#anyway he knows know and I’m so happy for him and Tommy <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[theotherbuckley]

Another reason Buck just thought he was a really good Ally is that Eddie literally took him on a whole ass romantic date but like as friends so how was he supposed to know.

[tojisun]

the apple that rolled over to the tree

!! fluff; f!reader; parenthood!!; simon-centric hehe >:3 // divider by @/plutism!

there is a… kid attached to your hip when simon returns home from a mission, his exhausted body stumbling into the kitchen where he finds you and it.

“what—”

he can’t even fathom the emotion coursing through him at the moment, what with shock triumphing over everything. still, you’d probably need to give him credit for not losing his goddamn mind at seeing a whole child — he couldn’t have been more than two years old with how he’s only three apples tall — clinging to you like a baby koala.

“oh my god, you’re back!” you squeal, unfazed at how dumbfounded your fiance has become, before shuffling close to embrace him.

simon reciprocates the hug anyway.

you step back, your lips still wobbling in your tears as you stare up at him, all awed like you couldn’t believe that he was back and simon wishes he can press his promises to your lips because he will always find a way to come back, he swears on his life, but also—

the child.

“sweetheart?” he begins, soft as to not spook you or the kid. “who’s, uh, who’s that?”

the child shifts, turning his little face from where it was burrowed onto your neck at the sound of simon’s voice. he rests his head on your clavicle, smooshing his already chubby cheek, before the biggest brown eyes that simon’s ever seen stare up at him, all doe-eyed and jarringly innocent, and simon, he—

well, not even babysitting tommy’s kids prepared him for this.

“this is yasha,” you murmur, pulling simon’s attention back to you. “or yakov, or james if he would want an english name.”

the boy reacts to you calling his name, and simon watches as those curious eyes tip up at you in question. you swipe your finger over his nose, the little thing scrunching up at the ticklish feeling, and simon becomes breathless at seeing the unadulterated joy in your face.

it is all parts soft and tender, but also anxious and worried, and simon begins to puzzle out the pieces.

“he’s my foster child. or ours, i guess, now that you’re here.” your voice is so fragile as you reply to him, your hand now beginning to rub soothing nothings on the boy’s back. simon wonders if it’s more to calm yourself down than it is to comfort the boy.

your lips purse, hesitating, and simon waits because while he he’s pieced out what you want to ask, he knows that this is something you would want to truly talk to him about. it is something he knows you have mustered up the courage to bring up so he gives it to you, open and ready, and he hopes that his face and his gait show that whatever it is you would want to say, simon will always support you no matter what.

“si?” you begin, looking heart-wrenchingly small in your worry. “i think i wanna adopt him.”

simon hums, stepping close but also being careful not to crowd yasha, before he curls his arms around you two — his family — and nuzzles his face on your other shoulder. “i’d love that.”

he offers you a smile, and squeezes your arm in comfort, then he watches as the tears come, easily springing up from your eyes. yasha startles, whirling to look up at his mother in worry. simon’s throat constricts at the thought of you being a mother and him, a father; how, now, there is someone else for simon to come home to. someone to fight for.

jesus. he’d need to tell the lads and maybe get wasted as a celebration.

“owies?” yasha asks, chubby fist balling your shirt.

“they’re happy tears, sweetie pie,” you reply, crooning. “i’m just so, so happy.”

yasha hums, nodding, probably already distracted, and simon takes that time to straighten back up. he pushes your hair away from your face, before he pitches forward to press a kiss on your forehead.

yeah, he’s happy too.

.

yasha gets spoiled, not that simon’s complaining given that he’s been the one doing all the spoiling.

“really, si? a new toly?” you ask, arms crossed over your chest in your exasperation.

toly or anatoly, or tory because yasha still can’t speak properly, is the name that yasha gave to all of his new stuffed toys. it all started with a dog plush that simon bought from the supermarket on a whim and gave to the boy. it was laughably quick how yasha had abandoned his blocks to make grabby hands to the toy, before squealing out that name.

the next stuffed toy that yasha received, which was just the softest and roundest penguin plush toy that simon’s ever seen, was also named toly. so was that teddy bear you bought for him. or that reindeer he got for christmas. somehow, every single one had been named toly.

the only thing you and simon can find about toly was that anatoly means sunrise. simon was so sure it was the russian word for animal, because why else would yasha repeat it, but who would have thought that their little fish is so imaginative?

like, of course he’s going to name all of his toys toly because they are as warm as sunrises. see? smart kid.

but this one, this new toly, set off world records. it was a camel plush that simon saw at the airport when he was out, pretending to be a civilian.

(garrick had been assigned with him for that mission, and was quick to spot and mention simon’s on-duty purchase.

“it’s for my boy,” he grunted in reply, forgetting the fact that he’s yet to truly break the news to his squad. garrick had never looked as surprised, and next thing simon knew, the news made its way to their group chat.

price was amiable about the whole thing. mactavish? not so much.

he just about begged to see a picture of yasha — “and yer girl again, if you wouldn’t mind.” — or even visit him. then he invited garrick to come and price invited himself too, so now the guys are going to swing by some time soon.)

when simon gave it to yasha, their boy had stared at it for a solid minute — simon counted — before screaming and then running to snatch the toy from simon’s hold. he hugged the camel close to his person, his little head nuzzling against the plush face of the camel, all the while absolutely vibrating in unabashed excitement.

he picked up thundering footsteps and turned around just enough to see you literally slide into the room. yasha continued to hug the camel, ignorant of the distress he caused, while you looked on in your panic, buzzing with worry because you just heard your boy scream, damn it!

“he’s fine, bub,” simon said before you could ask, and he watched as you came down from your frenzy, your breathing slowing down at the rationalization that if simon was not panicked, then everything’s alright.

then, your eyes landed on the new stuff toy.

“really?” you asked.

in his defence, yasha adores camel-toly.

in your defence, yasha’s room is running out of space for his tolys.

…well, simon does have all that military money. gonna have to spend it on something else, right?

.

[charlie foxtrot]

sriley: link

john2: ????

sriley: new address.

garry: oh? congratulations.

sriley: thanks.

johnp: 👍

.

yasha was shy when saying hi to price, then outright cried when he saw mactavish, which made simon bark out loud in laughter. yasha only stopped sniffling when he saw kyle. in no time, yasha absolutely adored garrick to the point that he would not even let him go.

dinner was prepared and while you called them all to eat, simon ambled out of the kitchen, where he had been helping you, and walked towards kyle and yasha to pick up his son and seat him on his high chair. but yasha had only looked at him, his head tilted in question, before ignoring simon and clinging onto kyle.

hell, he had even let go of camel-toly so that he could use two chubby fists to hold onto kyle. surprised, simon didn’t even know how to react and watched as his sergeant offered him an apologetic smile before carrying his son to the dining room. kyle rounded the table and sat yasha on his high chair, only, yasha made a scene when kyle did so, and he released a lungful of screams and cries, breaking everyone’s eardrums and their hearts.

kyle stood there, worried and confused, and hovered because he did not know what to do. hell, none of them did, and then you walked out of the kitchen, rushing to yasha, and hummed songs to comfort your son.

you crooned when he made grabby hands to be picked up and you did so with no hesitation, your touch soothing the boy into quiet sniffles. but even then, yasha wouldn’t settle down as he wriggled in your arms, short limbs reaching for—

simon glowered.

yasha was reaching for kyle. you were quick to giggle, asking kyle if it was alright that yasha would eat with him, and simon had glared at his sergeant, daring him to deny their son of anything, before reluctantly nodding his approval at kyle’s happy trill of, “of course, ma’am!”

yasha had finally calmed down when you sat him on kyle’s lap, and his boy was even polite enough to actually eat his soft veggies every time kyle beckoned him to open his mouth for a new spoonful.

simon did not startle, but it was close, when your hand landed on his thigh.

“you okay, baby?” you asked, eyes furrowed in your worry.

“yeah,” he remembers replying with, his throat all choked-up because he knows yasha must be excited to have new people to play with, but still, there was something that stung when his boy chose garrick over him.

not that it was kyle’s fault because he is a dear for even doing all that he did for yasha, but simon had hoped that he would always be yasha’s favourite.

too lost in his thoughts, simon had almost missed yasha’s call.

“-ddy? daddy?” yasha asked, startling simon.

it was not the first time yasha called him that, but every time he did, it never fails to make simon melt.

“yeah? what’s up, buddy?”

simon pretended that no one was watching the interaction.

yasha giggled, hiding his food-smeared lips behind his little palms, before turning to use garrick’s front to hide from simon. you snorted, murmuring to kyle how you swear you would wash his shirt before they go, but it’s all buzz to simon because his son — his darling boy — wanted to play with him during dinner.

yasha peeked at him again, before giggling once more when he caught simon’s eyes. this continued on until dinner ended, with simon occasionally miming growling monsters to induce more hearty giggles from his son, and being rewarded with the happiest laughter ever.

simon turned to you, with his heart on his throat, and beamed.

“aww,” mactavish sang from somewhere beside him. “ain’t that adorable— argh!”

simon had swung his arm out and thumped his fist on johnny’s stomach. thank god, yasha had chosen that time to hide his face again on kyle’s stomach.

.

“unca’ john?” yasha asks in a stage-whisper because everyone within earshot just heard him even with his attempt to be quiet. it’s only their training that stopped simon from acting like he’s noticed.

“yeah, bubsy?” john replies, sounding so utterly soft that this version of him is so foreign to simon.

“this tory,” yasha says and simon discreetly peeks to see which toly is being introduced to uncle john — it’s the elephant one.

price gasps theatrically like he hadn’t seen yasha drool all over this elephant toy before, and puffs out, “how cute!”

“mhmm,” yasha says, nodding, then smacks the face of the toy on john’s face. the trunk smooshes against john’s nose, and thank god that elephant-tory is soft because that aim would have been lethal if it wasn’t.

“jesus—” price gasps out.

“language!” simon hisses, and ducks his head back down just before yasha could catch him peeking.

.

yasha is now four and he still gets teary eyed when he sees johnny. simon placates his friend and says it’ll pass soon. maybe.

basically, i wanted to write a fic wherein simon’s reaction to being presented with a child is “what— oh okay, sure why not” and (literally in 20 minutes) “i will kill everything for this child” and so here we are

a simon spinoff - it takes a rampage (to be a dad)

[letsdosciencetoit]

WIP - BuckTommy 5+1 - Part 3

Wanted to have this written yesterday, but got sick. Here's part 3 of 5 times the 118 worries about telling Buck that Tommy got married, and 1 time they realize they don't have to.

Part 1 Part 2

3. Hen

Hen has just finished her last 24 for the rotation and is looking forward to four days off.  Karen will be at work, while Denny and Mara are in school, so she has the day to herself until they get home.

She goes to the Trader Joes near the station before heading home to pick up some groceries, and the ingredients to make a big batch of Bobby’s chili.  It never comes out the same when she makes it.  The only other person who knew how to make it right was Buck, and she hasn’t seen him since the transfer.

There are no family meals at the station now, and she misses it. She wonders if she should reach out to Buck while she’s off, but she doesn’t know his schedule now. Maybe she should reach out to Chimney and see…

She stops before she rounds the corner when she hears a familiar voice in the next aisle.

“Sweetheart, I am not driving to Whole Foods if they don’t have fresh tagliatelle,” she hears Tommy argue, but the tone is fond, rather than exacerbated. He pauses to let the other person speak.  “Look, they have fettuccini or pappardelle.  Can I please grab one of those and come home?”

Hen pushes the cart forward, and sees Tommy leaning against a post with his phone up to his ear.  He’s smiling at whatever the other person is saying, then lets out a huff of laughter.  “I’m Italian, or course I know how to make tagliatelle. And you’d do that thing anyway.”

Hen takes Tommy in, seeing his smile, and how light he seems. The man pauses again, before he says, “Okay. I should be home in thirty. I love you, too.”

He hangs up the phone, and before he has the chance to clock Hen, she says, “I hear congratulations are in order.”

Tommy’s head jerks up, and he offers her a small smile.  “I guess Chimney told you the news?”

Hen nodded.  “I’ll say I’m surprised you moved so quickly, but I’m not really one to talk considering how Karent and I got together.”

Tommy smiles wider, clearly remembering the whirlwind romance, buying a house, and adopting Denny in short order.  “Yeah, we weren’t quite that quick with the U-haul.”

Hen snorts at the teasing jab. “So what brings you all the way to our Trader Joes?  You move with the marriage?”

Tommy shakes his head. “Not exactly, but apparently this store has the best selection of pasta, and he’s unwilling to compromise on his recipe.  I offered to come out after I got off today, but apparently I’m stuck making it from scratch after I catch up on some sleep.”

Hen is happy to see Tommy so smitten with his new man.  Still, she wants to check in with him.  “Rough shift, or something else?”

“No worse than normal, but I’ve been having some late nights at home,” Tommy answers, and on anyone else it would be a leer, but with Tommy, his tone and expression just let her know that if she’s going to pry he’s going to give her more information that she wants.

“Okay!  Still in the honeymoon period!  I got it!” she says, laughing and putting her hands up in the air in surrender.  “If you can tear yourself away from your new beau, you two should come over for dinner with Karen and I.  I don’t want to lose touch with you again.”

Tommy’s face shutters a little, and Hen is quickly reminded about how they’d lost touch after the transfer, and again after he and Buck split.

“I mean it,” Hen implores.  “I don’t want it to be another 7 years before we see each other again.”

“Okay,” Tommy answers, and Hen can’t tell if he’s serious, or just humouring her. “I’ll check our schedules and give you a call.  But the phone works both ways, Hen.”

“Yeah,” Hen admitted. “I deserve that.  I’ll do better.”

“That’s all we can try to do,” Tommy acknowledged. “But I’d better get this home so I can nap before I’m put to work in the kitchen.”

Hen waves him on.  “Yeah, yeah!  Get out of here and get your beauty sleep.”

Tommy just smiled and shook his head before he walked off.

*** 9-1-1 ***

Hen has the chili done by the time everyone gets home for the evening.  She’s even made corn bread with a photocopied recipe card Buck had given her, along with annotations in his hand writing on how to make it fool-proof for her.

They enjoy the meal together, even if it isn’t as good as Bobby’s, and she counts her blessings at how lucky she is to have the little family they’ve built.

After they get the kids ready for bed, she and Karen sit on the couch together and scroll on their phones.

“Tommy got married,” she offers up to Karen.

“Good for him,” is all Karen responds.

“I’m worried about how Buck will take it, if he finds out,” Hen says.

Karen puts down her phone and looks directly at Hen. “When was the last time you spoke with Buck?”

If she really things about it, she knows it’s been more than a month since he transferred stations.

Karen looks at her knowingly.  “I don’t really think you need to be worried about breaking the news to Buck.”

Hen feels a little ashamed, and Tommy’s words ring in her head.  “The phone works both ways.”

Buck had been reaching out, and reaching out, and reaching out for connection before he’d transferred. Maybe it was her turn to reach out now.

She sends him a short text, given the hour. 

HEN: Let me know your schedule, Buckaroo.  We’re long overdue for a date with a bottle of Tequila.

The message remains unread until she goes to bed.  When she wakes up, Buck has left a thumbs up, and nothing else.

Part 4

Tag List: @fenrirscarsback

[frudoo]

bakers wake up and get to the shop soooo early to prep for the day, right? so 3 am 4 am, simon (or whoever) is chill he’s on his routine, unlocking the door of the bakery when all of a sudden, he and drunk clubgoer? insomniac? kicked out? !reader meet each other- if she’s in a bad situation, simon fights off some guys first, or catches her from stumbling onto the pavement, but either way, they’re the only people out on the streets at this hour, and he invites her in to have a cup of tea while he mixes his dough and the sun rises?

been in my head for forever

This isn't quite what you asked for, but I hope you enjoy anyway <3

Warnings: Mentions of body image issues. Mentions of drinking alcohol, stalking. Brief implications of past abuse and crimes. One (1) act of violence.

It’s been exactly three days, right down to the minute, since Simon saw you last. After leaving the nursing home, you dropped him back off at his house and told him you’d be in touch. Then you were gone. He knows you’re a busy woman, that you probably haven’t even gotten around to editing his pictures yet. Still, here he is, waiting by his phone like a pioneer woman longingly gazing out the window for her lover. 

     He hears a ping and smiles excitedly only to find that it’s Johnny texting him for the millionth time. Simon resists the urge to throw his phone against the wall to watch it shatter, instead making his way into the kitchen to make himself dinner. He rummages through the fridge and pulls out some eggs, leftover ham from a couple of nights ago, a block of swiss cheese, and some asparagus. There’s some pie dough in the back of the fridge that he needs to use before it goes bad, so he grabs that too. 

     He chops up the ham and asparagus, shreds the cheese and whisks a handful of eggs in a bowl, surrounded by dead silence. Cooking is a nice distraction, relaxing and comforting. It reminds him of being younger, helping his mum stir the ingredients in her green, floral-patterned mixing bowl while she nursed his baby brother. He cherished those quiet moments home alone with the two people that loved him most, when his bastard father was out drinking or sleeping with other women. Beth is the one he learned most of his skills from—her chocolate cake recipe is the very one he uses for his business. Her handwriting will forever be engraved into his brain.

     Simon sighs as he assembles the quiche and puts it in the oven. He’s long since shed tears over his lost family, but he thinks about them every single day. It’s nice to think that Beth and Tommy are watching over him from some place way up in the sky, that they see the softer parts of him, the good in him. But his father knocks from down below, mocking, reminding Simon of his career, what heinous war crimes he’s committed and how he’s covered it up. No better than me, son, he jeers, ya take afta ya pops. He’s worked with his therapist on how to drown out that nasty voice. It works most of the time.

     Before he knows it, Simon is finally in bed. The dishes are washed, the oven is off, and he is warm, full, and happy—all the makings of a good night’s sleep. That’s exactly what he gets.

     Until that peace is disrupted by the sound of his doorbell being rung frantically. 

     He wakes with a start, rubbing the sleep from his hazy eyes. Four o’clock in the morning and already the world is trying to take back the tranquility he had for just a few hours. He turns on his bedside lamp, not bothering to put a shirt on, just slipping on a pair of sweatpants and padding to the front door. He looks through the peephole and his heart sinks. He flings the door open.

     “S-Simon, I’m so- so sorry to show up like this, but I-I was out with my friends and- and- fuck, I’m so sorry, I’ll just-”

     “Shh, lovie, breathe f’me,” Simon furrows his brow, resting his hands on your biceps gently. “Tell me wha’s goin’ on.”

     You sniffle and wipe away the tears running down your cheeks, smearing your mascara. 

     “We w-went to the bar, and there was a guy there who kept trying to- to- Simon, he’s following me, I-I can’t- please,” you sob, eyes wide and terrified.

     His grip on you tightens as he pulls you inside, instantly on alert. Rapidly approaching his front door is some guy with a scowl on his face and his eyes locked on your back. Simon coaxes you behind him as the guy stomps up to his doorstep.

     “Oi, mate, tha’s my bird ya go’ in there. We go’ into a figh’ and she ran off from me.”

     “Simon, I don’t- I don’t know him,” you slur timidly. “He’s b-been following me for miles.” 

     “Ge’ off o’my property ‘fore I break ya bloody jaw,” Simon growls, crossing his arms over his broad, scarred chest. 

     “Who the fuck d’ya think ya are, ya big prick? Gimme the broad an’ I’ll-”

     You barely have time to blink before there’s a loud crack and a pained yell from the smaller man. Simon’s shoulders heave as he grabs the guy by his shirt collar, leaning in close to mutter in his ear. 

     “Y’ever come ‘round ‘ere again, I’ll use ya guts as tinsel on ya mum’s Christmas tree. Go’ tha’?” 

     The man holds his dislocated jaw in shock before scurrying away with tears in his eyes like a scared little puppy. You let out a sigh of relief, still shaking even as Simon locks the door and turns to face you. He freezes when you wrap your arms around his neck but ultimately surrenders to the hug, strong arms snug around your waist. 

     “Thank you so much, I-I don’t- I can go home, now, I don’t wanna bother you any more than I already have,” you pull back apologetically, suddenly aware of exactly how early you’ve woken the poor man up. 

     “No’ a bother, lovie, I promise,” he murmurs. “Don’ wan’ ya goin’ ou’ all by y’self again. Y’can stay w’me.” 

     “I couldn’t-”

     “Ya will,” he interrupts, cupping your face in his big, warm hands. “Y’still stumblin’ ‘round, love. Tha’ alcohol needs t’wear off ‘fore I le’ ya go anywhere.”

     You pout, and Simon tuts, guiding you over to the couch and softly pushing you down onto the cushion. He takes off your heels and sets them beneath the coffee table, making sure you’re plenty comfortable. You snuggle up with the blanket he drapes over you and a content grin tugs at his lips. 

     “Ya ‘ungry?” He questions.

     He nods when you do, heading into the kitchen to warm up a slice of the quiche he made last night. He leans back against the counter and flinches at the cold, a dark flush heating his pale skin as he remembers he’s in nothing but a pair of damn sweatpants. He feels far too exposed, and insecurity creeps its way into his brain. Before he can decide to run to his bedroom and throw on a shirt, the microwave beeps, so he grabs a fork and brings you the food.

     “Made this las’ nigh’. Should keep y’full, maybe preven’ a hangover,” he explains softly, setting the hot plate on the coffee table. 

     “Thank you, Simon,” you grin up at him gratefully.

     “Since I’m up, m’gonna ge’ started on an order, alrigh’? Lemme know if ya need anythin’. Don’ hesitate t’ask.”

     Simon told a little white lie—there is no order he needs to complete. He just doesn’t want you to feel worse than you already do. He makes his way into the kitchen once more with a yawn, gathering all of the ingredients he needs to make chocolate cake. He’s been craving it since last night, and besides, it’ll help him feel closer to his mom and Tommy. Some of his best—untainted—memories revolve around that cake, shared around the table after supper. 

     You tread into the kitchen after a few minutes, empty plate in hand. Simon smiles, and you return the gesture, walking towards the sink. 

     “Lovie, y’don’ hafta wash-”

     “Sure I do,” you cut him off, running the hot water. “The quiche was really good. Thanks again for… well. All of this.”

     “Y’can always come over. Whenever ya wan’. I mean it.”

     You move to stand next to him, drying off your hands on one of his dishtowels. He’s mixing the batter by hand despite having a stand mixer, but you don’t question it. You observe silently, not wanting to distract him from his work. Simon looks up at you through his long blond lashes, stepping aside and gesturing for you to take over the whisking.

     “O-oh, I shouldn’t,” you laugh nervously.

     “Ya should,” he insists. “Ya won’ ruin it, sweet’eart. It’s pretty ‘ard t’fuck up. ‘Sides, I need t’butter some pans.”

     Cautiously, you take the whisk from him, slowly dragging it through the thin batter. The task isn’t as daunting as you led yourself to believe. You repeat the figure eight motion a few more times as Simon preps his bakeware.

     “Wanna pour it in?” He asks, sliding one of the metal pans over to you.

     “No. I- uh, well I’m kinda… still seeing double. Just a little,” you giggle, and he chuckles in response.

     “No’ a problem.”

     It’s smooth and practiced, the way he works. Such a simple act, but he makes it look like an art form. He doesn’t have to measure how much batter he pours into each pan, he just knows. Simon slides them into the oven, then turns to look at you. He sighs when he sees that you’re already eyeing his dirty dishes.

     “I can wash-”

     “No’ gonna ‘appen. Tha’s wha’ the dishwasher’s fo’, love,” he raises an eyebrow, making a show out of loading up the machine and drying off his hands once the chore is complete. “C’mon, then. Y’need some sleep.”

     You yawn before you can protest, much to his amusement. Rolling your eyes playfully, you follow behind him as he leads you to his bedroom. He pulls out a shirt and a pair of shorts from his drawer and hands them to you. 

     “More comfortable than tha’ dress, m’sure,” he hums, turning on his heel to give you some privacy. “I’ll be up fron’ if ya need me.”

     “S-Simon,” you chew on your bottom lip nervously. “Will you… will you stay with me? I don’t wanna kick you out of your own bed.”

     His heart skips a beat, but he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

     “Gotta ge’ the cakes outta the oven, firs’. Ge’ changed an’ I’ll come back in, yeah?”

     Simon gently shuts the door and trods back to the kitchen. You do as he says and change quickly, bashfully peeking out the door once you’re in his clothes. After a good few minutes he returns, still smelling of the chocolate cake. He hesitates before stepping back inside, grinning softly to himself as he watches you climb beneath his covers. He sits at the edge of the bed while you get comfortable.

     “Are you gonna lay down?” You ask through yet another yawn, lifting up the sheets and blinking up at him.

     “I-I, uh… yeah. Sure, lovie,” he sucks in a deep breath, then slides into bed right beside you.

     You hum contentedly and rub your eyes with the backs of your hands. You turn on your side to face him, carefully reaching out to brush a crumb of cake from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. 

     “Taste test?”

     “Ya caugh’ me,” he huffs in amusement, breath hitching in his throat as you lean in closer.

     “Thanks for saving me, Si,” you whisper, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

     As your head rests on his pillow and you drift off to sleep, there’s only one thought in Simon’s head.

     He could get used to this.

[honeyedmiller]

A Burning Desire part seven

firefighter!joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist

rating: explicit. 18+, minors do not interact.

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, extreme vulnerability, brief mentions of emotional abuse and manipulation in a past relationship, mentions of infidelity in a past relationship, shit ton of fluff, smut (nipple play, teensy bit of dirty talk, semi-public?? firetruck fucking!!! unprotected piv, ass play, ass slapping, brief choking, spitting, cum eating), reader’s brothers and tommy are little shits as always, no use of y/n.

word count: 7.1k

a/n: i’ve been feeling a little feral lately which resulted in the smut. apologies🧍‍♀️and yes that third picture is the 911 lonestar firehouse LMAO it was perfect for this okay 😭 anyway i hope y’all enjoy <3

synopsis: a drunken joel asks you to take your relationship with him to the next level.

A week had passed since Joel’s birthday party, and you’re now alone in a house that’s usually bustling with people. 

Sarah had gone off for the weekend to spend the night at a friend’s house while Joel went out with Tommy, your brothers, and Josh. You were curled up on the couch reading an invigorating romance novel. The quietness was accompanied by the ticking clock above the mantle and the soft scrape of paper rubbing against paper as you turned the page of your book. 

You find yourself so immersed in the book that when your phone rings, it nearly startles you half to death. You pick it up to see Emily FaceTiming you, and you dog-ear the page you’re on before setting the book down and sliding the answer button. 

“Hey Emi,” you smile at her as you bring your knees to your chest. 

“Hey sis. How are you?” 

“I’m good. Just reading a book and drinking some wine,” you say, lifting your glass up for her to see. She grins and holds up her water bottle, making you laugh. 

“You got the house to yourself?” She asks. You nod, chewing on your bottom lip. 

“Sarah is at a friend’s and, you know, Joel is out with the boys.” 

“The boys,” she snorts. “I can’t believe they all actually formed a little friend group and are going out.” 

“Tell me about it. I’ll take this over Andy and Cole chewing Joel’s head off any day, though.” 

“Seriously. Remember how long it took them to stop torturing Josh?” 

You think back to when your brothers would give Josh shit a lot when Emily first brought him around, but he stuck it out because he’s so head over heels for Emi… as he should be. Good man. 

“God, yeah. I also remember mom yelling at them both, saying something like ‘this is why you’re both single’,” you laugh at the memory, taking a sip of your wine. 

“I remember that, too. But I’m glad Josh stuck around,” she has a soft smile on her face before she twists her lips to the side. 

“Okay, so, I have something to tell you. But you can’t tell anybody. Well, you can tell Joel if you want,” she sighs, and you furrow your brows. 

“Is everything okay? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong. In fact, everything is perfect. You know how I told mom like a week ago at Joel’s birthday party that Josh and I didn’t use… anything on our honeymoon?” 

You nod, recalling the moment in Joel’s kitchen. Then you go completely still as your heart drops to your ass. 

“Emi, oh my god, is—are you—holy fuck,” your brain is scrambled right now, eyes going wide as you stare at the screen. 

She tears up and lets out a happy sob that sounds like a laugh, holding up a pregnancy test that so clearly has the word pregnant across the tiny screen. 

Your hand flies over your mouth and tears sting your eyes. 

“Oh my god!” 

“I know, crazy isn’t it?” She laughs, happy tears streaming down her glowing cheeks. 

“When did you find out?” You ask. 

“Literally like thirty minutes ago. You’re the first person I’ve told,” she pauses. “Let Josh think he was the first, though. This is what he gets when he leaves his wife at home to go out and drink with his brothers and new friends,” she jokes, and you laugh with her. 

You hold up your right hand, seriousness in your tone. “Scouts honor.” 

“Thank you,” she says, sniffling before wiping her tears away once more. 

“I’m so happy for you, Emi. I know how much you want to be a mother.” 

“I love you, my dear sister,” she beams at you, and you can’t help but return the same radiant smile. 

“I love you too.” 

“Sorry to cut the conversation short, but Josh just texted and said he’s coming home in a few and I want to be prepared and all that,” she waves her hand around, and you can’t help but huff a laugh. 

“No worries. I’m so excited for you. I love you and I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?” 

She nods and blows you a kiss through the screen, saying bye before she hangs up. 

You can’t wipe the grin off your face or the warm feeling in your chest at her news. You try to go back to reading your book, but your mind can’t stop from wandering to your sister. 

Your thoughts are torn from your mind just a few short minutes later as you hear the front door handle jiggle, opening up to a completely happy and very drunk Joel.  

“There’s my beautiful lady,” he says, stumbling a tiny bit in the entryway. You laugh and stand up to help him, giving Tommy a wave as you see him watching Joel from his truck to make sure he gets in the house okay. He gives you a wave and a smile before peeling off, and you close the door. 

You steady Joel and help him walk over to the couch with you, settling him before you sit down next to him. 

“I gather your night went well,” you giggle, and he turns to smile at you. 

“Your brothers are two of the funniest damn guys. Josh too. This bromance is coming along just nicely.” 

You can’t help but laugh at his words, leaning forward to plant your lips on his cheek. 

“Oh, speaking of Josh,” you start, taking Joel’s hand into yours before rubbing your thumb across his knuckles. “Emily called me a few minutes before you came home. She told me some wonderful news and said I can share it with you.” 

Joel’s gaze meets yours as his eyebrows shoot up. “What is it?” 

“They’re having a baby. Emily is pregnant.” 

“Oh wow, that is great news. You think they’ll announce it to everyone soon?” He asks, bringing your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles. 

“I’m sure they will soon.” 

It’s quiet for a couple of minutes before you switch positions on the couch and lay down, Joel following suit as he begins to tuck himself between your legs. You’re situating yourself before you look up at him with a small smile, his gaze already intensely on you. 

“We should have kids,” Joel says, a smug, sappy smile on his face. His words halt your movements as you eye him wearily. 

You quirk your brow at him and tilt your head. “Oh?” 

“Don’t ya think they’d be so cute?” He gushes, and Drunk Joel truly is a sight to behold. He’s all soft and cuddly. Practically a human teddy bear. 

“Just think about it,” he laughs, “They’d have your beautiful eyes and your smile and your laugh and—” 

You put a hand on his chest to stop his words, and he looks at you with so much love in his eyes you think you might burst. 

“Slow your roll, cowboy. How about we discuss this when whiskey isn’t in the equation.” 

He pouts at you and you have to stifle a laugh. He looks so fucking cute. Your heart blooms at the fact that he wants that type of future with you, and it cracks through the remaining pieces of the walls you’ve put up. 

He sighs and lays down on you, nestling his broad body between your thighs and clings to you like a koala. You kiss his temple and run your fingers through his hair, feeling so content and in love that it makes you nearly choke up with tears. 

He presses gentle kisses to the skin of your chest as he buries his face there, sighing in content. 

“Well if we’re holding off on the discussion of kids, then maybe we can start a few steps before that one,” he says, and his words barely make sense as he half-mumbles into your chest. You catch it anyway.

“And what would the first step be?” 

He lifts his head up to meet your gaze, eyeing you knowingly before giving you a soft but sure smile. 

“Move in with me.” 

-

“That’s the last of it.” You wipe your brow and exhale an exhausted breath, admiring the pile of boxes that overtook Joel’s living room—well, your living room now, too. It was only two months ago that Joel had drunkenly asked you to move in with him, and when morning time came, you had to make sure he was sure. 

He’d reassured you easily that he meant what he said and would love it if you moved in with him and Sarah. Sarah had been on board with it all along, wanting you to stay permanently after the few weeks you’d spent there taking care of Joel and helping with her. 

You had some things to figure out with your lease to your apartment, seeing as it wasn’t up until January, but your landlord was a godsend and the sweetest woman, letting you break the contract two months early with your full deposit back. 

Joel wraps his arms around you with a prideful grin, kissing your sweaty forehead. You grimace at that, but you’ve come to find out early on in your relationship that this man isn’t easily disgusted by much of anything, really. 

You gaze at the tower of boxes and it tugs at your heart strings. Just a couple of months ago, you were crushed by the prospect of having to go back to your apartment when Joel was fully healed, but it turns out he didn’t want you to leave, either. He’d come to your place on nights Sarah was with friends and would spend time with you there after you’d left his house and he got cleared for light duty at work. 

Turns out he’s just as clingy to you as you are to him. That’s not to say you both don’t mind spending time apart from each other, but you’d much prefer to be wrapped up in each other or simply enjoying each other’s company. 

You’ve already established that allowing yourself to get attached to someone scared the hell out of you, and Joel had sensed it, too. You finally opened up to him one night and laid all of your cards out on the table for him. Confessed that your ex had been emotionally abusive toward you, manipulating you and gaslighting you into thinking you were fucking nuts for wanting to feel something with him and be loved the way you knew you deserved to be, and that you were too much for wanting the bare fucking minimum. That he made you feel like you didn’t matter. That he made you feel unworthy of true love after you finally put the finishing pieces of the puzzle together, seeing the bigger picture, and coming to the conclusion that he was a fucking prick who didn’t deserve you or what you had to offer. The final cherry on top of this monstrosity was catching him fucking his coworker in his bed. 

You told Joel, with tears in your eyes, that your heart was completely his and it had taken you a while to get over the hurdles and constant battles in your mind. You told him he’s the one who crumbled all of those walls completely. He’s the one that made you believe in love again, no matter how much it terrified you. You confessed that he was it for you. He’d ruined every single other man for you, ever. 

With glossy eyes of his own, he pulled you in tight and held you for what seemed like hours, kissing your temple repeatedly until you completely melted into him. He’d made you a promise that night he’d do his absolute damndest to protect your heart and take care of it, and if he ever saw your ex, he’d beat the shit out of him. You’d never seen Joel so furious, but with the look he had in his eyes, you could tell he really wasn’t joking. 

It’s only been a few months, but you feel like you’ve come a long way—mentally, physically, with Joel, your family, and your dearest friend Maria. Without them, you don’t think you would’ve had the strength to overcome your worst fears that involved love. It took you a while to finally love yourself again after you ended it with Christian,  and even longer to allow someone else to love you the way your heart desperately desired. 

You couldn’t have been more grateful that the person to give you that is this handsome, strong, loving man that stands proudly beside you. Someone who’s unabashed about showing you off. Proud to love you out loud. Isn’t afraid of giving you a big, playful smooch in public and doesn’t hide you from his coworkers or his family or any of his friends. 

You’re irrevocably in love with Joel Miller, and you’re damn proud of it. This man has saved you—literally and figuratively. 

“I honestly thought you’d have more stuff than this,” Joel says with a teasing undertone. You snort a laugh and roll your eyes, looking at him with amusement. 

“My apartment wasn’t that big, Miller.” You pat his chest and move toward the boxes, luckily thinking ahead and separating everything into which room they belonged in. You lift the first one up that’s labeled bedroom in big bold letters, heading toward the stairs. Joel follows suit and picks up another one labeled bathroom, following you up the steps. 

You set the box down on the floor and open the drawers that Joel had cleared out for you. You smile at the thought of him being nice enough to clear out some of his space for you. He’d told you it gave him the perfect opportunity to clean up around the house and get rid of stuff he didn’t need or use anyway. He donated most of the stuff he got rid of, saying someone else would get much better use out of the various items. 

Joel sets his box down in the master bathroom, setting it on your side of the sink. Your side. Your lips curl up at that, and Joel comes behind you before nearly tackling you onto the bed. You yelp out in surprise, a breathy laugh escaping you as he straddles you and looks down at you from above. 

Your hands land on his torso, coercing him down with a mischievous smile and a curl of your finger, silently telling him ‘come here’. He licks his lips and leans down, elbows on either side of your head. 

“Fancy meetin’ you here, darlin’.” His Southern charm is something you’ll never tire of, especially if it’s regarded in a playful mood. 

“Don’t you know it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?” You quirk a brow at him and grin, fisting the front of his shirt to tug him down so you’re nose-to-nose. 

“You’re right, pretty lady. Severely rude. How long until everyone gets here…?” He trails off, kissing the line of your jaw before nibbling at your chin. Your eyes glance at your watch-clad wrist as you lift it up in your line of sight. 

“About forty minutes or so,” you breathe out in a sigh. Joel hums against your neck now, licking your pulse point before nipping your skin slightly. You arch your body up into his, neediness rolling off of every limb as you lick your lips in anticipation. 

“Enough time for me to show you how not rude I am,” he murmurs. You laugh at that, threading your fingers through his thick locks. 

“I think this lady would very much indeed like a proper demonstration.” 

Joel’s eyes turn dark and he nearly growls, tugging your tank top up and over your head before unzipping your sports bra. Your breasts bounce as they become free, and Joel chuckles deeply at the way your nipples tighten and become erect with such little teasing and some cold air. 

“So fuckin’ pretty. I love these tits, baby.” 

He leans down and sucks a nipple into his mouth, swirling his warm tongue around it before tugging on it with his lips. He scrapes his teeth over the sensitive bud and you gasp, hands landing on Joel’s chest as you fist his shirt once more. 

Wetness easily pools in your panties as he continues his ministrations, giving the other nipple as much attention as the previous. He eventually licks down your sternum, nipping his way down your torso before grabbing leggings by the waistband and yanking them down. 

“Joel, I’m all sweaty,” you whine, not particularly keen on him going down on you when you feel… musty. 

“Since when have I given a shit about that, baby? You know I’d eat this pretty pussy for breakfast lunch and dinner, given the chance. Now hush up n’ let me eat you like you deserve.” 

And he’s about to dive right in when the doorbell rings. You whine in frustration, rubbing your brow impatiently. 

“Guess we don’t have forty minutes,” you bite, and he has to roll his lips into his mouth to refrain from laughing. You roll your eyes at him and gently push him off of you, standing from the bed to adjust your clothes. You make your way out of the bedroom, and Joel can’t help but land a hefty smack to your ass. 

You swivel your head to look back at him and give him an unconvincing scowl. He’s sporting an amused expression in return. “Hands off, Miller.” 

“Uh uh. We’re in our house now, sugar. Not a chance.” 

He wraps his arms around your waist as you both pad over to the front door, opening it to see your brothers standing there. 

“Hey look, it’s Dumb and Dumber,” you muse, and you scrunch your nose with a laugh as Andy rolls his eyes. Cole flips you off with a saccharine smile plastered to his lips as you step to the side to let them in. 

“Just to let you know, Miller, you’re insane for asking our baby sister to move in with you. Woman’s a goddamn menace,” Andrew starts, setting the six pack he brought onto the kitchen counter. 

“That’s rich considering you and Dumber over here decided to harass him about treating me right the day before Emi’s wedding.” 

Joel’s lip twitches up at the corner, and your gaze meets his as you both share an amused look. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, kissing your temple as he turns back to your brothers. 

“She’s my menace. I love it. I love everything about her,” he says, giving you a chaste kiss as you beam at him. 

“Eugh. Get a room,” Andrew says while he scrunches his face up in mock disgust. 

You point at him in an accusatory fashion. “‘Y’know, Andy, you won’t be talking so much shit one of these days when the woman of your dreams swoops in and knocks you on your ass.” 

“Jeez, who pissed in your Cheerios this morning?” Cole asks, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Both of you did. Cockblockers.” You brush past them to get a bottle opener for the beers, tossing it to Joel when you find it. 

“Dude, come on!” 

“Fucks sake.” 

Your brothers groan in unison as they pick up exactly what you were putting down. 

A flush of deep red creeps up Joel’s neck and face as he opens beers and doesn’t meet either Andrew or Cole’s gazes. 

“When’s the rest of the Brady Bunch supposed to get here?” You ask, pulling a water bottle out of the fridge for yourself. You uncap it and take a long sip, eyeing your brothers over the frosted plastic. 

“Probably twenty minutes or so. We were already in the neighborhood so we thought we’d swing by early.” 

You nod and shift your gaze back to the boxes. Your family was nice enough to volunteer to help you unpack and get things all organized, along with Tommy and Maria. 

A few hours later and the once-full boxes are broken down and flattened, piling high in the living room. The rest of the stuff you need to unpack is stuff for the bedroom, but you decide to take care of it a little later.

You can’t stop thanking everybody as the day goes on, and in truth, it warms your heart that you have so many people in your corner. 

“I’m happy for you, sweetheart,” your mom says as she nudges you with her hip. 

“Thanks mama.” You give her a side hug and lean in to her just as Joel catches your eye and winks at you. 

Your mom huffs a laugh beside you, looking at you with a knowing smirk. “That man really is your soulmate, baby girl. I’m so glad you’ve found someone who loves you the way he does.” 

“You know, I told him about everything that Christian had put me through. That man looked me in the eyes and told me he’d do everything in his power to protect my heart. I completely opened up my heart to him, mom. That’s something I haven’t done in such a long time because I was so fucking scared of me being hurt again being the outcome.” You finish putting away some baking tools in a kitchen drawer before you sigh and shake your head. 

“It was so clear to me, especially after his accident. I can’t fathom losing him.” You start to choke up on your words as your eyes get watery. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to regain your composure. 

“Oh, honey,” your mom coos, wrapping her arm around you while rubbing your arm lovingly. “I know that time was super difficult for you and you had your reasons as to why you didn’t want to talk about it. It killed me seeing you going through such a tough time. If I could’ve taken your heartache away in a beat I would’ve.” 

Hot tears are fully rolling down your cheeks now and you sniffle, giving her a sad smile. “I love you, mom. Thank you for sticking by my side even during the ugliest of it all. I never meant to push you or dad away. Just know that Joel treats me so well and I don’t have to second-guess things with him. I know it’s only been a few months and it may seem like things are moving fast, but I’ve never had stronger feelings than this for someone. He’s it for me, mom.” 

“I’m so proud of you for opening your heart up again, sweetheart. You deserve this happiness and love. I can’t wait for the day I get to see you up at the altar with him, and, you know, follow in Emi’s footsteps in having a baby.” She gives you a wink and a kiss on the cheek before wiping a tear from your face before rejoining everyone in the living room. 

And it’s at this moment that you feel your heart grow fuller, completely surrounded by love—and, for the first time in years—full contentment and certainty. 

-

The quietness of the usually noisy home the following day was almost unsettling. It’s something that you know will take time to get used to, but luckily you have your Bluetooth speaker and your favorites playlist to keep you company. 

You make a checklist of everything you need to do today, and you’re determined to get it done before Joel and Sarah come home. The first thing on the list is to put away the last of your stuff and tidy up the house, which you get done in a couple of hours. It’s around eleven when you finish, so you decide to freshen up for the day and shower before heading downstairs to see what groceries they have in the fridge to make dinner. 

As soon as you open the fridge, you spot Joel’s forgotten lunch bag. You roll your lips into your mouth before checking your watch again, figuring he’d probably eat lunch soon. You decide to pay him a visit at the firehouse to drop off his lunch and get all of the flattened boxes that lay in the living room to a recycling facility. 

You load up the cardboard in your car and grab Joel’s lunch, starting the twenty minute drive to the firehouse. When you get there, you notice one of the trucks missing from the apparatus bay. Other than that, everything else is in place and the firehouse is completely quiet, except for some faint clinking noises coming from the second level. 

Your mind reels for a second, remembering the first time you walked through these doors. It had only been a few months back, but it seems like a lifetime ago. You truly couldn’t fathom how far you’ve come not only personally, but in your relationship with Joel as well. 

You remember being so uncertain about all of this. Nervous to take the next step. Push yourself to trust Joel and see where the leap of shattered faith would take you. You never in a million years thought it’d land you here, but you were beyond indebted to the universe that it did. 

You climb the stairs to the second floor and see Joel standing with his back to you, washing dishes. You take this time to eye him head-to-toe, admiring his strong build and tall stature as the muscles in his biceps and forearms flexed while he scrubbed away what looked like egg scraps off of a plate. His uniform is fitted to his figure like a glove with the navy blue Austin Fire Department t-shirt tucked into his crisp navy blue slacks with black steel-toed boots to finish off the look. His brown curls are neatly combed, and you just know he’s sporting that one Clark Kent curl in the front that drives you absolutely nuts. 

The dull ache in your core resurfaces from yesterday before you were so rudely interrupted from getting your pussy eaten like it was Joel’s last fucking meal. You nearly moan at the thought and shake your head with a brief sigh before you bite your lip. 

You let out a low whistle and giggle. “Looking good, Miller,” you say, stepping closer to him now. Joel swivels his head to look over his shoulder and his gaze meets yours with surprise written all over his expression. 

“Hey baby,” he says, finishing rinsing off the last of the dishes before turning off the tap and wiping his hands. He makes his way over to you with a grin, planting a sweet kiss on your lips before wrapping his arms around your waist securely. “This is a real nice surprise. Watcha doin’ here?” 

You hold up his lunch bag with a smirk. “Someone was in a rush this morning,” you tease. He chuckles and takes his lunch bag from your hand. 

“Guess I was. Didn’t even realize it. Woke up later than I intended to, but leavin’ you behind in bed is just so damn hard.” He kisses your forehead and you sigh in contentment. 

“Tell me about it. The bed gets so damn cold without my own personal furnace right beside me.” You giggle as he tosses his head back with a hearty laugh, and you admire the crow’s feet around his eyes as they crinkle. Everything about this man is just so damn beautiful. 

He fixates his gaze on you once more before sliding his free hand down to your ass to give it a love tap. 

“Thank you for bringin’ this to me. Probably woulda just stole Tommy’s lunch if I didn’t have one.” 

You huff a laugh before you finally look around, noticing that there’s nobody else in the vicinity. 

“Is it just you here?” You ask, and he lets go of you so he can put his lunch bag in the fridge. 

He nods. “Mhm. Everyone’s on a call. Left a couple ‘a minutes before you came here.” 

“Oh,” you grimace. “I’m sorry you’re not out with them,” you say sympathetically. 

“Ain’t a worry, baby. Gives me the chance to tidy the place up and rest my bones. Just glad ‘m not drivin’ you crazy at home anymore.” 

“You didn’t drive me crazy,” you laugh. “I’m already there.” 

“Funny.” 

“I know,” you gleam at him before scrunching your nose, heading toward the steps. 

“Leavin’ already?” He falls in step behind you and follows you down the steps. 

“Don’t wanna bug you too much while you’re at work.” 

He scoffs and shakes his head before stopping you next to the firetruck. “Woman, when you gonna learn that you never bug me?” He’s got a teasing glint in his eyes and you raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Guess you’ll just have to teach me that lesson over…” Your eyes trail down to his lips and the corner of your mouth tugs up in the slightest. “And over.” 

He moves toward you so your back is flush against the sleek red engine, caging you in as he places both hands next to your head on either side. He’s got that look in his eyes that drives you wild, and the dull ache isn’t so dull anymore. It’s a full-fledged throbbing that has your breath picking up in the slightest as you look at him staring back at you with a fire in his eyes. 

“I don’t have a single problem doin’ that, darlin’.” 

You swallow harshly as his eyes flit behind you for a brief second before they settle back on your face. 

“You ever been inside a firetruck?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. He moves closer to you so his body is nearly flush to yours, give or take two or three centimeters. 

Your mouth goes dry and the words you want to say seem to die on your tongue. You opt for shaking your head no. Joel smirks at that, reaching up to pull open the back door to the firetruck. He nods his head upward, and you immediately get what he’s hinting at. 

“After you, baby.” 

You slowly turn around and climb into the back of the truck, looking around in pure curiosity. There’s two captain’s chairs right next to each other, and Joel takes a seat on the one closest to the open door before he shuts it. The sound makes you jump and you look down at him as he tugs on your hand. He spreads his legs wide and the slacks he’s wearing hug his thighs deliciously. Your mouth nearly waters at how fucking good he looks in his element. He pats one of his thighs and you sit down on it, looking around a bit more before he gently grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him. 

“This is actually really cool,” you say, eyes finally settling on his face once again. He doesn’t say anything for a minute, just staring at you with a lustful look in his eyes. You can practically read his mind from a mile away.

“Joel, no, we’re at your job and—”

His lips on your jaw distract you and you suck in a sharp breath as he licks at your pulse point on your neck. You know this is so wrong on so many levels, but you can’t seem to get yourself to stop and think about the consequences. 

“They’re on a call,” he mumbles into your neck. “‘S gonna take ‘em awhile.” 

He grabs your hips and swings your other leg over the other side of his lap so you’re straddling him. You can’t deny the slick heat between your legs and the prospect of doing something insanely inappropriate in a firetruck. This was never on your Bingo Card of Life, but when the opportunity arises, you take it. 

“We never got to finish what we started yesterday,” Joel states matter-of-factly before his warm hand plunges into the front of your leggings. He raises a brow up at you when he realizes you’re going commando today. His middle finger slides through your slit easily, and you moan at the contact as you loll your head to the side. You grip onto his shoulders and lean down, crashing your lips to his in such fervor that it nearly knocks the wind out of you. 

He circles your clit skillfully with the tip of his finger, and you can’t help but grind yourself onto his hand. He’s swallowing every whimper that bubbles up in your throat as you move your hips back and forth, and his free hand grabs your ass before giving it a smack. 

“A little rough today, are we?” Your voice is breathy and you let out a small laugh, slowing down your grinding motions. 

“Is it too much?” He asks, and you nearly want to melt into a damn puddle at how considerate he is being so concerned like this. You grin down at him and smooth out the worry line in his brow, bending down to give him a lengthy kiss. You peck his lips a couple of times before sliding your hands down his chest, feeling his strong heartbeat beneath your fingertips. 

“Not at all. I like it rough.” You smirk at him as you feel his cock straining against his slacks at your words. A low growl rumbles deep in his chest before he closes his eyes for a beat. They snap open again and this time, you’re met with a darkened gaze that’s full of lust and determination. 

“Yeah? How rough?” His hand slides out of your leggings and he swipes the tip of his middle finger across your bottom lip, coating it in your arousal. He coaxes your jaw open to slip his finger into your mouth, and you suck his finger willingly. You taste yourself then before you shoot him with a dead serious stare. 

“Ruin me.” 

He stills at your words for a beat as he sucks in a sharp breath. He grabs the back of your head and crashes his lips to yours, hands now roaming wildly before he’s frantically sliding down your leggings. You’re trying as quickly as possible to blindly unbuckle his belt and unbutton his slacks, and you slide his clothing down his thighs before he presses the head of his cock against your folds. 

Before you can even think to sink down onto him, he grabs you and forces you to face downward toward the seats so you’re ass up and completely exposed to him this way. 

“Such a perfect fuckin’ ass too, baby.” He grabs both of your arms and holds them behind your back, wrapping one hand around both your wrists to keep you steady. You whimper as he slides his cock through your folds once again before he suddenly slams into you. 

Your mouth goes agape and your eyes roll to the back of your skull as the air in your lungs dissipates. You clench hard around him and you feel your mind completely slipping away as you see stars. 

Joel presses his free hand down on your lower back and soothes you lovingly. “Breathe, baby, breathe,” he says through clenched teeth, and you can tell this is a lot for him, too. 

“Move, Joel,” you choke out, sucking in a big breath of air. He does as you say, moving his hips at a brutal pace so he’s pistoning in and out of you. 

You have to concentrate on breathing because it’s damn near impossible. The sound of skin slapping on skin reverberates inside of the firetruck, and your mind was absolutely reeling at how you two were doing something this scandalous. 

You feel Joel’s free hand rub your ass for a brief second before he lands a harsh smack on it, and you cry out in both pain and pleasure as your skin stings from the contact. 

“You like that?” He asks, somehow pounding into you even harder. Your limbs are like noodles at this point and your mind is so foggy. You try to answer him again but nothing comes out. 

“Answer me, sweet girl. You like when I’m rough with you?” 

You whine before you finally find your words again. “Fuck! Yes!”

He lands another harsh smack against your ass and you moan loudly before sucking in a breath when you feel his thumb circle your other hole, and he spits on it. 

“J-Joel—”

“One of these days I’ll fuck you here, too.” His husky voice is full of promise as he slips his thumb into your  asshole, and all you can do is nod as you feel so full like this. 

“Yesyeyes oh, god—”

“He ain’t here right now, baby. Just me.” Joel darkly chuckles as he releases your wrists and uses that hand to slither between your legs, furiously and skillfully rubbing at your swollen, aching clit. 

You brace your arms on the seats below you as you try to hold yourself up, but your legs are shaking uncontrollably. Joel takes his thumb out of you before sliding his hand around your body to hold you up against his body as his relentless pace begins to get sloppy. 

He brings his hand up to your throat and wraps around it, yanking your head back against his shoulder as he looks down at you with a chillingly carnal stare. He almost doesn’t even look like the sweet man you’re in love with, but a darker version that’s consumed his being. 

Seeing this side of him makes you even more hot and bothered and your body easily succumbs to his ministrations, so reactive to his touch and words. 

He uses his thumb from the hand on the throat to tug at your chin, coaxing your jaw open as a wicked grin curls onto his lips before he spits into your mouth. 

The heat that was once a low simmer in your belly is now a fire roaring throughout the veins in your body, igniting you and consuming you as a whole. You swallow before he leans down to kiss you hungrily, and that’s what does it for you. 

You surge over the edge, orgasm crashing over you like waves on a shore. Joel swallows all of your cries and pleads against his lips, groaning at how you’re pulsing around him as you ride through your undoing. He squeezes the sides of your neck as he comes undone, arm moving down to wrap around your waist as his whole body stills. 

You feel his hot spend fill you up with each last harsh thrust he gives you before he stills completely. He kisses your shoulder lovingly before pulling out, groaning into your sweater as he does so. You feel his spend leak down the apex of your thighs, and Joel collects some on his finger as he swipes it through your folds. 

You shiver at his overstimulating touch, looking back at him as he smirks and brings his finger toward your mouth. You eagerly open it for him, moaning around his finger as you get a taste of the both of you. 

“You know, for someone who’s such a sweetheart, you really are a lil’ freaky. Just how I like it,” Joel says with a chest-rumbling laugh. You roll your eyes at him before he kisses your temple and helps you pull up your leggings before he tucks himself back into his boxers and fixes his uniform to look somewhat presentable again, opening the door to get out. 

“You’re one to talk, Miller,” you say, grabbing his hand as he helps you hop down out of the firetruck. 

“I’m an angel. Completely innocent. No idea what you’re insinuatin’, pretty lady.” He wiggles his eyebrows as you roll your eyes at him once more before laughing. 

“Sure, and I’ve got telekinesis.” 

He opens his mouth to retort, but is cut off by the sound of the other fire engine beginning to back up into the empty spot of the bay. 

Everyone starts to unload one-by-one, waving hi to you as they see you and Joel standing there. You’re hoping to god you don’t have a ‘we-just-fucked-in-the-back-of-the-firetruck’ look slapped across your forehead. Luckily, nobody seems to notice, and if they do, they don’t say anything. 

Until Tommy rounds the corner of the smaller truck. He looks at you both and pauses, taking in your appearances. Your face burns and you know if you look down at the ground it’ll give you both away, but anything is better than being under the younger Miller’s scrutinizing stare. 

Everyone’s gone upstairs at this point except for you three, and the sudden howl of laughter Tommy lets out makes you jump. He’s bent over with his hands clutching his knees, face and neck turning red with how hard he’s laughing. He’s got tears in his eyes that he wipes away with a knuckle, and it’s a couple of minutes before he finally calms down and catches his breath again. 

He straightens out and looks between the two of you again, lips wobbling as if he’s trying to hold back more laughter. 

“Oh for fucks sake, out with it.” Joel rolls his eyes at his brother as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you back so you stumble into his solid body. 

“You two are unbelievable. You’re not that slick and you know, you both have guilty written across your foreheads. I know what you did, you nasties.” 

“Might I remind you about that time I caught you and Maria—”

“Hey hey hey, this ain’t about me and my girl, this is about you two.” Tommy chuckles as he holds his hands up in surrender. 

“Don’t y’all get enough time at home?” Tommy teases, and you bury your face into Joel’s chest with a groan. 

“Shut up Tommy,” you say. 

“No actually, because you’re always there,” Joel retorts, which causes Tommy to laugh again. 

“Oh please, like that’s stopped y’all before.” 

“Not another word about it, brother,” Joel warns, and Tommy smirks at him. 

“Fine. But ya might wanna take care of that stain on your pants.” 

Joel’s eyes snap down to his slacks the same time yours do, but you don’t see anything.

Fucking Tommy. 

“Bastard,” Joel mumbles. 

You decide to get in on the teasing. You pat Joel’s chest and sigh, shaking your head. “Guess that means no more sex for us, cowboy.” 

You give him a loving kiss on the cheek before you pry yourself out of Joel’s grip and turn to walk out of the firehouse, fighting your giggles as you leave a dumbfounded Joel who calls out ‘you’re not serious, are you?’, and a, yet again, doubled over Tommy with tears in his eyes from laughing so hard behind you. 

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[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 3)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie

Part 3 A tragedy 

So enraptured with Alastor, you forgot how you left work on Saturday. Tommy didn’t forget. And he made sure you remembered. Unfortunately for him, and fortunately for you, your paramour made a habit of helping quicken karma’s balancing act.

「warnings/promises: immediate physical assault (let’s be up front about that), allusions to sexual assaults having happened in the past to non-reader characters, HumanAlastor x FemReader, penetrative sex, Protective Alastor, bruises, somewhat graphic descriptions of murder, mentions to coerced prostitution, sex near a corpse (words that have the FBI watching me), stabbing, knife, bad burlesque names, gambling, my own new HC for the Radio Demon’s origins, another deer reference thanks to @n-after-me , chin quivering, Tommy doesn’t know French and it shows, posted early for @jazzmasternot, wrath」

Minors DNI 🤺

You walked into the theatre for rehearsals with a pep in your step, body still humming. It was like the usual adrenaline rush Alastor brought couldn't fade this time.

But it did, when Tommy grabbed you by the hair out of your makeup chair and threw you into the wall. 

You couldn’t react, head ringing after it left a small indent in the drywall. Unlike before, you didn’t try to stand. Make him work for his second hit. And he did. Leaning down he yanked you off the ground by your arm and dragged you to your feet. 

“Do you think you’re funny?” He shook you, you were sure you could feel your brain jostle. It was rhetorical, but you replied anyway.

“No, Tommy.”

“No. Exactly.” He backed you up onto the make up table, head pressed into the mirror. “Mr. Wilson was not happy. He pulled his contribution. I know you don’t have that kind of money. Do you know what you’re gonna do?”

His fingers dug into your cheeks, “No.” You genuinely didn’t. He was talking to you like you had been in the loop on whatever it was he had been doing on the side. All of this was as shocking to you as your actions were, apparently, to him. 

“You’re gonna take whatever meetings I make until that money is back.” He let go of you and turned to leave but changed his mind. Coming back, he swung his fist and clocked you on the left side of your face.

You didn’t see it, but you heard the other girls running and pulling Tommy off of you, yelling and pleading for him to calm down.

“I worked really hard for you!” He shouted, jerking his shoulders out from under the hands of the other performers. What was he talking about? You hadn’t discussed any of this, asked for any thing from him. “I waited for a high roller for you. Real classy guy. Just wanted a private show! That was it!” He spit, “No, every Tom, Dick, and Harry is welcome now to ask for your time.”

You just held your face, unsure if you had the right makeup to hide the bruise before stage call. 

“Well?! Say you’re sorry.”

You considered not saying anything. No response. When you looked at him, you could see the half a dozen other girls staring back at you, just say it. We have to rehearse.

“I’m sorry.” Eyes cast to the floor.

“For what?”

It hurt when you rolled your eyes, “For being ungrateful?” 

He shoulder checked a few girls on the way out. A couple came to you.

“He’s got some gambling debt, he’s just using us to get ahead.”

“I have some stuff to cover that up for tonight.”

“He usually cuts us in.”

Tears stung your eyes, you were angry and humiliated. You could work elsewhere, with a little luck. Take a job at a diner out of the area where no regulars would stir up trouble. Maybe leave until Tommy got his debts paid off or whatever was motivating this recent streak of cruelty. But you didn’t want to run away. No one applauded waitresses. Maybe if you made yourself as unattractive as possible, no one would request you. Dirty your teeth, talk about other men, speak crudely. 

“What exactly was he talking about?” you asked no one in particular. The girls were quiet for a beat.

“Well ya know, private shows for clients who can afford it.” High pitched and nasal, Florence spoke as she searched her make up station.

“That’s it?” Incredulous.

“Sometimes. You know how it is… woman left alone in a room with a man who has too much money or ego or drink. Doesn’t always stop at a dance.” Minnie had much more experience than you, “It isn’t our jobs. It isn’t normal. But, well, ya heard about New York right? They’re trying to make burlesque outright illegal…”

“Gotta enjoy the art while it’s just misunderstood.” Florence wiped down your mirror before setting her supplies down for you. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

By the time patrons began to stream in, you had blood staining the white of your left eye. Nothing you could do, but maybe at a distance it wouldn’t be noticeable. The bruise under your eye from his fist was easy enough to cover. The contusion from where your right cheek hit the wall was a little harder. 

Luckily, the stage offered a buffer of space and the rest of the room was dark. 

During your show, you tried to keep your eyes moving so the red sclera never stayed in one place too long. For the first time, the cheers did nothing for you. You felt your chin quiver, fighting back tears. You wanted to scream, to tell them to hate you and leave. Stop fucking clapping.

Ruth was naturally the first to come to you after your performance, “Want me to do the tour with you? Arm in arm around the hall.”

You took her up on the offer. It lightened the load, her taking charge of the conversation when people approached or bought you drinks. Luckily the bartender always poured the performers weak cocktails and watered down liquor to keep their heads on straight. 

Ruth’s companionship afforded you precious time to plan, to consider how quickly you could find new work or at least a way out of this.

“What a treat. Two for one. Can I buy you both a drink?” 

Ruth turned first to greet the customer, “Ooh yes sir! Gin and tonic, please and thank you. Autumn?” Your stage name drew your attention back to the world, turning finally.

“Alastor.” It fell from your mouth like a lead balloon.

He smiled down at you, his hand offering a little wave, “Hello. Surprise.” 

Your face fell, a frown pulling down your chin. It took you too long to recover, batting your eyelashes and turning the corners of your lips up unnaturally. 

“So you do have a beau!” Ruth slapped your arm, “I’m Skye, Skye Scraper. Pleasure to meet you, Alastor.” She extended her hand, Alastor planting a kiss on the back of it, concealing his smile at the name.

You tried to keep your eyes on the floor, head turned slightly away from him to obscure the neon sign of an eye shouting, ‘Weak!’

Unfortunately for you, Alastor wasn’t an oblivious man. Unless he was dancing or drunk. “May I have a moment alone with her?” Alastor asked Ruth. Ruth looked to you for your okay, and you just nodded. She gave a little nod of her own to Alastor and slinked away. 

“Are you unhappy to see me, dear? Did I overstep by coming by unannounced?” You hadn’t heard him worried before, it pained you. 

“No, no! I am… so happy to see you. I just had a long day.” You scanned the room for the darkest area to bring him. A booth would be best, you could keep him on one side of you. You gestured with a nod of your head.

“Ah, I kept you out too late.” Alastor didn’t move.

“Not at all, come on let’s sit down.” You reached back for his hand without looking at him, but when you pulled he still didn’t move. He remembered the way you pulled at the hand of that man in the alley the first night you met. Desperate to escape somewhere. 

“Is there a reason you won’t look at me?”

Lie. 

“Uh, no, I’m just embarrassed about this heavy stage makeup.” 

Alastor paused, hand slipping from yours to adjust his sleeves. It was a nervous action, an attempt to self soothe, but you didn’t know that. “I should have asked before coming.”

“Alastor, it’s not…,” you kept your eyes down at your hands.

“Then look at me.”

Would he think you were incapable of protecting yourself? His pity would kill you. Perhaps he would decide a second rate burlesquer wasn’t worth making time for anymore.

You could intentionally wound him, say you don’t want to see him so he leaves. But that sword was double edged and you weren’t sure you’d survive that either. You weren’t making it out of this.

You finally looked at him. He leaned in, “What happened to your eye?” A slender finger gently tilting your chin upward.

Lie. 

You thought too long for an answer. Why were you getting worse at lying? It used to be one of your best shields and swords but now you were so slow on the draw you were left defenseless. Vulnerable. His hand took yours, gently pulling you into the lobby and through the glass doors of the theatre.

Under the bright lights of the marquee and the street lamps, Alastor inspected your face. He reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, wetting it in his mouth before wiping the makeup off of your under eye.

“Alastor, people are staring.” 

His eyes fell down, soft hands lifting your arm where a bruise was already formed. You hadn’t noticed that one.

“What happened?” He wasn't looking at you when he said it, instead cautiously wiping the makeup off your cheeks in search of more marks.

“The truth or wh-“

“Always. Never give me anything else.”

You sighed, and explained, “Tommy, the manager, he’s been shifting tactics for bringing in money because he owes some big bads a lot of debt. Private shows with performers that sometimes get hands on…,” his hands stopped moving but his eyes didn’t meet yours, “I never asked to be included in it. I wouldn’t do it. I was rude to a man Tommy introduced me to and I ran off Saturday. Yada Yada. He got me as soon as I got to work.”

Alastor didn’t reply, just turned on his heels and marched back into the theater. You chased after him, “I don’t need you to fight my battles!” You tried to get in front of him but he walked right past you.

“Not about what you need, dear, it's about what he deserves.” 

Alastor asked the bartender for Tommy, who pointed to the short but stocky man talking to a group of guests. Alastor approached so quickly Tommy didn’t have time to greet him, instead just backing up until he fell ass first into a booth. Alastor boxed him in, one hand on the wall and one on the table, towering over Tommy as he sat.

“I hear you sell dancers by the night.”

You paced the lobby nervously. Would you be fired? What would Alastor say? Would Tommy hit him, too?

He re-emerged, “Come to my car, please.” He didn't stop walking as he said it. 

You followed a few blocks down to his car, parked on the street. He opened the passenger door for you and closed it behind you. You wanted to ask if you were going somewhere, but thought better of it. A tight u-turn, he pulled the car into the side street where you’d first met each other.

Wordlessly he got out of the car, you opening your door before he could. Popping the trunk, he set the folded canvas inside a paper bag. Checking first, he placed it inside one of the tin trash cans. 

You stood, waiting for an explanation.

Finally he stopped and made eye contact with you. “You have a date tomorrow, with me. Bring this to the apartment above the theater before Tommy and I arrive.” Opening your mouth to speak, he didn’t stop to let you add anything. “Preferably near the bed.” He closed the trunk, “Wear red, please.”

You searched his face for some kind of discernible emotion but found none. Those constricted pupils again, an animal staring back at you from behind a pair of glasses. There was no reason to ask him, it was obvious what was going to happen. Did you want to stop it? 

Did you want to see it? Alastor at work?

“Okay. On all the points.” You looked back at the trashcan, “Canvas hidden near the bed. Wear red.”

“The extra clothes can go anywhere out of sight.” He leaned down, kissing your forehead, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your voice cracked a little, “Wait, you’re leaving already?”

He nodded, “I can’t stay here.” Before getting into his car he turned and added, “Don’t cover the bruises tomorrow. He should see them.”

You nodded in return, “Are you doing this for me?” So quiet you almost hoped he didn’t hear it.

He paused, one leg already in the car and his back to you, “No. I’m doing it for everyone.”

You watched his car light up and leave the alley.

It’s not that you felt abandoned, you felt…. Stranded. You had to go back in there, alone, and put on the normal act but under abnormal conditions. 

So it was happening. You hadn’t seen the first time. Just felt it. You didn’t see the second. You were going to actually see a man die. Not just a man, someone you knew. Someone you used to consider a friend of sorts. Before he got into whatever trouble was driving him to act like a flesh peddler. Could you do it? Could you watch a man be killed? Was that even what Alastor had planned?

Tommy found you the second you were back in the room, hand pressing too hard on the bruises he left on your arm. “You have a meeting tomorrow after your show. If you don’t show up,” he yanked you close, putrid breath of dead teeth you’d never been bothered by before this moment and bad booze assaulting your senses, “I will fucking kill you.”

You almost started laughing, bringing your hand to your mouth to hide your smile. “Okay Tommy.” 

Fuck it. He was going to die anyway, might as well make it a date. 

Ruth saddled up beside you as soon as Tommy was out of earshot, “Look at that smile. Quickie in the alley?”

Disgust, “Jesus, Skye, I was gone like, 5 minutes.” She shrugged. “Why does everyone think — is everyone fucking their daddies* in the side street?” She nodded. “Well, I’m not.”

“Prude.” She joshed before linking your arm in hers again, “We’ve got at least another hour of schmoozing. Tits up!”

Your smile came effortlessly that night, a thrum of excitement keeping you light on your feet. Not excitement for death, but for the very concept of being closer to Alastor. Would you see it happen, in front of you? Or would he have you leave? Either way, you were an active participant with a task list.

He trusted you, even if in a small way. Trust was so rarely given from the people who mattered. Men trusted you often; to be sweet when they tell you they were embarrassed about something, to lie when they ask if you orgasmed, to not steal their cash when they blacked out with their pants still on. Pulling it from strangers was one of your greatest pleasures. But it was easy. You were skilled. 

Yet again, like so often now, Alastor was the exception. He didn’t toss himself at your feet. He stood tall in front of you and on his own terms offered you the things you wanted. You didn’t have to pretend to be demure, you didn’t have sit on his lap in silence and nod and laugh. Just yourself, as much as you could allow yourself to exist in the world. No tricks. If his trust was presented wrapped in a bloodied bow, well, you would thank him dearly and wear the ribbon round your neck like a trophy.

Many men spoke to you, but luckily your participation in conversation wasn’t something they really cared about. As they spoke, your eyes were looking past them and into the future. 

However there was a sense of dread when you lied in bed that night. The excitement of getting closer to Alastor had melted into the fear there was no going back from this. 

Something in your chest stung, a thorn growing from somewhere unknown. Three encounters (that he knew of) and already it seemed your thoughts were more Alastor than yourself. No person had ever made such an impression before. You didn’t like it, but it made you happy. Which is why you didn’t like it. Tying your happiness to another person was a reckless thing to do. You’d seen your mother and half sister both use a man’s attention as a replacement for being happy with themselves and it made them brittle and hollow.

Thinking of what would happen the following night, oddly, you were reminded of losing your virginity. You were a “late bloomer” and were terrified you’d never be you again after. Like something would be taken from you. You fell asleep to that thought, of what you’d lose.

Then you woke, uncharacteristically early, feeling none the bit rested. No dreams. No nightmares. A few seconds of darkness and suddenly it was morning. With the extra time you had you wandered into a department store before going to the theater.

When a sales woman approached you, asking what you were looking for, you were too tired lie.

“A red dress.” You didn’t have the makeup at home to cover your marks, and gave up being worried about it. 

Unfortunately, it seemed it wasn’t so odd of a sight; a woman with a black eye.

“What’s the occasion? Apology dinner?” The woman fidgeted with the hangers while looking at you.

You grimaced, “No, a murder.”

She howled, “You are a hoot! Don’t we wish, huh? Let me pull you some options.”

You put the dress on the top of the paper bag, having hidden it under your make up table the previous night. Your fingers were trembling, applying your makeup needing deep breaths and concentration.

“Ruth, can you do my lips?” You turned and handed her the brush. 

“The eye looks better.” She took your chin in her hand and painted your mouth a pretty shade of red.

“Thank you.” You offered her a smile but she didn't let go, “What?”

“You ever seen a cornered raccoon? Like one got in the house and your mom boxed it into a corner with a broom?”

A nod, yes, actually, you had.

“Who’s got the broom?” She asked. You knitted your brow, not understanding. “Who’s got you in a corner? Is it Tommy?”

You took your chin back, deep breaths. “No brooms. No corners. Just rattled still from last night.” Not a lie, surprisingly. “You thought of a raccoon? Really? Is it because of the eye?”

When you took your bow for the evening and turned to escape the stage lights for the darkness of backstage, you found Tommy leaning just outside the dressing room.

“Get changed, doors unlocked upstairs. Room 504.” 

Grabbing the paper bag you ran through your mental checklist. Wear red, take off your make up, hide the canvas by the bed. An odd to-do list for murder.

The theater had two floors of modest apartments above it, the owners keeping two of the open for the theater’s use. One was for the owners should they ever visit New Orleans, and the other was multi use. Storage and a crash pad for performers or Tommy when he worked late.

The bag crinkled as you hugged it, looking over the small apartment. Boxes, decorations, a modest kitchen and a bed. The bathroom was quite large, a tub and shower head. Was this where the other performers went?  

Why hadn’t anyone said anything sooner? Why didn’t anyone leave yet?

Taking a second, you got to work. You opened the canvas and slid it under the bed, the smallest bit of edge sticking out for easy retrieval. Dizzy with the quickly settling reality of what you were doing, you sat on the floor for a moment. Trying to calm your breathing, you closed your eyes.

The fear of the unknown was suffocating you. There was a possibility Alastor failed and ended up hurt. Or, that he changed his mind and Tommy left you two to just hold hands on the bed for a sex-appropriate amount of time.

You patted your thighs and stood up. No time now for a panic attack. Alastor had a change of clothes in the bag, neatly folded and tied in twine. They were set onto the shelf above the closet.

And finally, yourself. Your dress was on and you stopped to wipe the make up off your face in the bathroom mirror. Still bruised, still nasty. The dress was nice though, carrying some of the weight for your battered mug. Red cotton, sailor neck and little gold buttons down the front. Flashy, brighter than the dark number you usually wore.

Would he like it? Most men looked for how a dress accentuated your curves (or hid them) but you had a feeling Alastor didn’t care so much about that.

You took your seat at the edge of the bed, thin mattress sagging from your weight.

The clock ticked, until finally the door opened and you saw something you hadn’t seen before and knew you’d never see again. Tommy and Alastor.

“Here she is. Autumn, this is Mr. Cerf. He's asked I stay in the apartment, apparently word of your attitude already spread among the upperclass.” Tommy wagged his finger at you in a playful way that was entirely out of place.

“Look at her. Pouting. Not very excited, is she?” Alastor smiled at you, softly. You felt for a second that maybe you entirely misunderstood. He looked calm, normal. Even peaceful.

“It’s always nice when they fight a little. But she won’t cause you any trouble.” Tommy patted Alastor’s back, who immediately shirked away.

“Do you like it when women try to fight you off, Tommy?”

A dry laugh, “Ya know how it is. They gotta act like they don’t like it so people still respect ‘em.”

A hum. Alastor’s smile falling entirely. A shadow settled over his face. “I see. That does make things easier.” He slipped on his short black gloves. “I always tell her she looks lovely in red. She rarely listens to me, but I’m happy to see she did tonight. It’s a special occasion.” 

Once, you thought. You didn’t listen once. 

Tommy nervously chuckled, looking from Alastor then to you, “What?” Alastor grabbed him by the back of the neck, pushing him to the ground and onto his knees. Hand fisted in his hair, knife pressing across his throat. 

Alastor dug his knee into the small of Tommy’s back, “Tommy, I think you owe the lady an apology.” You let your feet find the edge of the canvas and slid it out with a kick. It glided across the wood and stopped where his knees met the floor. 

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I’m sorry.” Tommy was staring at the waxed fabric in front of him. 

You felt your eyes sting with tears, a smile breaking out against your will. “For what?”

“I—,” his eyes searched the room for an answer, your words bringing a pulse of Deja Vu, “It’s about yesterday?” He seemed to relax a little, “Come on. I said sorry. ” Looking back to Alastor. “I didn’t know she had a guy.”

Alastor yanked his head back to look him squarely in his eyes, “Wrong answer.” He pushed him down onto his stomach, “Come on Tommy. I like when my victims fight a little, too.” Sensing the taller man towering over him with the knife, Tommy scrambled onto his back to look at Alastor. Tommy started shouting, “Hey!! Someone!” But there was no one to hear him. That was the beauty of the space he always brought his dates to; it was too loud to hear anyone scream. 

Funny how that works both ways.

Alastor shrugged, “Well that didn’t last long.” As Tommy backed up, trying to get traction on the slippery canvas and failing, Alastor straddled him. Tommy’s hands came up, one pushing against Alastor’s face, the other against the arm holding the knife. Alastor put both hands onto the knife’s handle, staring down into Tommy’s eyes as he inched closer to the man’s neck. “You look scared, Tommy. Are you scared?” 

The other man shouted, eyes trembling as he watched the knife come down.

Alastor pushed through, metal sinking into Tommy’s throat. No pause, he withdrew and sank it again and again. Tommy’s hands fell from Alastor’s face, flailing slightly at his neck before slumping down. He was frenzied, stabbing at his chest and upward with wide eyes. You recognized those constricted pupils. They made sense in this setting. Alastor was panting, taking a second to split the skin from ear to ear in the middle of his melee. 

You brought your knees to your chest, watching the crime unfold. Was this anger for you or truly for everyone? No one ever got so angry for you before, if you could be so conceited as to say this was for you. Your mouth opened and you spoke without thinking, no filter. “You look like an angry God. A jazz demon of wrath.” You smiled, the morbidity not lost on you.

Alastor stopped, frozen as he stared at you. For a second, he had forgotten you were there. He was always alone during these hobbies of his. Until recently. You looked like an angel in red and gold. Had he dyed your heavenly robes crimson? Or had you been made that way?

He dropped the knife, peeling his gloves off and stepping over Tommy’s decimated torso before kicking off his shoes.

You scooted back onto the bed and opened your arms, welcoming a strange after-kill cuddle. Your reward.

Alastor took off his bowtie, then his shirt. It took you a second, not realizing what was happening until he began to unbuckle his belt. “Now?!” 

He nodded, “Yeah.”

“What the fuc— okay,” your hands flew to unclasp your stockings and roll down your panties. You mumbled to yourself, “Jesus Christ.”

As he crawled over you, warm gloveless hands tracing along your legs, hips, waist, you looked at up him with your now dilated pupils, “It’s murder? You need murder?”

He laughed, embarrassing you a little, “No it isn’t that.” His face nuzzled into your neck, “You’d go to hell? For me?” 

You froze, you hadn’t really seen it like that.

“You’d damn your eternal soul,” his hips pressed into you, an unfamiliar hardness there that made you gulp, “just to spend time with me?”

How were you so heated over an erection? A dime a dozen, men practically threw them at women who offered them the slightest smile. Yet feeling him so hard against you, something you had been practically praying for, made you weak. A trembling virgin all over again. 

Don’t lie, he always told you to be honest so you decided to try it out even if it made you feel at risk of harm. Your hands slid up and into his hair, gripping gently, enough to elicit a groan from him, “Well I was worried heaven wouldn’t have jazz, so… yeah.” You had to always say something a little in jest, to hide from the vulnerability of honesty, “This seemed like a better option.” The truth was, if you had to state it plainly, you would dive head first into hell in exchange for his smile. To hear his laugh. To feel his breath over your mouth. You were quite sure hell was more your scene, anyway.

“I’ll be sure to fill your afterlife with jazz every day, dear.” 

How could he make hell sound so sweet?

“It’s a deal.” Fingers playing with his hair, basking in the warmth of skin on skin. 

He leaned up, eyes scanning your face as he always seemed to do in these intimate moments. The feeling spreading down his chest was one wholly foreign to him, one he was struggling to put into his own words. You hadn’t run away. You opened your arms for him even still, welcoming your own damnation in exchange for… affection? Attention? Him? The reason didn’t matter, not to Alastor, and not now to his growing need. You didn’t even push him for more than he wanted to give, not yet needled him for details, secrets, sex. Could you really just be there for Alastor? Take him for what he was and what he wasn’t?

His mouth was salivating at the thought you’d give him anything. Reality was, you already had. His finger caressed the purple welt on your cheek. You were given pain and he returned it ten fold to its owner. A demon of wrath. He felt his cock twitching, underwear tented around him. 

You smiled up at him, wiping a little streak of blood from his jawline, “You look quite pretty in red yourself.”

His head came to rest on your collarbone with a shaky sigh.

Had you said something wrong? 

“Please, you’re already pushing me to my limit.”

Making a show of it, you zipped your mouth and pretended to toss the key. You wanted to reach down and pull off his remaining bit of clothing, to rub yourself against his manhood. But, you weren’t sure if that was something he would appreciate. You didn’t want to ruin his experience, to make him regret offering you something he so clearly didn’t need to give.

He removed his underwear, watching you unbutton your dress and pulling your arms free. Your bra, garter, and stockings were still on. Somehow he found it more scandalous than if you were completely naked.

Your breath was shaking, uneven as the excitement took control of you. There was a not totally unfounded fear you'd black out from hyperventilating.

Alastor lined himself up with your heat and pressed in, making a hard to decipher face as his brow knit up and he bit his lip. You were already so wet, not a hand or mouth needed from him. He wondered if you shared more than an acceptance of justified homicide; your body so relaxed and welcoming to him. 

With a few shallow thrusts, he was fully sunk into you. You may have let out a cry. An emptiness you hadn’t clocked was suddenly gone. Was this what Zeus meant when he said the two souled humans were too powerful and tore them apart to weaken them? 

Was this sex, or love? The word made you nervous. But—- if he offered it to you in both palms, you’d suffocate yourself in his hands.

He began to move in earnest, thrusting in and out slowly. You had expected the frantic moves of a horny virgin. Instead he was moving with control, hips rolling into you like waves gentle and steady where the lake met land, not slamming like many men before him. 

Had it been any other dick, you’d whine and begin moving yourself against it for that needed speed. This was Alastor. Dripping pleasure into your open mouth like a drought-breaking summer shower.

You didn’t recognize your own sounds, already panting and moaning as a warmth spread from the place where his cock was sliding around inside you.

Alastor tried to keep calm. Even when his body was sensitive, he wasn’t used to the mental work needed to fight off his orgasm. Usually he had the opposite issue, struggling to stay focused enough to finish. Mind wandering to more productive chores. 

But you were so wet, so accepting in body and mind. He watched your eyes close, one hand gently clawing at the blankets, the other reaching down to touch his lower stomach every time he thrust back in. For the first time in a very long time you really truly wanted to remember who was at the other end of the dick you were enjoying.

Languid moves. Swollen cockhead hitting the bottom of your walls, the top, the end, pushing still a little further.

“I’m sorry,” Alastor leaned down over you, kissing at your jawline, “For making you wait so long for so little.”

His rhythm picked up then, burying himself deeper into your sopping cunt and dragging out enough to pull back that quiver of his release.

You shook your head, lips tingling. “Nothing little here.”

He attempted a laugh, losing his breath. He wanted to last longer, to make the experience worth your while but he could feel you dripping down his balls and it weakened him with alarming efficiency. Finally the frenzied speed you witnessed earlier was turned to you, you brought your legs up, holding at his sides. “Darling I need to-,” he moaned into your ear.

“Please stay.” You clung to his neck, nails grazing at his shoulders.

Alastor’s voice was soft and sweet, a small moan and a gentle grunt. His legs spread more, trying to get every centimeter of himself into you. Hips now grinding in a small circle, but not losing any of the comfort of your warmth. You felt him still pumping that welcomed heat into you, and you tightened around him, drawing out your own moan. He hissed, “Sensitive.” Your legs were shaking like leaves in a storm, no orgasm but the pleasure nonetheless intoxicating.

The front of your brain felt like static, perhaps from the lack of oxygen as you had uncharacteristically lost your breath under Alastor. 

Like losing your virginity, after the fear faded and you were able to find a moment for introspection, you found yourself larger than before. The edges of your canvas expanded out, new parts of yourself unfurling for you to explore. Nothing had been lost, only gained.

Alastor kissed at the dark circle under your eye, at the bruise of your cheek, he lifted your arm and kissed gently at the purple and blue spots there too. He had lied, and he wasn’t sure why, but maybe he’d find the will to admit it to you someday.

He had left yesterday to keep from strangling Tommy in the center of the theater, finding himself in a rage. He rarely felt anger. His killings always about retribution, about karma, about righting the scales. He needed to leave to keep from losing his composure.

He lied to you in the alley, unable to look you in the eye when he did it for fear you’d see it. You always seemed to see him with a clarity others didn’t despite such a short time together. He struggled to hide from you and it was as exciting as it was frightening. A testament to your similarities.

He hadn’t done it for everyone. No. His personal moral code fell to pieces when he saw your bloodied eye and bruised skin. He would have killed Tommy even if he had been a good man, even if you’d been the instigator. None of his murderous rules mattered. And it scared him. 

(Next Part Next Week, orz)

*slang for boyfriend, often a rich one

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∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

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🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan ,@valkyrie-expeditions

[cosmickid-inmotion]

Puck Bunny

Hockey player!Tommy Miller x Puck bunny!reader

Join my taglist : Masterlist

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Summary: You're gonna make Tommy yours

Warnings: Fingering, leg humping, fucked with a foregein object <3, ass slapping.

Please consider reblogging to spread it!

A/N first time writing Tommy with no Joel!

Shout out to @sweetlummie and @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog for encouraging me!

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

He didn’t know it, but the new rookie for Texas Stars skating around below you was going to be your boyfriend. 

Tommy Miller was an often underlook member of the team, but those who knew what they were talking about saw his potential, saw the way he moved with grace despite his large build, how he kept calm under pressure, his speed and his aim. He just needed… encouragement. While all the other girls went for the men with more play time, whose sports trading cards posted more goals, or who were already names among any hockey fan, you had your eyes set on him.

It wasn’t like he didn’t get attention from girl; of course he did, he was beautiful. Kind eyes and the most profoundly sparkling smile you’d ever seen, all framed in dark curls.

He practiced alone, sentenced to hours of grueling routines to make up for his little fumble today while his teammates were out partying with girls or at home fucking their wives. It wasn’t fair that he got punished. Harold was the one who tried to pass it to Tommy when Jake was wide fucking open! Tommy did his best with what he was given, which was a not-clear shot and when he took it, he missed. Trailing only one point behind, the buzzer went off and Tommy was blamed for losing the game.

Skidding to a stop, Tommy looked up at the near empty bleachers where you sat. He touched his finger to his helmet and tipped his head. Such a cowboy, you thought, and we went on practicing.

*

The locker door slamming signaled where he was at, and you give a little courtesy knock at the entrance.

“C’in.” Tommy calls, probably assuming you’re a teammate or coach, or even staff.

“Yuh decent?” 

Whatever he was expecting, when he turned around his face indicated it wasn’t you.

“Oh. Howdy, ma’am?” Tommy’s voice inflected up at the end, sounding more like a question than a greeting. Still, you lean against the doorway and admire the view.

Even cuter up close, you admire. Little freckles sprinkled his face, and his smile was so boyish and cute your heart fluttered.

“I uh… I seen you ‘round.” He repeated your name, and it made you happy to know he knew it. That meant he’d asked about you. You and Tommy talked a few times, mostly in groups, but you’d never been introduced. “What’cha do’n here so late? Pretty little thing like you gotta have a nice young man wait’n at home for yuh?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Not yet, anyway. Wasn’t think’n ‘bout tryna change that.”

Pink flushed his skin, but his smile grew. “Is that so, sweet thing? Do I got myself a little puck bunny on my hands?”

You push yourself off the wall, a spring in your step as you bound towards him.Hands clasped behind your back, you gaze up at him with big eyes. Fuck, his shadow just swollowed you up. “Nothing you aren’t used to, I’m sure.”

“Been around a time or two, I won’t lie…” A large, LARGE hand reached out to cup your face and you can’t help but squeal. As your little plans were happening. “None quite as cute as the little bunny I got in front of me, though.”

Taking a little initiative, you pressed yourself up against his red jersey. He smells like sweat and the metallic air of an ice rink. His body was firm against you. “Want you to fuck me.” You blurt out, and the sultry look on his face breaks into a wide grin. 

“That’s why you break’n into my locker room?”

You nod. He leans closer.

“Well, how can I say no to such a pretty little bunny?”

His mouth crashes into you, shoving you right up against the locker doors with a rattling crash as his hands paw all over you. Tommy dwarfs you, his wide shoulders and barrel chest completely caging you in. The force of his kisses and powerful presence is so much so you’d feel trapped if you weren’t so fucking turned on. Hands down your pants, Tommy bites hard at your lip and sucks on it to ease the pain as he fiddles with your cunt.

“Wet already?” He teases, smirk pressed against your skin.

“I- I was thinking about you… while I watched…” You moan against him bucking your hand against Tommy’s fingers as they teased your entrance.

“So eager… Tell me, Bunny, how come I got so lucky to find you in my locker, not one of my teammates? Chance?”

You want his long fingers inside you so bad, sweating from the teasing enough you don’t even feel the chill of the air. “Tommyyyy, please!”

“Talk to me, bebita. I won’t be mad if I just happened to be who was here tonight, promise.”

“No! No, Tommy, you’re special… you’re gonna be a star, I just know it…”

When you glance up at him, you expect to see a smirk. Instead, his face is soft. “You really think that?”

Quickly, you nod. “I’d put money on it. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever seen…”

“Fuck-” Suddenly he’s finger fucking you, the wet squelch of your cunt echoing around you, about filth filling the locker room. “Gonna treat you so good, pretty baby. So fuck’n good.” It’s then you realize he’s humping against you, hard cock grinding against your thigh

Your hands grip his huge forearms, searching for purchase and stability as he drew you closer to orgasm. Tommy sucked deep into your neck, sure to leave a mark you’d proudly display. You were taken. Tommy was gonna be yours. Yeah, you were hooking up right now and it wasn’t a commitment, it wasn’t a proclamation of love but it was a start.

“Cum for me, bunny.” Tommy’s voice was tight, tense...

And you did. You’d do anything he wanted. Waves of pleasure crash around you, clenching down hard on his three fingers and crying out his name as he muttered curses against your ear. Little moans escaped his mouth as he too came, cuming only from humping your leg and finger fucking you cunt. Your knees went weak, melting into jelly but Tommy caught you.

He bent you down and over the bench, stomach pressed to the cool wood and your ass and pussy on clear display in the harsh LED lights.

Panting, Tommy kneels down next to you; not before you can see a wet spot in his uniform.

“Think…” He pants. “Think you can take more?”

Smiling, you turn to look at him. “Does the phrase fuck like rabbits mean nothing to you?”

He laughs at that, calling you a good girl and kisses your forehead.

Still, you nod to where his erection is gone, already wasting his seed in his pants. “You gonna get hard for me again already, pretty boy?”

A chuckles as he reaches around you, walking on his knees to get a good look from behind. “Not quite, bunny…” A tsk, tsk, tsk from his mouth as he stares at your vulnerable position. “Such a pretty little cunt… it’d be shame to leave it all put together, huh?”

You didn’t know what he had planned and you didn’t care. “Yeah, it would.”

Cool plastic hits your wet cunt and you gasp.

The hockey stick.

“Gonna take real good care of you…” Tommy mutters, planting a kiss to your ass. “And then I’m gonna take you on a real fuck’n date, that sound good?”

Oh, things are coming together nicely. “Yes Tommy. Sounds real nice.”

“Good girl.”

And then all you could feel was your cunt being spread open. It was slow, careful but still an agonizing split.

“Ooooh shit!” You moan, and despite the ache you push yourself back against him to take it further. It was delicious, it was wrong, and you were 100% willing to humiliate yourself for Tommy… but it didn’t feel humiliating. It felt good. It felt good because you felt full, it felt good because you could hear Tommy’s grin as he praised you. He began to fuck you with it, the handle going as far up as it could and you grip the bench you’re knelt against to try and hold onto reality and you come barrelling towards your orgasm again. 

*Smack!*

Tommy slapped your ass just to watch it jiggle.

“Fuck! Fuck you’re perfect… my bunny. My perfect bunny…”

Wrapping an arm around you, Tommy plays with your clit and that's the beginning of the end for you.

“Tommy!” You scream his name, hearing it bounce down the hallways but you don’t fucking care. You would let Tommy stick whatever he wanted wherever he wanted if it meant he called you his bunny again.

You cum on the hockey stick, drenching it in your fluids and feeling it splatter out around your thighs as he keeps fucking you.

Satiated, smiling, and full, you fully slump against the bench and Tommy finally pulls the stick out. All clear, you let yourself slide onto the cool tile floor, red lockers creating a wall around you. And you laugh.

If Tommy cares that you’re laughing after sex he does show it, instead crawling over to where your head rest after he pulls up your pants, giggling himself. He pulls your head onto his lap, gently caressing you.

“How you feel’n?”

You grin up at him, Tommy’s near-black locks falling around him. “A little empty right now, honestly.”

This makes him laugh again. “Well, I got all night, bebita. I can fill you right up again” When you’re read he helps you up. “You’re really someth’n, y’know that?”

“I do, actually. That’s why I think we’d be good together.”

“Can’t help but agree with yuh there.” You watch him dress down, to his padding, then tell him you’ll wait for him outside the locker room. As much as you wanna see him naked, you decide to make that event a little more special.

When he’s showered and back in his regular clothes, still as thick as ever, you loop you arm around his and he guides you out of the maze of the rinks halls, his back heavy on your shoulder, but you insist. 

As he walks you out, you cross paths with one of his team mates coming back in for some practice, Carter. Tall as hell, blonde, and with a young man on his arm, he takes one look at your mussed hair and hickies, then pats Tommy on the back as they pass.

You were Tommy’s puck bunny now.

hope you liked it!!!!

Other content of mine with tommy: The Wrong Way, Yes Uncle tommy? Blessed be the fruit

Also shout out to my beloved @aurorawritestoescape for her sexy sexy Bad Blood with tommy and joel!

Im working on a tommy exclusive series rn that I hope will be the right kind of mind fuck <3 will start releasing it with the new season! TOMMY MILLER FANS RISE!!!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @miraclesabound @sunshineispunk @umnitsa @huskyfox5 @musings-of-a-rose

[moonriseoverkyoto]

Ghosts in the family

Synopsis - aka all the times The Riley siblings have talked about eachother, and all the times Soap should’ve connected the dots but didn’t see the constellation.

cw/tags - MDNI 18+ making out, grinding, no piv or smut guys sorry, swearing, mentions of female anatomy, military inaccuracies, fanon versions of cod characters, threats, mild violence, mentions of guns, innuendos, etc. you’re dealing with grown men in the military that is your warning

Pairing - Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Afab!Riley!Reader, John Price x Riley!Reader (Platonic)

Author's note - Soap is about 26, Reader is 24, Tommy is the name of Simon’s canon younger brother who later scares him with masks and anyways, just beware of that background. Pt.2 of this au, just this just shits and giggles background for later bc I dont know how to flesh out that cliffhanger I left in my Drabble, see you at the bottom! - Moon

Requests are open!

© moonriseoverkyoto 2023. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

1. Simon knew that Johnny’s intention wasn’t to piss him off, but yet he still managed to feel a migraine pool behind his eyes. All day, every mission just asking question after question. Simon wondered if this is what it was like to have a stable home. All he had was you from day one his baby sister. His lips jerk upward before he cuts off the muscle reflex of what we know as a smile. He’d rather keel over and die than let Johnny see his eyes krinkle.

“I have a sister.” He grumbles. Everyone in the truck goes silent. Johnny’s jokes stop, Gaz smirks to himself, even Price manages to watch through the rearview mirror.

“Really? And you waited so long to tell me. Oh my god what’s she like. Oh is she pretty- wait don’t answer that, that’s weird if you agree…” Simon sighs to himself as he tunes out Johnny again. Oh he wishes holiday would come faster.

2. Holiday was tough. Even worse was being stuck alone over holiday break because your only family was stuck in an operation. Especially since you just got the news after putting up Christmas decoration.

“Really Simon? I got football on the telly, your presents are all wrapped” you whined. Simon grinned under his balaclava, oh how he wished he could be there to receive your annual gag gift.

“I know I know I know, assignment came late and everyone else has families to go home to so I just suggested myself-“ he tried to calm you down knowing this would only add gasoline.

“Dammit Si, I’m your family too! Im gonna give you a new buzz cut when you get home at the rate you’re going with all these sudden plans.” Your voice cracked at his name, you know he didn’t mean to break your heart. But Simon couldn’t bare to see Johnny, Price, or Gaz not go home to their big happy families.

“Yeah I know. Im yer brother. No getting out of that one.” He said. “Why don’t you stay with Price again this year. You know he loves you around”

“Because he is the only friend of yours that I’ve met-“

“Yeah you’ll meet the guys someday. promise.”

“Maybe for this holiday present?”

“Maybe.“

“yeah yeah yeah. I love you Si”

“Love you too, and I hope that second date of yours goes well this Friday” oh if only he knew how well that date went with your mysterious Scottish man.

3. “I thought you said you don’t kiss on the second date” Johnny grinned into your lips. Your hands all in his hair.

“Only if they don’t show promise” you remarked back. You could feel his bulge grinding through your pants in the back of this telephone booth. A soft groan leaving his lips as Johnny responded

“Oh so I show promise.” You could practically hear the grin as his lips trailed down your jaw and neck, the slight friction of his scruff following as he moved aside your dogtags.

“Yeah promise that if you don’t hush up, you won’t be getting anything” you quipped back as equally as smug

“Thought you were gonna call that brother of yers” he slurred back as he smelled your perfume. The man practically drooling as your nails trailed down his neck scratching. If he had a tail it’d be whipping the air. A whimper passing through the air as his bulge caught the right part of your fabric rubbing your clit in a delightful direction

“he can wait, I have something else to call for now” you said as you opened the door of the telephone booth and whistled (or yelled if you can’t) as loud as you could do to call a taxi. Johnny had a light in his eye that he never thought would spark until he met you.

Soon you would find out later that Simon actually COULD wait and he did, 12 whole hours he stayed up staring at your apartment door to be let in - fresh on holiday too. Maybe being motormouth’d by Johnny into the window of a hummer didn’t sound so bad now

4. Simon kept a photo of you and him in his pocket everywhere that you went. I mean everywhere. No matter the place. And a lighter too incase he was captured by enemies so as to not compromise his location. But it was a photo from a holiday in France. You were both pillow fighting in the bed. Messy hair, toothless grins, back when Mummy was alive and Daddy hadn’t shown his true colors. Tommy took that picture,. Simon holds it to remind him what he’s fighting for.

“Oh is that yer little sister, she’s missin a few teeth there” Johnny grins looking over the sniper’s shoulder.

“You’re about to miss some bones if you ask about my sister again” Simon growls. fuck. Johnny is the last person he needs around his sister. It’s not like Johnny was a womanizer - he was the opposite. Johnny was perfection. He was from a happy home, a stable home, a place where you wouldn’t have to remember what happened at that old house. It scared Simon to death imagining you forgetting about him. Then he’d really be alone.

“She must’ve gotten the good genes.” Gaz pipes into the coms, what an instigator.

“Wonder what she looks like in jeans” Soap hummed as he cleaned out his gun.

Ghost hummed to himself as he secretly folded up the photo and put it right back in the pocket over his heart. Maybe you could wait another year before meeting them.

Authors note - I made a part 2, this is unedited. Im so tired. I will flesh more of this out before I take another break I promise!! Xoxo - Moon

[bidisasterevankinard]

Part 3 of the fic where Buck leaves 118 to grow

Buck is on his last flashcard - for the thousandth time today, when big hands hug his waist and in a second his on the broad shoulder, with his ass up.

Tommy smacks it saying, “it’s enough studying for today. We’re going to bed.”

“N-no,” Buck shakes his head, “I need to study more. The test is tomorrow and I-I.”

Tommy interrupts him , “will ace it even if you don’t know the one or two questions which I doubt because you were studying for eight months. And last month you saw notebooks and books more than me. You need to rest, Evan,” Tommy lies him to bed, “your pretty head won’t work if you're tired. That is why you could fail.”

The strict, but gentle voice and eyes with so much love break his resilience and he hugs Tommy, exhaling in his chest.

“I-I’m scared I overestimated myself,” he whispers, feeling the kiss on his forehead.

“You didn’t. If someone is qualified for it, it’s you,” Tommy moves then so they lie comfier and throw the blanket on them. “Sal agrees with me too. He can’t wait for you to join 122.”

“You were talking about me with my future captain?”

“He called me to congratulate with a good guy I found for myself. And that he hopes we can reconcile when you are part of 122.”

“What did you say?”

“That it sounded good and that you’re a huge win for any station and that Sal is really lucky to have you as second in command.”

Buck nods and then chuckles.

“What’s funny?”

“N-othing, nothing,” Buck laughs again, “I just feel like, you know, my boyfriend made a call to make sure his baby has a good job. I’m not that guy, Kinard.”

“Oh, I know,” Tommy laughs too, but then bites his lip, “though it sounds hot. The idea of me making the call to make your life better.”

“Yeah?” Buck bats his eyelashes, staring grind over Tommy slowly, “do you want to roleplay? Me buying myself a good place in the firehouse? Maybe even a good mark?”

“Right now?”

“I’m pent up with energy. Either you help me to relax and fall asleep or I will stay awake and get more anxious.”

Buck sees how Tommy considers something and then shifts his demeanor to something.

“Well, pretty boy, show me what you can do to get the best mark in the test tomorrow?”

Buck smirks and hides under the blanket.

-

A week later Buck receives an email from the LAFD that he keeps closed till he comes to Tommy, rushing into his house.

“I-I need you t-to open it for me,” he pushes the phone to Tommy who sits on the couch with the book and reading glasses. He takes the phone, studying the screen for several seconds and then looking up with a smile. “Well, hello Lieutenant.”

“I-I passed?”

“You did, baby! With 99 %!” Tommy jumps to him, hugging and kissing him. “I’m so proud of you!”

Buck hugs him tighter, letting tears of happiness fall from his eyes. Tommy keeps him in his hands, kissing his birthmark and murmuring sweet things.

“I can’t believe it.”

“You better start. You know, I don’t like how you have little faith in my boyfriend. He deserves more respect,” he says with fake irritation and Buck laughs on his dork.

He loves Tommy so much.

“I love you,” he says, “Thank you for believing in me no matter what. Thank you for loving me anyway.”

“I love you not anyway, Evan,” Tommy cups his cheeks, “I love you because of who you are. Every quirk. Every little detail.”

Buck kisses him again.

“I have a surprise,” Tommy says, “sit and wait for a moment,ok?”

Buck just nods and Tommy goes to the bedroom, and he’s back in a minute.

“Here,” he gives Buck something like a pamphlet, “I made a reservation in the best SPA hotel in Hawaii for us for a week. My lieutenant boyfriend deserves to be spoiled after the hard work he did.”

“Just us, beach and good massage?”

“Exactly, babe,” Tommy nods.

“I love it,” Buck bites his lip, taking the pamphlet away, “do you think I should practise giving commands?”

Tommy frowns, “I guess?”

“Yeah,” Buck nods, letting his gaze move all over Tommy’s boys in only his gray sweatpants, “I should,��� he looks Tommy right into the eyes, as strict as he can saying, “strip.”

Tommy obligates in a second.

[strawberrytommy]

previously on...

a small prequel to hold me, console me- featuring more officer cortez, by popular demand <3

Officer Alex Cortez wouldn’t call her shift tonight quiet. No, she would never use that word, but it had been utterly boring, until a certain man with soft eyes and built like a brick wall had been brought in. Hey, she has eyes, okay? And apparently he punched a homophobe, so he seems like an alright guy.

That’s how she ends up talking to him, while he’s being processed in. He gives her a small smile and the way his eyes crinkle makes her feel at ease. “Long shift?” He asks, as though he’s not currently in handcuffs, waiting to be taken to holding.

“Yeah, you could say that,” she chuckles, shaking her head. “How’d you end up in this predicament, Mr.—?”

“Tommy. Call me Tommy,” he grins, making an aborted movement to stretch out his hand, before he’s reminded of the cuffs. “I’d shake your hand, but,” he shrugs his shoulders sheepishly.

“Anyway, uh, the short of it is I was at a bar.” His eyes flicker with a flash of sadness before he catches himself. “Some asshole was harassing a couple, I tried to tell him to back off, he swung, I- it wasn’t even a punch, more of a tap- and he was so drunk he fell.”

“Hmm,” Alex hums sympathetically. She’s experienced her fair share of drunk assholes. “And you were out alone?”

“Uh yeah, just needed to be out of my house and own head for a while, I guess.” He shrinks in on himself a little and it makes him seem small, in a way it should be difficult to do as a 6’2” tank of a guy.

“Relationship problems?” She guesses. His eyes grow wide. Bingo.

“Yeah, break-up, actually.” He doesn’t offer more. He's guarded, that way, she realizes.

“Well, it’s not like you have anywhere to be, she shrugs, "so lay it on me. They say talking helps.”

He contemplates for a few seconds, brows furrowed, mouth slightly pinched. He wants to close himself off. And then, he lets out a long sigh and nods.

By the time he’s finished telling her the details of his break up, she wants to knock his and this Evan guy’s heads together, because oh my god.

“So. Let me get this straight. You two broke up because you… love each other? Am I getting this right? Did I accidentally slip and fall and suffer a concussion? What kind of nonsense—”

“—Hey!” Tommy says indignantly. “It’s not that simple.”

“Oh, but it is. You love him, he loves you, albeit it sounds like he put his foot in his mouth- you know actually, he reminds me of this guy a sergeant I know at another precinct talks about- sorry, not the point.”

She walks around her desk and steps closer to him. “My point is, this is nothing that can’t be resolved with a conversation, an actual, honest conversation.”

“Officer Cor—”

“No. You just told me you’re a- a firefighter pilot, you flew into a hurricane and landed on the belly of a capsized ship, you save people, and you’re gonna tell me you’re scared of a conversation. Get it together, soldier!”

He looks properly chastised and a little surprised. “You served?”

“Army.” She tips up her chin with a grin.

“You know, you’re making it hard not to like you, while you’re yelling at me, Officer Cortez.” He laughs and his nose scrunches.

Adorable, she thinks. He makes it hard to be mad at him. “You know I’m right. You’ll talk to your guy, yeah?”

Tommy hesitates. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you to run away with me, instead? I’ll fly us, any island you want. I now this great place, bluest beaches you’ll ever see.” He tilts his head, blue eyes sparkling.

“One, I don’t think my wife would be very happy— Tommy smiles softly at that— and two, stop trying to deflect!” She stands straight, arms crossed and levels him with a look that used to make her brothers shrivel.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees, “I promise.”

Finally!

Officer Spencer chooses that time to come back from his break. “Officer Cortez,” he nods politely. “I’ll take him to holding now.”

She looks to Tommy, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Well, I’m sure you know the drill. You have one call.” She smirks. “Use it wisely.”

[theotherbuckley]

Im in love with this fic and i need more

🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵

You're an amazing writer btw 🩷🪱

Thank you! I'm glad people are liking this fic 🥰

Here's 900 more words just for you <3

🦵 - Buck and Tommy meet at physio after the truck bombing

Tommy isn’t there at his next physio appointment — now only seeing his physiotherapist once every two weeks, unlike Buck who still has to see her every week. The session feels slower than normal; it always does when he’s alone. Bobby promised him that next time he would be able to come with, but today, there’s no one, not even Tommy, to chat with afterwards. 

Dr Mistry seems to sense his subdued mood and has taken to being far more cheerful than he can ever recall.

“Why are you so happy?” he asks, slumping down into his chair after she had given his leg a deep and rather unpleasant massage. 

Dr Mistry turns to him, shooting him a look which he doesn’t care to decipher. “You are quiet. It’s unsettling.”

Buck opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again, staring at his doctor. “Hey, I don’t talk that much.”

“You haven’t even complained one time.”

And okay, that’s fair, but still. 

“I’m just tired,” Buck tells her. It’s not even a lie. He is tired. He’s always tired. He’s just a little spacey today. He’s been feeling quite defeated lately. Sometimes, it feels like all of his hard work is for nothing. His leg still aches like bitch whenever the weather changes, and he only just managed to complete the full length of the bar unaided last session, far behind where he should have been at this point. He’s trying so hard to get better, to work again, but it doesn’t matter how much effort he puts in, it’s never enough. He’s never enough. 

And when there’s nobody with him to tell his brain to shut up, he gets stuck inside his head, and he doesn’t quite know how to get out of it. 

It’s exhausting. 

So he’s tired. He really, really is. 

It’s just a type of tiredness that he doesn’t think he can recover from. Not until his leg is recovered, at least. 

Dr Mistry looks at him for a moment, her eyes scanning over his face, hyperanalysing his expressions as though she can see right down into his soul, see all of those helpless thoughts running around in his head. “There’s doctors for that,” she says, and Buck doesn’t have to ask what she means. 

“I don’t need therapy,” Buck says back, a little too defensively. He’s probably lying, but he doesn’t want to see anyone. He’s fine. He will be. It just takes time, isn’t that what everyone keeps saying?

“It’s not healthy to keep everything stuck inside. Sometimes it is good to let it all out,” she continues, ignoring his slight outburst. 

“I have people. It’s just— It’s hard when they’re not around.”

She nods in understanding but hands him a card anyway. “Just think about it.”

He takes the card begrudgingly and sticks it in his wallet, where he knows he’s not going to touch it again. He doesn’t need help. He just needs to be able to walk— to work. He’ll be fine after that. 

As soon as he gets home, he takes the card out of his wallet and stares at it. 

And then he texts Tommy. 

Buck: Have you ever seen a therapist?

Tommy: Hi Tommy how are you

I’m great thank you for asking

Buck: Yeah yeah

Answer the question

Tommy: I have

Buck: And? 

My doctor wants me to see one

But I don’t want to

Especially not after last time

I’m not that guy anymore

Tommy: Not what guy?

Buck: Not the guy who sleeps with his therapist

Tommy: I’m not sure if I should ask

Buck: Probably best

So..?

Tommy: Therapy helped me

I wasn’t a great guy before

Buck almost scoffs at his phone. Tommy the guy who drove him home and helped him up multiple flights of stairs, whilst injured, on their first meeting, wasn’t a good guy?

Buck: You? Be honest

Tommy: I wasn’t

Turns out repressing my sexuality and listening to what my father taught me is not a good combination

Hurt a lot of people because of it

But therapy helped

I’m comfortable being myself now

Buck has to pause at that. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with it, he just didn’t really expect it. Maybe that’s not a good thing to say. He’s an ally, actually. The rainbow flag in his bio every June proves that. 

Buck: Wait

You’re gay?

Tommy: I am, yeah. Is that a problem?

Buck: No of course not! Men are hot.

Tommy: Mmhmm  

Buck: So you think I should do it?

Tommy: Do what?

Buck: See a therapist

Tommy: I don’t know, Evan

That’s up to you

But if your doctor suggested it, maybe you should listen

Buck: And I don’t need to sleep with them?

Tommy: You definitely do not.

Even after the conversation, Buck can’t bring himself to dial the number on the card. His stomach rumbles after a while, and Buck looks at his watch, mildly surprised to find it past 3 pm. He drops the card on the coffee table, and hobbles to the kitchen with his cane to make himself some food. 

When he sits back down, his mind is focused on queer history, and he finds himself googling pride and forgetting all about therapy. It wasn’t like he needed it anyway.

[aliciasays]

Safe - Joel Miller x OFC - Chapter 3

Word Count: 1.6K

Status: Ongoing

Let me know what you think!

Chapter 3: Butterflies

At the end of the night, Penelope found herself sitting on her porch swing, watching her dad, Tommy, and Joel, haul all the boxes out from the bed of her truck and into the house. Sarah sat beside her, a popsicle in her hand as she kicked her feet, and both slowly rocked on the swing in a comfortable silence.

At about 9pm, the neighborhood had dispersed and decided to head to their own homes. Penelope was happy that she’d finally be able to get some semblance of peace on her first day back in Texas– but then, Joel Miller had thrown a wrench in her plans when he’d asked her dad if he wanted help unloading her truck.

So now she sat on her porch swing, with his daughter, watching him and his brother and her dad haul all her things into the house.

Penelope couldn’t help the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach as she thought about their time together earlier that day. It was stupid, really– he’s just being nice, she told herself… and yet, with the way Joel had smiled at her as they sat at the picnic tables, how he’d fixed her a plate of food and all but commanded her to sit her ass down and not strain herself, or how he was obviously uncomfortable making small talk but tried anyways just to keep her talking– it made Penelope want to squeal like a damn teenage girl.

He was just being nice, he ain’t trying to get into your pants, Penelope thought, a small frown crossing her lips.

The delusional side of her however, was whispering in her ear that maybe Joel was into her in the same manner that she was into him. It was normal to find someone attractive and be physically into them, Penelope tried to rationalize. It wasn’t like Joel was in love with her or anything. Maybe he thought she was cute? Or maybe he was just being nice.

I’m so fucked, Penelope sighed, refraining from groaning loudly in despair as Sarah was sat beside her.

No need to let the little girl know that she was lusting after her father.

Suddenly, a very annoyed sigh left Sarah’s lips, pulling Penelope out of her thoughts.

She turned to look down at the girl and saw that she was swatting at the stray curls on her forehead that had escaped from her poorly tied ponytail.

Popsickle still in one hand, Sarah tried to untie her hair with the other– probably to redo her ponytail, Penelope thought, but then she noted that a part of her hair was knotted around the rubberband.

“Hold on a sec, let me get that for you” Penelope offered softly, “I’ve got a brush in my truck– give me a few secs, okay?”

“Thank you,” Sarah sighed in frustration, “dad doesn’t know how to do my hair.”

I can tell, Penelope thought, smiling softly as she got up and walked towards her truck.

She needed to get to the glovebox, but as she walked towards her truck, she caught Joel’s eye and he immediately walked from behind her truck and met her in front of her passenger door.

“Go sit down,” he said simply, nodding his head towards the front porch where Sarah sat on the swing. “We got your stuff taken care of.”

Penelope felt like squealing like a damn little girl. Her chest felt tight, and the butterflies in her stomach were making her breathless.

“I– uh– thank you, again, for… taking my stuff in,” she stuttered nervously, giving him a small smile, “I was just gonna get a hair brush– it’s in the glovebox.”

At that, Joel gave her a disbelieving look. Of all things, a hair brush– these damn women, he thought to himself. The whole purpose of him and Tommy helping her dad take her stuff inside was so that Penelope wouldn’t have to move around and strain herself, yet here she was, trying to get a hair brush from her truck.

Joel resisted the urge to roll his eyes and shake his head at her in annoyance. There was nothing wrong with her hair, he thought as he gave her quick, once over. She had long, full, black hair that came down to the small of her back. With the Texan heat and how much she had been sweating, he had noticed that her wavy hair had started to go curly at the ends and roots… And suddenly, he couldn’t help but to imagine what her hair would feel like if he ran his hands through it.

Before he could let his mind wander into a darker place, he sighed and reached for the door handle of the passenger door, pulling it open and taking a step to the side to let Penelope through.

Penelope stepped forward, shoulder lightly brushing against Joel’s chest as she reached into the truck to retrieve her hairbrush from the glove compartment. Coming back up, she became painfully aware of how close he was standing. She was sandwiched between her open passenger side door, and Joel, and she felt like dying.

“Got it,” she said almost hesitantly, holding the brush and bringing it up to her chest.

“You don’t need it,” he said simply, eyes softening slightly as he added, “your hair looks good.”

“Thank you,” Penelope nearly whispered, her heart beating a million miles a minute after receiving that compliment. “It’s not for me though, it’s for Sarah. I’m gonna braid her hair.”

At that sudden piece of information, Joel slightly straightened, his eyes darting above Penelope’s head to look at Sarah on the porch swing.

“For Sarah?” he questioned, eyes dropping back to look at Penelope with an unreadable expression on his face.

“She’s got a knot in her hair, I told her I’d help her with it.”

Suddenly, almost hesitantly, Joel’s hand came up to brush a random stray curl away from Penelope’s forehead, tucking it behind her ear. He let his hang linger on her jaw for just a moment, before realizing what he was doing and quickly bringing his hand down and into the front pocket of his jeans. He couldn’t fathom why  he had just done that, but something inside of him had snapped with the new information Penelope had thrown at him. Something about her helping his daughter with her hair soothed a deep ache within his chest that he hadn’t realized was there before.

“Don’t let me hold ya’ up,” Joel mumbled darkly, his eyes looking everywhere but at Penelope as he made a beeline for the back of the truck without another word.

What the fuck was that, Penelope thought, trying to catch her breath as she stood rooted to her spot beside her truck. What. The. Fuck.

The next day found Penelope sitting at  her kitchen table, across from her dad, staring down at her reflection in her mug of tea as she gave him a moment to process what she had just told him.

Unlike Joel, her dad had received the edited version of her story; she’d gotten shot while doing a training exercise, she’d sued for negligence, and then the police department had paid her out through a very hefty settlement– and that was that.

He doesn’t need to know that it was probably not an accident, Penelope kept telling herself.

“Why don’t you just take a few months off work,” her father said after a moment, “catch  your bearings and all that. You work too hard.”

Penelope sighed. She had thought about that. With what money she currently had in her savings, she had calculated that she’d be able to live comfortably off that for the next 3 months, but now with the added settlement money, she could probably finesse not working for the next year or so and still be comfortable.

“I don’t know,” she said after a moment, “I can’t picture myself not working,  you know? I’m just used to always doing something.”

“I know sweetheart,” her father cooed, reaching over the table to place a hand on her wrist, “but maybe it’s time you just… take a break.”

Penelope looked at her father. She’d been playing around with that idea for the past week now, but she just couldn’t. She needed to work.

“If it's any consolation,” she said with a faint smile, “I don’t start work until July. That’s when my doctor says I’m cleared to go back to work.”

Her father rolled his eyes.

“Two month’s aint shit,” he quipped, leaning back on his chair and crossing his arms. “You got fuckin’ shot!”

“I know… but– I’ve been outta commision since like the end of March,” Penelope groaned, “4 months off work is good enough, at least for me.”

“I guess,” her dad sighed, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not even gonna be working too hard– it’s a desk job,” Penelope pushed, “it’s a good schedule; 3 days a week, 12 hour shifts– I’ll be off Friday through Monday, so perpetual 4-day weekends…”

Her father didn’t look impressed, but eventually he conceded and grumbled out, “We’re going camping before the summer ends. No RV, or none of that bullshit “glamping”-- I’m talking about real camping. Tents on the dirt and sleeping-bags and shitting in a hole in the ground…”

Penelope grinned. She was just as outdoorsy as her father, but she hated camping. She needed access to a toilet, a shower, a bed, electricity– she just couldn’t do it. Her dad however, loved the kind of camping that took you out into the middle of the woods with no cellphone reception.

If sleeping on the ground and shitting behind a tree would get him off her back, she’d do it.

“Can I at least bring a–”

“I don’t wanna hear it!

Penelope sighed, but as she looked at her dad, she couldn’t help but to smile widely.

They’d be okay.

[cassatelle]

Three Times Buck Was a Little Brat and One Time Tommy Kissed Him Anyways

written for @bucktommypositivityweek Bingo prompts/squares: brat buck, buck's boils, s8 missing moments 500+ words, 3+1 things, fluff, G

1.

The door had barely clicked shut when Buck turned, giving Tommy a once-over before letting out a dramatic sigh.

“That shirt looks really good on you,” he said, voice dropping an octave as he stepped closer. “Reminds me of that date... you know, the one where I kissed you against the truck?”

His gaze lingered on Tommy’s lips, then shifted away, his pout perfectly exaggerated. “Too bad you think I’m gross now, you won’t kiss me anymore.”

Tommy frowned. “Come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that, you're adorable.”

Buck huffed. “Right, sure,” he mumbled, casting his eyes to the floor as he bite back a grin.

2.

Buck was halfway through vacuuming when he spotted them on top of the shelf: the red and blue cones they’d snagged from Christopher’s birthday party. They were a bit squished, but Buck picked them up anyway, studying it for a second before turning his head toward the kitchen, where Tommy was washing their breakfast dishes.

“I miss when you used to think I was a vision in a cone,” he called, raising his voice just enough to catch his boyfriend’s attention. His smirk grew when he heard the clinking of dishes pause. “You probably think I’m disgusting now.”

Tommy sighed, glancing over his shoulder with a shake of his head. “No, I don’t. I still think you’re gorgeous.”

Buck just giving Tommy a look, tossing the party cones aside as he fought back a smile, watching Tommy roll his eyes with a fond smile of his own.

3.

“It’s almost done,” Tommy said, stirring the pot on the stove one last time. “Can you help set the plates, Ev?”

“You sure you want to eat with me? I mean, I wouldn’t want to ruin your appetite,” Buck leaned back against the counter, folding his arms with an exaggerated sigh. “I can eat on the balcony, you know, keep my face out of your sight.”

Tommy turned around, eyebrows furrowed, wooden spoon still in hand. “Evan,” he sighed. “Really? We're still going with this?”

Buck shrugged, lips pressing into a full-fledged pout.

He might’ve thought he was getting away with it, too, until Tommy set the spoon down, closing the distance between them.

+1

Tommy stepped in close, eyes narrowing in that fond way that usually had Buck dropping the act. Only, this time, Buck held his ground, refusing to let go of his pout. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Oh, so now I’m gross and ridiculous.” Buck muttered, his tone dripping with wounded pride. “Guess it’s—”

He didn’t get to finish, because Tommy’s one hand slipping to Buck’s hip, the other coming up to his chin—tilting his head up with the gentlest touch, careful to not disturb the boils.

Tommy’s thumb traced along his jaw, and his lips curved into a soft smile before he leaned in, pressing his lips to Buck’s pouty lips, lingering just long enough to make his point.

When Tommy pulled back, Buck’s pout was gone, replaced by a smug little smile.

“There. Happy now?”

“Well, that would do for now.”

“Good. Say I think you’re gross one more time, and I’ll kiss you until we’re both out of breath.”

Buck’s grin spread wider, his gaze daring. “You think that’ll stop me?”

Tommy cracked a laugh, pulling him a little closer.

They both knew it wouldn’t.

congratulations for the #1 on fandom metrics bucktommy nations!🎉

[dontbesoweirdkira]

How many children would each of the Salieri men have? -Anon

A/N: Okay this is a response to a inbox request. For some reason I cannot find it anymore?? Sometimes my inbox eats up y’all’s messages. I’m so sorry!! ANYWAYS THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING THIS!! I KNOW EXACTLY HOW MANY.

Requests: open 24/7

Masterlist

Sam

I know I’ve written before that he wants kids with his wife but that’s delusional ¡Yandere! Sam who’s only doing that to baby trap you.

I think he truly doesn’t wants kids and would be perfectly fine if you couldn’t bear any. I think the true reason why he goes through with it is because of the time that he’s in.

Hotshot mob-boss Sam would need to have children because he’d eventually need to have a successor for the family.

Needs come before wants😪

Plus it’d look so weird if he willingly chose not to have any when he can. During that time if you were married with absolutely no kids by like the second year…*side eyed* (exaggeration but y’know)

Please no more than 2 tho. Only wants a son but would be okay with having daughter if he also had a son.

Would be an okay father tho so don’t worry too much. He’s like a dad that swears he hates dogs and if his family gets one he won’t take care of it but once the dog is around he switches up.

Yeah that’s him, he loves his kids a lot. He doesn’t always know how to show it and he’s kind of both physically and emotionally absent.

He does provide them with everything and if they are giving you a hard time he will defend you.

Paulie

You cannot change my mind on this. He wants the most kids and has the strongest desire for them.

This man is a hopeless romantic and he reeeeallly wants to have a perfect large family. I read a headcannon once that said Paulie had a very abusive father and the Mob was his ticket out of that. I believe that too and he wants to become the father he never had.

He fantasizes about being the best dad ever and having the whole family work together in his pizza joint. How beautiful his wife would look carrying his kids.

He wants 6-12 kids…3 boys and 3 girls if it’s 6 or 7boys and 5 girls if it’s 12.

Have you seen that scene in shameless where the guy goes “I HAVE A MAGICAL DICK” after finding out his wife is having twins…yeah that’s Paulie

Seriously this is his dream and if he ever becomes a father he’d never shut up about it. #1 PTA dad. He’s extremely involved with his children’s life. He’ll go through insane lengths to protect his children from a horrible childhood.

Tommy

The original “whatever my wife wants, I’m happy with” man.

I think he’s indifferent about the whole concept of having kids..? Like having kids would be nice….so is not having kids. Doesn’t really care about the societal pressure to have them at all.

He cares about his wife more than any of that junk. If having children would be too much of a strain on your life then don’t worry about it.

To be honest he’s kind of worried to have children because any day he could be gone and now his partner would be left as a single mother. :/

So I’m going to say while he’s actively in the mob he’d be leaning towards a no. But if this is after he’s escaped and you’ve settled down, Tommy is down for it.

Maybe 1-4 kids. Keeping it rather light and traditional. I don’t think this man would handle more than that tbh. Hes certified tired™️ and the more kids the less sleep.

I have a feeling though that he’d have all girls. He’s actually okay with that though. Mobster in a tutu to make his girls smile🤣

I’d say he’d be a normal suburban dad but I think he’s slightly too reserved and dangerous for that.

The family dynamic is super normal. He goes out to work to provide for y’all and when he gets home he’ll help the kids with homework.

We all know Tom is extremely loyal and loving so his kids are his world. They mean absolutely everything to him and he’ll do whatever it takes to help guide them through life.

[typicalopposite]

inspiration saturday <3

THANK YOU 3000 to the beautiful talented amazing @bidisasterevankinard for the tag :) now lets take it back to more

take me back - tommy amnesia fic - from ch 2

They release him a few hours later, and he orders an Uber to take him home— he can go get his truck later; he supposes he should take a couple days off anyway given… everything, anyway. He pushes his front door open and walks into the cold dark… empty house. Even though he hadn’t felt it in the moments between waking up in the garage and leaving for Evan's, the loneliness and heartbreak that has accumulated over the past year is felt as soon as his foot crosses the threshold. In the foyer, the framed 8x10 picture Evan took of them on his porch swing that used to be the first thing you see entering his house… is gone. 

Evan’s extra pair of running shoes are gone from the shoe rack. His Kiss The Chef apron is gone from the kitchen. His homemade almond milk is gone from the fridge. His toothbrush, and his drawers of clothes— plural because he often left his clothes and wore Tommy’s home— and his ‘your sheets suck, so I’m buying you a new set’, bed in a bag, early birthday gift is gone from his room… It is as if they never existed, just like Evan predicted. 

Except in Tommy’s head they just existed yesterday. In his head, yesterday they spent hours on the phone when they should have been resting between calls. They were making plans for what they planned to do to each other after their date. Tommy was dropping the box with the Lakers tickets off at the restaurant and making sure they were brought to the table before they arrived, so Evan wouldn’t see. Yesterday— only it was actually a year ago— Tommy was so fucking happy it sometimes overwhelmed him.  

He crawls into his bed, under the stiff sheets that smell like Tommy, and only him; he tangles himself within them and he allows himself to cry. He allows himself just this moment to grieve, to wallow, and to writhe from the sheer weight of it all until he feels like he is about to throw up… Then he allows the anger to seep in. He screams until his voice is hoarse and the wound in the back of his head is throbbing so strong a horse tranquilizer wouldn’t help him. He punches his pillow over and over until he misses a swing and catches the hard wood of the headboard. Then he reels his hand back and punches at that same spot until his knuckles bleed. 

He draws his hand up to his chest, skin broken and aching just like his heart, and finally allows himself to go numb. He lays on his side and zones out, staring at nothing until darkness creeps into his vision and he falls asleep… 

“Yesterday” he was hopeful this time just might be different. Today he knows he was wrong. 

no pressure tags! @30somethingautisticteacher @sunnywithachanceofbi @judymarch15 @nine-one-wanton @herrmannhalsteadproduction

@lavenderleahy @kinardsevan @onthewaytosomewhere

and for those following along @somethingaboutfirefly @silversky9 @marvelousbuckley @leashybebes @saibowtie

@portinastorm @beanarie @hyperfocusthusly @ladyeyrewrites @theotherbuckley @unhingedangstaddict

@mmso-notlikethat @a-mel0n @rdng1230 @sierrarreads @fenrirscarsback

(lemme know if you want to be taken off or added <3)

[newtkive]

pixels [ newt x reader - modern text au ]

ch. 2 - drama queen core

summary: minho's drama finally catches up with him, but newt becomes a hero.

warnings: strong language, mutual pining, none really.

➥ m.list

__

THE GLADE

[ 12:08 PM ]

y/n: gm pookies

newt: it’s the afternoon.

y/n: yeah well

ur east coast

newt: so are you y/n

y/n: FINE BAD MORNING THEN ARE U HAPPY?

minho: drama queen is awake

newt: you’re the drama queen min let’s be fr

minho: u want me to die be honest

newt: see .

tommy: hey guys :3 been waiting for you all

y/n: awwww tommy <3 gm

tommy: morning sweetums

minho: ew stop

newt: how did you sleep?

tommy: good! used my new heated pillow

newt: not you

minho: not you

tommy: wtf

WHO THEN?? THERES LIKE 7 OTHER PPL IN HERE

minho: he means y/n

and there’s 4 other people not including newt and y/n dumbass

y/n: oh

why just me????

newt: cuz you stayed up til 6 am

y/n: ..

how do you know that

newt: i saw you were active on discord

gally: doesn’t that mean you were awake too then

newt: ok and?

minho: thats crazy newt

newt: no it isn’t

i just casually saw it

y/n: hehe

im ok i need to sleep more. sims 4 was really consuming me

why were you awake??

newt: up for work

minho: you get on discord before work?

chronically online..

newt: can you choke and pass out and hit your head please

minho: THE WAY U WANT ME DEAD IS INSANE

y/n: he’s gotta check on his discord hoes before hitting the grind

newt: there are no discord hoes

unless you count thomas

and i don’t

tommy: well why not

newt: because you disgust me

tommy: love u too :3<3

minho: y’all about to kiss aren’t you

newt: never say that shit again im outside your door with a b*mb

minho: why censor it

just blow me up it’s my grandmas house anyway. u want to jump her that bad????

gally: blow that bitch up i say

y/n: HELLO???!,!!

gally: minho not grandma

she loves me cuz im so tall

minho: tall people always gotta remind you they’re tall 😒

like we get it bigfoot

gally: shut up tinkerbell

y/n: you’re somewhat tall minho

minho: any man under 6’0 is considered short

y/n: yeah but newt is 6 ft trapped in a 5’10 body so not totally true

newt: what does that even mean

minho: give me a break

i can tell you exactly what that means

she wanna hit

newt: stop

tommy: don’t get his hopes up

newt: dude

stfu

y/n: what newt said

gally: can we appreciate the only one actually over 6 ft here

minho: no.

tommy: im the same height as newt!!!!

y/n: yea but ur like 3 ft trapped in a 5’10 body tommy not the same

tommy: oh ..

minho: kind of real

newt: can someone kick gally i’m tired of seeing his fucking name on my phone

gally: then turn your phone off don’t you have old ladies to tend to at the library

newt: yeah and they all love me

y/n: so real

if i was old i’d go in there and imagine you’re my young boyfriend and cling to everything u say

tommy: true im the old ladies

y/n: LMAO

minho: write a fanfic y/n why don’t you

newt: yeah you both are old and not beating the dementia allegations

y/n: IM THE YOUNGEST HERE

ur just mad you’re old as dirt

tommy: youth has left you newt and it has turn you bitter in your old age.

minho: thomas knows big words who knew

newt: which word in that sentence was big??

y/n: shut up minho

minho: wtf did i do

y/n: idk but i imagine you sitting there typing on your little phone and i got pissed

minho: WHAT???!.‘wKWHFO

newt: LMAOOOOOOOOOOO

yeah chubby little fingers hitting the wrong letters on his iphone 8

minho: im leaving

tommy: dont leave i forgive you for what you said

minho: i don’t give a damn

y’all mad y’all are all fake im the realest i’ve been prophesizing and reading scriptures 7000 years before y’all fake asses were born be so for real right now

y/n: not reading that

congrats

or sorry for what happened idk

about to drink my coffee in a wine glass

tommy: just drink wine

newt: it’s noon tommy??

tommy: ok and?

newt: explains a lot

minho: no coffee for me this new year only water and pussy juice fr fr

[ newt removed minho from the group ]

tommy: woah

y/n: woah..

newt: i can’t take it anymore

alby: How did you get that access..?

newt: don’t worry about it

in times of need i have to step in like that

y/n: hi alby!

alby: Hey y/n!

tommy: you’re such a hero newt

gally: that was deserved

who wants to play minecraft rn

y/n: me!!

alby: I’ll play, I’m off work today.

y/n: let’s go to the desert i want a camel

gally: alright but then the caves after i wanna mine

newt: if you mine with her you gotta bring extra food and storage when she dies so you can pick up the fallen items

gally: i forget you’re her designated babysitter

y/n: oh please no he isn’t

and i’ll bring my own food

newt: you always say that and then leave it in the stove oven

y/n: WELL I WONT THIS TIME

newt: sure ok

i’ll get on after work

[ alby added minho to the group ]

minho: when i get you.

newt: why did you add him back alby

alby: He was harassing me.

newt: be a man and take it

gally: im leaving

[ gally left the group ]

minho: im going to throw up and die

newt: im staying out of this

minho: (guy who caused it) im staying out of this

y/n: why does gally alwyas leave 😔

newt: why question a gift from the heavens

tommy: get online y/n gally is attacking my dirt house w a pickaxe :((((

y/n: NO IM COMING

minho: im coming to your work newt

newt: okay im locking the door early then

minho: i’ll smash through the glass idc

newt: i’m leaving my shift is over at 1 today.

minho: i’ll use life360 on you

newt: i deleted that app

minho: i’ll stand in the middle of the street

newt: ok let me position my car in front of you

just come to my apartment and we can play w them on pc and xbox

minho: …. fine but i hate your guts

newt: fine

y/n: HURRY GALLY IS ATTACKING MY SHED NOOOOWWW

newt: i’ll just rebuild it

minho: i’ll set it on fire just wait