#and he finally lets himself be a kid again

[rin-may-1103]

The Eyes of Death.

This story is mostly inspired by Jaybirbie's prompt | Master post | Next?

"Hey, sweetheart?" Danny called, quickly jotting down the last sentence for his paper. He'd have to remember to go back and reread it and make sure he didn't trail off into another tangent. He swears he wasn't this bad at managing his ADHD back in Amity...

"Yes, Danny?" Damian asked, turning back from the door to face him as he scrolled further down the story he was reading. The familiar font of Gotham City's gazette blurred as a picture of Mr. Freeze and Penguin finally loaded. So that's what was going on. Danny should have known; the bats already dealt with the other usual rouges, and these two were next on the list.

"Can you walk with me? I just know Nancy and her boyfriend are out there, waiting. I really don't want to deal with them again... We could spend more time at my place? Tucker sent me another movie, and I'm unsure if I should watch it alone after last time." Danny pleaded, quickly shoving all of his papers into his bag. He'd deal with straightening them out later, it wasn't like his professors weren't used to his wrinkled essays at this point.

However, he should probably redo the blueprints for Workshop. Mr. Anthlow was a hardass, but nothing could compare to his anger when a student handed in wrinkled blueprints; he claimed he wasn't going to have another 'Tanner' incident on his watch, whatever the heck that meant.

He was not looking forward to whatever Nancy wanted to talk to him about, she looked excited. Which could only mean bad things for him; considering the last time she was excited, he ended up spending time with Bane of all people. And there was no way her boyfriend was just going to let Danny get away again.

Damian grimaces, finally looking up and away from his phone. "I'm sorry beloved..." he held up the device just in time to show an incoming text from his Father, "I promised Father I'd be home a while ago. And with what's happening down on-"

"It's ok, I'll just head out the back door," Danny cut in, seeing the start of guilt on his boyfriend's face. He knew how much Danny hated having to deal with those two, and the fact Damian hasn't been able to even introduce himself to them hasn't helped. With a smile, Danny scooped up his textbooks and made his way to stand in front of Damian, "They can't bother me if they don't see me!"

Unsurprisingly, Danny could feel the guilt grow and start to float around Damian as the boy glanced at his phone, the message tone sounding out again in warning.

Danny only met Damian's father once; it was just a simple shake of hands and sharing names before the man ran off, but it did leave an impression. The man felt tired and paranoid; like, to the point Danny kind of wanted to drag Jazz over and lock the two of them in a room, paranoid. (Danny wants to say he's never seen someone that paranoid, but he'd be lying. He looks in the mirror after all.)

The point is; Danny's only met the man once, but that was enough for him to know that the man would tear down the world if he thought for even a second that one of his kids was in danger. This meant, that if Damian didn't go and reassure his father that he was alive and safe within the next sixty or so seconds, then there was a possibility that there wouldn't be another date for at least another week.

And considering this "study date" was supposed to make up for the last one Damian had missed because of his Father? Yeah, Danny wasn't going to be happy if Damian got grounded or dragged into another 'surprise' family road trip because his father was convinced his children would be dead before the 'yearly' planned get-together in November.

They had a trip to the zoo planned for tomorrow, and Delilah was supposed to be allowed out with her kids. This would be Delilah's first public outing since her kids' birth. There's no way Danny was going to allow Damian to miss that. (he swears to the ancients, if there was a rouge attack he was going to kill someone, Dark Dan's future be damned.)

Lifting his heels off the ground so he could stand on his tiptoes, Danny snagged Damian's arm and pulled him down so he could kiss his cheek. "I'll get home safe, just focus on keeping your dad from going insane. We've got a date at the zoo tomorrow and we're not missing it even if your father becomes the next city rogue."

Damian wrapped his arms around Danny, trapping him in a hug as he sighed in fond frustration. "I promise I won't miss it, ok? I'll be there."

Danny rolled his eyes and pushed Damian back, dropping back to stand on the ground, "You better, 'cause hell hath no fury like a gorilla denied the chance to meet her human best friend's boyfriend."

Damian snorted, before looking away and pretending to cough. Danny moved his textbooks to rest more securely in one of his arms, so he could point at his boyfriend. "I'm not kidding, if I show up tomorrow and tell her all about my life and you're not there, she will break out and track you down. I won't stop her either, you'd deserve whatever she does to you."

"Alright, alright. I get it, and I already promised I'd be there didn't I?" Damian chuckled, raising his hands up in surrender. Which would have been cute if it wasn't for the fact that his phone went off again, this time in an insistent buzzing. His eldest brother's ringtone; which meant Damian was going to be busy for a while.

Cursing, Damian turned and answered, "I'm in the middle of something, this better be important Grayson," glancing back at Danny, he mouthed for him to wait a moment as his brother started talking.

Smiling, Danny shook his head, snatched Damian's jacket, and started making his way out the door. There was no way Damian would finish this phone call any time soon. Danny's learned not to wait after the last four times this happened. Damian turned back with betrayed eyes, but the urgent voice of his brother buzzing even louder held him back. Waving goodbye with a smile, Danny shut the door and started making his way down the hall.

He'd have to ask Damian what happened tomorrow, Grayson didn't usually call him, especially when he knew Damian was spending time with Danny. He said it had something to do with how it was sacrilege to interrupt time spent with a significant other. Danny had wanted to ask him more about it but hadn't gotten the chance when The Riddler crashed their spontaneous meeting.

Speaking of The Riddler, Danny's social science paper wasn't looking too hot right now. He'd have to block out a time for him to work on that at some point this week. He wasn't doing anything on Friday, well, besides his early morning classes. That should work...

"Hey, Danny!" someone called, pulling him out of his musing. Glancing up, Danny internally groaned when he noticed Nancy waving at him in sheer delight. Giving her a half-hearted wave, Danny sped up and continued making his way to the back of the library. If he was quick enough maybe he could-

To his dismay, Nancy's boyfriend stepped out from behind one of the shelves and latched onto his arm. Tightly.

Just great, this is exactly what he wanted to avoid. Curse his inability to pay attention when he got lost in thought. Damn ADHD. Blasted non-existent spatial awareness. This was what he got for relying on his ghost sense, he just knows it.

"She said hi, kind of rude of you to just keep walking, Kid." Wyatt huffed, roughly dragging Danny back and towards his girlfriend. Nancy smiled brightly as Wyatt let him go, allowing Nancy to weave her arm with Danny's and practically drag him toward the front of the building.

"There's this big party going on tonight, some Jr invited us. He said it was going to be a night to remember! You should totally come with us, Danny! My friend Shela said she was bringing her nerdy freshmen too! I just know you'd fit right in with them!" Nancy squealed excitedly, shaking Danny as they finally made it to the front doors.

One of the desk attendants rolled their eyes at them as Danny glanced over, hoping that Barbara might intervene. No such luck, she was nowhere in sight, probably off somewhere shelving books. So much for that plan.

"uh, thanks, but I already-" Danny tried, stopping when Nancy scoffed and yanked him out the door and into the frosty night. "Damn, it's cold!" Wyatt cursed, taking his jacket off and quickly handing it over to Nancy. She let go of Danny and pulled it on, then stared at Danny for a moment, "Put your coat on Danny, no way in hell am I letting my kid catch a cold!"

Rolling his eyes, Danny wrapped Damian's coat over his shoulders. He was too lazy to actually put it on, not when that meant handing his textbooks over. The last time he did that, Nancy got bored and started doodling all over them. (how she had managed to do that in the little time it took to put a hoodie on, Danny wasn't sure.)

"I just want to go home, Nancy. I'm not really a party person." Danny sighed, allowing Nancy to drag him down the dark streets. His apartment was in this general direction anyway. Nancy turned to her boyfriend with a huff, "Wyatt! make him come with us!"

"Let the nerd do what he wants, it's not like it affects us if he kicks the bucket all alone," Wyatt grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Ouch, but true. Please listen to your grumpy boyfriend, please listen to your grumpy boyfriend, please listen-

"But Shela said she was bringing Carly!" Nancy turned back to Danny, a pout clear on her face, "You two would be so cute together! she's nerdy just like you! And she's totally into all those murder mystery shows you watch!"

Damn it. Not this crap again.

"That's nice, Nancy, but I'm not interested. I already told you guys, I have a boyfriend," Danny sighed, trying to gently extract his arm from hers; for a human, Nancy sure had one heck of a grip.

"Yeah, right," Wyatt snorted, patting Danny's back, completely ignoring the fact that Danny was literally wearing someone else's jacket. "We'll believe you when you introduce us, until then. You're a virgin loser."

And there we go, people; the reason Danny wanted to crawl into the sewer and die whenever he saw these two. They were nice, don't get him wrong, but they were also stubborn idiots.

"Being a virgin has nothing to do with my relationship status, Wyatt. I'm ace. you've known this since the first time we talked." Danny grumbled, allowing Nancy to drag him down another street. He wasn't sure exactly where they were going now, but he was too tired to care at this point.

If these self-claimed 'Parents' of his wanted to drag him to this stupid party, then fine. Whatever. It's not like Danny had any other plans tonight anyway.

"Asexuality isn't a thing man," Wyatt huffed, speeding up so he could guide them in the right direction now that they were heading into a rougher patch of buildings. Danny could see the man was shivering, though trying to act tough in front of Nancy. Smirking, Danny sent a cold breeze his way. The man scowled up at the sky, cursing quietly.

"Yeah!" Nancy agreed, smiling brightly down at Danny without a care in the world. Like they didn't have this conversation every other week. "You just haven't met the right person yet, Danny! And I know how awkward it is to admit that you're staying celibate until marriage, but you don't have to hide it behind being ace."

Taking a deep breath, Danny closed his eyes and focused on not shouting out of frustration. The celibate comment was new, the acephobia, not so much. "Ok, first of all; Asexuality is a thing, which many people ARE. Literally, 1% of the world is ace. That's over 70 million people. Second of all, I'm not celibate, and I'm not sure if you even know what that means, considering you know I was raised Atheist."

"What does being an Atheist have to do with celibacy?" Nancy asked, tilting her head to look at him. Danny groaned, smacking his forehead against his textbooks. He was NOT going to explain this to them tonight.

"You know what, Nancy? It doesn't matter." Danny huffed, trying again to gently pry her hands off. He wanted to go home. He wanted to cuddle with his boyfriend. He wanted to go back to Amity. Maybe go to the realms and play with Cujo. He did NOT want to deal with these idiots.

Wyatt stopped walking and turned to face them, rolling his eyes as Nancy pouted at Danny. "Come on babe, let the loser go. He obviously doesn't appreciate your efforts."

"but who else is going to convince him to live a little? He's just going to go back to his apartment and sulk by himself!" Nancy cried, tightening her grip again.

"Who cares what the kid does, Nancy? let the dude die a virgin loser. Now let's go, we're already late as is."

"But I really want him to-," Nancy tried, cutting herself off, as both she and Danny spotted a cloaked person appear out of the shadows behind Wyatt.

Wyatt lifted his brow before slowly turning to see what the two of them were staring at. The cloaked figure suddenly whacked him over the head with a metal pole before he could fully turn around. Wyatt's body dropped to the ground with a heavy thump, making Nancy scream, "Wyatt!"

Shit, Danny stepped back, trying to pull Nancy with him as the cloak dude tossed the metal pole to the side with a loud clank. Which was confusing, why would he through away his weapon?

"Shut her up!" the cloak dude cried, bending down to grab Wyatt's arms. He better not be telling Danny to do that, because that would just be stupid and- Suddenly, a dozen more cloaked people flooded out of the darkness and surrounded them. That answered Danny's questions at least.

Danny tensed up as a couple of the people tried to grab onto him. Quickly pulling Nancy back, successfully this time, Danny glanced around to try and find an exit. He couldn't do anything crazy right now, not unless he wanted to give away his secret, but some self-defense should be fine.

Nancy suddenly let go of his arm and smacked one of the cloaked people in the face, "Don't you fucking dare touch me! Wyatt! Kid, get out of here!"

Danny turned to her in alarm, eyes wide in horror as she quickly disappeared into the cloaked crowd. Another cloaked person managed to latch onto Danny's shoulder, reminding him to focus on his situation. Quickly stepping back, he slammed into the man grabbing him, knocking his grip loose. Ducking under another attempt, Danny swung out his leg and tripped the dude into two others.

Twisting to try and make his way over to where he figured Nancy was, Danny dropped his textbooks and punched someone in the face. Damian's jacket was yanked off his shoulders, making him turn with a growl. Punching another person in the face, Danny lunged at the group.

"Hurry! before the bats find us!" the supposed leader cried, making even more cloaked people surround Danny. There was no way a normal civilian would be able to fight their way out of this, so Danny would have to allow himself to be caught soon. Only after biting and scratching the fuck out of them though. Just because he had to let them catch him, doesn't mean he has to make it easy.

~30 min later

Danny stared at the leader as the man droned on and on about needing the right sacrifice for the ritual to work. Nancy and Wyatt grumbled behind him, agreements from the other kidnapped victims filling Danny's ears like bees.

"The sacrifice shall be the one who treads the veil between life and death, the one who's beloved by the spirits as their own! He shall be pale as a corpse, his body kissed by death many times throughout his life. His hair as black as the sky on a moonless night, cradled by the moon since birth." Mr. totally-read-one-fake-ritual-book-when-he-was-a-teen-and-now-has-to-make-it-everyone's-problem droned on dramatically, reverently dragging his finger down the old dusty tome's page,

"so Mr. Wayne?" Nancy huffed, pressing her back into Danny's side. Wyatt chuckled, shoving his foot into Danny's knee, "No, it's totally Mr. Drake he's talking about. Have you seen that dude's eyebags? they make him look like a ghost."

One of the strangers leaned over, rolling their eyes, "No, it's got to be Mr. Dent. The dude's literally half living half not."

"No, Two-Face is half insane, half burnt chicken. Ain't nothing about him going to please ghosts. He was a fucking lawyer, for Christ shake." another guy added.

"the dude said 'he' which crossed out half of y'all," Danny added, glancing at the group around him. The women blinked and then rolled their eyes; only in Gotham would they get kidnapped and not actually be needed.

"Assholes," Nancy huffed, she glanced over her shoulder and down at him, her face set into a frown, "You good, kid? you're like freezing cold."

"I'm fine," Danny huffed, focusing back on the leader. He could just feel the old magic rolling off the book; this was something dangerous, especially in this dipshit's hands. Ancients, he was going to have to do everything he could to keep the man from actually doing the ritual or mess it up if the bats didn't get here in time.

One of the cloaked people suddenly dragged a camera out from a side room, grumbling about networks and livestreams being shit. Huh, well that would definitely help provide their location to the bats. They must be really inexperienced cultists then...

"The sacrifice shall fall into our hands by fate's design. The sacrifice is here and waiting for what his whole life was meant for. Now-"

"Elder!" one of the other cloaked figures cried, waving their phone in the air in excitement. Dread quickly filled Danny's stomach.

"All the bats and birds are busy dealing with those scoundrels they call rouges! If we hurry, we can complete the ritual before they can interfere!"

"Perfect!" Mr. 'Elder', cheered, slamming the tome closed and handing it off to one of the others. "So?" Mr. Elder started, turning to face them with a sharp grin, "Who's it going to be?"

Danny glanced at the group behind him, all of them having gone silent as the cloaked group started pulling out their ritual things, one of which was a very blood-stained knife.

Mr. Elder started circling them, humming and hawing as he studied each one of them. He stopped next to Wyatt, studying him intently.

Quickly weighing his options, Danny straightened up and glared at the man, "I'll be your sacrifice."

Immediately Nancy leaned away from him with a gasp, Wyatt's foot dropping to the floor with a thud. "Danny, no!" Nancy hissed, turning her body so she could face him. Danny didn't glance at her, just continued glaring at the cultist. The cult leader laughed, "Well then. So it shall be! You heard the sacrifice, tie him to the chair!"

With everyone watching, all Danny could do was tense as four of the followers walked over and pulled him up. "No!" Nancy shouted, leaning over and grabbing onto him. Wyatt reached out to Nancy, wanting to pull her back. The men tensed up, ready to interfere. Quickly pulling back, Danny frowned at Nancy and Wyatt, "I'll be ok, just don't do anything stupid!"

They harshly pulled him up and away again, before Nancy could reply. And because he was already pissed off, he made it as difficult for them as possible as they dragged him to the wooden chair. The camera person focused the lens on them, recording it as they shoved him down to sit and wrapped a bloody rope around his limbs.

So much for thinking they were inexperienced... They've done this before, he knows now. How many times? He wasn't sure, but if he had any say in it after tonight, they'd never do it again.

Once he was securely tied to the chair and gagged, because Danny couldn't help himself but insult them, the cultist started preparing the ritual. Why they hadn't done so beforehand, Danny wasn't sure; that is until one of them sliced a deep gash into his right arm and collected his blood into a bowl.

With a grimace, Danny watched as they mixed his blood with black paint and started drawing a circle around him. The camera dude stepped closer and practically shoved the camera into his face. leaning back, Danny glanced between the camera and the people drawing with his blood.

Suddenly, his arm tingled with ectoplasm, making him panic for a second. he can't heal the wound! not with all the people around him and being recorded! Shit, what had Vlad done last time?? Uh, right! core smothering. He could just smother his core to stop his body from healing. Man, acting like a civilian was a pain in the ass.

Glaring up at the camera now that he wasn't as panicked, Danny watched as the dude stepped back, pulled out a paper, and started reading out loud. "GOTHAM! tonight you shall join us as we summon the most powerful being in the world!"

Did he seriously need the paper just to remember that?

The leader stepped forward when the circle was complete, "Now!" His voice echoed around the silent warehouse, startling the other kidnapped victims. The cameraman turned and focused on him, stepping out of the circle altogether. Danny watched the kidnapped people out of the corner of his eye, wanting to make sure they weren't hurt during this whole fiasco.

"Let us begin!" the leader cheered, suddenly gripping Danny's shoulders tightly. "Join me as we summon our lord and savior! The great tyrant of the dead! The embodiment of war and bloodshed! The one named PARIAH DARK! THE HORRIFIC GHOST KING!!!!"

Immediately, Danny was both completely terrified and amused. He had been worried that they were going to try and summon some great evil demon, not the fucking old tyrant. He could fight Pariah any day of the week.

No, what terrified him was the fact that because Danny won the right to the crown by defeating Pariah the first time, he had no idea what this summoning was going to do. Was it going to work like they wanted and summon Pariah? cool, great even. He can deal with that, might have to reveal his ghost powers if the fight got dirty, but nothing too bad.

or was it going to summon him because he was the king, and if so? how? Would that even work considering he's the sacrifice? would he just disappear and reappear? This could lead to a lot of questions Danny was NOT ready to answer. Gaslighting everyone here into believing he could fight Pariah as a 'meta' human would be easy, convincing everyone that he's not the ghost king or a ghost AFTER getting summoned; not so easy.

The leader released Danny from his grip as he walked over and snatched the tome from one of his followers. Snapping the book open, the man started chanting without warning, pointing at random people to notify them when it was their turn to start.

It was like watching a school play; all the student's doing as they were taught as their teacher directed from the side. Cultist A slammed the bowl of leftover blood on the ground, splattering the black remnants all over Danny and the circle. Which was gross, Danny was going to have to burn this shirt, because there was no way he was going to get this stain out. Cultist B tossed salt at Danny a few minutes later, smacking him in the face with the small white crystals. Shaking his head, Danny glared at him. Cultist B threw the salt again.

The leader's smile grew as he continued chanting.

Seven other cultists joined in the chanting, waving their hands up and down as their voices echoed around them. Danny glanced nervously around the warehouse, hoping he'd spot one of the bats. This was being broadcast, they should be on their way at the very least.

After another minute of looking, Danny glanced back at the other kidnapped victims. Nancy was balling her eyes out, burying herself into her boyfriend's chest. Wyatt was staring at him with wide eyes, clearly unsure about what to do. Probably feeling guilty because they both knew the leader was going to choose him. A few others were looking away, clearly fearing for his life. The rest watched on, trying to show him through their actions that they were there with him till the end. (whether he 'died' or not)

It was weird, but Danny had to give it to them; Gothmites were badass. He doubted anyone in Amity besides his friends would have been brave enough to watch what was happening. Even if they didn't know if he would live or not.

His core crackled, making him choke a little as he finally felt the pull of the summoning. Well, that's just great. Shaking his head, Danny tried to clear his throat. The summoning was making him feel weird and he did not appreciate it.

The chanting got louder as one of the people walked up to him, holding the knife in a white-knuckled grasp. Danny eyed it wearily, glancing between it and the rafters above. Where the hell were the bats when he needed them???

The cultist kneeled before him and raised the blade, slamming it down into his chest right as the leader stopped chanting; Danny gasped, more out of surprise than pain as he stared at the knife. The dude gave him no warning that he was going to stab him. Usually, cultists slit people's throats, right? What the fuck was up with stabbing him???

His blood slowly bubbled up and around the knife, slowly staining his shirt red. Yeah, there was no way in the realms he was going to be able to save this shirt now. Man, he had liked this one too.

He could hear Nancy's sobs turn to wails as the cultist yanked out the knife and handed it to the leader, who Danny just now noticed had joined them in the circle. His blood started gushing down his chest with every beat of his heart, again he held back his core. (what does he do now??? faint? scream? how do normal people react to getting stabbed?????)

"Take this lowly sacrifice as a sign of our eternal loyalty, and grace us with your presence! Your humble servants plead that your godly ears hear our prayers! Join us in this mortal realm and bequeath us your power and name to rectify the sins of our brethren!"

Ok, first of all Danny was no where near lowly you piece of fuck-

Danny's core pulsed, sending out nauseating pain up and down his spine. Gasping, Danny leaned as far forward as he could, trying in vain to grasp at his chest without using his powers. His core crackled, striking a blinding flash through his brain. The echoes of his death crawled up his left arm, waking the old dead nerves into firing signals at his brain.

Danny couldn't help himself, he screamed as the pain grew worse and worse. His thoughts turned hazy, his body cold as his core pulsed again. His heart stuttered and then froze, his core flooding his body with freezing ecto not a moment later. Absently, he could feel the wash of ectoplasm crawl over his body, changing his body minutely. He didn't transform, but he definitely looked more ghostly than human.

All the pain disappeared a moment later, allowing Danny to slump forward, his head hanging low and blocking his face from view. His chest did not rise in ragged breaths, nor did his fingers twitch with life. His mind was still sluggish and clouded with something, making it nearly impossible to think. Squeezing his eyes shut, Danny tried to focus.

"Your Highness?" someone asked, their voice too loud as it rang in Danny's ears. His core pulsed, another flood of ectoplasm flooding his body. His eyes slid open again, allowing him to see the green glow lighting up his chest and lap as he stared down at them.

Slowly, Danny lifted his head, his bright green gaze locking with the man in front of him.

Next?

[alchemistc]

Part One

They don't tell anyone. Not about the marriage certificate, at least. Buck comes back from his conference with a new-old boyfriend and money exchanges hands despite protest from the losers that Bobby had inside knowledge.

(He did not.)

They put the rings away. They talk a bunch of shit out that they'd only skimmed the surface of on the patio of that dingy bar.

Buck buys him that beer.

Finally.

Things are - things aren't easy. Buck skips ahead in his own mind and desperately backpedals before Tommy notices (he hopes). Tommy continues to be tight lipped about things, goes with the flow more often than he should and absolutely hates being called out about it.

Eddie is slow to readjust to having Tommy back in their lives.

With Chris back, he swears up and down he believes Buck that they're both serious about this, but he invites Tommy over less, doesn't involve him in Chris's life as often. Buck tries desperately not to let Eddie's hesitancy inform any of the feelings bubbling in his chest, any of the half-formed futures in his head.

Bobby calls Tommy and they go out for coffee and Tommy spends a week pretending to be so fucking fine about whatever they talked about that Buck starts baking again.

Tommy's abs get a little less defined.

Buck takes him to a gay bar, because they never did that before, never explored anything that wasn't just the two of them, never talked about the community or the history or the impact of being queer. The first time someone approaches their spot at the corner of the bar, Tommy seems to be trying incredibly hard not to read into any of the reactions Buck is having, and failing miserably.

But the thing is. The thing is Buck did this on his own. Petty, unhappy, Tommy's words swirling in his head, he's tried a few dozen times to find another person remotely as appealing as the one at his side, and they'd all fallen short.

When the guy asks Buck if he wants to dance Buck blurts out words before he can think about it that he's absolutely certain are gonna send Tommy spiraling. "Appreciate the offer, but I'm here with my husband. We're celebrating."

The guy blinks. He's young. Younger than Buck, slim and attractive, dark brown eyes and light brown skin that glows golden even in the crappy bar lighting. His gaze darts almost eagerly between them, like he's seeing something he hadn't expected. Something hopeful blooms in his gaze, and Buck - oh.

Buck gets it.

That's a lot of weight to carry just for existing in the world and trying to snatch some happiness from it.

Buck smooths a hand over Tommy's knee and smiles at him, something soft and settled that has been harder to find this time around but still curls up against his spine like it belongs there.

The kid buys them a round and leaves.

"What are we celebrating?" Tommy asks, and Buck pretends not to notice the way his thumb is rubbing over the bare patch of skin where Buck had slid a ring, a few months ago. He's not freaking.

"Whatever we want," Buck says with a shrug, and doesn't mention that neither one of them have brought up the marriage certificate tucked away in Tommy's safe since they got back from Vegas.

---

"The Abby thing is still weird," Buck says, breath heaving as Tommy rearranges Buck's legs and tucks himself into Buck's side. They'd spent an evening talking candidly about their exes because Buck can't understand how they went six months without realizing.

Tommy's hands shift through the hair Buck stopped shaving the first time Tommy admitted he preferred it to the baby smooth skin Buck had tried desperately to maintain for the first four months. It's just now feeling normal, after so many years of keeping it smooth.

"I think she'd freak more than you did."

"I managed to implode a six month relationship with my freak, Tommy."

Tommy chuffs a laugh. Slides his calf up and down Buck's lower leg, and despite the fact that Buck has a few more notches in his belt that'd had that same scritch of hair against his, Buck relishes the feel just because it's Tommy.

"You had help." He pauses, though, tips his chin and tucks it against the give of Buck's shoulder. "I'm not implying her reaction was particularly homophobic, but - I think that was the worst part, for her. The fact that I hadn't just lied about how I felt. It was - she assumed I couldn't feel it."

Buck can't help the brow raise. "Tommy, you're a Kinsey six."

"I still loved her."

He's been working his way through romantic vs sexual vs platonic and learning a whole hell of a lot in the process. He gets Tommy's point. He's thrilled that Tommy is still in a sharing mood. It's just -

Tommy shifts, noses into Buck's underarm. Breathes deep, and Buck has to fight the urge to shove him away.

"If I'm totally off base here tell me, but I think you loved her like I love Eddie."

Tommy narrows his eyes. Contemplates. "Tell me again how jealous of his hair you were when you met," he decides on, and shrieks when Buck digs a finger into his ribs in retaliation.

---

They fight, and it's thrilling.

They never did that before. Minced their words and apologized and let it all drop away but never actually let it go, and when Tommy gets on a roll he's bitchy as hell. It drives Buck insane. He wants to wring his fucking neck. He wants to take him to the mat and actually learn enough about Muay Thai to stand a chance lasting two minutes. He wants to throw him against a wall and jack him off until he sees stars.

"He wouldn't do the same for me, Evan, so why should I bother?!"

Tommy's dad is dying. According to Tommy, it's days or weeks, not months or years, and Tommy had said it so emotionless that Buck had jokingly tried to check him for panels and plugs and wiring. Tommy hadn't appreciated the robot joke.

"Screw your dad, Tommy! Do it for yourself."

"I'm not like you, Evan! That bridge burned a decade ago. I don't need - ." He pinches the bridge of his nose. Grimaces and sucks in a breath. Usually that means he's yanking back words he knows he'll regret. Rearranging them in his mind until they're less likely to sting. "I don't want a death bed reconciliation any more than I want to be proven right about him."

Buck takes two weeks off to help Tommy plan the funeral.

Tommy tosses the contents of the urn into the ocean two weeks later, and when Buck asks about it, Tommy gives him a shifty look, like he thinks the answer might send Buck running. "He hated the ocean."

It's the last time they talk about his dad, for a while.

[barnacles34]

Mr. Rager, Can I Tag Along?

Part I

Synopsis: Mr. Rager finally joins the birds in the skies. Dedicated to the song Mr. Rager by Kid Cudi.

tags: 8k, smut, so much romance, fluff, addiction, recovery, virgin Ryujin

Ryujin x Male OC

CHAPTER I: 

You might hear the birds singing flying around,

You never see them too long on the ground,

You wanna be one of them, yeah.

Cocaine toxicity. Solipsism finally vindicated. He was going to die—truly. That cloudy feeling of mind and body separation, as if the ribbons of heaven had finally let him grasp their reins, swaying him toward some version of forever happiness.

Mmmm.

He thought he’d care about dying right there in the nightclub. The shame of weakness, of collapsing with foam at the corners of his mouth—he’d truly thought he’d care more about it. But now, one worry gone, he was worriless. Life had its charm, but it wasn’t for him; he’d been walking on sticks until the very end. Now, the floor felt so right. His body sank into it, slipping slowly, as if turning to slime and merging back into the earth.

Each second, his grip over his fingers weakened, a constant slackening with every passing moment. His eyelids grew heavy, and the outline of the nightclub around him blurred. He couldn’t control his fingers anymore; he was truly sinking. When would heaven begin? When would this fantasy end? Mind-death, a complete and utter submission to the lifeless realm - he’d never recover.

The faint tingling of powder lingered at the rim of his nostrils. At least, he’d had a good high - a nice ecstasy haze along the fine columbian - before dying. Finally, his eyes closed, nerves shutting down, and he felt free, unchained from his body like a ghost.

"Stay with me!" A voice, deep and feminine.

Hm?

"Don’t close your eyes!" Again, that voice.

What?

Whatever. It was too late anyway.

"How many fingers am I holding up!?" Still images flashed through his fading consciousness, fingers held up just before his face, barely visible, though he couldn’t tell how many anyway.

"What’s your name?" He couldn't place a face on the voice, but it was distinctly feminine - separate from his inner voices.

They were trying so hard. If they’d responded any faster, he might’ve been forced to go back - to life.

Go back…

Did he want to go back?

Hell.

Mr. Rager - that’d be a good name, he thought. If he were reborn, given another chance, that’s who he’d be.

"Mr. Rager!"

What? Could the paramedic hear him?

"Mr. Rager! Come back! Fight back! Don’t go off on an adventure!"

—

Flash. Eyes open. He was alive - he was… alive.

"Mr. Rager. You’re okay; don’t make any sudden movements." A soft, padded palm rubbed his forehead with a gentle, compassionate touch. He looked up. A young woman, petite yet strikingly beautiful, looked back at him.

"What’s your name?" he asked, despite himself. Still a bachelor, after all. "My name is Ryujin." She was dressed in a way he couldn’t quite place, something different from what he expected. "I’m part-time, by the way," she said, noticing his confused look. "That’s why my clothes are different." He rubbed his forehead; it was pounding, but with a distant sort of ache, incongruous with a proper headache. “What the hell happened?” he asked, properly confused. “You went into shock, someone already administered naloxone to your body, thankfully; otherwise, you would’ve-” she abruptly bit her tongue, preventing herself from talking about a potentially sensitive topic that Mr. Rager was subjected to.

“And, by the way, this was my first call ever.” A subtle transition, a conversation starter.

He blinks, trying to relieve the soreness in his eyes, “God, I’m sorry, this is such a fucking shitty situation.” And the way he said it, that emotional self-deprecation.

She might’ve realized something, “Were you trying to commit suicide?” She asked, very bluntly.

“It’s none of your business. Thank you for the hospitality, I’ll be taking my leave now.” When he tried to take the IV fastened to his vein, Ryujin softly, with the firmest grip and tone, said, “You’re going nowhere.”

All Mr. Rager could think of were cuss words, cusses against the world, against destiny to be alive for the foreseeable future. 

A resolve to suicide is the moment the mind, at the cusp of mind-death, truly enters a dead mind. The inescapable rock-bottom, a self-fulfilling prophecy where one feels truly and utterly fastened to the floor - inhibited of all its freedoms, its happiness.

–

Mr. Rager, or better known as Min amongst his peers - not friends. At the hands of his peers, Mr. Rager sustained a traumatic head injury that tormented him with chronic migraines right from the start of it all - the drunk brawl, that he decisively lost in, at just the age of 17. 

See, Mr. Rager had not a single family member except his aunt who embezzled all the funds Rager’s parents left for him. And the last time he tried to talk with his aunt was when he sustained a knife wound on his forearm from her - a deeply tormented individual, she was locked in a home-made cage for most of her adolescence.

And, unfortunately, there’s not a single time where his life is measurably better than the year before - only getting worse until the overdose.

–

Ryujin didn’t inquire further, she was hoping somewhat that her presence might help Mr. Rager. She sat next to Mr. Rager, her hand still on the side of the hospital bed, feeling its soft fabric. Mr. Rager, still irritated, asked, “Why are you still here?”

“Cause I want to be here.” A joking undertone, perfectly acted out. In truth, Ryujin pitied him so much, her first patient, a successful businessman who tried to kill himself at the age of 29 - now that’s fucking rare, usually the cases accelerate at the age  of 50 or so.

“Why’d you take this job?” 

She replied, “Artistic inspiration.”

“Hm, fantastic idea by the way.” He was sincere about it.

“Thanks.”

“Do you have enough material now?”

“Oh. Plenty. Plenty enough.” She giggled.

“What if I don’t consent to my likeness being represented in your art - medium, whatever?”

“Mr. Rager, don’t you worry, I’ll refurbish it so much that it'll be closer to the likeness of… let’s say… me.”

“Quit the teasing,” he stated, straight to the point.

“I don’t want to.” She replied back, he was one of the few people where teasing seemed to genuinely improve their immediate well-being, and for someone like Mr. Rager - it’s huge. And, he was finally laying, no longer trying to plan an escape, on the flatbed, staring at the ceiling, observing the music player. “By the way, is this music player provided to everyone recovering?” He’s not one to mix words.

“You’re pretty smart.” She replies, a confirmation, fiddling with her torn skirt, presumably from rushing into her para-medic role.

“That’s what I owe you for?”

“Mhm.” Still fiddling, a pouty sort of face formed on her face, it was her favorite skirt.

“How do you want the debt paid?” He inquired, he’s one to never ignore the nascent attachment to his favorite items - thus, he understands: the exorbitant value placed on favoritisms. “I dunno. You’ll still owe me. Big Time.” She stared back, this time, their eyes entwined with a sort of friendliness that is almost, just almost, ethically wrong in hospital circumstances.

“Very well then.” His tired eyes kept pulling on his eyelids. Genuine sleep had seemed to completely take over his body, and yeah, that’s all the meds he’s under: naloxone, antibiotics, withdrawal medicine, and a lovely dose of morphine. “I feel new.” His voice was dozing as his intra-reflection began. As he nodded off, he felt the faint grasp of her hand, so small, yet filled with so much conviction. He’s tripping balls, but she’ll never tell him - presence was what was required of her.

And that was all the validation he needed: for sleep.

As Mr. Rager finally slept; Ryujin stayed for a bit, or about 4 hours. And, still, she’s sitting beside him - making sure that he sleeps and recovers. Just from the chance encounter of a paramedic call, she felt the compulsion to guard Mr. Rager. Poor girl, if she’d seen a dead body for her first call then she’d vomit a week’s worth onto the ground. 

After another hour, Ryujin finally decided it was time to leave. She wrote a thoughtful letter, of things that needn’t be said - obviously. But she also left a partition, finagling a creative way to demand what she’s owed. After, she let her boss know that she quit on the spot, that she’d also come back to the same room - a reservation of some sort. She left, leaving the stale, minty air of the hospital with a melancholy that wouldn’t be fixed until she saw him again. Because, when she was writing the note, she wished she asked more questions - Mr. Rager just seemed to lead on the conversation to a charming degree, that other circumstances were of lesser importance. 

Ryujin, outside, breathing in the fresh air of the summer, caught the last bus of the route. This route, passing by the road that she was taken on inside the paramedic van, also led to her apartment. Unfortunately, it’s an old, decrepit apartment where only the rudest sort of parties happen. Half the time, the floor above is vibrating thump, thump, thump from the heavy jumps, or the lower floor blasts some of the most needlessly, eardrum-breaking music.

At least she has solitude. Finally free from the dictates of those she didn’t get along with, finally separated from her friends who’d get too boring if she hung along for too long. Now, her family is charming - easy to get along with; now, her friends are always interesting - fascinating to be around. Distance is a marinating technique, or whatever.

Ryujin, the charming shut-in, finally arrived at her place, and began on her art piece. Unfortunately, there’s nothing to list that’s positive about her obsession with art. It’s the time where she vents her frustrations of being a failed trainee - rather, a placement that was restricted from becoming an idol; wallows in the misery of the color tone she loves the most: dark; and, to top it off, she gets bored of visual arts when she tries to make money off of it. Some dastardly sign from the man above, “Your hobby will stay a hobby.”

All that displeasure would be the paint upon the canvas: checkmate, mental turmoil turns to art, she thought. Swipe and swipe, the dirty colored watercolor painting had nearly no form worth thinking - almost entirely brown from the intermixing of the wet, damp color. Then the second layer, an apparition of segmentation, a deeper color, colors that entice and bite back. Then the specificity of the lines, things left unspecified were on purpose. But, this recurring thought, this pounding idea, that she left a man that fell in the depths of the void alone - really began digging into her soul. This thought unto Ad Nauseam brought her nausea that really can’t be eliminated with the will of her conscience. “I should’ve stayed, I should’ve stayed” - the recurrent thoughts that never seemed to leave her. With a sad howl, she fell to the side, crying deep, ruining all her pretty into the sheets - a room so small that her chair was the bed.

–

“I’m still alive”, Mr. Rager repeated this to himself over and over after waking up - not sure whether to feel some sort of rendered triumph. For a moment, he was truly tip-toed in the void, almost encased into the endless hope, of unrendered reality and a horrible sadness; now, he’s alive, breathing, with a full control of his body.

Nothing had caught his attention, the environment, whether there were people around him or not, only life as he knew it - coursing through his veins. The feeble thumps of his chest - his heart, still persevering.

–

Several days of this sort of morning locomotion went on, it was also the time that Ryujin came over. Poor girl brought over new confectionaries - mostly of her favorites; brought lunch boxes she herself fully funded; found ways to amuse herself and Mr. Rager during the listless hours.

“What’s the interest rate of this debt? Surely, a person like me, fastened to the bed with belts (a pure exaggeration), wouldn’t be extorted with dubious rates?”

“Mr. Rager, you’ll have to declare bankruptcy by the end of it, seriously. You owe me. Big time.” She joked back, of course, she didn’t really expect much. By her own goodwill, Ryujin was looking after Mr. Rager, an exchange of her goodwill would almost sour all her community service - again, a flash of her trait, a blithely weak trait in modern society, a subtle revulsion to being paid for her services.

Mr. Rager, however, was the opposite. Rogue-man, Rager man, Mr. Rager, a name that fits him so closely, from the early onset of consciousness, an unruly rebelliousness coursing through his veins at all times, with flourish - with the crimonest red. He’s done it all, disowning his billionaire politician parents, who still relish the thought of meeting Mr. Rager one day; losing all his wealth, gaining it back the next; then, enjoying it all on a single roulette wheel, then forgiving the casino when they couldn’t pay his winnings; and then dying for a few seconds, under the angelic influence of the so-called hellish “nose candy”. But for his closure, his preference—he’s pastless, futureless.

That’s the dilemma, Ryujin hadn’t learned a single thing about Mr. Rager that was worth pulling a strand on. Contradictory statements only confounded her further, and a reply to her joke - of bankruptcy and debt - he’d say, “I’d have to find it buried somewhere.” And she’d think, “What? What the hell? What’s buried? What’s ‘it’ ?”

Often the thought was interrupted, never fully leaving its conception—Mr. Rager wanted to keep it that way. Ryujin, often on her phone, never leaving her eyes off Mr. Rager, spent her delicate hours in the breezy, spacious hospital room.

Mr. Rager, of course alarmed, would ask - every day - “why do you visit so often?”

Then, Ryujin, really not knowing an answer, would default to a bland answer of so and so - real political talk. This procession, of nothing happening, stretching on for days was repetitive. It also made them happy. She’d put on her makeup, with her artsy hands - quick and fast. The rapidity with which she approached this situation, so contrary to all the aspects of her life - seemingly, Mr. Rager had brought vitality to Ryujin.

And in comes the day of withdrawal, the hospital withdrawal - where Ryujin and Mr. Rager resided comfortably. The door clicked softly as the nurse entered; simultaneously, Ryujin and Mr. Rager’s hairs stood up - what are they alarmed for? It was not, the nurse, no, absolutely not, the nurse was jovial, happy, thinking that she was delivering happy news.

She didn’t know that both of them found their only sources of joy inside this hospital. The nurse thought that she was relieving them of a most ludicrous bill, by ending it as soon as possible - as this hospital in particular, charges in hours, yeah, real dystopian shit. And so, it was a surprise when both the people had an almost disdainful stare towards her - it’s just my imagination, the nurse thought.

–

“Are you sure? You know overdraft schedules cost significantly more?” The nurse asked, confused, concerned.

“Yeah, yeah, I just want to stay here for one more day.” Mr. Rager replied.

“But, but - do you have any ailment? That’ll bring down the price.” 

“None at all, I just want to stay here for another day more.”

Rich people are nuts, the nurse, still, complied, letting him stay, leaving him for another day.

–

As the day progressed, Ryujin came back, again, in the evening. “Your schedule, how do you do that?” Mr. Rager was genuinely impressed with how Ryujin utilized her time, imagine his surprise when she just says, “I just skipped some stuff.”

“Alright, well, thanks for coming.” And that got Ryujin thinking, was this his first time thanking me? Which, in fact, did make her day. And, she wouldn’t dare challenge this once in a lifetime behavior - that’d be a quick way for that behavior to be stashed away, forever. Again, as soon as she entered, the atmosphere changed. 

It’s about damn time they understand the euphoric peacefulness they rouse for each other. And, today was one of the moments where Mr. Rager gives a slight glimpse of his life - the confounding ones that really led to nowhere. “I think my aversion to alcohol comes from the fact that I had kids with this chick, married this chick, bought a mansion for us to live in - and, only too late, realized that it was really the alcohol that talked.”

Ryujin’s heart sank, “what? You have kids?”

“Not anymore, don’t have custody over them anymore.” He was so unbothered, utterly unbothered.

“I’m sorry for asking, just curious—what happened to them?”

He chuckled, “No more personal questions after this, alright?”

She nodded, her beady eyes on full alert. The pillow that she borrowed from the hospital bed, on her lap. She was intently listening from the comfortable armchair. 

“I let her take the kids, she didn’t ask for alimony or anything like that—just that, on the condition that I don’t contact them ever again.” He stared at the ceiling, sorting some of it out, not sure if it was some traumatic experience. Nevertheless, he continued, “she found me unbearable after a while, and I found her unbearable as well. I was never there too: too busy with money. She probably didn’t chase after alimony because she already had a sweetheart - with money - to get back to.” With so much ease, as if he’d been through too many lifetimes - too many he can remember.

“Oh,” that’s it, that’s all the reaction she can give.

“Oh, what’s with that reaction?” He chuckled.

“I-I’msorryIdon’treallyknow-” she paused, “Hey! You’re being so annoying today.”

“Sometimes, a flipped script - like teaser gets teased - leads to masterpieces.”

“Any examples?”

“Nah, I just made it up.”

From then on, the conversations continued; the deep introspective pauses continued, listlessly; and both began to feel the drowsy effect of the combination of warm light and black-out curtains.

And a tired Mr. Rager loves beauty. 

“Ryujin.”

“Hm?” She looked back, staring at him with her doe eyes.

“You’re like marijuana.” One can say he has a way with words.

“What?” Her brows stitched in confusion.

“You’re fucking amazing to have around. But, I swore to never, nev-” He fell into a deep sleep, so contrary to his habits: he’s never fallen asleep with his own mind’s permission.

Her doe-like eyes opened farther open. Her heart began beating listlessly, skipping beats. I’ve got to leave, before I-. Yet she magneted closer to the bed, where Mr. Rager slept so peacefully. Did I do that? He’s always complaining about sleeping, yet- yet he slept so easily. She was making up all sorts of situations, scenarios, theories - none of them healthy for the mind.

And, before she knew it, under the bright moonlight radiating into the room, gentle shadows across his face, she leaned closer, letting her soft lips touch the peak of his cheekbone, causing shivers across her spine, and she thought fuck, fuck, I’m really doing it - and when that wasn’t enough - then his forehead, feeling the warmth radiating from his forehead on her lips. But no more, that’d be too much, too much.

Under her own shame, her bright flush cheeks, her dilated pupils, twin pools of dark moons: she quickly left the room, carrying all her stuff such that it’d be guaranteed to fall in the middle of the hallway, a real mess she made of herself.

CHAPTER II: 

Keep movin' forward, keep movin' forward

I'm so-I'm so reborn, I'm movin' forward

Along the way home, the realization washed over her like a molotov flame - its gentle but fiery shimmer covering the entirety of her body. And the way her heart pumped, any performative act she could do to stop it was useless - ultimately doing nothing, nada, zilch. The sound of his roaring laughter from her jokes, the curve of his smile, the messy stubble, god, she was really losing it inside the bus. Her every thought, motion, every constriction of her body - pulse and all - was consumed by him. Her legs rubbed together desperately, and the slightest, faintest moan left her quivering lips as she let her imagination go wild. 

And the fact that… that an elderly lady was behind her, judging her provocative movements, just nudged her on further - full on deviant shit.

As soon as she’d be home, she’d have a towel under her.

–

Fortunately, past the hospital departure, they wanted to see each other again - platonically. However, it’s been days, and though that may seem quite short, they’ve never been separated for more than 12 hours. 

And these days, these listlessly long days, let Ryujin know of her sympathetic entanglement, and, seemingly intensifying it. Ryujin, with her sore body, stared at Mr. Rager’s phone number on her phone - the curves of the numbers kept reminding her of everything she thought about days before (the curves of the numbers some dubious correlation with Mr. Rager). She’s about to do it again, two fingers, knuckle-deep, into her folds until she’s a drooling mess on the bed. She was already a mess to begin with, a crook in her neck, half her bed unmade, sleep-deprived.

That isn’t to say that Mr. Rager wasn’t just as affected. He never succumbed to the pleasure of the hand, but the dreams, the wistful dreams. Imagining her close smile against him, moaning soft and goading phrases right into his ear - melodiously erotic. Her soft palms against his broad back, pressing deep - trying her best to not scratch up his back. You’re fucking me so good, mm- she’s whimpering, right on your ear, fuck, shivers throughout. Then, halt. It’s the fucking alarm.

Both awake, going through their groggy morning routines to finally meet again. Would it be as magical as it was in the hospital? Would it ever be so calm?

–

The time to meet was approaching quickly. Ryujin got ready, her perfect face, judiciously given with all her perfect talents, was colored with minimal effort, any more and she’d show off her inexperience with makeup - Mr. Rager would’ve lost it all regardless. Because, she was dressed in this tight dress, the type of dress that a girl like her deserves, expensive, ornate, sexy; but, she was a special case, she’d never worn something so ornate and so revealing, and the mirror would reflect a little doe desperately pulling on the hems that revealed her taut thick thighs, the cusp of her petite bosom, and any effort to cover was an ultimately futile effort, this was something she had come to terms with, before leaving her small studio.

And, as if she were in a Wong-Kar Wai movie, she entered the bus: all glammed out in a shitty environment. And the nervous eyes in the bus quickly looked away, intimidated heavily; still, some passengers hoped that they could get a glimpse with the spasm of their pupils to her direction - that’s how good she looked.

She sat down mindfully, crossing her legs - alarmingly aware of the stares. Her face adopted a natural blush - a face too beautiful to hide. Her eyes, set beneath her delicately arched eyebrows, stared at the reflection of herself from the wide glass. She’d never be able to understand her own beauty, too often enveloped in imposter syndrome, and the only person, Mr. Rager, would be the one, who could tell her the beauty of her cascading black hair; her large eyes, accentuated by a deep-set gaze; the beauty with which she carried herself, awkward, yet enigmatically, always, the most beautiful person in the room.

Mr. Rager, gaunt from the opioids, still looked herculean, a fitful combination that fit any clothing piece. With an androgynous face that was covered with sharp eyebrows, dark under eyes, high cheek-bones, and a sort of asymmetrical face that was almost better than the conventional symmetry: in summary, he was someone you couldn’t miss. This inherited comeliness comes with its risks, from the ease of life to the women, things that Mr. Rager succumbed to in violent fashion. Other than that, his preparation was pretty rapid, hopping into his entirely dark-tinted - for obvious reasons - car and set off into the gentle night.

Ryujin landed at the closest bus point to the meeting point. Her dress was unsuited for the weather, and her body began going frigid under a chilly summer day. That’s until a black car, a mercedes s-class, stopped ahead of her. It was nothing to be worried about, she’d just pass by it, acting as if she didn’t see it. However, the figure that exited the car was all too familiar: Mr. Rager.

“Ryujin.” Mr. Rager took a look, scanning her body - making it all too obvious with his pupils - instantly realized why he’s been thinking constantly about her - she’s just the most beautiful person.

And Ryujin, the way her knees slightly folded from seeing Mr. Rager, a slight spasm in her joints - she really missed him. And her hands crossed together between her loins, her eyes opened slightly larger.

“Don’t be so nervous.” He chuckled, that chuckle, that deep chuckle - Ryujin could feel the heat in her core. “Come in, you still have a long way to go,” she gladly accepted, entering into the car: feeling the soft seats, the fragrance of the unusual smell of vanilla and sandalwood (in a car?), and the overwhelming luxury around her surroundings.

“Be sure to dial the temperature or dial whatever you need, I’m sure you were pretty cold outside.” Mr. Rager said, aware of how Ryujin is not one to engage in something without permission - only if he knew what she’d done, the moment before she left, that day. However as he talked, all Ryujin could respond with was a chuckle, she was too focused on how the sentence sounded, how his eyes placed on her face, and occasionally, how it landed on her chest. And that was just the pinnacle for her.

He couldn't stop his gaze, this fermentation of a pending calamity was bounding closer and closer, and thrilled both parties to no end - they couldn’t even hide their own temptations behind the screen of a platonic hang out. By the seconds, the passing seconds, they got bolder, he got bolder. He let his eyes wander far down, her creamy white legs, her meticulous maintenance of it all. And Ryujin was wallowing in it all, his sharp gaze made her feel warmer, wetter - enticing her to dial down the temperature, a contrast from when she was so cold outside.

Still, they’d say nothing, despite it all. The silent hum of the tire scraping against the asphalt was all the credence, the distraction, they were allowed. The rest was this endorphin-filled, endorphin-crazed environment where both of them knew that they were pushing too quickly, given the fact that this companionship began from a suicide attempt.

Still, there’s this slip of time, where they could, possibly, love each other. Though, before these exponential entropic forces caused all sorts of calamity, they arrived at the spot. This run-down complex, that hid a quaint restaurant with private rooms, was a source of nostalgia for Mr. Rager. Ryujin followed, climbing the stairs, ascending just behind him, pulling down on her dress, sticking her thighs together as she climbed (a natural precaution). The restaurant was exactly that, quaint. They entered one of the tight-fitting cubicles, where they sat across from each other, a small sitting-table separated their bodies - unfortunately.

“Don’t be too worried about this restaurant, it may be run down, but it’s a great experience.”

“Oh, no, no, I’m not worried about that, I frequent far more run down establishments than this.” As the words left her tongue, Ryujin cringed, frequent? What am I? A prostitute? Her eyebrows knitted.

“Relax Ryujin,” he chuckled, “enjoy yourself, I’ll pay for it all.”

“That’s the first step to the debt?” Ryujin grinned, loosening, gaining her natural confidence.

“Perhaps. Come on, go crazy.” There it is, that nice toothy grin, her cheeks ripple into some sort of whiskers - god, he’d do anything for that, again and again. 

The dishes came, oily dishes full of food, and Ryujin’s eyes glazed in excitement. After a brief, too quick, moment of eating, both of them leaned back - absolutely full.

“You got a bird’s stomach for your ambition, Ryujin.”

“And you’re a head taller than me, but you’re leaning as well!”

“Good point.” He chuckled, fighting indigestion through it.

“I don’t even like oily food.”

“Me too.”

This time, a collaborative laugh.

Mr. Rager paid the meager bill, leaving all the food to rot on the table - the plight of abundance.

–

“Anything you want to do today?” Mr. Rager asked, putting on his seatbelt.

“It’s really late, I really wanted to punish your wallet, you played your cards right going out so late..” Ryujin relaxed into the seat, fully comfortable, in-tune.

“Well, if you don’t have any plans. Mind if I go the reservation for us?”

“What reservation?”

“That’d ruin the surprise, Ryujin.” The ambient sound of the tires against the ground in combination with the dark night - the darkest night before morning - was an even more intense atmosphere.

This peaceful atmosphere, intense, yet peaceful, again, just like the hospital visits. This interesting continuation of happiness, so foreign to his life, was something that he could get used to. His forearm pressed against the storage compartment, letting his hand spill over; his other arm was loosely steering, as loose as the gentle dark night. 

As he trailed the road, occasional peeks at Ryujin showed her transition to sleep: drowsy eyelids that infrequently close for periods of time, then, longer periods, then, sleep. 

Who was this angel? This angel that wrought Mr. Rager all manners of hope, of happiness, of reflection. If he hadn’t been so stubborn about his affliction towards personal information, maybe, just maybe he’d understand her more, this girl - so beautifully clad in a flowery dress.

Is this love, this elusive feeling? How could it be so cruel? So cruel as to bring it to me at a time so random, and so heavily…

Again, he forgot his bad habit: speaking his thoughts out loud.

He realized too late, and he could feel her large eyes staring at him, confused. 

Yet, and yet, he felt the gentle warmth of another palm on his forearm - a reassuring grip.

“Min, I love you too.”

CHAPTER III: No Longer Mr. Rager

I want to kiss you on your space below your navalette

The place you keep so neat, so moist like a towelette

Ryujin, her beautifully beady eyes looked at you, as she lifted your forearm, planting little kisses all over it.

“Oh Ryujin.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for that, Min.” A statement that left her lips as she continued worshiping his forearm.

Jesus, this woman.

He pulls into the closest parking spot, giving not a single fuck that there were a few cars there - all likely empty, anyway.

And, with all pretenses and courtesy removed, the forearm that was so judiciously worshiped, wrapped around her nape, pulling her into a searing kiss. That deep moan, that accepting moan as his mouth opened against hers. He almost forgot the most essential question - suddenly, slightly pulling away from the kiss.

“How’d you find out about my name, Ryujin?” Min asked.

“A woman doesn’t disclose her secrets, besides, how could my love not have a name?” Cheesy, feisty, what a woman.

“Good point.” Another searing kiss, dynamic, evolving, every step more depravedly romantic than the previous.

He was pretty sure that he’d break something, in the middle compartment, that separated you from total body connection. Again, you pull away, this time, it brought out a desperate whine out of her, her arms that wrapped desperately around you kept pulling you in - like a vortex.

She understood the memo as soon as he exited the car - love connection. This time, with a wider space, still constricted, was the best they could do, and they’d relish this extra space. Min, naturally assumed dominance over Ryujin, her body acclimated against his aggressive pulls and pushes - all for the pleasure of Ryujin, and she didn’t take it lightly, each breath heavy with the densest pleasure. Oh, oh, oh, keep manhandling me. She’d whisper. And he’d obey.

As Ryujin, with her tight dress, splayed against the seats on her back, took initiative to take off Min’s clothes, button-by-button. “Oh I’ll fuck you so good, Ryujin, so fucking good.” He’d repeat, over and over, and Ryujin would get more aroused by each iteration: “Yes, yes! Please.” Occasional soft bites were felt all over his collarbone, his neck, his earlobe. “Possessive little bird, I’m not going anywhere.” He caressed her head, making sure that he’d also mark her, a heavy hickey on her neck.

And Ryujin fucking loves it, she softly caresses him, soft grasps against his back, locking her taut legs around him, begging for continuations. And, Min would obey, in his own rebellious way, tightly grabbing her breasts - hidden behind the dress - then pressing kisses all over her neck, nearly all of them hickeys. 

“Fuck the reservation,” he grunted, it was an expensive reservation, but he doesn’t give a fuck: Ryujin’s right under him, begging for him to ravage her taut body. And she replies, “That’s right, that’s right, mister, master!” The end of her sentence was capitalized by Min’s heavy grasp on her breasts.

“That’s right, little bird.” Low grunts against her ears, his thick shaft, covered, grinded against her body, while his mouth assaulted hers.

And she cums, her head turns up, looking wherever - straining her neck - to release her pleasure. “Ngghhh!!!” A heavy whine, so enthusiastically human, straining against the seats that held her back. “Holy shit! That was so amazin-” enough talking, he’d motion, locking mouths together.

Silent moans, “mmmf..” hummed against his tongue, Ryujin was so turned on, and he’d love to fulfill all her wishes. Each rotation of his hip against hers were accentuated by Ryujin’s deep moan, squeaky moans, the moans that she couldn’t hide by covering her mouth. His hand, fixed onto her breasts, finally ventured below, feeling her lithe abdomen - the slightest abs - then letting his hand rest on her pelvis, just above her pussy. 

He finally released himself from the hypnotizing kiss, staring at her body - mostly still covered by the dress: now, that, won’t do. He pulled on the bottom hem of her dress, revealing her wet core, an embarrassed squeak along with it all. “You’re so fucking hot, Jesus,” he had a taste of what her body looked like, and he just can’t get enough. All precaution thrown out the window, the expensive dress was about to be ruined, and Ryujin - ever resourceful - seemed to allow it. He pulled the upper hem of the dress down, breaking the straps that could’ve been removed easily - this is a statement, I own you - Ryujin seemed to get the memo - all beady and begging.

Her soft breasts, creamy, smooth, with pink nubs spilled out from the tight dress. He pressed both his hands, all over her body, exploring the transitions from her taut skin to the scrunched dress, making sure to remember every facet of it all. “How badly do you want it?” He whispered, wholly focused on her body, subtly noticing her wet core, the outline of her pussy growing clearer by the second. And Ryujin didn’t even have to answer the question, locking her legs around his waist, frantically trying to get her hips on his covered shaft - yeah, she’s fiending for it.

And Min, ever the indulgent, gently moved and hovered his hand over her neck, waiting for that confirmation, that wink, that nod - and, Ryujin, calming down from the intense pleasure, nodded. That first grasp, tight, measuring her tolerance, measuring just the moment when the eyes go back to her eyes - and he seemed to completely pinpoint it, that slight spasm of her body, and her inner thighs are just soaked.

Finally, Min decided it’s time to give her sopping cunt some attention. Peeling the layer to the side, wet with the highest arousal, hid her bright pink core - and it, her core, was begging to be sated, pulsing, glistening, beautifully fragrant.

Firstly, he let a single finger prod, then entered. And Ryujin was already shaking, her eyes went straight to the back of her head, and her neck vascularized - all veiny - from the soft choke. It would’ve been too cruel to give her too much pleasure, so he took his hand off her throat, instead, patting her head - letting her know that she's doing so good, so good. 

In and out, motion of the ocean, slick covering his finger the deeper he went, earning the most virile moans out of her cute mouth. “You like that, huh?” He dug deeper, until his knuckle - a loud moan. She had never felt anything like this, her two fingers could never compare, and she’s a virgin after all, and she’s about to get deflowered in the backseat of a car - and, she loves it. 

In a swift motion, where Min continued his manhandling of Ryujin, he pulled his finger out - in a hook motion to agitate her g-spot, earning a girlish yelp - then, let Ryujin taste her own juices on his finger.

“You’re doing so good.” Min whispered, so overly joyed by Ryujin, how her petite body convulsed in pleasures beyond what he could ever imagine.

“I know.” Ryujin replied, defiant to the end. She knew exactly how this inspired him to be rougher - and she loves it. He gripped her waist, gripping harder, letting her firm abdomen mold against his grip, dug deeper into her cunt, placing his thumb over her engorged clit. One. Two. Three motions around her clit, three motions of his finger into her cunt - before she squirted onto the side window, far more girlish yelps, and desperate panting. This time, Min with his wet hand, spread it all over Ryujin’s face - the essence of her arousal, via his hand, spread on her face, where makeup was placed so thoughtfully, only to be ruined by her own squirt. She’s panting amidst all this, unable to process anymore than her overwhelming second orgasm. 

“You’re a fucking mess, Ryujin, cumming this quickly?”

“You made me this way…” She huffed, “you fucking brute.”

This time, all Min does is press against her pelvis - specifically, the pelvic bone, where just below is her g-spot, and the slight pressure, was absolutely deadly. All the while, he declared, “That’s right, little bird. I’ll press you against the seat, face-down, slam into your ass with all the force I can muster - then, when I’m deep, too deep, cervix-level deep, I’ll release all my cum into your precious little womb.”

“Nghhh~~!” And another squirt, where her legs closed together, toes curled, and her head hung back. While Ryujin was trying to recover, Min placed a quick and wet kiss on her lips, but that'd be the only romanticism that Min allowed her. Quickly, he let her sit up, pulling her by her thin wrists. Then, he pulled down his own pants - letting his shaft free from the restraints of his tight clothing, the painful onset of an early blue balls in its conception, that was only fuel to the fire to fuck Ryujin good, and hard.

“Sit on my lap facing me, Ryujin.” He demanded. And no matter how much Ryujin came, squirted, panted, and yelped - she’d always oblige in Min’s demands. She quickly hooked her other leg over him, in a hovered position rather than sitting. This time, he passed his fingers through her wet hair, letting it pass behind her ear, “safe word is Mimetic,” and he earned a soft nod from Ryujin, and consent to batter her sopping, wet, sticky, engorged pussy.

He slithered a hand around her waist, holding her in place; then, placed his other hand around her neck, just on the nape. He pulled her in for one last kiss. The last bit of eye contact before penetration, and all that could be seen in Ryujin’s eyes - beady and all wet from pleasure - was a fiending desire to be fucked silly.

Slowly, he let her descend, right up until his tip kissed her wet folds. She winced from her sensitivity, just from the touch. And that’s when it flashed in her eyes, she wasn’t sure if she was ready, given the fact that she hadn’t told him about her virginity. Before she could realize her thoughts through speech, she felt the intense heat of something foreign entering - something so thick and large - and it wrought every emergency signal in her brain - all of them, positive. “Oh–OH, fuck…” is all that Ryujin squeaked out before he pushed in deeper, feeling her gentle pussy wrap around his shaft - all wet and moist. A constant sizzling whisper could be heard from Ryujin as he buried his cock deeper, until, halfway in, where she let out a deep moan. “Holy fuck,” she moaned again, deeper. Holy fuck is right, her body was so resistant, tight right at the start to the end, yet, the way it also sucked his shaft into its wet folds - Min was already addicted.

“Ryujin, you’re so tight.” He said as he kept nudging Ryujin to move farther down, waiting for her glistening pussy to completely wrap around his shaft - then, eventually, completely devour her in the backseats of his own car. Yet, as he went through it with her, he began clueing in on the note - Ryujin is very.. Too sensitive. Why Ryujin focused on getting herself down, skewering herself on his length - desperately breathing, her chest dilating in and out. Through it all, as Ryujin tried to, adorably, hide her inexperience, Min pressed a compassionate kiss right into her mouth. 

“I love that. The fact that you’re so horny for a virgin.” He whispered against her mouth, breathing hotly, immeasurably hard.

And Ryujin needn’t respond at all, all she needed to do - well, did - was reach out with her tongue for his mouth, with those prey eyes, begging to be taken, testing her fickle fate - a sign that he needed to kiss her, devour her, again and again until hell freezes over. And finally, during the desperate haze of a reunification of mouths, he finally buried himself straight to the hilt, in her pink, glistening, sopping, beautiful core. And slowly, the wet sounds of sex, so blatantly loud in this claustrophobic environment, reverberated inside the car; the wet sounds of her moans covered this hazy atmosphere, coming from her lips that detached from his mouth, streaks of saliva still connecting them both; and that feeling, this mutual feeling of utter bliss, how her back bent - contorted - into every pump.

They couldn’t stop staring at each other, two perverts, two soulmates who couldn’t go for a second without looking at each other. Even when Min pushed up harder, letting his full length pass through her virginal hole, they still maintained that sensual eye contact - that essential eye contact.

“You fuck me so good, Min.” Ryujin said as her two small breasts jolted from every pump, every contraction of his length leaving her one step closer to ruin - until her eyes went back to that dangerous place, that orgasm line. And the resulting pressure, that heavenly pressure, pressed against his shaft so strongly, that his tight-lipped mouth let out a few growls of pleasure, a sign that he’s close to painting her womb in baby batter. 

Ryujin, ever the caretaker, felt the convulsions, and began pressing desperate kisses over his face - anywhere she could reach, whilst patting him on the back. And Min would never admit he liked it, that he loved it, and he didn’t need to admit it, Ryujin already knew. 

And she knew exactly, that this was the final straw that she needed to break before she was filled with his essence, the catalyst of that final convulsion. Min immediately seized, grabbing Ryujin in a bearhug - one that could’ve bruised her - and pumped hard, that final wet sound of sex, before, rope after rope of release entered deep inside her, splashing against her cervix, filling her womb.

“FUCKKK!!” He growled, he hadn’t felt this good since ever. And the same for Ryujin, who cried a leaky yelp, where her last bits of squirt flowed down the slightest nook from their love connection. They were static for a moment, relishing in the deviant copulation they engaged in, where, almost, the condensation of their lovemaking was visible in the air of the car.

“I love you.” She kissed him again, staring all lovey-dovey, as if her pupils had gone and turned into hearts.

“I love you.” He stared at her, happy, smiling.

“I love you more.” She added, exaggerating her laugh, trying to tease.

“I concede.” He replied.

“Heyyy! You’re supposed to say it back!” “I’m more for physical demonstrations. Wanna see?”

“Uh no. Please. It feels like it's about to fall off.” She was mentioning her pussy, all swollen and gummy to the eye.

“I love it, it’s so beautiful.” He replied, fully serious, digging his mouth into her neck, he was absolutely crazy about her.

“Min, I gotta take a shower, you’re being gross-” that’s when Min pressed a finger onto her - still engorged - clit, and proceeded to say, “I’m fucking crazy about you.” 

“Ngh! Stop! Seriously, it’s about to fall off.” Unfortunately, the collected accumulation of their love juices swiftly dripped down as Ryujin jolted back from him touching her clit.

“Isn’t this gonna stain your car until the end of time?” She stared at the significant puddle of who knows what.

“Let it. A commemoration of our intense copulation.”

Ryujin blushed, quickly grabbing the tissues that Min offered her, and wiping off all that she released, her entire lower half, essentially, was wet. And Min got aroused from watching Ryujin cleaning herself - her little winces when she slightly grazed her cunt only adding fuel to the fire. “Clean my cock.” Min demanded, but when Ryujin grabbed the tissues - ready to oblige - he replied, “with your mouth.”

To be continued...

Ahhh, I love cliffhangers. Enjoy waiting for 10 months! (just kidding!)

Honestly, I wanted to take months with this project, but I just can't seem to stop myself (from writing mid stuff).

[peppermintquartz]

Buck/Tommy prompt: Tommy finally realizing he *does* have a family with the 118

It's a Thursday afternoon when he dies.

He's not even on shift, that's the thing; he was in the gym training with a friend, and the next thing he knows five masked figures burst in, shouting at everyone to get down to the ground, and he's shielding Jacob when one of them fires a spray in their direction.

The bullets don't land anywhere fatal so he doesn't die immediately, but that means it hurts like a bitch, and he can feel his extremities growing cold. He sees the five gunmen race out the other door. Jacob is panicking, pressing his gym towel on the stomach wound but not exerting enough strength to hold back the blood loss; Lizzie is screaming at someone to hurry; Tommy thinks, Fuck, on the day I beat my personal best too.

His vision is darkening around the edges. Breathing is difficult. Maybe a punctured lung from shrapnel, who knows?

The coroner will, his brain supplies, a joker to the very end.

He hears sirens. Vaguely, he wonders if who's going to tell Evan.

Sorry, baby. Didn't mean to make you cry. Tommy lets go of the vestiges of the breath he's been struggling to hold onto.

"Tommy?" He knows the voice. Wow, God really has a shitty sense of humor. "Tommy!"

At least that's the last thing he'll hear before he dies. Tommy tastes blood in his mouth, and everything stops.

Death, it turns out, is a welcoming silence.

--

He wakes up in fits and starts.

When he is finally, mostly conscious, he feels someone holding his right hand. And there are two people talking.

"...I think he's back with us again," one of the voices say. "Mr Kinard?"

Call me Tommy. Mr Kinard is my asshole dad.

"Tommy?"

Now Tommy smiles. That's the right name. He blinks, each eyelid approximately seven thousand tons. Dimmed lights, two shadowy figures, one in a white coat and the other in navy.

"Guess... G'd dint like... my crack 'bout. Sense of humor."

"What the fuck," says Navy. He scoots closer and Tommy can see his face clearly. Boyishly handsome, with light brown curly hair, a birthmark. Red-rimmed eyes. "Tommy. Tommy, god."

"Hey." He can't remember Navy's name. "Dry."

White Coat hands over a small cup. Navy puts an ice chip on Tommy's lips, and Tommy draws it into his mouth for the relief.

Evan. Not Navy. Evan.

White Coat comes close, and Tommy wants to protest. He wants to hold Evan's hand and kiss his sad little pout away.

"You can do that later when you're better," said White Coat. He shines a light into Tommy's eyes - ow - and taps him in various places, and then it's just Tommy and Evan again.

Evan stands and leans down to kiss Tommy's brow. "Go to sleep. I'll let everyone know you pulled through."

Tommy wants to ask, but sleep pulls him under.

--

They come to visit, singly or in pairs.

"Glad you're still breathing," Eddie says. He sits on the side of the bed. "Chris says that if you die, he'll hit you with his crutches. And they hurt, let me tell you that."

Hen and Karen visit with their kids that same day. Denny asks if Tommy can teach him and Mara to draw. "I liked yours the most of all the art on my cast."

Bobby comes by, scowls at the bland food, and says, "I'm glad you're still with us, kid." Tommy tears up, and allows himself to cry silently. Bobby only holds his hand and pats the back of it.

Donato and Melton come by with a bunch of balloons, all chosen for maximum obnoxiousness. The bright pink and yellow one that proclaims "It's a GIRL!" is Tommy's favorite.

He gives that balloon to Chimney when he comes by, telling him to give it to Jee. Chimney punches the side of Tommy's leg. "Count your lucky stars it isn't Maddie here. They'd never even find your body."

--

Maddie shows up with Evan the day after to take Tommy home to recover from his three bullet wounds.

"Three shots and you only get three days?" Evan is outraged.

"Flesh wounds except for the one through my lower left abdomen," Tommy reminds him, already tired. "Plus, I signed myself out." Then, taking a nervous breath, he says, "Hi Maddie."

Maddie glares at him. "You're lucky I wasn't the one holding the gun."

Tommy winces, ducks his head. "I'm sorry."

Evan rolls his eyes. "Standing right here, Maddie."

"I warned him about breaking your heart," she says grumpily, but she takes the duffel bag of Tommy's stuff.

Tommy leans back in his wheelchair as Evan rolls him out towards freedom. "How much groveling to make to earn your sister's forgiveness?"

"See how long you'll grovel for mine, and multiply that by ten."

"Oh shit."

"...that'd be about half a hour, I guess."

"For you or for her?"

Evan wrinkles his nose at him, but his smile is still sunshine. His hand lands on Tommy's shoulder and squeezes. "You and I need a good talk. And this time, you can't run."

Tommy dares to touch Evan's hand. "Okay."

[quintessenceofdust88]

Hello everyone! Here's the sequel for Oreos and Orange Juice (a.k.a the fluff piece with pregnant!Buck and Jee-Yun). Brought to you with extra doses of fluffiness (almot 2,000 words!) and uncle Tommy being the literal best!

It’s almost nine when Tommy finally drags himself through the door, throwing his keys in the bowl and being instantly met by the bright laughter of Jee-Yun coming from the kitchen, followed by Evan’s excited voice as he tells her a kid-friendly version of a funny rescue they performed the other day. 

Even though he’s exhausted from his shift, Tommy smiles. Jee-Yun is always a joy to have around, and the sweet child’s laughter echoing through the house gives him a wonderful glimpse of their future which is coming sooner and sooner. 

“Morning, you two” He says softly, entering the kitchen, and both of them look at him with the same excited eager Buckley signature smile. 

“Uncle Tommy!” Jee says, throwing herself against his legs, and Tommy easily lifts her into his hip. 

“Hi, princess Jee” Tommy greets her while crossing the kitchen to place a quick peck on Evan’s lips, and it’s deliciously domestic. He can’t wait for the day he’ll do it with their own kids, one twin in each arm. “How was your night? Did your uncle Evan let you up past your bedtime again?” He teases, and Jee’s giggle is all the confirmation he needs.

“Only a tiny bit, right, Jee?” Evan tells her with a wink as he slides a plate of pancakes in his direction, and Tommy could just about kiss him. He places Jee back in her chair and sits beside her. 

Evan joins them on the table with a bottle of syrup and, for some reason, a slice of cheese over his own chocolate chip pancakes. At this point, Tommy has learned better than to comment on his cravings, so he just presses a kiss to his cheek, earning a blinding smile in return.

“So how was your shift?” He asks Tommy, and he swallows the bite of pancake (delicious, as always; Tommy is absolutely spoiled by his husband's cooking) in his mouth before answering.

“It was okay, nothing major; two med-evacs. What about you guys, did you have fun?” He asks, and then tenderly nudges Jee's cheek, wanting to bring her into the conversation. “Did you take care of your uncle and the babies for me?” He asks her, expecting a small giggle. 

What he doesn’t expect is the excited gasp she lets out, swallowing her bite practically unchewed. 

“Uncle Tommy, you’re never gonna believe what the babies did last night!” She says excitedly, and Tommy can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. 

“What was that, princess?” He asks curiously, and she and Evan exchange a conspiratorial glance.

“They kicked my hand!” She answers, bouncing in her seat, unable to contain her joy. “It was just like when Kevin kicked Mama but there were two of them this time, it was so cool!”

“Wait, really?! That’s so special, Jee!” Tommy tells her, his heart fluttering warmly in his chest as he looks at Evan for confirmation. 

The babies hadn’t kicked before; they had started moving about two weeks prior, and the doctor said kicks would probably start any time now. He knows Evan has been impatient about it, almost as if he was expecting it to be a confirmation the babies were okay.

“It was just as we were falling asleep” Evan tells him, his smile wide as he caresses his bump and proudly speaks of the kicks. “They’d been pretty quiet during the day, but I guess Jee inspired them, didn’t you, Jee-bug?” 

“Yeah! Uncle Buck said they were telling me good night!” She recalls, her smile never leaving her face until she looks at Tommy, and then it falters slightly. “Oh, but! I'm sorry you weren't there, uncle Tommy! They're your babies too, I bet you wanted them to say good night to you first!”

And, well; even if Tommy is slightly disappointed to have missed it, he can't have Jee apologizing for it. He kneels down to her level, a kind smile on his face.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, darlin’” He reassures her. “The babies will kick plenty of times, I'm sure. I'm glad they did it for the first time with you; it means they know they have the best big cousin in the world, don't they? Pretty smart babies if you ask me” He says with a wink, and Jee's smile can light up a whole firehouse.

“You're the best, uncle Tommy!” She throws her arms around his neck, and Tommy hugs her close to his chest for a few seconds before letting her happily return to her breakfast.

As he gets up and goes back to his own plate, Tommy glances at Evan, only to find him drying tears from his cheek. Tommy smiles teasingly at him, offering him a napkin; Evan takes it with a glare that loses all its effect because of the love in his eyes.

“I blame your children; they're making me hormonal” He says with a wet chuckle, and Tommy chuckles, pressing a kiss to his temple before sitting down.

“I blame the crying Buckley gene” Tommy teases. “I'll bet you anything that Maddie will cry when you tell her about the babies kicking for Jee”

“Oh, Mama will cry!” Jee pipes up, her face covered in syrup, and the two of them laugh at her certainty as Tommy bends over with a napkin to clean her face.

“See? And she's not pregnant anymore. It's the crying Buckley gene” Tommy reaffirms, and Evan shoves his shoulder playfully.

He chuckles and pays attention to his plate again, at least until he feels Evan's hand squeezing his. Tommy looks up to see him looking so earnestly at him that his heart skips a beat.

“I am sorry, though. That you missed it” He says, almost pouting, and Tommy finds it so adorable that he kisses it right away (Jee coos at them, and Tommy slightly blushes).

“Me too, a little. But you had the best company for it, sweetheart. And I'm sure they'll kick plenty of times before they're out here” He reassures him, and then tenderly places his hand on Evan's bump. “Hear that, little blobs? You kicked for Daddy and Jee-Yun, so no pressure, but if you wanna kick for Papa too…”

He keeps his hand on Evan’s bump for a while, and the three of them are silent, staring in expectation. Tommy’s about to lift his hand, making a joke about trying again at nighttime to clear the disappointment in Jee’s eyes, when he feels it. It’s a soft thing, almost like a tap against his hand, but it’s there. It’s one of their babies, moving around and pressing their tiny foot against Evan’s belly, and Tommy’s feeling it. Evan gasps in delight, clearly feeling it as well (duh, Kinard, he tells himself. If he can feel it, Evan has to be feeling it at least twice as strong), and his hand joins Tommy’s over his bump. 

“You guys really love your Papa’s attention, huh?” He teases, softly caressing his belly. “Hi, little blobs, Daddy’s glad to see you’re awake” He coos at his bump, and before either of them can say anything else, they’re joined by the little force of nature that is Jee-Yun Buckley-Han, her hand looking even tinier than it is when she puts it over her uncles’ massive ones.

“The babies are kicking again?! They’re saying hi to you, uncle Tommy!” She says excitedly, and Tommy feels the kick again, two this time, one beside the other, almost as if one twin is nudging the other to also say hi to their expectant family. 

“And to you, Jee. I keep telling you, they already love their big cousin” He tells her, and Jee presses a soft kiss to Evan’s belly. 

“I love you too, babies. When you’re out here, I’ll teach you lots of fun things, I promise!” She says excitedly, and Tommy doesn’t doubt it for a second. Apparently, neither does Evan. 

“They’ll be so lucky to have you, Jee” He whispers to her. “Just like I was lucky to have your Mama when I was a kid”

As if on cue, the doorbell rings, and Tommy reluctantly excuses himself to open it, but smiles when he sees Maddie on the other side. She pulls him into a hug, her usual way of greeting him by now, and Tommy can’t deny that he loves how she basically adopted him as her brother too. He grew up an only child, desperately wishing for a sister like Maddie; it feels good to have one now. 

“Hey! I was just going home from work and thought I’d pick up my little nuisance. She wasn’t too much trouble, was she?” Maddie asks, and Tommy closes the door behind them as she comes in. 

“None at all; in fact, she’s been a great help. Come see for yourself” He invites, and Maddie raises an eyebrow, but follows him into the kitchen. “Jee, look who’s here for you, princess” He announces, and both Jee and Evan look up, but this once, the little girl makes no move to run to her mother. 

“Mama! Come here! The babies are kicking! They’re saying hi!” She tells Maddie excitedly, and Tommy chuckles at how eagerly Maddie kneels down by Evan’s chair, her hands resting against her brother’s bump. “Uncle Tommy says they’re smart and know I’m the best big cousin, so they have to know you’re the best auntie too!” Her logic is sound, and Maddie sends Tommy a grateful look that has him blushing and rubbing his neck awkwardly.

“Hi, blobs” She says affectionately, and Tommy’s pretty proud of himself that the nickname stuck (he’s sure Evan isn’t). “It’s your auntie Maddie! Can you say hi? No pressure, though, I just thought-”

Tommy can tell the exact moment the babies respond to her voice, because both her and Evan gasp. They look at each other in that infuriating way of theirs, where it seems they hold an entire conversation through their gaze. Tommy may not know what they’re saying to each other, but he knows it’s only a matter of time before they get emotional. And… yeah, sure thing, before long both of them have tears running down their faces. 

And damn, he’s starting to think Buckley genes are contagious, because he has to dry his own eyes at the sight in front of him. This is bigger than him, Evan and their twins: it's family, like the ones from commercials or Hallmark movies, and Tommy never dreamt he could find himself in one of those.

He’s ridiculously happy that his children will be born surrounded by this much love. They have two doting parents, an honorary grandpa (Bobby's own words, and yes, Evan cried when he said it), a horde of very lovingly aunts and uncles, , and the most special big cousin in the world in Jee-Yun (not to mention Kevin and their other bunch of cousins, like Christopher, who texts Tommy at least twice a week to make sure he’s ‘taking care of Buck right’ and hangs out at their place at least twice more, wanting to make sure his Buck is okay). It's love, and caring, and what else could he wish for his little blobs?

Yeah, Tommy thinks; if there’s anything in the world worth shedding some tears for, this is certainly it.

[Also on AO3!]

[More from Little Blobs Verse]

Tag list: (let me know if you'd like to be removed or if I missed anyone! Also if anyone else wants to be tagged, either on my fics in general or just the Little Blobs' Verse, let me know! ♥)

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul @asmugfirefighter @rubydaiquiri  @racerchix21 🩷🩷🩷

[6lytherinn]

a little fic based on this gift of sterek<3

The Hale house was tense. Even without the voices that were now raised, you could feel the thickness in the air.

It wasn't often that Stiles and Derek would fight. A mere argument here and there that usually involved snarky comments and rolled eyes, but nothing like this.

The event that was unfolding in the kitchen of the Hale house had been brewing for weeks now. It had begun as Stiles was trying to conversate with his fiancé over dinner about the idea of adoption.

It was no secret that Stiles Stilinski was ready to be a father. He and Derek had been together for 3 years now, and were planned to be married in less than 6 months.

Each time Stiles would bring up the topic, Derek would either get quiet or change the subject. The first few times this happened Stiles brushed it off, thinking maybe Derek had misheard him or not heard him at all. But after a while he seemed to understand what was happening. Derek was avoiding the conversation.

That's exactly what led them to tonight. The night was tense as soon as the couple had sat down to enjoy their takeout Derek had picked up on the way home. It was Stiles' favorite Indian food and despite being pleased to have it, he couldn't shake his grumpy mood.

He had spoken to his best friend, Scott earlier in the day about what was troubling him and Derek. Scott's advice was of course to be honest with Derek and ask him what the issue was.

‘Just ask, Stiles. C'mon this is Derek, you guys talk about everything together,’ was his advice. And he knew Scott was right. They were open books when it came to each other, and that's exactly why this was bothering Stiles so much.

“Why are you avoiding me everytime I bring up adoption?” Stiles decided to just go straight for the question. He was always blunt and right now he needed answers.

Derek closed his eyes and Stiles saw the man breathe in deeply.

“Can we please talk about this later? We're having dinner, Stiles.”

The younger man felt his blood rising, he refused to let Derek push him away again.

“No. I think we should talk about this right now, Derek.” He spoke as calm as he could but he knew Derek could sense his frustration. Even without his werewolf senses.

“Stiles, why do we need to do this right now? Can't we enjoy our dinner?” Derek refused to look up from his plate. Avoiding eye contact was a major tell that Derek was hiding something. Stiles felt tears pricking his eyes now. Why was his fiancé being so dismissive of something he felt so passionately about?

“Derek, be honest with me right now. What the hell are you trying to avoid? Fucking look at me, Derek.” Stiles was yelling by now, something he tried not to do.

Derek was angry as well. Stiles was so stubborn. He would never drop things when he set his mind to them and right now he wanted to discuss something Derek did not want to talk about. His nostrils flared as he finally looked up, both men were worked up now, the dinner in front of them completely forgotten.

“Because I don't want to fucking have kids, Stiles! You want to be a dad, I get it but I don't fucking want that. You never ask what I want, you just assume that having a family is something I want and it's not. I have you and that's enough, okay, I don't want to talk about adoption because I don't fucking want kids. God, you're so fucking stubborn it's driving me nuts.”

Derek regretted the words as soon as he spoke them, the shock and sadness that replaced the anger on Stiles face was immediate. He knew his words had hurt Stiles deeply and he didn't know what to say.

Stiles said nothing, his eyes shining with tears. He stood and without saying a word walked down the hallway and into their guest bedroom where he locked himself in and didn't come back out for the whole might.

—-

The next morning Derek awoke to his alarm. 6:30 AM, it was time for him to start the day and head to work. He hoped to find Stiles in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and boxers like he always did but Derek found the kitchen empty.

He didn't have but 30 minutes before he left for work, not having enough time to do anything but shower and grab a poptart from the pantry. He walked to the guest bedroom door and debated on whether he should try to talk to Stiles before work. He figured the conversation they needed to have would require more than 5 minutes so he decided to let the young man sleep as he headed out the door for work.

6 hours later Derek was stumbling through their front door, completely worn out from his day of work and ready to mend things with Stiles and tell him how sorry he was for exploding on him the night before.

Once again upon entering, Derek noticed how quiet it seemed in their home. He checked the kitchen, and then the bedroom. Both bathroom doors were ajar which meant Stiles was not in those rooms either.

Derek ran to the front door and onto their porch where he noticed for the first time Stiles' jeep wasn't there. He had been so lost in thought when arriving home that he hadn't noticed the jeep was missing. He went back to the bedroom and noticed a few of Stiles' things were also gone, including his overnight bags he had used at the beginning of their relationship when he would stay over, before Derek had asked Stiles to move in with him.

Grabbing his phone he clicked Stiles' contact and felt his heart drop as it went straight to voicemail.

“Hey, you've reached Stiles. Leave a message and maybe I'll get back to you.” Came the voice of his fiancé.

The older man rubbed his face as he thought of what to do next. Stiles has left and it was all his fault. He went too far and now Stiles was done. He would never see the boy again. Never hug him or kiss him, or tell him how much he loved him.

He quickly dialed the sheriff's number hoping that Stiles went back to his childhood home. However he was no closer to finding him after his short, and now hostile conversation with said boy's dad. Neither Scott, Lydia or even Liam had seen the man and Derek was beginning to worry even more.

He decided he'd just go drive around and look for him.

—-

After about 30 minutes of driving around aimlessly, Derek finally picked up on what he had been looking for. The sweet minty smell that belonged to none other than Stiles Stilinski himself.

He was at a coffee shop, one that he and Stiles had attended many times in their relationship. They had spent many hours here just sipping coffee and enjoying each other's company. The memories made Derek smile for a split second before he remembered why he was there in the first place.

He quickly exited his car and walked inside, he smelled the familiar scent even stronger now and it made his inner wolf relax.

Stiles smelt like home. He smelt like peace and family and happiness. He looked around the cafe and his eyes settled on the beautiful boy he called his lover. It was as if Stiles felt his eyes reach him because at the same moment he looked to his left and made eye contact.

Stiles looked miserable. His face looked as if he had been crying for hours, his complexion paler than usual. He held no traces of a smile, instead he seemed as if he had all happiness drained from him.

He looked heartbroken.

Derek held eye contact as he walked forward and settled across the table from Stiles who now refused to look at him.

“How'd you find me here?” He asked, still staring down.

“I didn't. I was driving around just looking for you, and then I smelled you.”

Stiles laughed dryly. “Of course you did. Can't get away from a werewolf, can you?”

Derek frowned slightly. Stiles was still mad.

“Stiles-” He was interrupted immediately as Stiles looked up. His eyes were red.

“Don't, Derek. I got the point last night and I'd rather not hear it again. I didn't know you felt that way and maybe it's best we leave each other alone for a bit. I wouldn't want to push you into doing things you don't want to do.” His voice was full of disappointment. Stiles began to rise from his chair and Derek grabbed his hand and tugged him back down softly.

“I do want kids with you, Stiles. I'm just scared.” He admitted.

This caught Stiles attention. His face softened and he sat down slowly.

“What are you scared of?” He whispered. “What if I can't be a good father?” It was time to confess his worries now. No reason to hold them back.

“Of course I want a family with you. That's all I want if I'm being honest. But what if I can't keep you both safe? Bad things seem to follow me Stiles, you know they do. I worry all the fucking time about keeping you safe, and the thought of failing you is hard enough. I can't imagine if I failed you and our children. I'm just so scared.” Stiles felt his heart sink as he listened to Derek’s confession. So this is what all of this avoidance had been about. He was scared.

“Derek, you are the strongest, bravest man I know. You would do anything to keep your family safe and that's how I know you will be a wonderful father. You would be such an amazing dad. Nothing would happen to me or to our family. I am here to stay forever, Derek. You will never lose me.” These words seem to break through the wall Derek had subconsciously begun to build up surrounding the topic of starting a family.

He was still terrified, but he would rather spend his life protecting Stiles and their future family than to live easily without them. He reached across the table and grabbed the others hands in his. He gave a loving smile as he spoke.

“I think I'm ready to talk about it now.” He squeezed his hand as he spoke. “What do we need to do to start the process?”

You guys these manips are getting too good . .

[ghostgirl-22]

Vibrator!Anon you made me write this too for some reason lol. Not coherent but I figured I’d share it anyway. More random boys objectifying Art and him (and Patrick) losing his mind over it.

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Bimbofication

—-

The thing about Art that really drives Patrick crazy is how empty headed he gets when he’s horny. Generally Art is a very smart and competent person but when his dick is hard it’s like he goes brain dead. And suddenly he’s silly, dumb, sluttystupid.

Once Patrick made him wear a bra under his uniform during their state doubles final.

“Just a training bra since you’re starting to blossom into such a beautiful girl,” Patrick teased at breakfast. Art kicked him hard under the table scowling (which fair, but it wasn’t Patrick’s fault he was bad at bowling).

The match goes well until midway through the second set when Patrick basically becomes the only functioning player. And Art for some (obvious) reason ends up in lala land. They still win. The other team didn’t really stand a chance.

The whole match Patrick’s hard and it’s fueling him. He doesn’t slow down for one second immediately after the match, when he shoves himself into the bathroom stall and jerks it so hard and fast that he gets light headed as he comes.

And then there’s Art.

The other guys on their team tease him for losing the bet. They lift his shirt to see the bra. Tell him his tits look good. One of them even goes as far as to push Art up against the locker and pretend to kiss him. And maybe Patrick never should’ve blabbed about it to them. He’s only got his stupid big mouth to blame for why Art’s all flushed as they tease him. Flustered and dizzy and… horny. Patrick can read it all over him after countless nights in their dorm room “messing around.”

Art goes silly. Barely able to focus. It’s like he’s drunk. Dropping things. Can’t find his towel, can’t find his phone, cant figure out how to re-wrap his racket. “I think I wanna shower at home.” He says distractedly.

“You should be in the girls locker room,” one of their classmates teases and pinches his nipple even though he’s not wearing the bra any more. “Shuddup,” Art says, pushing him off. The guy just laughs and tries to grab the other one.

Patrick knows Art is steps away from touching himself, the real reason he needs to go back to the dorm. It’s lucky he wore briefs or everyone would see it the way Patrick can. That he can’t stand still, can’t sit still.

Patrick has to do everything for him. Pack up his rackets, and his clothes, and all his gear. Everything. While he sits there, dumb pretty, eyes glassy, fingering the lace bra and flirting with their teammates as they objectify him.

The only openly gay kid on the team smirks at Patrick after he gets away with calling Art pretty, fingers tangled in his hair and Arts following the touch.

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Come on, let’s go Art,” he snaps, only mildly irritated at how fucking easy Art is right now.

“Yeah let’s go,” Art says, getting to his feet. Eyes dilated, not a coherent thought in his head.

“Pick up your bag,” Patrick says, slowly like he’s talking to a kindergartener.

“Oh,” Art laughs.

Hell Patrick even has to guide Art back to the room because Art has no idea where he is or what’s going on.

It’s not until he’s fucking into Patricks fist up against their bedroom door that he feels like a real boy again. Whining and rambling that he’s so sorry about how he played but it’s all Patricks fault for making him wear lace. Because he couldn’t focus because of the way it moved over his nipples. And he didn’t know they were so sensitive. And honestly, neither did Patrick.

So Patrick starts licking, teasing, abusing them just to be rewarded with the prettiest sounds he’s ever heard Art or anyone make.

And Art finishes sloppy in Patrick’s hand, on the floor on Patrick’s t-shirt. Desperate and panting. Mirroring what Patrick did in the bathroom stall right after the game.

“You really do have the prettiest tits,” Patrick teases, licking his fingers.

“‘m not doing that again,” Art says, much more lucid.

Patrick smirks. “Then next time I guess you better win.”

[livinghalfway]

Right Reasons; Wrong Kid

Summary: Batfam thinks Damian is being kidnapped when they see Danny getting manhandled into a car by Vlad; Danny loves to make Vlad's life difficult and puts up a fight getting into the car.

Word Count: 1450

Being in Gotham was the last place Danny wanted to be today, especially when he had to be here with Vlad. The fruitloop had somehow convinced his parents that he should go to this stupid three day business conference with him.

While Danny can't make any decisions right now he can certainly make Vlad regret his. Which is why Danny doesn't feel an ounce of embarrassment at what he is currently doing.

"Daniel, get in the car." Vlad hissed at him with a tight smile as they both stood outside of the building the conference was being hosted in.

"No." He said; even going as far as to take a step backwards to further spite the man in front of him.

It was clear Vlad was losing his patience with him if the subtle flash of red in his eyes is anything to go off of. "Daniel, I won't ask again. Get in the car now, or I can drag you in. The choice is yours, but you will be getting in this car one way or another."

"You really gonna drag a kid into your car in front of all these people you're trying so hard to impress?" Danny looked from side to side at all the people congregating on the sidewalk and steps as they wait for their vehicles to arrive.

"I'm hardly the first person they've seen that has had to deal with a stubborn child refusing to listen." Vlad says as he takes a threatening step forward, "Now get in the car."

"No."

Seemingly annoyed but not surprised Vlad takes a deep breath before his hand, like a snake, strikes forward and grabs a hold of him before beginning to pull. Just as quickly though Danny is trying to pull away with just as much strength. Quickly taking a moment to look around he sees that others are already starting to look in their direction; perfect.

With him distracted though Vlad was able to get a sharp tug on him causing him to stubble towards the car. Before he can fall into the car though Danny is shooting his foot forward, firmly planting it down as his hands land on both sides of the open car door.

"Gonna have to try harder than that, fruitloop. I can't make it too easy for you." Danny teased as he fought against Vlad’s pushing.

Vlad doesn't say anything back to him besides giving a low growl. This situation is clearly not going the way he wanted to and Vlad’s frustration was starting to show, and Danny was determined to watch this man break in front of all these people he so desperately wanted to impress.

He locked his arms and knees when he felt Vlad start pushing harder against his back. Preparing himself to jump to the side the moment Vlad loosened his grip even slightly. What he wasn't prepared for though was for the weight pushing against him to suddenly disappear.

"What is going on here?" A deceivingly friendly voice sounds out behind him.

Before Danny can realize what has just happened though a much stronger hand is gripping his shoulder and yanking him away from the open car door. Finally able to see more than just the car's interior Danny see's that three other men are now standing by the car.

Two of them, a teen not much older than himself and a middle aged man, are standing in front of him as if forming a wall between him and Vlad. Who is being held in place by the third man.

Danny can see that Vlad was just as thrown off by these strangers as he is based on the startled look on his face. What confuses him though is when instead of becoming angry like he expects Vlad only looks surprised as he takes in the three guys with them.

"Bruce Wayne!" Vlad announces with a tight grin, "I was just trying to get my son to cooperate with me and get in the car. I'm sure you understand how teenage boys are."

"I'm not your son!" Danny instinctively yells out; no way in hell was he going to let Vlad tell people they were any way related.

It took him a second to register what name Vlad had even said.

Bruce Wayne? He remembers Sam and Tucker talking about that guy and his family when they found out he was going to Gotham. Which means if he's remembering correctly then the young man next to Vlad is most likely Dick Grayson and the older teen next to him is Tim Drake.

Without looking at him Bruce leans towards him and whispers, "Shh Damian, let me handle this."

Wait. What?

"I'm not-" Danny tried to say that his name wasn't Damian, but was quickly interrupted before he could.

"Damian, quiet." Bruce lowly growls; still not moving his gaze to look at Danny. "Actually, Mr. Masters, you'll find that this is my son, and I don't think you should be putting your hands on him."

Vlad looks from Bruce to Danny and then back to Bruce, "While I do agree that you and Daniel share some resemblance this is not your son Mr. Wayne."

It seems Bruce wasn't going to entertain Vlad's "lie" because he still doesn't bother to even look at Danny. Tim on the other hand seems to consider what Vlad said, and turns to actually look at his face.

Danny almost laughs out loud when he sees shock immediately overtake Tim's face. At least one of these fruit loops is smart enough to recognize that he isn't the youngest Wayne.

"Bruce, this isn't Damian." Tim states with wide eyes still locked with his.

Upon hearing this the other two Wayne's finally take a hard look at Danny for themselves.

"Oh my God B, that's not Damian!" Dick exclaims before releasing his hold on Vlad.

Bruce on the other hand is frozen in shock as he stares at Danny as he comes to the realization that the boy in front of him is in fact not his youngest son. Snapping himself out of his stupor, the older man finally addresses Vlad. "Mr. Masters, my deepest apologies. It seems this young man and my son look remarkably alike, and I assumed the worst when I saw him fighting to get into the car."

Vlad takes a step forward towards Danny clear with his intentions of getting them into the car now, but before he can grab him Bruce is once more taking a step in front of Danny. "I would actually like to have a quick word with Daniel if you won't mind."

"And why is that?"

"I have a son his age after all, maybe I can help ease this teenage rebellion phase, and cause less fights when it comes to getting in the car."

Danny must have been more focused on the growing argument in front of him more than he thought because he ends up slightly jumping when he feels a sudden hand on his shoulder. Looking to his right he sees that Dick is now standing next him with a soft smile. "Daniel, right?"

“Danny actually, and you’re Dick?”

"Yup! That's me," He gestures to the boy standing on Danny's other side, "and this is Tim. Sorry about all this; we thought our brother was being kidnapped."

"Do I seriously look that much like him?" At this point Danny had to meet Damian if the guy's family was even confusing the two of them.

Tim is giving him a concentrated look when he replies, "It's like the two of you could be twins or maybe even clones. The eye color is the biggest difference between the two of you."

If Danny didn't know any better he would think Tim was accusing him of being a clone based on the tone of his voice. He knew Gotham was weird, but he didn't think he would have to worry about cloning here. "While I was adopted when I was pretty young, but I think I'd know if I had a twin or if I was a clone."

"Crazy things happen all the time in Gotham."

Well, that doesn’t sound ominous at all. Danny can't believe saying this, but it's probably time to get Vlad's attention and get the hell out of here. He already has one crazy fruitloop to worry about; he doesn't need more. "Vlad, I think we really need to-."

“Father, what is the meaning of all this?” A new voice interrupts him, and when he sees who it is truly shocking to see a mirror of his own face. The other is also now looking at him with something akin to shock and grief.

“Damian?”

“Danyal.”

[m4rv3l-girl]

I was wondering if you could write a bucky x reader where the reader is like, detached to the real world and doesn't have any interests or anything and seems as if they've almost given up, but bucky comes in and softly brings her back to the real world? I've been having a really hard time lately, I've been told I'm not even showing emotion anymore, and I just feel like bucky would be good at helping with that

Anchored In You

Bucky x Y/N

Warnings: Some hurt/comfort vibes.

The apartment was silent, other than the faint hum of the refrigerator.

Sunlight filtered through the blinds, striping the floor in uneven patterns. Y/N sat on the couch, legs curled beneath her, staring at a muted television screen. The remote rested on the coffee table within reach, but she hadn’t bothered to touch it in days. A thin layer of dust on the surface was the only evidence of time passing.

When Bucky knocked, the sound startled her. She blinked, her gaze shifting to the door, but she didn’t move.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft, familiar, and laced with concern.

A pang of guilt pricked at her chest, but it wasn’t enough to motivate her to get up.

A few moments later, the door clicked open. Bucky’s face appeared, his brows drawn together in a mix of worry and relief. “Hey, Doll. You didn’t answer.”

She shrugged. “Didn’t hear you.”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “You okay?”

Y/N didn’t reply, her eyes drifting back to the TV. She felt the cushion shift as Bucky sat beside her, his presence warm and grounding.

“Y/N,” he said gently, “you’ve been quiet lately. What’s going on?”

She hesitated, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her sweater. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Bucky studied her for a moment, his jaw tightening. He wasn’t one to push, but the distance in her eyes struck a chord deep within him.

“Can I do anything to help?” he asked, his tone tender.

Y/N shrugged again. “I don’t know.”

The truth was, she didn’t know. She hadn’t felt like herself in weeks. Days blurred together, and the effort to engage with the world felt insurmountable.

Bucky nodded slowly, his metal hand brushing against hers. “Okay. How about we start with something small?”

Her gaze flicked to his, curiosity flickering in the depths of her apathy. “Like what?”

“Let’s go outside. Just for a walk. Fresh air might help,” he suggested, his blue eyes earnest.

She frowned. “I don’t know, Bucky…”

“Just a quick one,” he coaxed. “If you hate it, we’ll come back.”

After a long pause, Y/N finally nodded. “Alright. Just for a little while.”

They walked in silence at first, the crisp autumn air brushing against their skin. The park was alive with the sound of children laughing, leaves crunching beneath footsteps, and dogs barking in the distance. Bucky stayed close to her side, his pace matching hers.

“You see that kid over there?” he asked, pointing to a little boy struggling to catch a bright red balloon that had slipped from his grasp.

Y/N followed his gaze, her lips twitching in the faintest hint of a smile as the boy’s dad swooped in to grab the string. “Yeah.”

“Reminds me of something Steve did once,” Bucky said, his voice warm with nostalgia. “We were at Coney Island, and he—” He stopped himself, glancing at her. “Sorry. Am I boring you?”

“No,” she said quietly, her tone surprising even herself. “Tell me about Steve.”

Bucky’s lips quirked into a small smile, the kind of smile that spoke of memories cherished and bittersweet. “Alright. There was this one time we were at Coney Island—probably 1939 or so—and Steve had his heart set on winning one of those giant stuffed bears at a carnival game.”

Y/N turned her head slightly, a hint of curiosity sparking in her otherwise distant gaze. “The kind where you have to throw the baseballs at the bottles?”

“Exactly. And let me tell you, Steve was no pitcher,” Bucky said, chuckling. “But he was so damn determined. He spent every dime he had trying to knock over those bottles, and he barely even grazed one.”

Y/N’s lips twitched. “Sounds like him.”

“It was,” Bucky said, his grin widening. “But here’s the kicker—Steve being Steve, he didn’t quit. He started sweet-talking the guy running the booth, saying things like, ‘You know, I think that bear’s too heavy to win anyway. You’d probably sell more tickets if you had a smaller prize.’”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Did it work?”

“Oh, it worked,” Bucky said, laughing. “The guy got so fed up, he handed Steve a bear just to shut him up. Steve strutted around with that thing all day like he’d conquered the world.”

The mental image made Y/N’s lips finally curve into a soft, genuine smile. “What happened to the bear?”

Bucky’s expression softened. “He gave it to a little girl he saw crying near the boardwalk. Said it’d mean more to her than to him.”

Y/N looked down, her fingers brushing her sleeve. “That sounds like Steve.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said quietly. “He had a way of making the world seem brighter. Just like you can, Y/N.”

Her head tilted, her eyes meeting his, and for the first time in days, the weight on her chest felt just a little lighter.

Over the next week, Bucky visited every day. Sometimes he brought coffee, sometimes groceries, and sometimes just himself. He didn’t push her to talk if she didn’t feel like it, but his presence was steady, like an anchor.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

One evening, he found her staring out the window, her arms wrapped around herself.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked, leaning against the wall.

“I just… don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like I’m here, but I’m not really living.”

Bucky approached her slowly, his hands in his pockets. “I get it, Doll. I’ve been there.”

She glanced at him, skepticism clouding her features. “You? You’re always so… put together.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Hardly. There were years when I didn’t think I deserved to live at all. But you know what helped?”

“What?”

“People who didn’t give up on me,” he said, his gaze steady. “Sam, Steve… they kept showing up, even when I pushed them away. And now…” He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Now I get to be that person for you.”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Bucky started introducing small routines into her life. A walk in the morning, coffee at a nearby café, a movie night once a week. He encouraged her to try new things, even if they seemed trivial.

One afternoon, he brought over a sketchbook and pencils. “I remember you mentioned you used to draw,” he said, placing them on the table.

“That was a long time ago,” she murmured, eyeing the supplies warily.

“So? No one says you have to be Picasso. Just… see what happens.”

Hesitantly, she picked up a pencil. The first few strokes felt awkward, but as she continued, something shifted. Her hand moved with more confidence, and for the first time in weeks, she felt a spark of something—something close to joy.

As the days turned into weeks, Y/N began to feel more like herself. She laughed more, smiled more, and even teased Bucky when he burned dinner one night.

“You’re the worst cook I’ve ever met,” she said, trying to stifle her giggles.

“Hey, I resent that!” he retorted, grinning. “I make a mean bowl of cereal.”

Her laughter was like music to his ears, and he couldn’t help but join in.

One evening, as they sat on the couch watching a movie, Y/N leaned her head against his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“For what?”

“For not giving up on me,” she replied, her voice thick with emotion.

Bucky wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. “Never, Doll. You’re stuck with me.”

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt like she belonged.

——————————————————————————————————

Hey! Really hope you liked this and it made things better even just a little. I wrote it a little differently - more of a selection of examples of how our darling Bucky would help. It made sense to me 🤷‍♀️

Requests Open!

[respectthepetty]

Joke's (Sad) Face

This post is about Joke's face.

But it's not about his actual face.

It's about his Joker face.

While Joke was surrounded by Jack's blue at the hospital, I just couldn't stop thinking about how pretty War is.

Which is why it's so tragic that his character, Joke, spends so much time being sad.

He has been sad since the very beginning and has remained in this state throughout the series.

Which is probably why he created the red Joker moniker.

A joker is a trickster. A joker is similar to a jester. A joker should be happy.

But Joke is anything but happy and his sadness began when he was child who couldn't cope with academic stress, so he began to use the sad face.

Then a kid he never met fixed his frown and turned it upside down. Jack made him smile.

And years later, at a bar late at night, that kid would make Joke smile again.

By simply sitting with him.

Joke was sad about his life, and Jack told him that it was okay.

Then he told him to smile.

Because like I believe, War Joke is so beautiful when he smiles.

Jack, with his blue (spray bottle), has been wiping Joke's sadness away for years, even without knowing it.

And as Joke returned to his childhood home to all the sticky notes marked with red sad faces, he believed he would never be as happy as he was with Jack again.

The time Joke spends with Jack is the happiest of his life because Jack makes Joke happy, which is why Joke got the smiley face tattoo.

Because Jack was a truly happy kid when they first met, and gave that happiness to Joke.

But things change.

Joke's other tattoo is of a dual smiling face and sad face, and when Joke approached Jack after five years, he said he wanted to bring back the old Jack. After that encounter, Jack asked his grandmother if he had changed to which she responded that he couldn't stay a kid forever.

Jack let Joke escape in the fashion event. Jack was blamed for the necklace being stolen, yet showed up to the hotel to help Joke. Jack put himself in the way during the fight to keep Joke safe. Jack always turns the worst situations around and has sacrificed parts of himself as a result.

So Jack is darker now. He is no longer blue. He is black. He can't be Joke's source of happiness when he is struggling to find the good in life himself, so while Joke is in the hospital surrounded by Jack's blue with family and friends, Jack sits alone wearing a red shirt with one tiny lamp to give him warmth.

Jack has his grandmother, who blends both his and Joke's colors, but she's all Jack has ever had, and now she cares for Joke just as much as she loves Jack.

And this is a point Aran made in the very beginning and Hope repeated this episode — Jack, just like Save, doesn't really much. He doesn't have options. Joke does. Jack had to do what he had to do to survive and keep his grandmother safe, but Joke gets to return home to a family and a room that has been kept spotless. Jack doesn't. Well, not if he doesn't fight for it.

And that's what hurts. Jack has to fight for everything. So even though Joke has done a lot for Jack, Jack has done just as much for Joke. He gave Joke a place to stay, food to eat, friends, family, and happiness when Joke had nothing to give and nowhere to go. Jack himself has nothing, yet still gave Joke everything he has had to fight for, including his limited happiness and even the last bits of his color.

So it's important that the episode showed Joke not only giving Jack his color, but also his happiness. Joke has finally turned his sad face into a happy face, on his own.

Joke is depressed, and for so long, because of that, he believed that he couldn't be a source of happiness. Yet on this journey, he has brought happiness to his friends, grandma, and countless people along the way, so here he is, not only giving his color to Toi Ting and Jack, but also his happiness.

Jack has never wanted to see Joke's sad face, which is why he gave Joke his happiness.

And now that Joke is realizing that he is happiness, hopefully Jack never will.

But they'll have to fight for it first.

[joyouslee]

Fangs of Fortune - re death and atonement

spoilers through finale

I am severely allergic to the idea of death as atonement that I see in so many dramas, whether Western or Asian. I'm looking at you, Dashing Youth (suicide to no purpose is the very worst), and at you, Shang Chi (dammit I wanted badly to see Tony Leung trying his best to atone by being a better dad - I wanted so many of those awkward and terrible family dinners and him trying to figure out how to support his kids in their divergent ambitions). And there are so many more.

So I thought I would hate Li Lun's death because he explicitly states that he (and WZY) has done too many bad things to live when he goes for his suicidal stand. But even though I flinched when he said that (and I really didn't like that statement, because I don't think that fits his character - I don't think he thinks what he did as wrong, except that he was tricked by WZY to do something that would harm the Wilderness), I ultimately think it was a thoughtful choice of ending, and not the reflexive let's have the person who did bad acts die to atone for them.

I think it comes down to the framing, because just prior to this was the standoff over Bai Jiu, and Li Lun chose to live, chose to go into the root so he could cultivate a new body and eventually live again. So he had the opportunity to live even though he'd done terrible things. And he could've stayed safely in the cave, but once he knew ZYZ was in danger, he chose to risk himself to save him. Not in atonement - because he would've otherwise been willing and eager to live - but because of love. And that makes a difference to me - so many of the other antiheroes that die to atone don't ever choose the possibility of living; it seems like they go for the suicidal option first.

(a digression: I swear, ZYZ must be carrying one of Li Lun's leaves, because otherwise how did Li Lun know he was in danger and how did he know where he was? These two are so codependent. As proof: otherwise how would Li Lun have the memories of what happened after he got sealed? ZYZ picked up that leaf after Li Lun was sealed, and I bet he's carried it with him since.)

It's the same with ZYZ - at the beginning of the drama he wanted to die to atone for the massacre, to die because he was so exhausted and depressed by his life. But he grew to love and to want to live, and it was so hard at the end to choose to die to save the world. He had to force himself to do it. But he chose it out of love, and he would have chosen any route to live if there had been any other choice.

And that is what makes this so different for me from the other atonement by death examples.

[trippinsorrows]

Can we get a dreamland Christmas short?

roman and solana are sitting on the sofa with aubriela laying on her daddy's chest, solana gently running her fingers down her sleeping baby girl's back.

"she reminds me of leya and aroha," solana comments, smile soft. "quiet."

roman chuckles. "let's hope she stays that way."

mischievous eyes lift to him. "in this house? never."

roman gives a small smile and chuckle, refocusing on his baby's girl face as she sleeps away, peacefully, comfortably, safe.

"dad."

roman lifts his head and is a bit startled by the sight of literally all his children. right away, he's suspicious.

"what have ya'll done now?" beside him, solana makes a sound. oh well, he knows when they all congregate together, it's usually for a mass apology.

or request.

aroha, surprisingly, is the one to answer. "nothing, daddy!" she lifts her little arms with all of the excitement. "it's time to put up christmas decorations!"

that takes him back at first, though it shouldn't. the day after thanksgiving has always been the day they start decorating for the kids favorite holiday.

but, this year is a little different. at least, it will be.

"ya'll don't need me to help you," he shares, motioning to the older kids. "tama, lina, and leya, ya'll take charge."

a round of protest sounds, koa pointing out, "but dad, you always help us."

roman sighs. "i'm getting too old for all that. besides, there's enough of ya'll where you can handle it yourselves."

"but not too old to make another baby?" tama's murmured comment earns a hard glare from his dad. he clears his throat. "i'm just saying, dad, you know they don't listen to us." he motions to his younger siblings, specifically koa and kai. "especially these two. remember what happened last year?"

kai is the one to defend himself and his twin. "we gave them back access, okay!"

roman sighs, "boys, no hacking the neighbors internet."

koa's smart ass corrects his father. "it wasn't their internet. it was their electric grids."

solana chimes in, "well, whatever it was, don't do it. again." she then turns her focus to her husband. "baby, you know they love decorating with you." he looks over at her. "it's tradition."

roman is quiet for a few moments. she's right. for as far back as he can remember, starting with lina and leya's first christmas, he went against his usual grinch approach to the holidays. solana handled decorating inside, and he did outside. and as the girls got older, they started to help him. something all the kids have done over the years.

and regardless of their ages and ability to work together to take over the task, he can see it's important to them.

carefully passing a still sleeping aubriela over to solana, he kisses the top of her head and solana's temple before standing up.

"let's get started." a round of excitement as aroha runs over to him, hugging his legs, peering up with the biggest smile ever.

"thank you, daddy!"

he gives a small smile, quietly enjoying being able to make her happy. to make them all happy.

he then informs tama and lina, "ya'll are getting on that ladder though. not me."

leya then asks, coming up beside him, holding onto his arm, "can we go out for pizza afterwards?"

at the idea of going out to eat, the younger kids cheer, "yeah, dad! please!"

roman looks over at a smiling solana. "it's up to your mom."

aroha runs over to solana, climbing on the sofa, "please, mommy? can we go?"

solana chuckles, looking down at a now stirring aubriela. at four months, her outings have been pretty limited to family. she's now at an age where she can be out in public and them not have any concerns for her health. especially since she already knows that her husband will have the pizza parlor cleared out.

smirking, she finally answers, "better get started, so we can leave."

[smiley-mcdoggington]

"Pines." A voice barked. "Up."

Ford dragged himself off the bench on numb legs. He didn't dignify the officer with a glance while he rolled open the cell door, brushing past them just slow enough they could keep up.

His brother stood at the front desk of the precinct, looking about as sour as usual. "Ford, what the hell." He said, like he'd said a dozen times before.

Ford rolled his eyes. "She was the one that stole from me. I appreciate my visits here about as much as you do."

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just get in the fucking car, Six." He said, and Ford strolled out of the building to the old El Diablo while his twin asked more about his charges.

When Stanley finally got out, he had some papers in his hand and a scowl on his face. He got into the passanger seat and threw the papers on the dash. "You wanna know how much you cost this time? Twenty fucking grand, Stanford! What kind of horseshit are you pulling here?"

Ford started his car without a word.

"What the hell did she even steal from you? I coulda replaced it, woulda taken less than your lawyer I'll tell you that."

"She took my batteries, Stan, what was I supposed to do? The government won't give me a patent for the damn things, she could have sold my work."

"You damn near killed her, Ford! You know if you need money I can--"

"It's not about money, Stanley! You wouldn't get it!"

"Oh alright asshole, you're right I don't get why you assaulted a college kid in her apartment for stealing your batteries because it was fucking stupid!"

Ford pulled over into a curb. "Well you'd know all about stupidity, wouldn't you Stanley?!"

"That's it! This is the last time I'm bailing you out, Ford! I'm sick of fighting Carla for you, I'm sick of risking my career for you, I'm sick of paying for defense lawyers for you, I'm sick of--" Ford grabbed him by the front of his sleezy button-down and pressed their lips together.

Stan's hand trying to push him off relaxed after a moment, before grabbing a handful of Ford's coat and pulling him closer. The stick shift dug into Ford's stomach, he didn't care, reaching over to tangle his fingers in Stan's hair.

Ford pulled away, Stan almost followed him. "You need a haircut." Ford muttered.

"I like it." Stan said, barely paying attention, eyes pointed downward shamelessly.

Ford hummed, leaning forward to put his chin on Stan's shoulder. "Suppose it would make a good handle." He mumbled in his twin's ear, tugging a little for emphasis. Stan grunted. Ford ran his other hand up Stan's thigh. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Just letting yourself be pulled around, right to where I want you." He slipped his thumb under Stan's pants, just too far away to touch. "That's why you always come back, isn't it? You want me to grab you by the hair like a mutt, take the choices away from you."

Stan swallowed his saliva, close enough for Ford to hear.

"You want me, Stanley?" He tightened his grip on his hair. "You want to be good?" Stan made a low rumble of a noise at that. Ford leaned back, and Stan leaned forward until it was Stan with the stick shift digging into him - it might have slid out of park to give Stanley room, it was probably fine.

Ford used his grip on Stan's hair to shove his face into the crotch of his old jeans. Stan froze for a second before reaching his hands up. Ford swatted them. "No." He said, and Stan's hands returned to half-propping himself up.

Stan looked up at him, confused.

"Just your mouth."

Stan immediately got the zipper between his teeth and pulled it down. The broken button didn't last a second without his fly up, and Stanley looked like he was about to say something about the state of his clothes. Ford gripped Stan's hair tighter and pulled himself out, shoving the tip in his mouth.

Stan's jaw immediately went slack. He looked up at Ford with anticipation.

Ford shoved him the rest of the way down - rutting into his face until his chest started seizing trying to inhale, before dragging him up and back down again with half a breath to sustain himself. "Good. God, Stanley, that's good. So good for me."

Stanley made a short whine in the back of his throat, his own hips rutting into nothing but air. Spit leaked down the corner of his mouth, his eyes struggling to stay looking up at Ford.

"Disgusting." Ford murmured. "You wanna come, don't you, baby?" He asked, before pulling him off for a breath.

"Ye-yeah. Stanford--" Ford pulled him back down.

"Just a little longer, I'm almost done." Ford said while Stanley's eyes watered.

Ford set a fast pace that left Stanley struggling to cough, but then he twisted his hand in Stan's hair and Stan's moan sent him over the edge, riding himself out in the back of Stan's throat before pulling him off and up.

Stan looked dazed, like he barely knew where he was. Ford dragged him forward into a kiss while a hand reached down to pull him out, jerking him quick and dry while Stan groaned into his mouth. Stan came after only a few seconds, staining that awful button-down and leaving him holding onto Ford's shoulders for dear life while he shuttered.

Ford let Stan breathe for a second.

"You gotta stop doing this, Six..." Stan panted after a minute or two.

Ford hummed. "You seemed to enjoy yourself."

"Not this part."

"But you'll take care of it, won't you? The charges?"

"Yeah, yeah." Stan's voice was wrecked. "I gotcha, Sixer."

"Good."

[honeyscara]

•Chuuya Nakahara• bsd

| Stormbringer | includes spoilers

Synopsis: you comforting chuuya after the police officer was killed.

Content: fluff, gender neutral reader

~You're a reason why~

You were standing with Adam and Shirase, staring at Chuuya who was sitting on top of a very tall building.

Minutes ago, his older brother, Verlaine had killed murase, a detective in front of Chuuya. Chuuya was still in shock. His brain had short-circuited at the sight of his brother killing so many people so dear to him. He blamed himself because of what Verlaine did but he couldn’t do anything.

He felt so guilty. He couldn't save them. His mind kept replaying the same images over and over again. Lippmann's dead body falling from the car, albatross, iceman, piano man, and Doc's bodies in the pool hall where they met for the first time and the officer who was killed in front of him.

You couldn't just stand there. You had to talk to Chuuya. So you used your ability to reach the top of the building where Chuuya was.

"wait where are you going?!" you heard Adam yell but you ignored him.

Once you reached the top of the building you walked over to where Chuuya was sitting. He was sitting on the edge with his head in his hands and his feet were dangling off the side of the building. You sat next to him and placed your hand on his shoulder.

"oh..it's you" He looked up, surprised to see you there. You noticed tears in his eyes and that made you feel terrible.

"It's not your fault chuuya.." you said softly.

He didn't reply back and just looked down at the city below. You've never seen him cry before. He always acted like nothing bothered him but deep down it did. He was just a kid, like you. You felt terrible for him. He shouldn't be blaming himself because of what happened. It's not his fault. It's Verlaine's.

You took his hands in yours and held it tightly. "everything's gonna be okay."

"w-why?" he questioned, still looking down, his voice soft and vulnerable.

"W-Why did they have to die.." his voice cracked as he tried to remain composed in front of you.

"shh it's okay you can cry..just let it all out" You said softly, rubbing circles with your thumbs on his hands. He looked up at you, tears rolling freely down his cheeks now.

Suddenly he hugged you. You gasped in surprise at the sudden closeness but hugged him back. Tears began flowing freely again, staining your shirt. He gripped onto your shirt and you embraced him tightly and patted his back.

"It's okay I'm here" You comforted him while he cried.

After a few minutes, he stopped crying and pulled away from you. He averted his gaze from you feeling embarrassed.

"I won't tell anyone about this" You smiled and reassured him.

"look here," you said wiping his tears away with your thumb. A red blush dusted his cheeks at this action, and he blushed furiously.

"I don't want Verlaine to kill you too," he said in a shaky voice.

"Huh?" You were confused.

"He said he would kill anyone that would give me a reason to stay in Yokohama ....and you're one of the reasons why..." he said quietly while fidgeting with his fingers.

"what do you mean?" You asked innocently.

"It means I like you, idiot," he said exasperatedly. Then he turned away to hide his face which was bright red.

Your heart fluttered at his sudden confession. Your mind went blank for a moment. Did he say it or were you imagining it?

"oh... I-" you were still processing what he'd just said when he leaned in and kissed you.

When he pulled away you were still in a daze. You didn't know how to react to what he had just done. When you finally snapped out of your daze, he was looking at you, waiting for your response. The look in his eyes was so gentle and genuine.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't.." he began

You pecked him on the lips and smiled softly at him. "don't apologize next time"

His face lit up and his lips curved upwards into a smile. Suddenly, the two of you heard a loud voice coming from behind. You both froze at the sound and looked behind to see Adam.

"Master Chuuya finally confessed!!!" Adam yelled, clearly excited.

"What the hell man, Give me some privacy and stop calling me that!!" he shouted and tried to cover his burning face but Adam was already grinning at him and taking pictures. Chuuya glared at him while his face turned pink.

Chuuya was still embarrassed being caught by Adam but you were smiling brightly and laughing softly.

"if you two are done can we go back to discussing our plan about killing Verlaine?" another person said from behind Adam. It was shirase.

"why the hell are you here too?!" chuuya yelled

I had to write one stormbringer fic cause chuuya went through a lot. I just wished he had someone on whom he could rely and show his true emotions.

I might write a full length fic of this too. I had started one but I'm currently writing a lot so that's on hold.

[justanothersanjilover]

One Piece Modern Gym AU Wip (Part 20)

After they went through the whole aquarium twice, Zoro’s stomach started to grumble. Sanji looked at him almost angry.

“Why didn't you say that you’re hungry?”

“I’m not that hungry, Curly.”

“I can hear that!”

Sanji took his hand and dragged him behind toward the restaurant at the top of the aquarium.

“Seriously, I’m not that hungry. We can go another round if you want.”

“No! Your stomach grumbled, so you are hungry and I won't let anyone I know and care about walk around like that!”

Zoro shut his mouth and stared at the back of Sanji’s head. He knew that reaction and he instantly felt bad for him.

“Sorry…”

“What?” Sanji turned slightly but didn't stop walking.

“I said sorry. Next time, I’ll tell you. I didn't want to make you mad or something.”

Sanji looked at him as if he had seen a ghost. Then his gaze softened and he shook his head.

“I’m not mad…I…just don't like it when someone is starving, that’s all.”

Zoro nodded, brushing his thumb over Sanji’s hand. He wanted to ask, wanted to know why Sanji was reacting like that. Part of him already knew…or at least had an idea why. Starving…actually starving was horrible. He went a few days without food when he was a kid and it was the worst! But this was neither the time nor the place to ask such a question and so he dropped it - or rather put it in the box with the other questions he wanted to ask but didn't dare yet.

Shortly after this little conversation, they reached the lift but it was out of order. Sanji cursed and kicked against the wall.

“You good?” Zoro asked, watching him.

“Yeah…I just hoped we could take the lift and don’t have to walk up the stairs. The elevator is made of glass and you can see some of the aquariums through it and on the other side you can watch the city. It’s really cool…”

Zoro smiled at him because Sanji almost looked like a pouting kid.

“Maybe next time?” He asked and watched Sanji’s face light up.

“Next time? So…you want to go on a date again?”

Zoro chuckled, brushing a hand through Sanji’s hair as he walked over to the stairs.

“Wasn’t that obvious?”

“N…not for me.”

„You think I would still be here if I didn’t like our date so far?“

Sanji scratched the back of his neck.

„Guess not…“

Zoro opened the door to the stairs.

„Let‘s get some food, Cook.“

It took them the better half of twenty minutes to walk all the way up to the restaurant. Sanji picked a seat at a table in front of the big window wall. A waitress came over immediately and handed them menus. The woman was clearly drawn toward Zoro, smiling and trying to flirt with him. Sanji raised an eyebrow - either Zoro was that oblivious or he simply ignored her advances. It was quite funny so see. Sanji had to hold back his own flirting with the woman - he was on a date with a handsome man, he couldn't flirt even if he really, really wanted to!

“She’s nice,” Zoro said when the waitress finally walked away to give them time to look at the menu.

Sanji snorted and shook his head.

“So you are that oblivious.”

“Huh?”

Zoro looked a bit puzzled.

“She was full on flirting with you, mossbrain.”

“She wasn't…”

“Yes! She was! Oh my god, you really didn't notice?”

Zoro made a noise that could have meant anything and raised his shoulders. He glanced at the menu and then at Sanji, before placing it down.

“Do you already know what you want?” Sanji asked surprised.

“No.”

Confused, Sanji raised an eyebrow again.

“So…what? You're not eating? Did this make you uncomfortable? Should we got somewhere different?”

“Calm down, Curly. I just want to see what you eat and if I would like that, too. I’m not good at picking food in places I wasn't before.”

“Why didn't you say something? We could have gone somewhere you know!”

Sanji wanted to punch himself and Zoro at that moment. Why didn't he say something? And why didn't he think about that? Zoro mentioned something like this a while ago, so he should have remembered.

“I can see the panic filling your head. It’s fine.”

“I mean…I could order for you, if you want. I know your preferences and taste...We talked a lot about it at the gym.”

Zoro looked a bit surprised, but then smiled wide and nodded. Sanji sent him a quick smile as well and looked over the menu. He knew how much Zoro could eat, so he chose more than one meal - sort of a three-course meal.

They started with fish soup with a wide variety of fish in it, followed by fried rice with pork, eggs, vegetables, and a salad. Sanji also ordered a variety of Sushi, because he knew Zoro loved it but didn't eat it often (he had told him once at the gym) and topped it off with a big fruity ice cream for Sanji and a piece of delicious coffee cake for Zoro. Sanji also ordered wine to go with the food. Zoro hesitated for a moment, but then drank one glass to make Sanji smile. One was okay; he could handle more without feeling the need to drown himself in liquor again.

The meal was great, they chatted for what felt like hours. Sanji had a great time and so did Zoro. When it was time for the check, Zoro tried to insist that he would pay. But Sanji was having none of it!

“The hell I let you pay, Mossbrain! Firstly we agreed that I pay for the foot. Secondly I would have chosen different meals if you would pay.”

“Why” Zoro raised an eyebrow.

“Because those where expensive and I don't want you to pay so much money because I chose the meal.”

“If it's that expensive, then let's split the bill at least.”

Sanji shook his head and got his wallet out. He wouldn't allow Zoro to spend his hard-earned money on food he didn't even choose himself. Sanji had wanted to be a bit fancy and to spoil Zoro for the great day, so he didn't hold back. It didn't even hurt his bank account to spend this much money, it wasn't his own in the beginning.

He waved Zoro off as he tried to give him money while he paid their food and gave the lovely waitress a generous tip. A winning smile on his face when Zoro carved in and put the money away.

“You know I come to think you let me win the argument earlier to pay for the tickets, because you knew the food would be expensive,” Zoro muttered when the stepped out of the aquarium.

“I wouldn't do that, Mosshead. You won the argument fair and square.”

Sanji grinned at him, his hands innocently crossed behind his back. Zoro scoffed with an eye roll.

“Yeah, you would never do that.”

They both laughed. Encouraged by their laughter and the feeling of being save and accepted, Sanji hugged Zoro.

“Thank you,” he mumbled against his ear.

Zoro didn't move at first, and Sanji thought it was too much. Maybe he didn't want to be hugged? Maybe he didn't want to be seen like this in public? But as Sanji loosened his hug to step away, Zoro’s arms came up to hold him tight.

“You don't have to thank me for today, Curly.”

“Yes, I have! It was such a wonderful day. I haven't had that much fun in a very long time.”

Zoro felt his heart clench from Sanji’s words. They were just at the aquarium! Yes, it was great and they had fun - it was a perfect and lovely first date - but what was Sanji doing all this time if this made him say such things?

“Then we should do this more often.” Zoro pushed him away a bit, to look him in the eyes with a smile.

“You would listen to me talk about the same fish, spilling the same facts about them again?” Sanji grinned, but his eyes were full of disbelief.

“All the time.”

And now Zoro acted simply because he got encouraged by the moment. He grabbed Sanji’s face carefully, feeling him stiffen a bit. A smile played on his lips as he pressed them against Sanji’s forehead for a second. He hadn't forgotten his words, that he wasn't ready to kiss him. But he felt the need to show Sanji how much he liked him and forehead kisses were always nice, right? At least he hoped so…

“Was that okay? I’m sorry if not…I got a little overwhelmed…” Zoro asked when Sanji didn't say something - his guts seemed to form a knot because he feared he’d fucked up.

Finally Sanji smiled up at him and his guts unwind with relief.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Great actually. I like forehead kisses.”

Zoro smiled back while they slowly let go of each other.

“Now I have to find my bike again,” he said, scratching his head.

“I totally forgot about that! You can't drive!” Sanji said loudly, grabbing his shoulder.

A bit confused, Zoro looked over to him.

“Why not?”

“Because,” and now he practically shoved a scolding finger against Zoro’s cheek. “You had three glasses of wine. I’m not letting you drive around on a bike with that much alcohol in your system. It’s dangerous enough to drive a bike completely sober.”

Zoro laughed while mentally counting the glasses. Yeah, three were right. That was fine. Five or six, and he would rip his own ass off. But three?

“My alcohol tolerance is a lot higher than that, believe me.”

And those words seemed to flip a switch inside Sanji’s head. He clasped a hand over his mouth while looking like he’d seen a ghost.

“Oh fuck,” came the muffled curse.

“What?”

“I forgot! Fuck…I’m so sorry! I completely forgot you don't drink! Why didn't you say something? You should have…”

“It’s fine.” Zoro dismissed his words with a wave of his hand.

“It’s not! You need to tell me when I forget about things like this! Do you need something? Like…I don't know…like…”

Zoro could see the panic flooding Sanji’s brain in that moment.

“Curls…”

Zoro grabbed Sanji’s shoulders to force him to snap out of his rant and look at him.

“It’s fine. I can handle that much, okay? I would have told you if I wasn't one hundred percent sure I could handle it. It’s not your responsibility to watch out for what I drink. I need to stop myself if I’m feeling like it gets too much.”

Sanji shook his head slightly and Zoro braced himself for an argument, but all he did was grab his hands and look him in the eye.

“I still need you to tell me when I forget about things like this. I don't want to push your limits or for you to push them just to ease my mind, okay? Can we agree on that?”

“Sure. But then I need something from you, too.”

Sanji raised an eyebrow.

“And what would that be?”

“Another hug,” Zoro grinned.

Sanji rolled his eyes and hugged him tight. After some time, Zoro felt him poking his side and squirmed a bit - he was ticklish there.

“I hope you realize I won’t let you drive either way.”

Prev/next

First part

[magiclwritings]

Isaac closed his eyes and just let everything happen. He let Apollo pull him to him and try to console him. He stood quietly and listened to the sweet words that came out of his mouth again. Because this wasn't the first time this sort of conversation had been had. And at this rate, it surely wasn't to be the last. He'd made his peace with that. For whatever reason, with Apollo came Cassio and by extension, Oliver. The last of them being his particular favorite at that moment. He was at least doing something productive. Like keeping the pair of them the hell away from one another. He slowly breathed in and allowed parts of himself to relax and mold in against Apollo. Whatever that was, was going to have to wait. There was still a child that called priority over all.

"I don' wan' ya ta teach me." He said after a few moments, blinking back the sting of a few tears that wished to be released from the well. Isaac sniffled them back and moved to pat Apollo on his back gently, smoothing over the fabric of his shirt. There'd been a time or two he'd wished he was more like his kind and didn't care all that much about free will. It certainly would have made his life easier, especially after meeting this particular Maddox sibling. "I wan' for once ta jus' figure somethin' ou' wi'h jus' us. I ge' tha' maybe this is a bi' differen'." He paused, pulling back to look at him just then. He did his very best to keep his features neutral because like it or not, there was still company that was more than likely able to hear some of what was being said. "Sometimes i' feels li'e there's no' jus' two of us in this."

Before he could really feel the weight of what he said, Isaac pulled from Apollo's arms and moved to the sink. He flipped the tap on, cupping his hands underneath to splash some water on his face. He stood hunched over the sink and drummed his fingers along the basin. "Maybe you should ha'e called ya sista." His head craned around and tried to ignore the look on Apollo's face. If they were going to have a house full then so be it. "'f he recognized the two o' them then I'd be willin' ta bet he migh' her too." He shrugged and folded his arms over his chest. "Maybe she can fin' his mum o' someone tha' migh' know mo'e than we can fin'."

_______________________

Cassio stood back with his shoulder pressed against the door frame watching Oliver with the boy. He hadn't expected to care so much about a child he knew nothing about but to see Oliver with him, well. He heard the voices coming from the kitchen and stepped inside to stand just behind one of the armchairs as he surveyed the pair of them closer. He clearly didn't understand what the problem was between him and Isaac. Cass had never advanced on Apollo in their time together and they hadn't for some time before that. Especially not when Oliver had come into his life. Jealousy was one thing but whatever that was, Isaac was the only one feeling it. He'd thought to ask Apollo but he also didn't want to put him in an awkward position. Leave it to him to find a male veela that not only didn't have a colony but one with a very nasty disposition when it came to his lover. Naturally.

The blond shook his head and came to join the pair on the floor. "Yeah, his birthday was pretty fun." He chimed in, reaching out to take one of the weird and colorful contraptions Oliver had bought for him. He smiled at how crazy it looked back attempted to make it do ... something. He was really trying to understand where this kid could have come from. The way he spoke about them sounded almost like he'd taken memories from them directly. He sighed and finally gave up on the toy he'd had which made the little boy laugh. He really liked that. How innocent this boy was. It made him want to protect him, if for no other reason than he could understand that vulnerability.

But he also wanted to test that theory. He had a memory of just Apollo and himself that was hold enough and insignificant enough to not totally throw Oliver off but Apollo's worry was getting the better of him. Maybe that's why he hates me. "I was thinking about asking your dad if he wanted to go back to that one spring we found out at your grandparent's house." He smiled and moved to take another toy, this one was a bit more managable. The little boy looked at him and he sighed so loudly just to be dramatic. "The one way out past the garden. The one your aunt really, really loves." He smiled and leaned in to nudge him gently. "I'll ask him if we can take you again. I won't throw you in like that again. I promise."

“I’m not mad, just so you know,” Oliver whispered to Cassio as they made their way out of the kitchen and toward the living room. He tugged on the blonde’s sleeve, stopping him in the hallway before the living room. Oliver wrapped his arms around Cass’ waist, pulling his boyfriend into a hug. “The history between you guys doesn’t bother me. I just saw the look on Isaac’s face, and I felt bad.” They all knew Cassio walked on eggshells around Isaac. Oliver thought it would get better when they weren’t all at uni together, but then Cassio and Apollo started a business together, and nothing changed. He thought about asking Cass what Apollo had said, but he knew better. He knew there was a good reason if his boyfriend kept things from him. He leaned forward, placing a light kiss on the corner of Cassio’s mouth, slipping his hand in his and lacing their fingers together. He had forgiven Cassio for his secrets back when they were in school, but he didn’t forget about them either. 

He pulled Cassio into the living room and stopped in the doorway. The bags he had brought for Theodore had exploded everywhere. Every toy box had been ripped to shreds, and the toddler sat in the middle of all the chaos, playing with a toy train happily. At the sound of their steps, the little boy turned, flashing them the wildest and brightest smile he had ever seen. “Uncle Ollie!! Uncle Cassie, come play with me.” 

Oliver pulled Cassio to the center of the room. He sat down next to Theodore and picked up the blue train. Oliver wheeled it around in a circle and then pretended to crash into the red one Theodore was playing with. “Theodore,” he said gently, “I’m so happy to see you again. Remind me, when was the last time we got to hang out? I feel like it’s been forever.” 

Theodore chewed on his bottom lip, mulling it over in his mind. “Mmm, dad’s birfday, I think,” he said, seemingly satisfied with that answer because he went back to playing with his train. 

“What did we do for his birthday?” he asked, shooting a quick glance at Cassio because they both knew what they had done. They had thrown a surprise party for Apollo because the man had refused to do anything celebratory, and Oliver loved to press his buttons. 

“The prize party,” Theodore replied, that wild, feral grin on his face. “He was big mad.” They had broken into their home before Apollo came home with Isaac’s blessing, so it wasn’t breaking in. When Apollo walked in, he looked at them, shook his head, and pouted in his bedroom. Maybe he pouted, but that was unconfirmed, and he didn’t come back down until Isaac went and got him. He remembered the night quite well but knew Theodore hadn’t been there. Yet he had details of the day as if he was. How? When Apollo’s almost-wife was never there, 

Theodore played mindlessly, and Oliver turned to look at Cassio.

_______________

Not many things intimidated Apollo for his entire life; intimidation had been used against him to keep him in line. Eventually, it stopped working. But the look on Isaac’s face was enough to bring it all back to the front. Apollo felt like a little boy standing before him with his hand in the cookie jar. For a moment, he wondered if this would be enough for Isaac to leave him. If this were the last misstep, he would have freely given Apollo. He moved towards Isaac before stopping himself; his lips pressed into a thin line as he stood in front of his boyfriend.

“Isaac,” He started, wringing his hands together before he shook his head and moved to his boyfriend. “Baby, listen to me.” Apollo cradled the man’s face in his hands, brushing his curls away from his face. He held Isaac’s glare confidently, unwaveringly. “I had panic attacks growing up. Cassio taught me Russian to help quiet my mind when everything got overwhelming. It makes me stop and think. It’s a distraction.” It was not technically a lie because that was how it started until they realized it gave them a way to communicate together without prying ears. He brushed his thumb across Isaac’s cheekbone. “It’s not secrets; it wasn’t even directed at him. I was just commenting. He didn’t even say anything back to me. I just was too in my head, and saw him and slipped into it like I was 14 years old again.”

He pulled Isaac to him, wrapping his arms around his neck and molding his body against his boyfriend’s, waiting for him to return the hug. Stubborn, Apollo thought, but he hadn’t pushed him away yet. “I’ll teach you,” He whispered, soothingly brushing his fingers along Isaac’s neck. “If you want, you can know what is being said so you don’t ever feel left out again.” He propped his chin on Isaac’s shoulder, looking up at his stoic boyfriend. “I didn’t call him for help, Isaac,” Apollo spoke softly, “I called you. You say the word, and I'll kick them both out, and we can figure this out ourselves."