#i audibly fucking cackle when hearing this

[officialabortive]

Barbarian!Bakugou x FoxHybrid!Reader

Barbarian!Bakugou had already set up camp for the night under a canopy of thick tree branches. Finally finding some semblance of relief within the cool shade, when he was disturbed by jingling of rusted bells and worn out wooden wheels clacking against rough terrain. Of course, he knows before even looking, that it was the tell tale clatter of a wandering merchant. Bakugou makes haste, jogging over to see the available merchandise. Opportunities like this are rare, as merchants who travel so far out are few and far between.

The stallions —who are surprisingly well kept and very clearly well groomed— hauling the small wooden caravan came to a halt as the man holding the reigns gave a tug upon noticing a blonde figure jogging up. Dropping the reigns, the man swiftly hoped to the ground, ready to offer a sales pitch. Clasping his hands together, the merchant gave his best smile. It was obviously forced, far to wide and toothy to be genuine. Katsuki already pinned him as an obnoxious asshole.

"Ah! Hello, hello, good sir! Would you be interested in making a purchase? You've come at a good time, I have quite the selection at the moment!"

Bakugou grunts "maybe. What'd you have?" The cart was ever so slightly too elevated to see inside without needing to jump to look in over the edge

"Oh please do come take a look!"

Bakugou trails behind him to the back of the caravan where they can see in through the open back. Several hybrids sat on the wooden flooring, all of which having their gaze pinned directly back on him.

"I only carry the cutest and most unique hybrids! Even some exotic breeds! Only the best of the best! And I can assure you they are all perfectly family friendly!" He started pointing to them individually. "Here we have a beautiful teddywidder rabbit! This is red tailed deer! Over here is one of my personal favorites, a rare spot-"

"Got any hunters?"

The man began stumbling over his words. Now one ever wanted something like that, a possible threat. People wanted a nice cute hybrid to have around the house and be loved by children.

"I- uh- well, I do have this exotic snowy fox, who I'm sure is an amazing hunter. Foxes are known for their incredible hearing, agility, and stealth! All amazing attribut-"

"I'll take 'em"

There was an audible ting, Bakugou having flicked something to the man who fumbled to catch it, even with using two hands. Greedy eyes bulge at the perfectly circular gold piece in his palm. Gluttony has evidently long had it's unshakable grasp on his greed ridden soul.

—

You were fairly well behaved. Immediately inspecting the temporary camp, analyzing each item in the worn out bag that lay open on the dirt. Than coming to sniff at bakugou, poking and prodding, curiously tugging at each individual necklaces on his chest. He'd even noticed how you sat exclusively in shaded areas, and squinting whenever you weren't.

Yeah, he regrets not thinking further into the whole 'only liking dark areas' thing. Turns out foxes are fucking nocturnal.

Now, the sun had long gone in to hiding, yet here sits a very much wide awake, agitated barbarian. Slouched with arms crossed over his chest as he glares at nothing in particular.

"Can't believe I spent fuck'n money on this bullshit– QUIT IT!"

The sales basterd was right, you were definitely stealthy. And for Katsuki, it's annoying as shit. He can't even hear your approach when you pounce on him from behind, cackling when you successfully grab on to him mid-jump. Only after several hours worth of attempts to catch you, only for you to slip right out of his grasp, to have you apprehend and tired. Finaly he can get some damn shut ey- why the fuck are you burrowing under his cloak!?

Whatever. At least bakugou is confident in your skills required for hunting. Perfect.

MASTERLIST

[belokhvostikova]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Oral (female receiving) and a really bad joke.

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

It had been an hour of nonstop, "Eds... Ed... Eddie... Edward?"

But no variation of his name could pull his concentrated eyes from his beloved journal, tormented with the indenting stabs of a pencil, as the gears in his brain were proffering idea after idea for Friday's upcoming campaign.

Hunched, and creating a divot at the end of his bed where his body weight dug into, a whirlwind of wicked sorcery, turned dark wizards, eventually leading to battling evil cultists had captivated his attention, sparing him from the fact that a girl laid naked his bed.

In his defense, his freckled back had been turned to you, where you sat perched by his pillows, homework in hand. But when angular momentum and torque became boring and sprinkled moles on his skin suddenly became enticing, your teeth sunk into your puckered lip at the moistening realization that Eddie Munson had a strong back.

Large expanse, kissable skin, moving muscles toning at any flexion of his upper body; just oh so utterly, hypnotizingly, leg clenching worthy. So can you really be blamed when the bright idea of being rid of your clothes suddenly came about? No, you can't. In fact, a horny finger could always be pointed to the man, himself, for the reason as to why your underwear got sticky when completing Mrs. Wilson's physics homework.

Because it surely wasn't rotational statistics.

As quiet as could be, your thumbs dipped below the waistband of your shorts, hooking onto the elastic cotton of your underwear, where both articles made the journey down your legs, lifting your ass to make the movement smoothly. Your t-shirt quickly followed, nothing of any trouble, letting your breasts fall free as the universe intended.

You could audibly hear the pencil scribbling the chicken scratch that was your boyfriend's handwriting when you sat up to feel your knees shove into his lumpy mattress; probably some fantastical enchantment that you wouldn't understand, but so deeply care about if it meant seeing Eddie's shining face whenever he'd tell you about it.

Hushed movements led you towards him, where the gentle touch of your fingertips upon his broad shoulders elicited a hum of activation from him. But it hadn't been until your grip tightened, pulling his body back, that his attention was pulled away from his notebook, as he was abruptly being met with the surprise of your cunt hovering over his head, as he hit the mattress.

A book and pencil dropped, as no time was wasted when your body sunk onto his welcoming mouth. Eddie's large hands were quick to snake a hold onto the fat of your ass to have you seated on his lips, encouraging your hips to hump what was yours. That lingering fear of potentially crushing him that he hated was no longer being accepted on his terms.

You were sat.

"Mm, just didn't want- ugh," you gasped, as the sharp tip of his tongue parted your slick folds to pour your juiced into his mouth, "didn't want you to get tunnel vision- fuck, Eddie!"

"Uh-huh!" His moans vibrated through your pussy, as his lips latched onto your pulsating clit, only to abuse it with the suctioning shake of his head. Yours fingers clawed at his bare chest, where your palms found the support to gyrate your hips. "Only vision I see is me in your tunnel."

Unbelievable. Airy chuckles escaped your mouth, as your fingers were brisk to pinch his growing bulge through the stretching material of his sweatpants in retaliation. His legs jolted, attempting to squirm away, as he laughed into your pussy, only drawing more moans from you atop, as his boyish cackles only gave way for more tremoring sensations against your oozing cunt.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Short smut while I find the will to write long smut.

[cornyforjk]

Drive you Crazy| Day 2 | jjk

SUMMARY In which you are stuck living with an arrogant rookie racer who thinks of you as an obstacle, ready to ruin your glory, but things get heated when he has a pervy smile hidden under that pretentious attitude. Emotions that are complicated. You could never fall for your enemy! He's sabotaging you.

Pairing: racer!jk × racer!oc

Genre: angst and pure filth smut

Warnings: trash language

Taglist: @tatamicc @jwnghyuns

A/note: IK IK I'm going very quick with updating but I'm just ,,,way too excited idkw. Please bear with me 🙈.

___________________♡____________________

The news was just like tripping over a rock.

Relax.

Or it was more like getting hit by a boulder.

The elegant woman introduced herself as Natalie, your new in charge. After the heavy atmosphere with intense eye contact between you and Jungkook that someone could miscalculate as a lovers' gaze, you finally snicker in triumph.

Walking towards Natalie, who held out her pen, inclined for your signature. You would be signing your admission name for the race, and Jungkook would be the one fuming with irritation that no one minded.

Now about the boulder crushing news...

"WHAT?!" You and Jungkook gasp in sync, watching Natalie wince as she hides her face behind the notepad.

"I won't share a room with him!" "Are you crazy Natalie? This swine isn't even real- she will burn me in my sleep!" Jungkook vented, intertwining his hands in front of his chest, eyes begging for sympathy.

"I'm sorry guys, Jungkook is on the waiting list whereas Y/n...we still need to talk to your sponsors, the board, and then assign you a cabin. Furthermore, you will have to hang around together for some time."

The bickering and shoving had people around staring with wide eyes, embarrassment peaked on your face in the colour red that tinted your cheeks and the tip of your ears.

"Keep it down! This is a professional arena." Natalie hushes you both down.

A random man in fancy attire flinched, his eyebrow raising in a barely questioning arch. The click of his tongue was audible enough to make out his annoyance.

You couldn't get any louder, could you?!

Jungkook audibly snorted, peeling off his leather gloves and raking his hand through his hair. His playful orbs followed the direction the man walked in. Jungkook threw him a look.

'What are you looking at, son?'

He cheekily snickered, choking on his cackle that left your tongue-tied.

It would be a dishonour to your ego if you let him have the content look on his face. "Do you know who he is!?" You crowd over his shoulder.

Jungkook blandly shook his head, a confused expression twisting his eyebrows, forehead creased in discomfort. "That's Kim Namjoon! The famous Korean racer, the first rookie to ever win his first race." You chuckled, "have fun winning him over after that look." You elbowed his guts, scampering around Natalie who picked out the room keys.

Your giggles get louder as you follow Jungkook's glossy eyes widen, a petrified look taking over his features, wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. "I fucked up"

You watch him run after the elite racer Namjoon, turning around when you hear metal clanking against your ear. An eager Natalie holding out the keys to your new 'shared' cabin.

"Does that mean I get the larger bed?" You whisper, grabbing the key and eyeing your surroundings, watching out for a fuming Jungkook.

Natalie bowed, walking closer. "Only if you get there first." She winked. Her lips slightly parted as a yawn escaped her lips. "I owe you big time Natalie!" You run, feeling the marble floor vibrate at the heavy steps of your boots.

___________________♡____________________

You flung onto the couch without bothering to look around, accidentally leaving the front door a bit open, making it a teenager's nightmare.

"That was a shitty pick up line!" A crash follows the shout by Jungkook in the hallway who slides the door wide open, halting dead in tracks as he finds you sprawled on the couch.

His heavy breathing contaminates the quiet atmosphere. "Don't tell me the four-eyed nerd gave you the keys first." He referred to Natalie, huffing out chunks of air, bending over with hands on his knees.

Talk about running a marathon-

Calming down Jungkook straightens up, suddenly fumbling back into the door. He turns around abruptly, closing the door behind with a click, boring holes into the floor. His eyes never met yours as he just stood there with no movement.

"I'm not naked you know."

"Not yet-"

Shifting in your seat you stand up, watching him lean on the doorway with a lousy smirk. "I heard that!"

"Not my fault." His smirk turned into a scowl, Jungkook pushed you over and dug himself a seat at the corner of thecouch. Draping a blanket over his feet. His mood swings were worse than a girl on her periods.

The doe-eyed man sighs, tossing in turning his eyes fixated on your legs, and pretending to not care didn't help.

"What are you looking at Bethany?"

He turns your way, throwing a sharp look. "Who even wears mismatched socks?" He tried muffling his throaty chuckle. "No one would guess you are a racer." He laughs loudly, clutching his stomach.

"I just have a different style."

"Different doesn't always mean a good one."

You are about to throw your hands on him, but the doorbell interrupts those revengeful thoughts.

Suddenly you are pulled back while trying to get to the door. Jungkook resting his large hand on your petite waist, looking at his watch. His secured hold did not go unnoticed."Let me go!" You squirm in his hold. "Shhh...shut up for a minute."

Seconds pass by with no one speaking, deep breaths patting your ear, his eyes fixed on you.

The fuck are you up to?! Your eyes scream at him.

Jungkook ignores it by rolling his eyes, sliding his hand down your hip watching you freeze at his warm touch.

Your breath hitched, like a film tape rolling, your eyes rolled back as you closed them shut, throwing your head back on his shoulder.

"I see you are head over heels for my touch." He smirked.

You open your eyes, hands placed over his, trying to break free from that alluring touch.

What were you even doing in his arms?

This damn seducer-

"Ugh! Go away. Why didn't you let me open the door?" Jungkook doesn't answer, averting his gaze while climbing back on the couch trying hard to ignore your question.

"Answer me." You demand.

The authority in your voice pierced through his ear. He wrings his hands together before a wave of calmness washes over him.

"Why am I even afraid of you," he slowly mumbled, chuckling. That same expression changed into one full of arrogance and ego.

The one you hate with all your heart.

"They were calling out registration names for racers." He says, satisfied while you try your hardest to cope with the anger fuming out of your ears.

"You tried sabotaging me?!" Walking swiftly you crowd over him, clutching his collar, "what's your problem Jeon Jungkook."

"You."

"You are my problem."

Baring your teeth you shove him back,Baring your teeth you shove him back, lips quivering as you tightly press them, cheeks turning red.

Oh gosh, this isn't a great time to cry. Especially in front of this jerk!

"I hate you, Jeon." Your words fade away as you run out of the room looking for the registration team.

___________________♡____________________

Day1 | Day3

DM me or send an ask if you wanna be added to the taglist.

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

How would Riddler (which one is writers choice) react to a SO who drops those slightly infuriating jokes? (I just saw a post asking how you make an egg roll and the answer was 'push it' and I just think his reaction to those kinds of jokes would be hilarious)

"Groan-worthy" Riddler Party x Reader

Dude I'm such a sucker for Riddler's it's so difficult for me not to wanna go "my choice? all of the above" when it comes to that man. So you're getting all of them short and sweet!

TW: None

60s

Gotham

Takes him a second. Oh, you like puns? He gets that sheepish little smile and compliments how clever you are. It's much harder to come up with those than one would think! You have to have a good sense of word play, formatting of the joke and-

Oh, he's rambling. Yes. It was good! If it's a particularly bad one or he's stressed, he might give you an annoyed look. But normally he'll just smile.

The riddler who appreciates it the most! A lot of his riddles dance along the line of being riddles and those kind of jokes. Part of why he's always laughing! Puns and double entendres are his bread and butter.

The two of you will have each other hyena cackling to the point people can hear you from another room. There's definitely a jealousy amongst others that the two of you can find so much joy in each other over something so goofy.

Capullo

You would think he'd be way too cool for that and genuinely, he will attempt to act like he is. Try to fool you.

Then you tell just the right joke that's incredibly cheesy and he doesn't guess the punchline before you say it. You hear this deep ugly snort and then he's covering his mouth.

His jokes aren't necessarily groan worthy, they're just really fucking nerdy in a way that makes you roll your eyes when you get it.

Telltale games

BTAS

Audibly groans. You think that's cute, don't you? Then you notice he's smiling. He can't help it, you ARE cute. Even when you're being silly he can't help it. It's charming!

He likes to think his jokes are higher end but... they're verbose and require just a tad more thought. Still slightly infuriating.

Just looks at you. You can feel the judgement seeping into your soul.

If you REALLY enjoy them, he'll tell you dad jokes that are just awful. Terrible. But he tells them with a completely deadpan face reminiscent to "and don't call me shirley."

Batman 2022/Nashton

Arkham games

ANNOYED. Particularly if at any point he thought the joke was a real riddle or a genuine question. Yes. Ha ha. Word play. If you excuse him, he has real work to do and you're distracting him.

If he actually hurts your feelings with the attitude... he does an incredibly tired sigh, "I was going to tell you a joke about time travel.... but you didn't like it." Mini jazz hands. There. Did you like that one? What? Was that one not bad enough?

Autism. Look okay, we can say that for almost every riddler to an extent but this is the kind of shit he hyperfixates on. You've seen his cards? "I'm mad about you" "but it might spoil the chemistry" with a mad scientist on the card? UGH. He loves it.

Rhyming, puns... he gets SO excited. You know, he's never had someone to share these with, so once you do with that first joke... you see his eyes practically dilate like a cats. His time has arrived. You're about to get SO mad.

[stone-stars]

Transcript:

[Bahumia theme fades out.] Murph: WELcome back to (laughing) Bahumia, everybody! Emily, Jake, and Caldwell, while audibly smiling: Ba-hu-mia! [Emily and Caldwell laughing] Murph: Right before we stared recording, Emily started saying "yaaaw, king"? [Jake and Caldwell laugh.] Emily: Well, I was like "yaw", what's that from? And then everyone said it's yaas queen. Or something. Murph: Yeah, it's half of yaas queen, I guess. [Emily laughs.] Caldwell: Right, but this one's for the kings. Emily: Sounds like something else. Yaaw. Jake: Yeah. Murph: And then it morphed into "yaaw, king." Caldwell: Yaw, king, yaw! Emily: Are you sure this isn't it's own thing? Yaw. Murph: I'm sure! Yes, somebody, saying "yeah" in a funny way? [Emily laughs.] Jake: Yaw? Murph: I'm sure it's been done a billion times in a-- Jake: Yaw, I've heard it befoaw. [Emily laughs harder. Caldwell also laughs.] Caldwell: It's kind of like, yeah, when you are like, getting a horse to gallop or something, you go "yaw! yaw!" like that? Emily: Ohhh. Caldwell: So maybe it's like when you're gassing up your king, you're like: "yaw, king!" Emily: Yaaw. Murph: There's definitely a very famous comedy bit I'm sure (laughing) that we're not thinking of right now. [Everyone laughs.] But it's-- Emily: Forgive me! I was trying to get this out before we recorded. Caldwell: Oh, yeah. Murph: Yeah, but then everyone kept laughing while I was trying to do the intro! [Emily and Caldwell laugh.] Jake: It bled in. Yaw. Murph: And it had to be addressed! 'Cause everyone was smiling and laughing as I started. Jake: Yaw. It did. Yaw. Murph: Yeah. I could hear the smile in your Bahumias. [Emily laughs harder.] I could hear it. And the audience needs things explained, okay? We can't just do things out of context. Caldwell: I can't believe that everyone's forgetting about Dane Cook's famous "yaw" bit. Murph: Yeah. Emily: I-- It honestly could be. Murph: Who knows. Literally who knows. Murph: Yeah, I don't know which one's right. Caldwell: Yeah. Oh, wow. Murph: I don't know which one's right. Emily: Do we really want to open this can of worms? Murph: Do we want to get into this? Emily: No, let's keep the-- [Indistinct from crosstalk] Murph: Yaw. Yaw. Jake: Yeah, strike this from the record! Emily: Naw. Caldwell: Naw king, naw. Murph: And then of course we've got Emily Axford-- Murph: And then of course we've got Caldwell Tanner! Caldwell: (crescendoing) Oooh, very worried about Calder's bro, don't want to do the intro no mo', it's Sol Bufo, let's fuckin' go! Murph: Okay! Jake and Emily: Wooow! Emily, quietly: Yaw. [Caldwell cackles.] Emily: Sorry, sorry. Murph, baffled: Your reaction was like that came out of you unintentionally. Emily: It really did. Murph: It--it was like a cough! Emily: It really did. Jake: It escaped. Murph: It escaped. Emily: It was like carbonation surfacing. Caldwell: It's fuckin'… innate to your being. Murph: Alright. Everybody control themselves we haven't even started-- Emily: I super apologize, I'm sure it's from something so obvious. Murph: Who knows? Caldwell: (laughs) it does sound like something that a video game character would say when you hit them. "Yaw." Emily: Ooooh. (laughs) Murph: (laughs) Sure. Alright, let's go ahead and do a little recap! Jake: Yaw. Murph: So last time-- (laughs) Emily: (laughs) That was Jake, not me! Murph: Sh-- Everybody shut the fuck up! [Caldwell cackles.] Emily: Jake has done a couple! Jake has had a couple! Jake, defensive: I just wanna do the recap! I was yes-anding! I was yaw-anding the recap! [Emily and Caldwell laugh.] Murph, over them: Everyone… Everyone… Everyone shut the fuck up. Alright? [A pause, the others laughing.] Last time, we began with Sol dreaming-- [fades out]

[roadkillxd]

could i maybe request ghost and m!reader go out for the night and reader sees someone flirting with ghost so they make him jealous by flirting w someone else 🧍🏽 and it ends w jealous and possessive ghost fucking male reader for flirting w the bartender? 🌝 thank 🧎🏽🙏🏽

It wasn't the bartender ♡ Price anon is next !!

Ghost x M!Reader ↪ 1800 words — 18+ / SMUT.

Content tags — cis male submissive reader, cis male dominant Ghost, spit as lube, unsafe sex, referenced/implied Ghost x Soap, intentionally making partner jealous, possessive behavior, dubious consent (Soap), borderline cheating, crying, rough sex, penetrative sex, anal sex, fingering, mild choking, semi-public sex, slapping, spanking. 

You watch from the mouth of the hallway to the restrooms, leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Hip jutted out. Glaring.

Ghost’s not paying you any attention, rapt on the girlie paying him some in turn. He’s on his fifth shot of whiskey—you’ve been counting. Always counting, so you know when it’s time to drag him to the bunk, and to know when he’ll get handsy, too.

He’s getting there.

Except this broad’s got his attention, and she’s got her dainty little hand on his arm, near the crook of his elbow, and he doesn’t move her off. She leans in real close and you know how Ghost is—you know he’s marveling over how small that hand looks on him. He’s got a real size thing, the freak.

One time he’d had his hands on your hips, fucking you from behind, and you could feel him stretching his fingers across your stomach, seeing how close he could get. It was a real thing for him.

Then you’re not looking anymore. You’re crossing the bar to where Gaz and Soap are sitting, footfall heavy but not audible over the combination of drunken conversations and rumbling music. 

“Johnny!” You bark, and your tone’s got Soap startling before he’s turning his head over his shoulder to clock you. 

“Aye, what’s—woah!”

You’re already on him, grabbing the back of his chair and swinging around to plant yourself in his lap, thick thighs dwarfing his own as you rest down a little hard, making him grunt.

You hear Gaz mutter a “Jesus Christ…” as he downs the rest of his drink, getting up to go find something else to do.

Soap’s hands are instinctively on your thighs, gripping tight. He’s wide-eyed—tries to shift to look past your shoulder at Ghost but you grab his face before he can, fingers pinching his cheeks as you turn him back to you.

“Lad,” he tries slowly, eyeing you warily, “I’d rather not end up on the sharp side of Ghost’s knife, if it’s all the same to you.”

“You won’t. Focus on me,” you trail your hands down to his chest, planting them there as you rock your hips forward, grinding down against Soap. You’ve never heard the Scotsman take in such a sharp breath, his whole body jolting like he’s trying to rock you off of him. Your thighs squeeze tighter against him. You didn’t get the goddamn record on that mechanical bull for nothing.

He’s got his hands up to the side now, in the air like he’s trying to surrender. You cackle, grabbing his wrists to settle them back onto your hips.

“Make it convincing.”

Over all the noise you hear the sound of a glass slam down on the bar, hard. You’re surprised you didn’t hear it shatter, too.

“He’s coming over,” Soap chokes, staring doe-eyed over your shoulder.

“Good.”

You elegantly swing your leg to stand, spinning in the process, literal inches from Ghost’s heaving chest. You look up with a sharp smile, meeting his dark eyes without hesitation.

“Is there a problem, Lieutenant?”

He doesn’t respond—grabs the back of your neck to drag you out the door like a misbehaved puppy. It’s got your cock stirring in your pants.

He pulls you into an alley, slams you into the wall. His hands are on the front of your throat now, and it squeezes in a question. You squeeze his hips in a silent response. He growls low in his throat.

“What the hell was that?”

“Mm, I could ask the same thing, Lieutenant.”

“Drop the rank. I was having a damned conversation, not riding Johnny’s cock—”

“Fuck, I’d pay to see—” his hand leaves your throat to slap you, your jaw aching as you flex it, feeling the ache.

You laugh and Ghost grips your hair hard, wrenching your head to the side. 

“Teach you a fuckin’ lesson,” he hisses.

“What? Wouldn’t wanna watch, good ol’ boy? You know he’d let—” you gasp as Ghost bites down on your neck hard, having pulled his balaclava up over the tip of his nose. You groan, “fuckkk…”

His leg slots between your own, pressing up to grind against your bulge. You grasp at his hoodie, feeling how he moves further up your neck to suck a mark where you can’t hide it. 

“Your mouth gets you into trouble,” he says lowly, voice scratching.

Your eyes are half-lidded, mouth hanging open.

“And out of it,” you breathe. He moves away from your neck to death glare at you. It doesn’t make you shrink away—never does. You smile instead, deciding to play along, “then shut me up, Lieutenant.”

He grabs your waist and suddenly spins you around hard. His hands are on your wrists before you can react, pulling them taut at the small of your back and holding them there with only one of his big hands. The other reaches up, entwining in your hair again to yank your head back. 

He grazes his nose along your throat, breathing you in, scraping his teeth along your pulse point. You groan.

“Make you scream, instead,” he mutters, licking a line across your lips but moving away before you can kiss him, letting go of your hair so that your head falls forward, hung low.

He pushes your pants down just enough to get at your ass. You hear him spit and you shimmy in place, trying to entice him. He slaps your ass instead, the cracking sound wet with his saliva, before pressing a slick finger to tease at your hole.

His fingers are big compared to the average, but not thick compared to his body. Instead they’re long, a bit bony. The jutting knuckles rub against all the right places, fingers crooking to rub at your prostate, loosening you up quicker.

He fucks like he kills: quick and efficient.

He’s at least careful enough to keep you slick, spitting down onto your hole over and over—making you shiver. By the time he’s got you fucking back onto three of his fingers you’re nearly crying, jaw slack as you make desperate little noises into the night air.

“Lieutenant,” you gasp out, back arched so prettily for him. He can’t take his eyes off the sweat that drips down your spine, or how your slick little hole sucks in his fingers, “fuck, please.”

“Yeah?” He grunts, pressing his fingers into the hilt before twisting them, making your legs quiver, “you gonna be good for me now? Learned your lesson?”

You don’t respond for a long moment, focusing on the overwhelming pressure in your abdomen as he rolls the pads of his fingers over your prostate. You press your forehead to the cool brick wall and smile—a sharp thing he can’t quite see.

“Never.”

He growls, pulling his fingers free, and you shake—partly in silent laughter and mostly in anticipation for what’s to come. You don’t think Ghost’s ever gotten his cock out so fast, suddenly the leaking tip pressing hard against your fluttering hole. You moan loud and long as he slides into you, the slight burn from the improvised lube quickly giving way to pleasure as he fills you so full. 

You think you can feel him in your stomach when he finally halts, his hips pressed flush to your ass. You squeeze around him, body trying to accommodate, and he groans weak and quiet against your throat, his face pressed there as he gives you time to adjust.

It takes you a full minute before you start to gently rock your hips, giving him the silent go ‘head. He nips at your neck in affirmation before drawing back, feeling how he slides through your tight walls till just the tip remains, before slamming back in hard.

You immediately sob out, voice echoing off of the brick walls, and Ghost claps a hand over your mouth, his pace never faltering as he grips your hips bruisingly tight.

“Johnny…” Ghost says, groans, and for half a second you think he’s moaned the wrong name, but then, “Johnny could never fuck you like this. Couldn’t split you open—make you fuckin’ scream and cry like I can.”

You pant against his palm, eyes rolling back as you nod your head. He licks over your face, collecting salty sweat on his tongue—makes you feel used in ways you can’t describe. 

You love it.

You’ll have to go back to base after this lest the whole task force sees what a fucking wreck Ghost made of you, covered in bruises and bites and saliva, hair mussed and eyes glazed.

“He couldn’t make you cum like I can, not on his cock like I can. That’s what you’re gonna do, huh? Cream your fuckin’ jeans like some horny teenager. Just feels too good, doesn’t it, love?”

His voice is so deep, gravelly and clearly straining as he speaks right against your ear, exhaling hot puffs of breath. You furiously nod in response. You hadn’t even noticed it until he said something either, how close you are, your cock leaking and hard still trapped in your jeans. 

Ghost’s cock rails your prostate over and over, that deep pressure settling in your tummy as heat floods your system. You try to warn him, so he can stop cause you know you’re not supposed to come first and you don’t want to be bad and—

“Cum for me,” he growls, and you do.

Your whole body shakes, like a seismic wave starting from your toes and ending at your neck, a full body shudder. Hot spurts of cum decorate the inside of your jeans, sticky and wet. Ghost fucks you through it—doesn’t stop fucking you. You’re so sensitive and he keeps pounding into you, pushing harder and harder against your tight, clenching hole trying to keep him out. 

You’re actually crying now, wet sobs against his hand as he slides two fingers to press flat onto your tongue. You mindlessly begin to suck the digits and Ghost moans, hips stuttering a few times before he buries into the hilt.

His prick pulses and twitches as it fills you, spongy head pushing hard against your limit as he cums, his spend pushing out and dripping around his cock already. Too much to keep in. 

Your cock sits limp and sad and a bit cold from the drying cum as you come down from your high, Ghost’s arms now tight around you, holding you against his chest. You try to get your footing, realizing how much weight you're putting on him. Your legs shake.

When he finally slips free you hiss, cold air brushing against your bare hole. He kisses your neck gently and pulls your pants back up. They’re dark enough to hide any stains.

“Let me drive you home,” he murmurs.

[starlightiing]

loscar, pg, 1.2k words, fluff - if i got you here with me, then let it snow

Title: If I got you here with me, then let it snow

Pairing: Loscar (Logan/Oscar)

Summary: Logan and Oscar get snowed in a few days longer than anticipated. But they have a warm cabin, plenty of food, a little extra time, and most importantly: they have each other. Written for F1 Family Secret Santa in my F1 Discord Server! (All are welcome to join, if you want F1 chatter without the drama!)

Secret Santa Recipient: @yuki-tsunodas Yun, my friend, I sincerely hope you enjoy! This was a delight to write out for you. Happiest of Holidays, and may the New Year bring you much joy!

Huge shout out to @allphatauri for thinking of the event, hosting it, running it, and handling all the logistics. This is his baby, and I'm grateful for everything he does to keep us all engaged <3 !

AO3 Link

The snow is more than a foot high when Oscar takes his first peek out the window. It’s not too surprising, given the way the flakes had been pummeling down to the ground for the past few hours, relentless and yet oddly silent in the way snow always seems to be (not that he’s seen a whole lot of it in his lifetime, but nonetheless). 

It’s beautiful, really, the way the light from the sunset hits the crystals just right and makes it look like the entire ground is sparkling. The urge to open the door and jump out into the soft, pillowy snow like a child is overwhelming, but he doesn’t want to spend the rest of the vacation with a cold because he let his impulsive thoughts overtake him.

Especially now, with his and Logan’s plans to leave before the New Year foiled by this comically timed blizzard. 

“They’re saying the snow should stop in a few hours, I think.” Logan’s voice filters in from the kitchen area, the gentle thumping of his socked feet audible as he pads over towards the couch. “But it could take some time for the temperature to rise enough for it to melt. We may be here a while.” 

Oscar hums thoughtfully as he watches the snow continue to pelt the already blanketed ground, still in absolute awe at how serene and quiet everything is. It’s a different sort of silence, one that brings him a peaceful feeling in his chest that he knows he shouldn’t be entertaining. He should be agitated that this very same snow is blocking his exit from this stuffy cabin and preventing him from going home to spend New Year’s Eve with his family. He should be fretting over their stock of food and whether or not the pipes in the cabin will freeze with snow piled this high around them for what could be a few more days at the very least.

But he isn’t. In fact, there’s not a single bother at all. They actually have plenty of food and water to last another two weeks at least, and getting to spend another few days locked inside a warm cozy skiing cabin with Logan sounds more like a blessing than a curse.

“Well, there are worse things than being stuck in a skiing cabin with you, I suppose.” Oscar says after a moment, smirking slightly when he hears Logan chuckle under his breath from a few meters away on the couch. 

“You suppose? Ouch, man.”

“Well, I don’t want to boost your ego too much, you know. I’ve got to keep you tethered to Earth somehow.”

Logan tilts his head back and cackles, “Right, as if my ego has ever been a problem.”

Oscar shakes his head, stepping back from the window and padding over to the couch where Logan has made himself a little blanket cocoon in the corner of the sectional. It’s fairly warm inside the cabin, Oscar has made sure to stay on top of the heating so they don’t freeze, so he raises an eyebrow in amusement seeing Logan swaddled up like an infant. “Cold?”

“A little. Everywhere else in the cabin is fucking freezing except for right here.” 

Oscar shakes his head in amusement, letting himself fall back against the cushions right beside where Logan is cocooned. He opens up his arms, reaching over and pulling Logan, blankets and all, into them almost eagerly in an attempt to warm him up (and perhaps satisfy his own want to be close).

“Wait,” Logan says after a moment, worming around inside of the blanket until he’s managed to shed it like a second skin, “we’ll be warmer if you’re underneath the blanket with me.”

“Now you’re just making excuses to touch me.” Oscar points out with a grin, though he makes no move to get away. In fact, he helps dislodge the blanket from behind Logan and then pulls him into his arms with the utmost delicacy. Logan then carefully fluffs out the blanket, laying it across them in such a way to trap their shared body heat so it cannot escape. It’s warm, but Oscar doesn’t mind as long as Logan is comfortable.

“Something like that. But it is also warmer this way, so just sit there and look pretty while I leach all of your warmth.” Logan mumbles, his voice barely audible from where his mouth is pressed against the side of Oscar’s chest. “You’re surprisingly comfortable.”

“Surprisingly?” Oscar shoots back, looking down at Logan with a raised eyebrow. “My chest is the epitome of cozy, I’ll have you know.”

“No objections here. Now hush.”

“Hush?”

“Yes, hush. I can’t hear your heartbeat when you’re yapping like this.”

Oscar is stunned into silence, then, unable to formulate a worthy rebuttal. How can he, when Logan is being so painfully earnest and painfully adorable? Instead, he sighs softly in contentment and wraps his arms a little tighter around the small body in his arms. Logan lets out a small hum as he nuzzles his head further against Oscar’s chest, something like butterflies rudely flapping their wings at a frantic pace from deep within Oscar’s stomach. 

This is precisely why he cannot be upset by the blizzard snowing them in. How could he ever construe more personal time with Logan as a negative thing, especially when they’re both happy, healthy, and comfortable? 

In fact, there is simply nothing better. Nothing better at all.

“You reckon we’ll be out by next weekend?” Logan asks after a few moments of peaceful silence. Oscar rests his head back against the couch, looking up at the intricate chaos of the popcorn ceiling, and shrugs. 

“Don’t know. Depends on how fast the snow melts, I reckon. You in a big rush to get out of here?”

“No, not really.” Logan replies, gently rubbing Oscar’s arm beneath the blanket. “I was kind of hoping you’d say no.”

Oscar chuckles softly, then, tracing circles into Logan’s shoulder. “Well, to be the bearer of good news, we could always just extend our stay. We don’t need to wish for horrible weather to keep us together.” 

Logan seems to consider this for a moment, letting out a long, thoughtful sigh as he shifts himself in Oscar’s grip to a more comfortable position. “Yeah, I guess we could. At least until duty calls - I’d imagine you’ll be needed soon.”

“Soon, but not yet.” Oscar says, his lips pressed to the top of Logan’s head as he speaks. “I can pencil you in for a few more days, if you ask really nicely.”

Logan snorts, reaching up blindly to poke Oscar in the nose. Somehow, he manages on his first attempt, and Oscar wiggles his nose in retaliation, despite the fact that Logan cannot see him.

“What, like, ‘pretty please will you spend another few days with me after the blizzard melts?’” 

“Just like that, actually.” Oscar confirms, pressing a warm, loving kiss into Logan’s hair. “And yes, yes I will.”

“Perfect.” Logan whispers into Oscar’s chest, softly adjusting the blanket. “I had no plans to let you go, anyway.”

“Consider me trapped and happy, then.” comes Oscar’s content response, watching as Logan’s eyelashes flutter closed with ease. 

His chest feels warm and full in the best possible way, knowing he still has a week and change here to spend with Logan in the midst of his favorite season. After the New Year, he knows things will pick up again. There will be more gym training, and car testing, and meetings, and sponsorship responsibilities, but for right now?

For right now, he gets a brief moment of peace amongst the madness, and he couldn’t think of a single better person to spend it with.

[blindmagdalena]

I was rereading the reader breaks up with homelander fic and it got me thinking 🤔 . What if homelander and his partner are hanging out or something and homelander is talking and his partner isn't paying attention or misunderstands him and thinks he's breaking up with them and they're like what? You aren't breaking up with me! You arent getting rid of me buddy that ship has sailed and there's no receipt! How would he react?

Homelander blinks several times. "What?" "It's not happening," you tell him, audibly swallowing a lump in your throat. He can smell your anxiety, and yet your head is tipped back in pure defiance.

He has to bite back the smile that threatens to form. Christ, you think he's dumping you. Admittedly, he probably could have phrased this whole plot of his better than I think we need a break.

"It's not?" He asks, carefully talking around his amusement, keeping his tone even.

"No," you say firmly. You take his hands, and knowing what he knows, he can't help but find the anxious purse of your lips deeply endearing. You always do that when you're trying not to cry. "We'll talk, and we'll-we'll figure out the problem," you say, squeezing his hands.

He almost feels bad keeping you on the hook like this, but fuck, you're so goddamn cute. "You think so?"

"Yeah," you say quietly, heart thudding loud and sweet in his ears. You sure got worked up quick. It's almost mesmerizing to watch how rapidly your demeanor falls into this frenzy, desperate to fix what isn't even broken. It's like yanking a direct line to seeing just how deeply you love him.

"Just... Just please don't... don't-" Your voice catches, eyes turning glassy.

Oop, too far. Now you really look like you're going to cry.

"Okay, okay, okay," he says, untangling his hands from yours so that he can pull you into his arms, stroking his hand up and down your back in firm, soothing sweeps. "It's alright, okay. I hear you. No vacation."

There's a long pause. He tries desperately not to laugh. Slowly, you press your hands to his chest, and lift your gaze to meet his. Your eyes narrow. "What?"

"You know, a break. I was thinking we could use a break, get out of the city. Check out Hawaii or Italy," he says, practically chewing each word. He can't keep the Cheshire cat grin off his mouth any longer.

Your jaw slowly drops. "You..." Even though he sees it coming a mile away, he does nothing to prevent you from whalloping your fist against his chest. "You evil man!" You gasp, striking his padded chest again. "You wicked beast! You creature!"

Homelander's outright cackling now, impervious to your strikes. He catches your wrists and yanks you into a gleeful kiss, humming a devious little purr against your lips. "C'mon," he rumbles. "You didn't really think I'd let you get away that easily, did you?"

"Stop kissing me, I'm kicking your ass," you say, stubbornly twisting in his grasp, kicking ineffectually at his shins. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I don't see how this is my fault," he says, backing you up against the wall, maneuvering both of your wrists into his one hand, pinning them above your head. His grin is downright wolfish. "You're the one jumping to conclusions."

"You said we needed a break!" You say, but when he presses his body against yours, you practically melt into it. He kisses you until you stop biting at his lips, until you cease those meager attempts to twist out of his iron clad grip. He kisses you until your heart beat settles, and you're kissing him back.

"Italy," you say, warm breath mingling with his.

"Hmm?" He hums, in a little daze all his own. He feels intoxicated by your visceral response, by your possessiveness and desperation to keep him.

"I want to go to Italy," you clarify, kissing him again.

He smiles.

"Anything you want, babe."

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

need them to figure this out before Eddie makes like Punxsutawney Phil, sees his shadow, and then spends 6 more weeks in the closet

🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒

I"M CACKLING. Okay, we have our own version near where I live:

36 for 🚒:

---

Buck pockets his phone and raises his arms up, palms facing Eddie like he’s trying to ward off a snarling dog.

“No! Not yet!”

“Put your hands down,” Eddie practically barks. “I’m not going to jump you, Buck.”

Oh, Jesus. 

“No, Eddie, I-”

“You know, I just  want a chance to explain. I get that what happened was really awkward, but I promise it was more awkward for me. So, if you could just cut me some slack here, and-”

“EDDIE!” Buck cuts him off. “Just let me break up with Tommy first! Fuck!”

Eddie’s jaw drops. 

“Sorry, what?”

Buck huffs, exasperated. “Obviously I know your day sucked more! I’m sorry! I’m super proud of you and all that stuff but I cannot talk about the rest while I still have a boyfriend and he’s leaving me on read right now. I don’t know about you, but I think he deserves a phone call, at the very least, so this is a really fucked up position to be in when all I want to do is talk to you.” 

“Oh,” Eddie breathes. His voice is barely audible.

“Yeah,” Buck replies. 

“Wow,” Eddie mumbles. 

“Just to be clear, you were talking about me on the radio, right?” Buck asks. “Otherwise, this is super fucking awkward.”

“Of course I was talking about you. Who else is dating a Tommy?” 

“Okay, so it is a common name,” Buck says.

“Among our social circle?” Eddie asks. 

“Could be,” Buck says.

“Buck. Come on.”

“I didn’t hear my name and I don’t want to assume how you feel,” Buck says.

[cassyapper]

Jotaro stiffens beside Kakyoin in the back seat, and before he can ask, the song that just came on the radio adds in a saxophone in addition to the beginning piano-only notes, and Kakyoin's brain is scratched.

Like a honey melody, only twice as sweet...

"Hey, turn that up!" Kakyoin calls to where Polnareff is driving, Joseph napping in the passenger seat.

Polnareff raises his brow back at him. "You like jazz?"

"Eyes on the road!" Kakyoin snaps, before clarifying, "And sorta. This was just a popular song from when I was a kid. I haven't heard it in ages."

I want to call you my baby...

Polnareff hums, finally adhering to Kakyoin's request and turning it up. "Well, if it's so young, that must be why the jazz station is still playing it."

Kakyoin twitches, ears picking up on the intonation of an insult. "Hey, what does that mean?"

Polnareff shoots him a deadpan look in the rearview mirror. "I'm calling you a baby, Kakyoin."

Kakyoin kicks at Polnareff's seat and he just cackles, driving across the desert sand steadily.

"I'd be honored to love you, my baby," Kakyoin mumbles along to the lyrics, only to frown when he hears a harsh exhale from beside him. He turns his head to see Jotaro looking positively mortified. Oh, right...

Let me take your hand, and you take mine... We'll teach each other to love the other right...

Jotaro lets out a sound that is hard to describe as anything other than a squeak. Kakyoin raises a brow, but before he can speak, Polnareff does.

"Aw, Jotaro, what's wrong?" Polnareff calls over the tune. "Don't like love songs?" And he it turns it up even higher. Jotaro gets a sort of green pallor to his face then.

Kakyoin slowly scoots over a little, brushing their hands together, and Jotaro whips his head to face him.

Kakyoin's brows furrow upward, gently reaching with his thumb to stroke along one of Jotaro's fingers. "Do you not like this song?"

"It's- it's not that," Jotaro heaves out, and he looks like he's trying not to swallow his tongue. Kakyoin and Polnareff exchange glances in the rearview mirror again. "It's just-"

The way you move has got me aching, oh baby, I'm trembling in the arms of you-

Jotaro slaps his hands over his ears just as Joseph suddenly bolts upright and roars, "IS THIS THAT SONG THAT BASTARD WROTE ABOUT MY DAUGHTER?!"

Kakyoin jumps damn-near out of his skin while Polnareff yelps, "HUH?"

Jotaro tugs the brim of his hat down over his eyes, squirming uncomfortably on his seat. "Give me a fucking break- this is the song my dad wrote my mom on their honeymoon, so can we please turn it off?"

Kakyoin's jaw drops while Polnareff shouts, "WHAT?!" while Joseph slams his fist into the console to turn the radio off. Oh fuck, that's right- Kujo-

"Jotaro, I didn't know your dad was famous?!" Polnareff calls over Joseph's cussing, and Jotaro shrugs, cheeks the reddest Kakyoin's ever seen them.

"Just in specific circles..." he mumbles before he kicks Joseph's seat. "Shut up old man!"

Kakyoin covers his mouth, but he can't help the few giggles that escape him, and Jotaro jerks his gaze to him.

"Just- I grew up singing that song, Jojo," he snickers, and Jotaro covers his face and groans, and Kakyoin laughs louder.

"Tell me about it," Jotaro huffs, "my mom played it all the time-"

"I wish she wouldn't!" Joseph cuts in from the front, and Kakyoin laughs.

"I just thought it was only me until elementary school when the other kids read my name and asked me about it," Jotaro mutters, "and it makes it worse that I get what all of the lyrics mean now."

Kakyoin snickers, while Polnareff outright guffaws from the front and Joseph seethes audibly. Jotaro sighs again, shaking his head, and Kakyoin squeezes his hand from where they're still touching.

Jotaro goes still then, before silently squeezing back. Kakyoin smiles, and as Joseph yells at Polnareff to Stop laughing at the sullying of my daughter! he leans his head against Jotaro's shoulder.

"If it helps," he starts softly, Jotaro pressing his head down on top of his in order to hear him, "I wasn't thinking about your mom when I was singing along just now..."

Jotaro groans and pushes him off his shoulder, which Kakyoin allows, laughing. "Good fucking grief..."

[cetaitlaverite]

Why All This Music?

Masters of the Air - Rosie Rosenthal x OC

link to the masterlist is here <3

17. What Other Reason

“I almost kissed Rosie today,” Freddie said to the room at large. She was hanging upside down off of Millie’s bed in her old hut while Cecelia painted her toenails red.

Beside her, also hanging upside down off her bed, Millie squealed. She’d already been told, of course, but she liked to act surprised when Freddie told the others so they didn’t feel they were less special for hearing the news later. 

“How did you feel?” Cecelia asked.

“He let me be in charge,” Freddie said, smiling at the memory. “So I felt very safe. He definitely made me feel comfortable.”

“Why didn’t you kiss him?” Paddy wondered.

Millie snorted.

“Jack walked in on us right at the last moment,” Freddie said, recalling the instance with a grimace. “So he got an eye full. God knows what it looked like we were doing but we hadn’t even kissed.”

“Poor guy,” Jem said, but the tone she used to say it disclosed that she didn’t actually feel any sort of sympathy for him.

“I can’t believe you haven’t kissed Rosie yet, Fred,” Amy said. She and Paddy were lying on their stomachs on her bed reading a magazine. “If he was mine I would’ve climbed him like a tree the day I met him.”

“Well lucky for you, Amy, you didn’t lose a long-term boyfriend a couple of years ago,” Jem retorted, just on the wrong side of friendly banter. “So ease up a bit, alright?”

“We’re taking things slow,” Freddie said. She turned her head to meet Jem’s eyes from where she was lying upside down on Millie’s bed on her other side and mouthed a silent ‘thank you’.

“You and Rosie have been seeing each other for months now, though, no?” Amy asked, unperturbed by Jem’s comment.

“I’d say we’ve only really been ‘seeing’ each other since we came back from Christmas. Before that we were just friends.”

“You two have never really been just friends,” Paddy pointed out.

“When I met Rosie I wasn’t even close to ready to be anything more than friends with a man,” Freddie argued. “He’s been gradually warming me up. We haven’t been going nearly so fast as everyone seems to think.”

“You’re all over each other in the officers’ club these days,” Cecelia pointed out.

Millie laughed loudly.

Freddie sighed. “We are not ‘all over each other’.”

“You dance like you want to fuck.”

Millie laughed even louder.

She knew, of course, about Freddie’s sex dreams. 

“Can’t say I blame you, Fred,” Amy commented around an audible grin. “Rosie is one fine specimen of a man. If he was all over me you best believe I’d be all over him right back, like the nits on that one kid in school who always seemed to be itching their head.”

“Lovely, Ames,” Paddy said with a grimace.

Freddie scoffed at the general course of the conversation. “Rosie is a gentleman. He most certainly does not dance with me like -”

“He gives you bedroom eyes,” Amy cut across her.

Jem cackled. “I’d love to fight your corner, Fred, but he actually does.”

“I have never once seen him give me bedroom eyes,” Freddie stated matter-of-factly.

“That’s because he does it when you’re not looking,” Cecelia pointed out.

“How do you know when a man is giving bedroom eyes?” Emma wondered from her bed in the corner.

All of the girls in the room ‘aww’ed. Emma and her RAF officer from New Year’s Eve were going steady now, but he was the first boyfriend she’d ever had. She frequently asked for the girls’ advice and they always had this reaction. She was so clearly in love it was charming.

“When we go to the club I’ll show you,” Paddy told her. “You’ll catch a lot of the airmen looking at Red Cross Helen that way.”

“Lucky cow,” Amy muttered under her breath.

“I like Red Cross Helen,” Freddie said. “She gives me doughnuts when she’s got some spare.”

The conversation ran away from them as the night carried on. Cecelia, Paddy, and Amy were getting ready to head to the officers’ club, as was their wont - regardless of the circumstances, they could invariably be found spending their evening there. Emma was heading out to the pub in the village to meet up with her RAF boyfriend. But Freddie, Millie, and Jem were staying in. They’d had a tradition of having ‘sleepovers’ every few weeks even when they’d all slept in the beds right next to each other; they were even more important now that Freddie lived elsewhere.

They were all three of them already in their nightdresses, freshly showered and makeup removed, hair brushed out and drying before they put it in their curling rags for the night. They were all sitting upright on Millie’s bed by the time the rest of the girls finally left, saying their enthusiastic goodbyes and waiting for the door to close before Jem retreated to her bed to pull a bottle of whiskey out from the inside of her pillowcase, smirking as she returned with it.

“Why can’t you steal something else, Jem?” Freddie complained as she watched her unscrew the lid of the bottle. “Wine or something?”

“They have so much whiskey they won’t notice if it’s gone,” Jem explained, batting her hand away as she reached for the bottle anyway. “They’d notice in an instant if they were missing a bottle of wine, hard as it is to come by these days.”

Jem took a long swig and passed the bottle to Freddie, who in turn took a long swig and then passed it to Millie, and thus the train continued.

They sat drinking in silence for a while, waiting until the warm, fuzzy sensation appeared in their stomachs, and then resumed their talking. That faulty overhead light was starting to flicker again.

“Rosie’s coming up on twenty-five missions soon, isn’t he?” Millie asked idly around a sip of whiskey.

Freddie hummed, fiddling with the lace on the hem of her nightdress. “He is indeed.”

“How are you feeling about that, Fred?” Jem asked.

Freddie sighed. She accepted the bottle and considered the liquid before knocking back her largest gulp yet. “Not sure,” she said.

“He’ll be safe,” Millie said.

“But he’ll be gone,” Jem added.

“America is so far,” Freddie mumbled.

“Are you really going to let him get to twenty-five without kissing him first?” Millie wondered, snatching the bottle away from Jem when she went to take a second sip and gulping from it herself. “Your first kiss will be your last if you keep going the way you have been, Fred. You know I love you and I only want you to go at your own pace but it’s true.”

“I know,” Freddie mumbled.

“Do you want to kiss him?” Jem asked. Freddie was sure she knew the answer and was just asking to hear her say it.

“I want to kiss him so bad,” Freddie said.

“Kiss him tonight,” Jem replied.

Millie scoffed. “What?”

“I can go to the officers’ club and get him. Tell him to meet Fred somewhere private. His plane, maybe?”

“Romantic,” Millie said.

Jem smiled proudly to herself. “He’ll meet her in there, in her lacy little number of a nightdress, and she’ll sit in his lap and she’ll kiss him. No words need to be exchanged. Just kisses and whatever else happens after.” Here, Jem winked at Freddie.

Freddie’s cheeks were on fire. “You want me to have sex with him in his plane?”

Millie scoffed. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.”

“Isn’t it like a rite of passage or something when you’re dating a pilot?” Jem asked. “Having sex in his front seat?”

“First I’m hearing of it,” Freddie said. She groaned as she took her next gulp of whiskey. This conversation was traumatising.

“It’ll be like blessing his cockpit,” Jem said, grinning, far too pleased with herself. “Then he’ll always come back safe and sound.”

“Surely it’ll be cold,” Freddie protested.

“Wear his jacket,” Millie said, as though this should have been obvious. “You’ll warm up quickly, I’m sure.”

Freddie handed the bottle off to Jem and covered her face with her hands. “I’m not going to seduce Rosie in his plane in just my nightdress and no makeup, with wet hair dripping down my back and whiskey on my breath!”

Millie scoffed. “As if Rosie’ll care about any of that.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation anymore,” Freddie declared, swiping back the bottle and guzzling from it like it was water. “We are all three of us staying here all night because it is sleepover night and that is what happens at sleepovers.”

“What about when Meatball needs to go to the toilet?” Jem asked with a pointed glance over at Meatball as he woke from his sleep on Jem’s bed.

“He can go outside the hut,” Freddie asserted. “No one is straying far. You two,” she said, looking between her two closest friends, “cannot be trusted.”

Jem and Millie erupted into giggles, pleased to have gotten such a reaction, and Freddie rolled her eyes. 

“Why don’t we talk about you for once, Jem?” Freddie asked with a raised eyebrow. “You’re always sticking your nose into our love lives, but when was the last time you gave us any hint as to what’s going on in yours?”

It was almost comical, the way Jem clammed up so immediately.

Millie noticed and was on her like a rash, demanding to know who it was and when they’d met and why she hadn’t told them.

Freddie laughed as she watched the interrogation, pleased to not be the one in the hot seat for once, and soon joined in when Jem looked like she had no intentions of spilling anything.

It was only after five minutes’ worth of demanding questions and the refusal of giving Jem the bottle of whiskey until she’d spilled at least one detail that she finally caved. “Fine!”

Millie and Freddie shared a grin.

“It’s not what you think it is, though,” Jem warned.

Freddie furrowed her eyebrows. Millie shook her head. “We’re not here to judge, Jemmy. The two of us aren’t exactly the virgin Mary so I wouldn’t be worried about that.”

Jem groaned. “No, it’s not that. It’s just…”

“... It’s just what?” Millie prodded. She pushed herself up to sit on her knees for a higher vantage point when it seemed Jem was going to refuse to answer.

Jem took a deep breath. She looked carefully between Freddie and Millie, her face more serious than Freddie could remember seeing it outside of some sort of fight. All of a sudden Freddie was a little bit frightened of whatever was about to come out of Jem’s mouth. What in the world could have her tied up in such knots?

“I’m not interested in men,” Jem blurted at last. With the way her posture deflated, it was as though a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Freddie’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jem said, much easier now that the confession was out in the open but still with palpable wariness, “I’m not interested in men. In being with men. Romantically.”

“Oh,” Freddie said.

“Yeah,” Jem replied.

“Does that mean -” Millie started and faltered.

“That I’m interested in women?” Jem asked. She laughed without humour and turned her eyes on that flickering light above their heads. “Unfortunately it does.”

Freddie’s thoughts were frozen for a few moments. And then they were rapid. She flicked back through every memory she could bring to mind of Jem from ever since they’d first met upon her arrival at Thorpe Abbotts. Had she really never shown any interest in any of the men?

No, Freddie realised. She hadn’t.

“Does it make your life very difficult?” Freddie wondered softly. She knew it was a stupid question even as she was saying it. Of course something like that would make her life difficult. What she was really asking, she supposed, was if there was anyone Jem liked and had to pretend she didn’t. She was imagining having to coexist with Rosie and not being able to do anything about it. The pain of it - she couldn’t imagine.

Jem laughed, a breathy, almost pained sound. “Yes, Fred, it does.”

“Are you in love?” Millie wondered quietly.

Again that pained little laugh. “Unfortunately, I think I am.”

“Anyone we know?” Freddie asked. She was deathly curious but didn’t want to push too far. Jem’s life must have been hard enough as it was. Maybe that was why she was always prodding and prying into Freddie’s romantic life - she couldn’t have anything like that, anything so public, for herself.

Jem’s face paled. “Me telling you -” She stuttered on her next word, all but choked on it. “That’s my decision. I trust you and I love you and I wanted to tell you. It’s not my place to tell you about her.”

Millie sighed, passing a hand over her eyes. “It’s Paddy, isn’t it?”

Jem shrugged her shoulders indignantly. “It’s not my place to tell you,” she reasserted.

Her reaction made it clear enough. It was Paddy.

And, Freddie realised, it made sense. Jem and Paddy never touched each other the way the rest of the girls touched each other. It was almost as though they were afraid to touch each other even in a friendly way in front of everyone else in case it was misconstrued, or in case they couldn’t hide their real affection beneath friendly gestures. 

“Oh, Jem,” Freddie said, frowning. “It must be so hard for you.”

“It is hard,” Jem agreed. “But it’s wonderful, too. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I’m perfectly happy. I’m actually really very lucky.”

“To have found her?” Millie asked with a quiet smile.

“To have found her, to get to love her. All of it.”

Freddie smiled wide as she watched Jem go a little bit starry eyed. “Can I suggest something?” she asked after a few moments.

Jem rolled her eyes but she was grinning. “Oh, Fred. What could you possibly suggest?”

Freddie giggled, plucking the bottle of whiskey from Millie’s hands and placing it in Jem’s. “I was just thinking -”

“Never a good idea,” Millie commented.

Freddie hit her playfully in the shoulder. “I was just thinking,” she said again, more firmly this time, “that maybe, next time we go to the club, if Millie and I dance together when everyone knows we are otherwise… occupied… then maybe you and your sweetheart might dance together, too. And if you’re not the only ones then who would think anything of it?”

Millie grinned. “Maybe, if we were subtle about asking, we could get Amy and Cecelia to do it, too,” she added. “We wouldn’t tell them why, of course -”

“Amy already knows,” Jem said with a snort. “Of course she does. She and Paddy -”

Confirmation. Jem’s eyes went wide but Freddie and Millie were smiling at her softly.

“They’re best friends,” Millie finished for her. “And we’re yours. And none of us will tell anyone. Because we love you more than life itself and all we want is for you to be happy.”

Freddie reached a hand out to stroke over Jem’s bare arm. It was clear she felt bad for accidentally implicating Paddy, even though Millie and Freddie had already known.

Freddie changed the topic back before she could dwell too hard. “I just thought it might be nice,” she said. “The two of you getting to dance like any other couple, that is. Because dancing has been so special for me and Rosie. It’s brought us so much closer together. And maybe that’s just because I had a thing about it after Daniel but maybe it’s because that’s what couples do and it makes us feel like a real one. But it makes me sad to think of you and your sweetheart” - she deliberately declined to mention Paddy’s name for fear of reminding Jem of her guilt - “not being afforded the simple pleasure of dancing to a pretty song in a bar just because you want to. Because you’re both there and alive and in love and what other reason should you need?”

Jem swiped at her under eyes with her thumb. “Fred,” was all she said.

“Do you think you might like to do it?” Freddie asked gently, giving Jem’s arm a squeeze. “You don’t have to. It’s just a suggestion. But if you aren’t the only all-female couple dancing I can’t imagine anyone would think a thing of it.”

Jem paused, considering the door to the hut as though she expected someone to barge in and berate her for all she’d said tonight. But finally she smiled. “Maybe,” she decided.

“Yeah?” Freddie asked, smiling.

“I’d have to ask first, of course.”

“Of course,” Freddie agreed.

“But maybe.”

“Maybe,” Freddie repeated.

“Think about it,” Millie encouraged her. “I never danced with John and I regret it more than I can say now that he’s stuck in Germany and all I have are his letters.”

“I will,” Jem promised. She let out a sad, tinkling little laugh, then sat up straight abruptly. “Anyway,” she declared, punctuating the word with a big gulp of whiskey, “enough about all this. I don’t know how you did it, Fred, but you thoroughly managed to derail us. But don’t you worry, I remember where we left off. So just when, Freddie Leroy, are you going to finally, eventually, put your lovesick American out of his misery and just bloody kiss the poor bastard?”

Freddie let out a cackle of a laugh. “In my own time and not a moment before!”

“Fred!” Millie and Jem exclaimed as one.

“I want the moment to be right,” Freddie insisted, snatching back the whiskey and taking a long draw from it. “It shouldn’t be forced. It should feel natural. As easy as breathing.”

“Waiting for the perfect moment will have you waiting forever,” Millie warned in a sing-song.

“No,” Freddie disagreed. “I think we’ll find it. And then we’ll be grateful for having waited.”

[bi-focal12]

i feel like my writing has been on a steady decline lately, so pls enjoy this offering from a writing class that i took last spring (when i felt my writing was getting a lot better). it was one of the first, serious original writing pieces i worked on and i definitely leaned on bakugou katsuki's personality to help inform how i wrote Tony lol, but i was pleasantly surprised with the outcome!

i'd love to hear your thoughts (and if anyone's interested in beta-ing my i7 work, pls message me!)

it never got a title but i suppose ill call it...

In Ten Year's Time (1,737 words, original one-shot)

The bus was late.

Tony slumped further in his seat, trying to tune out the chattering next to him while the hard metal rungs of the bench dug further into his back. Tony didn't care if Maria's youngest child had finally started kindergarten or if the acne-ridden line cook sitting in between them was saving up to go to flight school. He did care that their conversation was making the words of his essay prompt swim on the page, 'night shift' and 'empty nest' burrowing an unwanted space between 'where do you see yourself in ten years?'.

Hopefully by then he'd be done waiting at this stupid bus stop.

Maria cackled loudly at something Acne Face had said and Tony took a deep breath through his nose, bouncing his left leg and focusing more intently on the notebook balanced on his right.

In ten years I will be, he wrote, pencil jerking when one of them- Maria, probably- began playing a video clip that started out like an air raid siren. Old people never knew how to fucking lower their volume in public. Tony didn't bother erasing the jagged line that streaked across his page or the one knitting his eyebrows together.

...in anger management, he finished wryly. Or jail.

Maria's shiny clump of necklaces caught the light as she leaned forward and Tony made the mistake of glancing up to investigate, caught in the headlights of her searching gaze while the large man in between them tried to respectfully shrink into nothingness.

"I'm sorry honey," she said apologetically, the remnant of a laugh still caught in her throat. "Are we being too loud?"

Tony grit his teeth against his instinctual, biting response. As much as she was getting on his nerves now, Maria was unbearably nice to him and always dropped off an apple pie during the holidays.

"A bit," he forced out, along with his best half-smile.

Her pleasant expression- endlessly patient while he searched his vocabulary for words that wouldn't sting- turned apologetic and Tony's stomach soured. "It's- it's whatever," he amended, turning away. "I was gonna wrap it up anyways. Bus should be here soon."

"Still," she said softly, followed by an awkward apology from the line cook that might have been the result of an expectant look from Maria. Tony couldn't be sure, eyes locked on an uninteresting pebble.

He rolled it around beneath the sole of his show for the five seconds it took for him to become bored, then kicked it and watched the rock skate clumsily over the curb and into the empty space beyond. Where the bus should be.

"Tory's not picking you up, today?" Maria continued pleasantly.

Tony shook his head, biting down a mean grin while imagining the way his mother's face would scrunch up at the nickname. "Nah."

"Well," Maria replied, the sigh and shifting fabric letting him know that she'd given up on eye contact, "might still be faster if she gets you from here."

"What?" Tony asked, turning his head only to be met with a pale, tattooed bicep. With a barely audible huff, he leaned forward to see around the line cook. "But the bus is supposed to come at four," he insisted.

The line cook chuckled and Tony scowled at him, unencumbered by apple-pie shaped shackles.

The man reigned himself in with an awkward cough. "I don't know where you heard that," he said, "but this bus never shows up earlier than five."

Tony stared at him, then Maria, then the line cook again. The man offered him a shrug.

"Five," Tony repeated blandly.

"Five," they agreed.

Tony clenched his fists, silently burying himself in his backpack to escape their sympathetic grimaces but he could still feel their eyes on the back of his neck like a rash. He rifled carelessly through notebooks and folders and textbooks, crumpling half of them in his wake before coming back up with a fresh sheet of paper and the stub of a pencil.

The stubs were harder to snap.

Tony chewed on the inside of his cheek and tuned out the tentative chatter starting up again on his right.

Where do you see yourself in ten years?

Tony scribbled his name on the top of the page, first and last. Then the date. Then the name of his homeroom teacher just for the hell of it, trying to at least look like he was busy and not avoiding the rest of the page.

"College applications, huh?" the line cook commented.

Tony's nostrils flared. Apparently he didn't look busy enough.

"Oh, Angelica had such an awful time with hers," Maria lamented. Tony had already chosen his prompt but he leaned further over his paper to write down the other two. "Something about who you'd want to have dinner with? Honestly, how a college can pick you based on your dinner guests makes no sense to me," she complained, huffing, "and if Mother Teresa isn't good enough for them then they're not good enough for my daughter."

The line cook whistled appreciatively, a bit of mirth slipping out in the shade of his voice. "You tell 'em."

Tony slowly uncurled from his hunched over position, not quite turning his head to face them.

"Angelica got rejected?"

"Mm," Maria agreed solemnly. "Three times." Then she shrugged, the bitterness alighting from her shoulders like birds on a wire. "But she'd happy where she is."

Tony tapped his pencil stub against his knee, retreating from the conversation once more.

Angelica was two years older than him and he only ever really saw her at church or the odd Christmas party but he knew for a fact she had ranked first in her year. Hell, he'd overheard her reciting her valedictorian speech instead of prayer during communion too many times to count.

Tony pulled out his phone, tapping until he found the right screen.

He held his breath.

S. Antonio, 42

And kept holding it, idly wishing that he could just pass out and not have to deal with college applications anymore. He imagined a puppet doctor in a crisp white lab coat saying, Sorry ma'am, turns out your kid's terminally ill and needs to be exempt from college applications. Bed rest only.

His little wooden limbs would jangle as he shrugged.

Then he imagined his puppet mother pointing in the doctor's face, demanding that they heal him because Tony wasn't allowed to die before becoming a doctor himself and the puppet doctor would droop like his strings had been cut and do as he was told because Tony's mother controlled the universe.

"Uh...hey, kid? Everything alright over there?"

Tony's head snapped up to the line cook, blinking away his daydream and the black spots while he heaved in a lungful of air as subtly as possible. "I'm fine," he spat on the exhale.

Tony's pencil stub lay on the ground between his feet, having slipped from his shaky hands. The sheet of paper, still mostly blank, lay plastered to his thigh.

"Essay that hard?" the line cook asked lightly, lips quirked up in a careful smile.

Tony sneered in the face of it, bristling. "No," he snapped. Heart pounding and lungs still trembling, Tony sat up straighter and gave the man a onceover. "I know damn well where I don't want to be in ten years."

The man's eyes widened but a chuckle was quick to follow. "On your way home to the love of your life after a good day at work?"

Tony's mouth fell open, letting loose a weak, "I-"

"Antonio!" his mother called, her sleek gray car pulling into the space in front of the bench. Right where the bus should be. "Get in, what're you waiting around for?"

Tony scrambled to shove his things back into his bag, staunchly avoiding eye contact and standing before he was finished, nearly tripping for his efforts. The back of his neck burned.

"Nice to see you, Tory," Maria called.

Victoria's mouth pursed, then smoothed out into what she probably thought was polite neutrality, fingers tapping the steering wheel at regular intervals. "You too," she said, voice so falsely sweet it could rot your teeth. Tony wondered if they could tell. "How's Angelica doing? I heard she moved back home?"

Tony paused, hand on the open frame of the passenger side door. His mother's interest might not have been genuine but Tony knew as soon as he was inside the car she'd be off without waiting for the answer. He stepped away to load his bag in the backseat, instead.

"She's happy," Maria replied, the serene smile audible in her voice. "Rediscovering her passions." Tony's mother offered a noncommittal hum, sharp eyes darting to her son's hesitating form. "And your children?" Maria inquired.

"Oh, they're wonderful," Tony's mother replied. "Brock's nearly finished with law school now. Columbia. And of course, Antonio here's getting ready to apply to all the best schools in the country." She smiled, polished teeth flashing. "A little doctor in the making."

Tony kept his eyes low as he slipped into the passenger seat and his mother hardly waited for the door to shut behind him before pulling away. For a few, long moments neither of them said anything, letting the quiet hum of the engine permeate the empty space the way other families listened to the radio. Tony's leg bounced silently.

"Maria's nice," he finally said, the statement hanging in the air like a reprimand.

His mother's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Mhmm."

Tony rolled the words around behind his teeth, weighing the risks, before adding a careful, "So's her wife."

"Did I say anything unsavory?" his mother snapped. Tony shook his head, shifting in his seat to stare determinedly out the window, cursing his inability to disappear or turn back time or sew his mouth shut.

"Well?" she pressed.

Tony wished he hadn't said anything at all. "No."

"That's what I thought," she said shortly. Then she sighed. "I don't know why you always have to paint me as the villain, Antonio."

"Sorry," Tony muttered quietly.

In his head, he wrote, In ten years, I do not want to be like my mother.

In his head, he wrote, Maybe I'll sit on a bus bench with a friend after a good day of work and won't daydream about dying.

Maybe I won't even mind if the bus is late.

[tapedupheadphones]

Nightmares - Carpenter Sisters

Sam has a nightmare

TW: Canon-Typical violence (Act 3 of Scream 6), Stabbing, Non-Canonical Character Death (temporarily)

(Reuploaded from AO3)

Sam ran to catch Tara as she fell.

The girl swung from the balcony, pulling Sam down to her knees as she just barely got her younger sister’s arm.

Her sister began slipping, sobbing as the blood on their hands made it impossible for her to grasp Sam’s hand.

“I can’t- I can’t grab on!” Tara cried, grasping as hard as she could as she continued slipping.

Sam tried to pull her up, dropping her down again when Ethan swung his knife at Tara’s feet, causing her to curl her legs upwards.

“I ALWAYS WANTED TO STICK SOMETHING IN YOU, TARA!” He shouted, jumping as he tried to nick her shoes with his blade.

“Fuck you!” Tara yelled back, her previous fear disguised with disgust.

“FUCK YOU!” He swiped again.

Sam tried pulling her up again, stopping when she heard metal scraping next to her.

In her shock at the sight of Quinn, who spat a tooth onto the floor in a ball of blood while she ran her knife along the barrier, she tried to step back.

She instinctually moved her hands…

And she dropped Tara.

The girl landed on Ethan’s knife, the silver blade poking from her stomach, stained a rusty color, yet still holding its shine.

Sam screamed, the sound was so far away from her mind that she didn’t even know what she said.

Tara and Ethan collapsed to the floor, his knife jamming further into her body as she fell on the handle. She groaned, audible enough for Sam to hear despite the height difference.

“TARA!” Sam shrieked, feeling Quinn pull her back and hold a knife to her throat, keeping her head in a position where she could watch the carnage below.

Tara looked up at her, her eyes hooded in agony, blood pooling from her stomach. She tried to stand up but screamed from the pain moving caused her.

Ethan recovered from the fall quickly, turning Tara over on her side and yanking the knife out. He grabbed her hair and lifted her up, Tara screaming at the new pain coming from her scalp.

“This one’s for you, Sam,” he shoved the knife into Tara’s back, both sisters screaming in a sour, agonized harmony. Ethan retracted the knife, holding it up again for use. “You took my brother,” he stabbed Tara again, this time in the chest. Sam’s heart dropped when Tara didn’t cry out again. “Now I take your sister,” he finished, holding his knife to Tara’s neck and slitting her throat.

Sam screamed, pushing against Quinn’s hold on her. She lost track of who she was as she watched the blood of her little sister coat the Stab memorabilia surrounding her in a sick red color.

Tara’s eyes were wide in fear and pain as she was thrown down to the ground, making a thud sound before limply lying there, motionless and quiet. Dead.

Quinn was cackling wickedly against her, drawing her knife closer to Sam’s throat, before she finally made the cut.

———

Sam awoke with a start. She was covered in sweat, her pillow was thrown on the floor, and she needed to find Tara. She sprung up and scrambled out of bed, running to her door.

Sam flung the door open, moving to the hallway with great urgency. She got lost, forgetting what part of the apartment she was in, before she remembered the door just across from hers.

“Tara, Tara, Tara…” she muttered to herself, saying the name like it was a prayer.

The door swung open, she caught it just before it slammed against the wall. Tara was asleep in bed, laying on her side just as she had been in Sam’s nightmare.

dead.

“Tara!” Sam raced over to her, flipping her onto her back and pressing two fingers on her neck to check her pulse. Her other hand moved to Tara’s wrist, feeling the steady beat underneath it and settling the pool of dread in Sam’s chest at the relief that she was alive.

Tired eyes opened and the younger woman shot up after feeling the hands on her pulse points.

“What the- OW!” Tara fell back against the bed after receiving a punch in the face from Sam.

“Shit! I’m so sorry Tara!” Sam winced, backing away as Tara carefully got back up, sitting against the wall while holding the side of her face.

“What the fuck, Sam?” Tara yelled, confused and even slightly aggravated. What business did her sister have sneaking into her room at God-knows-what time at night? And then for Sam to punch her in the face when she wakes up confused like she was the one intruding!

“Sorry Tara, I just needed to know you were okay,” Sam apologized again, sitting down on the bed and facing her sister.

Tara looked at her, hand still on her cheek and her eyes watering from the force of the punch, and furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing, just go back to sleep, Tara,” Sam assured her, standing up to leave the room.

“No, wait,” Tara stood up, stopping Sam in her tracks, “you can’t just come in here, punch me in the face, say some cryptic shit like that, and then not explain yourself.”

Sam stared at her and sighed, motioning for Tara to follow her to the kitchen.

The two walked in, Tara sat down at the table while Sam moved to the fridge, opening the freezer and taking out the ice pack they kept in there. She got a towel out and wrapped the ice pack before handing it to Tara.

Tara stared at it warily before looking up at her sister.

“For your face,” Sam explained, forcing it into her sister’s hand.

Tara took it and held it to her cheek, wincing at the cold feeling against her burning face. She could tell that it was bruising already.

Tara urged Sam to sit across from her. She did, rather uncomfortably, finding the gaze of her sister intense in a way she’d only seen in their mother, something she’d never tell Tara.

“So, do you want to explain what all..” Tara did a weird gesture with her free hand, “that was about?”

“I had a nightmare,” Sam said after a pause. Tara raised her eyebrows, surprised, but stayed silent, a sign for Sam to elaborate further. “We were back in the theatre, I dropped you from the balcony. Quinn distracted me, and I dropped you. Ethan killed you, and then Quinn killed me. Then I woke up.”

Tara put the ice back down, the pain in her face eased from the coldness, and folded her hands on the table. “That’s why you were checking my pulse.”

“Yeah, it was old habit from the Woodsboro attacks,” Sam stared a hole into the table as she thought of the memories. “You were on so many medications and you were so high risk I was worried something would happen to you and I wouldn’t be awake to save you. While you slept I’d check your pulse, probably every hour, just to give me peace of mind.” Sam laughed at how ridiculous it sounded. “You were so doped up on painkillers that you’d always sleep through it.” She wiped away tears as the memories of those times and the nightmares that plagued her nearly every night since then flooded her brain. “I expected you to stay asleep, just like you did back then.”

Tara nodded, putting her hand over Sam’s. “I’m sorry I caused you to worry like that, but believe me, Ghostface isn’t getting to me that easily,” suddenly she scoffed, chuckling to herself. “Especially not Ethan.”

The sisters laughed, the sound filling the room and bringing forth an energy that settled both of their worries about the other.

“We’re going to be okay Sam,” Tara reassured her sister once they’d settled down. “I know we will.”

“I know, I know Tara,” Sam agreed, smiling. She settled down in her chair, her shoulders relaxing and her posture falling, relief flooding her being.

“I’m not forgiving you for punching me in the face though,” Tara joked, standing up to go back to her room.

“Next time, don’t get so scared when I’m trying to protect you,” Sam snapped back.

Tara put a hand on her chest, as if clutching a pearl necklace. “Oh, that sounded really bratty!” She said, doing her best Abby Lee Miller impression.

Sam started wheezing laughing, causing Tara to keel over in laughter and have to get her inhaler from her room.

When she came back, she had a blanket and pillow with her. “I’m setting up camp in your room, come on.” Sam could tell from the tone of voice that there was no room for argument.

Sam nodded, following the younger woman back to her room.

They settled in, Sam waiting for Tara to get comfortable before turning to her. Tara was lying on her side again but now the sight didn’t disturb Sam, as she knew that Tara was alive and within her reach.

“I love you, Tara.” She whispered.

Tara turned over, facing Sam fully now and grabbing her hand. “I love you too, Sam.” She whispered back.

Sam settled back down, closing her eyes and relaxing to the comforting silence that settled in the room.

It was at this moment, laying together in silence with only the sound of the others breath, that the sisters knew that they’d be alright, nightmares be damned, because they were both alive and ready to start living again.

“Don’t punch me in your sleep.”

“Just go to sleep, Tara.”

[tellthatbrokebitch]

fuck it, snippet from future fic in the stick season au verse, after byler fighting and calling a tentative truce

Mike follows him into the kitchen, pausing to look around with interest. “So, you cook a lot, huh?” he asks, wincing immediately afterwards like he regrets the question.

“Hm, when I can find the time. Or when friends drop by unannounced on my day off and demand breakfast.” He sees Mike wince again at the pointed jab and forces his tone to soften. “I’m joking, Mike. I’m grouchy first thing in the morning.”

As he sets about pulling cartons and jugs from his fridge, Will swears he hears a quiet “I remember” somewhere behind him. He bites back a reluctantly fond smile and turns to set his loot out on the island. At Mike’s obvious confusion, he gestures to the plastic cup in Mike’s hand. “I’ve got orange, apple, and grape,” he lists off, “or, if you don’t want juice, I have some Coke, or I have my Brita filter. If you’d prefer something hot, I could make tea or coffee-”

“Will.��� Mike is giving him an entirely new look now, something less confused and more fond. “It’s okay. I’m okay with whatever.”

Will frowns. “It’s not okay, Mike, I’m just-” he sighs. “I’ve been sober now for so long that I forget it’s different for other addicts, being around friends who still drink. It doesn’t tempt me anymore, so it’s habit to just supply alcohol for everyone-”

“I get it, okay? Well, mostly. I’m not mad at you, Will. I’m not upset.”

Damn him. Damn him. The familiar burn of threatening tears builds behind Will’s eyes, burns at his throat. It isn’t fair. Mike’s been gone for a decade, left him behind for so long - then he waltzes back into Will’s life, and within a week he’s reading Will just as easily as he always did, digging right down to the heart of him.

He casts his gaze downwards to cover the emotion he knows always bleeds through too easily and clears his throat. “I was going to make myself some coffee and make Max tea,” he says, avoiding the questioning tilt to Mike’s head.

“Tea sounds good - unless it’s chamomile.”

“No, no chamomile. Not baby-safe. I have…” Will crosses to the cabinet above his Keurig and eyes the selection. “Peppermint, ginger, green, oolong, chai, earl grey.” He squints. “Some orange-spiced shit El bought and never drank.”

Mike hums. “The orange sounds good.”

Will twists to stare over his shoulder. “Seriously?”

He shrugs. “Why not? Adventure is the spice of life.”

“Pretty sure I said it was orange-spiced, but whatever, it’s your funeral.” Will pulls out a packet of the orange and one of the peppermint before his own words register and he freezes. His head tilts forward and hits the cabinet door with an audible thunk. “Shit.”

“It’s fine.”

Somehow, Mike’s forgiveness just makes him feel worse. With his forehead still pressed into the wood, he lets out a frustrated laugh that sounds more like a groan. “My inability to keep my foot out of my mouth doesn’t bode well for the rest of the night.”

“Will.” Mike’s voice is closer now, to his left. When he lifts his head to look, Mike’s leaning against the fridge, and his smile isn’t even the least bit sad. “You worry too much. I’m not going to break down into tears if you mention Ted’s funeral, or my sobriety, or - I don’t know - peeing my pants in Click’s class.”

“Okay, but maybe I will. Did you ever think about that?”

“Nooo, you? Big macho mechanic man?” There’s that teasing note to his voice, so familiar, and it throws Will back in time, to him teasing Will for misplacing his house key, for losing a game after shamelessly cheating, for getting an unwanted Valentine from Charlotte Grant from fifth period. It’s second nature to groan and say, “Shut up, Michael!” on a childish whine.

It’s worth the brief flash of embarrassment for the way it makes Mike throw his head back and cackle the way he always hated when they were kids, the way Will always loved. It’s a happy sound, happy in the way Mike hasn’t been all week.

It’s impossible for Will not to notice the air of palpable sadness that followed his old friend like a stormy cloud. Well, it was easy to ignore in the beginning, when the hurt and anger was still fresh, when he was still avoiding Mike like the plague. But since their talk, or fight, or truce, it was obvious.

The truth is, even after a decade apart, he can still read Mike - his moods, at least - and no matter how successful Mike is now, no matter the money, the notoriety, the fame - he’s not happy.

based, of course, on a song from the stick season album, primarily this one:

honey come over

the party’s gone slower

and no one will tempt you

we know you got sober

there’s orange juice in the kitchen

bought for the children

it’s yours if you want it

we’re just glad you could visit

feels like i’ve been ready for you to come home

for so long

that i didn’t think to ask you where you’d gone

so why’d you go?

[townofcadence]

"You know? As much as I love your little feisty attitude, I think a punishment is in order, don't you think??"

His body coil around them like a snake wrapping itself around it's prey, making the shadow look like a smoke of mist. "You have such a pretty little neck, wonder how it would feel under my hands..."

Without further explanation the creature wrapped its hands around their neck, feeling the pule beneath its fingers. "Thats it, you look so exquisite." The hand around them tightens up as the grin against the creature's face widen in glee.

"So beautiful when you struggle like a rabbit to a fox. Almost makes me wanna eat you." Tensing the hold to make sure the air didn't flow into their lungs. Tighter and tighter...

And suddenly, he'd let go, stepping a few feet back as it cackled. The morning sunshine illuminating off the branches,

"It seems sun is coming up, you're lucky I find you amusing to have around. Good night, my sweet rabbit." The creature disappeared, leaving no trace behind.

Artair hears the shadow and he tenses, but he isn't fast enough. The shadow's body wraps around him tight, too tight, before he can even move his arms or-- do anything. He squirms, kicks until his legs can't move, and even then he wrenches against the smoky mist, despite how ineffectual it proves to be. "Fuck you." He still manages to spit the words with the vitriol and intensity of someone not restrained and helpless.

It isn't until it speaks again and those hands find his neck that he freezes. They run over the fabric of his choker, and line up, just a little smaller than the hand-print seared to his neck in a mottled burn. He swallows and it's something that can be felt this close. His arms try to jerk free, escape, something, but he can't. The words make him bare his teeth like a cornered animal, jerking and snapping. He can feel his arm coming loose and he tries to focus on that over the pressure growing, the thinning air. Almost--- got it----

That thing is smiling, a grin that makes him feel sick, but it's hard to focus on anything but those words, his racing pulse, and then those fingers tightening enough he chokes. Artair manages one last ragged gasp before he can't breathe at all, and pain starts to radiate from the vice of the shadow's grip. It squeezes further and further and tears start to cling to his lashes. The noises he makes are desperate rattling things. His vision darkens at the edges and he can feel himself spinning. He tries to hold that breath as long as he can not to give the shadow the satisfaction, but it only takes him so far.

It doesn't matter anyways. He can feel the crushing force against his windpipe. He won't manage any other breaths and he will lose this one. But the need not to give him this one thing, this one thing in his control--- it wins out beyond sense. He manages to free that one arm and grabs at the shadowman, but it takes far too long, His grip doesn't have the strength it should and he does nothing of effect. A few meager strikes against the shadow's back doesn't make it loosen its grip on his neck, take away the overpowering angle it has on him, stop him from gurgling, or saliva from foaming in his mouth as air desperately tries to escape and return. He's going to die, isn't he? He's---

The release is instant. He drops to the floor on all fours, choking and coughing and hacking through the strain on his throat, which only makes it worse. He wheezes in a few rattling breaths, fingers moving to claw at his throat as if to help revitalize it somehow. He coughs a few more times and each breath he takes is audible and strained, like the air was passing through glass instead of lungs.

But the last words strike him, and he looks up, in time, to see it fading away like the rest of the shadow in the morning light. His teeth bare and his face twists into a snarl.

"I'll. Fucking--." His voice is hoarse and weak, and it delves back into a coughing fit as the creature disappears.

[thetinycrab]

The Game

Pred!Billy and Prey!Gender Neutral Reader

If anyone told him two years ago that he'd be best friends with a tiny, he'd have laughed in their face. Hell, even a year ago he would have been skeptical. Nothing against the little buggers, but there were just certain things you couldn't do as Billy Hargrove, son-of-Neil. Hanging out with tinies, interacting with them in any way other than throwing his pred status around, was one of them. And Billy couldn't stand the sight of them scrambling to escape his notice so he tended to avoid them altogether.

However, Billy Hargrove, finally-free-from-under-his-father's-thumb, could do whatever the fuck he wanted. And if he wanted to hang out with the first tiny to give him a second chance, it was no one's business but his own.

The tiny was odd, though. Not only did they stick by Billy despite his insistence that they'd be better off without him, they seemed to enjoy his company. This wasn't just a prey gravitating towards a predator, either. They genuinely liked hanging out with him. And as much as he loved having them tucked away, he liked hanging out with them, too.

That's how he found himself with his friend sitting on his shoulder, their tiny body leaning against his neck. They'd told him a while ago that they enjoyed feeling the skin vibrate when he hummed in low tones (he didn't blush, he didn't). Billy then admitted that he loved the feel of their tiny hand resting against him (they blushed, no matter how much they'd deny it). It was a gentle quiet that they often enjoyed.

Of course it wouldn't last.

It started with a tug on his earring. A gentle tug as a warning, then a more insistent one. Billy's humming trails off. He waits patiently.

But the tiny doesn't say anything.

Billy turns his head just slightly, barely an inch. He has no hope of seeing the tiny on their current perch. He can feel them shift against his neck, however.

"What, you need somethin'?"

They're shifting again. And if they weren't right next to his ear, he wouldn't hear their hesitant breath. Hitched slightly as if debating whether to ask for something potentially embarrassing. Billy can almost imagine them squirming with indecision. Almost like-

"Oohh" There's a chuckle in his voice. The tiny squeaks as thick fingers wrap around them and lift them off their perch. "I know exactly what you want." He lowers them to his chest, forcing them to look up at him. His giant face is all they can see. The grin on his face, the glint in his eyes. They're still close enough that when he speaks, his breath washes over them. "But I'm gonna make you work for it."

The tiny huffs and crosses their arms. Billy throws his head back with a cackle. "You don't believe me?" Giant eyes travel over the tiny, taking in their blush as Billy's tongue darts out to swipe across his lips. They can see the exact moment his eyes darken in understanding. "No, it's not that, is it."

Their stomach lurches as Billy lowers them, and suddenly they're being pressed to a wall of flesh. "You want this." A muffled gurgle clues the tiny in as to where they are. They inhale sharply as they're pressed in. "You're desperate for me to eat you. And it's killing you that I won't just do it." The stomach bounces with his laughter.

He takes out a small plate with some cubed cheese and cut up fruit. He's on his bed with a small table next to it to make it easier for them. They know the rules. Billy's gonna mess with them while they feed him, and if they get sucked in he won't swallow.

For the first half he has his head on the table. He opens his mouth wide to let them toss in a cube of cheese. A few pieces later he keeps his lips closed. He grins when the tiny presses a grape to his lips. Lips part just enough for the tiny to shove at the grape, stumbling forward in the process. Billy's lips immediately close around their arms, tight enough to keep them in place. Their head is pressed against him, they can hear the crunch as he chews, the audible swallow as the grape is sent down. Billy's lips loosen, and before they can get sucked in they rip their arms away. They stumble, trying not to fall, because they know Billy will be on them in a second if they do. Their face heats up as Billy exhales a laugh, mouth stretching into a cheeky grin. "Careful there."

Three pieces later Billy flicks their chin with the tip of his tongue, laughing when they fall back. He lets them get up, opening his mouth wide for the next piece. He jerks his head forward, forcing them to toss the cube into his maw and stumble back. Their head snaps up when his teeth close right where they were standing. There's a different hunger in Billy's eyes, mixed with pride. He hums softly, hand reaching up to gently grab them. "You've been doing such a good job. I think you deserve a reward."

They light up, only to have their hopes dashed at his coo. "Not yet. But I'll give you a preview." He lowers them, pressing them against his stomach with his entire hand. A finger at the back of their head practically buries them into it. They freeze up. Does he want them to squirm? Usually he does, but his fingers pin them completely and he doesn't like them tiring themselves out before the game is done. They get their answer when, with a jerk, Billy turns over. They're pinned to the bed, Billy's stomach pressing them into the mattress and encasing them in darkness. Their heart races.

Billy lets out a happy sigh, feeling his stomach settle around his tiny. They couldn't move even if they wanted to. With each breath the giant takes the stomach presses in just slightly. Distantly, they can hear his steady heartbeat. More prominent is the soft gurgles and groans. The tiny's breathing picks up. They love the noises Billy's stomach makes. And encased in darkness, surrounded by warmth, it's easy to imagine what it's like on the other side. They've been there before, and they want to be there again so badly. They miss it, and they think Billy misses it too. As if reading their thoughts, the stomach lets out a loud grumble, the flesh vibrating against them and the groan digging deep into their bones.

Billy keeps them pinned for a good ten minutes. He wants to continue their game soon, and he also knows how long to tease the tiny for the effect he wants. Slowly, he turns back over, laying on his side to watch. The tiny blinks against the light, and when their eyes adjust they're wide. The room is suddenly colder without the warmth of Billy's belly. It's too quiet. They had gotten lost in the sounds. The need to be on the other side comes back stronger. Billy will give them all the time they need to get up, but they're impatient. They push themselves up on shaky legs, looking a little lost. Their eyes are level with Billy's stomach, and they slowly travel up to meet the giant's big blues. He's staring at them, eyes soft and smile knowing. "I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did... Ready for round two?"

Billy is kind enough to put them back on the table. His finger travels down their cheek and side, a small reassurance through touch. They lean into it and send him a just as reassuring smile. They're enjoying the game as well. Billy smiles back.

Round two consists of Billy on his back, the tiny having to traverse over his face to get to his mouth. There's a lot more risk, so Billy waits until they're sure of their footing to mess with them. His mouth twitches, and a few times they almost fall into his mouth. The next two pieces are tossed in without a hitch, but for the third piece Billy's tongue darts out and laps at their ankle.

They slip, dragged into his mouth up to their knee. Their startled yelp tells Billy that it wasn't intentional, and he grins. They've gotten so good at their little game that slip ups like this were rare. He can feel their miniscule attempts to take their leg back, their hands on his cheek to keep from getting dragged in. He sucks, taking them in up to their mid thigh, but as his tongue travels up to draw them in more they manage to slip out. They kick in an attempt to get away quicker, tumbling off his face and onto his pillow. Billy sits up to check on them and, seeing that they're okay, genuinely pouts.

He props himself up on his elbow. Giant eyes the size of their head travel over them. They don't look too tired, just winded. Taking in their wide eyes expression, Billy decides that he's made them wait long enough. He reaches down, brushing his thumb down their arm and watching their eyes widen. He carefully pinches the back of their shirt, lifting them up slowly and raising them over his face. "The food was delicious, but I think it's time for the main course."

He makes a show of licking his lips, knowing they liked watching it dart out and swipe across. His lips part just enough to allow them to slip in easily. They close around their chest, the plush cushions being the only thing holding them in place as the fingers let go. Billy lets out a low hum, eyes closed, and gently sucks the tiny in completely.

They lie limp, knowing from the game earlier that Billy didn't want them to squirm today. It was designed to tire them out a bit. And to be honest, they didn't feel like struggling today either. Their heartbeat picks up just slightly as they're battered around. Billy isn't really tossing them. He pins them, laps at them, drags his tongue over their face and front, but he isn't trying to show off. He's just tasting them. He takes his time, savoring the taste, pleased that his tiny is enjoying this as much as he is. He pins them to the roof and swallows the pooling saliva, letting out a happy hum. The tiny is a nice weight on his tongue, so eager to be sent down yet good enough to be patient about it.

One more round of tasting, and Billy puts a hand to his neck. He tilts his head back and swallows with an audible click. He can't help but trace the lump down his throat, feeling them being forced down behind his lungs and down into his stomach. He lets out an exhale when they land, a dumb smile on his face. His hand rests over them, the need to protect the precious cargo in his stomach manifesting through touch. He lets out a pleased sigh and runs his hand over his stomach. A warm feeling floods through his limbs.

The tiny shifts in his stomach, still blushing at the feeling of his throat kneading and pushing them down. The stomach is slick, but not too wet, nice and warm. The walls give slightly yet hold firm, like a weird mattress. It settles around the tiny as they get comfortable. It's still right now, but later it'll grind and knead at them, and they can't wait for that. It grumbled when they landed, pleased with their arrival, and now it lets out a small gurgle every so often.

They know Billy is lying in bliss, same as them. They also know Billy will keep them in for a while if they don't ask to be let out. The thought of staying here all night makes them shiver, but not out of fear. Billy lets out a soft hum every now and then, so happy to have his tiny tucked away, filling him up.