#daydream fics

[sunflower-eddiediaz]

buck and eddie canonically both golf, how convenient for me, i'm adding mini-golf date to my list of daydream fics

[shadoedseptmbr]

📰📗 ✨

The early adventures of Fennan Kinrell in which she tags along with the ranger leading her father's expeditions, waxing his bowstrings and stacking firewood and meeting the occasional dryad and listening wide eyed and big eared to the fireside conversations of an adventuring party and then has to go home to her mother's house and wear dresses and attend teas and learn magic from her brother in law who disappears one day in a puff of his own ego-driven investigations. And the random encounters of Rahn Balethorne and things in a swamp, the warlock she meets who helps her clear out a vampire infested temple, and helping out the various townfolk who aren't sure if she's safe or not

[thebreakfastgenie]

📙

I have a vision for a GFA fic that I think about all the time but isn't quite fleshed out enough to write yet.

It's called Make It a Double and it's a non-linear story filling in missing scenes from between the bus and where we pick up in GFA, from various points of view The first scene is the immediate aftermath of Hawkeye driving the jeep through the officers' club and the last scene is the only one from Hawkeye's POV and takes place right before, when he gets in the jeep. Features:

Klinger making the double bourbon and using it to coax Hawkeye out of the still-running jeep

Potter and BJ running from post-op when they hear the nice. BJ knows it's Hawkeye before he gets there

Klinger going to call Sidney without Potter having to ask

BJ and Potter talking about Hawkeye in front of him but Hawkeye doesn't even notice, he's busy rambling nonsense

BJ asking when Sidney is coming and Potter saying he's not and having to break the news to BJ that Hawkeye is being hospitalized

Earlier that day/the night before after the bus, Hawkeye walking around asking everyone how you calculate the cost of a chicken and all the eggs it would have laid (previous episodes establish that's what the army is supposed to pay if they kill a chicken) because they really should pay, it was his fault, and no one really knows what he's talking about but they also don't ask

After Hawkeye is removed from O.R., Margaret says she saw Hawkeye like this once when he hadn't been sleeping (Dr. Pierce and Mr. Hyde), and BJ jumps in to say he hasn't been sleeping (he didn't sleep the night after the bus) and they try to convince each other he just needs to sleep and almost succeed, but Margaret remembers deep down that the last time, his work in the O.R. was still perfect and that's why Henry let him defy orders and stay

A nurse coming to get Sidney to calm Hawkeye down because he won't stop pounding the walls with his fists and when he gets there Hawkeye says "I was promised rubber walls, these are just regular walls, you really should have rubber walls in a place like this, someone could get hurt" and Sidney just looks directly into his eyes and says "someone could" and Hawkeye immediately looks away and stops pounding the wall (his knuckles are bruised)

Hawkeye giving up on the gin from the still because it just tastes like water and deciding he needs something different which is why he orders the bourbon

and more!

[ohwowimlonley]

ohhhh free use with poly!marauders would be something like the boys making it hard for reader to do watch a movie because they keep using her holes and passing her around. imagine the boys sitting in one couch and the reader is seated in remus' dick, waiting for him to cum until she is passed to the other boys 😵‍💫

Changed this a tiny bit to fit a bit better but here :) (btw its roommates!marauders)

Cw for free use/advanced consent

-

You’re alone in your room, curled up in the corner of your bed, blanket covering your thighs as you finally start watching you’re favourite movie. It’s the middle of the day, so you’re the only one at home while the boys are out at work. See, you and your roommates had come to an agreement; they would go out to work and pay the rent and bills and buy groceries (and occasionally gifts for you), allowing you to spend your days as you please. In return, they ask for only one thing: your advanced consent.

Now, let’s not get silly here, you can always tell the boys no at any time, and they constantly remind you of that fact. All the agreement means is that they don’t have to ask you, and sometimes they pull you away from what you’re doing when they really need you. There are also a few rules in place. For example, you shouldn’t wear panties around the house (that is, excluding extenuating circumstances), and you shouldn’t touch yourself before asking for their help first.

Just as the plot starts to get good, your bedroom door creeks open. You jump, not expecting anyone to be home for at least and hour and a half, but relax when you see it’s only Remus. Once he determines you’re not in the middle of something vital, he pushes the rest of the way into your room. He doesn’t say a word to you just yet, just pulls his tshirt over his head and works on unzipping his jeans, pulling out his cock from his boxers and tugging on it.

“Rem! You’re home early,” you grin up at him, not bothering to ask him why, it doesn’t matter so long as he’s home. He makes a noncommital ‘hmph’ sound as he clambers up next to you, grasping at your him and turning you onto your stomach, letting your shirt rise up and expose your pussy to the room, still puffy from James using it this morning.

“Shush,” he grunts, but he doesn’t really mean it. He just wants to get inside you as quickly as he can, “boys’ll be home soon, wanna have you first,”

You go to respond, but Remus interrupts your train of thought by letting a fat glob of spit fall from his lips onto the folds of your pussy and follows it with scraping his fingers through the stickiness. He wastes no time at all before slipping his cock into you, not going slow like he usually does to let you get used to his size.

You whine loudly at the burn his cock leaves you with, and while he doesn’t slow down he does set a soothing hand on the small of your back and bends over yiu to press a kiss to the bcak of your neck as he starts up his fast pace. It doesn’t take long for you to get used to the stretch, and you let your mouth drop open in a long, continuous moan.

You lose yourself in the sensations, almost forgetting about the movie still playing in the background as your roommate manhandles you all over your bed, using his full strength to let out his frustration on you. Remus hears the soft click of the front door opening, but you don’t, so you let out a confused whine when he pulls out of you.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he soothes, seating himself at the head of your bed and pulling you over his thighs, slipping himself back into you, “boys’re home, gotta make sure they don’t take my girl, huh?”

You don’t respond. You can’t, what with Remus slipping his fingers against your poor, aching clit. The door to your room is already wide open, so James and Sirius can see the two of you as soon as they get to the upstairs landing. James clears his throat and you whip your head around to see your two other roommates standing side by side, watching you take Remus’ cock. You make eye contact with Sirius, and he rolls his eyes playfully.

“Told you he’d get home first,” he jabs his elbow into James’ rib before taking his hand and sitting on the end of your bed with the other boy in tow.

“Your fault really, Pads,” he points out, then smiles up at you, shrugging his shoulders, “the boys were arguing this morning about who got to have you first when we got home,”

“I was gonna share with Jamesie here, but Moony’s a stinkin cheater,” the boy in question doesn’t pay them any attention, just renews his grip on your hips and brings them down to meet his own thrusts.

“Rem!” You protest, turning back towards him and putting your palms on his chest to keep your balance. You can feel him throbbing inside you, a telltale sign that he’s close, and thank goodness for that because you’re getting there too, and on days where they pass you back and forth like this, it’s best if you cum as little as possible in the beginning.

“Who’s it gonna be next, love?” James is always more careful with you, his voice always questioning, never demanding. This by no means indicates that he isn’t just as desperate as you. In fact, on days where it’s all three boys, theres never a time where he isn’t practically forcing his cock into you.

There’s no opportunity for you to even try to answer his question, because Remus is anchoring you to him and spurting his cum deep inside you.

Sirius goes to tug you from Remus’ lap, but he locks his arms around your back and prevents you from moving even an inch further away from him. Sirius and James let out grumbles of displeasure.

“Rem, honey, share,” you remind him. When he eventually lets you go, James gets to you first, “can I face this way? I wanna watch my movie,”

All three boys chuckle amoungst themselves, and silently vow to make it as difficult as possible for you to watch your movie.

[cacaocheri]

sun from help wanted 2 got me thinking about fic shenanigans.... i think he gets to be a bit more unhinged

[fictionadventurer]

I love libraries.

I'm browsing the WWI shelves (as you do) and notice a very old book about the war. I glance at the first pages that talk about how one day the war will be over and we'll look at this place and not see any signs of the battlefield.

Then it hits me. And I check the publishing date.

This book was printed before the war's end. Not written. Printed. The physical object was created in 1918, while the war in question was raging and the end was as yet uncertain.

Now I'm standing on the other side of the apocalypse, with this physical link to that era in my hands. I'm living proof that the war did end and life did go on and we can all look at the end of the world as a long-ago memory.

Reading old books is cool enough, connecting our minds and hearts through the ideas of people who lived long ago, but there's something extra profound about holding a copy of the book that comes from the time that it was written. It's a physical link between the past and the present connecting me to those long-ago people. A piece of the past come into the future that gives me the chance to almost take the hand of some long-ago reader, to hold something they could have held, connecting not just mentally but physically to their era, a moment of connection across more than a century.

Excuse me while I go weep.

[moremaybank]

there's something so delicious about pervy bsf!rafe preying on you when he hasn't gotten laid in awhile (18+)﹐Ꮺ

"what's wrong, rafey?"

the question comes out soft, your hand trailing up his firm bicep before curling around the expanse of it. your nails stroke at his smooth skin in comfort. you're so sweet, the way you're always doting on him. always picking up on his mood changes and burning to fix whatever's bothering him.

so sweet.

he offers you a shrug, his eyes peering off into the distance. "jus' all wound up. s'been awhile since i've had some typa stress relief."

your brows furrow, but then you come to realize what kind of stress relief he's talking about. you aren't sure if that sort of thing falls under best friend duties, but that same part of you that lives to make rafe happy goes off like an alarm. you need to help him out.

"can i help you, then?"

he arches a brow, but at the same time, he's pleased. pleased because all it took was one sentence to set his plan in motion. you'f fallen into his trap so cutely, just as he'd hoped.

"you sure you know what you're gettin' yourself into?" he asks, hands reaching out to grab your waist. he pulls you closer, cheek nuzzling against yours as he lowers his lips to your ear. "not sure that pretty little pussy can take all of me."

"i can," you assure him. "just wanna help you out."

"mm, yeah? you sure?" he hums. he presses a kiss to your temple. "don't wanna hurt my sweet girl. how could i when she's so good for me?"

you turn around, your back now toward him as you shimmy your little skirt up your hips, letting it pool around your waist. your fingers toy with the thong you're wearing, pulling at it in the back to let rafe know that you're ready for him.

"don't care if it hurts."

"no? you don't?" his fingers take over for you, tugging your panties to the side so he can get a view of your tight little holes. he presses up against your back momentarily, allowing him to dip down and kiss your clothed shoulder. then you hear the sound of his zipper coming undone, followed by the sound of him spitting onto his palm. he spreads it over his length and positions himself at your entrance. the tortured gasp you let out when rafe's thick cock slides into you, stretching your cunt out wide is enough to make him twitch inside you.

"just want you happy, rafey."

your walls clench around his base and he lets out a guttural groan. "makin' me real happy, doll. so cute, keepin' my cock nice 'n tight in that pretty lil' pussy. now hold onto the counter for daddy."

he watches your hands latch onto the edge of the kitchen countertop, and he smiles. you're getting ready for him. you know where this is going and you're showing rafe that he has complete reign over you.

rafe's palm smooths over your beck, bending you further over the cold marble. "there we go, baby. thaaat's it. stay right there for me."

the angle allows him to slide into you deeper, and he soon starts to move roughly. he can't help it. not when your walls are all slimy and welcoming for him. his hips smack into your ass mercilessly, and you find yourself wondering how you've gone so long without letting him take you to cloud nine.

"rafe," you breathe out shakily. "can feel you deeper. s-so deep, daddy."

"but you like it, yeah? like when daddy fills your guts?"

he doesn't even really have to ask. he knows you do. he can tell by the way you fuck him back like your life depends on it, little moans and cries spilling from your lips.

"mhm— yeah. feels so good," you slur.

"yeah...know it does. know it does, baby. s'cause you're so wet for me. get so wet thinkin' 'bout helpin' daddy, huh?"

you nod furiously, rising onto the tips of your toes as you feel your high coming on. "yes. yes!"

he bends his head down, kissing at your spine. "my favourite girl, lettin' me use her pussy when i need it so bad. you're my good girl, yeah?"

"y-yours, rafey. all yours."

"yeah, mhm. know you are," he affirms, fucking into you hard. "all fuckin' mine. whenever i want, right?"

"whenever you want."

and by the way you tremble as you fall over the edge, he knows it's a promise.

whenever. he. wants.

concepts ; concepts (ii)

[arcanegifs]

[cameronsprincess]

thinking about.. the first time rafe fucks your ass😮‍💨😵‍💫

CW: 18+ only! anal, choking, fingering, praise and slight soft!rafe at the end.

daydreams 𓆩♡𓆪 main masterlist 𓆩♡𓆪 taglist form

rafe had entertained the idea a few times, asking how you felt about it. you weren’t one hundred percent certain it was something you’d enjoy, but you’d finally decided why not? how bad could it be?

to be honest, it wasn’t as bad as you’d thought. it actually felt good. but rafe’s fingers in your soaked pussy and his leather belt wrapped around your throat added to the pleasure factor.

“that’s it baby, takin’ my cock so well. you like how my cock feels in your tight little ass?”

rafe’s fingers push in and out of your cunt slowly, his right hand tightly gripping the belt he has wrapped around your throat. he pulls on the belt, making it tighten around your neck and pulling a choked out sob from you.

he slowly pulls his cock from your ass, slamming his hips forward again, filling your tight hole to the hilt. the feel of his cock stretching your ass, his three fingers knuckle in your pussy and the belt that’s restricting your breathing has your pussy soaked. you’ve never felt so much pleasure rushing through your body before.

the pace of his hips pick up, the sound of skin slapping skin fills the room. you choke out a moan, your entire body feels like it’s on fire. your lower belly begins to tighten, a warm feeling rushing through you as your pussy clamps down around rafe’s fingers.

“rafe… ‘m gonna.. oh, god! ‘m gonna cum!”

he fucks into your ass faster, pulling moan after moan from you. “go on baby, cum on my fingers from my cock in your ass.”

your entire body vibrates, a loud, strained scream escaping you as you come undone around his fingers. rafe doesn’t let up, his cock pushing in and out of your ass harshly while his fingers continue to work your soaked pussy.

he pulls the belt tighter, cutting off your air completely. his thrusts begin to grow sloppy, and you feel his dick pulse in your ass. black dots cloud your vision, your body going numb from lack of oxygen and how good his cock and fingers are making you feel. rafe thrusts his hips forward one final time, stilling inside you and coming deep in your ass.

he lets up on the belt, letting it drop from his hands. the leather belt falls from your neck, hitting the soft mattress beneath you as you begin gasping for air.

your body shakes, tears spilling down your cheeks as he slowly pulls himself from inside you. his body falls onto the mattress, one hand grabbing at your side and pulling you down into him. he places soft kisses to your sweaty face, whispering praises in your ear.

“did so good for me, princess. so good. you’re my good girl, you know that? i love you.”

[sunsburns]

[ nsfw 17+ ]

i’ve been thinking about frat boy!luke who tries to throw the biggest party the world has ever seen at least once a month. he's one of those guys who is actually convinced he can throw a party exactly like project x. but maybe even better (his words i swearr).

he’d even be corny enough to print out a bunch of invites and just throw them around the school so whoever’s interested can just show up.

and that's where you met him, at his biggest party yet. the party was already at full swing when you got there; music blaring through the speakers, colourful lights glowing from the open windows. students and crashers alike jumping to the music and holding red cups in their hands.

and then you catch his eye. he’s standing near the backyard, just walking back into the house to get more drinks when he spots you.

and yeah, you’ve had a class or two with him before, he might have asked you for a pencil once. you doubt he remembers you though.

but then one look turned into three, and the lingering stares from across the room, and knowing smiles, and nudges from friends continue.

you eventually bump into him on the dance floor, both tipsy. a drunk smile crosses your face as you wordlessly start to dance together.

what starts off innocent quickly turns into something more, your hands brush his arms, his hands find themselves comfortable on your sides, and they start to crawl to your waist, then your hips, and if you were a little braver, you might’ve grabbed his collar and kissed him then.

but instead, luke took your hand in his, and he leaned closer, close enough for him to ask you if you wanted to go somewhere a little more private. somewhere quieter, he said, so you could talk.

and you would’ve loved to talk to him, to get to know who the real luke castellan was, his interests, what he studies, where he’s from. but all those questions start to blur the moment you find yourself climbing up the stairs, turning corners and giggling behind him when he walks in on a couple fucking in the bathroom.

you barely remember what you want to ask him when he pushes you against a wall at the end of the hallway, music a little muffled, breaths a lot louder. and now you’re gasping into his mouth, your teeth crashing against his because there’s no coordination in your movements. one hand at the back of your neck to hold you while his tongue slips into your mouth.

and you’re both touching each other, hands wandering over clothes, fingers twitching to touch the warmth of skin, squeezing whatever there was to squeeze frantically.

your head spinning as his other hand pulls your leg up, up and up until you can wrap it around his hips, and he presses his crotch against yours. he tastes like cheap liquor and bad mistakes, and you try to ignore the way your stomach twists whenever he says your name (or at least something that sounds like it, maybe off by a syllable or two).

you bite his lower lip, tugging on it with your teeth and you let go to stare at him for just a second. he's a lot prettier up close. his big pouty lips, the scruff hair on his face. the way he smirks at you before pulling his cap off and placing it over your hair. “fit’s like a charm.”

you roll your eyes, “shut up.”

his hands find themselves under your shirt, cupping your boob and squeezing them gently as he sucks a bruise to your neck. you decide to take a leap and reach for his crotch, glancing down the hallway to make sure you’re away from peering eyes before you unbuckle his belt and grope him over his boxers.

it's all wreckless, and messy, where he tries to undo the buttons of your shorts but his fingers are trembling from you touching him. and while you’re not actually sure of what you’re doing, you love the noises luke is making, so you keep going.

he’s huffing into your neck, your ear, then back into your mouth, little whines that urge you to move faster, his black cap nearly slipping off your head.

“fuck- wait wait,” he sputters, pulling away from you.

you need to suck in a deep breath to clear your head. “what-?”

“you're in my calc class, right?”

“seriously?”

[winged-self-indulgence]

🔞 Ray x GN!Reader, because I have been neglecting my man. sorry sweetie 🔞

“You’re being a terrible kidnapper by the way.”

Ray tilts his head idly, a sardonic smiles tilting the left corner of his lips at your words. His smirk is playful and dangerous. Knowing.

You lift your chin in mocking defiance from the couch where he’d placed you. It’s probably not as intimidating as you’d hoped considering the ropes binding your arms behind your back. Your legs are free, but it’s not like you could go anywhere. Even if you could somehow manage to escape Ray, his lair (“Please don’t call it that, Star.”) was located on the topmost floor of the tallest apartment building for miles around.

He leans against the glass window-walls that look down onto an ocean of shimmering city lights. Flashes of purples, reds, and gold are blanketed by a moonlit black velvet. The colours reflect off the edges of his face, sharpening gorgeous features and softening others. A cigarette dangles loosely from between long fingers, trailing an almost invisible thread of smoke up to his lips.

Lips that are now stretched in the most self-satisfied smirk you've ever seen.

“You’re staring, Star,” Ray taunts. You snap your head to the side, cursing mentally. You’re hyper-aware of Ray’s tall form as he moves closer, not stopping until he’s standing over your seated form. His free hand reaches up to caress your jaw, knuckles brushing the apples of your cheek. The cigarette is gone, but the scent clings to his skin – somehow warm and enticing – and you can’t quite stifle the urge to lean into his touch.

Fingertips trace your skin, rough pads mapping every spot he had claimed and memorized countless times before.

"Explain yourself," he murmurs, tilting your head up so you’re forced to meet those unfathomably dark eyes. "How am I a bad kidnapper, Star?"

You open your mouth to reply, nothing coming to mind for several seconds. It's as if his gaze is a black hole sapping you of your usual sass and wit. "Um, w-well...well what do you think you should do with me?"

Ray kneels in front of you, which does nothing to make you feel any more in control of this situation. Body still tightly bound, you can do nothing other than pout and writhe in place when he leans closer, lips brushing against your heated cheek.

"Oh, that's an easy one," the villain murmurs into your ear before he gently bites your earlobe. You squeak, barely able to hear his next words through the rush of blood in your veins. "I’d keep you all for myself. Lock you away where no one can find you except me."

Huffing, you manage to regain a bit of your mental faculties and lift your chin with a playful scowl. "Hmph, don't villains usually use traps to keep their victims in place? Iron cages, steel chains, etc.? Come on, Mr. No. 1 Most Wanted Villain, where's the showmanship? Did watching Megamind teach you nothing?!"

A laugh escapes Ray at your demand, a burst of mirth that has you fighting back matching snickers. One hand slides up your arm and, and he pulls you closer until your chest is flush with his. The other grabs you by the waist, tipping you off balance and pinning you to the couch.

"How's this for showmanship, Star?" Ray scoffs as he rakes over your prone form with carnal amusement. His hand leaves your hip, dipping beneath your shirt before tracing upwards and taking the fabric with it. Your nipples pebble in the cool air, vulnerable beneath those void-black eyes.

You’ve gotten a taste of Ray’s possessiveness before – several times in fact – but it never fails to stun you, to send heat rushing between your thighs every time you catch a glimpse of that depthless stare. The lengths he’s gone, that he would go to, for you. Especially after having cast off the NAHA’s paper-thin restrictions.

Fear would be the normal response, the expected emotional outcome. Yet when callused fingers pinch your nipples all you can do is moan.

"So whiny, Star,” Ray coos against your chest, teasing and tasting your buds until they’re bruised and sore. You scream when his mouth closes over the right one, tongue laving over swollen stiff peaks. “And so loud. Is this what you want, hm? You want me to ruin you?"

You can’t speak. The only thing that leaves your throat are helpless, wordless sounds. Ray clicks his teeth, and his hand slides up, applying just the slightest bit of pressure on your throat. A warning.

"What’s that Star?” The villain queries, voice dripping with false curiosity. “Isn’t this what you like? To be helpless under me, in my control. All for my own selfish pleasure? Come on sweetheart, speak up."

“Y-You wish!” you kick out your feet, but Ray simply cants his head to the side and catches your flailing ankle. When he wedges himself firmly between your thighs and hooks your legs over his shoulder, you realize what a terrible mistake you’ve made.

"You little brat…" Ray pushes your ankle further up on his shoulder, restricting you even more as he smirks down at you with a gentle yet terrifying arrogance. It is the look of a wolf watching a caged rabbit, a predator contemplating what to do with cornered prey. Pressing his taller frame against you, Ray’s free hand moves to your hip where the pointer finger dips past the edge of your underwear. It’s barely a brush, and yet the sensation makes your head spin. “Do I have to force it out of you, Star?”

You stubbornly bite your bottom lip, and Ray let out a helpless sigh as if to say, you asked for this.

“Mmph, R-Ray!” The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes in the room, desperate screams filling the air as you squirm and struggle to escape the steel-trap of Ray’s arms though you know it’s futile. “P-Please, m’sorry–!”

“If you’re so sorry, then stay still,” he grunts, punctuating his words with a harsh thrust, one hard enough to jolt the couch several inches across the floor. Your neck and chest are a canvas of bruises and bite marks. Drool falls from the corner of your lips, filthy and messy. The sight of you underneath him, teary-eyed and begging for mercy, was intoxicating and the ex-hero can’t stop the dangerous smile that crosses his face.

Your body convulses as another orgasm shakes through you, the fifth in the past hour, and Ray groans when you squeeze around his cock. He pulls out to admire the sticky mess between your thighs, cum glazing your puffy hole in a lewd display.

Just as you’re catching your breath, Ray pinches your chin and drags your gaze back to meet his. “Uh-uh, we’re not done Star,” his grin widens at your stricken expression. “I want a proper apology, sweetheart. Now open your mouth and say ah.”

[sunflower-eddiediaz]

the potential of bobby being back in the hospital is reminding me of a daydream fic I never had the mindspace to write so I'm just gonna ramble about it.

It's from Buck's pov. He's sitting in a hospital waiting room. Bobby has been injured and they're all waiting while he goes through exams. Buck is sitting in between Maddie and Eddie. He's holding Maddie's right hand with his left, their fingers intertwined, resting on his lap. With his free hand he absentmindly alternates between carressing and softly taping each of their fingers, one by one, his, hers, his, hers... At some point, Maddie has to get up.

Buck's thoughts are all about Bobby, and he tries to not focus on the worst case scenarios but he's struggling. His leg is bouncing and he doesn't realize how fidgety he is until Eddie puts his hand on his. Buck looks at their hands, at Eddie’s hand moving into his. He focuses on their hand, resting on his lap. He focuses on how warm Eddie’s hand is, how calming his energy is, how grateful he is to have Eddie in his life, to have every member of their family, to have Bobby- and his thoughts go back to Bobby and worse case scenarios. His leg starts bouncing again.

Eddie squeezes his hand before intertwining their fingers. It helps. He turns his head and expects Eddie to look as calm as he makes him feel, but he's wrong. The tension in his shoulders and back, the way he's staring straight ahead, being unnaturally still; Eddie might seem calm from a far, but Buck knows his best friend too well. He knows Eddie cares about Bobby as much as him. He understands how they both need comfort right now. He starts moving his thumb back and forth on Eddie's hand. He's still watching him, he sees the tension seeping out him. Eddie's still looking into the void in front of him. Buck squeezes his hand and Eddie squeezes back.

Buck settles as comfortably as he can in his chair, keeps their intertwined hands on his lap, and resumes his soft touches with his free hand. He basks in the calmness provided by Eddie’s presence, and the pride he feels at being a source of calm for Eddie too.

maybe I'll edit it and post it on ao3, maybe this will never more than this, who knows

[shadoedseptmbr]

📓 <3

ooh, how about the one where Fenris' sister actually was a high powered mage and overthrew Danarius and "liberated" Fenris to help her take over Tevinter (handwave how that happens) but the real story is that Sebastian ran away from the Chantry and ended up as Fen's 'bodyguard' and when Leandra died, Aeryn and Beth headed for Tevinter and Bethany was taken as an apprentice and Aeryn was supposed to end up a guard but was instead bloodspelled and ended up in a brothel. Fenris wins her in a bet and uh...y'know, this one ends up in a D/s threesome with collars and power dynamics but it's a pretty good daydream, lol

[thebreakfastgenie]

📓

MASH 80s Business AU.

This started as a joke and then it got semi serious so I had to like. Attempt to actually make the characters sympathetic, despite all of them working in business voluntarily. This whole thing is the fault of goddamn IBM and the MASH cast for doing those commercials and being semi in character the entire time.

Hawkeye and Trapper are coworkers in the same role. Margaret is in a different role within their department and gets paid less than they do, which infuriates her. Frank is in a higher position and gets paid more, but no one likes him. Margaret does have an affair with Frank and eventually breaks it off. Radar, Klinger, and Mulcahy are all younger, newer hires in slightly lower roles. Mulcahy went to seminary before leaving and getting business degree. The head of their department is Henry Blake, until Henry is killed on PanAm 103 coming back from a business trip. Frank hopes to be promoted, but longtime company man Sherman Potter is transferred from another department instead. Around the same time, the department is expanding, and BJ is hired in the same role as Hawkeye and Trapper. Shortly afterward, Charles is hired in the same role as Frank. The official explanation is the expansion, but Frank is convinced he's being replaced. Charles, for his part, was transferred from another branch against his will, and isn't happy. This got long, so I'll put the rest under a cut.

Kellye organizes the secretaries to unionize and convinces the guys to support their efforts leading all the secretaries in not speaking to them. Normally, they flirt with Hawkeye and Trapper, though Trapper never goes beyond flirting.

Hawkeye and Trapper, who were chemistry majors in college, built a still in the boiler room, and occasionally day drink. They start inviting BJ, but he only drinks with them after work. Sometimes the whole gang goes out to Rosie's or the O Club, both of which are relatively sleazy bars/nightclubs in the neighborhood. As time goes on, Hawkeye begins day drinking more and more and is spiraling out of control. Charles tries cocaine, originally to improve his work performance, and eventually Hawkeye starts doing it with him. Hawkeye is very much self-medicating a yet-undiagnosed mental illness, but this isn't clear yet. Hawkeye is in therapy with Sidney but attends so sporadically Sidney hasn't been able to diagnose him yet.

While this is going on, Hawkeye is spending more time with Charles and less time with Trapper and BJ, who have become friends. They bond over being dads, and Trapper and Louise have BJ and Peg over for dinner to help Peg make friends, which she's been struggling to do since BJ was unexpectedly transferred from California.

BJ loves Garfield. His entire cubicle is decked out in Garfield. He wears Garfield ties on Fridays. He's a little weird about it.

Margaret marries the wealthy Donald Penobscott and has a huge blowout wedding. During the reception, Hawkeye and Charles sneak off to do coke in the bathroom, and Charles ODs. Hawkeye has to get him medical attention and kind of ruins Margaret's wedding. After that, Charles goes to rehab, and when he gets back things are awkward between him and Hawkeye, who is still out of control. When Hawkeye eventually gets clean too, they do rebuild their friendship, but it takes a while.

At some point, Hawkeye and Margaret are on a business trip together, and get stranded during a hurricane. They share the last available room in the airport hotel and have a one night stand. They never really talk about it again, but do occasionally make out at office parties when they're drunk.

Margaret's marriage crashes and burns and during a rough period she finds out she's pregnant. She doesn't want to tell Donald and ends up confiding in Hawkeye, who drives her to the abortion clinic.

[ohwowimlonley]

more public sex with james please 🙏🙏

No :)

-

Everyone is piled onto one large L shaped sofa in James’ living room, despite there being plenty of other seats available. James says it’s because you get the best view of the TV from where you are, but you’re convinced it’s some kind of ploy.

Sirius is sat to the left of you, James to your right and Remus to his right. There’s a pink sherpa blanket over your thighs, one that you’d offeredto the boys on either side of you, but they’d both refused, with Sirius claiming that he doesn’t need a blanket to watch a horror movie, and James saying he’d let you know if he gets too cold.

In all honesty, you’re not at all interested in the movie playing on the TV screen, despite the fact that you were allowed to pick the movie, one you knew would scare the life out of Sirius and Remus.

James’ thigh has been pressed to yours for the past fifteen minutes, and even through the expensive matierial of the blanket you can feel the heat that he’s somehow always radiating. It’s distracting, really, the way he touches you just oh so casually, like there’s no intention behind it at all. But you know better. There’s no way that he just so happens to repeatedly brush his hand slightly too high when stroking your thigh over the top of the blanket.

Quickly, but as nonchalantly as possible, you throw the blanket over his lap too, and swing your right leg over his knees. He’s suggested doing this sort of thing before; touching eachother in front of the boys, and you’ve always been eager but too apprehensive to actually try it yet.

“You sure about this?” James knows what you want. Somehow, he can always just tell. His hand is already underneath your skirt, on the brink of prodding the waistband of your panties. His lips are on your earlobe, breath fanning all the way down your neck and giving you goosebumps, “we can just go upstairs, you know the boys won’t mind,”

You don’t trust your voice. If you try to speak now, the sound that will come out will be nowhere near appropriate, so you just nod, slow and meek, and keep your eyes flitting to the boys on either side of you.

Your subtleties last not even a minute. The second James’ calloused fingers make contact with your clit, you let out a low, warbling whinge. All three marauder boys look at eachother and snicker. You don’t care about them knowing any more, you just smush your cheek against your boyfriend’s muscled pec.

“Needy, s’she?” Sirius has that toothy grin on, one that all the marauders know to be his ‘thinking dirty thoughts’ smile, “Moony can sort that out, y’know?”

You prove his point only moments later by grinding yourself against James’ fingers. He slips them over your slit, up, down, up, down, and finally allows them to circle around your empty, aching hole. A simply unholy sound leaves your mouth when he slips a finger inside, all the way in until his palm brushes your clit.

“Let them have their fun, pads,” Remus tuts, stretching his gangly arm around you and James to flick him on the shoulder, “you’re havin’ fun with Prongsie, aren’t you pet?”

“Yeah,” it’s barely even understandable, the high pitched preen you let out, but the boys always get you. James leans down, nosing alond your jawline and letting his teeth drag on the topmost part of your neck. He takes out his finger, and replaces it with two of them.

“Gonna show the boys how pretty you sound when you cum, love?” His fingers speed up, tapping against your gummy walls and grinding against your sweet spot. His other hand reaches round and tugs experimentally on the blanket still covering your modesty. He only removes it for the boys to see when you nod frantically against his chest.

“Already? Not even been five minutes, sweetness,” Sirius teases, eyes widening when he sees your pussy contract at his words.

“I think she just likes the attention,” James curls his fingers, using his knees to spread your legs further apart to show you off to his friends, “s’that it, honey? Y’want the boys to watch you get all desperate for my fingers? Want one of them to have a turn next?”

You choke back a sob as you finally cum around James’ fingers, barely even hearing the boys’ gasps of wonder as you gush creamyness around the rim of your puffy hole.

“So,” Remus clears his throat, “my turn?”

[heartsofminds]

i'm calling just to hear you scream - part i

"She’s tried to be positive. She’s tried to be kind. She’s trying to be the peacekeeper, but all of that falls out the window when her brother is bitching out everything that fucking blinks and breathes and Richie has slung a sledgehammer into the wrong wall that needed to be knocked down." or Natalie gets fed the fuck up and hires a hospitality attorney before everything else turns to shit. 

a/n: i couldn't help myself at all and had to bite by trying my hand at writing for carmy! what can i say? i love men with trauma that need to be cuddled like newborns! please enjoy the beginning of enemies to lovers to enemies back to lovers fic with a workaholic chef and an overly empathetic attorney. angst is my brand! i hope you enjoy!

Being the peacekeeper of your family is never something anyone ever sets out to be. 

One day you’re normal and live blissfully with the rose-colored lenses of naivety tinting life shades of bashful blush and magnetic magenta. The next day you’re diffusing a spitfire scarlett dispute between your anxiety-ridden mother and impulsively crude older brother while simultaneously taming the balloon of battered blue tears your baby brother sheds who observes from the corner; scared yet somehow unaware of the emotions sucking the oxygen out of everyone. 

At first, it feels good. It feels nice to be appreciated and turned to in moments of darkness. Helpfulness defines your livelihood and gives you the nameplate of the gold star child who can never do any wrong and always finds a solution. But then you realize that is what you ever really are, and you’re both hated for your inability to let things sour and for always having an answer despite uncertainty plaguing every course of action. 

Being the peacekeeper of your family is both a Medal of Honor, worn with pride and graciousness, yet a bullet wound wielded by shame and agony. The tenderness and hurt push on it until you can hardly stand it; half expecting pus to be seeping out in pale yellow heaps because the pain feels so real. 

There are no exit wounds. There are no breaks. There is no humanity or personal identity or room for self-discovery. 

A peacemaker is all you will be and all you will ever accomplish, and you’ll never say it out loud but it’s fucking exhausting. 

Being the peacemaker is something Natalie Berzatto never fucking asked for, yet here she is, playing project manager to her haywire (and sometimes freakishly obsessive) baby brother’s blind-eyed throw of a dart that manifested itself in asking Uncle Jimmy for an eight hundred thousand dollar loan with the promise to have it completely paid back within eight months. 

She’s not one to rain on a parade, but it’s hard to keep marching when your entire life has been putting out the fires of overly ambitious business ventures during unmedicated fits of mania. She had seen it with their dad, with their mom, and with Mikey. Carmen is the last needle needed to complete the fucked up haystack that engulfs their family. 

She’s tried to be positive. She’s tried to be kind. She’s trying to be the peacekeeper, but all of that falls out the window when her brother is bitching out everything that fucking blinks and breathes and Richie has slung a sledgehammer into the wrong wall that needed to be knocked down. 

Natalie has never thought of looking into Botox until now; when her face is set in a permanent scowl and her resting heart rate nears triple digits. Pete had been telling her for the past three weeks that she was doing amazing; that this was an impossible task to complete stress-free, and that the stress was “good” because it meant that she cared. 

Sometimes she doesn’t realize that not everyone has a mom who drives the fucking car through the den during Christmas Eve dinner nor does everyone have a mom who moves all the furniture to the backyard before having to leave for their oldest brother’s high school graduation. Not everyone has an older brother who blows his head off and doesn’t leave a note and not everyone has a younger brother who would lose his head if it wasn’t attached to his body and had his mouth that was spewing hurtful insults by the dozen.

Stress does not mean that you care. Stress means that your eyes are staring at the fucking Sun trying to see where the other shoe is getting ready to drop because there’s always another disappointment and always another phone call to make to the pharmacy for more SSRIs. 

Needless to say, Richie calling Neil “lard ass” on an antagonizing loop after he had pointed out the wrong wall was being destroyed was the last straw. Well, that and the fact she found a new patch of white hairs colonizing on her hairline the other morning. Constant shouted insults, gray hairs popping up overnight, and the colossal secret of a new infant making its arrival into the chaos in October weigh heavy on her. And she absolutely cannot afford to lose her cool and become the kind of bitchy and mean she knows that she’s capable of. 

Your phone number sits inside the LED-lit text thread of a friend she had known in high school. Becca was the older sister of Claire Cantor whom her little brother may have or may have not had a pathetic crush on years ago when he was in high school. 

She feels kind of grimy doing what she is; offering up information about Carmy to Becca to give to Claire who apparently thought her baby brother was the bee's knees (which, if she saw the way he was acting right now, Natalie knows she would run the other way). She doesn’t even think Carmen has the capability to think of anything outside of the restaurant and the menu and how royally fucked they all are. 

She can feel the dull ache of guilt in her chest that comes with knowing how unlikely anything is to come from this, and how wrong she is for pretending like her telling Becca where he grocery shops or if he has a girlfriend or if he was currently looking for someone to date would somehow tether Claire to a world where her and Carmen are a “thing” (because apparently “boyfriend and girlfriend” is too permanent of a word for Chicagoan twenty-somethings to use). 

But she’s doing it for the sake of everyone else! It can’t possibly be as gross and low-lived as she feels it is. 

Becca Cantor is insufferable and can only be taken in small doses, but she’s also a big wig junior partner at one of the most lucrative law firms in Chicago. Natalie hates blowing smoke up people’s asses who don’t deserve it (and in Becca’s case certainly don’t need it), but she desperately needs help and knows that she needs to figure something out before she fucks herself in such a deep hole that she couldn’t attempt to unfuck herself if she tried. 

Your official title is “junior associate” and you had been working at Becca’s firm following your graduation from Northwestern’s Pritzker School of Law a couple of years prior. Becca had said you were amazing; freakishly smart, funny, and hardworking. She also mentioned that you were the best kind of junior associate; the ones that know when to shut the fuck up and when to get the fuck out of the way. The addition added before the text conversation ended was how you were looking to get your foot into the hospitality legal field, and how you were willing to do anything concerning that for free fucking ninety-nine if it meant you would have some experience. 

Natalie sits with her lower lip worried between her teeth and her hands one tick shy of shaking. Her heart beats erratically despite lounging on her couch with the lights off and a re-run of That 70’s Show playing softly in the background. She makes a mental note to bring up the high resting heart rate at her next OB appointment. 

It’s because she’s pregnant. Yes. It has to be because she’s pregnant. 

She shouldn’t be nervous. It would be absolutely ridiculous to be nervous. She’s not nervous. 

She already ran the idea past Sydney and she agreed that they absolutely needed a lawyer in their back pocket. With all of the tax records fucked beyond belief, new workers being hired who actually knew their worth and wouldn’t tolerate not having an actual employement contract, and the lack of permits under their belt currently, a lawyer wouldn’t hurt if getting one turned out to not be as helpful as anticipated. Besides, Becca had said you were doing it for them pro bono which in turn meant free fucking nintey-nine. 

But Natalie had lied to Carmen about how much some fluted cocktail glasses cost to ensure that they purchased the cheaper ones so that she could run the numbers and figure out a way to put you on the payroll. Pro bono or not, you’re doing them a huge favor and part of her can’t put the peacekeeping to rest. 

Her fingers type and untype a novel of characters. She can’t seem to relax her mind enough to articulate what exactly she wants to say. She has one shot to not scare you off and not lose her mind in a fit of fiery rage and not have everything turn to shit and it be her fault. She has to be perfect. 

Fuck. She is nervous. 

Hi! This is Natalie Berzatto. I’m one of Becca Cantor’s friends and she referred me to you. I’m working on opening a restaurant and would like for you to swing by and discuss some things about it if you’re open to that! Please let me know. I’m looking forward to hearing back from you soon! 

Nat’s finger hits the blue “send” arrow in the rounded box of her phone screen the same time she pushes a gag to the back of her throat. She used to work at a marketing firm for Christ’s sake. Cold contacting people isn’t anything new and she’s usually not one to shy away from reaching out to anyone in her personal life first. But she can’t help the fact that she’s never been able to swallow the artificial bubble gummy niceness of reaching out to a complete stranger for the first time. She feels stupid and knows that she sounds even stupider but tries not to think about it. 

Besides, keeping everything together is never easy and she knows that she would be selfish for letting her discomfort prevent her from doing what she knows is best. 

Her breath is stuck in her chest as she eyes the open text thread to an unsaved number; her blue text message staring at her menacingly and breeding contempt as the seconds pass. She gasps loudly whenever she sees the gray bubbles pop up beneath it. Pete pokes his head into the living room with a tea towel in his hand and one of the ceramic plates they had eaten dinner on in the other. His eyes wear concern but he knows better than to confront his wife. Natalie was anything but sugary sweet when she was stressed and the influx of hormones as of late have not been helping. 

You see the message as soon as Natalie sends it. The unknown “312” number finds its way into your notifications and your eyes read over the words in a frenzy. You know that you’re intelligent. You graduated from law school for fuck’s sake, but for some reason you absolutely cannot comprehend the text you’re reading. 

Firstly, you were sure Becca hated your fucking guts. She was a junior partner that everyone hated being assigned to because she pushed all her work onto the associates and nothing ever seemed to be good enough for her. Part of the reason you had to take work home tonight was because she sent you an email with enough passive-aggressive undertone to know that these edits needed to be done now; never mind the fact that the time she took to type out the seven and a half page report about the original report probably took up so much time that she could’ve done the task herself. But yet you replied kindly and have been working through your brain fog and finger cramps since arriving home at six in the evening five hours ago. 

Secondly, hospitality litigation was absolutely above your pay grade. You had taken one elective course on it during your 2L year and did a two-week internship before the start of 3L simply because one of your friends wanted to go on vacation and needed to find someone to cover for them. You know jack shit about hospitality law and you don’t even know why Becca Cantor, of all fucking people, would be so willing to recommend you when she couldn’t care less if you lived or died. 

But of course, you can’t say no. You can never say no, and if this Natalie person was desperate enough to reach out to you via text at 11 PM on a Wednesday, she definitely needed help and needed it now. Besides, you would tell her that you do not need to be paid and if whatever she needs proves to be way too advanced for you, you can always help her find an attorney that knows what they’re doing.

Right? 

It definitely doesn’t mean that you’ll pull an all-nighter and research every aspect of hospitality law in Illinois that you can get your hands on. . .Or look up every department dealing with food and management regulations in the state. . .Or try and look at precedent cases. Your firm gave you unlimited access to West Law. Might as well use it for something slightly more interesting than trusts, estates, and contracts. 

You’re unusually pensive for something you know you would love to do. The ongoing battle as of late has been the dispute between seeking joy and wading in practicality; happiness or falsified peace? 

You rub your eyes with a roughness that would make your optometrist cringe. You know that staring at your computer screen five hours after your contracted work hours ended was the culprit for your dry eyes, but the hours you need are not going to bill themselves. Getting up to get your eyedrops will have to wait.

Replying to Natalie cannot. 

Your fingers type and untype; the feeling of texting back an unknown number foreign and unnerving. 

Thanks so much for reaching out and thinking of me! I would love to. What dates and times work for you, and where would it be best for us to meet? 

The text stares at you on your phone screen. Why do you sound so. . . corporate? Boring? Infantile.

She could probably tell you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about at all. The feeling of defeat rises in your throat but you ignore it and hit send instead. You’re trying to be better about that; letting your fear of uncertainty keep you from taking action. You’ve come to realize that the hard part isn’t doing the thing. It’s actually sitting in the aftermath of the “thing” and waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. 

You bite your lip so hard it begins to bleed and throbs with each pulse of watery blood that fills your mouth. The gentle suck you give it to stop the bleeding makes it partially numb. 

Fuck you, Becca. Fuck you, Becca. Fuck you, Becca. 

Natalie chirps when your text illuminates her screen. She gasps and sits up; startling Pete who had settled next to her after finishing the dishes. Her eyes curl up in the same way her lips do. 

Fucking finally. 

The world no longer feels like it’ll fall apart.