#canon typical swearing

[a-sin-to-be-rin]

Cliffs: Slippery When Wet

While searching for Libertalia, Shoreline runs the Drake brothers aground.

An alternative beginning to A Thief's End: Chapter 13: Marooned

---

“On your right!”

The first thing Nate thinks is, Yeah, right. Because he isn't sure how Sam can see anything in this storm. They're moving so quickly, and rocks are appearing so suddenly, and ocean mist blends so thickly with savage rainfall that Nate can't see a damn thing.

“Watch out, watch out!” Sam is screaming over the waves. Whatever he thinks he sees, he really believes it's there.

Nate glances to the side, and that's when a flaming, 500 foot naval frigate smashes into their fishing boat.

“Oh, shit!”

The fishing boat splinters underneath them and tosses them to the waves, the frigate barreling through like a linebacker through wet tissue paper. 

“NATHAN!”

Nate slams against the water’s surface. The frigate's wake drags him down, and he frantically swims against it. But it's really no use. Nathan Drake may be a veteran explorer and a daring adventurer, but even he is subject to the forces of nature. (Or, in this instance, the forces of a giant, bloodthirsty Shoreline boat.)

The surface grows further and further away, and Nate allows himself to be sucked down, with the hopes that maybe, eventually, the boat will pass and the waters will calm.

---

The boat passes. The waters do not calm.

Nathan gasps for breath, coughing as seawater threatens to invade his lungs. He treads water a bit frantically and only semi-effectively.

“Sam?” he calls, but it comes out as a croak. There's no way Sam could hear him in a storm like this. The ocean is roaring, and the rain is torrential. Nate can barely hear himself.

Once he's no longer at risk of dry-drowning, Nathan searches the area. He can’t see much, really, but he’s willing to bet there are more Shoreline boats out there. He could try searching for one, hoping to climb aboard. But at the very least, he would be tossed back into the water. At most, they'd probably just shoot him. So stowing away isn’t an option.

All things considered, Nate is lucky. They’d crashed close to the island. Or… he thinks they crashed close to the island. It's tough to tell in the storm. All he can really do is start swimming and hope to run into something eventually.

The longer Nate paddles, the more he realizes how bone-deep exhausted he is. His muscles strain as he pushes through the water. Every so often, he catches himself slowing down, and he has to kick even harder to keep from sinking. Waves come and go, frequently breaking over his head and sending him spinning underwater. Each time, Nate manages his way back to the surface, but each time, he feels how much harder it is to swim. How much more his lungs burn.

In movies, when the stranded traveler finally sees land, they speed up, so eager and reinvigorated and desperate for reprieve that they get their second wind. But when Nathan finally gets close enough to see the shore, he can barely tread water anymore, much less swim. He’s so, so close, but his arms and legs simply won’t listen.

Look, guys, Nate tries to reason with his limbs. If I don't get out of the water now, I’m going to drown.

We’re cold, his arms argue back.

We’re tired, his legs agree.

You're useless, Nate thinks bitterly. Fine. I’ll do it myself.

But without arms and legs, Nathan is little more than a limbless torso with a head. And for a limbless torso with a head, he does pretty well for himself. But the expectations aren't particularly high for limbless torsos with a head. So in actuality, he doesn't bring himself to shore. He barely stays afloat.

No, the real savior here is the tide. Mother Nature, in all her years of terrorizing Nate, finally cuts him a break. And through the tide alone, Nate washes up on the beach. He lifts his head out of the waterlogged sand and pushes himself up with jelly legs and marmalade arms. The rain continues its barrage, blowing sideways and stinging Nate’s face. But he’s already so soaked that it makes no difference.

“Alright,” Nathan mutters to himself, trying to muster the strength to trudge forward. “I gotta get off this beach.”

The sky is so dark that Nate can’t tell if it’s day or night. And unfortunately, the island is no more visible on land as it was from the water. He’s running blindly into the storm, deafened by rolling thunder and numbed by harsh wind against wet skin. It really should be no surprise that Nate slips almost immediately, falling off a rocky ledge, smacking his shoulder on the way down, and landing on his face.

For a long, dangerous second, Nathan considers staying put. Surely this can wait. His every muscle stings, spasming with fatigue. His shoulder pounds to the beat of his heart. He desperately needs a rest.

But then Nate starts thinking, and he realizes what he forgot.

“Goddamn it,” he growls, pushing himself up and breaking into an uneven jog. “SAM!”

There’s a very good chance that Sam didn’t even make it to shore. Maybe he found a boat. Maybe he was captured. Maybe he’s still in the water.

Maybe he’s dead.

Nate doesn’t hold onto that thought for long. He can’t. It would only make it that much harder to find Sam. (Because Sam is alive, dammit. He’s too stubborn to drown, and bullets obviously don’t have the same effect on him as they do everyone else.)

Wiping the rain from his eyes, Nathan finds a craggy outcrop in his way. The conditions are terrible for climbing, but the conditions are also terrible for running and swimming and trying to outgun a fleet of Shoreline ships, so what does Nathan care? He finds handholds and footholds and starts his ascent.

The climbing isn’t as bad as Nate expected. It’s slippery as hell, but the rocks are relatively short. It takes very little time to make it over the precipice. The view is dismal - just white waves and foreboding rocks sticking out of the water like giant daggers - but it gives him a glimpse of something else. Light, glinting off something to his left. So Nate carefully jumps down to the saturated shoreline. It jars his every joint and bone, but he can’t worry about it. He approaches the light, now clearly his supply box.

Or it was his supply box. Because there’s not a single supply inside. It’s just a useless box.

“For god’s s-” Nathan groans. “Of course. Everything’s gone.”

So Nate just moves right ahead. He really can’t stop right now.

“Maybe that’s a good sign,” he muses. “Maybe Sam took it.”

Maybe he’s looking for excuses to believe Sam is okay. Or maybe it’s true and Sam did take it. Who’s to say?

Nathan runs under a felled tree and climbs further up the cliff. “On the bright side, I can’t lose anything else… except my life.” And then something strikes him. “Talking to myself… That’s the first sign of crazy, isn’t it?”

And the second sign of crazy is asking yourself questions that you already know the answer to.

He pulls himself up yet another ledge, but his muscles are shaking worse than ever. The strength it takes to just walk, much less climb, is starting to get to him. His movements slow, limp worsening.

“Alright,” he tells himself. “I’m alright.”

And then Nathan steps off a cliff.

“Ugh!” he grunts, standing immediately. If he lays down now, he’ll never get back up. “Just push through,” he pants, moving forward. “Just push- augh!”

The ground beneath his feet crumbles, large chunks of rock splashing in the ocean below. Nate scrabbles for a solid surface, just barely grabbing hold in time. Once more, he pulls himself up and keeps moving.

“To hell with this place,” Nathan groans, carefully shuffling past the new gap in the ledge and climbing the next cliff face in his path. It’s getting worse. His head is spinning, and just reaching for handholds has him grunting like he’s playing in the finals at the Wimbledon. (Yeah, he watches tennis. What of it?)

But he reaches the top eventually, groaning and whining the whole way.

“Gotta keep going. Gotta keep going.”

The next climb is situated under a waterfall. Nate doesn’t consider this, because every climb has been wet. What’s a little running water going to do?

Kill you, Nate. It will probably kill you.

So he grabs hold, inching his way along a narrow ledge. He’s doing okay, considering, until the grip under his fingers is loosened by soggy moss. He slips, screams, and catches a lower ledge.

“Hah,” he wheezes. “That was… That was close.”

Slowly, painfully, he reaches up for a safer handhold. The muscles in his back are screaming. His injured shoulder shrieks.

And he slips again.

“No, no, no-!”

But Nathan has Drake luck. He grabs a piece of rock jutting out from the cliff face, slicing his hands in the process, but preventing certain doom. The waterfall is still dumping buckets on him, weakening his grip. He pulls himself upwards, barely managing to reach the next handhold. But he does reach it, and progress is progress.

And then the rock crumbles, his fingers slip, and he finds himself falling. There’s no catching himself this time. No close calls. He’s going to die.

Nate slams into solid rock, curls in on himself, and falls limp. Moving forward is no longer a question or a choice. It’s an impossibility. And though Nate loves himself a good challenge, he’s not going to beat this one.

---

Sam doesn’t like rain. That’s not particularly unique about him, but it is worth noting. So on a remote island, washed up and pummeled with a monsoon?

Not his scene.

“Nathan!” He keeps screaming, even though Nathan has yet to yell back. He’s worse than a lost dog, because at least lost dogs come when their name is called. Nathan just wanders.

And yet, Sam keeps shouting.

It’s been hours now. The dark clouds have thinned out, revealing light gray underneath. The sun is flirting with the horizon, but Sam imagines it might be another hour or so before they’re making out. The rain has tapered off, at least for the time being, reduced to a gentle mist. The ground is sodden, Sam’s boots sinking with every step, and plants drip with the remnants of the storm.

“Nathan!”

Sam must have walked halfway across the island by now. He’s taking the long way - running the perimeter of the island - in the hopes that Nathan is still on the beach. But at this rate, the likelihood of Nathan staying on the shore is getting slimmer and slimmer. More than once, Sam wonders if he should just give up and move inland. He could find a high cliff and signal for Nathan. That could definitely work. And it’s tempting, because once Sam reached the top, he could sit down and wait for Nathan to come to him.

But if Nathan was injured in the crash, he may not have left the beach at all. And the risk that Nathan is hurt and in need of assistance is greater than the relief that Sam would feel knowing that he doesn’t have to keep walking.

“Nathan!”

Sam is tired. He’s so, so tired, from his skin to his spleen to his skull. The crash roughed him up a bit, and dragging his ass to shore was no picnic either. And now, going on hour six (seven?) of searching, Sam is worn to the bone.

But that doesn’t stop him. When he spots the cove - when he spots his brother, collapsed on the ground - Sam breaks into a sprint.

“Nathan!” He slides to his knees, shaking Nathan’s shoulders. “Wake up!”

Nathan’s eyes snap open, looking at Sam like Sam just stole his Gameboy. (And Sam would know. He stole Nathan’s Gameboy back in ‘81. Legend has it, Nathan is still looking for it.) “Sam?”

“Yeah, dumbass. Don’t recognize your own brother?”

“Shut up,” Nathan groans, pushing himself up. He blinks a couple times, rolling his shoulders and wincing. “Where are we?”

Sam tries to bury his worry with wit and sarcasm. “Uh, did you smash your brain in?” And Sam tries to subtly check Nathan’s head for any sign of that. “Remember? The crash? Shoreline? Libertalia?”

This seems to strike a chord. “Ah. Yeah. Right. That place.” He sighs but makes no move to stand up. “I was looking for you, and then I… fell.”

“Fell?” Sam looks up, but the cove is mostly covered. “Fell from where?”

Nathan points up at a hole in the natural ceiling. “Cliff. Up through there.”

“Jesus, Nathan.” Sam curses. “You're lucky you're not dead.”

“Oh, yeah, lucky me,” Nathan groans. “Death would’ve been the kinder mercy.”

“Any chance you found Libertalia before you swan dived off a cliff?”

Nathan’s unamused expression tells Sam everything he needs to know.

“Okay, fine. No Libertalia. Yet. Are you…? Can you walk?”

“I think so?” It’s a question, not a statement.

“Well, let’s try, huh?” Sam tries to keep upbeat, because Nathan kind of looks like shit. The odds of him being out of commission are decent.

“Yeah, okay.”

Sam takes hold of Nathan’s left arm, but even touching it makes Nathan yelp. He drops the arm like it’s broken glass that is also on fire and covered in acid.

“What? Is it broken?”

Nathan grabs his shoulder, cringing in pain. “Uh, I don’t… I don’t think so.”

“Well then what? Broken ribs? Did you get stabbed or something?”

Nathan shakes his head, carefully pulling his shirt collar down past his shoulder. The drenched henley is happy to accommodate. “Oh. Um. Yikes.”

And “oh, um, yikes” is right. Because Nathan’s left shoulder is lower than the right, an unnatural bump under his skin.

“You idiot. You dislocated it.”

“Damn, sorry. I’ll get your permission next time,” Nathan spits.

Sam doesn't have the energy to argue. He just sighs and yanks Nathan’s shoulder back into place.

“Shit!” Nathan screams. He grabs his shoulder protectively and mutters more curses under his breath. “Warn a guy,” he hisses.

“I needed you relaxed. You always tense up when you dislocate something.”

“Dude, that was one time.”

“And you tensed up, and I couldn't get your arm back in, so who's fault is that?”

Nathan sighs. Mutters a few choice swear words. 

“Gonna live?” Sam watches his brother carefully. He’s still pale.

But Nathan nods. “It’ll hurt like hell for a while, but I’ll make it. Help me up.”

So Sam grabs Nathan’s right arm and pulls him up. Nathan brushes the sand from his clothes and uses his belt to sling his arm. “C’mon,” Nathan says, heading inland. “Time to find a lost pirate civilization.”

[saltysideblog]

❁❁ Daisy ❁❁

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

A self indulgent Nice Guys OC

Summary: How they met, part 2.

Part 1 ❁ Part 3 Part 4

A/N: I broke it up into two parts because it was easier for me to write! Enjoy! 🎉

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

Healy really had a knack for attracting trouble. Well, seeing as the three men slowly cornering them were most likely after the girl cowering behind him, attracting troublemakers was a more accurate statement. Not that there’s much difference. Either way, he’s in trouble.

He did a quick head count.

One bald, one bearded, one blond. Three. Three men in sleek black suits.

One brunette in kitten heels and one greying old man. That’s two.

They were definitely outnumbered.

Where the hell was March when you needed him?

The bald man unbuttoned his crisp suit jacket. Healy caught a glimpse of the holster underneath.

“Look pal, boss wants to talk to her, no need to make a scene.”

Healy nodded, “I agree with you about that.”

Baldie stepped forward, Healy’s hand on his chest stopping him in his tracks,

“Doesn’t seem like she wants to talk, though.”

“No, I don’t.” she quickly interjected.

Baldie scoffed, “She doesn’t have a choice.”

Healy tutted, “Now, I have to disagree”, he squared his shoulders, betraying his tenseness, despite his casual tone, “see, me, when a woman says no”, he leaned in, “that means no.”

Balling up the front of Baldie’s shirt, Healy violently connected their foreheads, using his free hand to snatch the man’s gun.

Blondie fired first, hitting his own colleague squarely in the back. Healy returned fire, right to Blondie’s knee. He crumpled like a house of cards. Using Baldie as a human shield, Healy slowly moved forward. The girl covered her head as more shots rang out in the cramped service hallway. A bullet whizzed past Healy’s ear, grazing him. Beardie was a better shot than his friend. He raised the gun and click.

“Fuck.”

Dropping Baldie like a rock, Healy hurled the useless hunk of metal, smacking Beardie in the face with a crunch.

He clutched his now bleeding face, giving Healy enough time to knee him in the stomach, dropping him to his knees. Blondie grasped at his pant leg,

“You son of a bitch, this is none of your business…”

Healy’s fingers harshly tugged on his blond locks, his other hand doing the same to Beardie,

“You oughta work on your aim.”

He knocked their heads together like coconuts, letting them fall with a thud.

A waiter came out of the kitchen, looked at the bodies, looked at Healy standing over them and wordlessly backed away, disappearing into the kitchen once more.

Healy gestured, “We gotta go.”

The girl daintily hopped over the unconscious men,

“So much for not making a scene.”

Leading her back through the crowds on the main floor, ducking behind drunken patrons to avoid any of the black clad security staff, Healy kept an eye out for his partner as well.

“-more like a crime scene.”

He hadn’t been paying attention, “What?”

“The scene we just made… it’s a crime scene.”

He kept a hand on her back, urging her towards the exit, “Well, you get what you pay for…”, he answered absentmindedly.

“Oh yeah, how much was that?”

“Hmmm?”, he pushed open the big glass doors, stepping out into the street.

No more stuffy casino air, all cigar smoke and strong perfumes. It made Los Angeles smell like Mount Everest.

���How much did I pay?”, she pointed to his overstuffed shirt pocket.

“How much did you-“, he fumbled with the money, he was still catching his breath, “Lemme see.”

He placed his glasses on the tip of his nose and counted.

“‘Bout five hundred dollars.”

“S’pretty good price.”

He nodded. They spoke over each other,

“D’you need me to walk you home?”

“How much for a nude scene?”

Healy’s cheeks flushed, “What?!”, he shouted a bit louder than he intended.

She held her hands up, shushing him,

“Kidding! It’s a joke! Because I paid for a crime scene?”

He let out an embarrassed chuckle, “Yeah, yeah… right…”

“You’re not my type anyway.”

He put his glasses away and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’m Daisy, by the way. Daisy Streets.”

He shook her hand, “That can’t be your real name.”

“See that’s why you’re not my type.”

“Not gullible enough?”

“Not gullible enough”, she smiled, “and nameless, apparently.”

“I’m Healy. Jackson. Jackson Healy.”

He cursed at himself for being so flustered.

“Thanks for savin’ my skin, Healy-Jackson Jackson-Healy”, she gestured to the wad of cash in his hand, “don’t spend it all in one place.”

She winked and left, just as quickly as she’d arrived.

Healy stood in the street, taking a deep breath and chuckling to himself. Troublemakers…

A figure came crashing out of the bushes, making him jump, which in turn, made whoever’d just fallen on their ass shriek in surprise as well,

“Jesus!”

“Holland!”

Recognizing his partner, Holland chastised from him from his spot on the pavement,

“Where the hell are you when I need you?”

“I could say the same to you!”

“I was looking for my wallet.”

The look in Holland’s eyes screamed: Obviously.

“You lost your wallet?”

Healy needed a drink.

Holland placed both his hands on his hips, looking up at Healy indignantly,

“No I did not lose my wallet, I don’t lose things, I misplace them, except when they’ve been stolen. Like my wallet.”

“Well, how much did you have in there?”

“‘Bout five hundred dollars.”

[voidcanarys]

Blue Lock Fic Recs

I’ve been meaning to make one of these for a while now. I truly cannot state how much I enjoyed these fics so if a few, or even just one, stands out to you, please give it a shot. I’ve split the list into three sections, kaisagi, bachisagi and miscellaneous but I have wayyyy more fics so I’ll probs make at least a part 2, maybe a part 3.

KAISAGI

I Pay the Price, You’re the Answer to the Pain by yasuna

Teen | Completed | 42.8k words | 8/8

Romantic Hate-Flirting | Homophobia In Football | Angst | Character Study | Developing Romance

It's been one kiss. One kiss that didn't mean shit. But captured by the cameras and broadcasted for the entire world to see, it has the potential to end both of their careers right then and there.

Kaiser and Isagi navigating the world of football whilst staring on a reality tv show. The banter between Isagi and Kaiser is so fun and I love the incorporation of real life events and controversies.

Oat Milk (and Other Irredeemable Vices) by @caluette

Teen | Completed | 26.5k words | 3/3

AU - Coffee Shops & Cafés | AU - No Blue Lock | Enemies to Lovers | Getting Together

Yoichi Isagi works at a coffee shop on campus, and likes to believe he has the virtue of being patient with the people he encounters. He does not, however, file Michael Kaiser under "people." Or, the coffee shop au where they hate each other. Until they don't.

So cute. Dramatic musical theatre major Kaiser and fed up minimum wage worker Isagi. Brilliant characterisation. Love the dialogue between Kaiser and Isagi and their snarky-ness.

Kintsukuroi by laylayli

Mature | Completed | 54.3k words | 3/3

Processing Grief | Kaiser-Centric | Mending Relationships | It starts Bad But Gets Better

'“Kaiser,” he starts to say, “I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, but are you really okay?” And he’s not sure, even afterwards, what it is that makes this his breaking point. Whether it’s the fact that he’s so far away from home, feeling like he’s unmoored himself from reality in this surreal, unfamiliar place, or whether he’s just so tired, so defenceless without the fire burning through him and its fumes obscuring the things he does not want to handle. He’s not sure, if it’s because Isagi is the farthest thing from a friend or the closest thing he has to familiarity right now, but he hears himself say, “My father died,” out loud, for the first time since he got the news.' * sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you have been ruined - ocean vuong

Kaiser meeting the Isagi family and learning how to accept help and kindness. Love Kaiser internal dialogue throughout the fic and the constant push and pull between enjoying his time with Isagi and his parents but hating how it reminds him of his own familial relationships, or lack there-of. (Ness and his relationship with Kaiser is also a highlight)

BACHISAGI

Like glass from Sandy Ground by Ethereally & @putsch

Teen | Completed | 7.2k words | 1/1

Aromatic Asexual Isagi Yoichi | Pre-Relationship | Getting Together | Post-Canon

Isagi and Bachira have been best friends for eight years, and pro footballers for six. Isagi knows how Bachira takes his coffee and how many charms are on his phone, is reminded of Bachira when he sees sunflowers or nutmeg in the spice shelf. Bachira can trace every freckle on Isagi’s cheeks and count the moles on his back like constellations in the sky. Isagi and Bachira are not together.

I truly cannot emphasise more how much this fic means to me. I have read it at least 6 times and have cried every. single. time. There’s a specific quote that sends me into tears anytime I think about it (I’m tearing up as I write this). It’s such heartwarming, comforting and beautifully written fic.

Orange Juice by totallyrottentomatoes

Mature | Ongoing | 63.6k words | 5/10

Post-Canon | AU - Olympics | Slow Burn | Unreliable Narrator | Angst with a Happy Ending | Implied/Referenced Homophobia

Isagi Yoichi returns to Japan in preparation for the summer Olympics for the first time in three years, and Meguru finds him again.

The pining is so strong aughhh. Love the incorporation of the original characters. My favouite type of post-canon fic where life gets in the way but the love never leaves.

Sideline Love Story by bogreport

Explicit | Ongoing | 55.6k words | 8/29

AU - No Blue Lock | Most Characters Are Professional Soccer Players | Slow Burn | Feelings Realization | Parenting | Light Angst |

While visiting his family in Japan during the off-season, 25-year-old Bastard München player Isagi "volunteers" to coach his nephew's U-6 team. Enter: the most high-maintenance crew of soccer dads ever to make a scene on the sidelines. Although one of the kids has an older brother who Isagi wouldn't mind getting to know better... Meanwhile Bachira, his arm and his heart both freshly broken, tries to convince himself that while love is fleeting, his monster is forever.

Eeek the kids are so cute in this fic. Isagi being head over heels and not realising it. Bachira developing a crush but hesitating to persue it having just gotten out of a relationship. The author mentions that the “fic's original brainrot form, it was more like a sitcom with an ensemble cast and short silly ‘episodes’ rather than a coherent story” which makes for really fun chapter and a real long slow burn feel.

MISC

Whipper!! by bigdamnher0

Bachira Meguru/Isagi Yoichi/Itoshi Rin

Teen | Ongoing | 15.5k words | 3/6

Bachisagi Are Childhood Friends | Angst and Hurt/Comfort | Climbing As A Metaphor for Self-Actualization or Self-Destruction (Take Your Pick) | Injury | Mild PTSD

Isagi was getting used to the shape of Rin's attention: How he jammed his fingers into Bachira’s back whenever his spine sagged without tension. Barked, “WRONG,” every time they made a move that wasn’t his exact flavor of climbing. Called Isagi’s latest boulder, “fucking lukewarm,” like he was some kind of underpaid undersecretary, delivering him coffee for the day. Still, Rin never failed to hold up his end of the bargain in this tenuous belaytionship: to show them some damn good climbing. The little flame in Isagi’s chest was back. It licked him black and blue. After a near-fatal climbing accident, Rin resolved to never fail again. Isagi swore he'd take the wind out of this pretty boy's sails. And Bachira? All he wanted was a soft landing, just this once. Going up and growing up; cord of threes and all.

Rinbachisagi and bouldering/rock climbing, what more could you want. The way the author writes is so captivating and such an easy read despite all the technical terms used.

I’ll Find my Own Bravado by cygnusknights

Bachira Meguru/Isagi Yoichi/Itoshi Rin

Teen | Completed | 9.6k words | 1/1

Post-Canon | Existential Crisis on a Christmas Cruise | Isagi Yoichi & Itoshi Sae | Isagi-Centric

Meguru and Rin are hooking up. And Isagi… doesn’t hate it, but he’ll certainly have an existential crisis about it on the trio’s Mediterranean Christmas cruise, where he runs into Sae and has a weird holiday not-hookup.

The platonic saesagi is definitely the star of the show. The small Oikawa cameo was also very funny.

Despite the Overwhelming Odds, Tomorrow Came by @icarianiscariot

Itoshi Rin & Shidou Ryuusei

Teen | Completed | 19.7k words | 5/5

AU - No Blue Lock | Suicidal Thoughts | Depression | Platonic Relationships | Absent/Neglectful Parents | Angst with a Happy Ending

"Rin," Shidou repeats. "Where are you?" "I'm—" and fuck, it's so embarrassing, isn't it? The Sae in his head sneers at how lukewarm and pathetic this all is. Begging for someone to ask him to live. "Um, I'm at the bay, up on the bridge. "Silence for a few beats, and then he can hear the clink of Shidou's ridiculously oversized keychain, followed by the slam of the door and his car coming to life on the other end of the line. Rin isn't okay, and the only person he can think to turn to is his shitty brother's annoying boyfriend. A fic on platonic bonds, little things that make big differences, learning compassion toward both others and the self, and coming to terms with being alive. More or less.

A certified Blue Lock classic in my opinion. A must-read even!

On a Wire by merulus

Karasu Tabito/Otoya Eita

Teen | Completed | 128.3k words | 22/22

AU - College/University | Getting Together | Panic Attacks | Fluff & Humour | Trans Karasu Tabito

As a junior in college pursuing his passion for soccer while also putting just as much focus into having a solid post-graduation career path, Tabito Karasu honestly thought he wouldn't have enough time for romance. And especially given how his last relationship had ended, he wasn't even sure he would be able to deal with that kind of stress; he wasn't exactly a fan of letting someone in just to get hurt by them. He would rather stay on track to graduating with honors even if it meant being alone. But somehow that goddamned Eita Otoya was able to sneak his way through all of his defenses, painfully securing a place in his heart. They had been both roommates and teammates since the beginning of freshman year, and by now they also had easily solidified themselves as each other's best friend. They recently moved into an on-campus apartment with their other friend Kenyuu Yukimiya, and life was good. Karasu happened to have feelings for Otoya, but he had had this affliction for the better half of two years so it was something he was unfortunately just trying to get used to. He tried to ignore it most of the time since Otoya didn't feel the same; he was straight. Sometimes it really didn't feel that way, though.

Part 2 of a series but it can be read alone (definitely read part 1 if you enjoyed this tho)

[some-little-infamy]

Hear It In Your Voice

(For @mariknickerbocker from @rainbow-nerdss through @911actionforgaza) (Read on AO3)

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?" Josh answers the call just like he answers every call, his tone calm and attentive.

"Dispatch, this is Detective Ransone," comes a male voice on the other end of the line. There's background noise of cars driving by and people talking, some yelling, so Josh strains to hear the officer's words. "I'm at the corner of 16th and Olympic Boulevard in Santa Monica, and there's a pedestrian hit by a car in the crosswalk. Driver fled but I managed to see partial plates, Tango-Sierra-One-Three. I'm off-duty, but this guy needs an ambulance."

Josh types as the Detective speaks, listening as they run through the typical rundown of questions they're both all too familiar with.

"There's an ambulance and police car en route to your location. Sargeant Grant says that if you wanted to see her so badly on your day off you should've just stopped in," Josh adds, relaying the message from the responding officer.

Ransone laughs on the other end of the line. "Thank you, dispatch. Tell her I'll keep that in mind next time."

The call ends, and Josh is left with a small smile over the exchange.

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

"9-1-1 what's your emergency?" Josh asks, fingers poised over the keyboard.

"I think someone’s breaking into my house," comes a child's small, shaking voice. "I heard the glass break, but I'm home alone. I'm not supposed to be, but my friend got sick and I had to come home early and-"

"That's okay. You're not in trouble. Can you tell me your name and where you are?" Josh asks, lowering his voice a little.

"Michelle, but everyone calls me Shelly," she explains. "I don't like Michelle."

"Alright, Shelly. And where are you?"

"Home. My mom made me memorize the address in case I ever got lost. It's 1421 Moss Street."

Josh types the address and only gets one hit - a small miracle.

"Dispatch, be I have a break-in and potential robbery in progress at 1421 Moss Street. Caller is a young girl home alone..."

Josh switches his mic back to the 9-1-1 line. "Shelly, how old are you?"

"I'm five," the voice answers. He can tell she's trying to sound braver than she probably feels.

He switches back to the police line. "Caller is a five-year-old girl home alone."

"Dispatch, this is Detective Ransone, I'm about three minutes away from that location and en route."

"Thank you, Officer," Josh says before switching the line back.

"Shelly, what room are you in?" Josh asks her. "And is it somewhere you can find a good hiding spot to stay quiet and out of sight?"

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and Josh imagines her scanning.

"I'm upstairs in my room. I can hide in my closet! I just have to move Suzie's-" she pauses. "Suzie!"

Josh winces at the rise in her voice. "Shelly, I need you to keep your voice low, okay? Whisper."

"I have to go get Suzie! She's downstairs!" Shelly says, and Josh hears the panic in her tone.

"Who is Suzie?" Josh asks, already typing 'possible second child in the home-' when she speaks again.

"My cat! She's my responsibility, Mom and Dad always remind me. I have to go get her!"

Josh hears the sound of footsteps and it takes everything in him not to be the one with the panic in his voice.

"Shelly, please, stay where you are. Go to the closet."

"I will! Right after I get Suzie," Shelly says. "I'll be quiet, I promise," she adds, as if eager to please both Josh and her own need to get to the cat.

Josh flips his radio over. "Be advised, Shelly is currently going downstairs to retrieve her cat. I'm doing my best to convince her not to, but she isn't listening. I repeat, the six-year-old girl is going towards the sound of the break-in."

"45 seconds out," Detective Ransone says, as much a confirmation of his location as a reassurance for Josh. "I'm almost there."

Josh hears a scream on the phone.

"Shelly? SHELLY?"

"GET AWAY FROM SUZIE!" Josh hears the phone drop, hears the sound of Shelly yelling and a cat meowing, and what sounds like a grown man speaking.

"Detective Ransone, I've lost contact. She... I couldn't stop her..."

Josh listens to the radio communications between Ransone and the PD. He hears the sound of a door being burst through, more footsteps, more confusion. There's yelling, the sounds of a fight, and the sound of Shelly screaming. Josh doesn't realize he's holding his breath until he hears Ransone's voice say, "Dispatch, be advised that the suspect is in custody and the girl and her cat are both unharmed."

Josh sighs. The sound of the officer's voice sounds like safety, it sounds like protection and relief. Josh makes a mental note of the name of the officer who made sure Josh didn't go home today with a loss on his mind.

"Thank you," he says, knowing he came dangerously close to letting that call get the best of him.

"Thank you, Detective."

The call disconnects.

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

Josh knows better than to get attached to the voices on the other end of the phone, whether it's the civilians calling in for help or the officers responding to help them. He knows better... but knowing something and doing something aren't the same thing. And feeling something can't be helped at all.

Josh can't help that there are people he gets along with better than others. He can't help that he develops a rapport with some officers more than others. He can't help it when sometimes hearing a particular officer's name brings a small smile to his face, while at the same time, a little extra fear to his heart when the calls take a turn for the worse.

Athena is one of them, in large part due to her connection to May and Maddie. But Detective Ransone is quickly becoming another. He just seems like he means well - like he's willing to do the right thing no matter the cost. And that should be all cops, but it isn't. Josh knows that. But it is Ransone, and that means something, at least to Josh.

---------

Josh knows that serious calls are the whole point of the job. Sure, it's mostly mundane things like someone losing a pet or calling in a fender bender - things that could easily go to a local number if the people calling thought to look it up instead of dialing the only one they know by heart. But every once and a while there's a call that only 9-1-1 could handle - and today, that call comes to Josh.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?" Josh asks. Sometimes the greeting is so instinctive that he nearly answers his personal phone with them when he's off work.

The words that come through the phone are so low he has to plug his left ear closed to block out the sounds of the room around him, straining to listen.

"There are men with guns. We're being held hostage. First Bank. Broadway. I can't keep the phone near me so I can't hear anything you say. I don't even know if you can hear me, but I had to try."

Josh hears voices in the background demanding that cell phones be thrown into the center of the room, one at a time. The voices get closer, and then he hears the rustling of the phone that called him being pulled out of a pocket, and then a terrible sound that Josh has to assume is the phone sliding across a floor. Everything is muffled, but still there.

She must've slid the phone face-down, so they didn't see it was on. Josh can still hear - not everything, and not well, but he has ears in the room.

"I need officers at the First Bank on Broadway. There is a potential robbery in progress, an active hostage situation. The caller could only relay minimal information before her phone was taken from her but it is still on. Hostage takers are unaware I can hear inside the room. I advise going in sirens off - as of right now they're unaware any alarm has been raised."

Josh's voice shakes slightly and he curses himself for letting it show. Josh blinks and every time his eyes close he's transported back to when the call center was taken hostage, helpless and weak and--

Josh shakes the thoughts from his head the best he can.

"Dispatch this is Detective Ransone. I'm five minutes out, redirecting now."

"I have very few details, Detective," Josh says. "All I know for certain is that there are more than two men and at least one has a gun. I'm unaware of any demands they may have, how many there are, or... or anything, really. So be safe going in there, okay?"

Josh knows he's crossing a line, but he can't help it. He hates sending officers into situations when he should have the information they need to do their job and he doesn't, even when it's no fault of his own. He didn't get to speak with the caller at all, let alone ask the right questions, or any questions.

"I'll keep listening to what I can and let you know if I get anything helpful," Josh adds, turning his attention back to the open line.

Everything is still muffled, and the sound of footsteps echoing through the floor makes up most of the sound that Josh can hear.

"If I don't.. with access to a vault... right now, I'm.... hurting people."

Words are missing, but Josh makes out enough to get the gist of it.

"Detective Ransone, one of the hostage takers is demanding access to the vault and threatening the hostages if denied."

"I'm here, dispatch. I'm approaching the building to see if I can see in any of the windows-"

Just then, Josh hears the sound of a gunshot echoing in both his line coming through the caller's cell phone and the radio Detective Ransone has on his person. Josh flinches.

"I'm going in," Ransone says.

"Backup is still 5 minutes out, we don't know how many are in there or if they'll-"

"Tell backup I'm going to try and control the situation the best I can before any lives are lost."

"Be careful," Josh says. The words come out before he can stop them. "Detective," he adds, as if the title might make the comment a little less out of place.

The next words Josh hears also echo between the line from Ransone and the phone on the floor of the bank lobby. "I'm coming in! I'm unarmed, and my hands will be up. I just want to talk!"

"Cops? Is that a fucking- WHO CALLED THE POLICE? WE SAID NO COPS!"

Josh tenses.

Backup is still minutes out. Josh silently curses these damn cops who insist on riding without partners.

"Hey hey hey!" That's the sound of Ransone's voice, Josh knows it from the others immediately. "Put the knife down!"

For a second, Josh feels like he forgot how to breathe. It’s all he can do to listen, imagining the scene unfolding, unable to do anything to help.

----

The second Lou feels the knife pressed against his throat he thinks he's going to black out. A noise escapes his mouth that isn't dignified, something closer to a whimper than a squeak. He hates the way his pulse races, his heartbeat jumping up into his throat, the pit of his stomach turning to lead.

"Hey, hey! Put the knife down!" Each word is spoken carefully, not wanting to accidentally push the knife further into his flesh.

The man does not put the knife down, however. He doesn't press any harder, but he keeps it right where it is against Lou's neck. Lou struggles to control his breathing, careful not to swallow too fast or make any jarring motions above the shoulder while he's in this precarious spot.

"It's just me. I'm unarmed. I just want to talk," Lou repeats. "No one has to get hurt here - not me, not you, and not any of these innocent civilians." Every word is slow and even, although he feels anything but steady.

"I don't believe you," the man says. Lou can't take in much - the men have masks over their noses and mouths. They're speaking in tones forced lower than their usual speaking voices, though he doesn't know if they were doing that before his arrival or not.

"I have no reason to lie - no reason to walk myself into a room of armed men - other than to help these people," Lou insists.

He keeps his eyes and ears peeled, reading the people around him the best he can despite the way his fear clouds his senses. He won't find himself unaware again, he won't make the wrong judgment call about someone twice. He can’t afford to.

There are no sirens in the distance. Whether that's because they're still following the directive to come in silently to catch the hostage takers by surprise, or because they simply aren't here yet... He doesn't allow his mind to consider the option that they aren't coming, because he knows they are. This isn't like before. He's going to be okay. At the very least there will be witnesses this time. There are people who know who he is and where he is.

He hates that it's a thought that even crosses his mind, especially because seconds later he hears the sirens in the distance.

"You said you were alone!" The man with the knife practically growls, his voice low, the threat behind his words clear.

"I am! Right now. Judging from the volume of those sirens you guys have approximately five minutes to leave before there are enough cops outside to cover every possible exit to this place," Lou says. "If I were you, I'd hurry."

There's a moment of hesitation, the silence hanging heavy in the air.

"You said this would be quick and easy. I'm not up for a standoff, man," says one of the others. He starts to make his way toward the door slowly at first, then at a run at the increasingly loud sound of the approaching sirens. After one caves it isn't long until the others follow. Lou feels the knife against his neck press hard enough to draw blood, wondering if it's resting against the scar that's already there before the armed man gives a quick sigh of frustration and takes off after the others.

Lou feels tears spring up in his eyes, tears of relief, tears of the panic and fear he did his best to push down and ignore finally able to wash over him in waves despite his safety. He allows himself a moment of unsteadiness before he wipes them away with the side of his sleeve and puts his mask back on.

"Is anyone hurt?" he asks, turning around.

"You let them get away!" A man from behind the counter points out, confused and indignant. "They took my wallet!"

"Oh, I'm sure they didn't get far," Lou says, smiling slightly. "I may have lied about the sirens."

Lou glances out the glass panes of the front door to see exactly what he hoped to witness- the suspects, nearly to the end of the road, are being pinned down by cops who were already here and waiting with their sirens off. Protocol. The sirens they heard were likely just another cop on their way to another call at the perfect time for him.

No one admits to being injured, so Lou takes up his walkie again.

"Dispatch this is Detective Ransone. No injuries to report and I believe all suspects are currently being detained outside. We're clear for backup and medical to come in."

It'd be hours before Lou leaves the scene, but he takes a back seat while the others work. His mind is too unfocused and too lost in his thoughts to remain focused during statements.

When he tries to sleep that night it comes late, restless, and plagued with nightmares that leave him jolting awake in a cold sweat.

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

There isn't much Josh can do after Detective Ransone goes inside. He directs backup to the best spots around the entrances and exits of the bank, advises on potential alleys or streets they may cut through if they run, and keeps his ears peeled for anything else he may hear through the woman's cell phone.

He listens to Lou's voice and hears the change that he's certain no one else in the room will notice… but Josh notices. He notices, and he tries not to think too hard about the way his chest tightens at the sound.

That night Josh goes to a Victim Support Group meeting. It isn't his first, and he knows it won't be his last, but while the other times were helpful to varying degrees he always felt like he was doing it just to be safe, to have a place to talk when he wanted to, not that he needed to. Tonight is different. This is the first time he's felt like he needs to be here. His mind's been on overdrive since the call earlier, unable to shake the memories of his hostage situation from work. It's been a while since he thought about it with this much detail, or since the memory of his past fear took over his senses the way it had today.

He's still shaky, if he's honest, when he goes into the meeting that night to talk. He's just as unsettled when he goes back three days later. It’s the first time he's gone to two meetings back-to-back since his very first ones.

Josh is no stranger to the group. He talks to some of the others before the meeting, grabbing the stereotypical cup of terrible coffee in a white styrofoam cup while asking about Chad's oldest who is going off to college this year, or Ginny's husband's cancer. Josh has been a pretty frequent face since his attacks, sometimes just coming here to listen and remember that he isn't alone in the way he's feeling.

When the meeting starts Josh doesn't speak first because there's a new face in the group and Victor, the group leader, asks if he'd like to introduce himself and say why he's here.

"I'm, uh... Lou."

Josh's eyes widen. He knows that voice immediately. It's strange hearing it clearly and not through the static of the comms, but it's undeniable. Lou Ransone.

"My name's Lou," Lou says, sounding like he's never been asked to talk about himself before. "I'm not much of a talker, but my Captain suggested... I got into a bit of a situation at work the other day, and it... it messed me up. It got in my head, and I guess I just... I don't know. I'm not good at talking. I won't tell this stuff to anyone, and I'm not sure I'll talk much here, but... I wanted to be here, at least. Is that okay, for now?"

"Of course it is, Lou. Welcome. You can share as much or as little as you'd like at any point," Victor informs Lou.

Josh wrestles with the idea of telling Lou who he is, wondering if Lou would make the same connection as Josh did the second Josh opens his mouth.

Josh decides that he'll just talk. No need to put Lou on the spot in front of all these people. If Lou wants to, they can talk later.

"Hey everyone. Most of you know me, but I'm Josh. Long story short, I started coming here after I was attacked on a date, and then my attackers proceeded to hold the call center I work at hostage with the badge they stole from me," Josh begins. "Recently, I was working a hostage call and it brought me right back to when I was curled up on the ground of my own hostage experience. I couldn't shake the fear, I couldn't stop reliving my own experience every time I heard a raised voice or a whimpering victim over the line. I keep telling myself I should be over it, but that sort of thing... it stays with you. And you have days when you don't think about it at all, and you have days you can think about it and let it go, but... it's so easy to let something like that take over your life. I've been looking over my shoulder again. I canceled a date I had set up for tomorrow. It sucks. It fucking sucks, but I always feel better talking about it here. So thanks, I guess, for putting up with me so often," he adds, mostly joking, with a small laugh to punctuate his last sentence.

As Josh speaks he looks around the group, but his gaze keeps returning to Lou. Josh can see the realization dawn on him slowly at first, then all at once when Josh explains the call he took for work. Josh offers him a small half-smile of acknowledgment when they lock eyes.

"You know we don't 'put up' with you, Josh," Victor says, shaking his head in amusement. "And we appreciate you sharing. Who's next?"

Josh chimes in a bit to react to the stories of others, but Lou doesn't speak for the rest of the meeting. Josh half-expects him to bolt the second the group dismisses for the night, but he doesn't. Lou lingers and makes his way toward Josh.

"You're the dispatcher from my hostage call," Lou says. It isn’t a question.

“I am,” Josh confirms. “Nice to meet you in person, Detective Ransone. I wish it was under better circumstances, but…”

“Please, just call me Lou,” Lou says.

“Alright, Lou,” Josh says, testing the name out on his tongue.

“Listen, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone you saw me here,” Lou says. “It’s just… all of this…” he trails off, struggling to find the words.

“I get it,” Josh says. “No one knows I still go to these either.”

“Really?” Lou asks, eyebrow raised. “You seem so comfortable with all of this.”

“I am when I’m here,” Josh admits. “It’s why I come. Everyone else seemed to move on so easily, and I just… didn’t.” He doesn’t know why he keeps it a secret - they all got counseling, and they were all given the same resources. He saw a co-worker or two here at the beginning, even if he’s the only one still going. Maybe he’s embarrassed to be the only one bothered by it, even if it was more personal to him than anyone else so it makes sense that he’s still affected.

“My Captain is the only one who knows I’m here. Him and you, I guess,” Lou admits.

“Well, your secret’s safe with me,” Josh promises. “It’s a good group. Good people. I think you’ll like it if you stick around.”

“I don’t know…” Lou says. “I’m not a very open person. I don’t know if I can just tell a room full of strangers how it feels to have a knife pulled on me again after-” Lou cuts off abruptly as if catching himself about to be vulnerable and thinking better of it.

“Or you could start by just talking to me, maybe? Over drinks?” Josh asks. He doesn’t know where the sudden rush of boldness comes from, but he embraces it in the moment. “Or maybe just better coffee than this stuff? You don’t even have to talk about the call. We can just… talk.”

Lou considers the offer, then nods once. “Yeah. I can do that,” he says. “I think I’d like that, actually.”

They understand each other, to some extent. They know each other, maybe not in person, but through situations that create a stronger bond than simply hanging out. They get each other on a level deeper than surface coworker interactions…

Josh isn’t sure if Lou’s agreeing because he needs someone to talk to, or because he feels the same connection that Josh does. Either way, this is the start of something new, and it’s a road that Josh is eager to follow and see where it leads.

[ravenclawshermione]

Chapter Update! - The Will of The Green

“Hey, can we talk about something before we get back to your place?” 

Calla turned to look at me, her expression somewhere between caution and resignation, “Sure.”

“I understand why you went to Jason about… Wanting him to cross that line, if it came to it,” I said, swallowing hard, “But Cal… I don't understand why you didn’t come to me about the nightmares, or why you never told me about your fear, or why every time I've tried to see how you're doing lately you just shut me out with a vague non answer. Is it something I did, or maybe something I said? Because if there’s anything-”

“No, it’s not that,” she cut in, looking worried, her hand taking mine, “I promise Dick, it’s nothing you did wrong. It’s just… I guess I was worried that if it got out that I was a potential risk when she broke out, B might try to bench me as a preventative measure, and then you’d be put in an awkward situation. And now, I just… I didn’t want to burden you with any extra worry. I know how much you’ve got on your plate back in Bludhaven right now with the crime syndicates acting up, and the stress of having to confront B about Jason…”

I pulled her into my arms, holding her close, “You are never a burden, Calla. No matter what else is going on, no matter how crazy things get, you are never a burden, and I am always going to want to know what you’re thinking and feeling.”

A small sob escaped her lips as the tension left her body, “It’s just so hard, even looking at you two is hard, because I keep remembering that bullshit Scarecrow made me see, and I know that when I can’t beat her it'll go down exactly like that, and I’ll have to live with it because Bruce can beat the shit out of his kids but won't avenge their deaths. And I know that you and Barbs don't think it’ll come to that but I am not strong enough to beat Ivy, even trying is insane, and I'll try but there's no way I can pull this off so there’s no reason to think she wouldn’t retaliate that way, especially with how unhinged Jason said she was, and I… I’m afraid. I’m not strong enough.”

“Cal… You are one of the strongest people I know. It’s scary, I know that, but you’ve got this,” I promised, wishing she wasn’t still suited up. There were few things that could help calm her down than having her hair played with, but with her thorn wrapped braid all I could do was keep rubbing her back and talking through her fears with her, “And even if you can’t throw her off right away… Babs and I are pretty tough too. We've both gone up against literal gods. We can hold our own while you kick her out of your head, you don’t have to be so worried about hurting us.”

“I’m not worried about hurting you,” she pulled back, her tear-stained face frantic, emerald eyes pleading, begging me to understand, “I’m worried about destroying you.”

[reservoirreputation]

Dimples, Chapter Eight

Epilogue

One Year Later

Freddy repeats his daily ritual.

It’s a beautiful, mild day. A little cloud cover, sun regularly peaking out to say hi. Warm breeze. He cycles to the usual, sleepy convenience store. His stomping grounds are quiet, local, away from the highly touristy areas. These parts of the islands aren’t as well-cared for, as anyone who lives in a travel-destination or big city or coastal town etc. will attest to. The local government only cares about the pretty parts. It’s hard to believe that that is the case here, too, because all of Hawaii is gorgeous. Areas like this are where most of the locals live, as well.

Freddy and Larry initially kept their heads down. Found an inexpensive rental, made payments on time, didn’t wreck the property. It was a low bar to meet, but in keeping their noses clean, they make it. They buy local groceries, eat better and healthier than ever, even left smoking for once a week. Drinking is cut down, only one beverage a night. There’s so little stress in their lives, they don’t need such distractions.

Freddy’s daily trips to the store are two-fold; grab something they’ve run out of, which is occasional, to grabbing that morning’s paper, somewhat for himself, mostly to leave with having purchased something. The more the locals see them, and associate them with good, frequent business, and a smile or two, the better.

He smiles at the clerk, whose name he doesn’t know, and the clerk doesn’t know Freddy’s, which is same-old, same-old. He says a bright and cheery hello to an older woman, whose car Larry fixed up, last week. She asks what kind of cookies the man likes, intentions clear. Freddy says oatmeal, and she’s beaming.

He grabs the paper, money ready. “Keep the change.” On his bike, heading home.

Larry’s making breakfast burritos when Freddy walks in. The tortillas are warming over the griddle, veggies cooked and set aside, scrambled eggs nearly done. “Anything new?” he asks.

Freddy gives him a quick peck on the cheek. “About to look, myself.”

Larry turns his head for a proper kiss. Freddy grins, obliging.

Freddy sits down at their little kitchen table, opens the paper, goes right for the classifieds. He scans the page carefully. It’s been months since the last message, which was not unusual. There was no set schedule, so he just needed to keep a close eye on things. He spots it, towards the bottom right of the paper.

“Got ‘im.” he reads, “‘Violet sends regards to Creamsicle. All is well. Be in touch, soon.’”

Larry chuckles, setting the pan aside, “Where the hell does he come up with stuff like that?”

“No clue, Mr. Banner.”

Larry is leaning over, looking at the message for himself, “You think he’s coming to visit?”

“Who knows. It’s not like we have to do much to tidy up, around here.” Freddy says, referring to their distinct lack of personal belongings. It wasn’t unusual for people to move from the mainland with so little; it was lighter, cheaper, and you normally made a good chunk of change selling off your stuff, all going towards the move. Freddy looks up, “Don’t you want him to come over?”

Larry considers, “I’ll tolerate him.” he smirks, leans over and kisses Freddy’s forehead.

THE END

{Previous chapter}

https://www.tumblr.com/reservoirreputation/757458764122259456/dimples-chapter-seven?source=share

[thejadecount]

So like Cup’s Sep! Leo would totally be jealous of the other Leos right?

TMNT AU Competition Masterpost

Because don’t get me wrong a lot (if not all) of the other Rise Leos in the comp had it rough but DAMN many of them still joke around (even though a lot could be acting to cover trauma and shit) and smile a lot while he’s always being serious.

Now Cup recently just said her Sep Leo acted serious for a long time and didn’t start joking and being witty until he got super comfortable so he’s almost like the opposite, the antithesis (am I using that correctly?) of the Leos (at least the Rise ones). Instead of joking less as he gets more comfortable opening up to his brothers it’s the exact opposite.

Anyways, I feel like before understanding that a lot of the other Leos went through a lot of stuff, he’d be at least somewhat pissed off. Here he’s been Two, working for the Foot Clan under the influence of a memory-distorting drug and magic his entire life while some only recently got traumatized (B.E.A.S.T., DFTM, etc).

Of course I have no say on how he ACTUALLY would feel (bc I don’t control the AU duh) but least to say he’d be somewhat irritated by them, kinda a lot like the Future Leos.

I can almost imagine a scene where his older brother Raph or even heck a Future Leo like OMO talks to him about it. The large complex all the AUs are housing at are big. There’s a rooftop. Sep! Leo is sitting on the edge and looking out to the night sky like the main character Edgelord™️ he thinks he is. Earlier he had gotten an earful of the other Leos and snapped, maybe insulting one or heck even punching them. He ran away up to rooftop in defense before he could hear it from Raph. However said Raph (or maybe a Future Leo or screw it they both run into each other going up to talk to him and decide to talk to him together) comes up anyway. Eventually after some back-and-forth and arguing Sep! Leo snaps, saying that it isn’t fair. They get to be all carefree and joking and blah blah blah and he’s stuck here all fucked up by the Shredder and Kitsune.

More talking. Soon enough Sep! Leo gets it that the other versions of him didn’t have a such a great rock-and-roll life either. A lot of them are actually using said jokes to hide the self-esteem issues and the trauma. Of course it isn’t his fault that he didn’t know that, but he also shouldn’t have been so brash to assume that he was the only one who had a lot of trashy, dumpster-fire stuff happen to him. He couldn’t try to compare their trauma and say he had it better or worse. But they all definitely had it at some point.

And through that it’s what makes him realize that’s what makes them all Leos, whether they like it or not: they get shit thrown at them, and they take it. They take it, and that’s it.

In that way, the other Leos are actually the most likely to understand him, huh?

[captainofmybigwetdream]

The Hate That You Carry

She was scared of him. And who could blame her? Worst thing was, he knew the look on her face, had seen that look countless times before. On his mother’s face. On Lenny's face. Had even felt it on his own face. Every time his father had taken out his anger on them.

Part 3 of Always One Bad Day Away (Part 2 of the series Billy Butcher - A Prequel)

Word count: ~5k

Rating: Mature

A/N: It's me again! Feedback is always greatly appreciated ;D

Tag list: @amethystpagan

"You know you really didn’t have to do all this, right? There’s no need to impress me.” 

Becca entwined their fingers as they left the restaurant, happily smiling up at Billy. Her cheeks had a pink tinge to them, but it was only partly due to the wine she’d had. 

“Whatever do you mean?” Billy smirked back cheekily.

“Well, we don’t usually go out like this. And you know I don’t need fancy dates, either.”

“Oh, but this is a special occasion, innit? One-year anniversary and all?”

“One-year… What? Billy, that’s not for another six days,” she laughed softly and tilted her head in question. 

“No, it’s not.”

“No, I’m pretty sure we had our first date on the 7th of September. We rented that stupid action flick, got Chinese take-out, and spent the night not watching it.” 

Keep Reading on AO3

[fic-ive-read]

Link To The Fic

[not-your-chosen]

@sah1x1s gets a vampire for the soap because they’re both from Scotland!!!

———

It was… a formative time, being in LA for those eight or so years. Being something beyond normal for about two. Things were muddled back then, when she was first getting her bearings as a vampire. Thea made it better, but that was short lived. The grief of having a lover gone so quick still carried heavy in her body, in the way she walked on the cobbles of her hometown.

Turning right to get under the awning of the pub She used to frequent -if anything to just eat scrummy pub food while everyone about her age and older were drinking.- shaking off her umbrella and shrugging off the hood of the hoodie tucked under her coat. She foolishly didn’t expect the barmaid to be the same lady from her childhood but as soon as she walks in she was under her suspicious glare. “Saoirse?” The bar lady asks as she makes her way to the bar. “Saoirse McCallum!”

Saoirse is near tackled, a pitiful ‘oh’ knocked out of her by the hug. “Good to see ye, lass I’m sure you’re mother would say you’re a sight for sore eyes! She hasn’t heard a word from you in…”

“Eight years.” She answers as she’s ushered to the bar.

“Eight years, fuckin hell… she must think you’re dead by now!”

“Nearly.”

Looking over on her right she looks about the patrons, thankful that the bar was relatively quiet. Only afew patrons here and there, scanning the crowd she stops.

Oh no.

He’s… stunning, she can’t take her eyes away for more than afew minutes. This had happened with Theadosia too. The bastard that gave her this daylight disease seemingly passed down the trait of obsession. Beautiful people, beautiful works of art, architecture, music, even in her own experience, a very pretty Belgian shepherd could flip this switch making it near impossible to step away from a beautiful sight.

Then she recognized him too.

“MacTavish!” She calls, watching him turn. “You’re a right big cunt now, I guess that’s what you get when you join the SAS.”

[savebatsfromscratch]

We beat a hasty retreat from his lair. (Curtains fanfiction.)

Summary:

Harv gets accused of killing Jessica, but the information provided seemed to point to a different villain in the room.

Notes:

Yeah yeah, this is the basic thing to do. The detective is the villain!!!1! How cringe!1!! I get him though. Also these designs don’t look like the “official” actors, don’t worry about it. This possessed me. I was trying to write Pokemon fic and this happened. (Song title from Unpack Your Adjectives, Schoolhouse Rock.) Cws: Canon typical disrespect of dead people, Different Killer, Police Corruption, Past Murder, Murder Investigation, Homophobia, swearing Words: 2,039

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54855373

Harv peaked into the door, watching as Cioffi sorted through papers at the desk that had been set up for him at the start of his investigation. The large man, his hair a wild mane of brown that did not fit his distinguished title, had been all but buried in the new proof that Niki had scrounged up for him. Harv, still not noticed, frowned. He couldn't help but think that Cioffi's behavior around Niki was somewhat suspicious, and even if he hadn't already thought that thought, the bored look in the detective's eyes would have been enough for him.

Despite calling Harv down to be questioned, Cioffi was paying absolutely zero attention to him. He had been called down rather personally, mind you, for whatever reason the questioning downstairs with the other officer, Harv had forgotten her name, had not done the trick. But if it was the case that he had been suspicious for whatever reason, why was Cioffi so unfocused on the world around him? He seemed all but entirely unbothered by the violence that he was currently standing knee deep in.

If Harv was a detective, he might have found that suspicious.

Harv knocked quietly on the open door, causing Cioffi to jump in surprise and frantically reach towards his holster. He quickly spotted Harv, but not before the actor was half convinced that he was already shot.

“Oh my apologies my dear boy!” Cioffi called, his face having snapped back to troubled detective mode, “I got wrapped up in these letters, I can't quite seem to decipher them, please do come in!”

Harv nervously slid into the room, so lost in a sudden rush of terror that he was almost wishing that Randy was there with him. Being an actor, Harv was usually good at hiding his fear, but this time seemed to be shaping out to be an exception. His hands were shaking, thin fingers twitching like twigs in the breeze, and it was all he could do to hope that Cioffi hadn't been paying too much attention.

“Uh,” he said, slowly sitting down in a chair across from Cioffi's desk when the detective motioned for him to do so. (He made sure to hide his hands at his sides.) “Why was I called down here, detective? Just out of pure curiosity,”

He didn't want to say the words on the tip of his tongue. Did Cioffi think that he did it? Harv was pretty sure he was sweating bullets (ironic, considering the circumstances). He couldn't have!

“Well, Harv,” said Cioffi, sighing like this was more disappointing that it was important, “I've uncovered significant evidence that you were off the stage for a portion of Jessica's final moments... in the spotlight, shall I say,“

Harv had no clue how that could be important, wasn't the fact that they had all been on stage what made them suspects? He held tightly to the seat of his hair, stabilizing his shaking hands to the best of his ability.

But if that did point to his guilt, he had no way to refute it, had HAD been off the stage during bows, right as Jessica had collapsed. He had been ordered to throw a bouquet to her, missing his chance to get himself credit for his performance in favor of the actress's already inflated ego. Did that make him a larger suspect than most?

”I notice you've been quiet Harv,“ Cioffi said, his voice a deadly calm that was completely unlike the theater nerd that Harv had seen the man present himself as, ”do you have anything to say to that information?“ He clicked a pen in a way that was almost threatening, and Harv felt a shiver run the entire length of his body. He wondered if he looked pathetic.

”No,“ Harv quickly said, voice shaking like he had just gotten through with a painful run of Thattaway, ”I was just wondering why that was important,“ Cioffi raised an eyebrow and Harv quickly corrected, ”you told us that only someone on stage could have killed Jessica, right?“

Cioffi just stared at him, as if contemplating the best way to lie.

Harv swallowed. ”...right?“

A few more seconds ticked past, neither man moving. (Though Harv was pretty sure that he was the only one struggling to read his opponent.) Somehow, in this office, Cioffi seemed much more threatening.

”Well Harv,“ said Cioffi, placing his pen down onto his documents, ”I have gained sufficient evidence that the murdered may have been someplace in the crowd, and with your history I'm sure that you can see why that makes you a suspect,“

Terror thrown out the window, that comment was mildly offensive, considering Harv had never even contemplated making Jessica late to rehearsal by popping her tires or spilling a drink on her dress or anything like that. Okay. Maybe he had contemplated that, a little bit, but sure never as far as murder!

And besides, where had Cioffi even gotten his evidence? Harv glanced down at the papers, but they were the exact same death threats he had been reading on stage the other day, surely nothing new could have been gained from that!

“What history?” Harv whispered, almost numb, "I promise that I didn't kill her, I swear it,” -before they were even out of his mouth, Harv was already regretting his next words, but somehow they slipped out anyway- “on my life,”

Cioffi chuckled, and the barrel of his gun shone in the light of the office. “That's a heavy statement in a situation like this, do you really mean it?”

“I didn't kill her,”

“Oh?” Cioffi leaned a little closer on the desk, his teeth sparkling like a wild animal's as he stared into Harv's eyes. “I've heard lots of stories about you, you're rather untrustworthy, if they are to be believed,”

Harv felt frozen in his chair as Cioffi leaned back and smiled. Who had said he was untrustworthy? 

“Are you wondering who gave me that little tidbit of information?” Cioffi asked, back to smiling calmly, as if this was all some sort of show to him, “I bet I would be if I was in your shoes,”

Harv bit his lip in some sort of effort to suppress a whine or terror. (It didn't work, of course.) He did wonder, but what he really wanted to know was why Cioffi was so convinced he had killed a girl that he could hardly care less about. It wasn't that he wanted this show to keep going, and Cioffi knew that, so why would he kill the problem with it?

“Or maybe you're wondering what other evidence I have against you,” Cioffi said, his cheerful smile twisting into an awful smirk when he saw the look on Harv's face. (How had he read his mind so perfectly?) “You are, aren't you,”

It wasn't a question, but Harv answered anyway.

Or, at least his face did, anyway.

”Well,” Cioffi began, getting the same look in his eye that Aaron used to when he thought of a good way to push the plot along (if Harv had been the detective, he might have thought that was suspicious), “Everyone in this show has reason to have killed Jessica, and you are no exception,”

Harv had already known that, so he let Cioffi continue, even if the detective had paused as if waiting for a retort. ...or applause.

“However...” he continued, sounding almost offended for a split second, “in the light of recent information, there are questions to be asked about people off the stage-,” he still refused to specify what the proof could possibly have been, “-and as far as we know, you were the only member of the cast who was off of the stage during bows,”

Harv sank down slightly, thin arms now shaking just as his hands had been. He had never felt this direct of a feeling of terror before, but he didn't even try to move. He knew that if he left, he might as well have killed Jessica and every other murder in the past month.

“And before you ask about Sasha and his musicians, none of them could have done it because they were actually doing something important at the time of Jessica's collapse,” Cioffi said, sounding pleased with himself again.

Harv bristled, the wavy hair that had flopped into his eyes shaken out of place when he said up straight again. He didn't want to throw people under the bus, but if Cioffi was going to start it, there were lots of other people who had also been absent from the stage at that moment. ”What about Jenny?“ he pointed out, ”I'm not saying she did it, but she had complete control of the stage, and she wasn't there either!“

”The stage manager?“ Cioffi paused as if to think about it, but the pause was short lived, “ I don't think so, she knows too much, she would have found a different time to do if it had been her,”

Harv couldn't help but think that Cioffi sounded oddly like he was making all of this up as he went along. As if he knew much more than he was actually letting on, even more than a detective should know.

“What else then,” Harv managed, throat dry, “what makes me more likely than her?”

“Like I said,” Cioffi said, grinning, “you're untrustworthy,”

Harv stared at him. What was he talking about?

Cioffi frowned, thinking. “Though I guess I got that from someone untrustworthy as well,” he shrugged, now talking fully to himself, ”maybe they're both good suspects then,“

Again, Harv couldn't help but think that Cioffi was acting awfully calm if he really thought that Harv had killed someone. And what did he mean by someone untrustworthy? His informant had been untrustworthy? Why had he listened if he didn't trust them?

This last question ended up voice itself, much to both of their surprise.

”I don't trust you gays,“ Cioffi said, waving his hand like this was completely normal to say, ”Always planning something,“

”Excuse me?!“ Harv started, terror both masked and kicked up to eleven, ”What did you say to me?!“

”Don't bother hiding it,“ Cioffi said, looking surprised, almost as if he thought Harv was offended by being called gay instead of by what he really was reacting to, ”That I have absolute proof of,“

Harv stared at him, vision tinged red with a sudden rage. What kind of thing was that to say to someone? What did that have to do with a murder investigation? How had Cioffi even found out about that?

Cioffi smiled at him, calm, but now visibly hateful, ”You probably don't need my help figuring out who told me you were untrustworthy, then,“ he sneered, ”unless there's multiple people you've been picking from, that would check out,“

Harv's mouth fell open. His hands stopped shaking.

He couldn't believe he was hearing this.

What the fuck?

But despite the mess that his mind was quickly turning into, he had heard Cioffi's words. And he had been right on one thing, he didn't need the detective's help.

Harv felt mildly ill.

Surely Randy hadn't actually/thought Harv would have killed Jessica?

They sat in utter silence for a few seconds, but soon Cioffi's sneer had faded back into a cheerful smile. ”However,“ he said, drawing Harv's attention back to him, ”I am willing to make a deal with you, a deal to keep all of this private,“

Harv stared in numb silence, and Cioffi's smile twisted wider, almost reaching the brown mane of hair that framed his face.

“As long as you don't mess up this show, I'll let you go,”

Harv was in too much shock to register how corrupt of a statement that had been if Cioffi really believed he was the killer. If he had been in any mind to think, he would have even thought it was a little suspicious.

“And you are dismissed Mr. Fremont,”

It was a command.

And Harv listened.

He stood stiffly, swept out of his chair, and walked shakily towards the door.

It was only once he was outside of the office that he began running.

Notes:

Come ON guys. Cioffi is the PERFECT murder! He killed the person who was getting his favorite show bad reviews, and framed the person who was actually giving those reviews! The cast already doesn’t like him, so they wouldn’t question it! He killed Jenny the stage manager because she knew too much, and he was able to tell that the It’s A Business lady killed her husband because he certainly didn’t do that part! Doesn’t anyone hear me???? Also, if anyone knows what show I saw, you do NOT.

[gloomwitchwrites]

You introduce your husband as your "boyfriend" to annoy them.

Anon! This prompt has me screaming! I really enjoyed writing for this one because it's such a fun idea. Sure, our 141 boys might be a little mad that they aren't being called by their proper title, but you know they'll just love punishing you for it.

I went a little different with this one. Instead of introductions, I made it so that reader is constantly referring to them as "boyfriend" in public settings. Depending on the situation, introductions wouldn't make sense if it was with friends, family, or coworkers because they would likely already know that they're "husband" and not "boyfriend." So i changed it up a bit in that way!

Some of these fall into spicy territory without being descriptive.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, suggestive themes, non-descriptive mentions of sex, fade to black, brief dirty talk

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon shakes his head and you roll your eyes.

“We can ask someone for help,” you suggest, scanning the massive wall of televisions.

Simon grunts and crosses his arms. “No.”

Sometimes Simon’s stubbornness is cute—even sexy—but right now you’re just annoyed with him. It makes you want to stir up trouble, to cause a little chaos just for the fun of it. Pouting, you turn, eyes narrowing to find an associate of the electronics store. When you spot one near the HDMI cables, you take off, not caring if Simon follows.

“Excuse me.”

The man’s head perks up. “How can I help you?”

You gesture behind you, your hand smacking into Simon’s chest. “My boyfriend—”

“Boyfriend?” growls Simon, but you ignore him.

“—can’t decide on a television.”

Simon is not your boyfriend. He’s your husband. But he’s being stubborn, not making a decision, and you want out of this store.

Shifting, you place one hand on Simon’s large bicep, grinning like you haven’t done anything at all. Simon’s hand immediately grabs your ass, squeezing hard. A warning. One that you ignore.

“I can help with that,” replies the associate. You glance at the man’s nametag. Jim.

“Thank you so much, Jim.” You lean against Simon, giving Jim your best smile. “Getting this guy to commit to anything is so hard sometimes, ya know?”

Jim makes a noncommittal noise as he walks toward the wall of televisions. You start to follow but Simon’s hold on your ass tightens, keeping you pressed against him. Simon leans down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“What are you doing?” he whispers.

You elbow Simon in the side but it’s not hard. He lets go, keeping close to you as the two of you follow Jim over to the televisions. Standing back, you watch with glee as Simon is forced to talk to Jim. You stay out of it, but notice Simon’s gaze switching to you every so often.

You already know what he’s thinking. He’ll likely want to punish you, and sometimes those punishments are so sweet.

Once Simon selects something and the two of you are at the car, there is no safety net. Simon shuts the trunk and then you’re pressed against the car, your body trapped between it and Simon’s massive form.

“Boyfriend?” he accuses.

You shrug. “What do you mean?”

The growl in Simon’s throat comes out a groan. “Get in the car.” He lightly slaps your ass as you open the passenger door.

As you start to slide in, Simon’s hand returns, this time slipping under your skirt to find your thin, lace underwear. He tugs sharply, ripping the fabric.

“Simon!”

He stuffs the underwear into his pocket. “You don’t need these.” You feel your face growing hot.

Simon shuts your car door and walks around the driver’s side, hopping in. He reaches out, placing one large hand on your bare thigh. It roams upward, squeezing, sending a shiver of lust up your body to make your head spin. “When we get home, I’m fucking that boyfriend nonsense right out of you.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“I’m so sorry, but this isn’t what my boyfriend ordered.”

Kyle frowns and glances up from his phone’s screen. That’s your voice he hears, but the term of address isn’t right.

Boyfriend. Not husband, as it fucking should be.

Kyle glances in your direction but you’re not looking at him. You’re smiling sweetly at the barista behind the counter.

“It should be hot. Not iced. I might have messed up. I’m so sorry. I can pay for another.” You raise your hands in a placating gesture but the barista doesn’t appear fazed at all.

“No biggie. Keep that one. Won’t take me more than a minute or two.”

“Thank you so much.” You glance at Kyle, and your smirk tells him all he needs to know.

You’re being a tease. You’re doing this on purpose. The drink order is wrong, and you’re using this as an excuse to poke at him.

Kyle locks his phone and casually slides it into his pocket. Do you think you’re going to annoy him by doing this? Maybe. The little smirk on your face tells him that’s entirely what you have in mind.

But the joke is on you. Doesn’t matter if you refer to him as “boyfriend,” because all it’ll earn you is a punishment.

As the barista slides the new drink across the counter to you, you thank them profusely. “Thank you so much. My boyfriend will really appreciate it.”

The barista only nods and turns back to the espresso machine.

As you approach with the coffee, Kyle gentle removes the drink from your grasp.

“Boyfriend?” he asks, amused.

You shake your head like you have no idea what he’s on about. “What?”

Kyle laughs and snags the other drink from your hand. With shock on your face, he strides up to the counter. “Can you set these aside for us? Be right back.”

They only nod and continue working. Kyle snags your wrist and drags you to the little hallway that curves out around. There are a few private corners in there, and the hallway itself opens up into the nearby bookstore.

Kyle checks the handle on the unisex bathroom. Finding it unlocked, he draws you inside.

“Kyle,” you hiss, but he’s not having any of it.

Kyle engages the lock and presses you up against the door.

“You owe me an apology,” he says.

“For what?” Kyle tuts, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. “Get on your knees,” he murmurs, undoing his belt buckle with the other hand. “Apologize with that gorgeous mouth of yours.”

John Price

John leans back in his chair, agitation irritating his spine.

House hunting isn’t something he’s particularly excited about. He is happy that it’s with you, his wife, but the tediousness of it all is exhausting to him. John would rather have you select a few places to tour and then be done with it all. Money isn’t the issue. He just wants you to find a place you like and the two of you can go from there.

He’d live in a tent if that’s what you want.

“My boyfriend isn’t all that picky.”

Boyfriend? John is tugged from his inner musings by your voice and that term of address. Boyfriend. Why the fuck would you call him that? John isn’t your boyfriend. He’s your goddamn husband.

You reach out, planting a hand on his thigh. You squeeze softly as you always do when you’re trying to reassure him, but John frowns down at it, and then looks up at you. You’re not looking at him. You’re staring at the realtor, completely ignoring him.

John licks his lips, considering whether to correct you or not, or leaving it up to a simple mistake, but you do it again.

This time, John didn’t mishear you.

Your hand squeezes his thigh again and Price rests his hand over yours. His fingers enclose your palm and he holds firm. You glance at him and John shoots you his best warning look. You don’t even react. Don’t event blink.

No. He’s going to correct you. He is absolutely fucking correcting you.

The realtor pivots the computer monitor. “I think any boyfriend would agree that these are excellent selections.”

That’s fucking it.

Price shoots up from his seat, keeping a tight grip on your hand. “I need to speak with my—” John pauses, swallowing down his annoyance. “Girlfriend. Privately.”

The realtor shrugs, smiling, but John is already turning around, dragging you out the door. Outside, the stuffy, summer air does nothing to soothe his annoyance.

“Boyfriend? Fucking boyfriend?” John crosses his arms over his chest, looming over you.

You shrug. “What’s the problem?”

“Behave yourself,” he says, lowering his voice.

“Or what?” you ask in mock innocence.

So, this is what you want. John understands the moment the words leave your mouth. You’re fucking teasing him. Fine. He’ll make you learn.

“We are gonna go back in, thank the kind woman for her time, and then we’re leaving.”

“No. I want to stay.”

John leans in but he notices the way you glance away from him and back, clearly flustered. “Good girls don’t play games.”

“Funny,” you reply, head tilting slightly. “That as my boyfriend you have any authority over me.”

John pivots, blocking the view of the front door from you. “I will bend you over that bench so fast, wife.”

“You won’t,” you stammer.

John arches an eyebrow and you visibly swallow. “Want to test me?”

You pout, and then playfully shove him in the chest. “You’re terrible.”

As you turn for the door, John grabs your waist pulling you close. “You started it.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“My boyfriend and I are redesigning our bathroom.”

Johnny’s attention splits. The associate showing him floor tiles is a distant thing. He might be talking about the newest ones on the market, but Johnny is no longer interested.

Did he just hear you right? Did you just call him boyfriend?

“That’s wonderful,” comes a reply, and Johnny notes an older woman talking to you near the laminate flooring that mimics wood. “Where is he?”

“Over there,” you wave at him, a smug smile on your face.

Boyfriend? Johnny is your fucking husband.

“Sir?” prompts the hardware store associate. “What do you think of these?”

Johnny grunts. “Fine. We’ll come back.” He waves the man off and starts for you even as you continuously refer to him as your boyfriend.

You’re doing it on purpose. You’re doing it to annoy him.

And it’s fucking working.

Johnny saddles up beside you, snaking his arm around your waist, pulling you taut against him.

“This is the boyfriend,” you begin, smiling.

“Husband,” corrects Johnny, flashing the same devious grin. He holds up his left hand, showing off the simple gold band. “Happily married to this one.”

The older woman’s eyes round.

“She likes to joke,” continues Johnny. “Come on, love. Better get home.”

Johnny easily guides you away. He leans down, whispering. “You little terror.”

“Bite me,” you reply.

“Oh. I will. Everywhere. When we get home.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @miaraei

@coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @unhinged-reader-36 @enarien

@miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @sapphichotmess @enfppuff

@berarenado @saoirse06 @haven-1307 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu

@thewulf @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos

@sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d

@heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez

@gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie

@tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair @nomercyforthewarrior @dakotakazansky

@talooolaaloolla @hantheconqueror @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @umno-yeah

[savvy-devine666]

Chapters: 18/? Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Valentino (Hazbin Hotel)/Original Female Character(s), Angel Dust/Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Valentino/Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Charlie Magne/Vaggie Characters: Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Original Female Character(s), Angel Dust - Character, Vox, Velvet, Charlie Magne, Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Niffty (Hazbin Hotel), Razzle (Hazbin Hotel), Dazzle (Hazbin Hotel), Dia (Hazbin Hotel), Summer (Hazbin Hotel), Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, Friendship, Drama, Manipulative Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships, Sex, Smut, Abuse, Blow Jobs, Pole Dancing, Dry Humping, lose of virginity, Dubious Consent, Prostitution, Abusive Relationships, Mentions of addiction, Explicit Language, Song fic, Exploitation Summary:

Gemini has only been dead for two weeks, but already clawing out a living for herself, as a cheap, freelance corner girl. Unfortunately, she comes under the radar of Pride Rings Overlord of Porn: Valentino, who isn’t about to let a fresh sinner suddenly start taking territories right out from under him, and decides to find, and eliminate the problem. But upon confronting her, Val decides that Geminis' rare talent would be of better use in his hands, and offers her employment, and a contract.

Gemini throws herself into her new role, determined to remain a model employee of Porn Studios no matter how hard it is, however pitiful, it's better than what she had before, which was nothing.

But when the opportunity of more, something better presents itself, will Gemini grab hold of this thread of hope with both hands, or let herself fall back into the hands of Valentino?

 Please keep any comment constructive, and respectful ;)

[ravenclawshermione]

DC Fanfic - Thorne: Origin

Since I'll be posting a new Calla-centric fic on Thursday 9/3, I wanted to share my existing works for her leading up to then! ^-^

She's been such a fun character to write, and this fic is where everything starts for her. The story of her return to Gotham, gaining her powers, and her very first team up with the Red Hood.

“My name is Rebecca Johnson, I’m calling in regards to Iris Carr. Is this Calla?”

The air was suddenly still, every impossibly loud noise falling away to silence. It had been a few weeks since I’d last spoken to my grandma, but she’d sounded fine. She’d been fine. Sure, she was getting a bit older, but… I glanced down the hallway to the picture of the two of us in her garden, back when I was still just a kid. I thought we would have more time. Thought I’d go back, someday.

“This is Calla,” I said numbly, “How… How did it happen?”

“I’m so sorry,” her voice was still strained, but there was a kindness in it that cut like a knife, “If it’s any comfort, it was in her sleep. The doctor said that it was fast and painless.”

I couldn’t find the words to say. It all felt like some horrible dream.

“I know that this is a little sudden, but she left very explicit instructions that you were to be contacted immediately. She’s left you everything, including her house. It’ll be a bit before we can get everything settled, but she… She wanted me to purchase you a plane ticket. She gave me the money for it months ago. Obviously, you don’t have to-”

“I’ll come. When’s the next flight out?”

“There’s one that leaves in about an hour, I know that’s probably too soon but there’s another at six twenty-five, I can get that all set for you.”

“Book the one in an hour,” I said.

After over a decade of avoiding my past, I was finally going back to Gotham.

[reservoirreputation]

Dimples, Chapter Seven

End

Later that night, Freddy hands in his badge. To protect Pink and Larry on the inside, he had to pick up those skills Holdaway had taught him, once more. It wasn’t the first time he’d stabbed someone in the back, either. The look the police chief gives would make most people cry, but to Freddy it’s worth it. His terms have been broken, the department made to look bad. Not quite as damaging as killing a civilian, but pretty fucking close. With his cardboard box of personal belongings, he makes his way through the office once more. Whispers have now given way to silence. For the second time in Freddy’s life, he’s a traitor amongst his peers.

In his car, he sits. Let’s the reality wash over him; it’s over. Life as he knows it is done. And he knows, while Pink and Larry are safe tonight, the courts will find a reason to drag them back in, soon. Freddy grips at the wheel cover, blood rushing-

-and he laughs.

It’s a month later. Freddy drops another, pitifully small box off at Mom’s house. His old childhood home. A lot of phone calls had been made, planning out carefully when the last day of his rental in LA was, if and what rent should be paid to her, and what was the grace period before getting another job. Well-documented, easily tracked.

Freddy told her he would be in LA for one more week, to sort out some errands in-person. Close bank accounts and the like. She was so happy when he told her of his decision. It only breaks his heart a little.

A few days later, before he’d make one more drive down to LA, he gets coffee with Wendy. It’s tense, to say the least. There’s attempts at small talk; watch anything good lately? New music you’re listening to? How’s that hobby of yours going? Oh, you’ve picked up knitting. That’ll be useful, gets pretty chilly up here.

A beat of silence.

“You hear about the murder trial?” she asks.

Freddy’s real calm about it, “Yep.”

“Maybe they can get something to stick, this time.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” he vaguely says. Let her take it how she will.

“It wasn’t your fault.” she lightly covers his hand. “Honestly, you have every right to be angry with everyone, including the department.”

“I’m not angry with them.” He lies, “I just knew the job was a dead-end for me.”

She searches his face, “What will you do, now?”

“Tie up some errands. Close this chapter for good.” He stares out at a trademark dreary San Fran day.

“It’ll be nice to have you around, more often.” she gives a small smile.

He can’t return it. “I’m afraid I’ll be downer company.”

“I don’t care.” she says, insistent. “I’d rather have you as a grumpy bastard than not at all.”

Freddy sighs, looks away, “While I’m gone, keep an eye on my Mom? She’s- really worked up, these days.”

“You’ll only be gone for a week.”

“Please?” he takes her hand, gives it a squeeze.

Wendy looks at him, and he’s a afraid for a moment she can read his mind. Instead, she smiles, “Alright. We’ll see you in a week.”

He ditches his car a half-mile away from the golden gate. He’s left a few meaningless items in the backseat. Let the cops make their lazy conclusions.

Freddy calmly walks in the early morning light. He waits for a few hours and some miles before he snags a car. Older model, won’t be missed. He begins his long drive down to LA.

Upon arrival, he buys new clothes with cash. He also buys some extra in different sizes. Out of the shop and away from prying eyes he double-checks his pocket. Back in the car, he checks his police scanner. Nothing new. Freddy finds a hotel for the night.

The next day, he gets up bright and early. Looks through his duffle, puts on his equipment. He listens to the scanner with an outward calm. His stomach’s doing flips, but he listens, anyway. He finally hears what he’s looking for.

“What the fuck?” Pink says, bewildered, “What the actual fuck- how the hell-”

“Don’t have much time. Hello to you too, Mr. Pink.” Freddy’s climbing into the back, keys in hand. He starts with their ankles, then hands.

Freddy’s back out, and Larry can see a car parked twenty feet off. Freddy grabs something from the cab, runs back over to them. It’s a bag, and inside are two sets of inconspicuous clothes.

“Change quick, leave the old shit here.” he says, breathless. Without hesitation, Pink and Larry follow.

“What was that back there?” Pink already has his clothes off, and Larry guesses the guy’s a sprinter in multiple departments.

“Crashed a car as decoy, hid until I saw the whites of the guy’s eyes, tazed the shit out of him.”

Larry thinks of the gunshot. He’s got the new shirt on over his head, “So what? You a cop killer now, Newandyke?”

Freddy stares at him, “No, driver shot me.” he lifts his shirt up, and Larry is expecting history to repeat itself, only to be greeted with a kevlar vest.

Larry’s so relieved, he could cry.

“And next time one of you fuckers is on a job, tell your future boss, I don’t give a damn who,” Freddy catches his breath, “Suit’s are cool as shit, but do fuck-all against bullets.”

Larry struts forward, and pulls the kid in. Freddy gives in, melting like ice. Larry still can’t believe the guy’s alive, when all his nightmares reminded him so cruelly of his actions. But, here, in the flesh, was Orange-

Larry scowls. Freddy sounds so much better.

“Come on, pricks!” Pink shouts, already in the getaway car. Larry and Freddy pull apart, but still run hand-in-hand.

Without missing a beat, Freddy backs out of the area, an open patch of land by the highway. No eyes in the sky, yet. Freddy explains, “Kept an eye out for your transport, with this.” he points to his trusty scanner, “Knew the time you left, expected arrival, and every cop knows the route, from jail to courthouse.” He keeps checking his mirrors, frantic to not miss a detail.

“I thought you went home?” Larry asks, in the front passengers seat.

From the back, Pink says, “Our lawyer said so. Won’t people know you’re down here?”

“Freddy Newandyke jumped from the Golden Gate, yesterday morning.” he says, frowning. “I’m not proud of it. But I don’t belong there. Not in any kind of ‘respectable’ society.” he trails off.

“Your Mom?” Larry asks.

“She’ll never know the real me.” Freddy sniffs, “I love her, but I can’t stay.”

Pink attempts to switch gears, “I hope you got spending cash, ‘cause we gotta lay low.”

“In my jacket.” Freddy starts, rejoining the highway, unusually clear. “Finished my job.”

An hour later, and the scanner’s going wild. LA is on lockdown, and they’re out of the city limits.

They stop at a fast food place, get some greasy burgers. Freddy leaves the name ‘Richards’, and Larry asks what’s his first name then?

“Certainly not Reed.” Larry doesn’t get the joke, but he’s happy for the kid.

They’re back on the road, as Pink and Larry wolf down the best burgers they’ve had in their lives. The stark contrast between it and prison food makes Pink cry tears of joy.

They take turns driving. Jack a car when one starts to run out of gas. They drive around, cover old ground, confuse the PD about where they could be, by now, had they just driven off into one direction, non-stop.

For three full days, they do this. Finally, they head south, for Baja.

With the sea, and a marina, in sight, Freddy lets them in on the next leg of the plan. “I know a guy, outstanding warrant, will do a favor to not be brought in.” He nods to a shifty-looking guy on a sea-faring yacht.

“What do we grease his palms with?” Pink asks.

Freddy pulls from his pocket a double-wrapped grocery bag. He unties the simple knots, revealing gems, cash, jewelry.

“What the hell is this?”

“I finished the job.” Freddy answers, unable to keep the grin off of his face.

“You dipped into our diamonds!”

“Not all from the original, but a little bit of everything in evidence.” he ties it back up, quickly. “Split three ways when we’re out at sea.” Freddy looks back at Larry, and smiles.

Larry realizes he’s been beaming like an idiot.

A day later, their captain, much richer, happily steers them out to sea. Hawaii’s the destination, and the trio, never taking their eyes off the captain, always eating and sleeping in shifts, talk about their next move.

“I know some old friends on the big island.” Larry says, “They can get us papers.”

“What then?” Pink asks.

“Retirement.” he simply replies.

“I’ll probably go on to Japan.” Pink says wistfully, “Always wanted to see it.” he turns to Freddy, “Now that you’ve pulled off your first real job, what are you gonna do?”

“One and done.” he says, “Have got enough here to set me up for life, and comfortably.”

“Where next?”

“I’m thinkin’ about that.”

Larry’s a little disappointed to hear that. Doesn’t know what else he was expecting. He sips from the wine cooler, and gets into the mind of eternal Summer.

It’s late at night, and Larry’s turn to keep watch. Pink and Freddy are supposed to be asleep, but both just lie awake in silence. After some attempts to let the rocking of the vessel lull him to sleep, Freddy rolls onto his side, facing Pink in the other bunk. “You awake?”

“Yeah.”

A moment later, “I feel bad admitting it, but,“ he bites his lip, “I don’t wanna lie; I only helped you because it would help him.” No need to elaborate on who ‘him’ is.

“Oh, I guessed as much.” Pink says casually.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re out, too.”

“That makes two of us.” Pink’s tone is light, not that Freddy can tell, right now.

“Why do you trust me? You’re the one who called me out.”

“When White told me that you’d fessed up, even with help right there,” he pauses, “I suppose it changed the complexion of things.” he thinks about it, “Giving our lawyer a head’s up about the strat you were going for, and turning on a dime to make sure we didn’t get killed-” he breathes out, “Only one who didn’t see what you were going for was White.”

“So, it’s out of pity?”

“No.” he glances over at Freddy, then back to the cabin’s low ceiling, “Respect.”

The moment’s so nice, and so drastically different from how their interactions were several months ago, that Pink just has to get in, “Besides, your puppy dog bullshit with White not only saved my skin, but got me my freedom. More than happy to be on this ship, right now, regardless of its rats.”

“Alright.” Freddy smiles, getting up.

“Ooh, got another! No point in looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Fuck you.”

Larry looks over his shoulder, surprised that Freddy’s up, too. The wind is cold, the stars out in all their magnificence. Freddy’s in a jacket, beer in hand. “Mind if I join?” he asks.

“Don’t need an invitation at this point, kid.”

They are on the deck, the ocean rocking quite a bit, but the trio had quickly become accustomed to it. It’s the first time the two of them, however, have really been alone. Freddy steadies himself with Larry’s arm, wincing as he sits down, the bruise from that bullet likely smarting.

A silence falls, backed by the churning ocean.

“I’m sorry.” they both say. The two stare at each other.

“You don’t have to say shit.” Larry says firmly, “The breakout more than made up for it.”

“Your friends are dead because of me.” he replies, a little broken.

Larry looks out to the distance, where it is hard to see where the ocean ends and sky begins, “All my friends were killers. I can’t act like it’s somehow different.”

“I was the rat.”

The memory still makes him a little sad, “If you think there’s some invisible checks and balances between us, you’ve more than evened it out.”

“I hurt you.”

“I tried to kill you.” he looks over at Freddy’s dimples, “It’s done.”

Freddy looks down at his lap, “Are we, too?”

“Only if you want.”

They lock eyes. Everything goes quiet. “I’d follow you wherever.” Freddy says, breathlessly.

“You’re still young.” he smirks, “Sure you wanna spend your best years on me?”

Freddy reaches out, hand on the back of Larry’s neck. The answer’s in a kiss. Long, melting, swearing off the past. Larry holds him close, returning every ounce of affection. It’s everything he wanted it to be, and then some. It’s recognition. Freddy’s come back to him because within each other, they see something the rest of the world can’t. From two completely different backgrounds, goals and aspirations, to being entwined in the same fate. Cops and robbers? Might as well be two sides of the same coin.

Larry doesn’t need an answer in words.

{Next chapter}

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{Previous chapter}

https://www.tumblr.com/reservoirreputation/757458366484414464/dimples-chapter-six?source=share

[sluttywonwoo]

fuck the neighbors

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f reader

summary: curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back- at least, that's what they say.

warnings: swearing, blood, asshole!wonwoo, mingyu is canonically a whore, light blasphemy, smut (18+ ; mdni)

smut warnings: hard dom!wonwoo, allusions to voyeurism, degradation, oral (f receiving), blood play?!?!? (just a little bit!!!), wap!reader, massive cock!wonwoo, choking, protected sex

word count: 3.3k

reader notes: reader is significantly shorter than ww + described to have long-ish hair

You’ve never felt as small as you do right now. Wonwoo looms over you, smirking. He isn’t even that much taller than you, you just seem to shrink into yourself when you’re around him, which seems to be happening more and more often lately. 

“Found you,” he whispers. 

“I... wasn’t hiding,” you say, your voice coming out in a squeak. 

“You know it isn’t nice to lie,” he chides, taking a step closer to you. You take a step backward in kind, only to be met with the cool concrete wall against your back. “It also isn’t nice to eavesdrop.”

“I didn’t- I wasn’t trying to,” you insist. 

Wonwoo tsks. “I don’t believe you. What did I just say about lying?”

“Well, it isn’t nice to be super loud all the time either!” you scoff. “You have neighbors, you know.”

The overhead light flickers. You and Wonwoo both stare at it, the inconsistent hum of electricity filling the silence before the light eventually decides to stay lit. You breathe a sigh of relief. You really needed to stop overlooking sketchy apartments for the sake of the rent, especially if you were going to have to deal with people like... him. 

Wonwoo cocks his head to the side. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean what am I talking about? Listen, I don’t care who you fuck but if you could be just a little quieter-”

Wonwoo cuts you off with a laugh. “That’s what this is about? That’s why you were snooping outside my apartment? What, were you hoping to catch a glimpse of her leaving or something?”

So you had been right... you’re not sure whether or not you’re happy about that. What you are sure of, though, is that you’re offended that you’re being accused of snooping. You open your mouth to defend yourself but stop short. 

“You’re bleeding,” is what you say instead. 

Wonwoo touches his lip, thumb brushing across the cut he must not have noticed until you mentioned it. He looks down at his fingers briefly then back up at you. 

“Come with me.”

“Wha- huh?”

“You want to know what’s so loud, right? So come on.”

You follow him blindly back down the hall to his apartment, the one right next to yours. You’re doing everything a final girl in a horror movie shouldn’t do, but you’re dying to know what’s been keeping you up at night. 

Wonwoo unlocks the door and stands aside to let you in first. With a gulp, you cross the threshold and slip off your shoes.  He does the same. 

The apartment is quiet, for once. It looks a lot like yours but mirrored. The kitchen is off to the right instead of the left. The half bathroom is on the wall opposite to yours, likely connected via plumbing.

The place is a lot cleaner than you expected too. It’s sparse, typical for a single guy, but still relatively well decorated. 

Wonwoo heads straight to the kitchen and turns on the sink. He wets a paper towel and dabs at his bottom lip, wincing as he cleans the wound.

“Why am I here?” you ask when he doesn’t offer an explanation. 

He doesn’t answer right away. Granted, the man was still bleeding but he’d dragged you here for a reason and now you were just standing in his kitchen. 

Eventually, he disposes of the paper towel, washes his hands, and walks across the living room without saying a word. You know he expects you to follow him but you almost don’t want to. You do follow him, you want to leave as fast as possible, but you consider it. 

He opens the door to what you know is a bedroom and points inside. You stare at him blankly. 

“What am I looking at?” 

“This isn’t my room,” he says. 

“What?”

“It’s my roommate’s.”

“You have a roommate?”

“I do. I have a roommate. He’s the one you share a wall with. He’s the one banging a different girl every night. Your issues are with him, not me.”

Now that you were thinking about it, you have seen a slightly taller, beefier man around the building. That must be who Wonwoo’s roommate is. He definitely had the face to pull all the girls Wonwoo was referring to. Not that Wonwoo didn’t-

“So take it up with him.”

You shake your head and purse your lips. “No, that doesn’t explain everything. I’ve heard your voice too. Unless you’re the one he’s banging...” you trail off, letting the implication hang in the air. 

“He’s not my type,” Wonwoo says flatly. 

“Okay, then what is it?”

“C’mere,” he says, moving along the wall to what you use as a breakfast nook in your apartment. 

In his, the space is empty save for a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. 

“You box?”

“It’s a hobby.”

“Is that why you were bleeding?”

“Yeah, I just got back from the gym.”

“And that’s what I’ve been hearing?”

“That’s what you’ve been hearing.”

You nod but don’t say anything else, half waiting for an apology that he doesn’t offer. He just leans against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Well, do you think you could practice your hobby before midnight? Or at least try to keep it down when you do?” you huff in annoyance.

He sighs like what you’re asking is the biggest inconvenience he’s ever been posed with but concedes.

 “I guess.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll have to talk to Mingyu about his... hobby, though. Or get noise canceling headphones. That’s what I did.”

“Oh, okay.”

Silence stretches between you again, heightening the tension in the room. You don’t know what to do. Were you supposed to show yourself out now that you had your answers? Wonwoo isn’t giving you any indication that he wants you to leave but he isn't giving any indication that he wants you to stay either. 

You don’t have the time or energy to deal with this. You can’t read the man’s mind. No matter how hard he stares at you from across a room. With a definitive breath, you turn on your heel to head for the door just to be stopped by Wonwoo’s voice echoing behind you. 

“Are you disappointed?” 

You stop but don’t turn around. “What?”

“Are you disappointed that it isn’t me you’ve been hearing?” he clarifies. 

Heat rises to your cheeks. “Wh-what do you mean? Why would I be?”

You feel him approach from behind, his shadow closing in on you before he does. 

“Because it isn’t my voice you’ve been touching yourself to.”

“What?!” You do turn around this time, whipping around so fast your ponytail almost whacks Wonwoo in the face. 

“You don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me when I pass you in the hallway?”

You scoff, breathing a subtle sigh of relief. All he had to go off of was a look but if he had heard you through the wall, if he had that irrefutable evidence, it would definitely be over for you. “If that’s what you think lust looks like, I feel bad for all the girls you have slept with.”

“Resentment and lust have a very long history together,” he whispers. 

“You think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“But I’m right, aren’t I?”

You feign ignorance. “About what?”

“About you.” He measures you up with his gaze, something triumphant flashing behind his eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he presses. “Tell me you’ve never gotten off to the thought of me and I’ll drop it.”

You weigh your options. You could lie. You could save yourself the embarrassment and lie right to his face, although given your track record thus far he’d see right through it. Or, you could tell him the truth. You could admit to wishing you were the one in what you thought had been his bed all this time. 

You settle on silence and let him draw his own conclusion. A smirk tugs at one side of Wonwoo’s mouth. So he did think highly of himself. 

“I fucking knew it,” he murmurs. 

Before you can deny it, he straightens back up and starts walking toward the back of the apartment. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” he announces. 

You don’t move from where you’re standing, unsure of what he wants you to do. Was he hinting at you to leave? Was it an invitation? 

Wonwoo looks back over his shoulder at you. “Are you coming?” 

“Hopefully,” you mutter.

“Hm?”

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

-

The water is already running by the time you slip into the bathroom after Wonwoo. You watch quietly as he undresses, letting the door click shut gently behind you. It occurs to you that you should be taking your clothes off too but you can’t look away. 

Wonwoo’s kind enough to snap you out of it. “I didn’t ask you in here just to watch me.”

“You didn’t ask me in here at all,” you point out, “you just expected me to follow you.”

“And you did.”

Damn, he had you there. 

With a noise of indignation, you pop the button on your jeans and start to wiggle out of them, unable to bring yourself to look at him again now that you’re also exposed. You can feel his eyes on you, though. It has the same effect his presence always has on you, and you attempt to cover yourself with your hands.

“Shy?” he muses. “Cute.”

“Shut up,” you sputter.

You don’t think you’ve felt this self conscious since college and then he laughs at your response which does nothing to help.

“I can’t call you cute?”

“Not if you’re patronizing me.”

“How do you want me to say it, then?” he asks, sinking down to his knees on the floor in front of you. You stare at him in disbelief. “You want me to say it like this? Want me to tell you how cute, how pretty, I think you are, from down here? How pretty I think this pussy is?” Wonwoo leans forward as he talks, further and further until his hair is tickling your tummy and his lips are moving against your skin. “Spread your legs for me, baby,” he murmurs. 

You do, taking hold of the countertop so that you won’t fall as Wonwoo slots himself between your thighs. You take a deep breath to brace yourself for the feeling of his mouth but absolutely nothing could have prepared you for the way he presses a gentle kiss to your pussy before diving in. The softness of the action compared to everything that led up to this moment, compared to the way he was now drowning himself in you, is enough to make your knees threaten to give. Your grip on the counter tightens and you bite down hard on your bottom lip to keep from moaning out loud. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, though you’re sure he already knows he’s got you right where he wants you.  

Wonwoo hitches one of your knees over his shoulder so that he can get even deeper inside of you with his tongue. He drinks you in, breathes you in, douses himself in you like he’s trying to baptize himself in order to atone for his sins.  

If this was his apology for all the noise, he’s forgiven ten times over. 

You can feel callouses on the palms of his hands as he traces them up your legs and over your ass, pulling you even further into him. The force of his grip causes you to stumble but he catches you before you can fall and helps you to regain your balance. 

“I’ve got you,” he assures you, backing you up into the sink. “Here, hop up on the counter.”

“What about the shower?” you ask, suddenly remembering that the water had been running this whole time. 

“Oh shit-”

Wonwoo turns around and reaches to turn it off, drying both his hand and his face with a towel that had been hanging on the wall. 

“Now, hop up on the counter.” 

“Are you sure?” you ask, glancing at all of the skin and hair care products scattered across it. 

Wonwoo pushes them out of the way then nods. 

“I’m sure. Mingyu won’t care, trust me. He’d be a hypocrite to.” 

You sigh but hoist yourself onto the counter anyway, too horny to worry about it any longer. Wonwoo steps in between your legs and lets you wrap them around his waist. He leans down, you think he’s going to kiss you, but he goes for your neck and kisses you there instead. 

“Why are you pouting?” he asks, voice muffled and vibrating against your throat. 

“Want you to fuck me,” you lie. 

It’s not a complete lie, you do want him to fuck you, but it certainly isn’t the full truth either. You’re afraid that if you’re honest with Wonwoo about wanting him to kiss you it’ll turn him off. He’s not about to make love to you, that much is clear, so was kissing off the table? Was that too intimate for a hookup like this? Would he think you wanted something more if you asked?

“I was getting to that,” he insists lowly. “So impatient.”

“You’re the one who ate me out as soon as you got me alone. You haven’t even kissed me yet.” 

There. Maybe if you challenged him he’d give you what you wanted. 

“Oh, you want me to kiss you, huh?”

He wraps a hand around your neck and pulls you in, finally pressing his lips to yours. Men were so easy. 

He tastes like you imbued with unfamiliarity. Blood, you realize when you pull back and see the cut on his lip had reopened. It isn’t much, just enough to make him look vaguely vampiric. You swipe your thumb across his bottom lip and push it into his mouth for him to suck on. 

He does, but he has the audacity to pretend not to like it.  

“You’re sick,” Wonwoo scoffs. 

“And you’re still hard.”

“Two things can be true at the same time.”

He kisses you again before you can get another word in, dropping his free hand between your legs to ensure you're truly unable to talk back. 

He uses his fingers to tease you for a moment or two and then he teases you with the head of his cock, pressing it right up against you and making you whimper into his mouth. 

“Tell me, what have you been thinking about all these months,” he murmurs, “when you’re in your bed all alone listening through the wall?”

“I- it’s embarrassing...” you protest. 

Wonwoo draws back, tonguing his cheek as he gazes down at you. “Tell me or we’re done here.” 

You’re not sure whether or not he’ll make good on his threat but you don’t want to call his bluff and risk blowing your chance to actually live out the fantasies you were too embarrassed to share. 

“I thought about... this,” you say hesitantly. 

“This? You thought about me fucking you here?”

“No...”

“You’re going to have to be more specific then, angel.”

“It was, um, in your bed.”

“You mean Mingyu’s bed.”

“I didn’t know that at the time,” you whine.

He smiles. “I know. You know, if you had just paid a little closer attention you would have realized he sounds nothing like me.”

“I was a little distracted at the time,” you whisper.

“Yeah? Distracted pretending it was you in those girls’ positions?”

You nod reluctantly. 

“Poor baby,” he pouts, “must’ve been so jealous but so wet you just had to touch yourself, huh?”

You hate that he’s right. You hate that the condescension turns you on even more. 

While he’s talking, Wonwoo snakes an arm behind you and grabs a condom from a jar on the counter. Did he and Mingyu just keep them out for guests like they were cotton swabs or something? Did they get laid that often? 

He tears the foil packet open with his teeth and rolls the condom on as you watch and unconsciously spread your legs even wider for him. 

“Ready?” he asks, holding your face with both hands. 

It’s probably the first earnest interaction you’ve had with him. His eyes search yours for any sign of hesitation and even when he finds none, he waits for you to answer.

“Go ahead.”

You keep your eyes trained on his face as he guides himself inside of you, watching the way his eyelashes flutter and his breath hitches when he feels the heat of you around him. He pushes himself in slowly but the stretch still knocks the wind out of you, leaving you gasping for air.   

“Breathe, baby, breathe. You’re okay.”

You can hardly hear him over the roaring in your ears but you do your best to listen, chest heaving as you desperately try to anchor yourself to him. 

Wonwoo doesn’t move until you urge him to by wrapping your legs around his waist and squeezing his hips with your thighs. It isn’t easy at first, despite how wet you are for him. He’s that huge. 

You almost wish he wasn’t just because you don’t think it’s fair for any man’s ego to be warranted, especially one as big as his. Though you suppose it’s fitting. 

 After a few rough strokes, he starts to play with your clit again to get you to relax a little. It works, your eyes roll and your head falls back against the mirror as the tension eases from your muscles. 

“Does it feel as good as you thought it would?” he presses. 

“B-better,” you admit.

“That’s because it wasn’t me you were hearing.”

You groan, annoyed that he still hasn’t let it go. You doubt he ever will. 

“It’s okay. I’ve thought about this too,” he confesses.

“You have?”

“Have you seen yourself?” he scoffs, “Don’t sound so surprised. I’d s-see you in the hallways, see the way you’d glare at me- fuck... who knew all this time you were right next door fantasizing about me while I fantasized about you. We could’ve been doing this so much sooner.”

You want to tell him that you have all the time in the world to make up for it now but you can’t find the words. They’ve dissolved on your tongue and left you with only his name to repeat over and over like you’re in a trance.

“Louder,” he pleads as fucks you even faster.

“But our neighbors-”

“Fuck them,” he spits. “They already hate us because of Mingyu, let them know my name too.”

Apparently you aren’t the only jealous one between the two of you. You want to laugh but you physically can’t, too caught up in the incandescent feeling in your stomach that threatens to engulf you entirely. 

“Fuck, are you about to cum?” Wonwoo gasps, lips parting in concentration. 

You nod. “Just a little more,” you beg, “yeah, exactly like that... oh fuck-”  

“I’ve got you,” he assures you. “Let go, I’m right there with you.”

It’s surprisingly sweet of him and you think he might realize it too because he grabs your jaw and pulls you in to kiss you as you fall apart together so that he can’t say anything else. 

Once you come down, he’s the first to start putting you both back together. 

“Wanna actually take a shower now?” he asks, holding out a hand to help you down from the counter. 

Your knees wobble on your landing but Wonwoo’s quick to wrap an arm around your shoulders wounded-soldier style and sit you on the closed lid of the toilet.  

“Take your time,” he tells you, kneeling on the tile in front of you. 

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to stay the night? I mean you can hardly walk. There’s no way you’ll make it all the way home.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “All the way next door?” 

“Exactly! It’s better not to risk it, right?”

You chuckle. “I guess.”

Wonwoo grins. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you home myself in the morning. I’m a gentleman, after all. And then we can piss off your neighbors.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!