. So perfect.” And then he’s whispering in Spanish again, something about so fucking perfect, all mine. You’re fucking mine.

You don’t let Santiago pull away from you, the hot weight of him against you drowning out every horrifying thought in your head. You feel him seeping out of you, feel the grip of his fingers against the fleshy part of your hip, tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck.

He doesn’t move, doesn't try to, and stays buried inside you. Santiago whispers sweet as sugar words right into your hairline until he’s hard again, and then he fucks you so softly - you’re sure its what love should feel like.

And so, for a while after you come home, that’s all your life is, fighting and fucking and hating the world for chewing you up and spitting you out, and not being strong enough to fucking take it.

The fucking is by far the best part.

You feel best when Santiago is with you, when his cock is buried so deep inside you it’s the only thing you can think about - when you’re cockdumb and sex drunk.

That’s when things feel normal again.

That’s when your brain finally shuts the fuck up.

But then Will pulls it together, starts getting real help, and inevitably you and Benny follow suit.

It doesn’t stop you and Santi from fucking like rabbits, but it makes it softer, it lets you round out the edges of your heart against his.

The thing between you stays undefined, but it comes somewhere close to ownership. Santi is yours and you are his, though it’s never said out loud.

He dances with you around your kitchen, spars with you in your backyard when you put a down payment on your house, cooks you breakfast, and asks for input on his consulting jobs.

Santi tries to get you to come with him, back to those places you’d left behind, back to the fight, back to the guns and blood and drugs.

But you can’t do it, at least not yet.

For a moment in time, you are content, content with that small town, your little job.

Will starts giving speeches to recruits, Benny starts MMA, Frankie gets married, Tom spends more time with his daughter.

You and Santiago - your worlds revolve around each other, when he’s in town and when he isn’t, how quickly he can drive from the airport to your house, how he catches you in the front yard in his arms and spins you around.

Sometimes, you don’t even make it inside.

You have no neighbors for several miles, and the front porch steps were a good a place as any to fuck.

Unfortunately that’s the same day that Will decides to swing by with your new boxing gloves you’d asked him to get you. Will gets a full view of Santi’s ass, but he never pulls out, never stops fucking you.

“He’s seen worse,” he laughs into your ear, nipping at your skin as heat pools embarrassment around your bones, the man who was like your brother doing a one-eighty to hightail it back down the road. “Don’t worry about him, cariño.”

It’s then as he laughs and kisses you, kisses away the annoyed groan, that you realize that you love him, really love him.

And that you’d probably never love anyone else.

Now

“Hey, there she is!” You hear Will announce as soon as you slam the door of your truck shut, parked against the curb outside Santi’s place.

“Hey Blue,” Frankie calls when you approach the group sitting around a picnic table, a canopy of emerald green shielding them from the sun and prying eyes. A cooler of beer popped open, burgers on the grill.

You smile and accept the hug Frankie offers you, moving quickly to Will and then Benny, despite seeing the Millers often enough, now that you and Ben were back to seeing each other daily.

Santi can’t even be bothered enough to turn from the grill. He says nothing and a fissure of pain cracks open your chest, your heart bleeding all over again, just like that.

“How’re you Frankie? How’s the baby?” You slide into the open space next to him on the bench, accepting the beer he reaches down into the cooler at his side to hand you.

Will automatically starts constructing a burger for you, disregarding the onions and adding extra pickles and an extra slice of cheese, without you having to ask.

It makes your heart hurt to be with them. These were the people you’d been through so much with, who knew so many little things about you.

No onions, extra pickles, extra cheese.

You feel the absence of Tom suddenly, like a hole in the middle of your little family.

Santi’s disregard does nothing to help the feeling.

“Good,” Frankie says. “They’re okay.”

“That’s great-,”

“So,” Benny interrupts, ever tackless, “We gonna talk about this thing or not?”

“Jesus, Ben,” Will says. “Let her settle in.”

Benny raises his brows and looks at you, “You settled?”

“I’m good,” you nod, “Always.”

“There ya go, girl’s all settled up. Let’s talk.”

Santiago joins you at the table then, plate of freshly grilled burgers deposited in the center of the table.

Will passes you the burger he’d assembled for you.

Silence descends, awkward and piercing for a long moment as you look around at them. Pope holds your gaze when you meet his eyes, and for the first time in years, you can’t read the look in them.

You glance away, back at Frankie who you haven’t seen since forever and Will who you infrequently saw these days. “I missed y’all,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

The heckling that immediately follows breaks the ice surrounding the group of you, Frankie cooing sarcastically at you as Will laughs and Benny breaks open a bag of chips that you know he won’t share with anyone else.

“Fuck you guys,” you say without venom.

“We missed you too, kid,” Will says, Frankie throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“Yeah, sister,” Frankie intones, “When are you finally gonna come meet my kid?”

You take a sip of your beer, “As soon as you invite me, Fish.”

“So you take invitations now?” Santiago’s voice cuts through the chatter, his eyes are still glued to your face when you look back at him, the coolness in his voice matching the ice in his eyes.

Something in your chest crumbles and you can’t make yourself keep his gaze this time.

You glance away.

“Pope,” Will warns, a threat lurking in his voice. “You wanna start us off?”

Santiago finally looks away from you, his jaw clenching, before he rattles off the strategy he’d devised - a one day plot to get the money.

You sit and listen without looking at him, thinking of all the ways this plan can go sideways. Again.

Thinking of all the ways you could lose another one of your boys, how the group might not survive losing another member.

You hear the others take up threads, concerns - namely how you would get the money out of the ravine, how it could be transported without notice to the beach. They would hire the same boat as the last time, to transport the money off the coast and out of the country, to the same bank setting up the off-shore shell accounts.

“Can you approach the ravine from any other way than through that town?” You ask.

“Not unless we’re goin’ over the fuckin’ Andes again,” Benny answers you. “And I’m out if that’s the plan.”

“No,” Santi confirms, “Through the town is the only way.”

You consider quietly, biting into your burger as Will details the town’s layout, where you could expect areas that would probably cause issues for you.

“And weapons?” You inquire. “We need to be armed.”

“There’s a shipping freight -,” Santi offers.

“Oh, fuck, you’re not seriously considering arms trafficking on top of everything else, are you? That’s so fucking tracable.”

“You got a problem you can fucking go,” Santi bites back at you. “We don’t have the benefit of time to go scrambling for arms sourced in-country.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and consider for a moment wondering if you should offer or if Pope would just bite your head off again. “No,” you say quietly. “I think I might be able to help there. Contact that might be able to make a drop for us. Something locally sourced.”

Will is nodding, smiles at you, “So no arms trafficking. That’s something.”

Santi reluctantly nods, shoulders loosening.

You might be at odds at the moment, but he does trust you with things like this, knows you would never suggest something that might put the team at a real risk. “I’ll reach out and let you know when it's confirmed.”

Pope saws a hand over his chin and nods, and you recognize that gleam in his eyes, that intensity that said he was starting to believe in this plan, he was starting to see the fruits of this labor.

It's akin to the way he used to look at you, when he would make promises to you that he eventually broke.

The rest of the conversation passes you by, rappelling gear and fuel and rations and passports and how to move the money once it was out of the ravine - but you can’t stop looking at Santi.

He’s always been beautiful, since you first met him all those years ago, when you and Benny had just passed the ASVAB and were then recommended to join Delta by Will.

Anything to keep the siblings together.

He’d been beautiful then with wild dark curls and brown skin darkened by sun exposure, solid and sure and steady.

But now, with the pepper of gray in his hair and the darkness in his eyes, the kindness that he showed every stranger, the slightly startled way he always laughed, his creaky knees - well, he’d only gotten more beautiful.

Age suited him well.

The conversation closes - with you assigned to the arms issue and Will sorting out local transport, if the money was even possible to retrieve.

Benny pokes you in the side as he helps Frankie ball up the used paper plates and gather empty beer bottles, and tilts his head toward where Santi stands fiddling with the grill.

You roll your eyes and shove him back but take the hint and stand.

Santi doesn’t turn when you stop next to him, watching as he meticulously cleans the grill.

“We gonna hate each other forever?” You ask, stepping close to him, his shoulders going stiff beneath his t-shirt.

“I don’t hate you,” he mutters, glancing up but not quite meeting your eyes as he drops the scrub brush in his hand, folding his arms over his chest.

“No? Sure seems like it,” you muse. “Didn’t even invite me to Redfly’s funeral.”

Santi says your name, a sigh that makes your stomach curdle. “We didn’t want you implicated. Everything had went so fuckin’ bad and you knew way more than I should have told you.”

You nod, like it makes you feel any better. “Yeah, I get it.” You almost don’t ask, but you can’t help the question that slips out, “And after that? Why didn’t you come home after that?”

Santiago finally looks at you, his intense gaze locking onto yours and you freeze, pinned down by that heaviness, that stare that is so soft and piercing. The ice in his eyes has curiously melted down into a warm brown, his brows tugging together. “I’d done enough damage.”

And he leaves it at that.

Santiago always comes when you call, and you call him for the first time since he left your porch that last night before things went to hell.

Benny’s already at your place, parked on the couch in front of the TV with a beer in his hand and a bag of cheetos spilling onto the worn fabric.

“Hey Benny boy,” you hear Santiago say when he comes in the back door. “Our girl around?”

Our girl - something all the guys used to teasingly say, something that had annoyed you to no end because you just wanted to be, be a part of the team and the family. It was only after a year being with Delta that you’d realized that was exactly what it meant. That you belonged.

“Blue’s in the kitchen,” you hear Benny say through a mouthful of what you’re sure is toxic orange cheeto dust drifting down onto your couch.

Santi laughs and his footsteps sound on the linoleum, tracking closer to you. “Hey,” he says. “Benny’s fucking up your couch.”

“Yeah nothing new there,” you say, turning from the counter where you’ve just finished rolling out premade pizza dough onto a tray. “It’s a Friday tradition at this point. Beer and fucking up the couch with crumbs.”

Santi stands in the doorway, gazing around with a stricken expression for a moment, and you wonder if it's jarring for him - to be back in this house with you, after spending so much time in it and then leaving it abruptly behind.

You’d quit each other cold turkey, and the separation had not been easy for you. Especially not when traces of Pope lived all through the house, not when he’d fucked you in every room, made you laugh in every room, carried you from the couch to bed, cooked meals together, danced together.

But when Santi meets your eyes, his gaze goes intense, assessing, like he’ll never know everything about you. But sometimes, like now, that ferociousness also feels like it's concealing something, hiding something.

“You had an update?” He prompts, leaning against the door jam with his arms crossed, ball cap shading his eyes as he scuffs a booted toe against the floor.

“Yeah, thought I probably shouldn’t be sharing over the phone,” you wipe your hands on a dishtowel and try not to feel his gaze lingering on you from beneath the bill of his hat. You turn to the fridge and dig out the pizza sauce you’d made earlier in the week with the tomatoes that Santi had once planted in your backyard, various cheeses, and the toppings Benny had brought over.

He had a bizarre palate that you didn’t try to understand - so one side would be Benny and the other just cheese.

“My contact got back to me. He can make the drop. But only to me,” you hip check the silverware drawer closed after grabbing a spoon and turn back to the pizza, spooning sauce onto the dough.

“I’m thinking this,” you continue, “I go into the town alone, do the weapons pick-up, get the transport Will is arranging, meet y’all down the coast and we go around and up into the mountains. I know it's a way longer route but it's probably worth it for you guys not to go through the town. In the meantime, you guys just have to sit tight in that cove's cave.” You nod at a folded map at the end of the counter. “If we can get enough fuel arranged, there’s a way around that I mapped out. Roads shouldn’t be too much trouble this time of year.”

He doesn’t move to pick up the map.

You finish with the sauce and start sprinkling cheese, feeling Santi lurch away from the doorway and approach you slowly, until he’s beside you and every muscle in your body is tense and hot. “Fuck, you’re serious, aren’t you?”

“It’s a good plan,” you say, tearing some fresh mozzarella. “Keeps you boys outta the town. Gets us weapons that were sourced in-country, fuel, and a ride.”

“And puts you right in the firing line. You’d haveta land and be without weapons until the drop. What if your contact doesn’t show?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m the only face that won’t be recognized.”

Santi rolls his eyes, “They’ll know you’re a foreigner and that might be enough.”

“I’ll be careful.”

You can feel Santiago’s irritation building. “Why are you so gung-ho to do this now? You’ve always been shit at infiltration. There’s a reason you’re the sniper.”

Since one of you died! You want to shout.

“Fuck off, Pope,” you say instead as he takes his hat off and tosses it down, leaning his forearms onto the counter next to you before ducking his head and running his hands through his hair. “You know why I didn’t want to do it the first time around. And now -,”

And now you were terrified that if you didn’t go, another member of your family would come home in a bodybag.

And you wouldn’t even get to go to the funeral.

And this time it could be Santi or Benny or -

You clench your eyes shut, the heat of Santiago next to you too much suddenly. You suck in a sharp breath and try to get the panic bubbling up under control.

“Hey -,”

His voice is too soft, too close.

“Whatever,” you cut him off. “What-fucking-ever, Pope. I’m shit. I was never valuable to Delta. I get it, okay? But this is your best shot. Unless you wanna go coordinate shipping arms into some backwater town through cartel territory.”

Santiago stares at you, his gaze wide and shocked, so unlike the hard stare he usually sported. His mouth softens a fraction but you turn away, adding the gross shit Benny wanted onto his side of the pizza.

“Yes or no?” you ask. “This is it. This is how we do it.”

“One of us stays with you. We split two-three.” You open your mouth to retort when he continues, his voice strangely quiet. “I understand you have to go to the drop by yourself, everything else doesn’t haveta be. You need someone watching your six.”

You heave a sigh, picking up the pan with the finished pizza to stick in the oven. “Jesus, what the hell does that kid eat?” Santi asks, noting the toppings.

“Shit,” you answer, snapping the oven door closed. “Who?”

“Frankie. He can make up for your shit Spanish.”

You quickly catalog another thing you’re deficient in, swallowing thickly.

“Fine.”

Santi nods and keeps staring at you, staring at you standing in the middle of your kitchen with your arms crossed.

And you feel the sudden urge to cry, to break down and scream.

Your breath is heavy in your chest, and the weight of Santi’s eyes on you doesn’t help.

“We should talk about it,” he says.

You shake your head, grab a beer from the fridge and walk out of the kitchen, down the hall and past the living room where Benny was invested in a baseball game, and out onto your back deck.

Santiago follows you, snapping the screen door closed after him. “C’mon.”

“No. You left it the way it is. We don’t need to talk about it,” you knock the bottle cap off the beer with one well placed smack against the edge of the deck railing.

But you can’t find it in yourself to drink it and so you set it aside.

Santi’s jaw clenches and he runs an agitated hand through his hair, pacing a line back and forth before he stops and cups a hand over his chin. “Don’t be stubborn about this, Blue.”

“Fuck off, Pope.”

He rolls his eyes and approaches you, stepping right into your space, crowding you against the banister, bracketing his arms around you, palms against the railing behind you. He tilts his head over yours, his nose nearly touching yours. “I missed you. I wanted to come back. I didn’t know how.”

You scoff. “It was easy. You could have walked through the door.” You grit your teeth, “Would you have even told me Tom died? Or would I have seen it on fucking Facebook from his widow months later?”

Santi flinches at your accusation but doesn’t back down, his eyes still boring into your, his voice quiet. “Yes. You’re our family. You know one of us would have, if Ben hadn’t.”

“Right,” you say disbelievingly. “It hurt the most that I didn’t hear from you. Did I ever really mean anything to you? Or was I just a liability to the team? Another whore to get you through the night?”

“What?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Santiago. You never came home. And I know you were fucking people when you were out of town. I always knew.”

His eyes are so dark they read black in the fading evening sunshine. “Is that what you think? That I was sitting around here playing house with you for fun?”

Your belly lurches. “Get away from me,” you snap, shoving at his shoulder. “I don’t need you to call me stupid in my own house. I got it, Santi. I wasn’t good enough for the team and I wasn’t good enough for you. I get it.”

He makes a noise of frustration and doesn’t move. “Stop being so fucking hardheaded.”

“Okay,” you sniff. “Go ahead then. What do you want to say? About that night, about why you never came home? About what you said to me?”

Santi gapes at you, clearly not expecting you to just give into him, “I - I -,” he flounders.

“Yeah,” you duck under his arm, snatch up your beer, and head back inside, “That’s what I thought.”

“You never went out there to see her? Fuuuck man, no wonder she’s pissed,” Benny says, offloading their tac bags into the sand of the cove from the dinghy, the walls of the cave-like outcropping reflecting in the shallow water.

Will moves the bags further up the sand and doesn’t say anything.

And Santiago - he doesn’t know what to fucking say about any of it.

Going back to that house, back to you, after everything he’d said to you, after he’d implied that any injuries they got would be your fault, after he told you that you were a weight to their team even though it was the farthest thing from the truth.

He didn’t know how to go back to you.

He didn’t know how to make things right, and so one month had turned into two had turned into six.

“She never said anything?” Santi asks Benny, almost afraid of what the answer might be.

“Not like we sit around talking about you, man. I wasn’t out there all that much for a while. Going through my own shit,” Benny says, jumping out of the boat to work on tying it down.

Santi thinks about Benny going out to your place, dumping all his shit on you and leaving. Of Will and Frankie visiting infrequently, because they were, as Benny so eloquently put it - going through their own shit in the aftermath of that mission.

All of them wrongly assuming that Santi had been to see you, that he was still seeing you.

All of them thinking that you were okay because Santi was always with you.

Fuck.

No wonder you felt abandoned. No wonder you believed him when he’d said -

He can’t think about that right now.

You must have felt like you lost all of them for a while.

“Check-in with Fish and Blue,” he snarls at Benny instead. “I want an update. They landed yesterday and should already be on their way here.”

Benny glances at Will but neither of them say anything as he fiddles with the comms.

Santiago makes a point of not looking at either of them, pointlessly cataloging the shit they did bring with them, mainly rappelling equipment, rations, and protective gear.

The comm in his ear statics and then Benny’s voice is reaching out for a status report.

Your voice comes back after only a few minutes. “Hey Ben,” you say, your voice clear but with a rift in it, a thick line of tension. “Heading your way. Should be there around 1900 hours. Sit tight.”

“Roger. Sitting tight.”

Santiago opens his own line. “Report,” he barks out, not satisfied with the way you sound, that slight crack in the edge of your voice.

“Cargo en route, Pope,” is the only response he receives.

“Roger, Blue,” he says. “Any trouble?”

There’s a long silence before you respond. “Minor incident. Intercepted in vehicle retrieval. One dead. No witnesses. Minimal injuries.”

“Injury report.”

“Fuck, Pope,” Will mutters, “They’ll be here in a couple hours. Leave it.”

“Fish is fine,” you say and Santiago’s heart seizes because that means - “I was grazed. Minimal impact. Over and out, see you soon Delta one.”

Your line clicks out, the static retreating.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck.”

“C’mon, Pope,” Will says, “Quit thinking with your dick. We’ve all been shot. She was only grazed. They’re fine and heading to us.” He sits back on the sand, Benny following suit.

He knows.

Fuck, he knows.

He tucks the information away - compartmentalizes it and hopes like hell it works.

You and Fish show up exactly when you say you will, radioing out to them when you were a couple klicks away.

Santiago and Will head up to help you hide the truck you arrive in, grab the duffle bags full of weapons.

The cache you’ve been provided with is well stocked and Will whistles when he sees it. “Fuck, Blue, you’ve got one hell of a contact.”

You smile tightly at him, limping around the front of the truck.

Santiago’s breath catches when he sees you.

It’s hell to see you looking like that again. Although you’re in jeans - the rest of the getup is similar enough to the fatigues you used to sport that it makes his chest tighten. Your hair is tucked back, a backward ball cap on your head, and he recognizes it as one of his, one he must have left at your place. Sunglasses are hitched up above your brow.

You have a strip of cloth tied around your upper thigh, and Frankie has one concerned hand under your elbow.

Santiago never wanted to see you like this again, never wanted to have to think about you being shot at again.

You ignore his stare and say to Frankie, “C’mere and help me calculate this fuel shit. We need to be sure it's more than enough to get us there and back with room for detours.”

Frankie opens the back door and lets you rummage around in another bag before turning back with a scrap of paper and pen.

When Santi just stands there staring at you, you turn and tilt your head. “Gonna help Ironhead with that shit, Pope?”

He flinches, can’t help himself when he hears you call him that, it takes him back to your porch, to the words he can never take back.

Santiago doesn’t say anything, catches Frankie roll his eyes as Santi turns and grabs a couple bags to drag down to the cove.

A few minutes later you and Fish make your way to the cave. “-wish we had a bit more but that should do.”

“It’ll be fine,” Fish assures you, sounding a lot less concerned than you.

“Uh huh,” you say, dropping next to Benny on the sand to take the canteen he offers you.

Will turns to look at you, his eyes flicking over the bandage on your leg. “What happened?”

“Exactly what I said. Some guy caught us grabbing the truck. He shot first, Fish took ‘im out.”

All cold practicality, Will answers, “Clean it properly.”

Fish laughs and raises a brow at you and Santi knows he had already told you to do it.

You roll your eyes and glance at Benny with an exasperated huff of breath.

Before, when you served together, Santiago would have read that look all wrong, would have seen something more than what it was. Now, he sees it for what it is - two younger siblings exasperated by their older brother.

You and Ben have been attached at the hip since the third grade, and have done nearly everything in your life together. You were best friends and nothing more than that. In fact the idea probably repulsed both of you.

He wonders what it was like for you then, when Benny suddenly wasn’t around anymore after the failed Colombia mission.

Santi hooks one of the hand guns into the holster on his hip, grabs a first aid kit, and crosses to you. “I got it.”

He holds out a hand and you hesitate for only a moment before taking his hand and letting him haul you up. He leads you a little way from the group while they continue sorting the weapons out, nodding for you to lean back into the edge of the beached boat.

“Shit,” Santiago mutters when he crouches down and peels the makeshift bandage off of your thigh. “This is more than a graze, you got ate, mi vida.”

“Only a little. No bullet in me.”

He shakes his head and briskly cleans the wound, dresses it with a proper bandage and a wrapping of gauze around your thigh. He slides his knuckles down to your knee and glances up at you. “Fuck, Blue, please. Be careful.”

“You think I got shot on purpose?” You ask, amused rather than pissed for once, as he stands.

He licks his lips and plants his hands on his hips, not able to keep his eyes off you.

Fuck were you pretty.

Even in fatigues and sweating from the humidity, you were so fucking beautiful.

And then he notices the rings on your fingers, notices the ring that he gave you years ago now, and his mouth goes dry, his heart pumps like it’s trying to break the cage of his ribs.

“‘Course not. Just saying. Be careful.”

“Okay,” you agree. “When should we head out? Frankie -,” you call and the other man glances over at the two of you. “We thought 0400 hours, right?”

“Right,” he confirms quietly, “Early enough that we’ve got a bit of light but it's still dark,” he agrees.

“There ya go, Pope,” you say.

He doesn’t look away from you, can’t quite manage it. “You’ve got my hat.”

“My hat now,” you snip. “Left it in my house.”

“You ever gonna forgive me?” He doesn’t know why he asks, it's not like he deserves it.

“Dunno, Santi,” you say. “You ever gonna apologize?”

He clenches his jaw and walks away from you, announcing, “We’re out at 0400 hours. Sharp.”

The sun is only really starting to blaze alive when you park the truck at the edge of a canyon. “We gotta walk from here, y’all,” you say, slapping the map down between Will and Santiago in the front seat.

“Hooah,” Benny intones, popping open his door so you can slide out behind him.

When the truck is hidden in the foliage and you’re all geared up, you say, “So, I was thinking, I can split with you guys here, follow the ridgeline up so I can see farther-,”

“We aren’t splitting up again,” Santi says, lowering protective glasses over his eyes. “You’ll be able to see plenty in either direction from the ravine.”

“Are you sure-,”

“Yes,” he grits his teeth. “We’re wasting time, let's go.”

So you wrap the strap of your rifle around your neck and go.

You don’t talk as you move through the canyon and through the mountainside, up the steep rocky crags, Santiago at the head with a GPS and the coordinates.

Finding the correct ravine is surprisingly easy, and you peer over the side to see a mountain of snow at the bottom. “Looks like you guys will be digging.”

“Wonderful,” Frankie says. “You wanna trade? I’ll man the horizon.”

You smirk, “Nah, I’m good here.” You screw a silencer onto the end of your rifle and walk away, scouting for a position where you could easily see in all directions to cover them while they worked.

“Not too far,” Pope says into the comms and you don’t bother to turn, waving a hand above your head to show you heard.

You settle down, between two rocks, adjusting the scope on your rifle to make sure you have a clear view.

“Blue, check-in,” Frankie’s voice comes over the comm. “Pope can’t see you and has his panties in a twist.”

You chuckle and respond, “That’s the idea. Present and accounted for. How’s it going, boys?”

“Benny and Santi rappelling down now.”

You don’t respond, focusing instead on your task, wondering how long it would take them to get all of it out of the ravine, if they would have to dig it out of the snow, if it was even still there, how long it would take to haul out to the truck.

Two hours pass in which the horizon in all directions is clear, and which the boys stay silent in your ear.

And then - “Fuck yeah! Money’s still here baby!” Benny nearly deafens you and the others. A long string of curses and hyena-like laughter follows.

“Shut the fuck up, Ben! Jesus,” Will mutters. “Just get it the fuck up here.”

“Keep your head on straight,” you say into your comm. “We’re not taking more than we can handle, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Santi says. “Of course.”

“I’m serious. I will leave you here, Pope.”

“I’ll leave him here,” Frankie adds.

The rest of the day passes by slowly, and without incident. Occasional comments come through but nothing that warranted a response until near sundown, “Come on back, Blue,” Will says.

“Done already?”

“For tonight.”

When you approach the camp, duffle bags are strewn around.

Many more than you expected.

“Jesus, you sure this isn’t all of it?” You assess the amount of bags. “Think we might have to be okay with this.” You shoulder your M16, “We should start moving it to the truck now.”

The guys glance at each other. “C’mon,” you whine, annoyed with them. “Y’all really gonna let money go to your head again?”

“You don’t want any?”

“Any is more than none, which is what I have now,” you say. “And no, Ben, I don’t need a Ferrari.”

They all glance at each other, then, “One more run tonight and then we’re done. We’ll move the cash in the morning, and be on the boat by the afternoon.”

You roll your eyes, “Fine, whatever.”

Benny hoots and goes about getting strapped into the harness again, Will following suit.

“That was kind of you,” Frankie says, coming to stand next to you with arms folded across his chest. “We coulda used your level head last time.”

You feel your heart sink, surprised Fish would say anything about it to you. “Yeah,” you say softly, watching Santi help Ben and Will start down the cliffside. “I know it's my fault that it went down the way it did. I’m sorry.”

Fish is silent for a few minutes as you watch the boys, before he suddenly turns to you, “Wait, what? Your fault?”

You press your lips together, Will and Benny finally disappearing as the last light faded from the sky. “Threw off the team. Wasn’t here to-,”

“Hold on. We’re grown fucking men and you had the choice to say no. No one’s holdin’ that against you.”

You don’t answer, watching Santi, the broad line of his shoulders, the firm set of him as he keeps an eye on the ropes.

“Not everyone thinks that.”

“What, Pope?” When you don’t answer he continues, shaking his head. “God, if I know anything about Santiago it's that he’s upside down, head over heels, makes him look stupid, in love with you. And he has been since you and that fucker Ben rolled up to Delta like you already belonged.”

You swallow, not sure what to say, your throat dry as you rub your hands together and then stuff them under your armpits to keep them warm in the cooling air. “Oh yeah? Helluva way of showin’ it. He said I was fuckin’ useless. Called me a coward. Said anything that happened to y’all was my fault. And then Tom died. And you all were never around anymore, not even Benny.”

“Shit, honey,” he says softly. “We thought Santi was still going out there to see you every chance his dumbass got.” He pauses and then looks over at you, shifting to cradle his weapon in his arms. “As for that other shit, Pope says some shit when he gets mad, and no one gets under his skin better than you. You know nothing that happened down here was your fault. It was our fault, our choices.”

You bite the side of your cheek. “Thanks, Fish.”

“You can call it stupid if you want. It was.”

“It was stupid and you’re all greedy bastards,” you say, knocking a shoulder into his.

He smiles, “Yeah. But it might just work out this time.”

The night passes easily.

You don’t start a fire, and the guys are curiously silent about the prospect though you know it's smarter not to start one and draw attention to your position.

Benny takes the first watch and you end up sandwiched between Frankie and Santiago.

It takes all your willpower not to curl into him, the smell of him exactly as you remember, the heat of him, the press of him against you.

Right when you’re about to fall asleep, you feel Santi’s fingers curl through yours and squeeze gently, his lips at your ear. “I’m so fucking sorry, mi vida.”

The next morning, at first light, with most of the cash already transported to the truck, you spot movement on the ridgeline, and when you lift your scope to your eye and see bodies traveling down the rocky mountainside.

You call out a warning just as the first shot slams into the ground several feet from you.

You duck for cover before coming up on a knee to squeeze your own trigger, the silencer muffling the sound of the shot.

Santi turns and watches a distant body fall to the ground, as he too falls behind one of the many boulders.

“Hey, hey, what the fuck are we shooting at?” Ben yells at you as you grab him and yank him down beside you.

“We gotta go,” you spit out over the comms as Benny lifts his body away from yours to take a couple shots of his own, clearly felling his targets by the look on his face, “Looks like somebody patrols this area now. Probably because of you fuckers.”

“Frankie, Will, stay where you are,” Santiago says over the comms.

“What’s going on?” Will snarls back.

“Fuck just -,”

You pop off another shot, using hand signals to tell Santi to start moving his ass toward the treeline. He’s closer to your exit route than you and Ben. “They’re all down the fucking mountain - we’re about to be cut off. We need to go,” you say into the comms. “Grab that shit and let's go,” you say to Benny, pointing to the last duffle bag at your feet before gripping his tac vest as you start moving forward together against the rocks as fast as you dare.

You look ahead and note that Santiago isn’t moving, instead standing his ground and shooting back at the ridgeline, covering the two of you.

It’s a stupid fucking move. There were too many of them, too many shots for it to make a difference. But he’s clearly waiting for the two of you, the babies of Delta, to make it back to him before he moves off. The rest of them had always been overprotective of you and Ben though none of them would ever admit it. They know you’re both more than capable but that didn’t stop them from double and triple asking if you were sure you wanted to do something, or making it a priority to intervene when one of you were in trouble, especially Will when it came to you and Benny.

And while you hadn’t been here before, you know.

This is where Tom died. This is where they lost everything.

Santiago doesn’t like to lose.

“Fuck!” You can hear him shout, directing Benny to stop with a raised fist, moving back toward you instead away from you.

They’re close enough now that you can hear shouts, and you meet nearer to the trees, all three of you pressed behind a rock.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Benny is screaming, the noise muffled in your ear, your concentration fastened back on the moving targets, the bodies, the people. You take a steadying breath and line up your shots. “You’re going to get us fucking killed!” Benny continues. “What the fuck, man! We had it!”

You always were the best shot of Delta, and the people closest to you fall.

You can’t tell if they’re dead.

The clip is empty and you take a moment to reload, slamming the cartridge into place with more force than necessary.

“You really must think me fucking useless if you think I can’t move six feet without you!” You shout at Santiago, who grabs the two of you and shoves you ahead of him, crouched down low. “You fucker!”

“Fuck! It’s not about that-,” he starts, but you ignore him moving quickly over unsteady ground.

You and Benny are younger than the rest of the team by years, and it shows now, Santi panting as you run and cuss without a hitch in your breath. Ben cursing in front of you the whole way.

“You stupid fucker,” you snarl again, Benny echoing your sentiment as you pause again, bullets richoching around you.

Santi pants as he leans back against the rock for a moment, letting you rage against him, fear eating your heart because he had just ran at you. He had ran back to you for no fucking reason and now he might die with you and Benny. You raise yourself up to shoot back again, Benny taking shots to the right.

“They’re closing in, we need to move,” Benny says, radioing over the comms to warn Frankie and Will to have the truck ready and waiting.

You and Santi are silent, taking coordinated shots.

“Fuck! Why are there so many of them?” You grit your teeth, the recoil of the gun against you starting to bruise.

“They knew we lost that money, they’ve been waiting for someone to come poking around for it so they could get it,” Santi says, his breathing even again. “Probably set up patrols here after we came though.”

You glance over at him to ask why he hadn’t shared that thought before this moment, and feel your heart stop. Up the rockside and to the left, there at the edge of the rocks, a kid stands with a gun sighted up on Santiago.

“Santi,” you whisper, voice hoarse. And then so loud, you hurt you own ears, “Santi!”

He starts to turn but you reach over and grab him by the back of his neck, jerking him down, and using the leverage to haul yourself up above him. The kid shoots at the same time you do.

Your bullet lodges between his eyes, but the shot that would have split Santago’s skull in two, lodges deep into the fleshy part of you between your shoulder and your clavicle. You wobble and then crash back between Santi and Ben, not entirely sure what just happened.

You look down at yourself, where the bullet perfectly caught right at the edge of your skewed tac vest, just above your heart

Panic surges up through you suddenly and your vision clouds as you grit your teeth against the pain.

Santi grips your jaw hard, those dark fathomless eyes boring into you, shouting something at you.

But you can’t get enough breath into your lungs to feel like you can respond. “Fuck,” you whisper, touching the blood on your hoodie. One of Santi’s old hoodies, you hadn’t realized until now. “I think I’m hit,” you say as Santi slaps your hand away from the wound.

Blood gushes out of the hole in waves. “Blue, look at me,” Santi says, a sudden pressure on the wound making you bite down a howl. His hands are covered in red. Blood, it must be your blood. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Okay, Pope,” you whisper, the edge of your vision fading, “Fuck I think it hit my heart.”

You don’t hear his answer, the last thing you know is Santi and Ben leaning over you, dead panic on their faces but you can’t quite figure out why.

Carrying you to the truck, your eyes unfocused and glossy, feels a lot like carrying Tom’s corpse home.

Santiago doesn’t scare easy, but cradling your head in his lap while Ben cries his eyes out and snarls at Will to drive faster, scares him.

Frankie’s worried eyes turning back to assess you, scares him.

Will’s stoic silence, scares him.

But nothing comes close to the fear he feels at the prospect of having to carry home your corpse.

And suddenly that money, everything in the world, nothing matters to him but you - and it’ll be his fault if you die now.

He leans down over you, presses a kiss to the shell of your ear. There’s blood caked on your neck, crusting along the edge of your sweatshirt. Your ball cap and protective glasses are on the floor of the truck at his feet, stained a crimson that his brain can’t make sense of.

The graze of the bullet against your thigh was god’s warning to turn back, and he hadn’t heeded it.

Ruthless.

He’s always been ruthless.

And now maybe that ruthlessness really would get you killed.

He can’t really make himself understand it, why you would jump up like that and pull him out of the way.

“Santi,” you murmur, your breath sweet against his skin, your bloody fingers scrubbing against the stubble on his cheek. “Santi,” you whisper against his skin, the copper smell of you making him sick, makes him want to fucking vomit.

“Hold on, cariño,” he says gently. “We’re gonna get you home safe and sound.” But your skin is ashen, your lips chapped already and he knows there isn’t a chance in hell of you making it to the States alive without them addressing the mess that is your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he snarls when your eyes flutter closed again, your body going limp as you pass out. “Benny, grab that med pack. We’re gonna have to sew her up before she loses any more blood. She’s not gonna make it if we don’t.”

Pope rips back the straps of your tac vest, rips your sweatshirt open as Benny goes cool with determination, grounded and levelheaded even as tears slip down his nose. There’s no exit wound and so Benny passes over the supplies Santi needs to dig the bullet out of your shoulder.

He stuffs cloth in your mouth when you lurch and give a blood curdling scream, forceps squelching deep in the wound until he can finally rip the metal out of your shoulder.

He forces you to keep it in your mouth so you don’t break your teeth, bite your fucking tongue off, when they dump peroxide over the wound.

Benny holds you still after he hands Santiago the threaded needle, closes his eyes and takes a breath, before he unsteadily and messily sews your shoulder closed.

By the time he’s done with you, you’re so still he might as well have killed you himself.

Then

“Hey, killer,” Santiago says when you thrust open the front screen door with a toe.

“Hey yourself, old man,” you snipe at him, “Wanna help me out a little?”

Santi finishes wiping his hands on a dishtowel and moves to hold the door open for you.

You’re wearing ratty gym clothes, boxing gloves spilling out of your duffle bag, a couple of grocery bags fisted in your other hand.

Santiago gently takes the groceries from you and dumps them on the kitchen table as you wave out at Benny’s retreating jeep.

Ben obnoxiously lays on the horn all the way down the road, but it makes you laugh and so he doesn’t roll his eyes too hard at it.

“You weren’t here when I got in last night,” Santiago says when you beeline into the kitchen and dump your bag on the floor.

He doesn’t get a chance to say anything else because you kiss him, your palms against his cheeks, the line of your body against his. When you pull away you smirk at him and peer at the breakfast he has started on your stove.

“Don’t you have your own house to go to?”

“My own house isn’t where you are.”

You laugh, bell bright, but he knows you think he’s just fucking with you. “You stay at Ben’s?”

“He lost last night and was pouting about it,” you say, unloading the grocery bags. “Me and Will stayed with him. Re-watched Predator for the millionth time. Knew we’d end up at the gym in the morning together anyways.”

Santi tucks his arms around you and drags you back against his chest, pressing his lips to the nape of your neck and then the shell of your ear. “Left me high and dry here, honey.”

“Oh, I’m sure you managed to entertain yourself, Santi.” You turn your head and bump your forehead against his temple. “You’ve got a hand don’t you?”

He scoffs, “That’s fuckin’ cruel. Expecting pussy and getting a hand.”

You turn in his grip and wind your arms around his neck, smiling and stretching against him like a cat. “Lemme shower and this pussy is all yours, babe.”

“Shower, breakfast, then pussy,” he says. “I know you didn’t eat this morning.”

You roll your eyes, “Hurts my feelings when you ignore me like this Santiago.”

“The last thing in the world I’m doing is ignoring you,” he says, cupping his hands under your ass to lift you onto the counter.

You settle back against the cabinets and he slots himself between your legs, running his hands up your thighs, beneath the fabric of your gym shorts. “You’re so pretty. Have I ever told you that?”

A grin splits your face, one he’s glad to see, one that had taken a year of counseling and fucking and boxing and bar nights to coax back out of you. “Sure,” you say.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

Santiago licks his lips, takes your hands in his, the dozens of rings that line your fingers grazing his.

It was one of the things you’d started wearing to feel more like yourself again, to recapture your identity outside the military, outside Delta.

He traces the rings carefully for a moment when your voice reaches out to him again, your hand touching his jaw. “Santi?” you ask.

“I brought something back for you,” he says, squeezing your knee gently. “Stay here.”

He looks up and meets your eyes, searching the gaze he knows so well, and still coming back empty, still confused about what it all means to you, what he means to you. “Okay,” you say, “What is it?”

Instead of answering, he ducks out of the kitchen to rifle through his own bag that he left in the front hall the night before.

When he returns to you, you have one heel up on the counter, a cup filled with coffee at your side, picking bits of food out of the pan on the stove.

He knocks your heel down, jolting you, “Feet on the counter? Really?”

“It’s my fucking counter, Garcia,” you snap at him, but you smile when you say it.

“Fucking counter, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“I mean I have fucked you there enough times, haven’t I?” He asks, watching you roll your eyes, tracking your every movement, unable to glance away from you.

You lift that same foot and shove at his shoulder as you sip your coffee. “Fuck off.”

Santi catches your foot, presses a kiss to your ankle and lets it drop again so he can slot himself between your legs again, holding up the ring he has pinched between two fingers in his other hand.

Your eyes lock onto the gold, lips parting. “Found it at a market in Bogotá. Polished it up on the way back. Thought you’d like it for your collection.”

Gingerly, as though the ring is made of smoke and not metal, you reach out to take it from him. “It’s beautiful,” you say, examining the stones embedded in the gold.

Santi takes it back from you, and examines your hands, the many, many rings that stack on your fingers. “Which finger you want it on, mi vida?”

You wiggle your right ring finger and he slips it into place. It's a perfect fit.

He looks up at you, he means to tell you in that moment, that there’s no one else, that there’s only you, that this thing between you is solid and real and he wants no one else, ever. That you’re his and he’s yours.

That you are his girl.

But the words die on his lips as soon as he looks at you, and then you’re sliding off the counter and kissing him so hard, he feels like he might bruise.

“Why don’t you shower with me and we can kill two birds with one stone?” You ask. “I get clean and you get pussy.”

He holds you so tight he feels you exhale a sharp breath, tilting his head over yours, brows pulled together as he watches you, watches the widening of your eyes.

“All for a ring?” he undercuts his own fucking plan, his own feelings.

“It’s a pretty ring.”

Now

They have to leave you in the hotel they check into, to meet with the bank, to deposit their fucking money.

Fifty million and it feels like nothing.

Benny and Will wait with you while he and Fish go to the bank first, and then switch places.

You’re awake when they get back and Santi wants to cry. Fish pretends there’s something he forgot in the lobby and leaves.

Santi pulls up a chair next to you and takes your hand. “What the fuck were you thinking?” He murmurs.

“Was thinking I didn’t want your brains all over me,” you say, weak fingers tightening on his. “You did a shit job stitching me up, by the way. But I think it saved my life.”

Santi says your name quietly, picking up your hand, your skin clammy against his. “Well our combat medic was out.”

He closes his eyes, gritting his jaw, trying to wash away the image of your prone body on two different boats, carrying you with Benny away from the line of fire like you were already gone from the world.

“Why?” He asks again. “Fuck, why would you do that?”

You grip his hand weakly, “Because. Because you - probably the same reason you ran toward me instead of away. Because I knew you were about to die and couldn’t let that happen.”

“And what if you fucking died, huh?”

“Guess I’d be dead then.”

He winces but doesn’t let you look away from him.

You swallow, “Help me sit up? I want some water.”

Santi hurries to help you sit up, listening to the way you groan tightly before he fetches a bottle of water for you and unscrews the cap.

Your hand shakes when you lift the bottle to your lips, and he has to cup the bottom of it to hold it steady for you.

When you’ve drunk your fill, you handle the bottle back and yank down the strap of your sports bra to look at the gauze webbed around your shoulder, the blood that slowly begins to stain through because of your movement.

You sigh and then fiddle with your rings, his ring on your finger, where it's never moved since he placed it there. “Santi,” you murmur. “I know we never said it - but I love you. That’s why it hurt so goddamn bad when you left. It just confirmed that it really never mattered to you. And this - this stupid fucking money - I know how you get. I couldn’t believe - couldn’t believe you just dropped me like that. I told myself you didn’t mean it. That we’re both mean sons of bitches when we’re pissed but then you never came home.”

You take a long stuttering breath, and his heart feels like it's stopped beating, like god has a boot on his chest. “I never woulda done that to you. You left it up to Benny to tell me what the fuck happened. I didn’t just lose you, I lost all of you. You know what that’s like? To have your best friend, who you’ve never been apart from for more than a couple days, just drop you? To have - to have you - for better or worse, the man I fucking love - abandon me?”

Is this what it takes to get him to spill his guts to you?

Having you half dead in his arms, your eyes lined with circles, your skin tone off by several shades, telling him things he already fucking knows?

He cups your cheeks in his palms gently, swipes away the tears that fall. Santiago hasn’t seen you like this in years, since you finally started coming back to yourself.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers. “Fuck, mi vida, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Santi curls his arms around you, shifts you on the bed until he can lie down with you, the pressure off of your injured shoulder as you turn on your side to fit yourself against him.

“I can never take back those things I said to you. But you have to know - I didn’t mean a single word of it. Nothing that happened on that mission was your fault. Not a fucking thing. As soon as things went sideways the first time, the only thing I could think was thank god she’s safe at home.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead and you feel more tears leak down your cheeks. “You are the best shot we have - proved that a couple times over yesterday, I think. You were never just a medic, you know that. You’ve beaten me in hand to hand more than enough times, all the rest of those fuckers too. You’re the best of us, honey. I was just so goddamn scared you’d never forgive me for the things I was about to do - you had it right about Lorea and the money and my motivation.”

You feel the movement of his throat against you, arms tightening by a fraction, before he says, voice hoarse, “And I’ve always loved you. Always. I never knew how to say it. You’ve been my only girl for so fucking long.”

You shove his shoulder gently and feel him stiffen but you only bring his forehead to yours, peering into those eyes that were always so intense, that missed nothing, and read you like a book.

You scrub a hand over his stubbled cheek, the pull of the hair against your hand soothing. “You know I love you, Santiago.”

“I love you,” he answers sincerely. “Sorry it took so goddamn long.”

You pull him down into a kiss, your shoulder aching, a biting pain that lances across your chest. “Me too,” you murmur, gingerly unbuttoning his jeans, careful of the very messy stitches in your shoulder. You hiss through your teeth and Santi stops your hand.

“No, your shoulder-,”

“Yes,” you murmur. “Yes. You just have to be careful with me. You just have to be gentle.” You peer up at him, into those brown eyes that feel so like home to you, like the warmth of a summer forest. You touch the hinge of his jaw, “Just be gentle with me.”

Santi’s eyes clench closed and then he’s nodding and kissing your forehead, all resolve gone. You thought the strings of your heart had been wrapped around his fingers all these years. You never imagined that you held his too.

He pulls away from you to undress, since you won’t be able to do it for him in your state, and you use the opportunity to push your shorts and underwear off with your good arm.

And then he’s back, naked against you, one arm under your neck to support your head, the other curving around your knee to hitch over his hip, pressing so close to you. You feel the ridges of his cock against your pussy, already wet.

“Just like this,” he murmurs to you, never breaking his eyes from yours, his gaze just as steady and intense as it always has been, but now there’s a thread of vulnerability that makes you duck your head to press a kiss over his heart. Your good hand against his cheek, the other carefully skimming along his abdomen, the thick muscle and padding he carries.

You both watch as he slides into you, watch your bodies join slowly, the stretch of him so fucking good and heavy.

Your breath leaves you in a gust and Santi pauses, more gentle with you than he’s ever been. “Fuck. You have to tell me if I’m hurting you. Okay?”

You meet his gaze, rolling your hips against his, “Santi.”

He moves then, meeting the slow thrust of you. “Yeah, baby, tell me what you need.”

Instead of biting something out at him like you usually would, you cup both hands against his cheeks as he tightens his arm around your waist, bringing you that much closer.

Santi leans his forehead against yours, and neither of you shut your eyes. You can’t, you have to know he’s there and real and everything that he’s said the last few minutes is true.

He’d always been better at doing than saying and now is no different - his gaze unwavering, making love to you so softly you feel a tear bead and slip down your nose.

Santiago swipes it away with his thumb as he shifts the arm beneath your neck so he can cup the back of your skull, fingers digging through your hair.

The pleasure in your belly builds slowly, but that almost feels secondary to the other things you’re feeling - like you finally belonged, like you were no longer adrift, like you finally found your home.

You press your hand flat over his sternum and feel the thrumming of his heart against your hand.

“It beats for you,” he says, closing his eyes briefly to press his nose into your hair.

You almost want to laugh, at how corny it is, if you didn’t know for certain that he’s never said anything more sincerely.

Sweat beads along his salt and pepper curls, the smell of him like his cologne and cheap hotel soap and sweat.

You move your hips more frantically, Santiago matching you thrust for push, when you bury your nose in his neck and inhale sharply.

“I’m close,” you murmur. “Please, Santi.”

“Look at me, baby,” he says. “Lemme see those pretty eyes when you come for me.”

You meet his eyes, trace the long sweep of his lashes with your gaze when the pressure in your belly snaps and you cry out.

Santiago captures your lips, swallowing down your moan, as he presses a hand to the back of your neck, fingers slowly sliding down your spine. His thrusts become sloppy and slow and his brow is furrowed.

When you whisper, “Come for me, Santi,” he exhales sharply into your mouth and comes inside you, hips slowly stuttering to a stop. “I love you.”

“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, if I don’t love you more than I deserve to.” He tugs you close, careful of your shoulder which aches more than you’re willing to admit in that moment.

But you’ve been shot before, and it's not as bad as it could be.

“Yeah,” you coo. “But I want it anyway. I want all your fucked up love.”

Santi laughs and it sounds like a sob, and you curl your fingers through his hair tugging lightly. “I meant to - the day I gave you the ring. I meant to clarify that day that we - ,”

“Mhm,” you hum against him. “Is that what this ring means? You claimed me?”

“Means we belong to each other.”

You nod, “Move in when we get back.”

“I’m gonna put in a pool in your backyard, that deck is begging for one. Gotta have somewhere to keep the boys entertained when I need to fuck you.”

You laugh and then wince at the movement in your shoulder. “Backyard is all yours.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Just then someone knocks at the door. “We have the contract for you to sign if you’re done fucking,” Frankie calls, loud enough that the whole hall probably hears.

You groan but Santi just keeps gazing at you, lips pouted, “And a dog. We gotta get a dog. And a new couch, I’m done sitting on Ben’s cheeto dust.”

“Anything. As long as you’re there.”

His breath catches and he looks like he can’t quite breathe. “Yeah,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over yours. “As long as you’re there.”

Your heart beats so hard, you think it's trying to break free from your chest to join with his.

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x you #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #oscar isaac

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transfemarmin · 8 months

Note

Hey! Mind if I asked for a darker topic?,

S it okay if I request Gwen Stacy with gnc reader, but like...the suicide/self harm one, just like the rest of the spiders? I haven't seen any, but I liked your writing and wanted to see Gwen's,

It's okay if you don't want to, I understand<3

Have a good time

summary: gwen knew what she was getting into when she dated [name], they always had a issue with self harm and their mental health.. while it was a lot to take on, she was always there.. until.. she wasn’t.

a/n: tysm for the request & enjoying my writing! I’ll try my best to do this right, and if you ever feel like you have no one; just dm me and we can chat and become friends, while this is fictional work feelings like this are very real, if you need anything dm me; they’re open for anyone, of all ages. I am a judgement free blog, and if you ever need me to write something with your comfort character comforting you in particular ( not a reader but YOU) I will not hesitate to write something like that up for you as well, I hope you guys are all okay, drink water and make sure you stay healthy. but once again my reader will always be black, my apologies if someone reading this is not black, but a black reader is the only one I am able to do because I am black.

TW: self-harm, suicide, reader’s death, character death, suicidal thoughts, voices, hallucinations

__________________________________________________

GWEN LOVED BEING SPIDER-WOMAN…

it was a tough job, but it meant she could save people, ever since she had lost peter, she wanted nothing more than to save those she loved, those who cared about her.. whether that be gwen stacy or ghost spider.

gwen loved to save her partner the most. she knew she probably shouldn’t have a favorite person to save; but this was someone close to her, someone who understood her, someone she loved and who loved her.

and that person was [name], her partner.. while it could be draining once she got a second to herself, it was harsh and worrisome when she got calls from her partner.. letting her know they wouldn’t be at school for a week or two due to an attempt on their life, and they’d ended up in the mental hospital.

it was scary, learning when they relapsed and they came to her for help. it was a lot, but it wasn’t too much, it was never too much.. because when you love someone.. their problems become yours. their emotions become your own as well if you aren’t too careful.

___________________________________________________

a tear slipped down [name]’s cheek, the voices were acting up again. telling them they were not enough for their girlfriend.. whispering in their ears in the late of the night that they might as well kill themselves, the poor teen gripped on their hair, and yanked on it; dry curls from the weeks they went without wearing their bonnet and moisturizing their hair were left behind in their palms.

“ jesus.. I can’t do anything right, I can’t take care of my hair.. I can’t do basic hygiene.. “ [name] began; feeling the tears begin to well up in their eyes once more.

“ yes.. you’re worthless.. you can’t do anything.” the voices spoke in their head, mentions of being ‘ useless’, ‘ a burden’, as well as insults on their appearance being thrown around as well.

it wasn’t until the mention of gwen; is when the tears really started to roll..

“ why is she even still with you?”

“ all you do is burden her.”

“ the world would be better off without you..and she’d even be happier if you just killed yourself.”

[name] tried to fight the urge, -after the brain they hated so much began to overwhelm them with the thoughts of how much.. better gwen’s life would be if they just.. were not in it. - but.. the urge to grab the knife and slice their wrist.. where many scars already lay was strong. the need and desire to hurt themselves to give themselves a peace of mind.. to not burden her.. it was stronger than the small voice of gwen’s in the back of their mind..

“ if anything like this happens again, please call me.”

it rang in their head, the voice of their girlfriend begging them to call her if any suicidal thoughts popped up, if any hallucinations or voices were heard or seen. if anything was bothering them, gwen was always there to lend a helping hand.. but whenever she needed anything.. they were always in the hospital, always there because they had made an attempt on their life.

the voices rang loud, they were overwhelming.. and it felt like they couldn’t even control their body as they hurried to the kitchen from their bedroom, and grabbed the sharpest knife that was available; hurrying to push their sleeve up, dragging the blade across their skin, small slits that were slowly dripping blood, their body shook, eyes closing; they couldn’t keep a steady hand. the knife was pressed against their wrist, and it was dragged across.. hitting a vein.

[name] open their eyes, and was met with a white slit against their dark skin, eyes widening. they knew what that meant.

the blood came next, “ oh shit.” they mumbled; trying to find a cloth, the blood was rushing quickly. the only thing they found was a sponge, pressing it against their arm. hurrying back upstairs to call the first person that came to mind, their girlfriend.

___________________________________________________

“ - okay, that doesn’t mean-“ gwen stopped for a moment, she was in the middle of a fight with a villain, “ wait.. hang on.” she sheepishly spoke as she pulled out her phone, picking up the phone “ hey.. honey, I’m kinda.. in the middle of-“

“ gwen.. gwen.. I’m sorry, but I need you right now.. I relapsed and.. I-…I’m bleeding bad, I can’t stop it.” [name]’s voice was full of distress, it was full of cracks and they couldn’t stop crying, gwen could hear the sobs

“ what?!” her voice was loud, worrying dripping from her lips, she turned to face the villain and then looked at her phone. “ sorry.. sorry.” she spoke multiple times, “ what?! fight me spiderwoman!” the villain had yelled, obviously offended from her words. gwen didn’t say much else, but just swung away, using her webs to swing her as quickly as possible to her lover’s house, keeping them on the phone. “ i’m here.. i’m here..” the panic in her voice was obvious as she tried to comfort her sobbing lover, who couldn’t stop apologizing, “ did you call the police?” gwen was just hoping an ambulance would be there when she arrived as well

“ no..i just.. I panicked and called you first.”

‘oh no..no.. no!’ gwen’s thoughts were running crazy, and her vision was starting to get blurry, “ hang on.. ima call you back.. I’m gonna call an ambulance first.” gwen’s voice was soft, and the last ten seconds of the call was her reassuring her partner that they’d be okay, that it was only a few moments they’d be apart before she dialed 911, telling the operator that her partner had cut themselves too deep and needed medical attention. the operator kept her on longer than she originally thought; giving the operator [name]’s address, to send a ambulance, the operator kept asking questions but gwen wasn’t in the right mind to answer them, so she avoided them by hanging up.

when she had finally made it to [name]’s window, her heart dropped, seeing her lover in a pool of their own blood.. shook her to her very core. it was something she would never forget.

“ h-hey…hey!” her eyes were wide, and she couldn’t think straight at that very moment. she quickly pulled the window open and hurried inside, “ [name]!” she quickly pulled her mask off, her blue eyes staring at her lover, gwen rushed to their side, giving them a few quick shakes to see if they were still alive.

they weren’t.

gwen had tried to cup their cheek, the body was still warm but the look in their eyes told gwen all she needed to know, “ oh my god..” she muttered, “ no.. no..” her blue eyes stared into [name]’s. seeing how dull and lifeless they looked, she should’ve been there..

she should’ve been with them, to help them through this.. god why did that stupid villain have to decide to rob that store.. was he even a villain? more or so just a criminal? why was she thinking about this now?

just.. why.

why.

why

___________________________________________________

it was at this time that gwen thought about the song IFHY.. by tyler the creator, not because the song related to her, it didn’t. but the line

“ life without you has no goddamn meaning.”

made her think about every second she had spent with her partner, and discovering their dead body was a lot, it hurt. her mind, body, and soul were affected from their death. she took a deep breath as she looked over New York, it didn’t make any sense to her.. why [name] wasn’t next to her. it would’ve made sense if they lived, they would be in the hospital by now, getting treated for their mental health.. but, they were sitting alone. somewhere, their body cold, she’d never get to hold them again, never would get to kiss them again.

she’d never..

unless.

she looked down at the drop to the ground, it’d be enough to kill her right..?

the thought was enough to shock her, she was never one to think about ending her life, these feelings were so heavy, and it hurt.. but.. she missed [name]..

she stood up, standing at the edge of the building

“ hey gwen.. i love you..c’mere”

“ you’re so funny.. c’mere.. I wanna cuddle”

“ gwen.. can you come over?”

“ come on.. give me a kiss..”

every single time.. her lover had wanted her to come closer to them, whether that be for a hug.. a kiss.. or just to be close together.. and sit in silence ran through her head, it was like.. the voice in her head.. of her dead partner was beckoning her to come to them? should she do it?

she missed [name]..

she missed them so much

but the thought of all her friends back at HQ.. her dad..

but the pain was too much for her.. she just wanted it to end.. she already went through enough.

maybe she’d also see her mother again?

her mother.. and [name].. she missed them.

too much..

she missed them too much not to..

she took a deep breath, deciding she’d actually do it..

she closed her eyes, swallowing any anxiety she had..

it was quite ironic to her, every other gwen stacy variant had died by falling to their death after falling in love with spiderman.. and she had tried so hard to never become the next dead gwen stacy. but here she was.. jumping off the building, letting her body fall.. with a smile on her face, tears fell out of her eyes.. a feeling of anxiety in her stomach.. and fear.. but peace as well…

she didn’t even feel herself hit the ground, but anyone who fell victim to the witness of a teenage girl taking her life knew.. she wasn’t alive, she couldn’t be, not after that ten story drop…

she was gone

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banilikesfictionalpeople · 3 months

Text

Welcome!!

Basic info:

i’m Bani a desi teen from India who loves books [reading and buying], writing, listening to bollywood music and watching movies and series!

my desi blog: @shutupbani <3

Shows/Movies/Books:

inheritance games, cruel prince/ folk of the air, lockwood & co., selection, red queen, awae, shatter me, agggtm, enola holmes, marvel, soc, harry potter, stranger things, bollywood movies [can’t name them all cuz there are so many] and a lot more <3

Music:

literally ANY bollywood singer and SO MANY punjabi singers.

Some other stuff:

sometimes i may be cringe, also i may overuse ‘<3’ or the heart emojis 💗 and 🫶🏻 so bear with me.

jamie hawthorne stan forever

jurdan, averyjameson and warnette 🔛🔝

My darling moots <33:

@leclercvinyl-forzalvr/ @forzalvr @urbanflorals @myster3y @mqstermindswift @jamesonhawthorneisw @lyra-kane-the-queen-of-hearts @darlingod @dil-mein-dard-e-disco @esmeraythewriter @sophiesonlinediary @seedhe-pahad-se @vomentallyunstableladka (@baboland) @shuhuaspookie @never-enough-novels @1989stanz @kenjik1shimoto @roses-r-red54330 @luminewhosthat @carmenpowerpuffgirl @annamatix @swiftreader1989 @pennyforyourthoughts345 @gergthecat @hearthown @lyrakanefanatic @sonics-atelier @a-hope-story @iburntmybrotherwithdeodorant @doofusarena @iluvthesky @fortunatelyjollybeliever

Thank you <33

#finally a decent intro post #blog intro #intro post

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