#if you like it go check out my ao3 for more!

[xxsinisterbunniexx]

Running into Spider Webs - Ticci Toby x Female reader NSFW

Warnings: dubcon

Tags: partying, drinking, reader is a DUMB IDIOT, degradation, fingering, oral sex, face fucking, overstimulation, forced orgasm, squirting, German dirty talk, creampie

Words: 8.8k

Summary: After a heated argument with your roommate you find yourself alone at a playground in the middle of the night, trying your best to cool down. Your rage filled antics inadvertently capture the attention of Toby. Charmed by his ability to say whatever he thinks and intrigued by his mysteriousness, you find yourself going along with whatever he says. As the night goes on, you start to realize this strangely attractive boy may be more than you bargained for.

As always: ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ all canon will be flexible to make way for sexy ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

This is my last fic to crosspost from AO3 so my fics will undoubtedly come out at a slower rate from here on out :P

This was my first attempt at a more lore accurate Toby! I had to do a lot of research on his original characterization and his disorders but I’m satisfied with how it came out!

I was also greatly inspired by @annokan she makes really awesome art of Toby and she has an excellent characterization of him so I recommend checking out her blog :3

“FUCK YOU!” You screamed before slamming the door behind you. You raced down the steps of the porch and down onto the sidewalk. The cool summer night air felt good on your face, but it was doing nothing to cool your temper.

You were seething with rage, stomping down the street, not even sure where you were planning on going. All you could see was red. You only knew one thing.

I need to get the fuck away from her!

It was already dark outside. Normally, your common sense would’ve told you not to be walking around alone at night, but you were so livid you couldn’t think straight.

You trudged all the way to the playground at the end of the neighborhood. It was completely empty. No kids were playing at this time of night. They actually had some sense, unlike you.

You walked up to a bench and plopped down, angrily mumbling to yourself. “Fuck her… stupid fucking…. Ugh!”

You couldn’t sit down for long. You were still fuming. Your feet hit the pavement and you rose up, still stomping around and throwing your hands around angrily while mumbling. Unbeknownst to you, someone was watching you from the woods. He was rather intrigued by your behavior. What was a pretty girl like that doing out here alone?

You were still ranting on angrily, pacing around the playground. “I swear I’m gonna fucking kill her!” You half shrieked.

The words you had just uttered fully piqued his curiosity. Now he wanted to play with you.

You groaned again in frustration, pressing your head into one of the poles that supported the playground for dramatic effect. You closed your eyes and let out an exasperated sigh, almost feeling like you had gotten everything out of your system.

A hand on your shoulder jolted you out of your thoughts as you whipped around and shrieked.

A tall guy with messy brown hair looked slightly startled by your reaction. He was wearing a mask that covered half his face, but you were still able to see a good amount of it.

“Sorry.” He said half-heartedly, chuckling a little. “I just -fuck- I saw you out here acting crazy and wanted to see what you’re up to?” He jerked his head to the side in the middle of his sentence, correlated with the swear.

His answer seemed innocent enough, yet internally he was loving the scared little bunny look you got when he surprised you.

“Shit! Fuck… sorry you really scared me.” You let out a deep breath, feeling a bit relieved it wasn’t some scary murderer.

You looked him over a bit better now. From what you could see of his face, you could tell he was fairly attractive. He wore a hoodie and jeans, a pretty normal outfit except for the goggles on his head. You wondered what those were for.

“I caught you throwing your hands around and talking to yourself so I just wondered what the hell you were doing. Are you a crazy person?” He asked, rather bluntly.

“Oh my god…” The realization of how you probably looked from his perspective washed over you. “Fuck man, I’m sorry. I know it looks like I’m some type of crazy person. I swear I’m not. Truth is, I actually just got in a big argument with my roommate so I’m out here trying to cool my head but it’s not really working.”

“Oh, yeah? What -fuck- happened?” Once again he jerked his neck in tandem with the swear.

You paused for a second. Were you really just gonna air out all your business to a total stranger? Did it really matter though? You were still boiling with anger and very conveniently there is a guy here who is willing to listen to you.

“Well basically, she keeps having her boyfriend over like 24/7, and like I don’t mind him being there sometimes, but everyday? It’s just ridiculous. Like I don’t pay to live with a dude y’know?”

“Sounds to me like you got yourself another roommate.” He laughed to himself.

“Yeah, and it’s not one I wanted. It’s like I can’t walk around my apartment without feeling a little on edge cause there’s a man around. What if I wanted to walk around wearing tiny booty shorts? Well, can’t now.” You said with a huff, leaning against the pole.

He laughed at your booty shorts comment. “Why not just tell him to get the fuck out?” He sounded like he didn’t quite understand the issue.

“Well, I can’t do that.” You joked. “That would make her really mad.”

He looked like he still didn’t understand for a second. “So you’re out here having a spasm cause you didn’t want to make her mad?”

“A spasm?” You smirked a little. “I mean yeah I guess so.” You smiled a little more.

“That’s funny. You’re funny.” He laughed. “-fuck-"

You just eyed him for a moment, before gaining the courage to ask. “Do you mind if I ask what’s with the…?” You imitated the jerking motion he had just done.

His face went dark for just a split second, so quickly you almost thought you imagined it, then immediately went back to normal. “I have Tourette’s, actually.” He said a little awkwardly.

Your hand slapped over your mouth. “Oh my god. I’m so fucking sorry. That was super fucked up of me.” You apologized profusely.

He laughed a little at how panicked you got, you were so naïve. “A little bit, but I’m willing -cough- to overlook it cause you’re funny.”

“No, I’m super fucked up, I really am sorry. Damn.” You kept babbling like an idiot.

He laughed more, and you couldn’t help but think he was a little cute. He had a nice laugh too. You started to wonder what he looked like under that mask.

“It’s fine. People have said a lot worse.” His comment made it sound like it was no big deal, but it still made you wonder what people have said in the past.

“Well that’s super fucked up!” You blurted. “If people have said bad stuff about it I mean…” you continued. When he didn’t say anything you felt the need to keep going. “Cause like, you know, it’s not your fault and people shouldn’t judge you for that.”

The longer you kept talking the more stupid you felt, but it was like word vomit, you just couldn’t stop. He was enjoying watching you stumble over your words.

“You really are funny.” He said in a tone that almost sounded flirtatious. Almost. You were quite intriguing to him. He had the urge to mess with you more, to watch you squirm. He could attack you or chase you but… that wouldn’t be very fun... yet. Maybe later.

The wind blew, and you shivered a bit. It then dawned on you that although it was summer, it was still nighttime. Your crop top and shorts weren’t doing much to keep you warm. That’s what you get for being impulsive and running out of the house.

“Are you cold?” He asked, now sitting a little closer to you.

“Yeah, I just kinda ran out of the house in what I had on.” You laughed. “If you couldn’t tell, I don't think much.”

“Do you want to wear my hoodie?” He asked.

“What?! No, no! That’s yours. I wouldn’t take it and make you cold.”

“It’s okay, I can’t feel it.” He said casually, already taking off his hoodie.

You cocked your head to the side, a confused expression on your face. “What, you mean like the cold doesn’t bother you?”

“No, I can’t feel it.” He said again, as if it were a no brainer.

He already handed it to you before you could refuse it again, so you put it on. It was quite warm and smelled like the woods, a faintly pleasant smell. “That’s kind of funny actually, I figured you were just super chilly, since you have that mask on.”

“No, -fuck- that’s for a -fuck- different reason.” He ticked twice in one sentence, it seemed like you pointing out the mask might’ve put him on edge. He was jerking around a bit more too.

“Oh… I mean you don’t have to tell me why.” You stated adamantly, waving your hands in front of you, signaling it was no big deal.

“I have a scar on -fuck-” he coughed and jerked a bit more. “On my face. It -fuck- freaks some people out so I keep it hidden.”

“Oh. Well… you don’t have to hide it from me?” You said. “I won’t judge you if you take it off.”

He mumbled something to himself that you couldn’t quite hear and then slowly took it off. Under his mask was a large gash on his left cheek, it went all the way through his face, exposing his teeth. He also had two silver lip rings on either side of his mouth.

You took in his face with awe, your jaw slowly falling open a bit. The scar was something to behold for sure, but to you it only made him more interesting. It was like gazing at a work of art, terrifyingly beautiful.

“Woah… that’s… gnarly.” You said softly, as if to yourself. Then you realized what you said and slapped your hand over your mouth. “Shit! I mean, sorry, that was fucked up.”

His facial expression hadn’t changed but you kept going, the word vomit was back. “I meant gnarly as in like it’s really cool, not that it's gross or something! I think it’s awesome! Well wait… is that fucked up to say too? I feel like the way you got it probably wasn’t pleasant...” You rambled on.

He only watched you with a little amused expression, letting you dig your grave further cause he found it funny.

“Can I touch it?” You asked, already bringing your fingers up to lightly touch the edge of the scar. “Oops, I’m already touching it.” You continued verbalizing all your thoughts like the filter in your brain was broken.

Realizing your mistake, you instantly retracted your hand at lighting speed. “Did that hurt?!”

“Nope. I can’t feel pain either.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Hm?” You cocked your head again. “What do you mean you can’t feel pain?”

“I have CIPA. It has a longer name but I won’t say it cause it’s a mouthful and you won’t remember it anyways. But basically, I can’t feel pain. Oh and also, I can’t feel temperature, that’s why I’m not cold.”

“Oh! Well… still I’m sorry for touching it.” You looked at the ground, feeling a little embarrassed by your impulsive actions and words.

“You don’t want to touch me? Cause the scar is nasty?” He smiled.

Your face immediately became shocked. “No! That’s not it at all! I meant what I said when I said I think it’s cool.” You took a breath. “I… well I kinda think it makes you look like a work of art.” You said awkwardly, a slight blush on your cheeks.

He eyed you for a second before saying, “You’re kinda weird.” He was very blunt about it but was still smiling.

“What?” You cracked a smile. “You’re kinda weird.”

You found yourself drawn in by him. You wanted to know more about this strange man who seemed to pop up out of nowhere and fix your mood. He was so direct and honest, different from the majority of people. You found yourself feeling really relaxed around him somehow, even though you were majorly fucking up at every point in this conversation. Maybe it was because he was so blunt, it was like you didn’t have to wonder what he was thinking.

“Yeah, I know. But you’re weirder. Something’s seriously wrong with you.”

“For what? Just cause I think your scar is cool? You’re the weirdo here, you approached me out of nowhere when I was bugging out like a crazy person. What were you even doing out here anyways?”

“Oh.” He said like he just remembered. “Actually, I was on my way to a -cough- party.”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh my gosh! You should get going then! I don’t wanna keep you here if you have people waiting on you.”

“No, it’s not a party like that. It’s a big party. Besides, no one would be waiting on me.” He chuckled. Then his face lit up a bit, like he got an idea. “You should come with me.”

You were a bit thrown off by his offer. It was so sudden and you barely knew him.

But… you didn’t want to go home, you were still fuming from that argument. Plus, there was something so intriguing about him, so magnetic.

Was it a good idea? Probably not. You can’t trust someone you don’t know. Only an idiot would go with him. The situation was full of red flags. A logical person would’ve said no, however, it was a well known fact that above all else, you were impulsive, naïve, and a little dumb.

“Really? Okay, let’s go!” You said excitedly.

—

The party was a short walk away, but in that time you were able to uncover just a little more information on him, like his name. As you approached the house you realized Toby hadn’t lied, this was a big party. The yard was full of people, lining the porch, standing in little circles on the grass, and scattered around, and that was just outside.

You could hear the music from outside and see the lights flashing in the windows. A giddy feeling rose in your chest. This is exactly what you needed to get your mind off things.

You recognized a few people as the two of you strolled up to the door. You didn’t know who was throwing the party, but you figured it was someone who went to your university, since it was close to campus and some of your classmates were here.

As you approached the door Toby slid to the side and opened it for you.

“Oh my, how chivalrous.” You said dramatically.

“Giving you my jacket, open -fuck- opening the door for you, I think I may be in the running for gentleman of the year.” He said sarcastically, placing a dominant hand to your lower back to guide you inside.

His lack of respect for personal space didn’t seem to bother you, but you were a little surprised at how easily he could get close to you and touch you, considering you had only just met. Despite this, it still made you feel a little safer, almost like you were being protected. This party was full of people you didn’t know, so it was nice to have him guide you through the house.

The music was booming, so Toby leaned in close to your ear, “Do you want a drink?”

Although the gesture felt pretty necessary given the noise, you still felt a little tickle go down your spine when he did it. Your face blushed just a little bit. “Oh…! Uh… yeah! Let’s get some.” You answered as you both made your way to the kitchen.

The kitchen was full of alcohol. Bottles of all kinds of liquor decorated the counter. Your eyes ran over the choices a couple of times.

“Don’t know what to pick?” Toby asked.

“I’m just really indecisive.” You laughed.

“I’ll make you something.” He said and then started pouring you a drink, mixing a few liquors and some Sprite.

“You’re only making one?” You asked.

“I can’t -fuck- really drink since I -fuck- have to wear the mask.” He said a little nervously, which made you feel kinda stupid.

Duh, of course he wants to wear it here.

He turned and handed you the drink. Since you watched him make it, you figured it was safe enough to drink. You took a sip, coughing a little as the liquor burned your throat. “Fuck, that’s strong.” You coughed more and added a bit more Sprite to your cup to make it drinkable.

He laughed at you. “Didn’t know you couldn’t hold your -fuck- liquor.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” You gave him a playfully skeptical look.

“Of course. How else could I get you to hang around me?” He said sarcastically and guided you into the living room.

You both sat down on the couch and once again you took notice of how close he sat to you. You were intently trying to decipher whether or not he was into you, but you were always kind of bad at being able to tell.

His eyes continuously scanned the room, like he was looking for something, or rather, someone.

“Are you looking for a friend?” You asked.

He looked a little thrown off by your question, defensive almost?

Odd…

He cleared his throat and then answered, “No, just scoping out the room.”

A little burst of excitement hit you, that drink was already kicking in. “Ooo~ do you wanna walk the floor?” You asked.

“What’s that?”

“It’s like you walk around a party just to see if there’s anyone you know here and to get a feel for everyone. You wanna do it?” You smiled.

“You bet.” He grabbed you and pulled you up with him.

You linked elbows with him. “Okay, let’s go!” You were giddy with excitement.

You felt a little stupid about it since it hadn’t been that long, but it seemed like you were already developing a bit of a crush on him. Being this close to him made your heart race. Your chest felt warm and at this point you couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or Toby.

You strutted around the house with Toby in tow, your eyes wandering over all the people.

You bumped into someone with a little “oof.” You looked up to see Cassie, a good friend of yours who was in a lot of your classes.

“Hey!!!” She immediately exclaimed, the intoxication apparent.

“Omg hiiii!!!” You had already drank about three fourths of your cup and it was starting to show.

“Who’s this?” She said with a little giggle, her eyes flitting up to Toby and then back to you.

“Oh! His name’s Toby!” You grabbed his arm and pulled him closer to you. “We met like an hour ago at a playground.”

“I caught her acting like a maniac.” He added.

“Okay, so your usual?” Cassie laughed.

With your attention directed at Cassie, you missed the way Toby’s attention was caught as someone passed through the room. He leaned in close to you, his voice now serious. “I’ll be right back.”

You failed to notice his change in tone, too distracted by everything going on around you. “Okay, don’t get lost.” You giggled again.

“Hey.” Cassie grabbed your hand. “We were just about to play Just Dance, you wanna join?”

Drunk Just Dance? There was nothing that could’ve peaked your interest more.

“I’m in!”

—

Song after song later, you hadn’t even realized how much time had passed. You were starting to sober up, but you were still well into the tipsy stage.

You looked at the time. “Fuck.”

I forgot about Toby!

You felt like a massive idiot. He had said he was going to be right back and then you had walked away from where he left you. You were really starting to like him and now he probably thought you had just blown him off. Was he even still at the party?

You wandered around trying to scope out if he was still around. It was a bit easier now since less people were at the party. You were starting to panic a bit, the feeling of anxiety aching in your chest now. You felt like you really fucked up.

Next thing you knew, you had bumped into him.

He instantly leaned down, getting close to your face, his voice sounding a little sultry. “Hey, I’ve been looking for you.”

“Toby!” You sounded relieved and excited, it seemed like he wasn’t mad at you at all, keeping the same playfulness he had earlier.

“So, where have you been?” His voice sounded slightly flirtatious.

“Playing Just Dance!” You said goofily. Your eyes trailed down to his shirt, which now had a small stain on it near the bottom. It was hard to tell since it was still dark in the house, but it almost looked like blood. “What’s that?” You pointed to it.

“Oh. I ended up helping -cough- my buddy who got a really bad nosebleed.” He said nonchalantly, then immediately changed the subject. “Let’s leave.” He said, grabbing your arm before you had a chance to respond.

You looked around, the party was dying down anyways. You still didn’t want to go back home to face your roommate, but it seemed like you didn’t really have another option.

Just before you were about to walk out the door together you felt a tug on your arm. It was a friend of yours, one you didn’t know too well but you’d seen her around during classes and at parties. Amber… was her name? Maybe? She pulled you a little closer and then attempted to whisper but it seemed this girl was a little tipsy herself so it wasn’t that quiet. “Hey… are you good?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, also failing to whisper.

“Y’know.” Her eyes darted to Toby standing behind you and then back to yours. “I’ve never seen you with him before.”

“Oh thattt.” You let out a tipsy giggle. “Nah, nah. I’m fine. I know him.”

“And you wanna go with him…?” She eyed him warily again and then looked back at you.

“Like haha shhhhhh.” You giggled, trying to be more secretive about your little crush. “Yes, I wanna go with him. Don’t worry.”

Given your abhorrent attempt at whispering, Toby was following this whole conversation. Neither of you could see due to the lack of lighting in the room, but he got the absolute worst wolfish grin on his face when he heard you say that.

He’d successfully trapped you.

—

You felt like you were really winding down once you guys got outside. The slight chill of the wind and the lack of music in your ears made you feel a lot more placid, almost sleepy.

Toby noticed your change in mood. “Tired?”

“Mm.” You hummed in agreement. “But I don’t wanna go home. I don’t wanna see that bitch yet.” You realized the way your statement sounded belatedly, after it had already left your mouth.

Well now it sounds like you want to go home with him!

Truth be told, you weren’t opposed to doing so, but it wasn’t your intention to be so forward. “Wait- I mean-"

“Are you saying you want to come home with me?” You could tell he was smirking underneath his mask.

“I wasn’t trying to- I mean I wouldn’t mind but- well- what I’m trying to say is-" The way you stumbled over your words felt like you were falling down a hill, catching on branches and rocks the whole way down.

“No, I understand.” He giggled a little. “We’ll have to sneak, though.” He didn’t hesitate to pick you up bridal style, which felt so sudden to you that your whole face went red. He held you like you were weightless and it dawned on you that he was a lot stronger than he looked.

“You don’t have to carry me! And what do you mean sneak?”

“I’ve got some… uh… roommates. They -fuck- would definitely try to eat a pretty girl like you up.” He chuckled a little darkly. “Your face is very red.”

“Because you picked me up out of nowhere!” You exclaimed.

“You’re kind of perverted, you know that?” He was grinning under his mask.

“I’m not!”

“I bet your head’s just full of dirty thoughts.” He giggled.

“I’m not thinking anything like that!” You almost whined, trying to defend yourself.

He only giggled in response, continuing to tease you.

—

After a long walk in his arms you came upon a huge mansion in the middle of the woods. It looked quite old, but not rundown. No, it was very well kept, looking almost… unnatural.

Just who is this guy?!

It wasn’t at all what you were expecting. What guy his age could afford to live in a house like that, even with roommates? On the other hand, it was out in the middle of the woods, far from the rest of town. Maybe someone had died here and it was haunted so him and a few buddies were able to buy it for super cheap? No, but still, a house like this was insane.

“This is where you live?”

“Why else would I bring you here?” He acted like it wasn’t weird at all. “Now shhh, we’re gonna have to get past my roommates.” The last word came out like it wasn’t very natural for him to say. He set you down on your feet. You were glad you were feeling a lot more sober now, otherwise something like this would be a real challenge.

The door creaked slightly as he slowly pushed it open. You followed behind him.

The mansion was even more shocking on the inside. The whole place had a very gothic feel. The ceilings were high, the lighting was dark, and the detailing was so intricate. It was stunningly beautiful, but something about the place sent a chill down your spine. Maybe it really was haunted or maybe someone really did die here. You couldn’t quite place why you felt on edge.

Something just felt off.

He held your hand and pulled you along, guiding you through the house which felt like a maze. You heard distant voices and figured those were the roommates you weren’t supposed to meet. Even though a situation like this was seemingly low stakes you felt overly anxious. You were deathly afraid of getting caught, as if you were hiding from a serial killer or something.

He brought you to a door you assumed led to his room and ushered you in. Upon entering you looked around. It was pretty messy but not in a dirty, rotting food kind of way, more of an organized chaos kind of way. There were clothes strewn about the floor and different pieces of paper and sticky notes with scratchy handwriting on them lined the walls, organized in no particular way. A lot of them had a symbol that you didn’t recognize. It looked like a circle with an X through it. There was a bookshelf that was filled with anything but books. It had lots of old CDs and DVDs, along with random trinkets. There were so many things to look at your eyes were darting around like ping pong balls.

You didn’t have long to take in the room before you were slammed against the door, Toby’s lips on yours. A warm feeling grew in your chest as you returned the kiss. One of his hands slid down to your waist as the other tangled in your hair. He bit your bottom lip a little bit, signaling you to open your mouth for him.

Your hands gripped at the front of his shirt as you obliged. He slid his tongue into your mouth and you felt a jolt of electricity travel down your body to your core. The kiss was intense. You barely felt like you could keep up, like you were drowning in him.

Your heart was racing, your whole body became pleasantly warm, excitement rushing through you. His borderline ferocity made you feel incredibly desirable. He wedged his leg between your thighs and you became very aware of his need for you, feeling his erection press against your stomach.

His lips found your neck, trailing warm open mouth kisses down it. You shivered, arching into his touch. You unconsciously began to move your hips against his leg, craving more friction. He made a noise that sounded almost like a growl and hooked his hands under your thighs, picking you up effortlessly.

He moved over to the bed and sat down, helping you straddle his waist. He kissed your neck again as soft moans escaped your lips. He bit down without warning, causing you to squeak a little both from the surprise and the pain. He sucked hard over the skin he had just bitten. Your moans got a little louder as he left a dark purple hickey on your neck.

He pulled away just enough to look at it, his breath still hot on your neck. “You’re marked.” He chuckled huskily. “How pretty.” He gently ran his fingers over it, causing you to shiver again.

He mumbled something amusedly that sounded like “pathetic.” But you couldn’t quite hear it.

He moved to the other side of your neck, intent on making more marks while his hand slipped under your shirt, squeezing your chest through your bra. His movements were a bit twitchy, but it didn’t bother you.

He was buzzing with excitement, elated to be touching you in such a way. He started to pull up your shirt and you raised your arms, helping him take it off.

You could tell he was holding back a bit, trying to take his time with you. You were starting to feel a little impatient as well, so you decided to grind yourself in his lap, feeling his erection pressing against your aching core.

You bit your lip when you heard him groan. He moved to unhook your bra, awkwardly fumbling with the clasp for a moment before he got it. He took one of your nipples into his mouth and you wrapped your arms around his neck, encouraging him to continue.

His free hand snaked down your stomach to your waistband, the light touch feeling ticklish before he dipped his fingers into your shorts and into your panties.

He sighed when he felt how dripping wet you were. “Lift your hips for me.”

Your face got red but you did as he asked, lifting up so he could pull off your shorts and your panties. You settled back into his lap as he continued to coat his fingers in your arousal. You felt so exposed, especially considering the position he had you in and the fact that he was still fully clothed.

“Spread your legs for me a little more, pretty girl.” He looked overwhelmingly pleased as you once again did as he asked. He ran his fingers over your clit, applying gentle pressure and teasing your entrance occasionally. You bucked your hips involuntarily as he did. “So needy.” He sneered.

He continued to tease you for a little, loving the way you squirmed and tried not to moan. Without warning he dipped his finger into you. You gripped his shoulders hoping to ground yourself a bit.

“Fuck…!” You breathed out.

He curled his finger inward, pressing against your g-spot. You squeezed his shoulders harder, your head tipped backward and your eyes fluttered shut. He was absolutely entranced watching your reactions. He wanted to see more of you, to see how far he could push you.

He slipped a second finger in and used his other hand to hold you still, his fingers gripping your hip with a bruising force.

“You like this a lot, don’t you?” He whispered in your ear. “You’re squeezing my fingers so tightly. I can’t wait to put my cock in you.” He brought his thumb up to rub your clit in circles.

You inhaled sharply, both from his words and the overwhelming stimulation. You felt yourself squeeze his fingers even more. Your arousal was dripping down your thighs and surely all over his hand too. You couldn’t help but feel just the tiniest bit embarrassed about how worked up you were getting.

Your moans started to increase in frequency, getting higher and breather as you felt your orgasm start to build deep in your stomach.

“It feels good, doesn’t it? Tell me how good it feels.” He continued to whisper in your ear, his grip on your hip somehow getting tighter.

You continued to whimper, not wanting to verbalize exactly how he was making you feel.

“You better tell me or I’ll stop right now.”

An extra pathetic sounding whimper escaped you before you spoke, “So good… s-so fucking good, Toby…” You slurred. You were getting so close, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“That’s it. What a good girl. You wanna come for me, pretty girl?” His voice sounded breathier now too.

“Toby…! I-I can’t…!” You leaned into his shoulder, your whimpers and moans muffled.

“Fuck.” He breathed as he felt your walls convulse around his fingers. He kept moving his fingers but slower, helping draw out your orgasm.

You shuddered in his lap, trying to regain your ability to think after how hard you just came. It seemed you wouldn’t be getting that luxury though, as Toby immediately gripped under your thighs again, pulling you up so he could roll over on top of you. In seconds he was down by your still throbbing heat.

“Wai-”

“You’re really sensitive.” He breathed over your clit. “I want to make you come more.” He looked almost feral, completely drunk on lust. It was like he wasn’t going to be able to hear anything you were saying.

He pushed your thighs apart, once again using such a force that would undoubtedly leave bruises. You wondered if maybe he didn’t realize how strongly he was gripping you since he couldn’t feel pain.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, sucking it at a rhythm that had you arching off the bed and gripping onto his hair for dear life. He only chuckled darkly and then lapped over your clit a few more times before dipping lower to tease your entrance.

You were still so sensitive from the last time you came, it only took seconds before you felt another orgasm building. He was back at your clit, licking it and sucking it so sloppily that a mix of your wetness and his spit was making a puddle on the bed under you.

Tears formed in the corners of your eyes as the mind numbing pleasure took over your body. “Toby….!” You squeaked out. There were a few full moments that your head went fully blank before you came down, panting from how hard you just came.

Toby climbed back up your body, hovering over you with his hands placed on either side of your head. He stared down at you, a glint in his eyes that seemed almost obsessive, like he was completely amazed by you. “You’re perfect.”

Your whole face flushed, even after what you guys had just done, words like those shot an arrow through your heart.

He leaned down and captured your lips again; you could taste yourself on his tongue. His body pressed close to yours as one of his hands snaked down to clasp yours, pulling it up by your head. Your chest felt warm and giddy. You secretly hoped this wouldn’t be just a one time hookup because you were starting to really like him.

He pulled away from your lips and pressed kisses down your jaw again, making it down to your neck, nuzzling it a bit while you giggled. This was almost too perfect.

A blood curdling scream shocked you out of your lovesick daze. You jolted up while Toby stayed put, still lightly kissing and sucking your neck.

“Toby, what was that…?!” Your voice trembled as you spoke.

“It’s probably just one of my roommates.” He mumbled nonchalantly into your neck.

“But-" You were cut off by more screams, one of which vaguely sounded like a cry for help.

“Toby…!” You exclaimed. “What the hell is going on out there?!”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Something was very, very wrong here. You were out at this creepy old mansion in the middle of the woods. You instantly got murder vibes when you got here. Toby had blood on his shirt earlier. Now you’re hearing someone scream bloody murder and Toby is completely unconcerned.

You took a deep breath before pushing Toby up gently so you could look him in the eyes. “Toby, can I ask you a question and will you answer me honestly?”

He sat up fully, looking like he knew what was about to happen.

You sat up as well, still clutching his hand. “Toby, are you a murderer? Is this some kind of murder house?”

He got a lazy grin on his face. “I had a feeling you were gonna ask me that.”

“Toby…” you said his name again, desperately needing an answer to your question.

“Yeah, I murder people sometimes.” He admitted, jerking his head a few times.

Great. Just great. You really liked this guy and he just had to be a murderer. You didn’t know what to think. Maybe it was the shock. You couldn’t have been thinking straight because the next thing you asked was, “Were the people you killed… were they at least bad people?”

“Everyone is sort of a bad person when you really think about it. No one is truly good, even you.” He smirked, lifting your chin. “Besides, I don’t really -fuck- choose who I kill. I just kill whoever Slenderman tells me to kill.” More twitching.

“Slenderman…?” You asked, dumbfounded.

“He’s like an evil entity thing that’s been alive for thousands of years. He makes people his proxy to kill for him. It’s a lot to explain but he’s like my boss.” He said, like it was the most casual thing ever.

Right, just drop that like it’s nothing I guess!

“He’s your boss? Why… how did you start working for him?”

“Oh yeah.” He pulled off his shirt, revealing his somewhat muscular frame, littered with scars. Something clunked to the ground, and you looked down to see a bloodstained hatchet. Prying your eyes away from the weapon and back to him, your eyes ran over him. What really stuck out was the mark on his chest, just below his right collarbone. It looked like a tattoo, but somehow different, like it wasn’t human made. It was a circle with an X through it. The same symbol on the walls. “Slenderman just kind of chose me and then -fuck- I became a proxy. I d- -cough- don’t really remember.”

“Toby.” Your voice cracked as you said his name. You felt like you were about to cry. What the fuck was going on here? What could you do? You needed to help him. Toby seemed like such a sweet person, so how did he get caught up in all of this?

You grabbed both of his hands, holding them tightly as you met his eyes. “Listen, I don’t know what exactly is going on here, but you don’t have to do this, you know? I don’t know how but… I can help you. We can get you out of this-"

“Are you pitying me?” Toby cocked his head to the side, a demented grin on his face. “I’m not some sick child. I don’t need your help.” His voice was now depraved.

He smiled even wider when he saw your almost wounded expression, he reached out to lift your chin. “But don’t worry. I still like you a lot.” This time his smile was more reassuring. It sent another pang through your heart.

You should be screaming. You should already be up and running away from him. So why did you lack the urge to? It was almost like you didn’t believe it, even though the evidence was all there. He had even blatantly admitted it and yet your brain couldn’t make sense of the incongruity of the boy you had spent time with the whole night and the alleged murderer in front of you.

Before you could unscramble your thoughts he had closed the gap between your lips, his hands all over your skin again. It became hard to think of anything but him, the warmth of his hands running across your skin, the scent of his skin so close to yours.

How many people had died by the hands that were now touching all over your body?

His tongue slipped into your mouth again and once again you felt like you were drowning in him, except this time it was worse. This time you knew you wouldn’t be coming up for air. You didn’t want to.

You heard the sound of his belt unbuckling and you were reminded of how hard your clit was throbbing. You wanted this so badly, despite everything. It was like you were spellbound.

You reached your hand out to grip his cock, wrapping your hand around it and giving it a few pumps before he pulled you off the bed and brought you to your knees. His thumb ran across your bottom lip before he pressed down, opening your mouth with no resistance from you. He smirked, “So obedient.”

You didn’t hesitate to take his cock in your mouth, slowly taking him in as deep as you could before starting to bob your head slowly.

“Fuckkkk.” He breathed out, gripping your hair in his hand, starting to guide your head.

You moaned around his cock as he started to get rougher, taking control of the pace entirely.

“Du fühlst dich so gut an, mein Mädchen.” He groaned in a low voice.

The fuck….? German?

You were a bit blown away by the sudden language change, especially since you couldn’t understand a word of it. It sounded like German but then again you weren’t entirely sure.

He chuckled darkly at your confusion and started thrusting harder into your mouth. You choked on his cock, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes as his cock went deep into your throat. At this point he was fucking your face, you had no control whatsoever.

“Tut das weh?” He said in a taunting voice. You could tell he was mocking your pain, even if you had no idea what he said. For some reason that made you even wetter, you could feel the way your arousal dripped down your thighs once again.

There is definitely something wrong with me, clinically.

He continued to taunt you in a language you couldn’t understand, his pace unrelenting. “Du liebst es, wenn ich dich quäle, nicht wahr?” You could tell he was getting close as his voice was getting breathier.

You hoped he would finish soon, you could barely take the pace anymore. Your throat burned each time he brutally thrusted his cock into it, even if you were secretly enjoying the way he was humiliating you.

His pace became less rhythmic as he desperately rutted his hips into your mouth, gripping your hair harshly. “Du fühlst dich so gut an.” He groaned out.

After a few more deep thrusts into your mouth, he came down your throat. He pulled out of your mouth, lifting your chin since you could barely hold your head up after that. “Was für ein gutes Mädchen.” He said affectionately.

“What…?” You asked, exhausted and out of breath and sick of hearing shit in a language you can’t understand.

He pulled you back up onto the bed, once again like you were weightless. He nuzzled into your neck again, showering you with kisses. “You did good.”

The way he switched from brutally fucking your throat to giving you ticklish kisses on your neck was giving you whiplash.

His hand snaked down between your legs and he sighed when he felt how wet you were. “You get that wet from having me come down your throat? What a slut.” He chuckled, amazed by it.

A small gasp of shock escaped you, baffled by what he had just said.

“What, you’re embarrassed?” He laughed as he slipped his fingers into you easily. He desperately wanted to watch you come again, he was entranced by the reaction he saw earlier. He needed to see it again.

He immediately found your g-spot and hooked his fingers inwards, making you see stars as moans slipped past your lips. “Wait, Toby- slow down-” Your orgasm was already building at a ferocious pace as he slammed into your g-spot over and over with his fingers.

“Go slower?” He asked, still laughing a little, a smile on his face that held no malice despite his actions. “No way. I want you to come around my fingers.”

He was pumping his fingers in and out of you, making sloppy wet noises fill the room alongside your moans. He hooked his fingers in deep, making sure to press against your g-spot each time as his palm applied pressure to your clit.

You felt a pressure building deep in you, building uncontrollably. Each time he slammed against your g-spot you felt it build more and more. It felt like something would release, and you held it as long as you could until it felt so good you just didn’t care anymore. Your body shook lightly as you came, a gushing heat releasing from you.

He kept his fingers going, prolonging your orgasm. “Mm… that’s it, pretty girl. Let it all out.”

You panted hard, struggling to regain your ability to think after coming that hard.

Did I just squirt…?!

You were absolutely mortified, “I- I didn’t mean to do that! I’m sorry-”

He hugged your body close to him, burying his face in your shoulder. “I knew you were perfect. I can’t wait to keep you here with me.” His words were muffled but still clear enough for you to hear what he said.

You were glad he couldn’t see your face as it fell. “Wait a second, Toby.” Your voice trembled as you pushed up so you could sit up. “What do you mean keep me here?”

He pulled back to look at your face, loving the way it had twisted in fear. He lifted your chin to meet his eyes again. “I like you. I wanna keep you here with me. You can’t leave.”

“What…? You can’t be serious.” You said in disbelief.

“I just told you I murder people. Did you really think you could leave?” He asked like you were stupid. “God, it’s a good thing you’re pretty.”

The shock washed over you. There wasn’t a hint of humor in his tone. He was clearly one hundred percent serious.

This is all my fault. How could I have been so stupid, just going along with him even after I knew what he was capable of?

You felt something wet drop down on your leg.

Oh, I’m crying.

Watching you start to cry only made Toby more excited. “Haha, why are you crying? -fuck- It could be a lot worse. I could’ve just -fuck- killed you immediately. It would have been easy.” He twitched a few times, correlated with the swears.

“Toby… You can’t keep me here! People will be looking for me!”

He had an unconcerned expression. “Eh, they’ll forget about you soon enough.”

You gasped again in shock, unable to say anything in return. Toby just twitched to the side and started muttering to himself. You recalled the bloodstained hatchet you watched fall to the ground earlier. That’s right. You were completely stuck. If you tried to do anything he could kill you so easily.

His hands came up to softly cup your face, seemingly having turned his attention back to you, wiping away the tears. “Now come on, don’t be li- -fuck- like that.” He pushed you back onto the bed and started aligning his cock at your entrance.

You weren’t sure if the fear somehow confused your body into becoming aroused or if you seriously just had a mental disorder, but your cunt ached with need for him. You could barely contain how bad you needed this when he rubbed the tip of his throbbing cock against your clit. You let out another needy moan.

He chuckled huskily and mumbled under his breath. “Du bist eine kleine, gierige Schlampe, nicht wahr?”

You had no idea what the fuck he said. It didn’t even matter, you needed him so badly. This was wrong. So wrong.

You could no longer care about morals as he slowly pushed his cock into you, feeling the way you stretched around him inch by inch, until you took him in fully. He let out a low groan as you shakily exhaled.

He began thrusting a little faster than you would’ve liked starting out. You tried to hold back your voice, but little whines and whimpers still came out of you.

“Don’t tell me those pathetic whimpers are all you’ve got? C’mon you can do better.” One of his hands came up to clasp yours as he started slamming into you at a vicious pace. You could no longer contain your voice, you were a whining, moaning mess.

You couldn’t decide between asking him to slow down or begging him to keep going. He gripped your face, capturing your lips again, sloppily kissing you as he pumped his cock into you. Blissful pleasure took over your mind. He pulled away from the kiss, a line of spit still connecting your mouths. Your mind was fuzzy and your unfocused eyes lifted to meet his, eliciting a low growl from him.

“You love taking my cock, don’t you?” He was still gripping your face, forcing you to maintain eye contact.

You nodded as high pitched whiny moans escaped you.

“You don’t even care that I’m a murderer. You’re really fucking sick aren’t you?” A wicked grin on his face.

Guilt washed over you as you heard his words. “No…!” Your voice came out weaker than you wanted it to. “I’m not!”

“Yeah you are.” His tone was venomous. “You’re a sick little thing.”

He was right. You had no rebuttal to that. All you could say was, “You’re the one who’s sick…!”

“Maybe. But so are you. You’re feeling so good right now because of a sick murderer’s cock now aren’t you? You want to stay here with me don’t you?”

“I don’t…!”

“How about this?” He leaned real close, whispering in your ear. “If you come you have to stay here with me forever.” He hooked his arms under your knees, pushing them up closer to your chest so he could go deeper.

There was no way he just said that. That wasn’t fair. There was no way you’d be able to hold back.

He picked up the pace again, thrusting into you at a pace that was making your mind go fuzzy. You already felt the orgasm building and he just kept ramming into that damn spot over and over.

“Not there…!” You pleaded.

“Oh, right there?” He responded by driving into it even harder.

You got closer and closer to the edge, trying your hardest to keep yourself from coming. He noticed the way your body tensed. The way your moans became whinier and higher pitched.

“You want to come don’t you? You really want to come.” He taunted you.

“Don’t-” It was too late. The tightly wound coil had snapped. You let out choked moans as you came.

He slowed to a stop, just so he could feel the way you clenched around his cock. He shuddered, “Your cunt is milking my cock.” He suddenly resumed his quick pace causing you to let out a startled gasp. “Fuckkkkk, I can’t stop.”

“Toby…!” You whined, gripping his arms.

He let out another low groan. “Du fühlst dich so gut an, mein Mädchen. Du wirst so schwach für mich.” His voice was gravelly.

He kept thrusting as deeply as he could into you, starting to lose the pace, just slamming into you like his life depended on it. “Du gehörst mir.” He breathed out.

His groans became breathier and breathier, almost becoming whines. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill you with my cum.” He leaned down and bit your neck hard, eliciting a sharp wince from you as you felt his hot cum flood your pussy.

Your mind had gone fully blank, it felt like TV static. Just like before, you felt drawn to him, like a magnet.

He gripped your face again, loving the way your face was flushed, your lips were glossy and slightly swollen, and your eyes were dazed. “You’re all fucked out now aren’t you?” He ran his thumb over your bottom lip. “So pretty.” He sighed before kissing you again, this time softly, sweetly.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, matching his soft kiss. If you had run into the spiderweb full speed, you might as well enjoy being caught in the web.

He pulled away to hug you close, burying his face in your neck.

“I knew you’d want to stay.”

Now I gotta admit that I used google translate for the German parts so if there are any German speakers reading this I’m sorry man.

I'm always open for feedback and constructive criticism so please feel free to leave me every thought in your head

I hope u guys enjoyed ~\(≧▽≦)/~

~pls remember to distinguish fiction from reality

[lieutenantfloyd]

Do you know the trend where if you have a significant other in the military you say they can’t come into your house but amendment 2 or 3 which say “ no quartering of soldiers without consent”

That with cyclone or Bob

All Shook Up - Bob x Reader

Word Count: 1.0k

Summary: After seeing a trend where military spouses tell their loved ones they aren't allowed inside under the 3rd Amendment, you decide to play a prank on your sweet, returning husband Bob—that is until you get the words out, and he reacts in the only way Bob knows how.

Warnings: fluff, domesticity, husband! Bob, very mild accidental hurt/comfort.

Authors Note: This idea is so funny to me! I'm already working on Beau's version, and I'll definitely be posting that soon.

Read on AO3

The sun had just begun setting when you put your plan into motion. Grinning to yourself as you set dinner to cook in the oven, you check out the kitchen window for any sign of Bob's car. Your husband had been away on a training exercise all week and had just called you thirty minutes ago stating he was close to home.

Minutes later as you spare the driveway another glance, you see Bob climb out of his car, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. You couldn't mask your almost childish excitement as you left the kitchen and trod over to the door. Even after the years you'd been together you never got over just how handsome he was. But today you had other things in mind.

You hear the soft thud of his boots on the porch followed by the jingle of his keys before the door opens.

"Honey I'm home," Bob calls out just as you appear.

His brow furrows when you don't answer, instead just standing and watching him without an ounce of your expected warmth.

"Honey?" He tries again, "Is everything all right?"

You let another long second pass, his brows furrowing, before you answer.

"Oh, yeah," you say casually, "you just can't stay here."

Bob's eyes instantly widen behind his glasses. His gentle gaze fills with a look that is somewhere between confusion and heartbreak.

"I..What?" He questions.

You clear your throat, initial plan shattering but doing your best to follow through with your prank in light of his expression, knowing it'll be easier to explain in the end when you're both—hopefully—laughing. 

"It is my right as an American citizen to exercise whatever rights I have the liberty of holding--including the third amendment of the United States Constitution, no quartering of soldiers and related military personnel without consent," You say, still standing in the entryway opposite Bob and the half open door.

Bob blinks, expression leaning more towards the confused end of things. For a second it looks like he's about to say something, only to remain silent. He glances at his hand still holding the doorknob, then over his shoulder outside before slowly— slowly —backing out and closing the door all without a word.

You let the silence hang for a second before you yourself grow confused. You had expected him to laugh or maybe fight back, or...really anything except actually leave . Yet as you're left standing there, your first instinct is to chase after him.

Crossing the distance and pulling the door open, you see him about to get back in his car.

"Bob!" you call out, earning a hurtfully hopeful glance back over his shoulder from the man, "I'm just messing with you!" you continue.

Bob's gaze drops and a brief flash of regret goes through you. He looks genuinely bewildered, as if he's going back through and cataloging months and years' worth of interactions to figure out where all this was coming from.

With a sigh you close the door behind you and step off the porch, padding softly down the steps until you're close enough to wrap your arm around the waist of your hopelessly sweet husband.

"I promise, It's just a prank, Bob," you reassure his worrying mind, "I thought it'd be funny, not that you'd just…”

You trail off, gesturing vaguely at everything as a brief flash of knowing crosses his eyes.

"Oh," he says after a long pause, brows still furrowed but tone far less tense, "I was so confused."

He returns your embrace, setting his bag on the ground and slinging an arm gently around you.

"I thought maybe something happened I didn't know about."

You can’t help but let out a soft laugh as you look up at him.

"You thought I'd kick you out over something you didn't even know?” You ask incredulously.

"Maybe If I forgot an anniversary or didn't text you goodnight–" He stammers, raising his free hand to rub the back of his neck, "I don't know what you think is worthy of invoking the constitution over, but it felt serious."

By now a soft blush has risen onto his cheeks and you can't help but place a kiss there, his flushed skin warmed under your gentle touch.

"You are too sweet for your own good, honey," you muse with a laugh, "You thought this was it? Really?"

"Well, I...It sounded serious!" He defends again with a bashful smile.

You can't help but laugh again, looking up at him in near warm-hearted wonder.

"You're always welcome to quarter here, or anywhere else I stay, for that matter."

Bob lets out a breath of relief, whatever tension was still held in his body leaving as your words provide the last bit of reassurance he needs.

"I...really didn't want to sleep in the car.”

You pat his back with a laugh and guide him up the steps and back inside before closing the door behind you both.

"Welcome home honey," you try again, a hint of joking still in your tone, "A place you'll always have a bed."

"Good to know," he chuckles softly, "Please, don't scare me like that again."

"I promise," You smile, pulling him in for a proper kiss this time, "I'll make it up to you."

"Yes please," he sighs, only to be distracted by the smell of roasting chicken coming from the kitchen.

"You...made dinner?" He asks gently, always so surprised by the little things even when they're a part of your daily routine.

"Of course I did. Can't have you going hungry, now, can we?"

Bob blinks then nods faintly in agreement.

"Good, go get changed while I finish up down here."

At that Bob practically melts in your arms like he does every time he comes home, never more relaxed than he is in your presence—even if it's your attempt at a prank that shakes him up to begin with.

Taglist: @rosiahills22 @marchingicenotes7 @bayisdying @princessofglitterland @callsignaries @blue-aconite @oliviah-25 @luckyladycreator2 @shakira-sasha @eliseline @xoxabs88xox @lisedanie @alexxavicry @madamemelancholysstuff @dozcan123 @withakindheartx @teti-menchon0604 @sass-masterkittenmama @kmc1989

[scary-grace]

Bloody Valentine - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

When you get to school on Valentine's Day, your biggest worry is how you're going to give chocolate to your lab partner and crush, Shigaraki Tomura, without him knowing that it was you, and when it all goes wrong, you can't imagine how your day could possibly get worse. But when a plague of zombies erupts within the halls of UA High and the evacuation leaves you behind, you find yourself trapped with Shigaraki, both of you left behind. You've been forgotten. There's no help coming. Forget being each other's valentines - now you're each other's only chance to get out of this alive. (cross-posted to Ao3) dividers by @kodaswrld

Chapter 1

You slink through the aisles at the convenience store, blinking sleep out of your eyes and wishing you’d gone to bed earlier last night. You knew what kind of day today was going to be, because it’s the same kind of day you have every day – busy. Rehearsal in the morning, before school starts, team practice as soon as the final bell rings, and in between, the heaviest class schedule it’s possible to take while still reserving at least a few hours to sleep. You should have gone to bed earlier. A lot earlier.

But you didn’t, because you never do, and now you’re here, buying Valentine’s Day chocolate on five hours of sleep. You know you should have made the chocolates by hand, like you did for your friends. It’s something you’re going to have to explain, if the person you’re planning to give the convenience-store chocolate to figures out it’s from you and asks why you cheaped out on him. You’ll have to think of something to say. In the meantime, you pick out the package with the least-ostentatious wrapping and the fewest fruit flavors and make your way to the cash register.

You aren’t the only person in line who waited until the last minute. The woman in front of you is balancing a tower of boxes of the most expensive chocolate the convenience store offers, and the girl behind you in a middle-school uniform is holding a tiny box with an enormous bow on top of it. The cashier’s a woman, too. She doesn’t question the woman ahead of you in line, but when you step up to pay, she looks you up and down with a sly smile on her face. “Who’s this for?”

Your face burns red. You haven’t admitted this out loud to anybody yet, but you have to start somewhere. “My lab partner.”

She chuckles and checks you out, and you wander off to one side, trying to store your loose change and hide the chocolate in your backpack at the same time. You overhear the conversation the cashier has with the middle-schooler. “Sorry. You don’t have quite enough for that one.”

“But it’s the smallest one!” the girl protests. She’s barely old enough to be in middle-school – not more than thirteen. “I looked at the price –”

“Sales tax,” the cashier says. You wince. “Go on. There are people waiting behind you.”

You hear the girl sniffle, and you still haven’t stored your change. You step back up to the counter and slide the coins across it, back to the cashier. “That’s enough, right?”

The cashier nods. You pick up the small box and hand it back to the girl, ushering her outside into a cold, mostly-dark February morning. “Thanks,” she says to you, but her mouth’s still turned down. “He’s my best friend, but all the girls like him – he’s going to get so much and mine’s so small –”

“Write something to go with it,” you suggest. “If you put a note on it it’ll at least look different from the others.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?”

You’re going to stealth-mode the chocolate into his locker and hope he guesses it’s from you – or at least hope that he doesn’t think it’s from somebody else. But you haven’t put much thought into it, and this girl’s best friend is probably a far cry from your lab partner, who’s capable of exuding an aura so grumpy and malevolent that first-years have been known to leave the building to get away from him. “Yeah,” you say, feeling only a little guilty. “Good luck with yours.”

“You, too,” she says. She heads for the metro stop; you store your chocolate away at long last, wrap your scarf a little more tightly around your neck, and start the walk to school.

UA High isn’t for everybody. It’s academically rigorous, to the point where the kids taking remedial classes there could still run circles around the advanced students from any other school, and it’s got so many class and extracurricular offerings that it could almost pass for a university. It’s prestigious to the max, and it’s also really expensive. Students who go there come from rich families, or else they’re on scholarship, their grades and participation reviewed at the end of every term to see if the scholarship will be renewed.

Nobody ever comes out and says which one they are, but it’s pretty easy to tell. Rich kids have class schedules that wouldn’t be out of place at a normal high school. Scholarship kids have schedules like yours. A schedule which begins bright and early at seven am with rehearsal for the school play. This year, it’s Romeo and Juliet, performed pop-opera style – next to no spoken dialogue, almost every piece of dialogue sung. The drama club doesn’t have enough good singers to make it work, so they pressed the choir into service. That’s where you come in. You’re not a good actor or the best singer, but your voice isn’t objectionable and you don’t make a lot of mistakes. That’s enough to earn you a part in the chorus.

And enough to make you an understudy – and the girl who plays Juliet is out sick, which means you’re stuck holding hands with Amajiki Tamaki as the director tries for the billionth time to coax some life into his performance. “Come on, Amajiki! This is a girl you’re holding hands with. The most beautiful girl in the world.”

Amajiki frowns. “I thought Rosalind was the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“That was last week,” Yamada-sensei says. You try not to laugh. “This week it’s all about Juliet, and unlike Rosalind, Juliet likes you. Get hyped! Okay, let’s take it from the top –”

Yaoyorozu starts playing the introductory notes of the song. Amajiki looks directly down at your joined hands and starts singing to them. “If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims ready stand, to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss –”

He’s on-key, which is a big deal for drama club kids, but just as wooden as ever. Off to one side, you see Yamada-sensei shaking his head. “Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,” you sing. Your performance is probably at least as wooden as Amajiki’s, but you’re not supposed to be here, anyway. “Which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands which pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”

“Cut,” Yamada-sensei announces. “You’re killing me, Amajiki. Look at her for a second while you’re singing it. Chemistry is all about eye contact.”

“They don’t have chemistry,” Monoma, who plays Tybalt, announces from off to the side. “He and Kenranzaki have chemistry.”

That chemistry is probably the result of Amajiki being terrified of Kenranzaki, just like every other guy at school, but at least some sparks are flying onstage when they’re together. You’re not even sure how Amajiki ended up in the play when he’s got the worst case of stage fright you’ve ever seen. His hands are really sweaty. “Pretend it’s not me,” you suggest. “Pretend I’m the person you like, if you like anybody.”

“There’s an idea,” Yamada-sensei says. Amajiki’s face turns bright red. “Ooh, there it is! We’ve got something. Let’s move.”

“You have to do it too,” Amajiki says to you. “Pretend I’m someone you like. If you like anybody.”

“Fine,” you say. If Amajiki gets a good run-through, you get to go wash your hands. The piano playing starts, and you give it your best shot.

Your plan was to picture an actor, somebody cute but distant, but instead your lab partner pops into your head. Your face goes instantly flushed, probably even more obviously than Amajiki’s, because if you confessed your feelings to Shigaraki Tomura by singing them, he’d laugh you out of the school. If he were the one standing across from you right now, you’d be cringing in despair, knowing for a fact you’d already blown your chances, trying to enjoy the few seconds of holding his hands you got before he yanked them away. You definitely wouldn’t feel like singing about it.

Still, you get through your first lines, and manage to hold Amajiki’s gaze during his response. Saints and palmers have lips, et cetera – and then it’s your turn. “Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer –”

“O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do,” Amajiki says. His eye contact is a little too direct, a lot too earnest. Now you’re really uncomfortable. “They pray: grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”

“Okay, that’s good enough for now. We don’t want Romeo to faint,” Yamada-sensei says. “That was a lot better, Amajiki. I could tell you were feeling – something. Go get some water. And you –”

He points at you. You cringe. “Stay put,” Yamada-san instructs. “Count Paris, you’re up. We’ve got some back and forth we need to run.”

Tetsutetsu, the first-year who plays Paris, hops up from his seat and comes to stand on the makeshift stage. All you can do is hope his hands aren’t too sweaty.

You stagger out of the rehearsal space at eight-thirty, desperate for a place to wash your hands, and Nejire, who was waiting for you outside, follows you into the bathroom. “I got a Snapchat,” she sings out, brandishing her phone while you run water over your hands. “You and Amajiki sound so good!”

Your heart sinks. “Somebody filmed it?”

“Just on Snapchat! It’s not a story or anything,” Nejire says. “Amajiki’s so cute when he’s blushing!”

“He looks like he wants to die,” you mumble. “How did he end up in the play, anyway?”

“He failed English last term.” Nejire lowers her voice. Amajiki’s a scholarship student, just like you, and you know what failing a class means. “Yamada-sensei convinced the principal not to kick him out as long as he made it up somehow, and since he can sing, being in the play is the best way.”

If it came down to being kicked out of UA or doing some extracurricular activity you really hated, you’d pick the latter without blinking. Nejire replays the Snapchat again while you dry your hands. “How come you were up there? I thought Kenranzaki was the lead?”

“She is,” you say. “She wasn’t here this morning. It was weird – she never misses rehearsals, and she didn’t even text.”

“People were missing from dance practice, too,” Nejire says, frowning. “Kodai and Hagakure didn’t text, either.”

“Maybe something’s going around,” you say. Whatever it is, you hope you don’t get it. You have too much to do. You dry your hands and straighten up. “Come on. I brought you chocolate and I don’t want to give it to you in the bathroom.”

Nejire has chocolate for you, too. She bought chocolate rather than made it, and because she’s not on scholarship, she can afford the really good stuff. You feel awkward handing over your homemade chocolates, but Nejire exclaims over them anyway. You know she’s sincere, because she can’t fake anything for more than a few seconds. “I bet we’re giving them to all the same people,” she says, beaming. “We still have a few minutes. Let’s go hand them out together!”

Your homemade chocolates look like nothing compared to Nejire’s expensive ones, but you’re not friends with your friends for no reason. They compliment Nejire’s generosity and your hard work, and hand chocolate back to you with enthusiasm. You manage to pass your chocolates out to three of your friends before homeroom – Keiko, Saki, and Hinata, girls you’ve known since your first day. The rest you’ll have to get on the run.

Other than homeroom, most of UA High’s classes are sorted by ability rather than by year, which means you’ve had the chance to make friends with second-years and first-years, too. Kyoka is a first-year, but she stands next to you in first-period chorus, so you’ve talked to her almost every day since the start of the year. She gets a box of chocolates. So does Camie in second period advanced calculus, even though she thinks you’re sort of boring and you think she’s kind of an airhead. You helped each other study for your final exams last term. You owe her.

You don’t sit next to any of your friends in third-period English class, but someone in that class is on the climbing team with you. You aren’t close enough to give him chocolate, but you’re friendly enough to say good morning. Spinner returns your greeting, but he’s looking apprehensively at your gear bag. “Wait, were we top-roping today? I forgot all my shit.”

“Coach will probably change it to bouldering if you ask her,” you say. Spinner’s the best climber on the team by a mile, but he’s not the most motivated, and Coach Usagiyama will do just about anything to keep him interested. “If not, I’ve got a spare harness in here.”

“Thanks.” Spinner breathes a sigh of relief. Or yawns. “If it wasn’t movie day in here I’d be screwed. I need a nap.”

“Same,” you admit. “Do you know which –”

“Ladies and those of you who are not ladies, take your seats!” Yamada-sensei booms as he slams the door of the classroom shut behind him, and you scurry back to your seat. Yamada-sensei skids in for a landing in front of the blackboard and switches to English. “I only have one question for you this fine movie day – rom-com or action?”

You vote action, and so does Spinner, but it’s Valentine’s Day and advanced English is mostly girls, so of course you lose. As the vote’s happening, though, you realize just how many people are missing from class today. Kenranzaki from the drama club, two people from Nejire’s dance team, and at least three from English class. Something must be going around. As the bell rings to signal the end of the class period, a terrible thought occurs to you. So many people are absent. What if Shigaraki’s absent, too?

Spinner would know. They’re friends. You stop by his desk as he’s waking up from his nap. “Hey,” you start, “do you know if Shigaraki’s here today? We’re starting a new experiment in chem lab, and –”

“He’s here. I saw him this morning,” Spinner says. “He’s probably going to be late, though. He’s late to everything.”

That gives you time to drop the chocolate on his desk, if you hurry. The thought makes you nervous. Spinner notices. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ll text him and tell him to hurry up.”

“No, don’t –” you start, but Spinner’s already got his phone out. You’re running out of time. You mumble an insincere thank-you to Spinner and book it to the lab, trying not to think about how Shigaraki will respond to the idea of you – you, through Spinner – bossing him around.

You get to chem lab first, ahead of everyone – all your classmates and Sasaki-sensei, too. You tuck your belongings under the bench you share with Shigaraki, pull the chocolate out of your backpack, and set it down on his side of the bench. Done. Your heart is racing, and he’s not even here yet – and once he does, he won’t even know it’s from you. Your high school experience hasn’t been a dream by any means, but this might just be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.

It would be different if you had a crush on a nice guy, but Shigaraki Tomura isn’t a nice guy. He’s older than you, courtesy of being held back a year sometime in middle school, and while he has friends, every last one of them except Spinner has a reputation just like his. When you were paired up with him for chem lab at the beginning of the year, most people felt sorry for you, and they said so. But you were determined to make the best of it, not to get off on the wrong foot, and so you were friendly. It took two months for him to start being friendly back. For a given value of friendly.

He makes fun of you for being such an overachiever, such a perfectionist – but never for being here on scholarship. The first time he complimented you, it was vague and almost backhanded, but it had your heart racing for the rest of the period. When you finally swapped phone numbers, it took you three days to work up the courage to text him first. Sometimes Shigaraki leaves you hanging, but if you catch him at the right moment – usually at night, when both of you should be sleeping – you can draw him into a conversation. And he’s different than anybody else you know.

You know you’re a cliché, the stereotype of a good girl with a crush on the dictionary definition of a bad guy. But you don’t think that’s why you like him. You just – like him. And you remember something he said a while ago, when the two of you were complaining about couples hanging out in the hallways and blocking you from getting your shoes back, and he mentioned something about Valentine’s Day being even worse – everybody and their cat gets chocolate, and I just have to look at it. You read between the lines. The idea of bringing him chocolate was in your head way before you admitted you had a crush.

Your classmates trickle into the lab slowly, and once again, you register that there aren’t as many as usual. More than a few benches have an empty seat at one side, but Sasaki-sensei arrives thirty seconds before the bell rings, as usual, and starts taking attendance before the final notes ring out. He has the strictest attendance policy in school, and you watch the door anxiously out of the corner of your eye as you organize your pre-work for today’s lab. Acid-base titration. It should be an easy experiment to run, but not if you’re running it alone.

But you won’t be. A shadow darkens the doorway, then falls across your bench, and Shigaraki Tomura drops down in his seat next to you just as Sasaki-sensei calls his name. He doesn’t hear Sasaki-sensei, though – he has headphones in. You elbow him and he yanks them out, just in time for Sasaki-sensei to repeat himself. “Shigaraki Tomura?”

Shigaraki half-heartedly raises one hand, then lets it drop. Sasaki-sensei addresses the class, all business. “I see multiple absences today. If your partner is missing, pair up with someone whose partner is also missing. As usual, you will not be allowed to begin the experiment until I confirm the completion of your prework, and if you run out of time to complete the lab, you will receive no credit for the day.”

The familiar anxious shooting pains lance through your fingers. You can be as prepared as it’s possible to be, and Sasaki-sensei’s reminder of just how willing he is to fail you always scares you. Next to you, Shigaraki pulls a few crumpled pieces of paper out of his backpack, muttering under his breath. “Half the school’s out sick. He can’t cut us a break?”

You move your papers alongside Shigaraki’s, sorting them to make it easier for Sasaki-sensei to see that you’re both done, and take a risk. “I’m glad you made it.”

“Yeah, I figured. Spinner texted me,” Shigaraki says. You cringe. “This lab’s so scary you can’t do it alone?”

“I could do it alone,” you say, stung. It’s the kind of thing he usually says with a teasing note in his voice, but instead he’s strangely flat. He’s not looking at you. “It’s just weird, with so many people out. Did all your friends make it in today?”

“Everybody but Twice,” Shigaraki says. “He can’t shut up when he’s sick, usually – we all get a newsflash every time his body does something disgusting – but this time he hasn’t said a word.”

Kenranzaki didn’t, either. Neither did the girls who were missing from dance team practice. Shigaraki glances at you. “Is that really all it takes to spook you?”

“I didn’t say I was scared. Just that it’s weird,” you say. He’s in a mood today. Is it really just that it’s Valentine’s Day? “Are you feeling okay?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Because you seem – different – this morning,” you say, stumbling over the words. You thought the two of you were past this. What did you do? “I just wanted to ask. In case there was something –”

“Something you could do?” Shigaraki finishes your sentence. He scoffs. “Nice try. I know what –”

“I certainly hope you do.” Sasaki-sensei looms over the two of you, scooping your prework off the desk. “Shigaraki, your handwriting continues to be atrocious. And you – how many times do I have to ask you to stop writing in 10-pt font? You’re going to strain my eyes.”

“You need better glasses, then, Sensei,” Shigaraki says, almost sneering. That sounds more like him. You can almost fool yourself into thinking he’s defending you. “Our handwriting doesn’t matter. Are we right or wrong?”

Sasaki-sensei glances over your work again. “If I docked points for illegibility, you’d both be on the verge of failing. But your calculations are sound. You may begin.”

You’d be more relieved if Shigaraki wasn’t acting so weird. The two of you start setting out your equipment. “I just wanted to know,” you start, “because I –”

“Shut up,” Shigaraki snaps. You startle. “What the fuck is this?”

It’s the box of chocolates you bought. He scoops it off the desk and brandishes it at you. “This was you, wasn’t it? What is wrong with you?”

“Who said it was me?” You don’t know how to cover up your shock, so you return fire instead. “Whoever it was –”

“I know it was you,” Shigaraki cuts you off.

“How?”

“Because it’s on my desk in fucking chem lab and you’re the only girl in here who talks to me,” Shigaraki says. He drops the box back on the table and shoves it towards you. “Unless you’re going to pretend I’ve got some kind of secret admirer –”

“Maybe you do!” Your voice starts to scale up, and you clench your jaw. You shove the box back across the table towards him. “It could be anybody who left that there. Why are you mad at me?”

“Because it wasn’t anybody. It was you!” An angry flush is crawling from beneath Shigaraki’s collar. He picks up the box of chocolates and drops it on your notebook. “Take this back or I’m throwing it away.”

“Somebody decided to show they like you and you’re throwing it away?” You’re shocked by the acidic note in your own voice, even as you make up your mind to never admit that you were the one who put it there. “You can be mad at me all you want, but you shouldn’t punish them for what you –”

“That’s enough, Station 11,” Sasaki-sensei snaps, from up near the front of the classroom where he’s correcting Yoarashi’s and Togata’s prework. “Focus on your experiment and stop distracting the others.”

This is the wrong class to try to fight with somebody in. You set the box of chocolates down exactly equidistant from you and Shigaraki and start testing the scale you’re supposed to use to weigh your reactants. Sometimes Sasaki-sensei calibrates them wrong on purpose just to throw people off. Next to you, Shigaraki’s sitting still in his seat, visibly seething. His face is still flushed, and when he opens his mouth, it’s to come after you again. “Fuck off with this ‘somebody else’ bullshit,” he says – quieter than before, but not by much. “I know damn well it wasn’t Toga, so that leaves you. You’re the only –”

He breaks off, curses, but you can fill in the rest of the sentence. You and Toga are the only girls he talks to. “And I guess you think this is funny or something, because –”

“Why would I think this is funny?” you hiss.

“Like I’d know. Like I’d ever know what the fuck is going on in your head! I thought –” Shigaraki breaks off again, this time without the cursing, and the look he turns on you is so disdainful that you can barely keep your composure. “You really can act, huh. That nice-girl thing you’ve been putting on since school started. You almost had me fooled.”

Your temper breaks free. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You expect me to believe you’re stupid now?” Shigaraki laughs, so cold and derisive that your eyes sting. “I’m not falling for that one. I’m done almost falling for –”

“Is it really that hard for you to believe that someone might want to be around you?” As much venom as there is in Shigaraki’s voice, you can match it. He might think you’re a nice girl, but you wouldn’t have survived almost three years as a scholarship student at UA if you weren’t tough enough to hold your own with anybody. “I have to tell you, it’s hard for me to believe right now. If this is how you react to some stranger who cares, anybody who wants to be around you must be out of their mind.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you,” you fire back. “Hate yourself as much as you want. I’m not just going to sit here –”

“No, you aren’t.” Sasaki-sensei looms over you, and your heart sinks so far and fast that you feel nauseous. He looks pissed, as pissed as you’ve ever seen him, his eyes narrowed and his arms crossed over his chest. “I warned the two of you once. Not only did you fail to save your lover’s spat until after class, you were both made aware of my policy on profanity at the beginning of the year, and the first-years across the hall could hear the two of you swearing.”

“Sensei –”

“Manners,” Sasaki-sensei snaps, and you fall silent. “To the principal’s office, both of you. And take your belongings. You won’t be coming back here today.”

He’s kicking you out. He won’t let you finish the lab, and if you completely miss a lab, your chemistry grade will plummet. Shigaraki might not care about his grades, but if your grades drop, you’ll be thrown out of UA with a semester left in your third year. “It wasn’t me,” you protest. “Shigaraki started it!”

“Based on what I heard, you were a willing participant,” Sasaki-sensei says. He throws Shigaraki a dirty look, but the vast majority of his disdain is reserved for you. “I expected better of you, at least. Get out.”

Shigaraki’s already packed up his things. He shoves his chair back and it lets out an awful screech as it skids across the tiles, but you’re frozen in your seat. Your heart is racing, and your eyes are starting to prickle and burn. No matter what you do, it feels like the wrong choice – refuse to leave, blame Shigaraki for starting this again, try to make your case? Sasaki-sensei drums his fingers against his forearm, waiting for you, and when you don’t move, he barks at you. “Now.”

Someone giggles, and the sound snaps you out of your paralysis. You whip around to find two of the first-years in third-year chemistry snickering behind their hands – Kaminari and Ashido, who get in trouble for talking every other class, whose grades are worse than yours, who are here on their parents’ money instead of on scholarship. You’re not going to stand here and let a bunch of rich brats laugh at you. You stand up, jam your things back into your backpack, grab the gym bag with your climbing gear, and storm past Shigaraki out the door.

You held it together in class, but now that you’re out in the middle of an empty hall, you’re losing the fight against your tears. At least you are until you hear Shigaraki’s footsteps in the hallway behind you. This is his fault. There’s no way you’re going to let him know how upset you are. You pick up the pace down the hall, then up the stairs, heading for the administrative offices on the second of the school’s five floors.

Shigaraki catches up to you on the stairs. He says something, but you deliberately shift your gear bag, drowning him out with the clatter that results. Then you pick up your pace again. Shigaraki’s legs are longer than yours. He catches up and repeats what he must have said earlier. “Are you happy now?”

You were right to drown him out. You reach the administrative offices ahead of him, but as you reach for the door, it bursts open outwards. Principal Nezu nearly collides with you, and you stammer an apology. It’s as if you’re not even there. Shigaraki, on the other hand, nets a remark from the principal. “If I find out that you’re involved in this, Shigaraki –”

“Involved in what? I got sent here from chem lab.”

“If I find out you’re involved, I’ll personally ensure that you’re sent to prison,” Principal Nezu snaps, and you can’t hold in a shocked gasp. Principal Nezu’s radio crackles, and he raises it to his mouth. “Yes. I’m on my way. Do nothing until I arrive.”

He motors off down the hall, walking even faster than you were. Shigaraki steps past you into the admin offices, and the door closes in your face. You stand there for a moment, stunned. You don’t know what’s going on, what incident Principal Nezu’s referring to, but you can’t imagine what would make the principal say something like that to Shigaraki. You know Shigaraki was in trouble in middle school. Based on the few things he’s said about what it’s like for him at home, you know it isn’t good. And you know that since he started at UA, Shigaraki’s been sent to see the principal for showing up late, for falling asleep in class, for mouthing off to teachers, for throwing a punch after someone else punched him first – but he hasn’t done anything that the other school troublemakers haven’t done, too. You can’t imagine Principal Nezu threatening to send any of them to prison.

It strikes you as really harsh. Almost mean, since whatever incident is going on started while you and Shigaraki were arguing in chem class. But as awful as what the principal said to Shigaraki was, there might be a silver lining for you. If Principal Nezu hates Shigaraki that much, it won’t be hard to convince him that what happened in chem lab was all Shigaraki’s fault.

You feel awful for even thinking it. You open the door to the admin offices and step inside, addressing the first secretary you see. There are twelve of them – with everything that’s going on at UA, Principal Nezu needs all the help he can get. “Sasaki-sensei sent me here to see the principal.”

“Principal Nezu just left,” Secretary Kurose says shortly. She’s always been nice to you before now. “He’ll see you when he gets back. Wait in his office. Shigaraki’s already there.”

He’s probably waiting for you to come in so he can start the fight back up again. You wonder what he said to Secretary Kurose to put that tense, frustrated look on her face. It can’t just be because of you, can it? “I saw the principal leaving. Is something going on?”

“Wait in his office,” Secretary Kurose says. The phone rings and she picks it up, shooing you away. You walk slowly, dejectedly. Partly because you’re hurt by how she talked to you. And partly so you can hear what she says as she picks up the phone. “Yes, the principal is on-scene. The other faculty have Chisaki restrained.”

Chisaki’s one of the biology teachers – anatomy, specifically, and he’s the youngest one on staff. The weirdest, too. They have him restrained? You step into the principal’s office and shut the door behind you, so lost in thought about whatever’s going on down in the anatomy lab that you almost forget what you’re doing here.

But you can’t forget for long. Shigaraki’s sitting in Principal Nezu’s chair, feet propped up on the principal’s desk. He leans to one side to peer at you, half a smirk on his dry, scarred lips. “Come here often?”

You grit your teeth. “Never.”

“It’s your first time. I bet he’ll be gentle with you.” Shigaraki’s smirk sharpens. He leans further back in the chair. “I had to lower this thing about two feet to be able to sit in it. Do you think Nezu hates everybody who’s taller than him?”

You sit down in one of the chairs you think students are probably supposed to sit in and drop your bags by your feet. Your phone buzzes from inside your backpack, and you extract it to find a text from Nejire. What happened??? I heard something went down in lab

I’m in the principal’s office :( you text back, and that’s when it really hits you.

You’re in the principal’s office because you got kicked out of class, because you were fighting with your lab partner, because you gave him chocolate, because you have a crush on him and it’s Valentine’s Day. You might lose your scholarship. You got rejected by the person you like in the worst way possible. And now you’re stuck in here with him until the principal gets back from dealing with whatever the anatomy teacher did. This might be the worst day of school you’ve ever had.

Nejire texts back – ten texts in a row – and you ignore them. Behind the desk, Shigaraki looks up. “You get service in here? I thought this place was dead.”

“I’m on the school’s WiFi,” you say. “Third-years get the password.”

“I don’t have the password,” Shigaraki says. You struggle not to roll your eyes. “I guess it’s only for teacher’s pets.”

“If not wanting to be in trouble all the time makes me a teacher’s pet, fine. I’m a teacher’s pet,” you say. Shigaraki scoffs, and your desire to burst into tears temporarily converts to anger. Anger makes you mean. “You know, you’re a way better actor than me. You did such a good job pretending not to be exactly what everybody said you are that I actually fell for it.”

You’re expecting him to return fire right away. You’ve left him an opening to call you stupid for believing any better of him, and any second now he’s going to jump on it. But Shigaraki stays silent, and without something to react against, your anger starts to fizzle out. All that’s left is hurt and confusion. “I thought we were friends.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Shigaraki says. “Except my friends are a bunch of assholes just like me, and none of them would pull the kind of stunt you did.”

“It wasn’t me,” you say.

Shigaraki’s jaw clenches. “I know it was you,” he says. “Why are you lying about it?”

“It wasn’t me.” You’re never going to admit it to him. You’re going to put this somewhere so far in the back of your mind that you’ll forget it ever happened, and every time you feel that pull towards Shigaraki, those butterflies, you’re going to remind yourself how you feel right now. “Why won’t you stop? You’ve already gotten me kicked out. Isn’t that enough?”

“Kicked out?” Shigaraki laughs at that. “I get sent here three times a week. They haven’t kicked me out yet.”

“You’re not on scholarship,” you say. Despair settles heavily over you. “I’m in the principal’s office and my chemistry grade is ruined – and they can kick me out for breathing wrong. Whatever you think I did, haven’t I paid for it?”

“They’re not kicking you out.” Shigaraki’s not laughing anymore. He takes his feet down off the desk and sits up in Principal Nezu’s chair. “When he gets back, you’re going to tell him I started it –”

“You did start it.”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna cop to it,” Shigaraki says. You blink. “It’ll be my fault, I’ll get detention again, and your record won’t get messed up. They’re not kicking you out.”

“Why do you care if I get kicked out?” you ask. “Do you need a lab partner that bad?”

Shigaraki’s jaw clenches. “No,” he says. “It’ll just be a pain to have to break a new one in.”

That’s what you’d thought he’d say, or something like it. Maybe this morning you’d have thought he cared, but by now you know a lot better. You slump down in your chair, cross your arms over your chest, and wait for the principal to get back.

Fourth period ends without Principal Nezu coming back, which means you and Shigaraki are now missing lunch. School lunches are expensive. You packed your own, like always, and you dig it out of your backpack and open it. Shigaraki takes his feet down off the desk and sits up. “You brought food?”

“Yep.”

“I want some.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you say. Shigaraki stares back at you, unrepentant. “I’m not giving you my food.”

“I didn’t say I wanted all of it. I said some of it,” Shigaraki corrects, like an asshole. “Share. Unless you’re done pretending to be nice?”

“Maybe I am, since you’re done pretending not to be a bully –”

“A bully?”

“You’re trying to steal my lunch.” You put it back into your backpack. Maybe he’ll leave you alone about it now. “Most guys give that up by seventh grade.”

“Yeah, well, I was in juvie in seventh grade, so –” Shigaraki breaks off suddenly, then glares at you. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you say – and then, from somewhere at the edge of your hearing, a sound hits your ears that’s got no business being in a school. “Did you hear that?”

“What? I didn’t –” Shigaraki’s head snaps up. “I heard that.”

So did you. Two screams, from two different people, and a moment later, there’s a third. A chill goes down your spine, and you hold still with an effort, even when the fourth scream rings out. “People don’t scream like that when they’re just screwing around.”

“No,” Shigaraki says. More screams. They’re getting closer. He gets to his feet. “Get out of the way.”

“What?”

Shigaraki doesn’t answer. He kicks Principal Nezu’s chair out of the way, knocks everything on the desk onto the floor, and starts shoving at the desk, to absolutely no effect. It’s so bizarre that it takes another scream to snap you back to awareness. “What are you doing?”

“Blocking the door.” Shigaraki’s voice is strained. “Whatever’s making people scream like that, I don’t want it in here.”

What could it even be? A school shooter, like they have in America? You’d have heard gunshots. Maybe it’s a crazy person with a knife running through the halls, or a rabid animal, or something. Now there are so many people screaming that you can’t distinguish anything about the voices – male or female, young or old, victim or perpetrator. Whatever it is, Shigaraki’s right. You don’t want it here either. You leave your backpack off to one side and join Shigaraki behind the desk, giving it an experimental push. Sure, it’s heavy. You can see why Shigaraki’s having trouble. You square up, plant your feet, and shove.

The desk skids forward, and you keep pushing. Shigaraki’s not doing anything to help, even though it was his idea, and when you turn to look, you find him staring at you. “Are you on steroids or something?”

“No, I’m on the climbing team. We have to work out.” You shove the desk again, thankful for the fact that Coach Usagiyama makes you and the rest of the team cross-train at least twice a week. “Are you going to help? It’ll be faster with two.”

At first Shigaraki just stares at you, but the screams are so close now, close enough that your ears hurt, and blocking the door was his idea. Shigaraki lines up next to you and starts pushing the desk, and together the two of you wedge it against the door. Almost as soon as you’ve pushed it into place, something thuds against it from the other side. You recoil backwards, but Shigaraki throws his weight against the desk, keeping it firmly shut. “Let me in,” Secretary Kurose pleads. “They’re coming!”

Who’s they? It doesn’t matter, not when she needs help. You grab the desk and pull back, only to catch Shigaraki’s arm squarely across your chest, hard enough that you’ll have bruises. “No,” he snaps at you. “Nobody gets in.”

“She needs help!”

“You think she’d help us? No.” The door handle is rattling, and Shigaraki shoves the desk against the door again. “She can run.”

“Please,” Secretary Kurose wails. “They’re –”

Her voice breaks into a high, wavering scream, and the door shivers on its frame as at least three people collide with it. Secretary Kurose’s scream reaches a new pitch, one that makes Shigaraki flinch and makes you jam your fingers in your ears to drown it out. But some part of you knows there’s no drowning this out. Not the scream that hitches and splits. Not the low growls and wet, meaty sounds of flesh being torn away. Not the rattling breaths that go suddenly, horribly silent.

You can’t see anything that’s happening, but some part of you knows exactly what you’re listening to. Those are the sounds of a person being eaten alive, and before you can even think, you’re throwing your weight against the desk just like Shigaraki is, desperate to keep whatever’s out there from getting in.

[maikelfist]

@chimneyz encouraged me to come off anon and take credit for my horny headcanon and I thought I'd do it by turning it into a fanfic. This kind of ran away from me. It was supposed to be quick and smutty but sweet, achy feels managed to sneak in, culminating into a pretty unhinged combination of tags. Don’t even ask. If you’re in the mood for hurt/comfort and self-indulgent smut this is for you. You can find it on ao3 here:

The Mechanisms of Pain Relief

BuckTommy | 9k | rated: E

Summary:

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens—sometimes their shifts don't align, they're exhausted, or they prefer to cuddle and comfort each other after a particularly rough day at work. Those things are to be expected. What isn’t predictable or acceptable is when Evan ends up hospitalized with a head injury. Or: Tommy takes care of Buck and Buck is overwhelmed in so many ways.

Symptoms of a concussion may include headaches, dizziness, confusion, sensitivity to light and noise, fatigue, sleep disturbances, memory problems, slowed reaction time, irritability, anxiety, depression and sensitivity to stress.

If you experience any of these symptoms worsening, you should speak to your healthcare provider.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens—sometimes their shifts don't align, they're exhausted, or they prefer to cuddle and comfort each other after a particularly rough day at work. Those things are to be expected.

What isn’t predictable or acceptable is when Evan ends up hospitalized with a head injury.

Tommy’s heart stops for a moment when Eddie’s text comes through, and he doesn’t even wait for his supervisor’s approval when requesting time off work to rush to the hospital. This isn’t like a dislocated shoulder, where it makes more sense to wait until his shift ends to check on Evan, no matter how agitated he felt at the time. This is much more serious.

A sigh of relief escapes Tommy’s lungs as he steps into the observation unit and sees Evan awake, propped up in bed. Evan’s face is pale but relaxed under the fluorescent lights. A bandage covers the treated head wound, and the sunglasses perched on his nose—definitely Eddie’s—give him an oddly fashionable look despite the circumstances. Blocking the harsh hospital light in style. The tension in Tommy’s shoulders eases slightly when Evan greets Tommy with a sleepy, sedated smile and the reassurance that it’s “not too serious of a concussion.” CT scans have been done and pain relief has been given.

“Don’t even need to stay the night… pr-probably,” Evan continues, his speech more slurred than Tommy would like. “I-I told Eddie it’s not a big deal. Head wounds are a lot worse than they look.” Evan pauses, confusion flickering across his face before he corrects himself. “No, wait. Other way ‘round.” He thinks for a moment, visibly rearranging the words in his head, taking longer than necessary. “They look worse than they are!” Evan exclaims with more energy, pleased that he got it right. “The head has so many blood vessels that—that even a small cut can look like… like a crime scene… b-but it’s usually not that bad—”

"Evan." Even when he keeps his voice low, Tommy delivers the name with a seriousness that he knows will make Evan pause, hold his breath for a moment. "How long until you can leave?" Tommy has hundreds of other questions on his mind, but he doesn’t want to put any strain on Evan. He’ll squeeze out all the information he needs from Eddie later.

“Uh… they said they wanted to watch me for a couple of hours. I-I don’t know how long it’s been. Eddie will know. He wanted to—he’s…” Even with only half of his face visible, it’s clear that Evan is scrunching it up in puzzlement. “Water!” he exclaims after a few seconds, as if the word had just clicked into place. “He’s getting me more water.” Evan slowly turns his head toward the entry, as if mentioning Eddie's name might make him return more quickly. When Evan realizes that no one is standing there yet, he shifts his gaze back to Tommy. A dopey smile spreads across his lips. “They asked me if… if I had someone who could take care of me at home.” Evan sluggishly lifts his arm, fingers bumping into the back of Tommy’s hand before he manages to take it, his grip weak but warm. “I said yes.”

Tommy’s chest tightens, a mix of relief and affection flooding him as he squeezes Evan’s hand gently. He isn’t sure whether to feel glad or disappointed that Evan is wearing shades. On one hand, it’s good that the sunglasses are providing Evan with some comfort, but on the other, he’d give anything to see those sunny eyes of his—the ones that have the power to melt him inside and leave him weak in the knees. Right now, Tommy knows he needs to be strong for Evan, but he can’t help giving in to the widening grin on Evan’s face, returning it with a soft smile of his own. He brings Evan’s hand to his lips and kisses it gently.

“Yeah. Yeah, you have.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Evan hit his head on a car door. That’s the short version of the story. Eddie almost makes it sound like a slapstick sketch with how casually he remarks on it. Tommy knows, though, that Eddie’s calm demeanor is just a cover for how worried he is. Tommy knows that feeling all too well.

The full story is far less comedic. Two cars collided, leaving one severely damaged. It ended up wedged against a concrete barrier, with the passenger side crumpled like tissue paper. Thankfully, the father and son had been seated on the driver's side, and they managed to pull the unconscious father through the broken windshield. Extracting the son was more difficult. The child, sitting in the back seat, was trapped by twisted metal around the rear door, crying, panicking and in pain from a broken leg.

Evan was tasked with prying open the car door using a hydraulic spreader. He placed it between the door frame and the car body and began to apply pressure. The metal was severely bent and difficult to move—until it suddenly gave way. With a loud cracking sound, the door swung open so abruptly that Evan lost his footing and fell face-first into the swinging metal, a sharp edge striking his temple. The force was so strong that it cracked Evan's helmet.

Tommy’s stomach churns as he listens to Eddie’s retelling. Seeing Evan in his patched-up state is already bad enough; Tommy can’t picture what a terrifying sight he must have been to their friends—unconscious, blood gushing from the wound down his face, soaking into his clothes and hair. He doesn't even want to imagine what Evan's head would have looked like if he hadn't been wearing protection.

Eddie says he’s pretty sure Evan put too much pressure on the spreader, trying to get the boy out as quickly as possible.

Tommy doesn’t give in to the urge to rub his eyes. Instead, he quietly jokes, “Well, kids are a weakness of his.”

Eddie exhales a humorless puff of air in reply. “Yeah.”

They are whispering back and forth in Evan’s kitchen, the only illumination coming from the faint streaks of light peeking through the edges of the closed blinds, loft darkened to keep the fading day from hurting Evan’s eyes and allowing him to sleep peacefully upstairs. 

“Hey,” Eddie adds softly. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

Tommy shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hoping the lack of light conceals the awkwardness of it. “You really don’t need to thank me for that.”

“I’m gonna do it anyway. How many of your vacation days did you use to get two weeks off work? Just to be stuck in the Bat Cave?”

“You’ll keep us alive by providing us with food and supplies, so who’s the real Batman here?” “I think that makes me Alfred.”

"Who has been called Batman’s Batman," Tommy points out, raising a finger at Eddie.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, we’re both awesome,” Eddie relents, batting the finger away. “I’m just saying, I… I would’ve looked after him at my place, but I just got Christopher back and I don’t think it would be good for him to see Buck like this, so…”

“I get it. You can count on me, all of you.”

“Well, except that one time,” Eddie drawls.

There will likely never be a time when Tommy won't feel shame when reminded of how he ran away from Evan out of fear of getting hurt. At the same time, it floods him with relief knowing that Eddie and the others are casual enough about it to use it as roasting material. He would listen to their quips every day if it meant being with Evan. However, that doesn’t mean he will just take it lying down. “Yeah, we all need to make a monumentally stupid mistake once to learn not to do it again, right, Eddie?”

The blow makes Eddie close his eyes for a moment, and Tommy can practically see the Kim fiasco flashing behind them. When Eddie opens his eyes again, Tommy is met with an unimpressed look. “You’re lucky this ended well for both of us.”

Fond amusement quirks Tommy’s mouth. “So are you. And this will turn out well for Evan, too. Alright?” Tommy assures Eddie.

The first genuine smile of the day brushes across Eddie’s lips, so small that it's nearly unnoticeable. “Yeah. Alright.”

Shoulder bumps turn to hugs turn to goodbyes. Tommy holds the door open, promising to regularly send Eddie updates, lists of groceries and other things he needs from his own place, while Eddie swears he’ll come by as often as possible. When the door closes, Tommy listens for a moment until he can no longer hear Eddie’s muffled footsteps. Then he turns to face the dark.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The recovery time is a bit of a whirlwind. Or rather, a tornado.

Tommy learns to navigate Evan's loft almost blindly because he refuses to turn on any of the bright lights at night. Who thought open-space architecture was a good idea? The evening he broke up with Evan was filled with many moments that make him shake his head—mostly at himself—but Evan asking him to move into a place that was essentially one big room was certainly one of them. Then again, even through walls, Tommy feels an odd sense of guilt whenever he has to make a sound louder than his toothbrush. It will probably be a while before he stops cringing every time he needs to flush the toilet.

The stairs end up being Tommy's biggest source of stress. Through eye contact alone, Tommy knew that he and Eddie were on the same page about the desire to simply carry Evan up the stairs and into bed if Evan hadn’t insisted on climbing them himself. Instead, Eddie led the way, walking backward and holding on to Evan's arms, with Tommy behind Evan, hands on his back, ready to catch them both. 

Tommy keeps having nightmare visions of Evan stumbling and falling down the stairs or over the railing. He considers taking Evan’s bed apart and moving it to the lower level, but their current situation isn’t exactly ideal for playing IKEA. Not for the first time, he curses his neighbors for having the most obnoxiously noisy construction work done on their house at the worst possible time. Otherwise, he would take care of Evan at his place. As it stands, he plans to keep Evan as far away from the stairs as possible until he’s healed.

Thankfully, it seems to be quite easy to look after Evan, his dizziness and confusion turning him pliant and receptive to Tommy's care. Tommy ensures that Evan stays in bed, always having water and Tylenol within arm's reach so he can remain hydrated and pain-free, and regularly prepares light, nutritious meals for him—though, trying to make sandwiches by the dim light of the open refrigerator is certainly an experience. He tends to Evan's wounds with gentle hands, is by his side when he takes a bath, washes and combs his hair, and stands by the closed but unlocked door whenever Evan needs to go to the bathroom, ready to help if needed. Evan sleeps a lot, but rarely a full night’s worth in one session, waking up every couple of hours, and Tommy is there to give him whatever he needs or simply keep him company.

His demeanor softened by the lingering haze of his injury, Evan soaks up all the attention and care Tommy gives him, and Tommy is more than willing to provide it. Evan is sweet and easy, and Tommy really should have learned from Billie Boils' “curse” that it wouldn’t stay that way.

After a couple of days, dizziness turns to irritation. Evan keeps getting up from the bed, desperate to move, run around, exercise, and he argues till his head aches when Tommy tries to coax him back to bed.

After getting the okay from Buck’s doctor, Tommy researches suitable activities for someone with a concussion and begins to incorporate light, slow seated stretching and range-of-motion exercises into their daily routine. They don’t work out for very long, only a couple of minutes at a time, until Evan realizes this isn’t what his body actually wants while it’s healing.

Tommy can tell what Evan misses the most is going outside and running in the park, but since that’s not possible, Tommy tries to bring the park to him. One afternoon, they lie in bed together, both of their eyes closed, as Tommy tries to create scenarios for Evan to imagine.

He describes the scene in a soft, soothing voice, painting a picture of clouds drifting overhead, leaves rustling in the wind, and even attempts to mimic the sound of the breeze, puffing out his cheeks and blowing air through his lips.

Evan cracks one eye open, unimpressed. “Your wind sound is almost as bad as your fake mouth static.”

Determined to make up for his apparently less-than-convincing sound effects, Tommy pulls up a video of city park ambience for relaxation, which turns out to be a huge mistake.

"I miss my phone," Evan whines behind his hands as the pads of his fingers rub his eyes in frustration, having remembered that the internet, with all its vast knowledge, exists.

"You're not allowed to look at screens, you know that," Tommy retorts, his voice gentle yet firm, as he lies on his side on the bed next to Evan, propping up his head with his hand.

Evan lets his hands thump to the pillow next to his head, his face sulky and disgruntled. “But I want to know how big jellyfish can get!”

Tommy’s brows furrow slightly and he can feel amusement tug at the corners of his mouth despite himself. “Why?”

"I had a dream about an ancient god-like jellyfish the size of a whale. It talked to me but I forgot what it said," Evan says, arms crossed and pouting, as if the universe itself has wronged him.

The largest known jellyfish apparently belonged to the Lion's Mane species, boasting a bell diameter of 7 feet and tentacles around 120 feet long—if one can trust the Wikipedia article which Tommy slowly reads to Evan. Normal research often sends Evan spiraling down a never-ending rabbit hole of information. However, Tommy is happy to discover that research-via-boyfriend, listening to the calm, deep rumble of his voice, helps Evan fall asleep.

The research bouts aren't the only way Tommy engages Evan's mind. A nurse advised Tommy to regularly assess Evan's cognitive function. Initially, Tommy tries using crossword puzzles and simple math problems, but Evan quickly becomes bored. So, Tommy starts asking questions to jog Evan's memories—about birthdays, how their friends take their coffee, recipes and special events.

"What was the first city I flew Eddie to?" Tommy asks, fingers brushing through Evan’s curls as he’s sitting behind him on the bed, Evan leaning against his chest.

Evan grumbles, "I have a concussion, not amnesia."

"Do you know the answer or not?" Tommy presses.

"Vegas, and I also remember that you stood me up for it," Evan says, lifting his chin defiantly to look at him with accusatory eyes. 

"You did get to buy me a beer later.”

Scorn tinges Evan’s voice. “Oh, it feels so good to be a second priority.”

Tommy stifles a sigh, managing to keep a straight face. "What was the name of the restaurant we went to on our first date?"

"Abandon-me-at-the-fronteria."

Laughter threatens to break out of Tommy's chest but he suppresses it as well, pressing his lips together and burying his face into Evan’s hair. Evan can be really fucking funny when he's acting like a brat, Tommy will give him that. That’s not a compliment Tommy should ever say out loud, though.

"Close enough," Tommy deadpans.

Eddie isn’t spared either during his visits. One time, he foolishly believes that Evan would be interested in hearing about the science project he’s working on with Cristopher and how well it’s coming along, only to throw a startled look at Tommy when Evan replies with a curt, “Good to know you’re having so much fun without me.”

Eddie texts him later.

Eddie: Please tell me he doesn’t act like that all the time

Tommy: He does sleep occasionally

Eddie: I bet you fluff his pillows and tuck him in after he curses your ancestors

Tommy: Don’t forget the kiss on the forehead

Eddie: You have the patience of a saint, man

Tommy: You’re patient with him too

Eddie: Because I get to leave

Tommy: I very much plan on screaming into a pillow when I can be loud again

Eddie: TMI

Laughter spills out of Tommy, and he just finishes replying with an emoji wearing a halo when Evan pipes up, “Rub it in my face that I can’t talk to anyone, why don’t you.”

“You just talked to Eddie.”

“That’s not the same.”

Tommy spends the rest of the evening catching Evan up on the 118 group chat, reading messages aloud and typing out Evan’s replies. Unable to resist, he puts on a different impression for each person—like a deep and steady tone for Bobby or a high, nurturing one for Maddie. He keeps it up until Evan starts to complain about his headache getting worse.

Not everything they do requires patience. In fact, there is one moment in particular that will forever be etched in Tommy's memory as one of the happiest of his life.

Only a small light in the living room is on, casting a warm, indirect glow up to the bedroom on the upper floor. Tommy has Evan in his arms, giving him support, and they're gently swaying back and forth, Tommy humming the melody of a song whose title has slipped his mind, intermingled with nonsensical lyrics he only half recalls. Slow dancing counts as low impact exercise, right?

Evan seems to agree, judging by the way he happily sighs into Tommy's neck, his warm, wet breath sending shivers down Tommy's spine.

If heaven exists, and if Tommy were allowed in, this is what it would feel like.

Until Evan starts kissing his neck. Tommy mindlessly leans his head back, giving Evan more room to explore Tommy's skin with his mouth. Evan's movements become more heated and demanding, and Tommy hisses when Evan bites a bruise into his throat. Only when Evan begins to open the buttons of his shirt does Tommy put up any resistance.

"Evan..." Tommy half-heartedly tries to push him away. "Evan, we can't—not yet."

Evan keeps clinging to Tommy and insists, "Come on. It's been so long. I'm almost healed." Nuzzling into the spot where neck meets shoulder, his breath comes hot and uneven against the sensitive skin. Fingers fumble with the buttons of Tommy’s shirt, lips trailing downward until they reach the coarse curls of his chest hair. Evan buries his face into the dip between Tommy’s pecs, inhaling deeply and moaning as if intoxicated by the scent.

The sensation sends a flush of warmth through Tommy, electric currents racing up his spine. He can feel himself getting hard in his pants at a speed that makes him dizzy, his body betraying him even as his mind fights to stay in control. Still, he doesn’t budge. "Almost isn't fully." 

He tugs at Evan's hair to lift his head, which in hindsight isn’t a great idea—Evan moans at the feeling, a soft, involuntary sound that sends a jolt of heat straight to Tommy’s core. Evan follows Tommy's lead for a moment, but then leans in, pressing his forehead against Tommy's. "Tommy, please," he begs, his voice barely above a whisper, plush lips brushing his. "I need you." The yearning in his voice reverberates in Tommy’s chest, and it’s just as delicious as the feeling of their bodies rubbing together when Evan starts to grind against him.

It’s impossible not to entertain all the vivid images flooding Tommy’s mind. It would be so easy to give in. They could be gentle. Tommy could blow him or ride him or hold on to Evan’s spread legs as he carefully rocks into him, letting Evan do nothing but lie there and look pretty, his breath hitching and thighs trembling as Tommy surrenders to his wishes, gives him what he wants. Evan’s back would arch, his hands gripping the sheets, and his moans would fill the room as he throws his head back in pleasure—

"No." Tommy tears himself away, allowing no contact between them. His voice has been in quiet mode for almost two weeks now, so his rejection comes across as startlingly loud, despite it still being softer than his usual conversational volume.

The ceiling lights don’t have to be on for Tommy to know that big, fat tears are starting to well up in Evan's eyes. The wet huff escaping his lips and the way he hugs himself tell Tommy enough.

"I don’t actually need you, you know?" Evan spits, voice corrosive with acidity and venom. "I can take care of myself. You can't stop me."

A pit wants to open in Tommy’s stomach, and he’s holding it together by sheer force of will. 

Evan doesn’t mean it like that. He’s just upset. He doesn’t mean it. This isn’t about you.

Tommy closes his eyes for a second, as if that could help him ignore the ache in his chest, and reminds himself to breathe. Squaring his shoulders, he focuses on the situation at hand. Part of him actually wants to try to stop Evan, but he knows he won't win this fight. 

"Be careful then,” Tommy says, his voice purposely steady. “Make sure to do it lying down. And don't finger yourself. Your coordination isn't quite there yet, and you could move your head too much trying to get the right angle."

The next sound leaving Evan's mouth is less of a huff and more of a snarl. "Fine. Have it your way." Evan takes off his clothes and climbs onto the bed, all of his movements filled with spite, uncoordinated as they may be.

Tommy picks up the clothes that Evan has haphazardly thrown across the room and says, in the calmest voice he can muster, "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

The short, bitter laugh that bursts from Evan makes him realize how unfortunate his word choice has been.

"I’d say the same, but clearly you don’t need me,” Evan talks back, his tone dripping with resentment. “So I’ll just stay here, all by myself, moaning and begging for it."

Tommy balls his fists into the clothes he’s carrying to keep himself from arguing about how wrong Evan is. That wouldn’t actually be doing Evan any favors right now. He doesn’t mean it. Instead, he feigns an unaffected hum. "Have fun."

The pillow Evan throws at him nearly makes it to the lower floor, but Tommy manages to catch it just in time. He drops Evan's shorts in the process, but oh well—Tommy takes a deep breath—he can just pick them up again.

Tommy puts the pillow back in its place, unable to resist stealing a glance at Evan, who lets out a performative moan when he wraps his hand around himself. Tommy quickly averts his gaze and hurries down the stairs.

If Tommy spends longer than necessary in the bathroom, that is between him and the sink. And the floor. And Evan’s shirt, which he presses to his face, inhaling deeply and moaning into the fabric as the muffled, exaggerated sounds of pleasure from upstairs make his stomach twist with arousal and longing. He's just here to do laundry, that’s all.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens, and sometimes one of them is stuck in bed for entirely different reasons, needing the other to care for them while they're recovering.

That makes it all the sweeter when the doctor finally gives Evan the green light to return to normal.

They could just attack each other's lips and exchange blowjobs or handjobs for quick relief when they get home. Evan could fuck him. Tommy would be more than happy to spread his legs for Evan and let him do as he pleases. But he knows that's not what Evan wants right now. Once Evan gets his hands on him, he will want all of him. Once he gets his hands on Evan, he will want to give him all.

‘All of him” requires some work, though. If Evan gets fucked regularly, he generally has a pretty easy time taking Tommy without too much preparation. Getting fingered or licked open is usually enough. A dick that big leaves a lasting impression, Evan has joked—multiple times.

However, when there's a long break, Evan needs to go through an entire routine to prepare himself for Tommy, to get his hole adjusted to that size again, similar to what they did when he made love to Evan the first time—good hydration, some stretching and breathing exercises, a hot bath to relax Evan's muscles and ensure he's nice and thoroughly clean.

Tommy starts by massaging Evan's back, digging his fingers into his shoulders and along the curve of his spine until Evan groans. He tries to keep it relaxing for Evan, but soon Evan begins to wiggle, urging Tommy to hurry up. Evan demands it knowing that Tommy won't.

It's moments like these when Tommy enjoys teasing Evan's hole with his fingers without ever actually entering it for a while. Instead, he taps, strokes, pulses and circles around it until the ring starts to pulsate as if trying to draw him in—until it remembers him. 

Evan has gone through his prep routine, and now it's time for Tommy to go through his, which involves tongue and finger-fucking Evan until he's crying and begging into the pillow.

He licks and sucks at Evan’s hole, devouring it like it’s candy and moaning at the taste. Excess saliva fills Evan up from the inside, dripping down his taint and balls, making him even wetter than he already is. Tommy spits on it for good measure. 

When it’s not Tommy’s lips and tongue teasing Evan—his stubble providing a fine rasp against sensitive skin—it’s his fingers pumping and scissoring inside him, massaging his prostate regularly but nowhere near enough for Evan’s liking. Every now and then, Tommy hooks both his index and middle fingers into Evan, spreading him wide so he can push and flick his tongue into the gaping opening.

Tommy is scraping together the last remnants of his patience for this, and he has no idea where they’re coming from, other than the knowledge that he doesn’t want to hurt Evan.

And maybe, just maybe, he wants to chastise Evan’s hole for having forgotten him.

"Tommy, I can't," Evan whines, punching the mattress with his fist in a pitiful release of frustration. "I need it so bad! Come on, give it to me—"

Tommy must be closer to his breaking point than expected, and he only realizes it when he hears a loud smack followed by Evan throwing his head back and fucking yelling at the top of his lungs. With a startled flutter of his lashes, Tommy registers what just happened.

He just spanked Evan's hole.

There's a moment of stillness as Tommy tries his damned best to assess the situation based on Evan's reaction. Then Evan turns his head, and Tommy catches a glimpse of his beautiful face—red and splotchy to the point where his birthmarks are almost invisible, with pillow creases marking his skin and lashes damp with tears. Both his lips and eyes are shiny, red and wide open with surprise and something that Tommy would like to call wonder.

"Was that okay?" Tommy asks, his voice extra gentle as if to compensate for what he just did.

A shivery, wet exhale flows from Evan’s lungs before his arms give out and his head falls back onto the pillow. Tommy can still see Evan’s pretty profile, and it takes him a moment to realize that the way Evan is rubbing his face into the fabric is meant to be a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, that was okay,” Evan whispers.

"You want more?" Another nod. That wouldn't do. "Words, Evan."

A kittenish noise escapes Evan and he starts squirming again. "Yes, Daddy. Please, Daddy, I want more." Evan stretches his back and lifts his ass, as if he thinks he needs to bring his hole closer to sway Tommy.

A ball of arousal tightens its grip on Tommy's insides before bursting, sending bolts of intoxicating pleasure through his body. It's reminiscent of the rush he feels when he's flying—that swooping thrill so addictive in nature one can't help but crave to relive it again and again. As Tommy's eyes flutter shut, he takes a moment to savor the sensation, his mind already replaying the sight and sound of his boyfriend trying to entice him—and succeeding. God, Evan is exquisite. Always, of course, but especially when he falls into a mood like this.

Tommy takes a deep breath and calms his nerves. He needs his bearings for what's to come.

"Evan." Tommy's hands settle on Evan's waist, his thumbs lightly digging into the curve of his spine as he holds him steady. He trails his fingers along the line of his back, shaping Evan’s form to his liking and making him arch prettily. Tommy’s body follows the upward motion of his hands until he can speak into Evan’s ear, attempting nonchalance, though the rasp in his throat betrays him as he asks, “How many days has it been since I last fucked you?” “Seventeen,” Evan replies without a moment's hesitation, a breathless hitch in his voice revealing his anticipation. The corners of Tommy’s lips curl up at that. Of course Evan would know the answer. Tommy could probably ask him about the hours, the minutes, the temperature, and Evan would fondly reminisce about the last time Tommy's cock was buried in his ass, down to the very last detail. Over the past two weeks, Evan hasn’t answered any of Tommy’s questions with as much eagerness as this one. Cognitive function? Check.

“And why is that?”

“C-cause I got hurt?” 

Evan’s reply is endearingly timid, which is why Tommy doesn’t tsk before he retorts, “Close, but no. Try again.”

A miserable little mewl escapes Evan’s mouth, disappointed that he didn’t get it right the first time. Happier noises start filling the room—musical, airy notes—when Tommy’s dick finds the cleft of Evan’s ass. “Please—” Evan starts begging, distracted by the contact. Tommy’s grip on Evan’s shoulders tightens before he can lose himself completely. “Evan. Evan,” he repeats with more force when Evan continues to writhe. “Try again.”

Evan fusses and hides his face in the pillow once more, his voice muffled as he admits, “Cause I was careless.”

Evan's curls feel damp as Tommy begins to stroke them. The gentle touch gives Evan the courage to glance at him again from the corner of his eye. Tommy leans in and kisses his cheek, cooing, "Good boy, Evan." Another one of Evan’s sweet sounds chimes through the air, but Tommy doesn’t let him bask in the praise for too long. He continues, "Yes, you were careless. But that's not the reason either."

"Wha—why then?" Genuine confusion furrows Evan's brows, and he pouts in a way that Tommy can only describe with one word: adorable, adorable, adorable.

Tommy leans in, his forehead touching Evan’s temple, careful of the healing wound there, and nuzzles against Evan’s cheek. “Because you’re precious and I had to be gentle with you. Wanted to be, so you can heal properly.” His tone shifts from soft explanation to a husky tease, a wicked, feral edge creeping into his words when he rasps, “But I can be rough with you now, can’t I, Evan?”

Pouting lips part to release a floating, weak little gasp, followed by a needy, “Yes, pleasepleaseplease—”

Tommy plants a quick kiss on the corner of Evan’s mouth to quiet him before continuing, “You know what that means?” Evan shakes his head as best as he can. “I will give you seventeen hits, baby boy, one for each day we couldn’t do this.” Tommy emphasizes the last word with a thrust, making Evan moan eagerly. “And you will count them all and say ‘thank you, Daddy’ after each one. Alright?”

“Yes! Yes, thank you, Daddy, yes—” “After I spank your hole, Evan, not before.” Tommy lets sweet condescension drip from his tongue, underlining the lewdness of the words, ensuring he voices what Evan is begging for out loud.

Another high-pitched mewl leaves Evan, followed by a distraught cry as Tommy pulls himself away from him. Tommy keeps one of his hands on Evan's back to prevent him from following his movements. “Stay.”

Evan goes still, except for his fists kneading the sheets, desperate to release his pent up energy somehow. Tommy should give his hands something better to do. “Hold yourself open for me.” Evan scrambles to follow his order. “Very good, sweet boy.”

Tommy takes a few precious seconds to enjoy the sight in front of him—Evan presenting himself for Tommy, his hole wet, puffy and pretty in pink, winking at Tommy eagerly.

The first smack comes as a surprise to both of them. For a moment, Tommy considers dragging things out, but apparently, he doesn’t have that in him anymore. The sound of shock that shoots out of Evan’s lungs tells him he made the right call. Evan likely also assumed Tommy would tease some more.

Tommy waits, then chides when he hears nothing. “Evan.” Evan gasps, realizing his mistake and hurrying to correct it. “One! Thank you, Daddy.” Two, three, four and five follow in quick succession, the slapping sound made even more obscene by the wetness of lube and saliva spread between Evan’s cheeks. The next strikes follow a more irregular pattern, keeping Evan on his toes, each impact ripping through him like an earthquake. Tommy spanks with enough force to make it sting, to make the nerves feel raw and exposed—the kind of pain that makes you hiss and lean into it. 

Evan’s howls turn into keens with each hit, but he doesn't forget Tommy's instructions again. He does struggle to maintain a firm grip on his cheeks every now and then, his hands slick with sweat, but he manages to regain control each time.

Tommy takes a break at ten to check on Evan’s condition. Evan has stopped burying his face in the pillow, head tilted to the side again, likely because he needs air. His chest heaves beneath him and soft whimpers leave his mouth with each exhale. 

“You okay?” It takes Evan a couple of seconds to realize he’s being spoken to, but once he does, he nods. “Seven more, you think you can take it?” Tommy asks more clearly. A nod, again. “What did I tell you about using your words, Evan?”

“Yes, thank you, Daddy,” Evan rushes to deliver breathlessly, having reached the point where he mindlessly uses the phrase like a punctuation mark. Tommy couldn’t be prouder.

Tommy leans down to kiss Evan's skin, first grazing his hand and then his ass with a gentle brush of his lips, punctuated by another sharp smack to his hole. 

All the sweet reactions he used to elicit from Evan come flooding back as he remembers slapping his dick against Evan's cheeks and hole, teasing him with the heft of it before letting him feel it from the inside. He should have realized earlier just how into this Evan would be.

By the time Tommy reaches the end, an endless string of sobs is wracking Evan’s body, interspersed with heartbreaking hiccups whenever Evan is forced to inhale. Tommy makes sure that the last spank is the hardest one.

“ Ah! Hah- oooh, s-se-sev'nteen, th'nkyuDaddy,” Evan barely manages to slur in between his whimpers, but like a dutiful little trooper, he perseveres.

Tommy takes a good look at his creation.

Evan’s right cheek is squished into the pillow, his mouth slack-jawed, and he’s either uncaring or unaware of how much he’s drooling. His eyes, red-rimmed and glazed over, appear to gaze at nothing at all, unfocused, feverish and fuck-drunk, despite Evan not even having had a dick inside him yet. Maybe next time they do this, Tommy will place a vibrating egg against Evan’s prostate, see if he can come from that and the sting of spanks against his hole alone. A different kind of fucking.

Evan’s cock is a mess, just like the rest of him, twitching when air touches it and slowly but steadily leaking an obscene amount of precum onto the towel beneath him, thoughtfully placed there just for this purpose. Tommy’s mouth is watering with the urge to lap it up, but he resists. No distractions. He can still taste a hint of Evan’s ass, rich and carnal, on his tongue and that is enough to sustain him for now. 

Speaking of... Tommy's eyes fixate on the focal point of his masterpiece. A bright red circle glows around Evan's hole which pulsates to the rhythm of blood pumping beneath the skin. Tommy hovers his hand above it, dead certain he can feel the radiance of heat emanating from the area. He’ll have to treat it later, with Evan spreading his cheeks for Tommy so he can apply cooling, soothing aloe vera gel to the skin.

A deep, primal groan rumbles up from the depths of Tommy’s chest, and he can feel the last shreds of his self-control coming apart. He hurriedly grabs some lube to slick his cock, hissing in discomfort as he touches it and quickly pulls his hand away as if burned. His dick has been neglected for so long, and it’s letting him know just how displeased it is—angry red and overfilled with sensitivity. Tommy softens his touch; the caress of his feather-light fingers gradually gives way to careful strokes, maintaining the movement until he no longer feels like he might burst out of his skin. Once he feels ready, he gives Evan’s hole a soft parting kiss and crawls up his body, making sure his chest is fully pressed against Evan’s back.

Evan isn’t begging anymore, too out of it to understand what’s happening when Tommy starts feeding him his dick. Tommy didn’t forget that it’s been a while, but he isn’t taking it anywhere near as slowly as he usually would. He can’t.

A beautiful, silent O forms on Evan’s lips when he realizes that he’s finally getting what he’s been panting for all this time, eyes widening in pleasure-shock at the feeling, and his hands clawing at any part of Tommy he can find. His feet begin to lift off the bed at the same measured pace Tommy is entering him, as if every muscle in his body contracts more and more the deeper Tommy goes. All muscles, that is, except for the ring around Tommy’s cock, stretched wide and striving to stay open. Tommy can only imagine what it must feel like to be filled after such sweet torture to his hole—nerves oversensitized and rewired to perceive pleasure and pain as one and the same.

Only when Tommy’s hips are flush against Evan’s ass does a wanton moan break out of Evan, his legs thudding down onto the bed as his eyes roll into the back of his head from the pressure of Tommy’s cock against his sweet spot.

Evan chokes on a sob, saliva-garbled exclamations of “guh-good, s-so good” spilling from his lips, and tries to call for him, if his broken “Da-!” is supposed to mean anything, letting Tommy know that he can start moving and—

God.

This.

This is the moment Tommy has been waiting for over two fucking weeks—the moment where he’s finally allowed to snap, not a single cell in his body capable of patience or self-control anymore.

He practically throws his cock into Evan’s hole, not holding back on the power in his muscles, pistoning in and out as if trying to punch Evan’s prostate with each snap of his hips.

Tommy should probably put a hand over Evan’s mouth, muffle his howls and wails and sobs, his cries of yes! and please! and Daddy!, but he’s too far gone to deny himself the reward of Evan’s ecstasy. If Evan’s neighbors end up struggling with eye contact after this, that’s their issue.

For some reason, Evan’s orgasm takes him by surprise, untouched and early as it is, even though it really shouldn’t, considering how long Tommy has been dragging him along. The tight, spasming clench of Evan’s hole makes his hips stutter, but even that isn’t enough to restrain him. He grabs a fistful of Evan’s hair, both to pin him down, to stop him from thrashing around too much, and as leverage to put even more force behind the relentless push-pull-shove of his thrusts.

Normally, he would comment on how quickly Evan came, especially when it happens solely through prostate play. Evan has told him how much he adores it, unpredictable as it is—both the physical sensation and the meaning Evan has given it, the feeling of being a good hole for Tommy. Depending on the mood, Tommy either rewards him with soft words for surrendering to his pleasure, or teases him for being easy, praise glazed with honey-sweet mockery. Tommy doesn’t even have that in him anymore.

“I’m not stopping,” Tommy warns instead, voice guttural and feral with savagery, unrecognizable even to him.

Evan accepts his fate if the way one of his hands shoots out to the headboard is any indication—support to hold on for the ride. He could say his safeword if he truly wanted Tommy to stop. Instead, Evan grabs the pillow and bites into the fabric, bearing the overstimulation with scrunched shut eyes, gritted teeth and desperate grunts, unable to sing his pleasure through pretty moans anymore with how shot his voice is.

The tight heat of Evan around him—his body safe and sound beneath him, right where he’s meant to be—consumes Tommy entirely. He pounds into Evan’s hole with enough force—hard and deep—to make the flesh of his cheeks ripple with each slap of skin on skin. Evan’s knees start to slip on the sheets, drifting further and further apart with each punishing pump, until the insides of his thighs must be aching. Tommy imagines the tip of Evan’s cock brushing through his own spilled cum, steadily leaking a delicious mess onto the towel, as it bops up and down each time Tommy’s hips bounce off of his ass.

His climax creeps up on him like a bird of prey, lurking but undetectable until it grabs him by the throat—pleasure clawing its way through his body until it releases itself in unrestrained, rapturous groans resounding through the loft as he fucks his load into Evan, filling him up with hot fluid. That of all things earns Tommy a small delighted squeal from Evan, sweet, little cumslut that he is.

Tommy doesn’t give Evan a chance to think it’s over. While his length still twitches and jerks with the force of his orgasm, he reaches for Evan’s. He doesn’t know if Evan’s cock has refilled or if it never really went down, and it doesn’t matter. All Tommy cares about is the silky-wet feel of it in his hands as he begins to stroke it.

“Nnng-ooh—!,” Evan whines pitifully, reflexively placing his hand on top of Tommy’s but doing nothing to move it away. Tommy’s not sure if that was a moan or a no, and Evan likely doesn’t know either. Another thing that doesn’t matter. Tommy’s hand is wet in seconds from how much Evan’s cock is drooling for a fist to fuck into.

“You’re not done yet,” Tommy growls. It will take a few more minutes for Tommy’s erection to fully go down. He clenches his jaw against the sharp sting of overstimulation coursing through his body and makes the most of that timeframe, rolling his hips into Evan and scraping his sweet spot in staccato rhythm. “Come on, sweet boy, give it to me,” Tommy urges, echoing Evan’s earlier plea, the gentleness of the pet name contrasted by the roughness in his voice.

Evan doesn’t stand a chance against the double stimulation, torn between arching back into the stretch of Tommy’s cock deep inside him and thrusting into Tommy’s fist as he empties his balls again, thick ropes of cum adding to the mess already on the towel. Evan makes his own anguished bliss known to the walls as his body convulses uncontrollably, giving Tommy a reminder of just how strong Evan is. It’s almost as if he’s trying to put his feet flat on the bed and lift up to get Tommy off him, bucking like a mechanical bull that doesn’t understand it’s meant to be ridden. Tommy puts Evan in a loose chokehold to gain better control and then flings them to their sides, still milking Evan for every last drop. Only when the hand on top of his starts pulling at his wrist does Tommy let go.

Tommy stares at his hand for a second, moving his fingers in a come-hither motion to marvel at the beauty of the pearly white fluid covering it. He contemplates licking his skin clean but ultimately decides against it. He knows he would get lost in the taste, and his desire to touch Evan takes over. Instead, he wipes his hand on the towel and then rests it on Evan's heaving stomach, mindlessly playing with the trail of hair there. Tommy buries his nose in Evan's hair, inhaling deeply as he catches his breath and holds him through the twitches and trembles rocking his body.

Peppering sweet, light kisses along Evan’s neck, Tommy waits for him to calm down—keeping them connected, Evan filled up the way Tommy knows he likes—until Evan feels ready to part.

After a little while, Tommy lifts his head in confusion when he notices that the shaking doesn’t subside, sniffling sounds filling the air.

“Evan?” Tommy asks carefully, receiving a hitching breath in response. “Evan, what’s wrong? Is it your leg?” he adds in alarm.

Evan digs his stubby nails into Tommy’s wrist and shakes his head, his voice thick with tears as he stutters, “I-I-I’m sorry, ‘m s-so sor-”

Tommy tightens his grip on Evan and hushes him as gently as he can. “Shh, sweetheart, there’s no need for that. Why would you be sorry?”

“I-I d-didn’ mean t-to hurt.” 

Tommy tries to make sense of the phrasing. Hurt who? Himself or others? Regardless, his heart aches for Evan at the thought of how exhausting the last two weeks must have been for him—physically and emotionally vulnerable, feeling both overwhelmed by and disconnected from the world. He must have felt incredibly isolated and confined when everything he usually loves caused sensory overload—stuck in a dark place in more ways than one.

“My sweet darling,” Tommy soothes. “I know you didn’t. This wasn’t a punishment. You know that, right? I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“I-I know. And y-you do— you take s-such good care of me…”

A shivery exhale escapes Evan and he starts curling in on himself. Tommy mirrors the movement, embracing him more securely—as if holding on firmly enough could stop the shaking of Evan’s body. He caresses the skin beneath his palms and responds in a gentle, calming tone, “Of course I do. I care about you.”

“M-me, too. Me, too,” Evan returns, the words spilling out in a breathless rush, as if trying to convey far more than they can express. He gently squeezes Tommy’s hand and lifts it, pressing it to the rapid beat of his heart. Tommy takes a moment to treasure the words and the proof of Evan alive beneath his palm, his mind already racing for ways to make him well again. He infuses a teasing lilt into his voice as he jokes, “You care about me or yourself?” Thankfully, that has the desired effect—soft, wet laughter bubbling out of Evan as he lightly slaps Tommy’s wrist. “You, of course.”

Tommy hums gently at that. “Well, you should care about yourself. Make sure you come back to me safe, healthy and happy every day.” The light-heartedness fades from his next words, but there’s still a casualness to them, proof of how self-evident they are. “But even if you don’t, I’ll be right beside you.”

“Right beside you,” Evan repeats, his voice carrying a dreamy cadence as his breath evens out more and more.

A sound of agreement rumbles in Tommy’s throat. “For now, we’re going to cuddle a little longer, then I’ll clean us up, we’ll drink some water, and after that, we’re going to sleep. How does that sound?”

Evan nestles his face into the crook of Tommy's arm and gently kisses the skin, his reply a soft brush of lips against it.

"Perfect."

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Bright sunshine is streaming through the window, warming Evan’s skin and making him glow. Just as it should.

A small, content smile curls on Tommy’s lips as he watches his boyfriend sleep, a picture of sweet serenity. When Tommy woke up, he considered getting out of bed to make coffee, but then he decided he was allowed to indulge in the beautiful and dearly missed sight before him: Evan bathed in sunlight.

Tommy’s smile widens even more as he watches the tell-tale signs of Evan waking up: the way his eyes struggle to open, how he scrunches up his nose, the small grumble in the back of his throat—all betraying his reluctance to leave the comfort of rest. Until his eyes find Tommy. Then his expression transforms into one of sleepy joy, his smile slow and sweet, reflecting the bright light of the sky—Tommy’s favorite sight.

“Good morning,” Evan croaks, voice still hoarse and groggy from sleep and sex.

Tommy’s voice is steadier, filled with warmth, as he returns the sentiment in a gentle whisper.

They had fallen asleep facing each other, Evan’s head tucked under Tommy’s chin. Evan must remember this, because after staring at Tommy for a moment longer, he returns to that position, closing his eyes and burying his nose in Tommy’s neck with a pleased exhale.

“You okay?” Tommy can’t help but ask, recalling how last night ended.

Evan makes another satisfied sound. “More than,” he replies happily, a sense of satiation tinting his tone.

It’s Tommy’s turn to sigh and close his eyes in contentment, his fingers gently tracing over Evan’s skin.

For a moment, Tommy thinks Evan has dozed off again until he starts to feel him vibrating in his arms. It takes him a second to understand that the warm puffs of air hitting his skin are giggles bubbling out of Evan's chest.

Evan carefully stretches in his arms, his movements languid and indulgent, and tilts his head to look at him again. “What the hell, Tommy,” he exclaims through breathless, incredulous laughter, his sleepy expression a mix of reverence and playful accusation, as if to say, How dare you ruin me like that?

Tommy’s lips quirk in amusement. “I take it you enjoyed yourself last night?”

Evan raises an eyebrow in mock offense. “I think I saw the face of God. And I’m not very religious.”

It’s Tommy’s turn to laugh. Evan is so damn lovable Tommy wants to squish him. He does exactly that, tightening his arms around him as he jokes, “Was he good-looking?”

The sun has nothing on the grin Evan is giving him. “Yeah. He had a cleft in his chin.” One of Evan's thumbs finds its way to said spot, a favorite resting place, as he leans in to give him a chaste kiss—morning breath be damned.

Tommy hides his smile against Evan's lips, adding another moment to his ever-growing collection of Happiest Memories. There have been many more since Evan came into his life.

Evan slowly pulls away and makes sure to rub their noses together before leaning back to look at him again. His eyes lock onto Tommy's, and for a moment, he simply stares. "Tommy?" Evan breathes, his voice laced with achingly soft tenderness. "Thank you."

“I think you said that enough times yesterday,” Tommy deadpans.

“No, I mean—thank you,” Evan repeats emphatically. “For—for everything. For being there. For being you. God, I—,” breathless laughter interrupts Evan’s words for a moment, “I-I can’t believe how lucky I am.” His eyes are filled with unapologetic warmth and sincerity, that unique brand of earnestness he exudes. It always makes Tommy feel small and delicate, as if he’s looking at something much larger than himself—something that could crush him but promised it wouldn’t. The desire to cherish is palpable, and Tommy feels like he’s staring at the sun. He has to look away.

“You would do the same for me,” Tommy shrugs awkwardly. It’s supposed to be a wave-away statement, a Don’t mention it, and Tommy freezes when he realizes the true implications of his words.

Two thoughts fill his head simultaneously. How can you possibly think someone could ever feel such devotion for you? and Of course Evan would take care of you, he’s the best person you’ve ever known. Ideas so at odds with each other that the cognitive dissonance makes Tommy’s head hurt.

Evan must see something in his expression, something that stirs his urge to comfort, because the next thing he does is take Tommy’s hand. Tommy looks back just in time to watch Evan press a kiss against it. The words he breathes against the skin carry such a profound sense of truth that they act like Tylenol on Tommy’s nerves.

“Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

Here's a horny headcanon for you. If Buck gets fucked regularly he generally has a pretty easy time taking Tommy's dick without too much preparation. Getting fingered or licked open is usually enough. A dick that big leaves a lasting impression, you know? When there's a long break between sex though, Buck needs to go through an entire routine to prepare himself for Tommy, to get his hole adjusted to that size again. A warm bath to relax his muscles and get himself thoroughly clean, breathing exercises, Tommy needs to give him indulgent massages, first his entire body, then focusing on his hole. It's moments like these where Tommy likes to play with and finger at Buck's hole without ever entering it for a while. Instead he uses his fingers to tap, stroke, pulsate, circle, until it starts winking at him. Until it remembers him. You see, Buck has gone through his prep routine but now it's time for Tommy to go through his. Which involves tongue and finger fucking Buck until he's crying. Tommy partially drags things out out of genuine concern, to make sure Buck doesn't feel the slightest bit of pain. Another part wants to tease and chastise Buck's hole for having forgotten him.

oh my goodness anon... this is beautiful. i have no words, this is perfect, this is beautiful, this is everything.

i will love you forever and forever anon

[maikelfist]

@chimneyz encouraged me to come off anon and take credit for my horny headcanon and I thought I'd do it by turning it into a fanfic. If you’re in the mood for hurt/comfort and self-indulgent smut this is for you. You can find it on ao3 here:

The Mechanisms of Pain Relief

BuckTommy | 9k | rated: E

Summary:

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens—sometimes their shifts don't align, they're exhausted, or they prefer to cuddle and comfort each other after a particularly rough day at work. Those things are to be expected. What isn’t predictable or acceptable is when Evan ends up hospitalized with a head injury. Or: Tommy takes care of Buck and Buck is overwhelmed in so many ways.

Symptoms of a concussion may include headaches, dizziness, confusion, sensitivity to light and noise, fatigue, sleep disturbances, memory problems, slowed reaction time, irritability, anxiety, depression and sensitivity to stress.

If you experience any of these symptoms worsening, you should speak to your healthcare provider.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens—sometimes their shifts don't align, they're exhausted, or they prefer to cuddle and comfort each other after a particularly rough day at work. Those things are to be expected.

What isn’t predictable or acceptable is when Evan ends up hospitalized with a head injury.

Tommy’s heart stops for a moment when Eddie’s text comes through, and he doesn’t even wait for his supervisor’s approval when requesting time off work to rush to the hospital. This isn’t like a dislocated shoulder, where it makes more sense to wait until his shift ends to check on Evan, no matter how agitated he felt at the time. This is much more serious.

A sigh of relief escapes Tommy’s lungs as he steps into the observation unit and sees Evan awake, propped up in bed. Evan’s face is pale but relaxed under the fluorescent lights. A bandage covers the treated head wound, and the sunglasses perched on his nose—definitely Eddie’s—give him an oddly fashionable look despite the circumstances. Blocking the harsh hospital light in style. The tension in Tommy’s shoulders eases slightly when Evan greets Tommy with a sleepy, sedated smile and the reassurance that it’s “not too serious of a concussion.” CT scans have been done and pain relief has been given.

“Don’t even need to stay the night… pr-probably,” Evan continues, his speech more slurred than Tommy would like. “I-I told Eddie it’s not a big deal. Head wounds are a lot worse than they look.” Evan pauses, confusion flickering across his face before he corrects himself. “No, wait. Other way ‘round.” He thinks for a moment, visibly rearranging the words in his head, taking longer than necessary. “They look worse than they are!” Evan exclaims with more energy, pleased that he got it right. “The head has so many blood vessels that—that even a small cut can look like… like a crime scene… b-but it’s usually not that bad—”

"Evan." Even when he keeps his voice low, Tommy delivers the name with a seriousness that he knows will make Evan pause, hold his breath for a moment. "How long until you can leave?" Tommy has hundreds of other questions on his mind, but he doesn’t want to put any strain on Evan. He’ll squeeze out all the information he needs from Eddie later.

“Uh… they said they wanted to watch me for a couple of hours. I-I don’t know how long it’s been. Eddie will know. He wanted to—he’s…” Even with only half of his face visible, it’s clear that Evan is scrunching it up in puzzlement. “Water!” he exclaims after a few seconds, as if the word had just clicked into place. “He’s getting me more water.” Evan slowly turns his head toward the entry, as if mentioning Eddie's name might make him return more quickly. When Evan realizes that no one is standing there yet, he shifts his gaze back to Tommy. A dopey smile spreads across his lips. “They asked me if… if I had someone who could take care of me at home.” Evan sluggishly lifts his arm, fingers bumping into the back of Tommy’s hand before he manages to take it, his grip weak but warm. “I said yes.”

Tommy’s chest tightens, a mix of relief and affection flooding him as he squeezes Evan’s hand gently. He isn’t sure whether to feel glad or disappointed that Evan is wearing shades. On one hand, it’s good that the sunglasses are providing Evan with some comfort, but on the other, he’d give anything to see those sunny eyes of his—the ones that have the power to melt him inside and leave him weak in the knees. Right now, Tommy knows he needs to be strong for Evan, but he can’t help giving in to the widening grin on Evan’s face, returning it with a soft smile of his own. He brings Evan’s hand to his lips and kisses it gently.

“Yeah. Yeah, you have.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Evan hit his head on a car door. That’s the short version of the story. Eddie almost makes it sound like a slapstick sketch with how casually he remarks on it. Tommy knows, though, that Eddie’s calm demeanor is just a cover for how worried he is. Tommy knows that feeling all too well.

The full story is far less comedic. Two cars collided, leaving one severely damaged. It ended up wedged against a concrete barrier, with the passenger side crumpled like tissue paper. Thankfully, the father and son had been seated on the driver's side, and they managed to pull the unconscious father through the broken windshield. Extracting the son was more difficult. The child, sitting in the back seat, was trapped by twisted metal around the rear door, crying, panicking and in pain from a broken leg.

Evan was tasked with prying open the car door using a hydraulic spreader. He placed it between the door frame and the car body and began to apply pressure. The metal was severely bent and difficult to move—until it suddenly gave way. With a loud cracking sound, the door swung open so abruptly that Evan lost his footing and fell face-first into the swinging metal, a sharp edge striking his temple. The force was so strong that it cracked Evan's helmet.

Tommy’s stomach churns as he listens to Eddie’s retelling. Seeing Evan in his patched-up state is already bad enough; Tommy can’t picture what a terrifying sight he must have been to their friends—unconscious, blood gushing from the wound down his face, soaking into his clothes and hair. He doesn't even want to imagine what Evan's head would have looked like if he hadn't been wearing protection.

Eddie says he’s pretty sure Evan put too much pressure on the spreader, trying to get the boy out as quickly as possible.

Tommy doesn’t give in to the urge to rub his eyes. Instead, he quietly jokes, “Well, kids are a weakness of his.”

Eddie exhales a humorless puff of air in reply. “Yeah.”

They are whispering back and forth in Evan’s kitchen, the only illumination coming from the faint streaks of light peeking through the edges of the closed blinds, loft darkened to keep the fading day from hurting Evan’s eyes and allowing him to sleep peacefully upstairs. 

“Hey,” Eddie adds softly. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

Tommy shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hoping the lack of light conceals the awkwardness of it. “You really don’t need to thank me for that.”

“I’m gonna do it anyway. How many of your vacation days did you use to get two weeks off work? Just to be stuck in the Bat Cave?”

“You’ll keep us alive by providing us with food and supplies, so who’s the real Batman here?” “I think that makes me Alfred.”

"Who has been called Batman’s Batman," Tommy points out, raising a finger at Eddie.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, we’re both awesome,” Eddie relents, batting the finger away. “I’m just saying, I… I would’ve looked after him at my place, but I just got Christopher back and I don’t think it would be good for him to see Buck like this, so…”

“I get it. You can count on me, all of you.”

“Well, except that one time,” Eddie drawls.

There will likely never be a time when Tommy won't feel shame when reminded of how he ran away from Evan out of fear of getting hurt. At the same time, it floods him with relief knowing that Eddie and the others are casual enough about it to use it as roasting material. He would listen to their quips every day if it meant being with Evan. However, that doesn’t mean he will just take it lying down. “Yeah, we all need to make a monumentally stupid mistake once to learn not to do it again, right, Eddie?”

The blow makes Eddie close his eyes for a moment, and Tommy can practically see the Kim fiasco flashing behind them. When Eddie opens his eyes again, Tommy is met with an unimpressed look. “You’re lucky this ended well for both of us.”

Fond amusement quirks Tommy’s mouth. “So are you. And this will turn out well for Evan, too. Alright?” Tommy assures Eddie.

The first genuine smile of the day brushes across Eddie’s lips, so small that it's nearly unnoticeable. “Yeah. Alright.”

Shoulder bumps turn to hugs turn to goodbyes. Tommy holds the door open, promising to regularly send Eddie updates, lists of groceries and other things he needs from his own place, while Eddie swears he’ll come by as often as possible. When the door closes, Tommy listens for a moment until he can no longer hear Eddie’s muffled footsteps. Then he turns to face the dark.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The recovery time is a bit of a whirlwind. Or rather, a tornado.

Tommy learns to navigate Evan's loft almost blindly because he refuses to turn on any of the bright lights at night. Who thought open-space architecture was a good idea? The evening he broke up with Evan was filled with many moments that make him shake his head—mostly at himself—but Evan asking him to move into a place that was essentially one big room was certainly one of them. Then again, even through walls, Tommy feels an odd sense of guilt whenever he has to make a sound louder than his toothbrush. It will probably be a while before he stops cringing every time he needs to flush the toilet.

The stairs end up being Tommy's biggest source of stress. Through eye contact alone, Tommy knew that he and Eddie were on the same page about the desire to simply carry Evan up the stairs and into bed if Evan hadn’t insisted on climbing them himself. Instead, Eddie led the way, walking backward and holding on to Evan's arms, with Tommy behind Evan, hands on his back, ready to catch them both. 

Tommy keeps having nightmare visions of Evan stumbling and falling down the stairs or over the railing. He considers taking Evan’s bed apart and moving it to the lower level, but their current situation isn’t exactly ideal for playing IKEA. Not for the first time, he curses his neighbors for having the most obnoxiously noisy construction work done on their house at the worst possible time. Otherwise, he would take care of Evan at his place. As it stands, he plans to keep Evan as far away from the stairs as possible until he’s healed.

Thankfully, it seems to be quite easy to look after Evan, his dizziness and confusion turning him pliant and receptive to Tommy's care. Tommy ensures that Evan stays in bed, always having water and Tylenol within arm's reach so he can remain hydrated and pain-free, and regularly prepares light, nutritious meals for him—though, trying to make sandwiches by the dim light of the open refrigerator is certainly an experience. He tends to Evan's wounds with gentle hands, is by his side when he takes a bath, washes and combs his hair, and stands by the closed but unlocked door whenever Evan needs to go to the bathroom, ready to help if needed. Evan sleeps a lot, but rarely a full night’s worth in one session, waking up every couple of hours, and Tommy is there to give him whatever he needs or simply keep him company.

His demeanor softened by the lingering haze of his injury, Evan soaks up all the attention and care Tommy gives him, and Tommy is more than willing to provide it. Evan is sweet and easy, and Tommy really should have learned from Billie Boils' “curse” that it wouldn’t stay that way.

After a couple of days, dizziness turns to irritation. Evan keeps getting up from the bed, desperate to move, run around, exercise, and he argues till his head aches when Tommy tries to coax him back to bed.

After getting the okay from Buck’s doctor, Tommy researches suitable activities for someone with a concussion and begins to incorporate light, slow seated stretching and range-of-motion exercises into their daily routine. They don’t work out for very long, only a couple of minutes at a time, until Evan realizes this isn’t what his body actually wants while it’s healing.

Tommy can tell what Evan misses the most is going outside and running in the park, but since that’s not possible, Tommy tries to bring the park to him. One afternoon, they lie in bed together, both of their eyes closed, as Tommy tries to create scenarios for Evan to imagine.

He describes the scene in a soft, soothing voice, painting a picture of clouds drifting overhead, leaves rustling in the wind, and even attempts to mimic the sound of the breeze, puffing out his cheeks and blowing air through his lips.

Evan cracks one eye open, unimpressed. “Your wind sound is almost as bad as your fake mouth static.”

Determined to make up for his apparently less-than-convincing sound effects, Tommy pulls up a video of city park ambience for relaxation, which turns out to be a huge mistake.

"I miss my phone," Evan whines behind his hands as the pads of his fingers rub his eyes in frustration, having remembered that the internet, with all its vast knowledge, exists.

"You're not allowed to look at screens, you know that," Tommy retorts, his voice gentle yet firm, as he lies on his side on the bed next to Evan, propping up his head with his hand.

Evan lets his hands thump to the pillow next to his head, his face sulky and disgruntled. “But I want to know how big jellyfish can get!”

Tommy’s brows furrow slightly and he can feel amusement tug at the corners of his mouth despite himself. “Why?”

"I had a dream about an ancient god-like jellyfish the size of a whale. It talked to me but I forgot what it said," Evan says, arms crossed and pouting, as if the universe itself has wronged him.

The largest known jellyfish apparently belonged to the Lion's Mane species, boasting a bell diameter of 7 feet and tentacles around 120 feet long—if one can trust the Wikipedia article which Tommy slowly reads to Evan. Normal research often sends Evan spiraling down a never-ending rabbit hole of information. However, Tommy is happy to discover that research-via-boyfriend, listening to the calm, deep rumble of his voice, helps Evan fall asleep.

The research bouts aren't the only way Tommy engages Evan's mind. A nurse advised Tommy to regularly assess Evan's cognitive function. Initially, Tommy tries using crossword puzzles and simple math problems, but Evan quickly becomes bored. So, Tommy starts asking questions to jog Evan's memories—about birthdays, how their friends take their coffee, recipes and special events.

"What was the first city I flew Eddie to?" Tommy asks, fingers brushing through Evan’s curls as he’s sitting behind him on the bed, Evan leaning against his chest.

Evan grumbles, "I have a concussion, not amnesia."

"Do you know the answer or not?" Tommy presses.

"Vegas, and I also remember that you stood me up for it," Evan says, lifting his chin defiantly to look at him with accusatory eyes. 

"You did get to buy me a beer later.”

Scorn tinges Evan’s voice. “Oh, it feels so good to be a second priority.”

Tommy stifles a sigh, managing to keep a straight face. "What was the name of the restaurant we went to on our first date?"

"Abandon-me-at-the-fronteria."

Laughter threatens to break out of Tommy's chest but he suppresses it as well, pressing his lips together and burying his face into Evan’s hair. Evan can be really fucking funny when he's acting like a brat, Tommy will give him that. That’s not a compliment Tommy should ever say out loud, though.

"Close enough," Tommy deadpans.

Eddie isn’t spared either during his visits. One time, he foolishly believes that Evan would be interested in hearing about the science project he’s working on with Cristopher and how well it’s coming along, only to throw a startled look at Tommy when Evan replies with a curt, “Good to know you’re having so much fun without me.”

Eddie texts him later.

Eddie: Please tell me he doesn’t act like that all the time

Tommy: He does sleep occasionally

Eddie: I bet you fluff his pillows and tuck him in after he curses your ancestors

Tommy: Don’t forget the kiss on the forehead

Eddie: You have the patience of a saint, man

Tommy: You’re patient with him too

Eddie: Because I get to leave

Tommy: I very much plan on screaming into a pillow when I can be loud again

Eddie: TMI

Laughter spills out of Tommy, and he just finishes replying with an emoji wearing a halo when Evan pipes up, “Rub it in my face that I can’t talk to anyone, why don’t you.”

“You just talked to Eddie.”

“That’s not the same.”

Tommy spends the rest of the evening catching Evan up on the 118 group chat, reading messages aloud and typing out Evan’s replies. Unable to resist, he puts on a different impression for each person—like a deep and steady tone for Bobby or a high, nurturing one for Maddie. He keeps it up until Evan starts to complain about his headache getting worse.

Not everything they do requires patience. In fact, there is one moment in particular that will forever be etched in Tommy's memory as one of the happiest of his life.

Only a small light in the living room is on, casting a warm, indirect glow up to the bedroom on the upper floor. Tommy has Evan in his arms, giving him support, and they're gently swaying back and forth, Tommy humming the melody of a song whose title has slipped his mind, intermingled with nonsensical lyrics he only half recalls. Slow dancing counts as low impact exercise, right?

Evan seems to agree, judging by the way he happily sighs into Tommy's neck, his warm, wet breath sending shivers down Tommy's spine.

If heaven exists, and if Tommy were allowed in, this is what it would feel like.

Until Evan starts kissing his neck. Tommy mindlessly leans his head back, giving Evan more room to explore Tommy's skin with his mouth. Evan's movements become more heated and demanding, and Tommy hisses when Evan bites a bruise into his throat. Only when Evan begins to open the buttons of his shirt does Tommy put up any resistance.

"Evan..." Tommy half-heartedly tries to push him away. "Evan, we can't—not yet."

Evan keeps clinging to Tommy and insists, "Come on. It's been so long. I'm almost healed." Nuzzling into the spot where neck meets shoulder, his breath comes hot and uneven against the sensitive skin. Fingers fumble with the buttons of Tommy’s shirt, lips trailing downward until they reach the coarse curls of his chest hair. Evan buries his face into the dip between Tommy’s pecs, inhaling deeply and moaning as if intoxicated by the scent.

The sensation sends a flush of warmth through Tommy, electric currents racing up his spine. He can feel himself getting hard in his pants at a speed that makes him dizzy, his body betraying him even as his mind fights to stay in control. Still, he doesn’t budge. "Almost isn't fully." 

He tugs at Evan's hair to lift his head, which in hindsight isn’t a great idea—Evan moans at the feeling, a soft, involuntary sound that sends a jolt of heat straight to Tommy’s core. Evan follows Tommy's lead for a moment, but then leans in, pressing his forehead against Tommy's. "Tommy, please," he begs, his voice barely above a whisper, plush lips brushing his. "I need you." The yearning in his voice reverberates in Tommy’s chest, and it’s just as delicious as the feeling of their bodies rubbing together when Evan starts to grind against him.

It’s impossible not to entertain all the vivid images flooding Tommy’s mind. It would be so easy to give in. They could be gentle. Tommy could blow him or ride him or hold on to Evan’s spread legs as he carefully rocks into him, letting Evan do nothing but lie there and look pretty, his breath hitching and thighs trembling as Tommy surrenders to his wishes, gives him what he wants. Evan’s back would arch, his hands gripping the sheets, and his moans would fill the room as he throws his head back in pleasure—

"No." Tommy tears himself away, allowing no contact between them. His voice has been in quiet mode for almost two weeks now, so his rejection comes across as startlingly loud, despite it still being softer than his usual conversational volume.

The ceiling lights don’t have to be on for Tommy to know that big, fat tears are starting to well up in Evan's eyes. The wet huff escaping his lips and the way he hugs himself tell Tommy enough.

"I don’t actually need you, you know?" Evan spits, voice corrosive with acidity and venom. "I can take care of myself. You can't stop me."

A pit wants to open in Tommy’s stomach, and he’s holding it together by sheer force of will. 

Evan doesn’t mean it like that. He’s just upset. He doesn’t mean it. This isn’t about you.

Tommy closes his eyes for a second, as if that could help him ignore the ache in his chest, and reminds himself to breathe. Squaring his shoulders, he focuses on the situation at hand. Part of him actually wants to try to stop Evan, but he knows he won't win this fight. 

"Be careful then,” Tommy says, his voice purposely steady. “Make sure to do it lying down. And don't finger yourself. Your coordination isn't quite there yet, and you could move your head too much trying to get the right angle."

The next sound leaving Evan's mouth is less of a huff and more of a snarl. "Fine. Have it your way." Evan takes off his clothes and climbs onto the bed, all of his movements filled with spite, uncoordinated as they may be.

Tommy picks up the clothes that Evan has haphazardly thrown across the room and says, in the calmest voice he can muster, "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

The short, bitter laugh that bursts from Evan makes him realize how unfortunate his word choice has been.

"I’d say the same, but clearly you don’t need me,” Evan talks back, his tone dripping with resentment. “So I’ll just stay here, all by myself, moaning and begging for it."

Tommy balls his fists into the clothes he’s carrying to keep himself from arguing about how wrong Evan is. That wouldn’t actually be doing Evan any favors right now. He doesn’t mean it. Instead, he feigns an unaffected hum. "Have fun."

The pillow Evan throws at him nearly makes it to the lower floor, but Tommy manages to catch it just in time. He drops Evan's shorts in the process, but oh well—Tommy takes a deep breath—he can just pick them up again.

Tommy puts the pillow back in its place, unable to resist stealing a glance at Evan, who lets out a performative moan when he wraps his hand around himself. Tommy quickly averts his gaze and hurries down the stairs.

If Tommy spends longer than necessary in the bathroom, that is between him and the sink. And the floor. And Evan’s shirt, which he presses to his face, inhaling deeply and moaning into the fabric as the muffled, exaggerated sounds of pleasure from upstairs make his stomach twist with arousal and longing. He's just here to do laundry, that’s all.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

For Evan and Tommy, intimacy is as natural as breathing, and the idea of going long without sex feels almost unthinkable. If it were up to them, they’d stay in bed all the time. But life happens, and sometimes one of them is stuck in bed for entirely different reasons, needing the other to care for them while they're recovering.

That makes it all the sweeter when the doctor finally gives Evan the green light to return to normal.

They could just attack each other's lips and exchange blowjobs or handjobs for quick relief when they get home. Evan could fuck him. Tommy would be more than happy to spread his legs for Evan and let him do as he pleases. But he knows that's not what Evan wants right now. Once Evan gets his hands on him, he will want all of him. Once he gets his hands on Evan, he will want to give him all.

‘All of him” requires some work, though. If Evan gets fucked regularly, he generally has a pretty easy time taking Tommy without too much preparation. Getting fingered or licked open is usually enough. A dick that big leaves a lasting impression, Evan has joked—multiple times.

However, when there's a long break, Evan needs to go through an entire routine to prepare himself for Tommy, to get his hole adjusted to that size again, similar to what they did when he made love to Evan the first time—good hydration, some stretching and breathing exercises, a hot bath to relax Evan's muscles and ensure he's nice and thoroughly clean.

Tommy starts by massaging Evan's back, digging his fingers into his shoulders and along the curve of his spine until Evan groans. He tries to keep it relaxing for Evan, but soon Evan begins to wiggle, urging Tommy to hurry up. Evan demands it knowing that Tommy won't.

It's moments like these when Tommy enjoys teasing Evan's hole with his fingers without ever actually entering it for a while. Instead, he taps, strokes, pulses and circles around it until the ring starts to pulsate as if trying to draw him in—until it remembers him. 

Evan has gone through his prep routine, and now it's time for Tommy to go through his, which involves tongue and finger-fucking Evan until he's crying and begging into the pillow.

He licks and sucks at Evan’s hole, devouring it like it’s candy and moaning at the taste. Excess saliva fills Evan up from the inside, dripping down his taint and balls, making him even wetter than he already is. Tommy spits on it for good measure. 

When it’s not Tommy’s lips and tongue teasing Evan—his stubble providing a fine rasp against sensitive skin—it’s his fingers pumping and scissoring inside him, massaging his prostate regularly but nowhere near enough for Evan’s liking. Every now and then, Tommy hooks both his index and middle fingers into Evan, spreading him wide so he can push and flick his tongue into the gaping opening.

Tommy is scraping together the last remnants of his patience for this, and he has no idea where they’re coming from, other than the knowledge that he doesn’t want to hurt Evan.

And maybe, just maybe, he wants to chastise Evan’s hole for having forgotten him.

"Tommy, I can't," Evan whines, punching the mattress with his fist in a pitiful release of frustration. "I need it so bad! Come on, give it to me—"

Tommy must be closer to his breaking point than expected, and he only realizes it when he hears a loud smack followed by Evan throwing his head back and fucking yelling at the top of his lungs. With a startled flutter of his lashes, Tommy registers what just happened.

He just spanked Evan's hole.

There's a moment of stillness as Tommy tries his damned best to assess the situation based on Evan's reaction. Then Evan turns his head, and Tommy catches a glimpse of his beautiful face—red and splotchy to the point where his birthmarks are almost invisible, with pillow creases marking his skin and lashes damp with tears. Both his lips and eyes are shiny, red and wide open with surprise and something that Tommy would like to call wonder.

"Was that okay?" Tommy asks, his voice extra gentle as if to compensate for what he just did.

A shivery, wet exhale flows from Evan’s lungs before his arms give out and his head falls back onto the pillow. Tommy can still see Evan’s pretty profile, and it takes him a moment to realize that the way Evan is rubbing his face into the fabric is meant to be a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, that was okay,” Evan whispers.

"You want more?" Another nod. That wouldn't do. "Words, Evan."

A kittenish noise escapes Evan and he starts squirming again. "Yes, Daddy. Please, Daddy, I want more." Evan stretches his back and lifts his ass, as if he thinks he needs to bring his hole closer to sway Tommy.

A ball of arousal tightens its grip on Tommy's insides before bursting, sending bolts of intoxicating pleasure through his body. It's reminiscent of the rush he feels when he's flying—that swooping thrill so addictive in nature one can't help but crave to relive it again and again. As Tommy's eyes flutter shut, he takes a moment to savor the sensation, his mind already replaying the sight and sound of his boyfriend trying to entice him—and succeeding. God, Evan is exquisite. Always, of course, but especially when he falls into a mood like this.

Tommy takes a deep breath and calms his nerves. He needs his bearings for what's to come.

"Evan." Tommy's hands settle on Evan's waist, his thumbs lightly digging into the curve of his spine as he holds him steady. He trails his fingers along the line of his back, shaping Evan’s form to his liking and making him arch prettily. Tommy’s body follows the upward motion of his hands until he can speak into Evan’s ear, attempting nonchalance, though the rasp in his throat betrays him as he asks, “How many days has it been since I last fucked you?” “Seventeen,” Evan replies without a moment's hesitation, a breathless hitch in his voice revealing his anticipation. The corners of Tommy’s lips curl up at that. Of course Evan would know the answer. Tommy could probably ask him about the hours, the minutes, the temperature, and Evan would fondly reminisce about the last time Tommy's cock was buried in his ass, down to the very last detail. Over the past two weeks, Evan hasn’t answered any of Tommy’s questions with as much eagerness as this one. Cognitive function? Check.

“And why is that?”

“C-cause I got hurt?” 

Evan’s reply is endearingly timid, which is why Tommy doesn’t tsk before he retorts, “Close, but no. Try again.”

A miserable little mewl escapes Evan’s mouth, disappointed that he didn’t get it right the first time. Happier noises start filling the room—musical, airy notes—when Tommy’s dick finds the cleft of Evan’s ass. “Please—” Evan starts begging, distracted by the contact. Tommy’s grip on Evan’s shoulders tightens before he can lose himself completely. “Evan. Evan,” he repeats with more force when Evan continues to writhe. “Try again.”

Evan fusses and hides his face in the pillow once more, his voice muffled as he admits, “Cause I was careless.”

Evan's curls feel damp as Tommy begins to stroke them. The gentle touch gives Evan the courage to glance at him again from the corner of his eye. Tommy leans in and kisses his cheek, cooing, "Good boy, Evan." Another one of Evan’s sweet sounds chimes through the air, but Tommy doesn’t let him bask in the praise for too long. He continues, "Yes, you were careless. But that's not the reason either."

"Wha—why then?" Genuine confusion furrows Evan's brows, and he pouts in a way that Tommy can only describe with one word: adorable, adorable, adorable.

Tommy leans in, his forehead touching Evan’s temple, careful of the healing wound there, and nuzzles against Evan’s cheek. “Because you’re precious and I had to be gentle with you. Wanted to be, so you can heal properly.” His tone shifts from soft explanation to a husky tease, a wicked, feral edge creeping into his words when he rasps, “But I can be rough with you now, can’t I, Evan?”

Pouting lips part to release a floating, weak little gasp, followed by a needy, “Yes, pleasepleaseplease—”

Tommy plants a quick kiss on the corner of Evan’s mouth to quiet him before continuing, “You know what that means?” Evan shakes his head as best as he can. “I will give you seventeen hits, baby boy, one for each day we couldn’t do this.” Tommy emphasizes the last word with a thrust, making Evan moan eagerly. “And you will count them all and say ‘thank you, Daddy’ after each one. Alright?”

“Yes! Yes, thank you, Daddy, yes—” “After I spank your hole, Evan, not before.” Tommy lets sweet condescension drip from his tongue, underlining the lewdness of the words, ensuring he voices what Evan is begging for out loud.

Another high-pitched mewl leaves Evan, followed by a distraught cry as Tommy pulls himself away from him. Tommy keeps one of his hands on Evan's back to prevent him from following his movements. “Stay.”

Evan goes still, except for his fists kneading the sheets, desperate to release his pent up energy somehow. Tommy should give his hands something better to do. “Hold yourself open for me.” Evan scrambles to follow his order. “Very good, sweet boy.”

Tommy takes a few precious seconds to enjoy the sight in front of him—Evan presenting himself for Tommy, his hole wet, puffy and pretty in pink, winking at Tommy eagerly.

The first smack comes as a surprise to both of them. For a moment, Tommy considers dragging things out, but apparently, he doesn’t have that in him anymore. The sound of shock that shoots out of Evan’s lungs tells him he made the right call. Evan likely also assumed Tommy would tease some more.

Tommy waits, then chides when he hears nothing. “Evan.” Evan gasps, realizing his mistake and hurrying to correct it. “One! Thank you, Daddy.” Two, three, four and five follow in quick succession, the slapping sound made even more obscene by the wetness of lube and saliva spread between Evan’s cheeks. The next strikes follow a more irregular pattern, keeping Evan on his toes, each impact ripping through him like an earthquake. Tommy spanks with enough force to make it sting, to make the nerves feel raw and exposed—the kind of pain that makes you hiss and lean into it. 

Evan’s howls turn into keens with each hit, but he doesn't forget Tommy's instructions again. He does struggle to maintain a firm grip on his cheeks every now and then, his hands slick with sweat, but he manages to regain control each time.

Tommy takes a break at ten to check on Evan’s condition. Evan has stopped burying his face in the pillow, head tilted to the side again, likely because he needs air. His chest heaves beneath him and soft whimpers leave his mouth with each exhale. 

“You okay?” It takes Evan a couple of seconds to realize he’s being spoken to, but once he does, he nods. “Seven more, you think you can take it?” Tommy asks more clearly. A nod, again. “What did I tell you about using your words, Evan?”

“Yes, thank you, Daddy,” Evan rushes to deliver breathlessly, having reached the point where he mindlessly uses the phrase like a punctuation mark. Tommy couldn’t be prouder.

Tommy leans down to kiss Evan's skin, first grazing his hand and then his ass with a gentle brush of his lips, punctuated by another sharp smack to his hole. 

All the sweet reactions he used to elicit from Evan come flooding back as he remembers slapping his dick against Evan's cheeks and hole, teasing him with the heft of it before letting him feel it from the inside. He should have realized earlier just how into this Evan would be.

By the time Tommy reaches the end, an endless string of sobs is wracking Evan’s body, interspersed with heartbreaking hiccups whenever Evan is forced to inhale. Tommy makes sure that the last spank is the hardest one.

“Ah! Hah- oooh, s-se-sev'nteen, th'nkyuDaddy,” Evan barely manages to slur in between his whimpers, but like a dutiful little trooper, he perseveres.

Tommy takes a good look at his creation.

Evan’s right cheek is squished into the pillow, his mouth slack-jawed, and he’s either uncaring or unaware of how much he’s drooling. His eyes, red-rimmed and glazed over, appear to gaze at nothing at all, unfocused, feverish and fuck-drunk, despite Evan not even having had a dick inside him yet. Maybe next time they do this, Tommy will place a vibrating egg against Evan’s prostate, see if he can come from that and the sting of spanks against his hole alone. A different kind of fucking.

Evan’s cock is a mess, just like the rest of him, twitching when air touches it and slowly but steadily leaking an obscene amount of precum onto the towel beneath him, thoughtfully placed there just for this purpose. Tommy’s mouth is watering with the urge to lap it up, but he resists. No distractions. He can still taste a hint of Evan’s ass, rich and carnal, on his tongue and that is enough to sustain him for now. 

Speaking of... Tommy's eyes fixate on the focal point of his masterpiece. A bright red circle glows around Evan's hole which pulsates to the rhythm of blood pumping beneath the skin. Tommy hovers his hand above it, dead certain he can feel the radiance of heat emanating from the area. He’ll have to treat it later, with Evan spreading his cheeks for Tommy so he can apply cooling, soothing aloe vera gel to the skin.

A deep, primal groan rumbles up from the depths of Tommy’s chest, and he can feel the last shreds of his self-control coming apart. He hurriedly grabs some lube to slick his cock, hissing in discomfort as he touches it and quickly pulls his hand away as if burned. His dick has been neglected for so long, and it’s letting him know just how displeased it is—angry red and overfilled with sensitivity. Tommy softens his touch; the caress of his feather-light fingers gradually gives way to careful strokes, maintaining the movement until he no longer feels like he might burst out of his skin. Once he feels ready, he gives Evan’s hole a soft parting kiss and crawls up his body, making sure his chest is fully pressed against Evan’s back.

Evan isn’t begging anymore, too out of it to understand what’s happening when Tommy starts feeding him his dick. Tommy didn’t forget that it’s been a while, but he isn’t taking it anywhere near as slowly as he usually would. He can’t.

A beautiful, silent O forms on Evan’s lips when he realizes that he’s finally getting what he’s been panting for all this time, eyes widening in pleasure-shock at the feeling, and his hands clawing at any part of Tommy he can find. His feet begin to lift off the bed at the same measured pace Tommy is entering him, as if every muscle in his body contracts more and more the deeper Tommy goes. All muscles, that is, except for the ring around Tommy’s cock, stretched wide and striving to stay open. Tommy can only imagine what it must feel like to be filled after such sweet torture to his hole—nerves oversensitized and rewired to perceive pleasure and pain as one and the same.

Only when Tommy’s hips are flush against Evan’s ass does a wanton moan break out of Evan, his legs thudding down onto the bed as his eyes roll into the back of his head from the pressure of Tommy’s cock against his sweet spot.

Evan chokes on a sob, saliva-garbled exclamations of “guh-good, s-so good” spilling from his lips, and tries to call for him, if his broken “Da-!” is supposed to mean anything, letting Tommy know that he can start moving and—

God.

This.

This is the moment Tommy has been waiting for over two fucking weeks—the moment where he’s finally allowed to snap, not a single cell in his body capable of patience or self-control anymore.

He practically throws his cock into Evan’s hole, not holding back on the power in his muscles, pistoning in and out as if trying to punch Evan’s prostate with each snap of his hips.

Tommy should probably put a hand over Evan’s mouth, muffle his howls and wails and sobs, his cries of yes! and please! and Daddy!, but he’s too far gone to deny himself the reward of Evan’s ecstasy. If Evan’s neighbors end up struggling with eye contact after this, that’s their issue.

For some reason, Evan’s orgasm takes him by surprise, untouched and early as it is, even though it really shouldn’t, considering how long Tommy has been dragging him along. The tight, spasming clench of Evan’s hole makes his hips stutter, but even that isn’t enough to restrain him. He grabs a fistful of Evan’s hair, both to pin him down, to stop him from thrashing around too much, and as leverage to put even more force behind the relentless push-pull-shove of his thrusts.

Normally, he would comment on how quickly Evan came, especially when it happens solely through prostate play. Evan has told him how much he adores it, unpredictable as it is—both the physical sensation and the meaning Evan has given it, the feeling of being a good hole for Tommy. Depending on the mood, Tommy either rewards him with soft words for surrendering to his pleasure, or teases him for being easy, praise glazed with honey-sweet mockery. Tommy doesn’t even have that in him anymore.

“I’m not stopping,” Tommy warns instead, voice guttural and feral with savagery, unrecognizable even to him.

Evan accepts his fate if the way one of his hands shoots out to the headboard is any indication—support to hold on for the ride. He could say his safeword if he truly wanted Tommy to stop. Instead, Evan grabs the pillow and bites into the fabric, bearing the overstimulation with scrunched shut eyes, gritted teeth and desperate grunts, unable to sing his pleasure through pretty moans anymore with how shot his voice is.

The tight heat of Evan around him—his body safe and sound beneath him, right where he’s meant to be—consumes Tommy entirely. He pounds into Evan’s hole with enough force—hard and deep—to make the flesh of his cheeks ripple with each slap of skin on skin. Evan’s knees start to slip on the sheets, drifting further and further apart with each punishing pump, until the insides of his thighs must be aching. Tommy imagines the tip of Evan’s cock brushing through his own spilled cum, steadily leaking a delicious mess onto the towel, as it bops up and down each time Tommy’s hips bounce off of his ass.

His climax creeps up on him like a bird of prey, lurking but undetectable until it grabs him by the throat—pleasure clawing its way through his body until it releases itself in unrestrained, rapturous groans resounding through the loft as he fucks his load into Evan, filling him up with hot fluid. That of all things earns Tommy a small delighted squeal from Evan, sweet, little cumslut that he is.

Tommy doesn’t give Evan a chance to think it’s over. While his length still twitches and jerks with the force of his orgasm, he reaches for Evan’s. He doesn’t know if Evan’s cock has refilled or if it never really went down, and it doesn’t matter. All Tommy cares about is the silky-wet feel of it in his hands as he begins to stroke it.

“Nnng-ooh—!,” Evan whines pitifully, reflexively placing his hand on top of Tommy’s but doing nothing to move it away. Tommy’s not sure if that was a moan or a no, and Evan likely doesn’t know either. Another thing that doesn’t matter. Tommy’s hand is wet in seconds from how much Evan’s cock is drooling for a fist to fuck into.

“You’re not done yet,” Tommy growls. It will take a few more minutes for Tommy’s erection to fully go down. He clenches his jaw against the sharp sting of overstimulation coursing through his body and makes the most of that timeframe, rolling his hips into Evan and scraping his sweet spot in staccato rhythm. “Come on, sweet boy, give it to me,” Tommy urges, echoing Evan’s earlier plea, the gentleness of the pet name contrasted by the roughness in his voice.

Evan doesn’t stand a chance against the double stimulation, torn between arching back into the stretch of Tommy’s cock deep inside him and thrusting into Tommy’s fist as he empties his balls again, thick ropes of cum adding to the mess already on the towel. Evan makes his own anguished bliss known to the walls as his body convulses uncontrollably, giving Tommy a reminder of just how strong Evan is. It’s almost as if he’s trying to put his feet flat on the bed and lift up to get Tommy off him, bucking like a mechanical bull that doesn’t understand it’s meant to be ridden. Tommy puts Evan in a loose chokehold to gain better control and then flings them to their sides, still milking Evan for every last drop. Only when the hand on top of his starts pulling at his wrist does Tommy let go.

Tommy stares at his hand for a second, moving his fingers in a come-hither motion to marvel at the beauty of the pearly white fluid covering it. He contemplates licking his skin clean but ultimately decides against it. He knows he would get lost in the taste, and his desire to touch Evan takes over. Instead, he wipes his hand on the towel and then rests it on Evan's heaving stomach, mindlessly playing with the trail of hair there. Tommy buries his nose in Evan's hair, inhaling deeply as he catches his breath and holds him through the twitches and trembles rocking his body.

Peppering sweet, light kisses along Evan’s neck, Tommy waits for him to calm down—keeping them connected, Evan filled up the way Tommy knows he likes—until Evan feels ready to part.

After a little while, Tommy lifts his head in confusion when he notices that the shaking doesn’t subside, sniffling sounds filling the air.

“Evan?” Tommy asks carefully, receiving a hitching breath in response. “Evan, what’s wrong? Is it your leg?” he adds in alarm.

Evan digs his stubby nails into Tommy’s wrist and shakes his head, his voice thick with tears as he stutters, “I-I-I’m sorry, ‘m s-so sor-”

Tommy tightens his grip on Evan and hushes him as gently as he can. “Shh, sweetheart, there’s no need for that. Why would you be sorry?”

“I-I d-didn’ mean t-to hurt.” 

Tommy tries to make sense of the phrasing. Hurt who? Himself or others? Regardless, his heart aches for Evan at the thought of how exhausting the last two weeks must have been for him—physically and emotionally vulnerable, feeling both overwhelmed by and disconnected from the world. He must have felt incredibly isolated and confined when everything he usually loves caused sensory overload—stuck in a dark place in more ways than one.

“My sweet darling,” Tommy soothes. “I know you didn’t. This wasn’t a punishment. You know that, right? I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“I-I know. And y-you do— you take s-such good care of me…”

A shivery exhale escapes Evan and he starts curling in on himself. Tommy mirrors the movement, embracing him more securely—as if holding on firmly enough could stop the shaking of Evan’s body. He caresses the skin beneath his palms and responds in a gentle, calming tone, “Of course I do. I care about you.”

“M-me, too. Me, too,” Evan returns, the words spilling out in a breathless rush, as if trying to convey far more than they can express. He gently squeezes Tommy’s hand and lifts it, pressing it to the rapid beat of his heart. Tommy takes a moment to treasure the words and the proof of Evan alive beneath his palm, his mind already racing for ways to make him well again. He infuses a teasing lilt into his voice as he jokes, “You care about me or yourself?” Thankfully, that has the desired effect—soft, wet laughter bubbling out of Evan as he lightly slaps Tommy’s wrist. “You, of course.”

Tommy hums gently at that. “Well, you should care about yourself. Make sure you come back to me safe, healthy and happy every day.” The light-heartedness fades from his next words, but there’s still a casualness to them, proof of how self-evident they are. “But even if you don’t, I’ll be right beside you.”

“Right beside you,” Evan repeats, his voice carrying a dreamy cadence as his breath evens out more and more.

A sound of agreement rumbles in Tommy’s throat. “For now, we’re going to cuddle a little longer, then I’ll clean us up, we’ll drink some water, and after that, we’re going to sleep. How does that sound?”

Evan nestles his face into the crook of Tommy's arm and gently kisses the skin, his reply a soft brush of lips against it.

"Perfect."

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Bright sunshine is streaming through the window, warming Evan’s skin and making him glow. Just as it should.

A small, content smile curls on Tommy’s lips as he watches his boyfriend sleep, a picture of sweet serenity. When Tommy woke up, he considered getting out of bed to make coffee, but then he decided he was allowed to indulge in the beautiful and dearly missed sight before him: Evan bathed in sunlight.

Tommy’s smile widens even more as he watches the tell-tale signs of Evan waking up: the way his eyes struggle to open, how he scrunches up his nose, the small grumble in the back of his throat—all betraying his reluctance to leave the comfort of rest. Until his eyes find Tommy. Then his expression transforms into one of sleepy joy, his smile slow and sweet, reflecting the bright light of the sky—Tommy’s favorite sight.

“Good morning,” Evan croaks, voice still hoarse and groggy from sleep and sex.

Tommy’s voice is steadier, filled with warmth, as he returns the sentiment in a gentle whisper.

They had fallen asleep facing each other, Evan’s head tucked under Tommy’s chin. Evan must remember this, because after staring at Tommy for a moment longer, he returns to that position, closing his eyes and burying his nose in Tommy’s neck with a pleased exhale.

“You okay?” Tommy can’t help but ask, recalling how last night ended.

Evan makes another satisfied sound. “More than,” he replies happily, a sense of satiation tinting his tone.

It’s Tommy’s turn to sigh and close his eyes in contentment, his fingers gently tracing over Evan’s skin.

For a moment, Tommy thinks Evan has dozed off again until he starts to feel him vibrating in his arms. It takes him a second to understand that the warm puffs of air hitting his skin are giggles bubbling out of Evan's chest.

Evan carefully stretches in his arms, his movements languid and indulgent, and tilts his head to look at him again. “What the hell, Tommy,” he exclaims through breathless, incredulous laughter, his sleepy expression a mix of reverence and playful accusation, as if to say, How dare you ruin me like that?

Tommy’s lips quirk in amusement. “I take it you enjoyed yourself last night?”

Evan raises an eyebrow in mock offense. “I think I saw the face of God. And I’m not very religious.”

It’s Tommy’s turn to laugh. Evan is so damn lovable Tommy wants to squish him. He does exactly that, tightening his arms around him as he jokes, “Was he good-looking?”

The sun has nothing on the grin Evan is giving him. “Yeah. He had a cleft in his chin.” One of Evan's thumbs finds its way to said spot, a favorite resting place, as he leans in to give him a chaste kiss—morning breath be damned.

Tommy hides his smile against Evan's lips, adding another moment to his ever-growing collection of Happiest Memories. There have been many more since Evan came into his life.

Evan slowly pulls away and makes sure to rub their noses together before leaning back to look at him again. His eyes lock onto Tommy's, and for a moment, he simply stares. "Tommy?" Evan breathes, his voice laced with achingly soft tenderness. "Thank you."

“I think you said that enough times yesterday,” Tommy deadpans.

“No, I mean—thank you,” Evan repeats emphatically. “For—for everything. For being there. For being you. God, I—,” breathless laughter interrupts Evan’s words for a moment, “I-I can’t believe how lucky I am.” His eyes are filled with unapologetic warmth and sincerity, that unique brand of earnestness he exudes. It always makes Tommy feel small and delicate, as if he’s looking at something much larger than himself—something that could crush him but promised it wouldn’t. The desire to cherish is palpable, and Tommy feels like he’s staring at the sun. He has to look away.

“You would do the same for me,” Tommy shrugs awkwardly. It’s supposed to be a wave-away statement, a Don’t mention it, and Tommy freezes when he realizes the true implications of his words.

Two thoughts fill his head simultaneously. How can you possibly think someone could ever feel such devotion for you? and Of course Evan would take care of you, he’s the best person you’ve ever known. Ideas so at odds with each other that the cognitive dissonance makes Tommy’s head hurt.

Evan must see something in his expression, something that stirs his urge to comfort, because the next thing he does is take Tommy’s hand. Tommy looks back just in time to watch Evan press a kiss against it. The words he breathes against the skin carry such a profound sense of truth that they act like Tylenol on Tommy’s nerves.

“Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

[quintessenceofdust88]

Life is Changin' Tides, ch. 4 🌊

[Ch. 1]

[Ch. 2]

[Ch. 3]

[Read on AO3]

Sal is exactly where Tommy left him; sitting up on the bed, a pained look on his face as he frantically looks around. "The second he spots Tommy and Vivie, his face is taken over with relief, and Tommy can see how desperately he wishes to get up, but he doesn't. He just grips the sheets, staring at them intensely, his face going from anxious to relieved.

"Vivie!" He exclaims, and Tommy's daughter raises her head so fast that he worries she’ll have whiplash."

-

Everyone reunites. There's a lot of apologizing. There's a little bit of oversharing (it's the painkiller's fault).

When Tommy wished for a guardian angel watching over Genevieve, he didn’t think the universe would take him so literally. Because this man, this Evan? With earnest big blue eyes, blond curls, a pink birthmark that looks almost like a heart against his eyebrow? Yeah, that’s an angel he’s looking at.

He doesn’t have much of a chance to look at him, though, because as soon as Tommy thanks him, the man promptly passes out in front of them.

“Buck!” Captain Nash exclaims in surprise, and extends his arms to support him. His eyes are furrowed in concern, and both Hen and Howie are also fussing over Evan. Tommy has never seen this man before, but it’s clear they all know and care about him.

Thankfully there’s an empty bed close, and Nash lays Evan in it with surprising gentleness, in a way that vaguely reminds Tommy of when he puts Vivie to bed. And speaking of which.

Tommy finally manages to stop hugging Genevieve for long enough that he can take a good look at her. Her beautiful yellow dress, a present from his Nonna, is filthy, covered in grime and dirt (thankfully no blood); her hair is matted and frizzy, escaping out of the pigtails Tommy’s done for her this morning, and she looks pale and exhausted. She’s still the most beautiful sight Tommy has ever laid his eyes upon, and he can’t get enough of looking at her.

“Vivie, oh my God, I was so worried!” He admits, placing a thousand kisses to her wet hair, her sweaty forehead, her flushed cheeks. “Are you okay, baby? Does anything hurt?” Tommy asks gently, checking her face and arms for bruises or cuts, but thankfully, probably thanks to this Evan angel, his baby girl looks perfectly unharmed.

“I’m fine, Daddy! But what happened to Mr. Evan?! Is he gonna be okay?!” She asks agitatedly, her arms firmly wrapped around Tommy’s neck. Her blue eyes are looking scaredly at Evan’s unconscious form, and Tommy rubs her back soothingly. Her grip around his neck tightens, seeking comfort that Tommy is more than happy to provide.

Howie, who looks a thousand times less worried once Hen hooks Evan up to a saline IV and it looks like he’ll be alright, rushes to them when he hears Vivie’s question. He smiles sweetly at her, and she smiles a little back at him.

“Hey, kiddo, don’t you worry about Buck, okay?” He tells her. “If I tell you a secret, do you promise not to tell him? Cause I don’t want his head getting too big.”

That gets a small giggle out of her, and Tommy would hug Howard if he didn’t have an armful of Genevieve. She nods eagerly, and looks curiously at the other man. Frankly, so does Tommy.

“Well, that guy?” He says, pointing at Evan, who still hasn’t woken up, but he’s lying peacefully now, his cheeks starting to get some flush in them. (God, he’s handsome, a treacherous part of Tommy’s brain says, and he promptly tells it to shut up). “Toughest guy I know. He survived a lot of crazy stuff, and he’ll be just fine, I promise.”

“For real?” She asks, and Howie nods as if he’s complete sure of himself.

“Totally for real.” He says, and winks at her. “He’s a survivor, just like your dad Tommy here.”

Tommy feels his cheeks flush, and he smiles gratefully at Howard. Vivie looks between them, curiosity clear in her face.

“You know my Daddy?! How?!” She asks in wonder, and Howie and Tommy smile at each other, but Howie points his hand at him, giving Tommy the chance to explain it to his kid.

“Actually, Vivie, mr. Howard here saved Daddy’s life once, can you believe it? Way before you were born.” He explains, and Vivie gasps.

“So mr. Howard is a hero too?!” She asks, notably impressed, and Howie shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck.

He’s saved from having to answer, though, because there is a man coming towards them with a boy, a bit older than Vivie, secure in his arms. The boy is looking at Evan, with eyes full of worry, and so is the man. With a jolt, Tommy recognizes him as the paramedic that was taking care of Sal earlier.

“Chim!”, the medic exclaims, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. He looks at Evan, who’s fidgeting slightly, but still has his eyes closed, and then back at Howie. “Is Buck alright?!”

“Will Buck be okay?!” The boy asks at the same time, his voice breaking as he sniffles.

His red hoodie is as dirty as Vivie’s clothes, and Tommy realizes he was probably caught in the tsunami too. He wonders briefly if the kid is Evan’s son, but then realizes he probably wouldn’t call him by a nickname if that was the case.

“Hey, Christopher, Buck will be fine, I promise.” Bobby is the one to answer, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “He’s just a little tired right now. But you can sit by his side until he wakes up, what do you think?”

“Can I, dad?” Christopher asks, and the medic that’s holding him nods, then puts him down by Evan’s bed. He takes Evan’s hand in his, gently squeezing it. Hen gently takes the pair of glasses that are hanging from Buck’s neck and places them on the boy’s face, and he smiles at her.

The familiarity between them makes Tommy realize that his father, the medic that took care of Sal, is with the 118, and the coincidence leaves him speechless. What brings him back to reality is the small tug on his shirt, and as he looks at Vivie, he realizes she’s asking him to put her down. Tommy does, and she goes straight to Christopher with a small smile.

“You’re Christopher, right?” She asks, and the boy nods at her, a frown on his face. “Mr. Evan was worried that you’d be mad at him because he lost you. But you’re not, right?”

“No!” Christopher exclaims, as if the mere idea of being mad at Evan is absurd. “He was trying to help people, it wasn’t his fault!”

“I told him that!” Vivie exclaims triumphantly. ��I said he was a hero, and that you wouldn’t be mad.”

“How do you know Buck?” Christopher asks her curiously.

“He saved me! When I got lost from…” She trails off, and her little blue eyes widen as if she’s just remembered something important. Vivie turns back to Tommy, and he sees in alarm that she’s on the verge of tears. “Daddy!”

“What, pixie? What’s the matter?” Tommy asks hurriedly, picking her up again and holding her close, but it’s no good, she’s still agitated, clutching his shirt in her tiny hand.

“Uncle Sal got hurt! We need to find him! I was s-so happy to see you that I forgot, but we need to find him! Mr. Evan was going to help me, but now he can’t, and I don’t want uncle Sal to get more hurt!” She sobs against his shoulder, and Tommy shushes her, rubbing circles on her back and bouncing her slightly.

“Baby, it’s alright, shh.” He whispers to her, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I found uncle Sal.”

She looks up at him, her sobs subsiding and her eyes widened in surprise.

“You did?!”

“Well, not me, but someone did and brought him here. But I’ve seen him, and he’s okay, I promise.” Tommy reassures her, and Vivie sobs once more, but it’s filled with relief this time.

“Daddy, do you promise? Can I see him?!” She asks, and Tommy nods right away.

“Of course you can, pixie. He’ll be so happy to see you.” He promises, and then turns to Howard, who’s been watching them with a fond smile. Tommy shifts Vivie so he can hold her with one arm and extends his hand for him. “Howie. Thank you so much. To all of you. I wouldn’t have found her if I hadn’t run into you” He says, looking at Captain Nash, Hen and the medic whose name he still doesn’t know.

“We’re just glad everything turned out okay, Tommy.” Captain Nash says warmly, and Tommy smiles at him.

Then, he looks at Evan’s still unconscious form on the bed, and back at the captain. He desperately wants to thank the man properly, but he knows Vivie won’t be settled until she sees Sal, and he knows his best friend is probably beside himself, wondering what’s happening to Tommy and her. Nash, however, seems to understand Tommy’s struggle, and nods at Tommy.

“Go. We’ll wait.” He reassures him, and Tommy nods gratefully at him.

“We’ll be back.” Tommy promises, and then he is gone, heading towards his best friend, his daughter safely in his arms thanks to the angel he’s leaving behind.

--

Buck doesn’t wake up all at once. Consciousness comes in small waves; at first he’s only aware of the sounds around him, the low murmur of familiar voices that allow him to come back slowly and steadily. Then, he becomes aware of the throbbing pain on his leg, which is stretched out. That’s how he realizes he’s lying down on scratchy sheets that feel very hospital-like (and yes, he wishes he wasn’t that familiar with what hospital sheets feel like). But as the events of the day come back to his memory, a sense of urgency forces him to full conscience, and his eyes open with a rush.

“Christopher! Genevieve!” Buck exclaims, and only when he tries to sit up on the bed does he feel the tug of a small warm hand against his.

“About time you woke up” Christopher says, and Buck looks at him with tear-filled eyes.

The young boy has his glasses back, and that signature smile that never fails to make Buck happy as well. He can’t understand why he’s still on the receiving end of it after everything that happened, though, or why Eddie is allowing Chris to be near him in the first place.

“Chris,” Buck says, sitting up on the bed, and taking Chris’ other hand in his. Because if this is the last time he’ll be allowed to be around him, he’s going to make it count. “Listen, buddy. I am so so sorry. I should have kept you safe, and I didn’t, and I…”

“Yeah, you did.” Chris argues, looking earnestly in Buck’s eyes, and he feels absolutely vulnerable under his gaze. “You kept me safe from the first wave, and you had me safe in the truck.”

“Yeah! But then I lost you!” He says, worried that Christopher is not understanding how bad Buck screwed up.

“Well, yeah, but you looked for me. A lot. Vivie told me. And she told me you thought I’d be mad, but I’m not. You’re still my favorite grown-up, Buck.”

Chris’ words and the way he’s looking back at Buck, like he’s still a hero, like Buck didn’t fail him, are too much. Buck blinks, trying to keep the tears at bay, but he can’t; the day has been too rough. Chris, however, seems to sense Buck’s emotions are getting the best of him; he wraps his small arms around Buck’s waist, resting his head against Buck’s chest. Buck hugs him back, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his curls.

“Thank you, bud. I’m so glad you’re safe.” He whispers, and Chris just hums at him.

“‘Favorite grown-up’, huh? I’m kinda jealous, gotta admit.”

When Buck hears Eddie’s voice, he lets go of Chris and looks up at his best friend, bracing himself for the anger in his eyes. But Eddie is smiling playfully at them, his posture relaxed. As Buck looks around, he faintly notices Hen and Bobby hovering near him, but he can’t talk to them before he apologizes to Eddie; that has to be his priority.

“Eddie! I am so sorry, man, I can’t even begin to…”

“Then don’t.” Eddie says softly, placing a hand on Buck’s shoulder and squeezing it. “Don’t even begin, because you have nothing to apologize for. He’s here, and he’s safe, and that’s all that matters, alright?”

Buck can’t take Eddie’s forgiveness yet, not entirely anyway. There’s still too much guilt pooling on his chest, so he decides to focus on something else.

“And Genevieve? Where is she?” He asks, looking around and not seeing either Genevieve or her father. He tries not to be disappointed by the fact they’re gone; he’d have liked to say goodbye.

“Tommy took her to see her uncle Sal, but they’ll be back.” Bobby tells him, and Buck looks at him in surprise at the amount of information in that short sentence.

“You know her dad’s name?!” It’s the first thing he registers, and then the rest of Bobby’s sentence sinks in. “Wait, you found her uncle?! Is he okay? Is he alive?!”

“Calm down before you pass out again, please.” Bobby asks calmly, and then he sits at Buck’s side, his eyes alternating between Buck and the IV still hooked up to his arm. The captain looks weary and relieved at the same time. “As it turns out, the little girl you were helping is the daughter of a former 118 guy, Tommy Kinard. He’s a pilot at Harbor station now. And Sal, her uncle, is his best friend. He used to work with us too, a long time ago. He’s hurt his head pretty bad, but he’s alright”

“Oh thank God. She was so worried.” Buck says, relaxing back against the pillow. Eddie has taken Chris and they are sitting on a stool next to his bed, cuddling together in silence. That fills Buck with relief, and he sighs, closing his eyes for a bit.

He’s still exhausted, and the dull throbbing in his leg is intensifying into stabs of sharp pain. Buck forced his body to the limit, and now he’s paying the price, but he can’t regret it. Not when Chris and Vivie are reunited with their dads.

Before he can voice his discomfort, though, he sees Chimney jogging towards them. He smiles when he sees Buck is awake, and promptly shoves a water bottle and a cereal bar into his hands.

“Welcome to the land of the living, Buckaroo.” He says, patting his shoulder gently. “Eat something, or Maddie will kill us both.”

“Thanks, Chim” He says hoarsely, sitting up on the bed..

Buck eagerly opens the bottle first, taking a big sip and sighing as it eases the pain on his sore throat. As he takes a small bite of the cereal bar, easing his hunger and thirst, his leg decides it’s done waiting for attention. The pain intensifies, and Buck can’t help but flinch a movement that is quickly caught by Hen’s sharp gaze.

“Alright, Buckaroo, finish your snack so we can get some painkillers into your system.” She asks, and Buck, who’d usually stubbornly reject the idea of using painkillers, especially the strong ones that help his leg, just nods meekly; he’s in too much pain. “And then I think you should take it very easy the next few days. It wasn’t your fault, but you pushed yourself way too hard today.”

“Hen’s right, kid.” Bobby adds gently. “Once the painkillers kick in, we’ll take you home, and then you can get some rest, ok?”

Getting some rest sounds wonderful in Buck’s opinion, and he nods at them both, his mouth too occupied with chewing. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now.

“Not so fast, Cap.” Chim quips, and inexplicably smirks at Buck. “He can’t go anywhere before Tommy and Vivie come back and he gets to play the hero.”

Buck blushes at that, but he can’t help a small smile from coming to his lips at knowing Genevieve and her father are coming back. And, with a small leap in his heart, he thinks that his giddiness isn’t entirely about Vivie.

But he’s wise enough to keep that thought to himself.

--

Tommy crosses the field hospital with quick strides, Vivie's small frame a comforting weight in his arms. As they walk around, he notices that things are calming down; there are fewer people around, the doctors and nurses don't seem to be rushing so much, and the overall chaos is more controlled.

Things are settling down, as they usually do after a big tragedy, and Tommy privately thinks they’ll only see how bad it was on the next day. He sends a silent thought for all the people who didn’t have the luck he did, of finding the loved ones they lost to the waves.

Sal is exactly where Tommy left him; sitting up on the bed, a pained look on his face as he frantically looks around. The second he spots Tommy and Vivie, his face is taken over with relief, and Tommy can see how desperately he wishes to get up, but he doesn't. He just grips the sheets, staring at them intensely, his face going from anxious to relieved.

"Vivie!" He exclaims, and Tommy's daughter raises her head so fast that he worries she’ll have whiplash.

The minute she sees Sal, she gasps loudly, and her little hand curls up in Tommy’s shirt, gripping it tightly. Vivie’s staring at Sal as if he isn’t real, as if she’s trying to convince herself that he is.

"UNCLE SAL!" Genevieve's exclamation can be heard through the whole hospital, and she tugs insistently at Tommy's shirt. "Daddy, daddy, put me down, please!", she begs, and Tommy is more than happy to abide.

The second her feet hit the floor, she's rushing to Sal's bed, climbing up on it as fast as her little legs allow. Sal wraps his arms around her, pulling Genevieve to his lap and holding her close. Her arms wrap around his neck, and they hug each other tightly. Tommy can see the tension leaving Sal’s shoulders as he wraps his daughter in his strong arms, and his own heartbeat seems to finally settle as he sees them together.

“Vivie, oh my God! I was so worried, kiddo, so worried!” Sal says, his voice thick with emotion like Tommy’s never seen before.

“Me too, uncle Sal!” Vivie says, and then she looks at him, her eyes filled with tears. “Cause you got really hurt, and then I didn’t see you anymore, and I was so afraid!”

It’s clear that all the events of the day are finally catching up to Genevieve, and she lets out a broken sob, her whole body shaking with it. Tommy’s first instinct is to jump in and get her in his arms so he can comfort her, but he holds back. That’s not what Vivie needs; she needs reassurance from the uncle she almost lost, not from him. And he trusts Sal to do it.

“Hey, hey, shh” Sal soothes her gently. “I’m here, you don’t have to be afraid, kiddo.”

He picks Vivie up, sitting her on his lap, pressing her head against his chest. She clutches his filthy Ramones T-shirt in her tiny fist, and Sal runs one massive hand in her hair, messing it up even further. They’ll wash and braid it again when he puts her to bed, which will happen about a thousand hours later than it should, but he couldn’t care less.

“It was scary…” She admits, her voice a tiny whisper, and Tommy’s heart breaks for her.

Genevieve has always been his brave little girl; the only fear she’s ever had was the dark. Tommy has been able to protect her from that, putting a night light in her bedroom, letting her sleep with him when it gets too bad. But will he be able to protect her from this? From the fear of water, fear of the sea, from the nightmares that she’ll get from this? He doesn’t know, and the thought scares him.

“I know, kiddo.” Sal tells her, bringing Tommy back to the present. “It was scary to me too.”

“I r-really thought I wouldn’t see you anymore, uncle Sal.” She tells him, and Sal exchanges a helpless look with Tommy.

Neither of them wanted her to learn what losing someone feels like, and Tommy would have given anything for his daughter not to have this experience. But it’s happened, and now all they can do is reassure her that everything turned out okay in the end.

Sal takes a deep sigh, and then presses a long kiss to Vivie’s forehead. Tommy can see his eyes are filled with tears, but he does his best to swallow them and smile at the little girl on his lap. “What, and leave all the fun of watching you grow up to your boring dad? No way, kiddo.”

Genevieve lets out a watery giggle at that, looking from Sal to Tommy. “Daddy, uncle Sal said you’re boring!” She gasps, and Tommy smiles wryly, coming closer to them.

“I heard it, baby. Maybe we should let Uncle Sal go home on foot, then? He won’t want a ride with someone this boring after all.”

“Nah, I’ll take it the ride. Even if you’re boring, Vivie is cool.” Sal teases, Sal teases, which makes Vivie giggle in delight and Tommy smack his shoulder (a lot more lightly than he normally would). Then, his expression turns serious, and he looks earnestly at his best friend.

“Tommy. I am sorry, man. I am so sorry.” He says, and Tommy can see he’s about to cry again. Without a word, he wraps his arms firmly around Sal, Vivie caught between them, and hugs his best friend tightly.

“I know. You don’t have to be. What matters to me is that you’re both okay.” Tommy says, and he means every word. Sal pats his back and nods at him when Tommy finishes the hug.

He sits by the edge of Sal’s bed, and Vivie scrambles from Sal’s lap to his, cuddling up against his chest. Her body is heavy against his, exhaustion catching up to her. He holds her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“How are you feeling, man?” Tommy asks, and Sal smirks at him.

“Like I’ve been hit in the head by debris.” He quips, and Tommy glares at him until he shrugs. “Look, I think I’ll be worse in the morning. They gave me good stuff for the pain, so I won’t feel it for real until tomorrow.”

“Yeah, well, it’d make me a hell lot more comfortable if you spent the night with us. I don’t want you going home alone.” Tommy says, and Sal rolls his eyes, poking Vivie’s arm.

“Your dad is such a mother hen, isn’t he?” He teases, and the little girl giggles. Tommy loves that sound more than anything in the world. “But okay, I think a sleepover sounds fun.”

“Sleepover!” Vivie celebrates, making Tommy and Sal chuckle. Then Sal frowns, as if he remembered something, and a sad expression takes over his face.

“Aw, kiddo, and I still owe you a unicorn, don’t I? Can’t believe we went through all that trouble and you didn’t get him in the end.”

Vivie gasps at that, kneeling on the bed and covering her mouth with her tiny hands. She looks from Tommy to Sal and then to the floor, her eyes widening.

“No, uncle Sal, but I did get him! I protected Marsh, but I forgot him with Mr. Evan! Daddy, we have to go back to your firefighter friends and get him back!”

“We will, baby. Daddy wants to thank mr. Evan anyway.” Tommy reassures her, and Sal frowns at him.

“Mr. Evan? ‘Firefighter friends’? The hell she is talking about, Tommy?” He asks, and Tommy refrains himself from scolding him for saying ‘hell’ in front of Vivie, because she doesn’t seem to pay much attention.

Tommy smirks, already anticipating Sal’s reaction to knowing it was Nash’s team that got Tommy to Vivie. “So, you’re never gonna believe this…”

--

After telling the whole story to Sal and telling him to stay put until Tommy comes for him (‘What, you think I wanna get up and go give Nash a hug and a cupcake? I’m better off here, thanks’), Tommy takes Vivie back to where the 118 was gathered around Evan’s bed.

Sal, who’s much better at keeping up with LAFD gossip than Tommy, has already informed him that Evan is the firefighter who got caught under the ladder truck a few months ago, and that only makes Tommy admire the man even more. He can only imagine how painful it must have been, walking around with a kid all day with his leg still recovering from such a trauma.

When they get there, they’re greeted by the sound of laughter, and the bed is surrounded by Nash, Howie and Hen. The medic - Eddie, according to Sal - is sitting on a stool, with his kid asleep against his chest. They’re all looking at Evan with exasperated fondness and soft smiles.

Evan himself is leaning against the pillow, his leg stretched out in front of him. His cheeks are flushed, and he doesn’t look as exhausted anymore, but his blue eyes are hazy and his smile is a little loopy. Even so, Tommy can’t help but notice he is absolutely gorgeous, and that his earlier comparison to an angel was not too out there; Evan has positively cherubic features, and the fact that he has his arms wrapped around an unicorn plushie only adds to his charm.

“Marsh!” Vivie exclaims the minute she spots the plushie, and everyone turns to them.

Tommy smiles at them in greeting as Vivie tugs on his T-shirt to let her down. Tommy does, and she rushes to Evan’s bed, stopping herself before climbing in it and looking at him shyly. Evan, however, smiles at her, bright and welcoming, and Tommy’s heart skips a treacherous beat. Get a grip, Kinard, you can’t lose it just because he is kind to your kid. He’s probably straight anyway, he tells himself firmly, but his eyes are still taking in the charming scene unfolding in front of him.

“C’mere, Vivie.” Evan says, and it’s the first time Tommy’s hearing his voice. It’s warm, and cheery, even though his speech is a little slurred, probably from everything that happened.

He pats the mattress next to him, and Genevieve doesn’t need to be told twice. She climbs up on the bed, and Evan offers the unicorn to her. “Your friend was missing you, you know?”, he tells her with a lovely smile.

“You kept him safe for me, Mr. Evan! Thank you!” She says in wonder, hugging the plushie close to her chest. Then, she looks at Evan, and puts the plushie aside, kneeling on the bed and wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against his flushed one. “And thank you for keeping me safe. You made things not so scary, and you helped me find Uncle Sal.”

It’s clear the heartfelt thanks from the five-year-old takes Evan off-guard, and he’s slow on his reaction. Still, he wraps his arms around her, closing his eyes in delight, gently stroking her hair.

“You’re quite welcome, baby. Having you with me made things not so scary too, so thank you. For helping me to get here.”

The others are all watching the scene with a mix of fondness and amusement. Tommy himself could forever stand there and watch this ridiculously adorable man interact with his kid, but he can’t; he has his own thanks to give. He approaches the bed slowly, and both Vivie and Evan look up at him. His daughter promptly holds the unicorn up so Tommy can see it. It’s wet, and filthy, but he guesses it’s still sort of cute.

“Look, Daddy, this is Marsh! Uncle Sal got him for me!” She tells him excitedly, and Tommy chuckles, bending down to kiss her forehead.

“Marsh looks like a great addition to your plushie friends, baby. He’ll probably look even better after we give him a bath.” He muses, and Vivie giggles, going back to stroke the plushie’s fur gently.

What surprises Tommy, though, and apparently everyone else, is that Evan giggles right along. Tommy refuses to acknowledge how adorable it is to see this 6-foot-2 man giggling along with his five-year-old.

“Isn’t that funny, though? A unicorn taking a bath? It should be a glitter bath at least.” He says, and then laughs at his own joke. His friends are looking at him in amusement, and Hen crosses her arms, smirking.

“I guess the painkillers are kicking in, huh, Buckaroo?” She says fondly, and Evan tries to handwave her, but the gesture is a tad bit clumsy.

“M’fine!” He exclaims, and then he runs a hand on Vivie’s plushie, looking at it in wonder. “Oh my God, he is so soft! Eddie, have you ever seen a softer plushie?”

Eddie snickers, and so does Chimney. Bobby is staring at Evan with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. And Tommy? Tommy is trying very hard not to melt from the sheer cuteness.

“Tommy, if you have anything to say to him, I think you should say it now, before we completely lose him.” Chim recommends with a chuckle, and Tommy startles. He does have something to say.

He turns to Evan, and the man has a loopy smile on his face, looking at Tommy with hazy eyes filled with something that he can’t quite define, but it makes Tommy blush furiously. He fidgets with the hem of his shirt, and forces himself to look the man in the eye.

“Mr. Evan”, he starts, and the man frowns, as if something isn’t quite right about that greeting.

“No mister. You can call me...” He trails off, as if he’s looking for the right word, and then he smiles at Tommy as if he’s had the brightest idea ever. “Evan! Yeah! You can totally call me Evan.”

“Evan, then. I’m Tommy. Tommy Kinard.” He says, offering a hand, and Evan shakes it.

His hand is warm against Tommy’s, even if his handshake is a little wobbly. The moment they touch, Tommy feels as if a spark of electricity rushes through him, as cliché as that sounds. Evan must feel it too, because he looks up at Tommy with raised eyebrows.

“I know, Bobby said. I’m your re… re… Ah, it’s a big word, but I entered the 118 when you left. Small world, huh?” He says, with a tiny frown between his eyebrows as if he’s trying to make sense of it, and Tommy has an irrational urge to kiss it away. He doesn’t, but it’s a near thing.

“Very.” Tommy agrees, and then he sits down by Evan’s side. Even if he’s not entirely aware of what’s going on, Tommy needs to thank him. “Evan, I will never be able to thank you enough for what you did. Vivie is my life, and you saved her. There are no words to express how grateful I am.”

Evan seems to take a while to process his words, but then he shrugs modestly. He looks down at Vivie and tries for a wink, but it comes off as more of a sleepy blink. Tommy’s daughter giggles anyway, holding Marsh close to her chest.

“Ah, you don’t have to thank me, you know?” He slurs. “I did what everyone would do.”

“No, you didn’t.You did way more. You kept her safe, and you protected her, and you brought her to find her uncle.” Tommy tells him firmly, taking his hand in his and squeezing it. He tries to ignore the goosebumps it brings to his arms. “I owe you a debt that can never be repaid. But if there is anything I can do for you, ever, you just have to say the word.”

Evan nods, but stays silent. His hand is still wrapped around Tommy’s, and he looks down at them for a moment. Then he looks back at Tommy, his blue eyes determined.

“I mean, you could ask me out!” He exclaims, and everyone turns at him, eyes widened, including Tommy. He’s so surprised he doesn’t remember to separate their hands.

“I… I could… W-what?” Tommy asks, sputtering and feeling a blush covering his cheeks and all the way down to his neck (nice going, you idiot). It doesn’t help that half his former team is watching it with smirks on their faces.

“You could ask me out!” Evan repeats it, his brows furrowing as if he can’t quite understand what’s giving Tommy pause. “You’re ridiculously gorgeous, you know that? I’d say yes if you asked me out.”

Tommy is left completely speechless and wishing that the floor would swallow him whole. Captain Nash is looking at Evan with that same fatherly exasperation of before, and Eddie and Howie are shaking with silent laughter. Not even Vivie helps; the minute Evan says he’s gorgeous, her daughter starts giggling uncontrollably, looking between them with way too much amusement. Hen is the only one who seems to take pity on the two of them, because she puts a hand on Buck’s shoulder.

“Alright, Buckaroo, that’s enough out of you! Why don’t you try and get some sleep?”

“Can’t sleep, Hen, I’m going out with the hot pilot. Weren’t you paying attention?” He grumbles, but as Hen helps him lay back, he closes his eyes, resting back against the pillow with a soft sigh.

Tommy is flustered, and shocked, and impossibly endeared. He wants to ask Evan out, he wants to do it now, but he won’t hold a man accountable for things he said under heavy painkillers.

“Daddy, are you going out with mr. Evan?” Vivie asks, and Tommy, if possible, blushes even more. He takes one more look at Evan’s face, eyes closed and a small smile still playing on his lips, and he desperately wishes to tell her that yes, he will.

“I… No, baby. Mr. Evan didn’t really mean it, he’s just sleepy. It’s like when you say silly things in your sleep, remember?” He tells her, and she nods, but looks absolutely disappointed. “Besides, we have to pick up uncle Sal and go home, don’t we? It’s way past your bedtime. Say goodbye to everyone and let’s go.”

She does as she’s told, sparing a hug for everyone and making Eddie promise she and Chris will have a playdate soon (Tommy actually likes the idea; Vivie has plenty of friends, but she could always do with more). He agrees to set it up and says his own goodbyes, shaking everyone’s hands. When it comes to Chimney’s turn, though, he smirks at Tommy and slips a paper into his pocket.

“Here’s Buck’s number and address. You know, just in case you wanna check if he meant it or was just being silly.” He says with a knowing smirk, and Tommy looks at him in surprise. Howie shrugs, and then goes back to talking to Hen.

And Tommy should throw the paper away, he really should. Evan is probably straight; Tommy has a daughter and hasn’t really dated in years. Everything tells him this is not a good idea.

He folds it carefully in his pocket anyway.

Tag list:

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

@typicalopposite @littlepaws9 @aplaceinme @rubydaiquiri @racerchix21

@dearqueend @laundryandtaxesworld @buckleyskinards @actuallyitsellie

@agentpeggycartering @chaoticdisasterbi

@deelovesbooks @teabroomsandbooks

[sequinsmile-x]

You’ll Always Be a Flower on My Skin

It was a sadness that came around every year, something that he’d outrun for months and months until it caught up with him, stealing the breath from his lungs as it out-lapped him. He’d insist he was fine, as if she didn’t know him better than she knew herself and couldn’t see through his sad smile. 

As if she didn’t know it was Haley’s birthday. 

-x-

Hi besties,

I have no idea where this came from. I wanted to write sad Aaron and here we are 4k words later!!

I hope you like this, and as always please let me know what you think - comments feed the little elves in my brain that come up with insane fic ideas.

-x-

Words: 4k

Warnings: Pregnancy, grief

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Aaron wasn’t sleeping. 

He was trying to hide it from her, but Emily knew. She’d get up in the middle of the night to pee, far too full of baby these days to make it through the night without needing to, and his side of the bed would be empty, the sheets cool to the touch, and she didn’t have to go and find him to know he would be in their home office. 

The first night, she’d sought him out. Had shuffled, definitely not waddled, to check on him, her hand pressed against her belly, their daughter rolling under her skin as she snuck past Jack and Lucas’s rooms, to find her husband. He’d gently admonished her the moment she stuck her head around the office door, his eyes wide as he immediately got up from his chair and ushered her back to bed, reminding her - as if she wasn’t the heavily pregnant one - that she needed to rest in the last couple of weeks before the baby was born. She’d fallen asleep again almost immediately, his fingers running through her hair as he laid one hand on her bump, and she was furious at herself the next morning when she woke up and he looked exhausted. 

Ever since then, in the almost week that had passed, she would wake up alone in the middle of the night. He’d always be there when she fell asleep, and he would be in the morning, his eyes tired and his smile sad as he told her he’d get her the one cup of coffee she was allowed a day. 

It was a sadness that came around every year, something that he’d outrun for months and months until it caught up with him, stealing the breath from his lungs as it out-lapped him. He’d insist he was fine, as if she didn’t know him better than she knew herself and couldn’t see through his sad smile. 

As if she didn’t know it was Haley’s birthday. 

They give Jack the option to not go to soccer camp, but he insists on going. It was his favourite summer activity. He loved spending the day with his friends learning about his favourite sport before coming home to spend the evening with his family. Emily was pleased he wanted to go, and all he asks is if they could go to Haley’s grave when he got home that evening to put down the card he’d written for her.  Emily and Aaron say of course, and then it’s like any morning in their home. Jack giggles, a sound that makes Emily ache on today of all days, as he watches Lucas eat his breakfast, more jam on the 3-year-old’s face and hands than he actually manages to eat. Aaron takes Jack to camp and kisses Emily as he leaves, promising that he’ll make sure the camp supervisor knows the importance of the day, his smile sad until she grabs his hand and presses it against her belly, a flicker of him, of her Aaron, flashing across his face when their little girl kicks. 

She blows out a slow breath as the front door closes, leaving her and Lucas alone in the house for the day. She frowns as she feels a tightening in her belly, and she groans as she places her hands on her lower back, shifting side to side as the pain rolls through her. She’d been having practice contractions for a couple of weeks now, and they somehow always managed to take her by surprise, the randomness of them allowing them to sneak up on her. 

“Mama okay?” 

She smiles as the contraction passes and looks over at Lucas, chuckling at the bright red jam spread across his cheeks and somehow in his hair. She walks over and kisses the top of his head before she lifts him out of the highchair, unable to cover a groan as she does so. 

“Mama’s okay, sweet boy,” she says, laughing when he kisses her cheek, leaving jam behind on her skin, “Thank you, Lukey,” she adjusts her hold on him, making sure he’s comfortable on her bump, “Let’s go get you cleaned up.” 

The morning passes quickly, lost in a flurry of activities to keep Lucas entertained, and practice contractions that she barely has time to focus on. She texts Aaron to ask if he wants them to come to meet him for lunch, and he replies so quickly with a yes it makes her ache, his desperation to see his family enough to let her know how much he is struggling. Lucas is delighted at the idea of seeing his father, and she loads him into the car, smiling at the sight of the baby’s car seat next to his that Aaron had put in the car just a few days ago. 

When they make it to Quantico, she ushers Lucas past the security desk, exchanging smiles with the guards she’d known for years, and she lets him press the button in the elevator.

“Want Mommy to carry you, baby?” She asks, pushing her fingers through his dark hair and he shakes his head, his brow furrowing in a way that makes him look exactly like Aaron. 

“She’s the baby,” he says, pointing at her belly, “I’m a big boy.”

She presses her lips together to stop herself from laughing and she nods, running her fingers through his hair again. She was looking forward to meeting her daughter, but it was strange to get her head around the fact Lucas would soon enough no longer be her youngest, that she’d have to split her focus between Jack and Lucas and the little girl kicking her in the ribs. 

“Sorry, you’re right,” she replies, smiling when the doors open and she waits for him to leave the elevator first, “Let’s go find Daddy.” 

She walks in pace with Lucas and smiles widely when the team notices them, all of them except Aaron gathered around JJ’s desk as they debated what to get for dinner. 

“Look, it’s Mini Hotch and Princess,” Derek says, his smile getting wider as Emily rolls her eyes at his nickname for her son. He leans down and offers his hand to Lucas for a high five, his smile getting wider as the toddler hits his hand against his as he makes a big deal of the little boy’s strength, “What are you two doing here?”

“Wanna see Daddy,” Lucas says, and Emily ruffles his hair as she looks up at her friend. 

“We’re going for lunch with Aaron,” she explains and her friends nod. 

“Maybe you can cheer him up,” Dave jokes, “He’s been in a terrible mood all day.” 

She immediately feels protectiveness for her husband roll through her when the rest of them hum in agreement, anger moving in tandem with her little girl, and she has to remind herself that they won’t know what day it is. They won’t know it’s Haley’s birthday because Aaron always did his best to make it something that was just for their family. A private, strange kind of grief that didn’t seem to fade as time went on. If anything, it grew with them, was somehow bigger every time it rolled around, a stark reminder that as they got older, Haley didn’t. She was forever frozen in time in the home she had once shared with Aaron and Jack. 

JJ must hear the sharp intake of breath that Emily sucks in, and she stands up, rolling her seat back, offering it out for Emily to sit down and she nods gratefully, “Thanks.” 

“Don’t worry,” JJ says, winking at her, “I remember the point you’re at. Everything’s exhausting.” 

She chuckles, groaning as she sits down, her hands on top of her bump as she tries to get comfortable, grateful that the conversation has moved on without any digging from their friends about her husband’s mood, “I don’t remember the last time I slept through the night.” 

“Speaking of, aren’t you supposed to be on maternity leave?” Dave asks and she hums as she looks over at him and nods her head towards Lucas who was trying to help himself to the candy in Derek’s desk drawer. 

“It’s less relaxing this time around for some reason,” she quips, and she hears Aaron’s office door open, the squeak to the handle a sound she’d recognise anywhere, and she sees Lucas look up too, his smile wide as he abandons Derek in a second. 

“Daddy!” He says, stopping in place as he turns to look at Emily, looking for permission to seek his father out, and she nods. 

“It’s okay, go to Daddy,” she says, and she keeps an eye on him until he makes it to Aaron just as he makes it to the bottom of the stairs. She smiles softly as she watches her husband smile as he picks up their little boy. She hears Derek comment that it’s the first time Aaron has smiled all day, something that’s followed by a laugh from Dave, and she turns to look at them, her arms crossed over the top of her bump. “You’d better not be making fun of my husband.” 

“You make fun of him all the time. How come you’re allowed to but we’re not?” Derek asks, his smile turning into a challenging smirk, and she raises an eyebrow at him.

“Because I’ve grown two of his children with my body,” she quips, “The second you can do that, you can make fun of him.” She looks over and watches as Aaron walks over, Lucas on his hip, matching smiles on their faces that never failed to make her smile too. She feels a tightening in her belly again, and she winces and rubs her bump, waving off Aaron’s immediate concern as he makes it to her side, one of his hands on her shoulder, “I’m fine,” she says, blowing out a slow breath, “Baby Girl Hotchner is just letting me know she’s as ready for her to come out as I am.” 

“You’re really not going to give us a hint on the name?” Derek asks, cutting off Aaron’s attempt to check on her, and she shakes her head and relaxes as the contraction passes.

“No, because where would the fun be in telling you when you want to know so badly,” she looks up at her husband, “Are you ready to go?” 

He nods and offers her a hand to help her up, providing her his strength as she stands up and she squeezes his hand once she’s on her feet, linking their fingers together as she tries to give him her strength too, hoping that somehow, the simple press of her palm against his will remind him of just how much he’s loved.

___

By the time the boys are in bed, it feels like it’s been a long day. 

Aaron sighs as he sits on the couch, his head in his hands before he sits back, his eyes closed as he sucks in a breath, desperately hoping the smell of home would comfort him. 

He’d known Haley for longer than he hadn’t. He’d celebrated her birthday with her for longer than he hadn’t. Even after the divorce he’d marked the occasion. Had taken a tiny Jack to buy a card and a gift he knew Haley would love, his knowledge of her something he could only channel through their son. It was the same thing he now did with the love he had for her. He made sure Jack knew he’d come from love, that despite the fact his mother was gone and she and Aaron hadn’t been together anymore, that hadn’t taken away from the love that had created their family. 

Usually, he could go weeks, months even, these days without feeling the weight of the guilt he carried for Haley’s death. Then an anniversary would come around -  a date that marked her death, their wedding anniversary, her birthday - and it would feel like he was right back at the start. Pulled under by grief he thought he’d learnt to swim in, the waves of it overpowering him until he felt like he was barely hanging on. 

In his worst moments, he was jealous of Jack’s ability to function. He was sad, his smile never quite reaching his eyes on days like this, but he was able to carry on. His mother’s absence a part of his life he’d lived with for longer than he’d had her, something he was so used to that it allowed him to speak of it candidly. His innocence somehow still intact as he’d explain to a stranger that Emily was his mom now, but that his first mom was in heaven. 

Aaron knew his son’s memories of Haley were hazy, that most of what he knew now was because of stories he and Jessica would tell him. Even Emily would tell him stories, would tell him all about the time she’d spent with Haley in the time she knew her. Jack was so young when it happened, only a little older than Lucas was now, and it would make Aaron freeze at times. Would make him choke on preemptive grief as he thought about Lucas or his little girl who was still safely in Emily’s belly living without their mother like his eldest had learnt how to. It’s a thought Aaron can’t escape. A thought that tormented him in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep, the sound of Emily’s breathing a white noise he tried to cling on to as he tried, and failed, to rest. He’d get out of bed and sneak into the boy's rooms to watch them sleep for a little while before he went to his office, telling himself that he’d get some work done when he knew he’d just sit at his desk and go over and over everything he could have done to save the woman he’d loved since he was a teenager. 

“I have a feeling we will have a toddler in our bed by morning,” Emily says as she walks into the living room, her smile tired as she walks towards him.

He smiles and stands up, one hand in hers and the other around her shoulders as he helps her sit down, “Did he go down okay?” 

She nods and tugs him to sit back down with her, “He kept pretending he wasn’t tired but he fell asleep halfway through Goodnight Moon,” she places her hand on her bump, rubbing a circle over where their daughter is moving, “I checked in on Jack on my way past his room, he’s reading his book.” 

Aaron nods, his lips pressed together tightly as he clears his throat, “He seemed okay?” 

She hums and runs her fingers through his hair, offering him comfort in the same way he’d watched her do with their sons countless times, “He’s okay. He asked me how you’re doing.” 

He sighs, shaking his head at himself as he clenches his jaw, “I didn’t do a very good job of hiding it, huh?” 

She cups his cheek and makes him look up at her, “Give yourself a break, he’s a smart kid. And I don’t think it’s a bad thing that he knows it’s okay for days like today to be hard.” 

He nods and clears his throat, “Yeah.” 

They drift into silence and she watches him carefully before she reaches out and squeezes his hand, “Usually I’d offer to be the big spoon in bed tonight,” she says, her smile soft when he looks at her again, “But I think there’s far too much baby in the way for that to work.” 

He chuckles, the sound wet as it catches in his chest, and he doesn’t think he’s ever loved her more as she makes him laugh on a truly impossible day, “I’d settle for a hug. If that’s okay.”

She rolls her eyes at him and encourages him closer, tugs him towards her until his head is on her chest and she wraps her arms around him, his cheek against her collarbone, the place where he always felt the most at home, “You never have to ask.”

He’s unsure how long they sit like that, how long he lets himself be soothed by the sound of her heart, how it seems to beat in tandem with his, but he loses himself in her just like he always did. Drawn in by her smile and her love, the way she fiercely looks after him and their children. He feels, more than hears, the groan she suppresses against the top of his head. He feels her belly harden against him, their little girl pressed between the two of them, and he pulls back, his eyebrows knitting together as he looks at his wife. 

“Em…are you having contractions?” 

She shakes her head, even though they both know she’s lying, “Just Braxton Hicks,” she says, not sounding overly sure she believes that herself, “It’s fine.” 

“How frequent are they?” He asks, his hand on her belly as he feels the contraction pass as the tension seeps out of her body. 

“Uh, on and off all day?” She replies, scrunching her nose up, “Mostly on since we left the cemetery.” 

His eyes go wide, and any sadness he’d felt all day pushed down so he can look after his wife, “Em, why didn’t you say anything? We need to go to the hospital-”

“No,” she insists, “It’s fine. This isn’t labour. I would know. I’ve done it before,” she says, a smile fixed on her face that she usually kept aside for her mother, and any response he’s trying to cook up is gone the moment she groans again, her face screwed up in disgust, “Fuck.” 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, cupping her cheek and making her look at him as she stares down at her bump. 

“I’m in labour. My waters just broke.” 

He looks down at her lap, as if he’d see anything through her black leggings or on their dark grey couch, and then back up at her, “Are you sure?” 

She rolls her eyes at him like she wasn’t just the one who was insisting she wasn’t in labour, “Well, it’s either that or I’ve just peed on the couch.”

He stares at her for a beat, and she stares back and then he springs into action, standing up as he grabs his phone from the coffee table, “I’ll call Jess to come to stay with the boys.” 

___

When the doctor tells her she’s already 5cm dilated when they arrive, she realises just how strong her denial has been. 

She’d sat on a bench in the cemetery and tried to breathe through the pain, Lucas pressed up against her side as Jack and Aaron knelt at Haley’s grave, softly speaking to her as they laid cards and flowers in front of her headstone. The contractions Emily had been wilfully ignoring all day were suddenly in an undeniable pattern, but she didn’t say anything to Aaron when he asked if she was okay, too focused on the tears shining in his eyes to tell him that she was in labour. 

When she had Lucas, her labour lasted for over a day. She’d expected the same this time, had thought she’d have time so she didn’t have to give birth on her husband’s dead ex-wife’s birthday, so she kept it to herself. Clenched her teeth through the contractions she knew were going to get worse as they had dinner as a family. She knew on any other day Aaron would notice sooner than he had, but he was distracted by his and Jack’s grief. 

She thought she’d have time, that she’d make it to at least midnight until she had to tell him, but it seems her little girl had other plans, keen to enter the world as soon as possible. 

Poppy Hotchner is born at 10.59 pm, and she comes into the world screaming, furious at the world until she’s put on her mother’s chest, finding solace in the same place Aaron had just a few hours earlier. By the time both Emily and Poppy have been checked over by the doctor and the three of them are left alone it’s close to midnight. 

“I can’t believe she’s here.” Emily says, tearing her eyes away from Poppy just for a moment to look at her husband, “She’s beautiful,” 

“Of course she is,” he says, leaning in to kiss Emily’s temple, “She came from you.” He looks at Poppy and smiles, reaching out to run his knuckles down her cheek, “You surprised us, sweetpea. You weren’t supposed to come until next week,” he smiles softly, “You just wanted to join the fun, huh?” 

“As the person who just pushed her out, I’ve got to say you and I have a very different idea of what is fun, honey,” Emily quips, lifting Poppy to kiss her head, taking in a moment to breathe in her sweet smell, “This isn’t how I thought today was going to end when I woke up this morning.”

“Me neither,” he chuckles and nods, swallowing thickly when he thinks of the sorrow that the day had started with in comparison to the joy of how it had ended. It was strange, a much needed reminder that sadness and happiness could co-exist. 

“I…I didn’t want her to be born today,” she admits, her cheeks burning pink with embarrassment because of how stupid it feels now she has her daughter in her arms, “I know today is hard for you. I didn’t want to make it harder.” 

The guilt is immediate as it washes over him, the froth of it catching in his lungs as his chest stutters, “Oh sweetheart,” he says, resting his forehead against hers, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to worry about that.”

“I’m your wife,” she says, stamping her lips against his, “worrying about you is part of the gig.” 

He hums and runs his thumb back and forth over Poppy’s head, tracing the swirl of her dark hair. He thinks of another life where Haley lived and would be one of the many people desperate to meet Poppy. He imagines the way she’d smile at having to share her birthday, how she’d tell Poppy she was happy to share the limelight with her. He wasn’t sure if he believed in much. He didn’t know with any certainty that there was life after death, that anyone was watching over them with soft smiles and kind eyes, but he did believe in love. It had saved him more than once, had brought him back from the abyss, so he knew that in some way, somehow, Haley would love his family because she would always be a part of it. 

“I think she’d get a kick out of this.” 

Emily looks at him, her face so close to his that her nose skims across his cheek, “Haley?”

“Yeah,” he says, tearing his gaze away from the newborn, “I think in some strange way it’s her way of telling me to not be sad on her birthday anymore.” 

Emily hums thoughtfully and rests her forehead against his temple, “I have an idea for a middle name for her.”

They’d settled on Poppy the moment they knew they were having a girl, a name they both loved that referenced the size she’d been when they first found out she existed. Aaron had called her his little poppy seed ever since, and it had stuck. The middle name had been harder. Emily didn’t want to pass on Elizabeth, to give her daughter the name she shared with her own mother, and even when Poppy had been placed on her chest she still didn’t have a solid idea. Then it had come to her, as if it floated in on the air, caught in amongst the love the room was stuffed full of, brought in on the small breeze of grief that curled around them, a reminder of just how precious life is that she wanted to make sure she never forgot. 

“Yeah?” 

She pulls back to look at him, “I thought we could use Brook,” she says, her confidence fading as his expression softens, a flash of the sadness he’d been plagued with for weeks, “We don’t have to-”

“No,” he says, his smile shaking as he pulls her in for a kiss and then rests his temple on top of her head, both of them looking at their little girl, “It’s perfect.” 

[no-goodbyes-no-regrets]

Day 2: cooking together for @bucktommyfluffebruary

Short 'n' sweet today - I might even catch up soon!

It's (not) just dinner (AO3)

---

"Ok you cut the zucchini, while I take care of the onions. Or do your eyes not tear up from cutting onions? Then maybe you can do that while I cut the zucchini." Buck ordered, rushing around Tommy's kitchen.

"You know you can just buy a bag of mixed vegetables that's already chopped up." Tommy suggested. "That would be easier than all of this. And less time consuming."

"We could also just buy a couple of microwave meals or order pizza." Buck said sarcastically. "Or maybe just pre-packaged sandwiches from a gas station? Or a couple of bags of chips?"

Tommy bit back a laugh and put his hands on his boyfriend's hips.

"Babe relax. It's just dinner with my brother. It's no big deal. He'll eat whatever you want to serve. It doesn't matter if it's store bought or made from scratch."

"It's not just dinner. It's the first time I'm meeting your brother and his... boyfriend? Partner? Lover? Spouse? What do they call each other?"

"I'm... not sure... Does it really matter?"

"Yes it matters! I want to get it right. I want them to like me."

"I'm sure they will." Tommy told him. "And if they don't, that's their loss." he vowed.

"Tommy... You only just reconnected with your brother... I don't want to be the one to mess it all up for you."

"You won't." Tommy insisted. "I've gone years without Donovan in my life and managed just fine. If he, for whatever stupid reason, decides not to like you, then I don't want him back in my life. You're more important."

Buck melted a little at that.

"Still. I want him and... What's his name again... Dominique, to like me."

"And I'm sure they will. Don told me Dominique owns a food truck, maybe you two can trade recipes."

"Wait, he's a chef? I thought you said they worked together? I thought he was SWAT?!"

"He is. The food truck is kind of a hobby I think."

"Great. What kind of food does he serve? What's the name of the truck? Maybe I can find out via google."

"I don't know. Don never mentioned a name." Tommy shrugged. "I've never met the guy either, only seen a picture, so he's probably just as nervous about meeting us as we are about meeting them."

"That's the spiders are more afraid of you than you are of them speech." Buck rolled his eyes. "Only this is about your brother and his... partner." He settled on.

"Maybe. But is it working?"

Buck sighed.

"Maybe." he turned his attention back to the recipe he'd found online. A slightly different version of the classic lasagne Bobby had taught him to make. "Ok we should hurry up because it needs to soak up the flavours in the fridge for a couple of hours before it can go in the oven. And I don’t want them to starve while waiting for dinner."

"Yes, chef!" Tommy said and jokingly saluted him with a wooden spoon. "Put me to work."

Buck narrowed his eyes.

"Have you been watching The Bear without me?"

"Of course not. I would never."

"So if I check... it'll still show the episode where we left off the other day?"

"Hmm"

"Thomas..."

"Fine..." Tommy rolled his eyes. "I was bored when you were on shift ok? There was nothing interesting on. I only watched two episodes!"

"We only had two episodes to go until the end of the season!" Buck said exasperated, pointing a zucchini at him. "But your brother will be here in a couple of hours so we really don't have time to get into this right now... But I'm going to remember this... For later."

"I look forward to it, chef." Tommy teased and stole a quick kiss that quickly turned into more until Buck pushed him away.

"Stop distracting me. You. Onions. Now." he ordered and Tommy grinned and gave him another mock salute.

"Yes, chef!"

"Menace."

"I learnt from the best."

[lavylesby]

Family Reunion

hey guys! ^^ I officially have an AO3 account! :D so here's my first story (I'll be posting it here and on AO3):

Family Reunion

Author's Notes: There are two users on Tumblr, @akiiame and @coffeecat1983, who came up with the idea that Sonic is Mario and Luigi's pet. @akiiame made an adorable drawing, and @coffeecat1983 took it and ran with it as a fanfic. I would like to expand on this, as this is my first ever story on AO3, and I think it's an absolutely wonderful concept. Thank you reading my first story, and please don't hesitate to give me constructive criticism! Now then, onward and upward! ^^

"Hrrmgph." "Soonik." "Why does he keep making that sound?" Luigi laughed. He joyfully tossed the little hedgehog another treat, and continued chuckling at his hungry enthusiasm. Sonic. That's a perfect name, Mario thought. But where the heck did he even come from? And why is he blue? "Hey, Lu?" Luigi's ears perked up at his brother's tone. There was a slight hint of concern. "What's wrong, Mar?" he asked. "You don't think we could get in trouble, do you?" Mario replied. Luigi turned in his chair, being mindful of his cast. "Trouble for what? Clearly nobody was caring for 'im. You didn't know he'd show up at work." He got up and hugged his older sibling, who sighed. "We ain't do nothing wrong, bro," Luigi assured him. "If you want, we can take Sonic to the vet tomorrow and get 'im checked out." Mario gently squeezed his little brother. "OK. I guess it'll be alright." He turned to see the bright blue ball, eagerly snorting for more treats. "You gonna be spoiled, boy," Mario giggled. He scooped Sonic into his hands and hand-fed him one last treat. The little hedgehog must've realized this would be the end of his snacks, and he squealed in protest. "MMRRPGH!!" "SOOOOONIK!!" Luigi collapsed into laughter. "No more treats!" Mario chided him lovingly. "It's time for you to rest, buddy."

A few hours and a few helpings of Ma's lasagna later, Mario finished building and decorating Sonic's new home. Luigi chipped in where he could, even giving the rodent one of his favorite stuffed toys. Now, Sonic was fast asleep in his brand new, ultra fluffy bed, with all but his inquisitive snout being covered by a delicate blanket. Luigi was fascinated by the creature. He quietly hummed an Italian lullaby to help him sleep. Mario joined him later, and when the song ended, the bros embraced, and the older kissed the younger's cheeks. "How's your leg?" Mario asked gently. "It's just a dull pain right now," Luigi said. "I've got my meds, so I think I'll get a good night's sleep for once." Unfortunately, the pain from his injury had given him a nearly sleepless week. Luckily, he was stuck at home most days, so he could take naps when he had the chance. Luigi gingerly stood up and kissed his brother's forehead. "I'll be fine, fratellone," he murmured. "C'mon, let's go to bed." Mario took one last peek at his new pal. "G'night, Sonic," he whispered. As if responding, the spiky rodent let out a gentle, hushed grumble. The bros smiled at each other, happy to be hedgehog parents.

Sound asleep, Luigi snored peacefully. Despite being unconscious, he knew he was warm, comfortable, and safe, and his brother was at his side. Or was he? Luigi's brain prompted him to wake up. He realized that Mario was standing over him, having recently kissed his nose. "Mar?" he asked groggily. "Why are you up at 4 AM…?" "Spike called," he whispered. "I gotta come in, he said there's something I need to see." "Can't it wait until morning?" Luigi complained. "I dunno, he sounded pretty worried," Mario replied. "Y'know he never gets worried about anything." He grabbed his toolbox and ruffled Luigi's hair. "I made you some breakfast, you can heat it up when you're ready. Marty will come by to look at Sonic later," he said, Marty being the vet. Luigi mmphed a response. Mario shut the bedroom door behind him, and Luigi prepared to go back to the murkiness of sleep… …until Mario shouted. Quick, thudding footsteps made their way back to the bedroom. The door swung open. "Where's Sonic?!" Mario demanded. "Huh?? What do you mean?" Luigi said, still slightly confused. Perhaps he was dreaming. "He should still be in his cage…right?" "He's gone!" "Gone?? How?!" "The latch is wide open, and there's a hole in the front door!" Luigi was wide awake now. He ignored his leg pain and hurriedly began to dress. "I'm coming with you." "Lu, you need to stay!" "If Spike is worried, and you found Sonic at work, there's a good chance he went there and we'll find out what's going on. I have my crutches." Mario sighed. Despite his timid tendencies, he knew that once Luigi set his mind on something, there was no convincing him otherwise. "Well, c'mon then." The bros locked arms to aid Luigi, leaving their damaged door to be resolved later.

"Oh, thank God you're here!" Spike ran from the construction site to greet the bros. "Hey Luigi, whatta you doin' here? Thought you was patching up?" "I am," he said. "But Sonic is missing." "Eh, Sonic?" Spike paused for a moment. "Oh, the blue rat thing! Well, he ain't missing no more." Spike stepped aside, and to the bros' surprise, Sonic was standing right behind him. The so-called "blue rat thing" ran up to Mario and nuzzled his leg. "Boy, what is you doin'???" Mario exclaimed. "The sun ain't even out yet!" But before he could grab his strange companion, Sonic dashed off again, and motioned to the wrecking crew to follow him. "I couldn't sleep, so I came here to assess what our next step would be," Spike said. "All of a sudden the rat comes along and just would not stop squeaking! And he's so fast!" "Well, that would explain the door," Luigi chuckled. "But he would have to be REALLY fast to break it." "Yeah…" Mario agreed absentmindedly. His concern grew with every step he took to follow Sonic. Eventually, the group stopped at what appeared to be a nest. Sonic slowed down, and turned to face his humans. But before they could ask questions, Sonic turned back around and began uttering a low call. "ruuuuuuIMPH." "ruuuuuuuuuu…ruuuuuuuuIMPH." Mario, Luigi, and Spike shared hasty glances. They had no idea what was happening. "Tooooils…" "NuuuuuuuKLS…" "Soooodooow…" "Mimimimi…" The rodent continued repeating these calls, and to everyone's shock, several small creatures emerged from the makeshift nest. Mario was stunned. "Are-are…are those more hedgehogs???" Luigi gasped. "Look, one of 'em's got 2 tails!" Spike shouted. Sonic ran over to what could only be his family, his quills quivering joyfully. The creatures exchanged grunts, nuzzles, and rubs. Sonic turned once more, and you could almost make out a smile on his face in the early morning light. Mario managed to snap back to reality, and his heart filled with warmth. He knelt down to pet his blue baby. "Is this your family, buddy?" he asked. Sonic squeaked in response, and Mario caressed his ears. "Well, they can come with us." "They can??" Luigi gasped once more. Mario grabbed the two-tailed creature, who grunted gratefully. "Yeah…we can share them with Peach and the others, and they can meet each other sometimes." Spike was absolutely speechless. He just stared off as the bros scooped the petite animals and left. He heard a small bit of their fading conversation. "…Is Marty open now…?" "Yeah I guess we can…" "…Tails? That's awes…!" "I'm pretty sure he…"

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

Thanks for reading! ^^ Can't wait to get started on AO3. Once again @akiiame @coffeecat1983 thanks for the idea! :D

[polifandom]

by polifandom and mysweetcreature on ao3

Arcadia; the one where Gale and John form an unlikely pair in the zombie apocalypse.

Chapter 1 - Seven Nation Army

[...] Gale Cleven is alone in the way he moves between state lines with nothing but a backpack of food, medical supplies and a box of bullets. He is alone in the way he hides when he hears a voice, and shoots when he hears a gun. He is alone in the way he can’t recall what his voice sounds like, for it hasn’t been used even to himself in a long time.

Gale Cleven is alone in the way he is – the way he roams the earth with no one to remember him by, and no one for him to think of. It’s like poetry, really; roaming with nowhere to go, searching for nothing to find. Living in a way that’s not even being alive. A foot in front of the other, but no road to look back to. A son without a mother, not a thing to pursue. Surviving the end of the earth, when you have barely lived the beginning. Not a soul to hold onto, a life without a meaning. It’s poetry in the way that is consistent in its hypocrisy. It’s poetry in the way it’s fate, for the lone boy to survive the apocalypse. [...]

Arcadia, the clegan zombie apocalypse au, is out now on ao3! [click here to read]

<3 check my tag and @xmysweetcreaturex for more arcadia content!

author's notes beneath the cut!

ok so, i just can't believe this is finally able to be seen by more pair of eyes than mine's and taty's. i truly, truly believe this story has been the peak of my writing style in my life so far, and i have so much love for it that i can hardly put it in words...

writing gale's pov and figuring him out in this fic has been a wild ride, and i hope you guys like this complex lil fella as much as we do! this has truly been a labor of love, and we have poured so much time and enery and endless phone calls into this story, and my one true hope is that you fall in love with it too 𖹭

alright im done with the melancholy, go read!

<3 tag list: @wayrad @jjubilee-fluff @feyd-meowtha @wwasted @ignalina-c0re @bucksbluescarf @alienoresimagines @blixabargelds @mangokittokatsu @thegrandpineapple @sleepr-agent420 @amiserableseriesofevents @trashbag-baby666 @swifty-fox (please lmk if you do not wish to be tagged moving forward!) <3

[hunters-vigil]

Her Champion - Mavuika x Kinich's older sister!Reader - Part Four

First Part Previous Part

request: do you think maybe you can do another one which talks about how the reader is Kinich’s older sister and having an affair with Mavuika?

Warnings: Warnings: mentions of R's and Kinich's childhood (Kinich's lore), fighting, violence, suspicious looking positions, guns (Chasca's weapon), R thinks Mavuika is trying to proposition/make sexual advancements but Mavuika isn't, implied past abuse to R - Mavuika figures out something happened in the past.

Fic under the cut, don't repost my stuff on other platforms, i have ao3 which my fics are also available on.

Mavuika wanted to know more about you. She couldn't ask Kinich easily, he would ask why, and that would be too difficult to explain. Not to mention the possible cost of such personal information… No, her best bet was during the next spar against you, but she needed to consider it more. How long until you lost interest in sparring with her? Did you only agree to a second one because you felt like you had to?

You felt so mysterious to her, so many layers she wished to unravel, how her fingers ached to gently touch your cheek, how her eyes lingered on your scar- the questions in her mind. How did you get it? What happened to make you and Kinich the way you both are?

This wasn't relevant to her duty to Natlan at all…

Mavuika shook her head, clearing the thoughts from her mind as she went back to looking over the paperwork that had been recently submitted to the Speaker's Chamber.

The thoughts Mavuika was having, she should not be having them, not when she knew her duty and where her destiny led. Where her life would lead up to…

Sparring with you would count as training for you both. That's how she could answer anyone who questioned her.

///

Your brother had friends. That was evident each time someone came to check on him. There was the happy ocean girl, Mualani, the timid girl who loved the rock you gave her, Kachina, that saurian-vet guy who Ajaw called a quack, Ifa, and a adolescent qucusaurus he brought with him, Cacucu. You liked Ifa immediately after hearing Ajaw while, Mualani being a little too boisterous for your tastes, and Kachina… she gave you pause, would you be more like her if you had healthy childhood?

You were unaware that there was also another girl until she arrived from the sky, staring down at you until you spotted her. Flying on a giant gun of all things, which so happened to be pointing at you when you looked up. Chasca quirked an eyebrow as you were quick to aim your weapon at her, cryo energy swirling around your body.

"We seem to have got off on the wrong foot, I'm looking for Kinich." The girl announced, but that wasn't enough as the cryo energy continued to swirl.

"I'm Chasca, Flower-Feather Clan. We've fought together in the Night Warden Wars? Fine. I didn't come here to fight, but if it's a fight you want…" Chasca stated, as you stared at her, waiting, "are you going to introduce yourself, or do I tell Kinich I fought a stranger in his front garden?"

"You tell Kinich," you jumped up into the air, sending icicles after Chasca, "his sister kicked your ass!"

"Sister, huh?" Chasca flew out of the way easily, unbothered by your attack, but that fury coming from you, it reminded her of someone, "you'll have to reach me first-"

You reminded Chasca of herself, especially when she was younger.

"Must you fight above the pplot of embercore flowers?" Kinich deadpanned as he arrived, while Ajaw took a different approach.

"Fight! Fight! Fight! Tear her eyes out!"

Chasca turned her head to acknowledge your brother, which was a mistake. She began to lower her flying gun closer to the ground as she saw him, low enough that with enough of a run-up, you tackled her off of it. The gun landed in the landing in the flowerbed embercores, while you two landed in the bed of sweet flowers, with you on top of her.

"Bite her thoat!" Ajaw screeched, but you only stared down at Chasca with a cold glare, her hands stuck as you clamped yours down on her wrists, your weight pressing down on her thighs to try keep her still. Kinich was quick to put Ajaw into a timeout after that, whacking him flying before he approached slowly.

"You know the longer you keep her there, the more you'll have to make it up to her." Kinich stated, unbothered at you straddling Chasca, while she raised an eyebrow, watching how you seemed to think it over, let out a grumbly sigh, then quickly scrambled off of her.

"You going to explain what just happened?" Chasca turned to your brother, who watched as you disappeared further into the mountains.

"You're lucky you didn't try flip her, or you would be a popsicle right now. My sister doesn't take kindly to things being pointed in her face…" Kinich let out an uncharacteristically tired sigh, "thank you for not attacking her."

"Well, I'd say she started it, but- I didn't know you had a sister." Chasca changed her train of thought, her eyes trained on Kinich as he stared at her.

"It never came up. Most people have met her by turning up here looking for me. That includes Mualani and Kachina." Kinich stated, folding his arms, "what was it you came here for, Chasca?"

///

Meanwhile, you could feel the heat of embarrassment flooding your body, your feet carrying you away, eventually up a tree with enough cover for you to hide in peace. Something about the gun pointing at you from above, sent you into fight or flight mode… how in the abyss were you supposed to make it right with her? What was her name again? Chasca, Chasca… oh.

The Night Warden Wars…

"Xilonen? Are you up there?" The Archon's voice snapped you out of your haze, carefully peeking over to spot the sunglasses-clad fiery woman looking up at you, her face melting into some expression you didn't understand as you met her eyes.

"I wasn't expecting to see you today." Mavuika beamed, not even bothering to take off her sunglasses as she began to climb the tree, eventually face to face with you, "are you alright? You look… frazzled."

"Frazzled?" your eyebrows crinkled together in a way that Mavuika, if she was a wide eyed giddy teenager again, would call cute… Luckily Mavuika's sunglasses hid that expression, schooling her face before putting her sunglasses away properly.

"Anyway, I was looking for Xilonen, I wanted to talk to her about a new upgrade for Flamestrider, my motorbike, can you see it down there?" Mavuika smiled as your eyes eventually followed where she was pointing, spotting the strange machine on the ground nearby.

"I'm not the weapon forger." You deadpanned, not understanding why Mavuika was smiling so much.

"I know you're not, but that doesn't mean I can't spend time with you… we need to schedule our next spar, and maybe some other activities-"

"Other activities? I'm not- am I allowed to refuse? I know you are the Archon…" Your voice trembled, eyes widening as Mavuika looked momentarily confused, before realising what you thought she was trying to ask for.

"Uh, not that, wow, uh, let me take you to dinner first at least." Mavuika's eyes widened, spotting how your arms wrapped around your torso almost to hide your body from her, even though your clothes were there…

"I'm not good company." You brushed her off, directing your attention to the soil that was on your clothes, reminding you of what you did.

"What happened?" Mavuika's eyes trailed down your legs, holding back from reaching out to touch you as you shifted uncomfortably.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I care-" Mavuika began, but your eyes were cold as you met her warm ones.

"We sparred together once." You deadpanned, reminding her momentarily of Kinich, but your voice held a bit more… confusion in it. Did you really not see the interest you held?

"And I'd like to do it again. I happen to think you're rather interesting." Mavuika smiled, about to nudge you with her elbow, but you stared at her arm confusedly, moving away from it almost unconsciously.

"The appeal will wear off quickly, then you'll go back to your duties and… tracking down Xilonen." You waved her off, but it was only making Mavuika more determined.

"I happen to be quite stubborn, just ask Xilonen. I know she crafted your weapon for you too." Mavuika smiled, before it slowly disappeared into a frown, "do I make you uncomfortable?"

"You confuse me," you let out a sigh, avoiding Mavuika's gaze as you tried to figure out the words, "Chasca visited home, looking for Kinich. She flew in on that giant gun, looming over me. I… I'm not good company. I should go."

Mavuika caught your shoulder before you could climb out of the tree, but the panicked look on your face had her let go quickly.

"Who hurt you?" the fire in her burned brightly as you looked back at her for a moment, your gaze icy as you gave no emotion back to her as you left with only parting words.

"Who didn't?"

[miss-noo-na]

Take What You Can Get (Yeonjun x Reader)

Title: Take What You Can get

Featuring: Choi Yeonjun (TXT) x Reader

Rating: Mature/explicit

Warnings: Verbal degradation and name-calling (slut, whore, etc), dubcon because consent isn't verbally given but insinuated. Rough sex/hate-fucking, dirty talk, choking, biting, yearning.

Word Count:  4000

Summary: You have been pining for Soobin, even though he doesn't return your feelings. You can't stand his best friend Yeonjun, but he notices, and he's going to make you forget all about him. Whether you want to or not.

Notes: It's been a long time since I posted something to Tumblr, so I thought I'd do it for funsies. Also to remind everyone that I'm still alive and update on AO3 now (check my pinned post for links) Love you guys <3

You didn’t expect much when Soobin invited you over. Sure, there was always a small part of you that hoped maybe today would be the day. The day he got the hint that you liked him and had for some time. The day he returned those feelings, or at least was curious to get closer. For the sake of your friendship you would never confess to him the crush you had been harboring for so long, unless you got that hint.

But you never imagined that standing in his kitchen he would introduce you to the girl he had been seeing. You had no idea he was dating anyone, especially not someone so pretty. It was early in the relationship but you thought for sure you would have known about this sooner, if not from him than one of your mutual friends. You smiled wide and happy when you shook her hand, even though inside you could feel the weight of the disappointment crushing down on your heart.

To make matters worse, halfway through the get-together they had left. He assured you and their other friends they would be back in a bit, they had something they needed to do together. You don’t know why they hadn’t done it before you bothered coming over, but there you were, alone in his bedroom trying to work out a problem with his computer. He had mentioned in passing that he was having some issues with a program you were familiar with, and it would be great if you could take a look at it while you were there.

“I’d really appreciate it.” He said with a gentle crease in his eyes that made you melt, and you nodded all too willingly. Now you just felt like an idiot, doing his tasks for him while he was out with his new girl doing whatever it was you didn’t want to think about.

You were vaguely trying to solve the issue, more so lost in your thoughts and clicking around idly. The door being nudged open loudly by someone’s foot startled you.

You swiveled halfway in the chair and locked eyes with Yeonjun, who half-smiled at you but not in a kind way. You rolled your eyes and turned back around without a word.

The baggage of pining for Soobin came with the unfortunate add-on of having to be around Yeonjun. From the moment you met, there was something about him that bothered you, and the more you got to know him that something turned into many things. He was arrogant and loud and always needed to be the center of attention. He thought too highly of himself and dominated conversations with his obnoxious presence that he was under the impression was charming to others, but not you. You tried ignoring him at first, but over time started to speak up whenever he was too extra, and cracking jokes and roasts at his expense had him glowering at you from across the room. You bickered like rivals even when it wasn’t that serious. Every time he opened his mouth in a group setting you couldn’t help but roll your eyes just as you had done when you saw him enter Soobin’s room.

“Does he know you’re in here?” He asked as he made himself at home on the edge of Soobin’s bed.

“Of course he does.” You said in a biting tone, trying to focus now.

“Got you doing his work for him, eh?” He asked with a laugh and the sound it of it went down your spine like nails on a chalkboard.

“I’m just doing him a favor.”

“Naturally, you’re always doing him favors.” He said off-handedly, and you fought the urge to turn around. You said nothing.

“Tell me, do all your little errands feel stupid now that he’s fucking someone else?” He asked in a voice that dripped in condescension and you could feel yourself getting hot with anger. Yeonjun had caught on to your crush long ago, far more attentive than Soobin had ever been. It was something he liked to bring up whenever he felt like getting under your skin. Usually in retaliation for the times you told him to shut up and stop pestering everyone.

You continued to ignore him, typing more furiously and glaring at the screen, mentally cursing him out but not allowing it to reach your tongue.

You heard him get up and hoped he was leaving, but instead you felt him behind you, his presence looming over your shoulder. He turned his head and his hot breath ghosted your neck.

“Does it make you crazy thinking about him and her in this room?” He laughed low and it tickled your ear. “I bet you get all worked up wishing it was you.”

You weren’t going to sit here and be mocked, the anger bubbling up inside but also the pin-prick feeling of something else you didn’t want to address. You shoved the chair back, bumping his chest and making him stumble back. You headed for the door, figuring you could do this later when he wasn’t here.

“Hey! Hold on.” He grabbed at your wrist and you snatched it away, turning and glaring daggers into him. He sat back down on Soobin’s bed and he was grinning.

“I’m just messing around.” He said, but it didn’t ease your fury. Then his voice changed, it got a little softer and deeper.

“Come here.”

You blinked, his smile had faded and his eyelids drew down. The way he was looking at you was different. Usually it was smarmy or annoyed, but this looked like….

“Why?” You asked, still angled toward the door.

“Because.”

He gestured to the spot next to him and you hated that you were curious about what he had to say. The day was already ruined, so you relented and went and sat next to him.

“Look, I’m the only person who knows how you feel right now.” He said, surprisingly understanding, but you wondered about his angle. He wouldn’t be the type to comfort you.

“And I think maybe you should take this opportunity to do something about it.” He leaned a little closer. “That I could help with.”

You pulled back and scowled at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about letting me,” He pointed at himself, “Make you-“His finger touched the center of your chest, below your throat, “feel better.”

You guffawed at his proposition, but the hysterical laughter was hiding the way your blood started rushing to your ears when you heard him say it.

“You think I’m desperate enough to do that?” You asked.

Instead of being offended, like you might assume, he smirked.

“I do.” He stated plainly. “I think you’ve been following my best friend around like a pathetic puppy and someone needs to snap you out of it.”

Your smile faded at his words and you didn’t know how to decipher the mix of emotions. It hurt, first and foremost. But it hurt in a way that made your breath pick up as Yeonjun stared you down. You wanted him to keep talking.

He put his hands on the bed and moved forward in a sudden motion, making you lean back so far that you fell onto your back and he was now hovering over you.

“I think someone needs to get it through your dumb head that he doesn’t want you.”

He sounded mad. Frustrated by your behavior and intent on letting you know.

“And I know that you hate me,” He said with a wry smile, his eyes taking in the sight of you beneath him for a moment. “So I’m the perfect person to fuck it out of your system.”

Despite yourself and everything your instincts told you, you trembled at his words, your eyes widening and hands going clammy.

“What’s in it for you?” You asked, irked by how weak your voice now sounded.

He laughed, almost gleefully. “Making the bitch who hates me squirm under me is satisfying in its own way.” He cocked his head to the side. “I’ll think about it next time you try to humiliate me in front of our friends.”

Your chest was rising and falling quickly now, as he talked it got harder to deny what it was doing to your body. It took you a moment to recognize that the more he degraded you, the more it turned you on. And even the shame of that revelation was exciting you.

“So,” He started, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, just under your jaw. “Are you going to let me ruin you or what?”

His kisses moved to your throat and then down to your collar bones. You stared at the ceiling, breathing hard and pressing your hands into the covers. You suddenly remembered where you were. This was Soobin’s room and his best friend was kissing down your neck in his bed.

His mouth moved to the crook of your shoulder where his teeth sank into your flesh. Not enough to break skin, but enough to make you yelp in surprise. Your hands shot up to grab his arms, holding on to him. He laughed against your neck.

“Take this off,” He said, toying with the hem of your shirt. You couldn’t understand yourself when you did exactly what he asked without hesitating.

“You might as well take your pants off, too.”

As you worked on removing your clothing, a voice in your head was asking what exactly you were doing, letting someone you couldn’t stand 5 minutes ago strip you down to your underwear. It was overpowered by a louder part of you that needed this. Needed to be taken and consumed and punished.

“You may be stupid,” He said, his tongue swiping over his lower lip as his vision grazed your body, “But you’re not bad looking.”

His half-lidded gaze, plump mouth and imposing form over you made you realize you thought the same of him. Maybe when you first saw him you recognized how attractive he was, but it was quickly replaced by a seething dislike. However here, in the afternoon glow of Soobin’s bedroom and his smoldering eyes, he looked like everything you’d desire.

In one harsh movement he grabbed your leg under the knee and pulled the limbs apart, settling himself between them. He attached his mouth onto your neck once more as his fingertips started a delicate dance down the front of your body, stopping to fondle your breasts through your bra.

“Maybe I should mark you up, huh?” He breathed against your skin before latching his lips to it and sucking hard, nibbling with his teeth. “Make him wonder where you got these from.”

He moved to the other side of your neck and did it again, and without seeing it you could tell he was leaving vicious marks in your skin that would be obvious to anyone.

“Then again, he probably won’t care.” He chuckled. “You’ll want him to. You’ll leave them out for him to see and he won’t give a fuck.” He hissed before capturing your mouth in a searing kiss.

It took you by surprise, and you made a sound against his mouth. However, it didn’t take you long to reciprocate, opening up to him and letting his tongue lap against yours. Your hands found their way over his shoulders, drawing him closer, and he pressed his hips into you in response.

He pulled back but kept close, staring down at you as one of his hands came up and took your chin, his thumb pressing against your moist lips.

“Look at you.” He murmured, pushing up on your chin to raise your head. “Your body is begging for attention. He’s ignored you for so long, hasn’t he?” His voice baby-talking those harsh words and his hardness grinding into you made you whimper. Your brain felt like it was being emptied out and all that mattered was what Yeonjun was doing to you.

“Aren’t you glad I was here?” He smiled, a devious edge to his sweet voice. “To take advantage of a pathetic, touch-starved whore.”

His words were like electricity jolting through you. No one has ever talked to you like this before, and never did the thought occur to you that you might like it.

Because he was right. You had followed Soobin around for ages, hanging off his words and vying for anything you could get. You hadn’t been desired or looked at by anyone else in that time nor did you want to be, until now. Until Yeonjun forced you to take what you had been lacking.

His hand on your chin trailed down your body once more, his large hand cupping over your clothed sex. He squeezed you, hard, and you cried out from the painful ache that it caused.

“I could’ve just stripped you down and fucked you raw and gotten it over with.” He commented nonchalantly. “You would have let me, too. But teasing you is so much more fun.”

You looked up at him with wet, wide eyes, lips pouted and wanting to say something.

“You’re so quiet now. Usually you never shut the fuck up.” He laughed, now gently rubbing his hand over you, feeling your wetness seep through your panties.

“What do you want to say, baby?” He leaned closer and his voice fell to a whisper. “Tell me.”

Some of your deep-seated anger was coming through as you heard him talk without changing pace in his motions. Even in the moment of actually doing something useful, he was still so goddamn annoying.

“I hate you.”

A smile grew over his mouth as his eyes narrowed, and you didn’t know if you detected anger or passion. Maybe both.

“Your mouth says that,” He started, then slipped his hand under the band of your underwear and sank down toward your wetness, his fingers pressing between the folds and stroking up toward your clit. “But your body loves me.”

When his fingertips grazed agonizingly over the sensitive spot, you moaned, your hips twitching.

“See?” He commented triumphantly, and you were too lost in the feeling to argue it.

After teasing you another minute, his middle two fingers sank inside you, pressing to the second knuckle and making your back arch up off the bed toward him. He kissed up your neck to your ear and breathed, making you shiver.

“I’m gonna make you forget all about him.” He said in an unusually serious tone. He curled his fingers up and massaged a place inside you that made your eyes roll back.

Yet just as you were starting to surrender to it, he retracted them, and you whined at the emptiness that followed. He ripped your underwear down your legs as he sat up, then grinned down at you before removing his shirt.

“Stop whining, you’ll get something much better.”

You watched him quickly strip away the rest of his clothing and before you could do anything else, he was grabbing your legs and pulling you down toward him, surprising you with his strength.

You looked down between your bodies, your knees trembling as he took himself in his hand and aligned it with your entrance, but didn’t enter quite yet. Instead, he ran the tip of his cock between your folds, all the way up to your clit and slowly back down again. He repeated the motion as he spoke.

“Do you want me to fuck some sense into you?” He asked, meeting your eyes. “Or do you want to save yourself for your precious Soobin?”

“Shut up.” You whined, not sounding as strong and biting as you usually did when you told him to shut up.  “Just fuck me.”

His eyes that once danced with amusement dropped down into a glare you were familiar with. “Fine.”

He grabbed your hips at either side and sank himself inside you in one fluid motion, pressing all the way to the hilt until he bottomed out inside you. Your eyes snapped open and you grabbed onto his forearms, digging your nails into his skin. It was overwhelming in both pleasure and burning pain but you didn’t want him to stop.

Then he started to move, his hips drawing back only about an inch before snapping back in. He made sure he pulled you flush against him each time, showing you just how deep he could go.

As the grimace melted away from your face and twisted into pleasure, he leaned forward.

“What happened to all that attitude?” He asked, his breath coming out in thick pants. “You sure don’t look like you hate me now.”

You dug your nails even deeper into his skin and he hissed, snatching your wrists and forcing them over your head, pinning you down and never faltering in his rhythm.

“How does it feel?” He asked, squeezing your wrists and breathing down your neck. “How does it feel knowing I’m fucking you into the mattress of the man you love?”

You tugged at your makeshift restraints and knew you were trapped, he was stronger than he looked, but even if you could break free you didn’t really want to. Your face burned in embarrassment, hearing him mock your feelings.

“What would he think about you?” His voice got lower and closer to your ear. “What would he think knowing that you long for him, and you fucked the first person who showed you any attention because you’re just that desperate. “

He punctuated his words with hard thrusts, sweat forming on his brow and temples as his hair fell into his face. He swallowed up your needy moans in a kiss.

“You’re so fucking stupid.” He laughed breathlessly as he pulled away. “Look at what I’m doing to you. You could have had this all along.”

Something about that sentence rattled your brain, and you tried to focus on what he meant, but the way he was driving into you and holding you down made it difficult to concentrate.

“All this time running after Soobin when I was right here.” He growled, and a very real anger clouded his eyes. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, but he made it very clear he wasn’t joking when his motions became more purposeful.

“I wanted you as soon as I laid eyes on you.” He huffed out a breath. “And you couldn’t stand me.”

You were caught between listening to his confession and trying to hold on to your sanity with what he was doing with your body, and hearing the pure and unmistakable wanting in his voice spurned on your arousal.

“Now look at you,” That deviant smile came back. “You’re mine now.”

He let go of your arms and one hand encircled your throat. He didn’t squeeze too tight, just enough to get your attention and make you moan in approval.

“Isn’t that right, pretty girl?” He asked, and the tiniest hint of praise that hit your ears made you squirm and cry out under him.

“Yes.” You responded without hesitation, rocking against him and letting him grind down into you.

“Yeah? You like me taking care of this aching cunt and making it mine?”

You moaned in response, nodding your head in his hand and gazing up at him with a wanton stare. You realized the power you held in that moment, giving him exactly what you didn’t know he wanted.

“It’s all yours.”

The fire that lit up his eyes was worth it all, and his mouth crashed down on yours to kiss you with a new kind of fervor, grinding down deeper until his pelvic bone was in the perfect place to stimulate you. He knew exactly what he was doing, rolling his hips up and hitting the right spots until you could feel your release building up inside you.

He could see it in your face, and it only made him work harder. “I want you to come undone. I want to break you.” He rasped, his own ecstasy mounting right behind you.

You latched onto his shoulders and let him guide you to it. “I’m so close, Yeonjun.” You said his name in a way that drove him crazy.

“Then come for me, slut.” That sly grin found its way onto his features, “show me who it belongs to.”

With that it didn’t take long, fingers digging into his shoulders as your back arched and your orgasm hit you hard, washing over you in waves. He leaned down and panted in your ear “that’s it, baby,” and “All for me.”

Relentlessly fucking you through it over-stimulated you until you were a babbling, drunk mess. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down, feeling the vibration of his moans against your collar bone.

“Fuck, I’m-“ He hardly had the time to warn you before it hit him, he slowed down into a gradual, pulsing thrusting motion as he whined out his release in the sweetest way.

He came to a halt and panted against your skin, your limbs all tangled up and chests rising and falling together. It took a long time for your heartbeats to slow down.

He lifted himself up on his hands and looked down at you, softening and twitching inside you still. After the haze of the arousal and the hormones wore off, you felt exposed under his gaze. You wondered if he was angry at you.

But there was a softness in his eyes that worried you more than anything, and you reached up to push his hair back so you could see him better. You locked eyes for a long moment and said nothing.

Finally, he slipped out of you and came to lay down next to you. You grabbed at the nearest cover and pulled it over your body. When you looked over, there was a small smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“You can’t hide from me.” He said in a tired, husky voice.

“I can try.” You said, tucking yourself down into the cover, concealing part of your face. He rolled to his side and pulled them up, joining you underneath. Before you could speak again, he reached out and held your cheek in a surprisingly tender motion, and placed an even more tender kiss to your ravaged lips.

“I really didn’t mean for it to go that far.” He said in a near-whisper under the covers. You could only kind of see his face, and his dewy eyes and pouted mouth looked delicate.

“That’s hard to believe.” You whispered back, even quieter than him.

“Well I didn’t expect you to give in so easily.” He chuckled, and you felt yourself get hot with embarrassment.

“Did you mean what you said?” You asked curiously, knowing this was probably the only time he’d be honest about it. Who knows how either of you would feel once the adrenaline wore off completely.

“About you?” He said, and before you could confirm he nodded. “Yeah.”

“You could have just told me.” You offered, and he laughed louder this time.

“My pride wouldn’t let me do that.  Not with how you were always yearning for my best friend.” He sighed and rested his head on his arm.  “Also you hated me, remember?”

“Hate is a strong word.” You offered.

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Either way…”

He trailed off and you were both quiet for a moment.

“How do you feel about me now?” He asked, and you thought about it for a moment.

“Hmm, you’re slightly less unbearable now.” You said playfully, and luckily he laughed, too. He reached over and pulled you over by the waist, making a surprised squeak come out of you.

“Well, we’ll have to do this a couple more times. Just to make sure.”

He kissed you, and for the first time in a long time, someone other than Soobin made your hands shake and your heart beat faster.

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 24

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

Amelia's a little shit, Daisy's a little anxious, and Jake's managed to annoy everyone but Mav

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

Two days. They were coming home in two days. Penny, Ames, and I were going around to each of their apartments, giving it a good clean, and I had baked a few lasagnas so that everyone would have a couple of meals in their fridges. 

“Ames, what are you doing in there?” Penny called down the hallway where Amelia was supposed to be changing bedsheets in Rooster and Jake’s rooms. I was wiping away dust that had settled on and Penny was vacuuming the living room.

“Looking for an engagement ring!” Amelia’s giggles filled the apartment, “Jake didn’t have anything so now I’m checking Bradley’s drawers.” Penny and I shared a look somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

“Get out of Bradley’s room,” Penny ordered, shaking her head. I sighed, continuing to dust the cabinets. If Jake had bought an engagement ring, I’m pretty sure I would have known about it because the man did not keep secrets well. At least not from me. Even though it would have been a happy secret, Jake probably would’ve been jumpy or a little more anxious, and he probably would have at least asked what type of ring I would have wanted beforehand. And if there was anyone he would have trusted to keep the ring a secret, it would have been Mav, not Rooster. 

Amelia came out of the hallway with a huff, arms crossed. She was trying a new hairstyle, wearing her pretty, blonde locks in a French braid instead of just having the cute, small braid while the left was rest down. It fit her well but it also made her look a little bit more like the teenager she was, which Penny had mentioned was harder than she thought it would be. 

“You two are no fun,” She stuck her tongue out at Penny. “If I have to be at school for the proposal, I should at least get to see the ring beforehand.” 

“Honey, I don’t think he’s going to propose at the docks,” Penny tried once again to dissuade Amelia’s theory. Proposing right after coming off the ship from deployment probably would look like something out of the movies but I knew it wasn’t a likely scenario. He had been expecting to come home months ago, before the one year mark, and probably hadn’t even bought a ring yet, and without contact with the outside world, there was no way he had been scheming with his family. Which meant unless he was proposing with a ring pop from the commissary, there wouldn’t be a Amelia-less proposal. 

The day before the whole gang got home, Jake’s family flew in. They had booked to stay at a hotel close to my apartment, since Jake spent most of his time there anyways, and I was giddy waiting for them at the airport. Pop’s surgery had gone well and his doctor had approved the trip, which was just one more thing to celebrate.

“You don’t know that,” Amelia insisted in a sing-song voice. This was going to be a long day.

 

“Daisy!” Caroline shrieked, waving wildly from beside an equally smiley Helen. Pops had gained back a little weight in his face and was looking healthier already, holding onto mama’s arm as they trailed behind their daughters.

“You’re here!” I rushed to hug them both, heart overwhelmed with happiness. I had to be up on my toes to hug them around the neck, which earned me some giggles, but they hugged me back tightly. “He’s going to be so excited to see you guys.”

“I think he’ll be more excited to see you,” Helen patted my shoulder as we pulled apart. I gave mama and pops hugs as well before we walked to the rental car desk together, chatting as mama got the keys.

“How are you feeling about tomorrow, sweetheart?” Pops asked, arm draped over my shoulders.

“Excited and a little nauseous if I’m being honest,” I laughed awkwardly, knowing it sounded silly but pops just nodded. “It’s just been so long, a lot of things could have changed, if that makes sense?” 

“Makes a lot of sense,” Pops tugged me closer into his side, kissing my temple. “I felt the same way when I was coming home from deployment, happy as hell to be home but scared of what could be waiting for me.” Pops’ words lifted a weight from my chest, validating that what I was feeling was normal. 

“I’m so happy you’re here, pops, and I know he’s going to be too.” Pops didn’t say anything else, he just leaned his head on mine and we stood there in a comfortable silence as the world continued around us. 

The next morning was a flurry of nerves and excitement. Their ship was coming in early according to Penny and I desperately wanted to wear my pajamas but just in case we ended up going to breakfast with his family, I actually put on clothes. Cuffed jeans, Jake’s Naval Academy sweatshirt, and a messy bun. Cute but comfortable enough that I wouldn’t want to throw myself into the ocean before he even got off of the ship. Pretty was also excited, riding in the back of the truck with his head out the window. 

Mav was the only one not ready to kill me by the time the ship pulled in and that was because he was just as excited as I was. Daisy and Penny were waiting for us, probably together, and I was practically vibrating out of my uniform in anticipation. 

“Remember, no growling at Jake and you still get to cuddle with mommy but you’ve got to save space in the bed for him.” If Pretty Boy understood me was anyone’s guess but it made me feel better to say it aloud. “And no chewing on his uniform boots, those things are expensive.” 

X

“Twenty bucks says he proposes in the next twenty four hours,” Phoenix not-so-softly whispered to Rooster who snorted,

“Double he does it in the next hour.” 

“Deal,” I rolled my eyes at them. Technically I was already late on proposing, the year anniversary of us meeting having come and gone, but I wasn’t going to rush it. I was going to wait until I had a ring and all the details planned out. 

“Remember, Hangman,” Mav elbowed my side, “You’re in uniform.” 

“I’ll remember if you do, Mav,” Mav grimaced.

“Good point, kid.” The Navy had a rule against PDA in uniform but no one usually paid attention to them when it came to loved ones before or after a deployment. Still, technically those were the rules. 

“Holy shit man, your family’s here,” Javy clapped me on the shoulder, pointing towards the crowd. Standing in a group were my parents, sisters, and Daisy. Mama and pops were hand-in-hand and my sisters had their arms around Daisy, who looked like she was crying. 

Javy was laughing at me the entire time as we slowly shuffled towards the top deck to disembark, asshole. I was happy that he and Phoenix were finally together but it also meant that he hadn’t gone eight months without his girl, they had been sneaking around the ship while the rest of us suffered. 

When it was finally my turn to step off the ship, I didn’t run but I wasn’t taking my sweet time either. Mama was the first one to hug me, wrapping me so tight in her arms that I dropped my bag on the pavement.

“I think this is the best homecoming I’ve ever had,” None of the ones before even compared in the slightest. My whole family and the love of my life were waiting for me, and it didn’t hurt that I knew I’d be eating something home cooked for dinner instead of take out for once. 

“I’m so happy you’re home, baby,” She sniffled, “Safe and sound.” 

“I missed you too, mama,” I kissed the top of her head before she backed away and pops took her place. “Good to see you, pops.” 

“Nice to have you home, son,” His voice was soft and his body was frail, but he still patted my back hard enough for me to feel it in my chest. “Your sisters got Daisy distracted?” What? I looked over and saw that Daisy was in a Seresin sister hug-sandwich,

“Yeah?” 

“Good, here,” Pops pulled away and pushed a small, black box into my hand. “It was your Grandma’s, your mama had it sized while you were gone.” I didn’t have to open the box to know what ring was inside the box. It was pops’ mom’s ring, silver with a small diamond, he had shown it to me when I was in high school and told me he’d be saving it for when I found the one. I felt tears fighting to spill,

“Thank you,” I managed to choke out, hugging him again. 

Daisy was next, pushed towards me by my grinning sisters and when I took her in my arms, all of my plans went right out of the window. She was crying and holding onto me like I’d run away at any moment, fingers curled into the back of my uniform.

“Marry me?” Daisy laughed into my shoulder, pulling away just enough to look up at me. Her face was red and her eyes were puffy but she was still the most beautiful woman in the world, “Marry me, Daisy.” 

“Amelia’s going to be so mad,” Daisy laughed, smiling bright. “Of course I’ll marry you, Jake.” I kissed her softly, aware that my family was staring at us, “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Wildflower.” 

“Damn it, now I owe Rooster money,” Phoenix groaned, ending the moment. Daisy pushed out of my arms and threw herself at her best friend, who was hugging her just as tight, “God I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, Tasha,” I laughed, holding up the ring box. Daisy’s eyes went wide when she saw it, my sisters were laughing up a storm behind us.

“Oh, shit, forgot that part.” Daisy’s cheeks burned red as she made her way back to me, holding out a shaking hand.

“Wrong hand, baby,” I grabbed her left hand and slid the ring on. “Now you’re stuck with me,” I joked. Daisy rolled her eyes but she was smiling, “No refunds, returns,  or exchanges.” 

“Damn,” She sighed, wrapping her arms around my neck, pulling me forward until our lips were inches apart. “I was planning on swapping you for Bob.” 

“Too bad,” I kissed her and for the first time since I left, everything felt right.

Taglist: @dizzybee03 @littlezee80 @nervousenemyduck @carolina-on-my-mind03 @mizzzpink @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @hookslove1592 @closetspngirl @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @closetspngirl @shanimallina87 @owenniasstars @cevansbaby-dove @caitsymichelle13 @bigstrongblackheart @mrsevans90 @djs8891 @memoriesat30

Next Chapter

[saphscorner]

a pixian drabble? cottage core? pretty please?

anything for you pookie 😍😍 (and also anything for #pixianrevolution2023 ;D) we recently had the first snow here, so i went with some wintery vibes! word count: 801 words pairing(s): pixlriffs/grian warnings: none general tags & vibes: domestic fluff, winter, cottagecore

With the days growing shorter and the nights colder, winter was fast approaching. Grian readjusted his scarf over his nose and mouth, long dead leaves crunching under his boots as he walked. He came to a stop at the woodshed, admiring the piles of firewood stacked high from floor to ceiling. With a cold winter incoming, his and Pix’s work from over the summer should surely pay off to keep them warm in the coming months.

For the first time that season, Grian pulled on his leather work gloves and began to stack firewood into the wheelbarrow, piling it high before setting back in the direction of the cottage. As his scarf slipped below his mouth, he watched as an exhale of his warm breath billowed into the frosty air. 

It really is that time of year, he thought. 

Grian finally parked the wheelbarrow outside the back door to the cottage, then collected as much of an arm load as he could carry before heading back inside. 

Warmer air and the smell of simmering root vegetables greeted him as he made his way inside. He hadn’t realized how dark it was becoming outside until the warm light from the kitchen spilled onto the front porch. He paused to wipe his boots on the doormat, kicking them off and leaving them by the door. “I’m back, Pix!” he called as he headed into the living room. 

The sound of running water from the kitchen came to a stop, followed by some shuffling as Pix appeared in the doorway to the living room. “Welcome back,” he said.

Grian smiled as he set the pile of firewood into the hearthside log holder, then stood back up to go give his partner a kiss. 

Pix hummed, smiling into the kiss as he pulled away after a moment. “You’re freezing.” 

“It’s cold out!”

Pix reached down, taking Grian’s hands to ease his gloves off, laying them down over the back of the nearby sofa. He brought one of Grian’s hands up to his own, kissing the backs of his knuckles. “Good thing we’ll have a fire tonight. And a good warm meal, dinner’s almost done.” 

“You’re spoiling me, Pix.” Grian leaned up to press another kiss to Pix’s cheek, before taking his jacket and scarf off and returning to the hearth. “I’ll go ahead and get this started. Do you mind grabbing me the matches?”

“You mean these?” Pix pulled the matchbox out of his pocket, giving it a shake before tossing it over to Grian.”

Grian’s smile widened as he caught the matches from him. “You always are thinking ahead, huh?” 

Pix just shrugged. “Dinner in here tonight?” He asked. 

“Sounds perfect.” 

With that, he returned to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. 

Still smiling, Grian shook his head. He set the matches down on the hearth, before retrieving a large basket of fire starter and kindling wood from the mantle. He arranged dried pine needles and small sticks into a careful teepee, striking a match to set the structure alight. He then piled on a couple logs, brushing off his hands and putting the kindling basket back up on the mantle. Once the fire was steadily ablaze, he took to putting away his outerwear and tidying the living room up for dinner. 

Once dinner was ready, Pix brought everything into the living room on a tray as promised. He laid out two steaming bowls of stew and two cups of tea, then took a seat on one of the cushions laid on the floor. “Nice fire,” he commented. 

“Nice dinner,” Grian complimented in return, sitting down across from him. 

Pix smiled. “I feel like winter came so much sooner than last year.” He nodded vaguely towards the window, the view outside nearly pitch black. 

“I know,” Grian agreed. “I mean, this feels more like January than November, right?” 

“Yeah,” Pix agreed. “I’m not mad about it though, we worked hard all summer and we’ve got more than enough to last us comfortably through winter.” 

“Speaking of which, is this from the peppermint we dried last month?” Grian took a sip of the tea Pix had brought out for him. 

“It is. I haven’t tried it yet, is it any good?” 

“The best I’ve ever had.” 

Pix took a sip of his and then nodded. “I think you’re right.” 

Grian settled in, sitting cross legged as he unfolded his napkin. “Honestly, there’s something so cozy about all this,” he said after a moment, “I love the summer, but there’s just something about this time of year.” 

“There really is,” Pix agreed. “Especially spending it with you, I’ve got nothing to complain about.” 

Grian smiled and took his hand from across the table. “I think we’re in for another good year, Pix.” 

“I think so too, Grian.”

[ryssbelle]

Poppy for N2 au, it took me so long to make her design cuz I didn't really know what I wanted to do only because I feel like her design is pretty perfect.

But then I just thought about fun outfits to give her or outfits that I would find comfortable if I was wearing them and it all came together.

Poppy here is pretty much the same as here movie counterpart, as nothing really changes on her end of things other than having more insight on Branch through his brothers, and through Lief. Shes also a bit more understanding a bit earlier on because of it but it doesnt do much to change her own character arc I would say.

Bonus

Part of Poppys design was based off a design I had made for previous rulers of Troll Village/Tree

Namely Queen Protea who I designed as Poppys grandmother

Named after the Protea flower which part of her design is based off :D

In the context of this Au Protea was the one who conceptualized the tunnels while her son, King Peppy, was the one to follow through after her death

[secondbeatsongs]

when you're into the Big Ship™ in a Big Fandom™, you have the luxury of having an OTP - a real One True Pairing, where you can read about just them for ages, and you will never run out of fics, and everything is perfect and beautiful and nothing hurts

but when you go to a smaller fandom, you'd better pray to whatever god you worship that someone else in this room ships the same thing that you do, and that if they do, they're writing more than late-night crackfic, because you're on thin fucking ice!

and how small is your small fandom? is it less than 100 fics? maybe even...less than 20 fics?

welp, then it's time to make peace with that god and either open up a text document or learn how to ship everything, because it's swim or drown babey! and your ship is sinking fast

anyway all of this is to say that after hanging out in small fandoms and shipping less-common pairings for a while, going back into a Big Huge Fandom™ is wild because suddenly it's like...wait, why didn't I ship these people again? I don't remember. why was I only sticking to one ship in this fandom?? boring of me, honestly. these guys should make out.