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[delirious-donna]

The Best Worst Father’s Day [Nanami Kento]

an: I wrote this in like 20 minutes because i was ‘inspired’. Kento deserves a fantastic Father’s Day but let’s be real… kids are not always willing to deliver

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: fluff, mention of a child, suggestive at the end, kids being assholes, tantrums (not just the kid), Kento being a fucking hero, breeding kink (if you squint)

Masterlist

It was Father’s Day and it also marked the day that your precious bundle of not-so-small joy decided that they were going to be a nightmare. All day.

The morning started out on the right foot, Kento snoozing peacefully with his sleep-soaked face pressed into the spill of your cleavage, a subtle drunk smile plastered to his face. Awoken by the telltale stomps of what your child affectionately tried to pass as tiptoes grew closer to your bedroom door, you blinked away the dregs of sleep just in time. A head peeked inside, drowsy and rubbing their eyes with a beloved teddy bear tucked under one arm like a newspaper.

You smiled and whispered a good morning before pressing your finger to your lips and pointing to their sleeping father. The answering giggle melted your heart as you heard them scamper downstairs, awaiting their breakfast and entertainment for the morning.

Lost in a kaleidoscope of rose-tinted memories that led to this moment, you combed softly through the blond locks of hair hanging low on his brow. Kento shifted, his eyebrows pinching and smoothing out until he rolled over and continued to sleep. He deserved it, he really did.

All those nighttime feedings, endless nappies changed, hours of reflux and windings that never seemed to yield results. The skinned knees and the tears. A million cups of tea at your bedside table before your bleary eyes even opened for the day. Car seats researched to the nth degree for safety reviews and practicality. First steps. Their first word, and of course it was ‘dada’.

The years had sped by at an alarming rate, feeling as those dark tortuous hours in the depths of winter were only yesterday. There had been far more good times than bad, and without Kento by your side the whole time, you weren’t sure how you would have managed. He might not be your Father, but you were determined his day would be one of the best.

However, that slice of idyllic tranquility would be the last, although you did not yet know it.

Whether the stars had misaligned or some demonic imp had decided today was the perfect day to toy with the emotions of a young child, you didn’t know. What you did know was that they were ‘on one’, and no amount of coaxing or reminders of whose special day it was would deter their rampant destruction.

Kento, diligent and steadfast as ever, refused to back away from the plate. He smiled through the gift giving which consisted of a beautiful handmade card by his darling angel, the very same darling angel who was kicking off because they couldn’t watch their favourite tv show right now. Aptly, the bottle of whisky could not have been a better choice, and he glanced surreptitiously at you with a knowing smile.

From there it went from bad to worse. Tantrums and tears, and not only from the hellspawn, ensued. Your sobs of “you’re meant to be relaxing today, not doing all of this” fell on deaf ears. No amount of cajoling or attempts by you were working, leaving Kento to swoop in like a hero just minus the cape and with the addition of a garish tie.

You watched from the kitchen door, enormous mug of tea in hand and a tissue dabbing your puffy eyes as Kento chased your child around the garden. The laughter broke your heart, but in that way that a happy ending in a movie also broke your heart.

There he was, the man infamously referred to as stoic and reserved, growling like a lion and throwing your little darling around to hollering whoops of laughter. If only they could see what you saw, if only they had known right from day one that behind the cool facade was a man that would do anything for his family—for his wife.

With energy levels finally depleted and the boss level of bath and bedtime tackled and won, you fell into his open arms. Your nose buried in the collar of his shirt, inhaling the spice from dinner on his skin and drinking in the warmth he exuded.

“I’m sorry, Kento,” you mumbled, lip wobbling from the stresses of the day. The anger that had sizzled in your veins only hours ago defused into a mass of misery.

“For what?”

“For the shitshow that was today! Don’t ‘for what’ me.”

Kento tilted your head up, his thumb beneath your chin and his lips upon yours in a soft rush that surprised you. The red wine from dinner melted onto your tongue, pushed deeper as he took and took, only to give back everything and more.

Finally, he pulled back with a contented hum. “Father’s Day is all well and good, but you gave me the best gift you ever could years ago… a baby that has grown into a wilful little mischief maker just like their mother.”

If you weren’t already emotional, you sure were now. Tears brimmed in your eyes only to be caught on the pads of his thumbs. Soft kisses decorated your cheeks and you grasped fistfuls of his shirt in earnest.

“Better stop talking like that, or I’ll give you another one, mister.”

“Mm, now that has made my day. I’ll give you to the count of ten to strip and kneel on the bed,” he breathed in your ear, biting the shell and playfully grabbing at your backside.

“One… two…”

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Sleeping in the mansion somewhere else, beside your room, can be a lottery.

You could wake up to...

🐯 Atsushi, in his tiger form, curled around you.

📒 Kunikida, mumbling about being irresponsible sleeper, while tucking you in.

🩺 Yosano taking care of your nails, giving you a hand massage.

🌨️ Junchirou using his ability, making you think, that you are sleeping in a cloud.

👩🏻 Naomi, preparing you a cup of your favorite beverage.

🍵 Kirako gushing over cat videos.

🛏️ Katai, putting his futon around you.

🐄 Kenji carrying you to your room.

🐰 Kyouka, offering you crêpes.

🕵🏻 Ranpo using you as a table for his snacks and a cuddle-pillow at the same time.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa playing with your hands.

🦀🪢 Dazai plopping down on you, wanting cuddles.

💉 Mori, trying to take your measurements for your new piece of clothes.

🍷 Chuuya hugging you, while complaining to Dazai at the same time.

🌂 Kouyou quietly reading to herself.

🇫🇷 Verlaine letting you use his lap as a pillow.

🎧 Rimbaud using his ability to make sure you stay in a safe and quiet place.

🚩 Flags having a competition, of who can put the most blankets on top of you.

🧥 Akutagawa guarding you. And trying to put your hand on top of his head and get pets.

🔫 Higuchi trying to put accessories on you.

🚬 Hirotsu quietly talking about last big news.

🔪 Gin planning your next together time with Ryunosuke and her.

🩹🧲 Tachihara trying to sneakily hug you.

🍰 Elise drawing you a picture.

💎 Karma quietly thanking you for being the reason why Fyodor spared him.

⭐⭕ Kyuusaku building a pillow fort around you.

🍋 Kajii complaining to the fake scientific videos.

🍛 Oda petting your hair.

💰 Fitzgerald making another list of what to give you as a present.

🦝 Poe writing his next novel, with Karl snuggling with you.

🐋 Melville reading a newspaper.

🐙 Lovecraft making a hammock for you out of his tentacles.

🍇 Steinbeck watching a movie.

☕ In Annie's room, with Lucy discussing Atsushi with Annie.

🪶 Alcott leaving you a cup of coffee.

👒 Mitchell using her ability to make slight wind to keep air cool.

♊ Twain writing his book, discussing it with Huck and Tom.

✝️ Hawthorne going through library books and unintentionally making a book fort around you.

😷 Pushkin eating something, leaving an extra serving for you.

🫖 Goncharov making a whole meal for you.

🐀 Fyodor playing with your hair. Will always happen, if you sleep somewhere else, beside your room.

🦇 Bram trying to quietly ask you, how to use Internet.

🤡 Nikolai snuggling to you, burying his nose in the crook of your neck.

🃏 Sigma playing cards with himself.

⚔️ Fukuchi enjoying some alcohol.

👧👩👵 Teruko, giving commands to other Hunting Dogs, then putting a blanket over you, as an apology for waking you up.

💧 Jounou using you as a pillow.

🌸 Tetchou trying to feed you, while you are still sleepy. Will cuddle with you as an apology.

⛩️ Taneda playing checkers against himself.

💻 Ango doing some work and downloading something for you to watch/play.

🥷 Tsujimura writing a review about last spy movie she saw.

🕶️ Ayatsuji and his cats snuggling to you.

👻 Mushitarou mumbling about Ranpo and not letting him using you s a snack table.

⌚ André Gide silently guarding the room you are in.

🐉🍎🍏 Shibusawa making a catalog of his ability collection from the basement.

🐈‍⬛ Natsume snuggling with you in a cat form.

🤖 Adam monitoring your breathing and heart rate.

👧🏻 Aya reading mystery novels and trying to guess who is guilty.

🚸 Kousuke, Yuu, Katsumi, Shinji and Sakura playing.

🐅 BEAST! Atsushi, in a tiger form, chuffing and rubbing his head against you.

🥋BEAST! Akutagawa glaring at everyone, who dares to came near you.

🕴️BEAST! Gin doing paperwork.

📖 BEAST! Oda writing his novel.

📝 BEAST! Dazai is trying to plop on you and cuddle before OG! Dazai can.

⛓️ BEAST! Chuuya carrying to your room.

🧑‍⚕️BEAST! Mori trying to keep others far from the room, trying to let you sleep in peace.

👩‍⚕️BEAST! Elise playing with Oda kids.

🌨️👿 BEAST! Kuyoka guarding the room, while staying in the corner.

[cinnbar-bun]

Trading Cards- Cross Guild's Day Off 1 (Cross Guild x Reader)

Summary: In which you work with the three Cross Guild officers and stumble across a new trading card game to introduce to them. Hilarity ensues.

Rating: SFW/Crack

Word Count: 1.8k

Notes: No relationships are defined, so feel free to headcanon whatever you want. I know it says x Reader up there and I wrote it in mind that it's a weird ass polycule but I made sure to leave it ambiguous for your reading pleasure. Reader is GN and gets Gumshoe'd, while Mihawk gains a gambling addiction. Minor swearing and violence (but funny).

A/n: Yes I collect the trading cards and I'll be damned if I don't put these three men through hell for funsies in this series (guess what's gonna happen next time).

"What's with all those boxes?” Buggy rubs his red nose as he twirls a knife in hand as you walk into the office. 

“You’ll never believe this! Apparently, someone’s been selling trading cards of famous pirates and marines! It’s a crazy new thing!” You happily plop the boxes on your desk. “And so, I managed to nab a few boxes!” 

Crocodile lowers the newspaper he’s reading to reveal his agitated face. “With whose money?” 

���Oh, that’s no biggie,” you wave off. 

“I’m docking your next paycheck,” Crocodile states as he goes back to reading. Mihawk raises a brow. 

“I have to ask, can they really just sell cards of us like that?” The swordsman questions. “Besides, what makes cards like that so interesting? Isn’t this simply a child’s collection?” 

“That’s what you think! But apparently, there are some secret rare cards everyone’s been dying to get their hands on!” 

You get a dark blue box and marvel at it. 

“Hey, why the hell is that Straw Hat on it?!” Buggy screams. “He’s a nobody! Who the hell wants a card of him?!” 

“Don’t worry, there’s cards of you, I think,” you respond, and Buggy gasps before lunging for the box. “Where?!” 

“I think it’s in one of them,” you point to the many boxes, and Buggy huffs. 

“Well hurry up and get to them!” 

“Don’t you guys wanna open them? They’re meant to be played in fun games,” you ask. “Here, I’ll separate them by fours, and everyone gets to make a new deck!” 

“I have no desire to-” Crocodile begins as you drop the card packets on his desk. 

“This is a strange form of games, but my interest is slightly piqued. I’ll take some,” Mihawk says, extending his hand. Buggy pouts as he’s the last to get them. 

“Now, open!” You yell, while you and the Cross Guild leaders begin to open the card packets. Buggy is tearing through them, shuffling through the cards manically. 

“HUH?! ALVIDA?!” He screams. “That’s not fair! How is she in this?!” 

He gets more frustrated as he opens the remaining packets. “They all say ‘C’ on them!” 

“They’re all common then,” you explain. Buggy lets out a sob at his bad luck. Mihawk and Crocodile ignore Buggy’s wails before Mihawk clears his throat. 

“I’m not asking for any particular reason, but since this is supposed to contain the most famous pirates, does that mean Red-Haired Shanks is a part of this?” Mihawk asks, a curious tinge in his voice. 

“I believe he is in here,” you nod. At your confirmation, Mihawk glares at the cards in his hands and tears them up. 

“C. C. C. C. SR. SR. C. C. R. R. C. UC,” Mihawk reads aloud his card rarities as he opens the pack. 

“Woah, who’re the SR’s?” You ask before Mihawk tosses the cards to the floor and opens another pack. 

“C. C. C. C. C. R. R. UC. UC. R. C. C.” 

“Mihawk, are you-” 

“C. C. C. C. C. C. C. UC. UC. R. C. L.” 

“Holy shit,” Buggy stares in awe as Mihawk’s hands move faster and his eyes frantically roam over the cards. 

“C. C. C. C. C. C. C. R. R. UC. C. L.” 

Crocodile rolls his eyes as Mihawk eventually covers his face with his hands, the non-Shanks having pile of cards a mess on the floor.

“What do you have?” The hooked man asks you. 

“Let’s see…” you open some packets and shrug at the some of the common cards, before you smile at an SR card. “I got you!” 

You proudly show off your new SR rarity Crocodile card. Crocodile motions you to step closer and gazes at the card. “Huh. That’s interesting. I better be strong.” 

“Maybe. I mean, it is an SR, and that’s pretty good!” 

“Why the hell are you an SR?! That’s bullshit! You got your ass handed to you by Straw Hat-” 

Crocodile immediately silences Buggy by pressing his hook onto the clown’s throat. “Want to finish that?” 

“N-no-” 

You continue to hum as you go through more cards. “Oh, Boa Hancock!” You squeal. “She’s so cool!” 

“Not as cool as us…” Buggy whines. Mihawk is still despondent on the couch. 

“Woah, I got Mihawk, too!” You gasp as a very cool card of Mihawk sitting on his throne is in your hands. 

“Okay, now that’s complete and utter crap! These two get in, but I don’t?! What the hell! I should burn these guys!” 

“How did they find out how my outfit and room looked like…” Mihawk mumbled as his face scrunched up. 

“You guys are getting so worked up over some silly cards,” Crocodile clicks his tongue as his cigar hangs from his lips. 

“Easy for you to say! You at least have a card in here!” Buggy whines. “This is so stupid! (Y/n), give me the other boxes, now!” 

“Hey, don’t grab them!” You swat your hands at the clown. “Crocodile still has to open his.” 

“I don’t care about him! I want to find me!” Buggy grabs the first box you opened and notices a pamphlet. 

“Huh? ‘Get your starter packs to begin playing’?” Buggy squinted as he went through the listed starter packs. “Let’s see… Straw Hat, that red-head-” 

“Shanks?!” Mihawk jumps. 

“Not that red-head,” Buggy interjects, and Mihawk sighs. “Kaido, Big Mom, Crocodi- wait a damn minute! How are you the face of one of the starter packs?” 

“I am?” Crocodile blows a puff of smoke. 

“Yeah! ‘Seven Warlords of the Sea’ starter pack! You jerk! Why is it you?!” Buggy screams angrily as Crocodile chuckles and twirls his cigar in his fingers. 

“Well, I am the obvious choice, aren’t I?” Crocodile strokes his chin. “I am strong, handsome, and far more intelligent and renown than the others. Why wouldn’t they put me on the cards?” 

“And humble,” you mutter. 

“Another dock to your paycheck,” Crocodile adds, the smile on his face returning to his usual humorless appearance. 

You slump your shoulders pitifully. “Crocodile, I can barely afford instant ramen at this rate.” 

“Aw, it’s okay, Buggy’s here for you,” Buggy chuckles as he pats your back, relieved he’s not at the receiving end of Mihawk and Crocodile’s torment. 

The four of you continue to open box after box of booster packs, with you mostly happy to just see the cool art, and Buggy hitting the floor in retaliation to his awful cards. 

“Nothing! Not even one of me! And they’re all commons!” 

“I really don’t know how that happened…” you pitifully look at him. 

“You making fun of my nose?!” Buggy screamed, looking up at you as his makeup smeared down his face due to his crying. 

“Oh…” you wince at the sorry state he’s in. “It’s okay, we can always-” 

“Shiny foil!” Mihawk shouts, making everyone in the room jump. “Is it finally-” 

He pulls out the card, only to scream in agony as he drops to his knees and lets the card fall through his fingers. 

You curiously pick up the card, only to see it’s sadly not Shanks, but someone called… “Sogeking”? 

“Who is this?” You stared at the card. 

“(Y/n),” Mihawk shakily fumbles through his pockets and pulls out a bag of berries. “I don’t care what it costs. Go. Buy more boxes.” 

He drops the bag in your hands and shields his eyes with a hand. Crocodile opens another packet and lets out a chilling laugh. 

“What’s so funny, Croc?” Buggy asks, nervously anticipating how badly things will go when Crocodile is laughing like that. 

“You’re looking for a card of Red-Hair, aren’t you?” Crocodile’s voice lowers, the smirk on his face widening. 

“No we’re not!” Mihawk and Buggy shout at the same time, making you and Mihawk raise a brow at Buggy’s admission. 

“Oh? So then it’s fine if I keep this card? Perhaps sell it even?” Crocodile holds up the card and everyone’s eyes are wide as you three gasp. 

In his hand, is the Secret rarity Shanks card. 

“You…” Mihawk says under his breath. 

“How the hell did…” Buggy’s eye twitches. 

“Woah… so lucky,” your eyes lighten. Crocodile’s chest rises with every laugh he lets out. 

“Since no one else wants it, I think I may just sell it and get back the money (Y/n) stole for this!” He proclaims. 

In an instant, Mihawk stands up and pulls out Yoru, pointing it at Crocodile. 

“Hand it over.” 

“You don’t get to make the demands here, Hawk Eyes,” Crocodile shakes his head. “What are you willing to offer?” 

“Give it, or I’ll kill you.” 

“Okaaay, well, there’s no need to kill each other-” you stand up, trying to get between the two men. 

“I’m not asking again, Crocodile,” Mihawk threatens. Buggy scowls and then jumps to his feet, pulling out his knives. 

“Yeah! We aren’t asking again! Hand it over!” Buggy yells, feeling confident with Mihawk’s strength at his side. 

Mihawk locks his gold eyes onto Buggy and Buggy cowers in fear. 

“N-never mind! Have it!” He surrenders. 

You nervously think of what to do before you rip up the last packet in the room and pray to whoever is listening for another Shanks. 

C. C. C. C. C. C. UC. UC. C. C. C. 

You gulp. There’s only one more card. This card can either save your life, or lead to a massacre from Mihawk. Your fingers reach in and pull out the last card, and you raise a brow at the shiny gold border. 

“What is this,” you murmur as you finally reveal the full card. 

A Secret rarity Shanks card. But unlike Crocodile’s card, yours is a stunning art piece of Shanks. With a gold border and a badass look in Shank’s eyes, you’re in awe. Even Buggy gasps at the sight. 

“M-Mihawk! We got you a Shanks!” You flail the card in your hand to draw his attention, and Mihawk swipes the card from you. 

“Don’t do that! You’ll ruin it!” He lectures you and stares at the card. “Incredible. I never knew this was in here.” 

He drops Yoru to the ground and presses the card to his chest, as if all the weight in the world was finally gone from him. Crocodile rolled his eyes and promptly threw his card to the ground in front of Buggy. 

“Come the hell on, (Y/n)! I was negotiating!” Crocodile sighs in frustration and rests his chin on his hand. “I’m not paying you at all this week!” 

You don’t even care anymore, crying tears of joy at the fact the sword that clattered on the ground beside you was not spearing your chest. 

“Since we all got decks now, why don’t we try and play the game?” You innocently suggest. You lay out the multipage rule guide and manual as the three men surround you to take a peek. 

Immediately after seeing the abundance of rules, all of you grimace and shake your heads. 

“Maybe another time.” 

“Yeah.” 

“That’s good.” 

“Great idea.” 

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Up the stakes

Written for day 26 of the @steddieholidaydrabbles, and the 12 Days of Christmas bonus card of the @steddiebingo

Prompts: Hanukkah & Robin Buckley

Rated: T

Tags: Post-Vecna; Everybody lives;Jewish Byers family; Hanukkah; Pre-Steddie; Pre-Ronance; POV Robin Buckley; Robin Buckley has a crush on Nancy Wheeler; Eddie Munson has a crush on Steve Harrington; Eddie Munson is a horny shit; So is Will Byers

“Robin, dear, do you know where Will is?” 

Robin stops what she was doing (the official version being that she was setting the table, the unofficial one being that she was staring at Nancy and Jonathan whispering at each other on the sofa and trying to ignore the lump in her stomach) and looks over at Joyce. 

“Erm, in his room I think,” she ventures. “He was gonna teach Eddie and Steve the dreidel game.” 

Joyce nods absentmindedly, checking her steaming and sizzling plethora of pans and pots on the stove. 

“Can you tell him to get the extra chairs from the porch? Oh, and ask the boys if they want applesauce or sour cream with their latkes, will you?” 

On the sofa, Jonathan says something and Nancy's giggles.

“You got it,” Robin says, slamming the last plate down so hard she's surprised it doesn't crack and beelining it for the hallway. Lucas, locked in a tangle of limbs against the bathroom door with Max, flinches and gawks at her with a caught-out face, but she just gives him a grin and an awkward thumbs up. Good for him.

The door to Will’s room is slightly ajar, a thin sliver of light falling out into the hallway. As she approaches, she hears Steve groan in annoyance.

“Oh, look at that,” Eddie cackles. “Gimel! Or should I say gimme?” 

“Hey, guys,” she mutters, not waiting for a reply to her knock. “Joyce says-” 

She's just in time to see Steve strip out of his polo. Eddie wiggles his outstretched hand invitingly and he rolls his eyes, tossing it over the dreidel in their middle and right into his grinning face. 

“Oh hey, Rob,” Steve says, leaning back on his hands and looking up at her. The light of the bedside lamp catches in his chest hair. Eddie, seated opposite him and missing one sock and his battle vest, smirks like the proverbial cat with the cream. “Something we can help you with?” 

“I, erm … no,” Robin says. “I mean, yes. I mean … what in the name of all that's kosher are you doing?” 

“We ran out of tokens,” Eddie says, gesturing offhandedly to the pile of plastic coins beside him, half buried under Steve's polo and sweater. “But Stevie here's a sore loser and didn't wanna admit defeat, so we upped the stakes a little. Right, Will?” 

Will, who is seated between them, makes a vague sound of agreement but doesn't nod. Which is probably just as well because his eyes would probably pop out of his head if he so much as moved wrong. The poor kid looks like he's about to have an aneurysm. He also looks like he'd die happy. 

Robin groans. Eddie makes a pouty face as she snatches Steve's clothes off the ground. 

“For Christ's sake, get dressed, dinner will be ready any minute. Will, your mom wants you to get the chairs from the porch.” 

Will keeps staring at Steve, eyes locked on the way his stomach flexes as he shrugs into his polo. His mouth is hanging open. 

“Will?” Robin hisses, and he flinches back to attention. 

“Chairs, right,” he mutters, almost face-planting onto the carpet in his haste to clamber to his feet. His neck glows like a beacon as he flees from the room. 

“Hey,” Steve calls after him. “Should I help you with-” 

“I think you’ve helped enough,” Robin snaps. He looks at her like a puppy that doesn’t know why it just got whacked over the nose with the newspaper, and she sighs. “If you wanna make yourself useful, go and round up the rest of the brood. But knock before you go in the bathroom!” 

He gives her a bewildered look, but then he shrugs and walks out. Eddie, crouched on the ground like a goblin and gathering the game pieces, snickers. 

“And you,” Robin growls. Eddie freezes. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” 

He rolls his eyes, pulling on his vest as he stands. “Aw, c’mon Buck, don’t be a spoilsport. Weren’t we all young and gay and desperate once? Baby Byers has gone through literal hell, he deserves to look at some boy titties.” 

Robin slaps his arm, secretly thinking how she's still very much gay and desperate. 

“Okay, first: ew,” she says. “Second: ew! And third: stop pretending this was some great, altruistic deed from the kindness of your heart, I've seen how you look at Steve!” 

Eddie blushes and pulls a fistful of hair in front of his face. 

“So?” he mutters. “A guy can dream, can't he? Not like there's anything coming out of it.” 

She sighs, patting the spot she just slapped in a silent gesture of camaraderie. “Whatever, Munson. C'mon, let's go eat.” 

He nods, picking up his lone sock from the floor and stuffing it into his back pocket like a weird extra bandana. 

“Hey, Buck …” He slings an arm over her shoulder, leaning in for a conspirational whisper as he steers them towards the living room. 

“I've been thinking… Maybe after dinner, we can have another game? I'll even ask Nancy and Jonathan to join. The more the merrier, right?” 

He winks at her, prancing off towards the table and leaving Robin to her own rapidly evolving blush. She huffs, biting back her smile as she trudges after him. 

Maybe, if things go well, she'll tell him about the way Steve’s been looking at him. 

More holiday drabbles

More Steddie Bingo

[aftgtandn]

We're at a real risk of sounding like a broken record at this point but you guys are AMAZING!

We still can't believe how much support you all have shown the fest. From reblogs and retweets, to comments and joining in all the fun games, it's truly been a blast.

We really, really can't thank you enough! Our hearts are so full to see T&N fest be so fun for the second year in a row — and it's all your doing! Every fic, every piece of art, every work adopted, every meme, every comment left, every full bingo card, every rec. IT WAS ALL YOU.

To our creators in particular: we owe you THE WORLD. Thank you for being brilliant. Please make sure to tag us in all your claim posts so we can reblog them!

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO... here's the full list of works AND THEIR INCREDIBLY TALENTED CREATORS:

Are you Real? by Whyreme Rated Mature | 6052 words Andrew comes back from Easthaven but Neil isn't at Palmetto, where he promised he would be. If you ever wondered what it would be like if Andrew was present for the immediate aftermath of Christmas at the Nest, this one is for you.

[art] don't flinch. by ghostheroes Rated Gen | Art There's not that much space from the cheek to the eye. In the art piece we have for you today, Lola aims the lighter barely an inch higher.

echoes by doodleishere Rated Teen | 100 words What if Kevin didn't leave the next alone? In this flash fic, Jean gets out too when Riko's anger finally snaps.

Bite the hand by Ateiluj Rated Mature | 4515 words We all have asked the question: what was going through Andrew's mind during The Choking Incident? A question we might have not asked, however, is: what would happen if no one stopped him? Well, this fic answers both of those!

duck duck goose by glittersinnin Rated Gen | 2329 words When Andrew goes through Neil's duffel, Neil holds his tongue. It will take some patience for him to get adequate revenge. Patience... and some experience handling the local water foul.

Let Down by maydaykevin Rated Gen | 4132 words How would it affect Kevin and Andrew's deal if Kevin hit Andrew back when Andrew chokes him? How is their relationship impacted by this unexpected bout of violence between them? Find out in this fic!

If You're Throwing Me to the Lions by orionauriga Rated Teen | 3763 words It's not easy when your boyfriend comes with a whole lot of baggage, especially twin-brother-who-hates-you shaped baggage. It's not easy but it's worth it, for Aaron, and Katelyn knows how to stand her ground.

If I was easy to kill you would have done it already by lazarusthefirst Rated Mature | 9196 words They were always meant to be partners, now it's Jean's job to make sure Neil behaves. Neil isn't great at being a partner, but he knows partners don't leave each other behind. In this fic, Neil doesn't come back to Palmetto alone.

Butterfly Effect! Read More on Page 12 by animediac Rated Gen | 5194 words How much can the death of one character affect the narrative? Through newspaper and blog articles, emails and social media posts, that's exactly what this fic explores. How many lives can the butterfly effect of one unfortunate 'accident' change?

Nathaniel by nyaar0n Rated Gen | Art Neil Josten is a Fox, but what if he never got the chance to be? Nathaniel Wesninski is a Raven through and through, and in this art piece, he snatches the spotlight both on the court and with his partner.

Now it's Time to Live (and Turn to Dust) by Witheredcarnelians Rated Mature | 4573 words Renee makes it just in time to save Jean ... or does she? This fic explores the crushing guilt of leaving behind a loved one, and being unable to save them in the end.

caught up in you by rooftopkisses Rated Mature | 5463 words "What are you hoping for, coordinates?" Neil doesn't lock the door, and Nicky walks in on Neil and Andrew kissing. Nicky can be trusted — mostly because he fears Andrew's knife — but Andrew's tendency toward quiet implosion is a different story.

but i've walked this far by rwnjun Rated Teen | 14556 words When the countdown ends, Neil gets taken. His dad is dead, but manages to make substantial damage before he gets shot. Now Nathaniel gets to be Neil Josten, but who is Neil Josten if he can't play Exy?

i've been feeling smaller by neiljokesten (vykio) Rated Teen | 2433 words Over worrying and wound-tending, Aaron and Neil get caught on a never-ending loop of the pot calling the kettle black over sacrificing themselves to protect a loved one

a familiar face by Shinobimoon Rated Gen | 4184 words How would things have gone if Kevin had recognized Neil right away? Would Neil have run, or still signed with the Foxes? Read more in this fic!

Better Luck Next Time by AllAngstNoComfort Rated Mature | 7812 words What if Riko had gone for Aaron instead of Seth, that night? In this fic, we learn exactly that and how that affects the Foxes.

the most unkindest cut of all by deadangelo Rated Mature | 2550 words Riko Moriyama has been many things to Kevin Day: a friend, a brother, a partner, a monster. The die has been cast. Riko is going to die. This time around, Ichirou has a spectator seat saved for Kevin.

we want the young blood by undermoonwalker Rated Teen | Art What if Elodie was sold to the Ravens? What if Jean had a predetermined partner through all that darkness? This art looks at the possibilities of the Moreau Ravens!

you'll be alright (no one can hurt you now) by wesawbears Rated Teen | 1757 words Jeremy Knox can't figure out their newest recruit. But having some secrets of his own means that he can tell when something isn't right, and if there's one thing about the Trojans is that they protect their own.

as soft as feathers by delossanctuary Rated Mature | 4714 words What's a T&N fest without a devastating Abby fic? This year, ponder on this: what if Neil's finger slipped when he needed an airport pickup?

TKO by justadreamfox Rated Mature | 4733 words Remember that busboy Neil paid to knock him out? In today's T&N fic, Neil doesn't get left on the floor of the club afterwards. Not everyone is out to get him.

i know that i did you wrong (but will you trust me when i say that i'll make it up to you somehow) by evenfallwriter Rated Mature | 7076 words Neil gets something different for his 19th birthday: his father's death.

depraved heart by decaflondonfog Rated Mature | 7000 words There is a horrible scene at the Hemmick house. There is a dead man on the ground. There is Andrew, laughing. And then there is Kevin, standing with a bloody knife in hand and something far more potent than fear clawing at his rib cage.

kintsugi by gus_47 Rated Explicit | 4728 words Riko's violence knows no bounds; what if he didn't stop at Kevin's hand? This fic follows Jean as he weathers and grieves the aftermath of the Raven's ugliest secret.

The Mallard's Lullaby by Random2002 Rated Mature | 6313 words The Moreau family are good at business; why sell one child to an Exy empire when you can sell two? Good thing Elodie's got a stuffed duck, a pieced together first aid kit, and her brother. What more do you need?

Light in a prism by sassy_pen_sassy Rated Teen | 1030 words There's a life outside of the walls of the EAU Raven's nest; Jean learns what that's like with Renee by his side in this sweet fic.

not dead (yet) by ashestoashes7 Rated Mature | 13593 words When Andrew is released from Easthaven, only three of his charges are there to pick him up. He always knew Neil was a pipedream. If Andrew cared more, Neil could become a nightmare.

Digits by twolipsliterature Rated Teen | 2700 words A cheerleader and a Exy player on the run from his hitman father walk into a bar. This time, Neil gives Marissa his number instead of being an asshole for once.

shots fired by liaisun Rated Mature | Art Neil threw out the guns when his mother died, but today we take a look at how things might have gone if he hadn't.

Timing by HereBeChickens Rated Teen | 1116 words Kevin scores. Neil falls to his knees. ""You've always known what it's like to be second."" Riko swings. Andrew still gets there in time. But this is where we diverge.

presumably dead arm by kevjean Rated Mature | 15518 words What if someone else had found Kevin first after Riko broke his hand? What if that someone was special in a way that was never allowed before? In this fic, Kevin finds a slightly different way out of the Nest, and discovers something on the way.

and this is just my luck by starwarned Rated Teen | 2107 words Kevin Day is a star. He won't let a gay crisis get in his way. At least, that's the plan -- it becomes difficult for Kevin to maintain that dissonance after he overhears Andrew offering to blow Neil.

n'oublie pas de vivre by FireHeartAW Rated Teen | 5028 words What is left of Jean Moreau without Exy? Can he find a new place for himself without the Ravens even if his injuries prevent him from ever playing again? And what does he need to make that happen?

i am not scared of death, i've got dreams again by liliacskiess Rated Explicit | 5566 words Eden's back alleyway is not the place to be on a Friday night; Nicky learns that the hard way in today's fic which asks 'What if Andrew didn't arrive in time to fight Nicky's attackers'?

Back to the Old House by TearsOfATrickster Rated Teen | 6664 words Neil's not the only one willing to protect Andrew when he's at Easthaven. What if Kevin went back to EAU for Christmas?

Only Human by aquared46 Rated Mature | 2677 words “Shouldn’t I feel different? Powerful?” Neil survives his father, but the encounter leaves him with nightmares that seem like they should be good dreams. Andrew is there to listen as Neil tries to process.

Baltimore Basement by ConventionalExy Rated Mature | Art The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. In this art, Neil is taken to Baltimore by his father's people, but he knows his way around a cleaver.

The Graveyard Shift by KweenDay Rated Mature | 7100 words What if Andrew noticed there was something wrong in the locker room? What if Andrew stayed at Neil’s side? What if Andrew was brought to Baltimore too? In this fic we find out exactly what goes down behind the walls of the Wesninski manor.

the ongoing effects of growing a backbone by favbitchcharlie Rated Teen | 10641 words What if instead of giving Neil the plane ticket to EAU, Kevin tore it up? What if Neil let a bit of Nathaniel slip through? In this fic, Kevin and Neil go to break Andrew out of Easthaven in their own non-Coach-approved way.

The Prince and The Pauper by CherriPips Rated Mature | 8695 words After Riko broke his hand, Kevin went running to Wymack, but what if he saw Andrew first? In this fic, we find exactly how that interaction goes down.

Tear away at the Mask by Moondal Rated Teen | 2779 words What if more than one Fox had crossed paths with Neil in his past life? And what if this one particular Fox immediately recognized him, too? This is a fic about Natalie Shields, Nathaniel Wesninski, and about reinventing yourself.

scavenger's hunt by kiwiaok Rated Mature | 10341 words In a world where Lola survives her gunshot wounds in Baltimore, Neil has to face her once more during her trial, and things come to light that he would rather had stayed hidden.

Neil Josten Is Not Fine by the_greater_grief Rated Teen | 3362 words "In Neil’s dreams, Aaron never shows up to save the day." Neil's nightmares have become a problem even he can't ignore. When his sleeplessness begins to mess with his performance on the court, he gives in. Maybe Dobson isn't so bad, after all.

damage control by seasy33 Rated Mature | 11656 words When Andrew witnesses Nicky kissing Neil, his confidence in his plan to break Neil wavers. What can he stomach in his mission to keep his family safe? And what will it actually take to learn Neil's secrets?

patient violence by Mercey Rated Mature | 6981 words An orderly catches Dr. Proust and Andrew ends up escaping Easthaven early. Where to next? Well, Neil’s in the Nest and Andrew’s looking into a jailbreak. In this fic we find out what happens when Andrew goes to get Neil out of the Nest.

Deadliest Piece by LynxDoesArt Rated Explicit | Art When Neil realizes that something is wrong at the Hemmick's house, he rushes upstairs to find Andrew with the rest of the monsters close behind. What if Kevin got a hand on Neil's racquet before Aaron?

it lives in the throat by timeloops (kunimi) Rated Teen | 14440 words Switching places with your twin is fun, until… technically, Aaron Minyard dies in a car crash with his mother. But the dead body isn’t Aaron and now he must deal with the fallout of it all.

With all the love and appreciation in the world,

Your T&N'24 mods and helpers 💚

[phoebejaysims]

Social Clubs Mod - DOWNLOAD

Tired of your sims walking aimlessly through town? No friends, no hobbies, no purpose? Put an end to their lack of a fulfilling social life by creating a million and one clubs for them to join and/or get kicked out of! 

With 50+ activities for you to push, including activities from over 10 different mods, and 4 specialised club types, you can create almost any club you can think of: book clubs, invite-only hangouts, afterschool clubs and more! Grow memberships, take part in tournaments and ship cute little subscription gifts straight to your sim’s door.

Note: This mod is very extensive, so please thoroughly read the documentation in the download that I’ve painstakingly written up.

Compatibility: Should be base game compatible however expansion packs, store content and mods add more content.

7 New Objects: Credit to @aroundthesims who has generously allowed me to use her items as well as @twinsimming who converted 2 items for me. Full credit in the documentation.

Testers: @desiree-uk who not only tested the mod, but contributed ideas for club activities, the banking system and the subscription gift system. @simsdeogloria who kindly offered to test the mod and caught some bugs that I had completely missed.

Credits: Full credit in documentation. However, thank you to @olomayasims​, IcarusAllsorts, Arsil, Buzzler & @zoeoe-sims​, @anitmb​, @greenplumbboblover​, @flotheory​ as I push some of their mods as activities.

Club Types

Custom Club: Push specific activities (or no activity at all) and watch your active and inactive club members congregate and do said activities. Push bowling, swimming, rumba, nectar drinking, collecting, studying, music lessons, among many other things. 

Subscription-Only Club: While members won’t meet up, force them to pay a subscription fee to the club owner for your own purposes. Consider: food subscription service, council-tax payments, school fees.

Book Club: Choose a book for the book club. Your sims will sit together, have discussions, and read said book.

Formal Gathering Club: Set musicians and/or a speaker (podium or pulpit). Have your club members sit down and act like they’re listening to said musicians and speaker. Choose a skill to increase while the club is in operation.

Club Vibes

Clubs can have different vibes depending on the cost and activities, attracting or repelling different types of sims. There are sports, games, intellectual, low-brow and high class clubs. Some personalities will be more inclined to join than others.

Customising Clubs

Set different open days, open hours, required club outfits, subscription fees, gender, age, career and trait requirements/restrictions, forbidden actions etc.

Autonomy

Allow or restrict autonomy in different ways. Make clubs open or closed invite, allowing or disallowing sims to join, leave, or be kicked out of clubs with or without your own input. Put club boards around town and let sims browse. Impress observers by having a great club session and watch them beg to join!

Tournaments

Win tournaments and gain club acclaim. Get cash prizes, find yourself in the newspaper, and find out if any of your fellow club members are playing for the opposing team. Your own sim isn’t exempt from the repercussions of being a club traitor!

Banking

Create Bronzo accounts for your sims. You can link these accounts to schedulers and have the club fee delivered straight into the account. Take out loans, find the best interest rates online and stay out of your overdraft. Try not to get your account details stolen at the all new ATMs that you can place around town and don’t leave your debit card laying around near strangers!

Download MTS: http://www.modthesims.info/d/677428

Conflicts: None.

If you would like to donate to say thank you, you can do that at my Ko-fi, here.

It’s been a long 8 months getting this mod done; thank you all for your patience and enjoy! @ me if you post any pictures of your clubs—I’d love to see your pictures.

[kyleemclauren]

"Rednote heavily censors LGBTQ+ content!" As opposed to Facebook, whose moderation polices explicitly carve out exceptions to harass trans people; or Twitter, where the word "cisgender" is considered hate speech. Gay marriage only became legal across the country in mid-2015, let's not pretend we've always been some progressive utopia.

Biden, Trump, and Obama each deported over a million people. The border internment camps still exist. Even including the million+ Uyghur Muslims in detention, China's incarceration rate is still lower than ours. We're using prison slaves to fight the California wildfires right now.

It's possible to say a bunch of things in the US, but that's not because we have great free speech. It's because our censorship works by making it difficult to talk about an issue, not impossible. Our newspapers and social media are owned by giant corporations and billionaires. Pro-Luigi content is widely suppressed, pro-Palestine content is widely suppressed, and anything more left wing than reformist capitalism is routinely suppressed. There are no privacy laws, your car is spying on you. Your phone is selling your location. Your TV is selling your watch history. Your purchase history is for sale. Your search history is for sale. Your political party registration and whether or not you voted is for sale.

In the United States schools are banning books, credit card companies are banning porn, and YouTube will take away your income if you mention suicide or swear. God help you if you play a few seconds of copyrighted music.

A counsel of nine unelected people are absolute dictators here. They gave the president absolute immunity too, for anything he can credibly claim was an official act. Congress is elected by legal gerrymandering. Police officers have nearly absolute immunity to commit crimes. Billionaires can do whatever the hell they want. I don't know where the citizen democracy is when marijuana usage is still technically a felony, despite almost 90% of the country wanting it made legal.

There isn't jack shit we get for any of this, either. Our gun laws are atrocious. Our homelessness problem is out of hand. We don't get livable cities, transit, or infrastructure. We certainly don't have health care. Our job market is trash. Our wages are trash. Our food prices are outrageous. We barely fund our schools or pay our teachers. But we spend almost a trillion dollars a year on our military! I tried for a good 20 minutes to write a followup sentence for that wasn't just incoherent swearing, and this note is the best I came up with.

All of this is the tip of the iceberg, it's corrupt all the way down and there is no set of reforms that can possibly fix it. It needs to be torn down, and built again from scratch. There is no alternative, all we are going through is pointless suffering so billionaires can get richer. How long are we going to wait!? What signs are we looking for that something needs to change? How much more obviously broken does the system need to be before people are ready to leave?

We are in an abusive relationship, and we need to get out, now. China will keep my data safe from the US government, I'm damn sure of that.

[chronically-ghosted]

bloody kisses — part three: cinnamon girl boy

pairing: shane morrissey/tim rockford rating: E (18+) mdni word count: 10K content: vaguely takes place in the 00s, age gap (shane is 23, tim is 40), internalized homophobia, self-doubt, shame, worries about aging, heavy petting, oral (male receiving), first time giving head, gag reflex training, assplay, doggy style, protected p in a, discussions of dom/sub and top/bottom, bad family dynamics, hints of poverty, discussions around divorce, tim's internal battles, dominant!tim, bratty!shane, nasty dirty talk (anyone who identifies my favorite line gets a gold star), lmk if anything has been missed! dividers: @saradika-graphics a/n: i wanna cry @perotovar let me play with their beautiful blorbos and i had so much fun. i've never written m/m before so they took a HUGE risk on me - thank you so much for trusting me to treat them well!

series summary: shane has been in denial about himself for a while. newly single and with the help of one of his favorite singers, he opens his eyes to a new venture he could possibly take: the cop he sees on a semi-regular basis, detective tim rockford.

series masterlist

for updates, follow @oakslibrary and turn on notifications ♥

(from @chronically-ghosted: if you liked my humble take on this, you can find my masterlist here!) ♥♥

Russet streaks of late afternoon light filter in through the vinyl slats over the grungy carpet when Shane opens the apartment door. He shuts it with a sigh, locking it behind his back, before tipping his head against the frame, closing his eyes, and taking a long inhale. On the exhale verging on a sigh, he tosses his keys onto the ripped and faded black couch to his right before trudging into the linoleum kitchen. 

There’s a note on the counter:

Gone to visit Barry’s kids in New Jersey. Be back on the 10th. Money for food is on the fridge.

Shane’s dark eyes flit to the M magnet that Samantha left here the last time she visited from Maine. Even their father came that time. 

He snorts resentfully when he sees it: twenty bucks to last him two weeks – thanks Mom. 

Chances that she left him anything in the freezer are lower than the chance he’ll be able to stretch this twenty till Friday. 

Shane slips off his leather duster and tosses it over one of the precarious bar stools. He snatches up the half empty packet of cigarettes from the scuffed living room table, takes one out, and lights it. He flops into the cracked leather, stuffing fluttering out of the cushions on impact, one of the metal springs stabbing him in his flat ass. Head against the ridge of the couch, Shane lazily puffs out smoke rings, his lips pursed, up to the ceiling. 

There’s about a dozen – maybe even twice as many – feelings in his chest right now, all bubbling and curling and spitting and scratching at his insides. Some of them are good – most of them are great, actually (god he can’t remember when he last felt this fucking ecstatic about anything) but some of them . . . some of them scare him so much he can barely breathe. 

Call, Tim had said, in his soft, low voice, the smell of sweet syrup still in the air, the plates with pancake crumbs sitting in the sink behind him. Call, if you need anything. 

The detective’s card sits in the left pocket of his duster. 

Shane shakes his head, a grim smile on his face. Can I call if I’m just fucking lonely without you?

He sips at the cigarette a bit, following the hazy trail of smoke as it wafts around the room. His eyes fall on the cracks of his life, this apartment he shares with his mother and her boyfriend. Stacks of newspapers by the bookcase that’s missing a few shelves. A cereal bowl he left by the window two days ago when a few friends invited him out to go check out Maxxx’s new stereo system. Takeout boxes and beer cans. Unfolded laundry in a plastic bin, the edges cracked and torn off. A few pictures when he was a wiry kid, then a wiry teen. He has a few good memories with Samantha, when he was fourteen and she was seven. That was the only time in his life when anything ever made any sense.

When she’d ask if he’d play her a s–

Shane’s eyes narrow at his bedroom door. Without looking, he snuffs the cigarette out in the nearest ashtray and stands up. Barry knows what would happen if he went into Shane’s room without Shane’s express permission – mother’s boyfriend or not – but Shane locks up every time. He keys open his bedroom door and finds everything as he left it. But that’s not what has him moving down onto his hands and knees, laying flat on his stomach to get a long arm under his bed. With a bit of searching, Shane’s face breaks open wide in surprise as he fingers curl around the long wooden neck. Slowly, Shane crawls back and with him comes his old acoustic guitar. 

By the line of dust on it, it really had been several years since he played this thing, but turning it over, the rightness of it settles into his hands, his hips, his bones. This is where it was always meant to be. 

Seems like I’m finding all kinds of rightness out of nowhere. 

He strums once. The strings are horrifically out of tune, but the thoughts swirling around in his brain make him smile. Fist under his chin, he props his head up on the guitar’s body, contemplating. 

He can still smell the sugar from breakfast and Tim’s aftershave from after breakfast. His heart squeezes without his control . . . and his ass twinges. Heat roars up his entire chest and he has to curl in on himself, rolling onto his back, to keep from exploding, a big stupid grin all over his face. The last twelve hours flit across his memory, each moment better than the next. 

Call, if you need anything, Tim had said.

I need you to tell me what to do now. Am I the same person? Do I want to be? If I left all of this and everyone behind, who would I be tomorrow? Would you keep me around then?

Do you even really like me now? 

He takes his hands down from his eyes, sighing and staring up at his popcorn ceiling, not unlike Tim’s. 

Beneath his right hand, his metal bracelets clatter with the wood of the guitar. 

Samantha. 

Samantha likes him, or at least used to. She loved some version of him. Little sisters are always supposed to love you, but maybe he could find that version again. If it’s still there.

Shane sits up and begins to clean his room.

Night comes and the light from the Morrissey apartment stays on a young man gathering trash and throwing it away. 

Tim hasn’t been this on edge since the four or five times he’s tried to quit smoking. He sits in his car, rain pouring down, heating set on low for an early November evening, and he thinks about all the ways this can go wrong. He stares up at the second floor of the tenement apartment, his fingers flexing around the steering wheel. 

Like file folders, he sorts his worries from least to most earth-shattering.

Shane is vulnerable right now. There is no one else in his life he can turn to with questions, and he had been left to fend for himself on and off since he was fifteen (Tim has pulled up his file only half a dozen times for follow up work on the shooting and Shane’s rap sheet often catches his eye). Of course, he wants nothing more than to be the person who Shane comes to with questions or concerns, or fuck, even just an ear to listen to. But, at his age, Tim is all too aware of what a situation like that could do to him. 

He’s already in too deep and he fucking knows it. 

Earth-shattering worry number two: he is a cop and he has booked this kid more times than he can count. Just for petty stuff and he was never the one to press charges – always the DA looking for an easy numbers game to boost his image before the elections. Tim fucking agonized over that and not just in Shane’s case – these kids weren’t in need of help, the attorney’s office said, they were problems that needed to be put down. So how fast would the DA’s head spin around and explode if he showed up to the policeman’s ball with the “Satanic Temple” on his arm, nevermind just another man? While that would be a sight Tim would cherish until he died, he can’t ask anyone ��� especially someone as new to all of this as Shane – to handle something like that. 

Which brings him to his final worry, the big concern that has him nearly start up his car and drive off, to call Shane on a payphone and apologize for not being able to ever see him again. Tim’s old. He’s fucking old and Shane shouldn’t have to carry decades worth of baggage when the kid’s got a fucking trunk of it himself. He’s old and a has-been and Shane has the rest of his life ahead of him. 

Of course, this is all assuming Shane would ever want something more with him and this isn’t just sex for him. But maybe that’s all it should be. Both of them dirty little secrets to each other that can fuel Tim’s fantasies until his cock finally stops working (which is probably pretty fucking imminent), and something that Shane can laugh about with his partner some day. 

With a sigh, Tim watches a figure move around behind dirty windows on the second floor. 

The only way Tim would walk away now is if Shane told him to take a fucking hike. And that’s a really big problem.

He turns off the car, grabs his tan raincoat, and heads towards the apartment building.

When Shane opens the door, Tim wonders if he had a stroke and is seeing things that aren’t really there. Shane still has all his earrings, his rings with his unusually jet-black hair, but the duster is gone. Shane has answered the door in a black sleeveless shirt, with faded but roughly-intact jeans, and bare feet. He looks –

“Laundry day.” Tim’s eyes snap up and Shane frowns petulantly. “‘S laundry day . . . n’ this is all I had.” His fingers around the doorframe tighten. “You gonna come in or just stand there and make me look like a fuckin’ rat?” 

Tim is very much aware of how much he looks like a cop even in plain clothes, and the tie with slacks isn’t helping. But he can understand why it might make things difficult for Shane to be seen with him.

But, fuck, if he only knew . . .

“Sorry.” 

He steps across the threshold and Shane shuts the door behind him, sticking very close to the wood to give as much space between the two of them as possible. The rain patters in the silence as Tim tries not to stare too much, but that pattern-picking part of his brain can’t help but lurch into overdrive. 

The apartment is empty. That’s the first thing he clocks. The second are several black garbage bags by the front door and the distinct smell of Pinesol in the air, sitting only faintly above the stench of cigarettes. Tim’s eyes fall to the cracked patio door, then the ashtray that has three very freshly stamped-out cigarettes in the bowl. Either two of Shane’s friends just left or –

“You want, um, something to drink?”

Shane moves swiftly from behind him to the kitchen and Tim’s gaze latches to his back. His ears are by his shoulders and Tim gets a brief flash of the borderline fear in those dark eyes before he disappears behind the wall.

“No, uh –,” Tim clears his throat and takes off his coat, then his holster, laying both flat on the counter that separates the living room from the kitchen. “I’m good. Mind if I smoke though?”

Shane returns, a beer can in his hand and slides into the plastic chair on the left side of the chipped table beneath a sickly, hanging fluorescent light. He cracks it and takes two long pulls before putting it on the table with a thud. He picks up his own packet and Tim thinks he might see a tremble in his hand.

He’s not sure if he feels vindicated, even elated, that Shane might be as nervous as he is, or just terribly awkward. 

“Make yourself at home.” Shane indicates the chair across from him with a jerk of his head before he lights up. The chair squeaks on the linoleum as Tim pulls it back and gingerly sits down. He stabilizes his elbows on the table to keep his hands steady as he takes out a cigarette from his own packet and lights it against his mouth. 

The heady rush of smoke combined with the fresh scent of rain soothes something and he forcibly tugs at his own courage.

“So, um, how’ve you been?” Fantastic start, Rockford.

Shane lifts those thin shoulders, eyes skirting the edge of the table. “Good. Went, uh, to see X the other day. He’s getting better. Says the hospital should let him out soon.” 

“Good. That’s good.” 

The room is so quiet, he can hear the paper burn and curl from the smoldering end of the cigarette between his fingers.

“And you? You've been – um?”

“Yeah, I’ve been good. Xavier – sorry – X’s testimony was really useful for identifying the shooter and establishing a timeline. Should be a pretty open and shut case.” 

At that, a wry smirk curls across Shane’s face. He looks at Tim with something that might be described as a teasing grin as he knocks loose a line of ash. “Probably the last and only time X is gonna be helpful to the police.” 

Tim responds with his own grin. “Wouldn’t expect anything different. Where’s the fun in easy cases?” 

They both chuckle, eyes on anywhere but each other. And yet the tension has cracked, just a bit. Enough to let Tim lean back in his chair and breathe out a long, relaxed plume of smoke. 

“But, uh, you called because you wanted to ask me something?” 

Shane’s ink-wet eyes glance up at him and Tim feels the knot beneath his chest bone throb. 

“Oh – yeah, right. Um, I was thinking about something you said over breakfast the other day . . .” Tim’s heart swells; he thinks about that morning all the fucking time too. Soft golden light and harsh black hair, spread across his chest. “And I was wondering if you still talk to your old friend in the NYU music department.”

That is not the question Tim had been expecting.

“John? Who works at the guitar shop on 7th?” 

“I’m not thinking of going to school,” Shane adds quickly, the tips of his ears going red and Tim has to make an effort to keep his eyes on Shane’s face. “I still think school is a fuckin’ racket made for rich people to make themselves richer and maintain authority over –,”

“Yes, I still talk to John from time to time. Why?” 

At this, Shane shifts in his seat, eyes low, shoulders rigid with tension. He taps his thumb on his knee uncomfortably. 

“Iwanajob . . .”

“Sorry?”

Shane scrunches his nose (the band around Tim’s chest tightens – god, he’s so fucking cute) and huffs.

“I want . . . a job. At the guitar shop . . . and I was hoping . . . you could introduce me to your friend. John, or whatever.” He adds sullenly as if Tim hadn’t just said his name twice. 

The buzzing awareness that is always present at the back of Tim’s mind suddenly clicks on. Like a camera taking film, he looks around the room. The trash bags. The tidy apartment. Fucking laundry day.

“Oh,” he says flatly. “Why, uh – why that place?”

Shane stiffens imperceptibly again. He’s got that “caught-in-a-trap” look about him – the kind his suspects get when they’re about to confess something, willingly or otherwise. Shane’s wide eyes glance over Tim’s shoulder as if he had pointed a finger. Tim turns and is rail-roaded again for the second time since coming here.

“Is that yours?” Tim stands, leaving the cigarette in the ash tray, and crosses the room, careful not to touch the shining guitar on its holder but getting as close as possible to examine it. It is a beautiful guitar, the body waxed and the silver of the tuning pegs bright in the low light. It takes Shane a second to answer.

“Yeah.” The admission is breathy, a release from a too-long-held inhale. Tim thinks his voice wobbles a bit but he dare not turn around to see what’s on Shane’s face. “I used to play a lot. I loved music as a kid, thought I was pretty good. Samantha loved it when I wrote songs for her. When we got older, she’d sing along with me.”

Tim clocked a white note stuck on the counter when he walked in, but he was too far away to read it. The way Shane said her name, Tim gathers that she’s not an ex, but someone closer. However, his file never mentioned any Samantha, so she must not live nearby or be someone he sees frequently. 

When we got older . . .

Tim straightens up and looks at Shane. “Is Samantha your sister?” 

Shane stares at him wide-eyed for a minute before shaking his head, smiling faintly. 

“I hate it when you fucking do that.”

Tim’s stomach knots. “Do what?”

“Figure me out as soon as you look at me. Yeah, dude, Samantha is my sister. Half-sister anyway. Mom and Dad tried to do the whole divorced parents who get along thing for a while, but it didn’t last. Now I don’t see her unless she can get the car for the weekend. But she says she won’t come if she’s not invited and I . . . it’s been a while since I’ve seen her.” 

Tim nods, the sick knot in his stomach melting into butterflies.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. Just . . . curious, I guess.”

Shane watches him silently as he rejoins the table. The chair squeaks again. Tim lights another cigarette when he knows he shouldn’t but Shane’s smile has him trembling. 

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” 

Tim swallows. “Can’t help myself do what?”

“Be curious,” Shane says softly, something unreadable and expansive in his gaze. For a second, he looks a decade older and a millennia wiser. He lifts his voice, louder, deeper when he continues. “Guess that’s part of being a cop.”

“You know, technically, I’m a detective, right? Not on patrol, only handling specialized cases.” 

Shane sucks the last bit of his cigarette, his eyes bright with mischief. “A-Cab, Rockford. I don’t make exceptions.” 

Tim wants to kiss that smirk right off him. He squeezes his own knee briefly before leaning into Shane’s space, the corner of the table separating them, to tap out his ash. He relishes in the way Shane’s eyes skitter up his forearm to his shoulder. He’s not the first to be intimidated by Tim’s size, but he is the first that Tim would gladly overwhelm with it. 

“Seems like you did the other night,” he replies, his voice throaty and scratched. It’s not entirely intentional – Tim’s mouth has gone shockingly dry. 

 This time, Shane’s entire face flushes pink and Tim grins. Old dog still got some tricks, don’t he?

“I’m just fucking with you, kid.” He chuckles. “Relax. Your secret is safe with me.”

He hears how that last part sounds and bites his tongue in regret. Of all the things Tim wants Shane to know, assuming he thought their time together was a mistake is definitely not one of them. He does not want Shane to think he is something that Tim wants to keep a secret. 

But by Shane’s unabashed intake of Tim’s forearms, chest, and curls on his hairline, he probably didn’t need to worry too much. 

It’s been years since he was so shamelessly checked out and it makes his heart pound. He wouldn’t dare return the ogling but, fuck he wants to. Last time, it had been all about Shane and making Shane feel good, which he would do without question again and again and again. But he is desperate for an exploration of Shane’s body as much as he knows it needs to be an exploration for the both of them.  

Or it would be, if he could get a goddamn grip. Last time - probably only fucking time, you sleeze. 

“I k-know–,” Shane’s voice cracks and the blush flares again, only briefly this time. He clears his throat and sits up a bit in the chair. “I know that. I know. It’s just . . .” Shane sucks on his cigarette nervously, his cheeks hollowing, like he’s warming up to something. Something sour rolls down the back of Tim’s throat, his stomach clenched, but years of training keeps his face as smooth as stone. Those dark brown eyes, as gentle and fluid as mercury, stare up at him and Tim knows he’s such a fucking goner.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Tim nods. Rolling his bottom lip into his mouth, Shane leans forward, drumming out another line of ash into the glass tray. He straightens against the back of the chair as he tugs one knee to his chest, expression wary, and wraps a skinny arm around his shin. 

At the last second, Shane drops his gaze and instead decides to interrogate a dirty spot on the table.

“When I first met you,” he began slowly, “you wore a wedding ring. But now . . .” 

His eyes flicker to Tim’s left hand, third finger, absent of any jewelry, sitting on his thigh. 

Tim thinks of the first time he saw that irate seventeen year old punk in the station. He had a ripe black eye and an annoyingly smug smirk on when the officer on duty chucked him roughly into a holding cell. 

“That’s perceptive of you.” He flexed his hand into a fist, once, then twice, then met Shane’s stare ahead on. Tim has to hastily swallow a deep lungful of smoke to smother the sudden uptick of his heartbeat. “You’re right,” he says, stiff, on a throaty inhale. “I was married until about five years ago.” 

A large knot visibly slips down Shane’s throat, his cigarette tilting dangerously between his fingers, ash hovering over the carpet. 

“Hm, and to a . . .”

The way his eyes go wide, Tim wants to bury a kiss into that agitated pulse on Shane’s throat, but instead, he just nods slowly, avoiding sudden movement that might startle the wild animal ready to bolt across from him.

“Yeah, Shane, to a woman.” 

Shane continues to tear into his own lip. He retreats before Tim’s eyes – crosses his arms on top of his knees and leans his head back. He stares into the rain outside, the beer at his elbow long forgotten. This isn’t the answer he was hoping for. 

“Oh,” he says. 

Tim leans forward onto his elbows, entering into his space again, but this time more hesitantly. Shane’s bare foot is inches from Tim’s fingers. 

“Shane.” 

“Hm?”

“Look at me.” 

With a steady hand, Shane flicks the end of his cigarette with his black thumbnail, ash falling, and with a very level gaze, he returns Tim’s watchful eye. His face is so blank he barely has any features.

“What?” 

“I’ve fallen in love with women and men.”

The impenetrable ice in his eyes melts and Shane frowns. “You can do that?”

Again, Tim nods, this time a faint smile on his face. How easily he forget how fucking clueless this kid is and how fucking cute his obliviousness makes him.

“But I’ve only slept with women before, am I–,”

“It’s not about who you’ve slept with, to a certain degree. It’s who you are attracted to.” 

“So there’s more than just being gay?”

He wants so badly to reach across the edge of the table and take Shane’s hand. Soothe him. Feel those rough calluses against his skin again. He can feel the heat of his own cigarette coming painfully close to the backs of his fingers so he tamps out the cigarette in the glass bowl, Shane’s eyes watching him the whole time.

“There’s a lot of things, sweetheart,” Tim says softly, the nickname slipping out as it had before, in his own apartment with Shane in his lap. He hopes that sweetheart sounded casual, a nickname more than a reflection of the hot knot tightening in his groin. “But at the end of the day, it comes down to what feels right to you. How you see yourself. You might have to spend some time figuring it out, asking yourself some hard questions, but you’ll get there.”

Shane nods, again swallowing the words that are so clearly caught in his throat. He switches the cigarette to his other hand and stares out the window at the rain. Tim’s mouth dries up at the sight of his long, exposed throat. 

“Is that why it didn’t work out between you and your . . . wife?” Shane asks quietly.

Tim runs his gaze over the piercings in Shane’s earlobe, the delicate bones within the cartilage, then to his set jaw and, finally, over his plush, pouty lips.

“No.” He can hear how hoarse he sounds, how wrecked, but having Shane in front of him again, all those feelings, all those basic urges he denied for the past few weeks come roaring to the front again. He of all people should have known suppression and repression never, ever work. “We were just different people. It had nothing to do with the fact that I also fuck men.”

He watches Shane tremble, the skin on his bare arms suddenly electrified. Slowly, with a shaking breath, Shane twists out his own cigarette, pushing it down roughly with two fingers. 

The thing that has been circling Tim’s mind – like a rabid dog tearing out chunks of his ability to think straight – slides out of his mouth before he can stop it.

“What have your other partners told you?”

Call it twenty years on the force.

Call it a finely tuned bullshit detector. 

Call it whatever you want, but in that moment before Shane opens his mouth, Tim knows he just considered lying to him and Tim’s heart plunges into his gut. He loathes the idea that Shane might lie to him, lie to him about being queer or an aspect of himself he still has questions about. Having someone older and more experienced than him in life alone at Shane’s age would have made all the difference to him as a young man and more than anything, more than his stupid cock, that’s all he really wants. He wants to be there for Shane because no one, not even his own family, has ever told him he means a damn. 

And you mean so much to me already.

Then Shane lets out a shaky breath, the crease in his brown carved deep, but one glance at Tim and it melts away. Without warning, he stands up right and for a split, wonderful second Tim thinks he’s going to crawl into his lap again.

But Tim realizes he’s waiting for something.

With a voice that comes from a very small place, Shane mutters, “there hasn’t been anyone since you.” 

He blinks up at Shane for one second, and then two, and his words register, click in, and everything else fades away. Tim’s on his feet with his finger snagged through one of Shane’s belt loops before common sense or patience can catch up with him.

“Is that right?” Tim purrs as he takes the curve of Shane’s neck in his massive palm, the other going to waist, and Shane instantly gasps at the touch. But that initial elation hardens and he glares at him. Tim is distinctly reminded of an annoyed puppy. 

“Don’t sound so fucking pleased,” Shane snarls through bared teeth. His black nails dig into Tim’s forearm, a warning and a plea. “It’s not like I think about you all the time or anything.”

His eyelids droop when Tim squeezes the back of his neck and Shane lets out a low moan. Tim drops his head against the other man’s forehead. The boy smells like cloves and cinnamon and definitely pot and it’s going to haunt Tim’s memories forever. He closes his eyes and resists the urge to nuzzle that bare cheek. 

“You’re all I think about. Every minute, every day,” Tim hums, “I can’t stop thinking about you and all those little sounds you made when I fucked your ass.”

Another sound, a better one, squeaks out of him – one of protest and desperation and carnal need – and Tim’s control snaps in his hands. 

The hand on Shane slides to the back of his head and Tim all but shoves those pouty lips into his mouth. 

It’s just as fucking fantastic as he remembered. 

Frantic. Needy. Tim kisses him like it’s his job to lick clean the cigarette smoke embedded on Shane’s tongue, on the inside of his mouth, the split cracks in his dry lips. His fingers tangle into that starkly black hair, the strands faintly damp, and his other hand slips to his low back. At that, the boy pulls back enough to let a whine escape from his open mouth before Tim yanks him against his chest. He feels Shane grow hard against his thigh and all the blood rushes out of his brain. 

Briefly dizzy, Tim stumbles forward, his hands catching the table behind Shane’s hips, pinning the younger man between him. He nips at Shane’s neck, trying to get the world to stop spinning.

“Fuck me, baby. You’re going to give this old man a heart attack.” 

Shane guides him into his mouth, his fingers clawing gently at the scruff of his beard, a slower, softer repeat of how Tim had initiated. Warm air puffs across Tim’s beard when Shane retreats, eyes searching for something he needs to find on Tim’s face. 

“Actually,” he breathes softly, “I really do think about you all the time too.”

Tim has never been more grateful for the rough grip on his cheeks because that’s all that’s keeping him from sinking to the ground on wobbly knees. Shane takes another kiss before his hand slips into Tim’s meaty paw and tugs him into the living room. He guides him back to the couch and, with a not-too-gentle push, shoves Tim down against the cushions. The detective goes without resistance.

The pale light from the rain beyond the window and the fluorescent glow behind him etches Shane in a soft halo. Brightness in Shane’s eyes tells him that the man is running on instinct alone – and that’s perfectly fucking fine. Whatever – anything – Shane wants, Tim will gladly offer it up. 

But when his hands drop to Tim’s belt buckle, the rush of heat up his body leaves him almost catatonic. 

“Mhmm, f-fuck, sweetheart, wait a second – d-don’t wanna rush things if you’re not –,”

The sound of his zipper tearing open is like a gunshot and there’s no denying the raw hunger that smears the edges of Shane’s eyes to a dangerous black.

“You have to walk me through it.” He sounds awe-struck.

He sinks to his knees and Tim considers he might actually die on this fucking couch. The heat radiating from those black-tipped hands that run up his thighs has Tim moaning in the back of his throat. He wants to curl that beautiful hair around Shane’s elegant ear – what would he say if Tim told him he has an elegant ear – but he’s using all of his energy to not immediately come when Shane tugs his pants down his hips, just enough to palm him through his boxers. 

As if the sensation of a half-hard cock surprises him, Shane’s lips split apart, eyes locked onto the wet spot beneath his hand. Tim swipes his bottom lip with his tongue, knuckles white as he grips the cushions, watching with aborted breath Shane stroke him gently. He grits his teeth.

“Tell me you want this.” Tell me I’m not forcing you into anything too fast because I’m fucking obsessed with you.

“I want this.” Shane shuffles closer, his hand dipping down to cup his balls, the scent of his cloves hitting Tim again, and Shane quietly gasps as the cock beneath his hand hardens more and more. “I wanna s-suck your cock.”

Tim grunts, his legs opening wider, sliding low into the cushions and now Shane hovers over him. Here is where with other partners in recent years, Tim would lock up. There’s gray in the curls at the base of his cock and his tummy hangs out a bit more, no matter how much he runs. But Shane doesn’t seem to register any of that. His mouth is still open in raw fascination, as if showing off how fucking deep he’s going to take the cock inches from his face. The sight splits heat between his groin and his heart. Tim is not going to fucking rush this. He’ll let Shane touch whatever he wants for as long as he wants even if it makes him come like an overeager teenager. 

Suppressing that peak of heat at Shane’s touch, Tim digs his fingers into Shane’s mop of hair like he’d been wanting to since the kid first offered that drink. At his immediate touch, Shane’s eyes roll back in his head and Tim takes that as an opportunity to scratch at his scalp, with a slight tug at the end. 

“Oh, fuck, please lemme me suck your cock.” 

Shane’s breathing hitches when Tim loosens the grip on his hair, runs his thumb down his temple, scuffs his cheek, and then drags that puffy bottom lip down. He looks absolutely ruined, eyes misty and shoulders slumped forward, and Tim has barely touched him. 

“Take me out, baby,” Tim murmurs, “and I’ll tell you what to do.”

Wide eyes never losing their nervous light, Shane dips his hand below the elastic waistband (why didn’t he put on better underwear?) and cups him, slowly dragging his shorts lower as he pulls Tim’s cock into the light. 

Tim has to remember to breathe. Fuck, it’s so hot in this fucking room. With trembling fingers, he tugs the knot of his tie away from his throat and unbuttons his shirt down to his ribs, as Shane runs an experimental grip up and down the length of his cock. Tim hisses as heat flares brightly and a little too fast. 

Shane’s eyes flick up to his face. “Sorry, too dry?”

Without waiting for a response, Shane cups his hand beneath his mouth and spits, a giant, slick glob. It might be the hottest thing Tim has ever witnessed with his two eyes. Shane’s hand returns and Tim’s eyes flutter shut as he groans. 

“S-s-shit, baby, that’s really good.” 

Tim wants to open his eyes, to see Shane’s face, to get a glimpse of what is going on in that beautiful head, but he can’t drag himself out of the lusty haze long enough. 

And then, after several slow, long pumps that have him harder than he can ever remember being, Tim feels Shane’s palm twist just as his thumb swirls the head and swipes the leaking tip. Pleasure roars up his spine and his hips jerk off the couch. His eyes snap open and find Shane not proud, but surprised. His mouth opens again in glee.

“I fucking love that too,” he murmurs, his hand moving a bit faster now. “Love it when they play with the tip.”

“Mhmm, hmm.” 

As Shane finds a slightly hurried rhythm with his strokes, Tim is greedily storing away images and sensations in lockbox after lockbox in his memory. Has Shane’s hands always looked so thick?

“You can try whatever you want.” Tim murmurs, his gaze jumping between the hand around his cock, Shane’s mouth, and that hand with the black nails against his thigh. “If you like something, I’ll probably like it too.” 

Shane wets his lip, his eyes darting to Tim’s face as if looking for permission. Tim nods, his heart pounding in a completely different way than from exertion, and has to breathe into his stomach as Shane parts his lips and lowers his mouth to his cock. Inch by inch, he takes him deeper and deeper, his hand falling away to Tim’s other thigh, as he sinks closer to those gray-streaked curls.

Tim is genuinely caught on the knife-edge of pleasure and pain. Exquisite pleasure saps his entire body of energy, every grunt and sigh bursts of tiny releases, but with every inch into Shane’s warm, wet mouth, his tongue a rough glide on the underside of his cock, it becomes harder and harder to not buck his hips and god, does he fucking want to. He wants to grab Shane by the back of the head, hold him steady, and fuck that mouth like it’s the last fuck of his life. But he won’t, he can’t – Shane isn’t ready for that and quite honestly, neither is he, despite how the arousal of that mental image floods him with hot satisfaction. He’s going to tear apart this couch with his bare hands, though.

Shane gets about halfway and then chokes and Tim is yanked out of the dream in a panic.

“B-baby, are you okay?” 

Shane splutters and nods, the back of his hand coming to his lips, as if trying to hide his smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he croaks. “My gag reflex is shit though.” 

Tim sighs with relief and a strangled orgasm. He’s so hard it hurts but he doesn’t give a fuck. “You’re doing fine, sweetheart. Better than fine, actually.”

Tim meets his eyes as they go dark and hungry with a flash of that spitfire that Tim only ever saw on the other side of a metal interview table before. 

“Guess you’ll have to train up my reflex, then.”

“Yeah?” This kid has no idea what he’s playing with. Shane kneels between his spread legs, hands gently rubbing the meat of his thighs, those dark eyes swirling almost maliciously. Tim pinches Shane’s chin between his thumb and curled forefinger, thrusting that belligerent mouth up. “You gonna listen to an authority figure for once in your goddamn life?” 

“I’ll try my best,” he pouts, his neck arched back. 

“Blow on it.” Tim commands. “Start from the bottom and go to the top.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tim’s cock visibly throbs and Shane hasn’t even opened his mouth. But then he does, leaning forward when Tim releases his chin. He blows a quick burst of air around Tim’s curls, before opening his mouth wide and breathing heavily, wetly, warmly around the base of the cock in front of him. Then, as he was told, he lifts up and to the very top of that leaking head. 

“Take the tip – just the tip – and suck on it, gently at first.”

Shane does as he is instructed, his eyes never leaving Tim’s face or losing that maniacal glint, and he sucks, making a similar face (Tim assumes) as when he’s slurping up ice cream. Shane sucks harder and a loud, lewd moan rips out of Tim’s throat. 

“Now take it all in, as much as you can. Then swallow.”

Shane dips his head, mouth gliding down his veiny shaft, spit slipping out of the corner of his mouth, going down and down and down until he breathes sharply through his nose. Tim, clutching at sanity as it sprinkles through his fingers, watches the sharp planes of Shane’s shoulders and back churn and roll as he lifts his head up and down. He wants to loop his fingers through those black curls so badly.

“I’m gonna touch you now, okay?” Shane grunts his approval, the blush of air against his groin sending a bolt of pleasure up Tim’s spine, and he soothes his own tattered nerves by digging into Shane’s hair, scratching a bit like he had before. But then he loosens and just lets his hand rest contentedly on the back of his head. 

The drumming beat of rain and Shane’s wet mouth is a narcotic. The sight and sounds and smells of it all makes his brain melt, deep desires usually chained down by his restraint snapping and popping free like fireworks.

What’s he going to feel like when Shane can take all of him?

How long and how often does he have to do this to train him up?

Could he come home after working a twelve hour shift to Shane crawling onto his knees and sucking him off, just like this? Like this, in perfect domestic bliss –

Out of nowhere, Shane swallows and Tim has to claw into his own thigh to keep from coming right then and there. 

“Oh, fucking Christ –,” he yelps. As if encouraged, Shane tries to go a little deeper, swallow a little harder, but he gags again. When he lifts his head, his eyes are wet and Tim wonders if it's possible to black out from being so aroused. 

“Sorry,” Shane mutters, wiping his mouth again. “Your cock is so fucking big. It felt big in my ass but this –,”

Tim’s eyes slip closed. “Shut the fuck up. You can’t – can’t say those things.” 

He breathes heavily, the pounding in his heart only slightly stronger than the blood pounding in his cock. But Shane is suspiciously quiet.

Tim opens his eyes and finds a curious expression on Shane’s face as he stares at Tim’s cock. No, not his cock, a bit below –

Shane turns and tugs the low, tattered table behind him closer. He puts Tim’s foot against the edge, and then does the same with the other. The haze in Tim’s brain won’t let him piece it together until Shane dips his head, tongue already out.

“Whoa, whoa, baby–,” he grasps Shane’s shoulder and he stops. “I can’t ask you to do that. I don’t want to push you too far tonight.”

Shane rolls his eyes, flatly annoyed. “I’ve eaten ass before, Tim. I’m not a blushing fucking virgin.” 

Tim can actually feel the second that sweat breaks out across his hairline. “A-are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I actually know what I’m doing there. I mean, an asshole is an asshole, right?”

He isn’t sure if he likes how fast Shane has grown in confidence, or if it’s the sexist thing he’s ever seen. Maybe he’s the one not entirely ready.

“Y-yeah. Alright. Fire away, then.”

And with that first kitten lick, Tim finally comprehends just how fucked he is. He knew he was, but it’s not until Shane masterfully rims the edge of that ringed muscle does he know, with clear certainty, this kid is going to ruin him.

Shane’s hand curls around Tim’s shaft, his tongue prodding his asshole, and Tim makes a loud, open-mouthed moan that hits the quiet air of the apartment and shatters.

Within seconds, he’s hurling towards a release so violent, his thighs shake. Shane pumps him slowly, his mouth making everything wet and drippy, his eyes eagerly catching every twitch and moan Tim makes. 

When Tim feels his balls draw up, dangling over the precipice, he snatches Shane by the hair and yanks him back. Again, Shane makes a sound like an irritated cat.

“C’mon,” he huffs, his face red as if he had mitigated his breathing. “Lemme do this.” 

Tim swallows everything – his tongue, his orgasm, the desire to lick the brat right out of Shane’s pouty mouth – and shoves it all down as far as it will go. He’s left sweaty and panting, holding Shane by the flat of his hair at arm’s length. He swallows again and sits up, that airless high settling. Shane scowls petulantly

“You still want me to fuck that ass, right?”

His glare cracks in half. Those swollen lips part and he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Then you fucking listen to me when I tell you to stop sucking cock. Got it?”

Shane nods more insistently, tongue swiping fast against his bottom lip. “Y-yeah.” 

Tim lets go and resists the urge to correct him to how he addressed him before, but fucking Christ, one thing at time.

“Which one is yours?” Tim nods towards the two closed doors across from him. Wordlessly, Shane points to the one farthest from the living room. “Show me.” 

Tim barely grunts as he stands up, his knees dangerously unsteady, his back twinging from the low position on the couch and the fact that there’s more padding on a highway road than inside of those cushions. 

Again, just as he thinks he might tip over, Shane takes his hand, intertwining their fingers, and leads him through the door. 

The sun had set on an already dark day, so in the burgeoning twilight, Shane’s room is a collection of shadows and blue outlines. Beyond the vinyl window slats, the rain pours harder than ever, muffling the sounds of cars on the street and the blunders of other people in the building. With the door closed, the air is warm, but not uncomfortably so, more like a soothing hand against his sweaty neck. The pleasant scent of incense is unmistakable, a far cry from any other smell in the apartment. 

The effect of it all, standing in Shane’s room, alone, is . . . isolating.

“It’s not much,” Shane murmurs, as if he worried Tim would find something about his space distasteful. “But I did clean up.” His eyes grow wide as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Not that I thought, or even expected that this – that you’d –”

Tim brings their locked hands to Shane’s cheek and gently, sweetly kisses him on the mouth. For a man so confident in his ability to drive his partner insane with his tongue up their ass, the boy quivers beneath a soft touch. Tim pulls back and finds blurry, unfocused eyes. 

“What do you want to do tonight?” Tim hums and strokes an errant curl back from Shane’s cheek. 

“This.” Shane says immediately. “This feels so fucking good.”

“Where do you sleep?” Tim asks, quietly, letting the words slow to a rumble, his free hand gently cupping the boy’s neck. The bed is unmissable, but he wants to give Shane as much control as he needs. Beneath his hands, Shane’s breathing stutters for a moment, before biting down on his bottom lip and leading Tim to the haphazardly made-up bed. He sits, big eyes staring up at him, at their bound hands, before releasing his grip and lying back on the bed. He scoots up, nestling that all black hair against his gray pillow.

“Here.” His voice is strangled, choked, his fingers twisting together as he picks at his nails. “Right h-here.” 

“Is that why you look so good right here, baby?” Tim slides the tail end of his tie out of the knot and off his neck. Shane licks his lips, transfixed, as Tim continues to unbutton his wrinkled shirt. The bit of clothing falls to the floor and Tim nearly matches Shane in a white sleeveless shirt. Black and white, punk and cop. There’s poetry in there somewhere.

Tim continues to undress; shoes first, then socks, and finally his slacks. Shane gets a little jumpy as he crawls up the bed. 

“Are you comfortable?” 

“Yes.” Tim raises an eyebrow at the jeans confining his hard cock. “No, sorry, n-no – I’ll take them off.” 

Tim gives him enough space to unbutton his pants, then sloppily jerk them off. He flings them over by Tim’s and Tim grins. He settles back down with Shane nearly underneath him and gently strokes his cheek. Everywhere he touches on the boy, it’s warm. Women aren’t like that, usually, and in turn, it satisfies something deep inside of him. Tim thinks of the tender warmth of the heated skin of a deer after it’s run a long distance. 

“You still want it, baby?” This he asks honestly and without the grungy purr to his voice. 

Again, without hesitation, Shane nods, but then stops. His chest swells like the words he wants to say are caught on the back of his throat, his nails gently biting into Tim’s chest, so Tim presses thoughtfully into the arch of Shane’s jaw, encouraging him. His doe eyes darting across Tim’s face, tension coiling up in his thighs, Shane says,

“I want it from the back this time.”

Oh, fuck. 

With half of a groan and half of a laugh, Tim dips forward and loosely bites Shane on his ear. “You really are trying to kill me, aren’t you?” 

Shane giggles as Tim’s nips slowly turn to open-mouthed kisses. He sucks sharply on the thrumming pulse of his neck, and Shane groans, his whole body writhing to be closer to Tim’s mouth, his skinny arms going around Tim’s broad shoulders. 

“Do you mind?” Shane asks, breaking apart for a moment, his lips brushing Tim’s mustache. “I know you did it last time and if you wanna, um, I mean I can try but –”

Tim grins through the smile pressed onto a corner of that sweet mouth as he sits up on his knees. He smooths a hand up through the faint trail of hair just above Shane’s waistband, then up his ribs, stopping to thumb a hard, pink nipple, before kissing both of his cheeks. 

“No, I don’t mind. I will never, ever mind when you ask so nicely.” 

“But one day – you w-want me too, right?” 

Ribbons of meaning hang over that question, their soft tassels hard to grab before slipping through Tim’s grasp. His brow furrows, his hand resting on Shane’s hip. The boy stares up at him like he hangs the moon in the sky.

Those ribbons drag forward new questions of their own, questions he can’t ask himself, much less out loud. They all clatter and fall into one big heap in his mouth and he can’t untangle them right now, not while he has Shane looking like that, but one slips through before he can stop it.

“You wanna do this again, with me?” The question lingers in the air like smoke, as gentle and insistent as the rain outside.

Shane’s fingers curl around Tim’s wrists. He smiles. “Yeah, of course. I . . . like you.” Blush trickles up his neck and into his ears, but he keeps his grip. “If you wanna keep me around, I mean.”

His voice goes small, from somewhere he never lets anyone see. Just as Shane’s eyes jerk off him, shame hot in his gaze, his body going rigid, Tim leans down and kisses him, the softest kiss they’d ever shared. The scent of cloves comes again as Shane offers his tongue and Tim takes it. 

They kiss in the cover of the rain, in the shelter of the space that is entirely theirs, for one eternity and a half. When Tim opens his eyes, he is someone new, someone changed. Someone he doesn’t recognize and that’s a wonderful thing.

“I’ll take you like you want,” he says softly. Beneath his chest, skin to skin, he can feel Shane’s heart pounding. He hopes Shane can feel his. “But I wanna see your face for a bit. Is that okay?” 

Shane nods and kisses him as he tries to pull away. Tim smirks and rubs Shane’s hip bone with his thumb.

“Remember what I said about preparing? Have you been doing that?”

Shane bites his lip as if caught doing something particularly filthy. “Yeah, I’m up to three fingers now.”

Fucking hell. Be cool about this. 

“Good, baby. Do you have lube?”

Shane rolls his eyes, that blush now blotchy on his throat. “Duuuh. I don’t know why you think I’m some bl–”

“– ushing fucking virgin. I heard you the first time.” Shane narrows his eyes playfully and Tim cannot wait to spank that smirk right off him. “Then go get it.”

Shane wiggles out from between Tim’s legs and crawls over to the bedside table. He digs around a bit before pulling out a box of condoms and a blue bottle. He tosses them at Tim like he’s throwing laundry detergent, before hovering for a moment. Lips between his teeth, he stiffly slips his underwear off and down the floor. His bracelets clink as he moves and Tim can tell it sounds like an air raid siren to him. Naked, he crawls back to bed and settles beneath Tim flat on his back.

“For someone who is so bothered by authority,” Tim begins and just as Shane frowns, wrenching his mouth open to argue, Tim sits back between his thighs and folds his knees up, spreading him wide. Whatever retort Shane had dies on his throat and the only thing left is a soft whine. “You are such a good boy. I didn’t even have to ask you to get naked for me.”

Shane’s cock, exposed for the first time all night, twitches on his stomach. He squirms as Tim picks up the bottle and clicks up the lid with his thumb, his other hand resting briefly on the arch of Shane’s foot. 

“I’m gonna start with one again, but move faster into two this time, okay? Then we’ll see if you’re lying to me or not.” Resistance flashes in Shane’s eyes at Tim’s smirk, but the boy stays silent. 

But that defiant look melts away to aching bliss when Tim drizzles the lube between his cheeks, and then Tim’s own fingers. His other hand curls around Shane’s knee and squeezes, grounding them both. 

“Probably should have gotten a towel,” Tim mutters and the sound Shane was going to use to reply fractures and crumbles, oozing into a throaty moan when his asshole spreads apart around a single finger. 

Maybe it’s his age, or maybe he’s never had his asshole played with in a way he likes, but Shane is so fucking sensitive. He’s twitching and gasping after a few strokes, black nails curling into the bedsheets. His eyes are squeezed shut, not from pain or discomfort, but from trying desperately not to come. Tim recognizes that look; he wore it himself fifteen minutes ago. 

Shane’s cock is trickling all over his stomach by the time Tim adds a second finger. And true to his word, it goes in without much resistance, much to Tim’s delight. This means there can be a bit more fun than just aimlessly prodding. Shane lets out a high moan when Tim’s fingers change angles. 

“What the fuck are you doing down there?” Shane pants, sweat peaking at his hairline. He moans again before Tim can answer, his back arching off the bed. 

“Searching.”

“For fucking what? I–,” Shane’s eyes snap open, horror and heat etched in the dark rims. “You can’t touch that, it’s not fair. You’ll make me come.”

Tim kisses his knee as he adds a third finger, grinning when Shane’s head thumps back against the pillow. “I think that’s the whole point of this, sweetheart.” 

Shane whines his answer; Tim speeds up his thrusting, giving up for now. 

“You’re doing so well, darling, so well. You did so good to prepare for my cock.”

Shane fists the bedsheets, his thigh muscles tightening. Tim thinks he can’t actually comprehend his words, until he wrenches his jaw apart. “Just your cock. I did it for your cock, Rockford, no one else’s. Don’t - don’t want anyone’s cock but yours in me.” 

This is just cock-drunk babble, tongue loose with whatever nonsense fills his mouth, his brain no longer in control.

Right?

Either way, Tim slips his fingers out with practiced precision, easing on the condom, then squirting his cock and Shane’s exposed hole with lube in one go. If Shane has noticed anything, his blissed out expression doesn’t change . . . until he feels the tip of Tim’s thick head expand his asshole.

His stare locked onto Shane’s blissed out face, Tim pushes forward, using Shane’s knees as leverage. 

The boy honest to god chokes. His cock spits up his chest. 

“Ohmy god . . .” 

Tim goes slow enough he knows it won’t hurt, his fingers opened him enough that the lube only adds to the pleasure, but he’s not entirely worried about that right now. He wants him stupid and babbling again.

“This cock, sweetheart? This is the cock you’ve been making room for?”

Shane whines, lips white between his teeth, nodding vigorously. Tim rubs his hip soothingly and Shane’s face breaks open with a loud gasp. His eyes snap down to where he swallows Tim inch after inch.

“You’re so much bigger than my fingers. Holy fucking shit. I forgot how big you are.” 

“But you like that, right?” There’s a collective sigh of relief as Tim finally is flushed against him. Huffing like a wounded animal, Tim pushes the mop of hair back from Shane’s sweaty forehead. “You like how I fuck you, don’t you?”

Shane nods again, as Tim grips his waist and he wraps his fingers around Shane’s forearms, his bracelets tinkling softly, as he settles in for what he can’t even possibly imagine.

“You’re damn fucking right I like how you fuck me.” Shane rasps out. “Wouldn’t let you do it if it didn’t rock my fucking world.” 

“I’m gonna go a bit faster than I did last time. You say stop if it gets to be too much.”

“I know what a safeword is, Rockford, I’m not –,”

Tim rolls his hips forward, knocking a surprised breath from Shane. He stabilizes a bit better with his knees and then picks up a rhythm, slow but deep.

“If you say blushing fucking virgin one more time, I’m putting you over my knee and spanking you.” 

But words fail him.

They fail Tim too, eventually, when rings of heat stack, one upon the other, up his spine. Every time Shane’s asshole clenches around him, those rings drop lower, closer to his groin. 

It feels too fucking good. 

The rhythmic chime of Shane’s metal bracelets clinking together can barely be heard over the rain outside, and the peaks and valleys of the heavy moans piling up in the room.

Shane’s flattened hand against his head board, he grinds his hips down, forcing even more resistance than just his tight hole. 

“Fuck,” he whines high and loud, Tim tightening his grip on his waist as he all but bounces Shane on his cock. “Oh god, I can’t – I can’t –,” 

Tim’s skin is so hot he wonders if he’s giving off steam. He’s sweating from his forehead, his neck, the backs of his knees, a slick wetness spreading across his groin every time he slams that cute little ass back against him. Not another single word of derision has passed Shane’s lips in what feels like forever, his mouth switching rapidly between grinding his teeth and dropping open when Tim brushes up against something nuclear. 

If Tim is steaming, Shane is melting. Every muscle in his body is weak, knees around Tim’s hips to give him better access. Cum rolls in white streaks off his stomach and onto the rapidly shifting sheets. 

Tim knows if he just breaths on the that pink cock, it’s all fucking over – so he slows, and pulls back out of him. 

A Shane with a functioning brain would have demanded an explanation but the gooey mess of a boy in the bed only lifts his gaze. 

“Turn around,” Tim pants. 

“What?” 

“You wanted me too . . .” Tim spins his finger, squeezing the base of his cock with his other hand. “Turn over.” 

“Oh, right.” Despite that almost sleepy murmur, Tim can hear the disappointment. At the head of the bed, a shaking hand swipes away one pillow then the other and Shane buries his face in the mattress.

His ass is already pink as Tim spreads his thighs, his knee nudging his right leg to bend, and lines up. But Shane is murmuring something into the sheets. 

“… stop.” 

Tim freezes, one hand around his cock the other flat against the bed by Shane’s hips. 

“You want me to stop?” 

Shane lifts his head enough to look back and whine. “Don’t — don’t stop.” Crackling with unspent energy, Shane rubs his face against the sheets like a cat. “Please.”

Tim grins as he lines himself up again, his free hand coming to Shane’s thigh when the cockhead spreads his cheeks. 

“Don’t worry, darling, I’m not gonna –,”

Tim stops moving. It’s long enough and unusually fraught enough for Shane to lift his head in confusion, Tim’s cock barely in.

“What happened?” 

Tim is staring, struck dumb and mindless at the sight of Shane’s lower back.

“You’ve got two dimples here,” he murmurs, the growl in his voice thick and rough.

“Yeah? So?”

Without warning, Tim yanks Shane onto his hands and knees by his waist. The sudden movement is rough for his loose muscles and he yelps. 

“Fuck – what’s got you all fucking twisted up now?”

Tim is no longer entirely himself. His shoulders seem broader, nose sharper, mouth firmer. His eyes have been eclipsed by black as one by one, he puts his hands on Shane’s hips, and then twists his thumbs to fit into the divots of his dimples as he, achingly slow, pushes back into Shane’s abused hole.

“You’ve got fucking handles built in, baby.” Tim murmurs and heat radiates from where they are connected, Shane’s skin flushed with red and goosebumps. The sensation jams the signal to Shane’s brain. 

Behind him, Tim kisses his back almost lovingly.

“I’m definitely gonna wreck your shit now.” 

On the first tug, the one that snugs Tim’s groin right up against his ass, Tim knows he only has seconds left in him. 

These strokes are brutal, fast, and short. Whatever sounds tears itself from Shane’s throat is the prettiest thing Tim has ever heard. His mouth goes wet as he watches Shane’s shoulders and back go loose again and on another day, he’s going to clench his fist around that mop of hair and pull until Shane begs him to stop.

Another day. But not today. 

Tim focuses on the things he can control to elongate that enormous orgasm that rattles his teeth. His thumbs in the perfect little divots of Shane’s back; he pushes down, increasing the pressure higher up, and actually hears the cum squirt out onto the bed, followed by a groan that shakes Shane from head to toe. He focuses on his breathing, the short huffs out his nose, mouth closed shut but tiny mhm mhm mhm’s escape anyway. He tries to focus on the glint around his pelvis but that makes things worse. 

He focuses on – fuck, what can he focus on? – Shane hasn’t made a noise in –

“Shane, baby, are you okay?”

He gasps out as though electrified. “I’m trying so hard not to come, I don’t want it to fucking stop, but you hit my g-spot three thrusts ago and I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Tim can’t help but chuckle. He rubs a warm palm up Shane’s spine, then gives his neck a reassuring squeeze, before leaning forward and draping himself over Shane’s trembling frame, never slowing those fast, rough thrusts. He noses his ear as his hand slips around the cock leaking profusely onto the sheets. 

“You can come, but it has to be loud and messy.” 

Just half a stroke down and Shane comes with a cry that paints the inside of Tim’s brain permanently. And he keeps coming, gasping, wet and whining. Over his shoulder, Tim feels a dribble against his knee and that, combined with all of Shane’s delicious fucking sounds, knocks free Tim’s own release, the swell and burst far away from his control. Shane’s elbows are trembling by the time he slumps to the side, trying and mostly failing to avoid his own cumstain. Tim drops behind him in a haze. 

He’s already sore, every muscle tightened then released over and over and over again. He can’t inhale properly and he’s got a stitch in his side. There’s a pulsing all over his body and he isn’t sure if that’s from coming so hard he nearly shot off the condom, or his heart pounding like it’s about to explode. His skin is wet and sticky and he’s hungry but exhausted and he would hate all of this if he was alone, but . . .

Weary down to his bones, the breath settling in his chest and the fog lifting slightly, Tim puts a hand on the narrow waist in front of him. Fingers join his, wrapping together, as the frenetic energy of the room slows to a crawl, each moment plodding along in front of the next like fat water droplets. 

“. . . good, that was good,” Tim slurs to no one in particular, his eyelids flickering open and shut. “You’re . . . s’good.” He knows they should talk, but he’s past speech, or rather anything coherent, his consciousness slipping beneath the churning dark waves of sleep.

The smooth back in front of him, shiny with drying sweat, shakes in a dizzy, silent chuckle.

“Go to sleep, old man.”

Tim knows he should be offended, or he thinks he should, if he could comprehend language right now, so instead he settles into the warmth and the darkness. Soon the only sound he can hear is the rain pattering against the window and Shane softly snoring before reality winks out.

+

[sid-the-sandwich]

Obey Me! In-game Statistics app

this is part 4 of the features I would love to be in the game to enhance gameplay or just fun features

this feature im thinking of is an activity log. it will essentially keep all the statistics of the game from the moment you started playing.

im honestly surprised this type of mechanic isn't already in the game. Some achievements are logged, but at a certain point, it stops counting (Eg, the battles per character count stops at 800) after that it's a mystery if you want to know how much you've done.

if this where an app in game I would envision the icon to look like:

(I was going to do a notepad but I decided a clock perhaps work better, but i couldn't pick a colour; maybe you can say which colour you like best?)

when clicking this icon, it would open an in-game app that would have every character to show stats per character, plus the sheep icon (or RAD newspaper) for overall stats, combining overall.

i made a mock up of what the screen could look like, but I'm no graphic designer so I basically edited the 'To-do' screen from the OG game.

I've thought of many elements for the screen: it will have many stats per character, separated into 'Story' and 'Battle' with the Sheep MC having a third 'Other' category.

the 'Story' section will contain stats regarding the lessons and romance, for example 'how many romance choices for that character' and a 'Kiss counter'

The 'Battle' section will contain stats when battling, like how many battles won, lost, forfeited, etc.

The 'Other' category will only be for the combination of ALL the stats from the whole game, (Only Sheep MC/RAD newspaper will have this one)

As the game progresses these stats will be filled out; the surprise guests items at the top will be 'question-marked' until the player gives the items to the character for the first time,

what stats will be tracked:

Story:

Times chosen

Times rejected

Favrouite moment (most replayed)

intimacy

Hug counter

Kiss counter

Outfits collected

Battle:

Total battles

Battles won

Battles lost

Battles forfeited

Win rate % (overall with character)

Special moves used

Support items used

Play time

Battle streak (longest consecutive battles with the character)

Surprise guest interactions

Favourite card

Other: (For overall only)

Power-on count

Friend count

Grimm aquired

Grimm spent

DP aquired

DP spent

DV aquired

DV spent

items brought

Surprise guests

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

I apologize if this all sounds boring, but personally, I like to see how much I've played, so if I do eventually make it to lesson 80, I can say "Wow, it took 'BLANK' number of levels to complete the game' or stuff like 'i played Mammon in battle 'BLANK' number of times"

[newspaper-advertisement]

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[releasemyad1]

Find the best Hindustan Hindi newspaper advertisement rates on releaseMyAd!

[mimisempai]

It's just a risk to take 1/2

Summary

For the fifth year in a row, Crowley's mother insists on inviting him to her charity gala. Although he has refused each time, this time he has no choice. And if he doesn't want his mother to force a date on him, he'll have to bring someone. So he takes the risk of inviting his old friend Aziraphale, for whom he feels much more than friendship. 

Notes

A little Human AU of them getting together

On Ao3

Rating G - 1783 words

Chap 2

"Anthony!"

Though startled by his mother's voice, Anthony did not react and continued to read the newspaper, sitting on his sofa with his feet up on the coffee table.

He heard the door close, then the click of heels coming closer, and only looked up when his mother tossed a sheet of paper into his lap.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that it was the negative response he'd sent to her invitation to the fall charity ball she hosted every year.

Continuing to leaf through the paper as if nothing had happened, he asked, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, my dear mother?"

With her hands on her hips, his mother replied in a voice whose irritation she couldn't quite shake, “This is the fifth year you've refused my invitation and said you'd come next year. Five times!"

Anthony slowly lifted his eyes to his mother and looked at her with an assurance he was far from feeling.

"After four rejections, didn't you think there was no point in sending me a fifth invitation?"

"You know very well that I don't take no for an answer."

"And yet you'll have to do it again this time. I haven't changed my mind."

Crowley closed the newspaper and stood up before throwing it on the sofa and going to the kitchen to have some coffee. Of course, his mother followed him, and he felt that this time he'd really have a hard time staying firm. After all, he took after her as much for her flaming hair as for her stubborn nature.

He filled two cups of coffee and handed her one, which she eagerly grabbed.

He sat down on one of the high stools behind the counter as his mother leaned across from him.

She sighed.

"Anthony, I don't understand, you're smart, you're good at what you do, you're a handsome man..."

"Thanks, Mom." 

"Don't interrupt me! I was saying that you're a fine person, that you're good company when you're not hiding behind your sarcasm, that you have a job that you thrive at, and yet you're hiding in your apartment like an old bachelor."

Anthony replied with all the calm he could muster, "I am hiding, as you say, because in case you didn't know, with my job as a teacher, I see enough people during the day, my social circle is kept to a minimum because I prefer quality over quantity, and most importantly, I'm a big boy and I live my life as I see fit."

His mother took a sip of coffee, set the cup down on the counter with a clatter, and replied, "I never thought my son, so full of quality, would become a homebody. So boring. What a disappointment." 

Anthony knew his mother was being dramatic and didn't mean a word she said, she was just trying to provoke him until he gave in, so he took absolutely no offense.

He raised his eyebrows.

"If you find me boring, that's your problem, not mine."

"And when I'm gone, who's going to take care of your social life, right? You'll be all alone."

Oh, here we were. The feelings card.

He couldn't help but smile slightly and replied, "Mom, this may be hard for you to believe, but I like my solitude. And like I said, I have a few friends. You can count them on the fingers of one hand. But I have a few."

"At least give me one good reason, one real reason why you shouldn't come to this ball." His mother said as she went to refill her cup.

Anthony sighed, "If you must know, it's because I'm sure you want to set me up with some great party you found on Single.com or one of your dating apps."

His mother rolled her eyes.

"If that's all it is, just come with a date. It's as simple as that."

Anthony chuckled.

"Very funny, really."

His mother said in a softer tone, "I'm serious, you know. There must be someone whose company you can stand to spend an evening with."

Anthony immediately thought of someone, but did his best not to react.

Aziraphale.

No, don't think about it. He's just a friend. There's a big gap between being a friend and being someone's plus one for an event like this.

Forget about it.

"Ooooh, I see, so there is someone."

Damn, she really was too sharp.

His mother put down her cup, then came over and planted a kiss on his cheek before turning away.

"It's perfect. I'll wait for you and Aziraphale at the party."

"I never said it was Azi"

"Don't forget to remind your bookseller that formal wear is required."

"He's not my bookseller."

"You didn't deny it was about him, did you?"

"Mom..."

"I know, I know, honey."

Clack.

As quickly as she'd arrived, the hurricane that was his mother was gone.

She was probably already calling her friends to brag about having had the last word with her stubborn son. 

Anthony buried his head in his hands. He would have to contact Aziraphale and risk jeopardizing one of the longest and best friendships of his life.

The longest and most beautiful, in fact.

To do so, he would have to try to ignore the feelings he had for his friend. Feelings that went far beyond simple friendship.

Easier said than done.

Anthony sighed once more before he picked up his phone and started typing.

*********

Aziraphale was sitting at a table at the Dirty Donkey with Nina, Maggie and Muriel when his cell phone began to vibrate. 

He pulled it out of his pocket and, seeing who the message was from, quickly slid his thumb across the screen. He was so excited that he almost dropped the phone.

Nina noticed his fussiness and tried to look over his shoulder.

"I've never seen you in such a hurry to read a message. Who is it?"

"Oh, someone important, no doubt," Maggie replied before pulling Nina away to let Aziraphale read his message in peace. 

Muriel, for their part, made no comment, just looked at him with a knowing smile, they knew him too well. They knew who could make Aziraphale react like that. 

Aziraphale was astonished because, unlike Crowley's usual short, concise text messages, this one was so long that he had to scroll to get to the end.

His amazement grew as he read on.

His heart was beating faster as well.

But he chose to ignore it.

Aziraphale, you'll probably be surprised at what 

I'm about to ask you, but I don't have the courage to ask you in person. 

I don't know how else to say it, but I need your help. 

Would you be willing to accompany me to my mother's fall charity gala? 

It seems I can't avoid it this year, and while I'm at it, I'd rather go with a friend. 

You, in this case. 

Let me know your answer, and if it's positive, I'll send you the details.

Aziraphale swallowed. Several times.

He kept looking at the phone in his hand as he took a big gulp of sherry. 

Then he read the message again. His heart was racing now.

He had forgotten that he wasn't alone and was startled when Nina said, "You're all red, Aziraphale."

Maggie giggled and nodded.

A hand came to rest on his arm and a soft voice said, "You look... happy."

He looked up to meet the eyes of his best friend, Muriel.

"Yes. I think... maybe..."

Unable to find the words, he handed them the phone.

Muriel read it, looking very focused, before exclaiming, "That's great, Aziraphale! It's a great opportunity."

Of course his friend and business partner would say that.

They were, after all, the one who had pushed him to approach Crowley the day he had first walked into the bookstore.

Six years ago. He'd just started working as an astrophysics teacher and was looking for old books. Then he'd come back several times just to see Aziraphale, and a deep friendship had developed. Crowley had become part of his little circle of friends, and not a week went by without them seeing each other. Sometimes just the two of them, sometimes with their friends.

It was only during exam periods like now that their meetings were far apart.

And no, Aziraphale didn't count the days. Or hours, for that matter.

"Come on, Aziraphale, don't keep it a secret." 

Nina insisted, and he could see in Maggie's sparkling eyes that she was just as curious as her wife.

When Muriel handed the phone back, he hesitated for a moment, then finally passed it to Nina, who read the message as Maggie moved closer to read it at the same time.

"Aha... and are you going to say yes?"

Aziraphale didn't hide his astonishment at Nina and Maggie's lack of surprise.

"What? You think it's a secret that you have a crush on him?"

"Huh?"

Maggie continued, "There are even bets on which one of you will make the first move?"

"What?"

Dumbfounded, he glanced at Muriel, who shrugged.

"Neither of you are subtle."

"What do you mean?"

Maggie nodded, "Well, sometimes he looks at you like he hasn't eaten in days and you're the first meal he's seen."

"You've got to be kidding me!"

"I swear it's true!"

Nina nudged his shoulders and repeated, "So you'll answer yes?"

She added, insisting, "Do you realize this could be your chance?"

Maggie continued, "This could be a date!"

Aziraphale downed the rest of his sherry in one gulp and replied a little dizzily, "I certainly hope so."

He was far less certain as he prepared to answer a few moments later in the privacy of his apartment.

No matter how much he told himself not to get his hopes up, it was too late, and the only thing he could do was at least try to remain fairly neutral in his message.

Crowley, we're friends, you know you can ask me anything.

And knowing your mother, I'm guessing you fought bravely. 😛

I'm delighted to accept your invitation.

It will be an opportunity to spend an evening together, 

we haven't seen each other for a month, 

we'll have a lot to talk about.

Send me the details of the evening.

Good night!

Aziraphale hit 'send' immediately, before he had time to change his mind, placed his phone on the nightstand without waiting for a reply, and turned off the light. 

Probably due to Sherry's overindulgence, he quickly fell asleep in a peaceful slumber whose dreams had the face of a teacher with red flaming hair and honey-colored eyes.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable fan fictions Masterpost : here

[singlesomethinginstyle]

It is festive season in South Asia, and women are some of the most overworked among all social groups.

Suddenly, it is not just you, your partner/parents/siblings anymore - it is the entire extended clan, khandaan, their nosy relatives even with several degrees of separation.

The bulk of festive burden falls on women. From the cooking, an extensive menu that comprises unhealthy food which will not be fully consumed because everyone is diabetic or dieting, and the heartbroken woman has to finish what she painstakingly prepared or watch it go to the trash, to endless decor needs, shopping and gifting the extended family (a fine art which, god forbid you gift one relative something and another differently, tempers erupt) not to mention your own professional deadlines because your boss wants everything early so he can justify the 3-4-5 fay holidays.

Then comes the dieting because you KNOW you will be judged for your appearance, the clothing choices, the exhaustion of dealing with nasty relatives and the politics.

And if you're queer, in the closet or struggling or even simply wanting to be single or avoid marriage, suddenly your life is everyone's business, and this endless social nightmare, the bullying and the ostracism is the opposite of divine, it is debasing. God forbid if you are part of an inter-caste or inter-faith coupling, the negativity is worse.

Here are a few tips on how you can take care of yourself during this season.

You've gotta put yourself first. You cannot fight multiple battles on multiple fronts if you cannot take care of yourself first. FEED YOURSELF FIRST.

Look in the mirror ' and tell yourself - this festive season I am celebrating ME - I will feed myself first. You cannot fight big battles on an empty tank.

1. Food: eat before everyone else - get in the kitchen, make yourself something healthy in half an hour, cut a salad, a bunch of fruits and eat first. Cut up a few veggies at night, put it in a tiffin box and leave it in the fridge. When everyone is snoozing, have that. They will balance out all the junk that will go into your stomach. Don't start any ridiculous fast that will drain you. Get a doctor's note if you are being pressured and say - sorry maa ji. Health reasons I have to be careful.

2. Get a pre-festival health checkup. Go to the doctor and get your stats checked. Some labs offer full-body general health checkups at discounted rates. Grab a package and finish it. When you know where you are struggling, yiu can avoid making it worse.

3. Protect your money. Festive seasons have a pile of insidious stupid expenses that pile up and guess who pays ? The woman, the wife, the daughter in law. Do you think your Husband or inlaws will shell money out for that cute decor and diya set? No way. If you hold them accountable, they will probably give some money for all the gifts relatives give. Remove your credit cards and debit cards from online shopping sites. Pretend something is wrong with your card and it got blocked. Make your husband or In-laws pay instead.

So get realistic, set up a budget and empty your bank account into an FD. Congratulations, you only have a SMALL amount of money left for decorations - use that to get inventive and clever. Pull out old newspapers, and get into wealth-from-waste mode.

If you are even smarter, you will quietly set up an alternative savings account WITHOUT a debit card or credit card and squirrel away your Dussehra - Diwali bonus into it. If your husband asks, "Sorry yar, iss bar company mein bonus nahi de rahe hain, kaafi projects mein behind hue and they arent doing that well"

If you are still living with your parents make it a point to save every money gift you get. Take the cash, hide it safely and don't touch it. First opportunity - put it in the bank account (your own, not a shared one)

4. Secure your Jewelry. A pot of desi women are given gold and precipus jewelry during their marriage but this is often sneakily taken away by your mother in law in order to "safeguard it". It is usually in the bank or a locker you do not have access to.

So, this festive season, go FULL on TRADITIONAL. Wear that old saree, and ask mom in law for your jewelry because your extended family etc are mentioning seeing those pieces from your wedding, because they got sentimental. And then sneakily after the festivities, hide them in your own little locker (which you bought beforehand) and quietly head to the bank, and deposit it in a safe deposit box in YOUR name.

Remember, GOLD is one of the most secure available financial assets for a desi woman. But the gold you have is often controlled by your in-laws once you marry over. So make sure you take iy back bit by bit. And when they ask - make excuses like - the clasp is broken, need repairs, mom wants to upgrade it a little etc. And never give it back to your inlaws. Your gold is YOUR legal property. It should not go to your inlaws.

5. Mentally prepare for tough conversations.

Festive seasons are hard on women and they socially slaughter your dignity. Prepare snarky, sarcastic answers or don't hesitate to shut down what comes your way. But since many of you are raised to be docile, remember to anticipate all the tough topics someone will raise to criticize you, think of their personaliry and prepare some snarky answers beforehand. If a relative is asking abiut your marriage, ask them when their son is going to move out or if they're still a financial burden. Ask if their husbands have stopped ogling the maid. Don't be scared of going offensive. These guys are not your friends and won't hesitate to pull you down.

6. Prepare Me time. Make a set of activities, like groceries etc, that that can leave you alone and give you breathing space from the khandaan. Take longer to shop alone and take a break in the neighbourhood park. Use this time to meditate, check in with yourself and your goals and give youraelf a spiritual pat kn the back.

7. Prep an easy menu and donate the remaining. Plan a food menu that is not extensive. Order delicacies if possible, instead of Doing it Yourself. There is no BEST BAHU and BEST WIFE contest to win. Get the load of cooking off your back. If there is food leftover, call an orphanage and send it to them. Do not eat excessively out of guilt. Donate it to those who need it. When the burden of cooking is reduced the guilt of forced eating goes doen and you won't be putting junk in your body.

Remember - you are your own best friend. Festivals will take a lot out of you. They will cause families to get into unnecessary pissing contests and you have to bear the laborous brunt. So safeguard your time and energy.

[radicalrocko234]

To any radical feminists and TERFs who see this:

You are not “protecting” women by spreading misandry.

You are not “protecting” women by cyberbullying a minority with a high su**ide rate.

You are not “protecting” women by twisting real-life tragedies so they fit your own hateful narrative.

You are not “protecting” women by lying about getting attacked by trans people in biased newspapers.

You are not “protecting” women by calling a neurological condition a “cult” whilst simultaneously treating cis women like Heavenly saints who can do no wrong.

You are not “protecting” women by harassing transgender web users until they lash out at you and then playing the victim card.

You are not “protecting” women by falling for fake news published by people like Rupert Murdoch, Julie Bindel, or BBC News.

You are not “protecting” women by hyperfocusing on people’s private parts.

You are not “protecting” women by treating members of the macho sex like they’re all evil villains.

Bottom line: you are not protecting women.