#keep your eye on the donut not the hole

[everything-maxriemelt]

A mini collection of movie theatres paying tribute to David Lynch

[vintage-tigre]

Whimsical David Lynch donut hole feature in a zine by analogstreets

[bunnis-monsters]

i need more abt peacock hybrids I LOVE HIMM

He’s been hanging around your bakery nearly every day since you rejected him, his tail feathers flicking and wanting to present themselves to you… but he stops himself.

He waits, watching you as you serve customers and go about your day. You’re kind, always giving even the nastiest of people a warm smile when you hang them their order.

And now he’s wondering how many of the smiles you have him were fake. Could he blame you? After all, he had been such an asshole, always taking up your time and being demanding…

It was clear you are way out of his league, but still he wants you desperately.

So he continues taking note of every little thing, from the way your eyes light up when you bite into a free donut after a long day, or how you laugh at your stupid male coworker he hates…

He’s in love with you, that’s for certain… but how will he ever win you over when he’s made such a fool of himself? It would have been so easy to just present his feathers in front of a fertile female, but no, he had to fall in love with you…

The peacock hybrid sits outside of the bakery, sulking as he stares at the ground. Perhaps he’d never get to have you. It wasn’t fair to wait around and bother you forever, so he got up and was ready to leave when you walked out the door.

“You’re still out here sulking?”

You walk out, carrying a brown paper bag. He looks up in surprise when you drop the bag in his lap.

“Here…”

You look away, your face slightly warm as you begin walking home. “It’s on the house…”

He stares at the small paper bag in his hand, his eyes wide. Was this… a courting gift?

His feathers flicked as he stood, his mind in a daze as he followed after you.

Maybe he had a chance after all…

It wasn’t long before he walked you home every day after work, acting as a protective mate would when anyone approached. He’d shake his feathers out in a defensive display, keeping you safe.

The best day of his life was when you finally invited him in your home and he got to mate you for the first time…

It was a cold evening, and he had been waiting outside for an hour, ready to walk you home. When you saw him shivering, you knew that he had changed.

Though he could still be selfish and arrogant, it was clear he truly cared for you.

“You’re cold, aren’t you? Come on, I’ll make you something warm.”

But it seemed he didn’t want to eat anything you could make him. No, the second he was in your house you were lifted up onto the nearest surface and your thighs were pried apart. He couldn’t stand it, he needed to taste you…

Your pussy was so plump and warm, the taste almost sweet. He looked up at you with eyes dazed from lust, his tongue fucking into your dripping cunt.

He loved you, wanted to prove he was a proper mate, so he made sure to bring you to several orgasm before he even fathomed pushing his cock into you.

The tip was oozing precum, rubbing against your hole as his feathers shook out. They really were pretty, and his cock stretched you out as he pushed in.

His feathers were soft, and you held onto them as he mated with you, his face burying itself into your neck. This is what he had wanted for so long…

After shooting thick ropes of cum inside of you, he carried you away and made you a comfy nest of blanket and pillows before using his feathers as a cover for you.

“I love you… please, be my mate…”

You yawned, a smile on your face. He looked vulnerable, his plumage puffing out slightly in anticipation.

“Okay…”

His eyes lit up, but he yelped when you plucked one of his feathers. “I’ll take this as my wedding ring…”

And the next day he couldn’t be prouder, seeing you with his feather pinned to your apron.

Want more of this guy? Commission me :3

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NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko

[gatorbites-imagines]

hi!! This is my first request, ever!! I am in dire need of more Tim Drake content. I absolutely love the way you write. Perhaps a continuation of the 2024 kinktober one? Or just anything you’re feeling.

I love your writing so much I don’t care what you write, just something with Tim please (been going down a DC rabbit hole) 🙏

Don’t push yourself if you don’t want to do this ask, just thought I’d try my luck !!

Take care of yourself!

-🖍️ anon

Tim Drake x male reader

Headcanons

Reader is a knight, somehow. Because I’ve been eating up kingdom come 2 all week. And you probably get real sweaty under all that armor.

Yall would be shocked how hard I was struggling not to add a whole chunk about feet in this, for some reason. I don’t even think I’m into that??

How you got to the present doesn’t matter much. Maybe you are some magical hero from times long passed who live forever, or you are some chosen one from a different realm. Maybe you are even from our time, but you were chosen by some ancient deity to become their sword. You were a knight, somehow.

Being a knight meant you needed to train, a lot. Be it with a sword, a spear, bows, maces, no on and so forth. You also needed to train in your armor, which of course had to be a full body covering one, but whatever gives you power lets you be flexible in it.

At least your boyfriend, Tim, loved to watch you work out. It made the suffering of the sweaty armor and grueling work somewhat worth it.

Tim was a Gothamite, so of course hes into having a boyfriend who can slice the head off an enemy from horseback, or having a boyfriend who can hit someone thousands of meters away with an old-school bow.

You also both knew that Tim loved all your training for one other very important reason. Or maybe it was multiple other reasons. It meant you got to throw him around, sometimes with armor and sometimes without. But it also meant that you were sweating buckets at the end of the day.

It was a bit of a ritual for Tim to help you take your layers off, all the way down to your chemise and braise, which would be almost see-through from sweat as it stuck to your body like a second layer of skin.

Tim, being a bat, meant it took you a while to realize just how into it your boyfriend was. He was good at hiding it, also feeling embarrassed about it and all.

This meant that in the beginning, Tim really was just helping you take all the shiny armor off, saving the memories of your scent and the feeling of your sweaty body for later, when he was finally alone.

You get it out of him one way or another, most likely from feeling real hot under the collar yourself, so you pull him in for a kiss. Being all up and personal without the layers of metal between you, also means you can feel just how hard Tim is.

It takes some prying, kissing, and you hooking both your arms around him so his face is smushed into your sweaty chest hair for Tim to admit his attraction to you like this. He always loves you, but like this? God, you are like ambrosia.

After that you keep letting him help undress you after long days of battle or training, but now you have a better eye for what turns him on.

It’s hard to suppress your own shudder of excitement when you see his eyes laser focused on your pits when you stretch your arms behind your head, to shake out the soreness.

It was hard to imagine any Bat allowing themselves to want something so much, but it also made you feel almost warm inside, knowing Tim felt safe enough with you to express these wants and urges.

And yeah, maybe you start really making a show out of it, stretching and groaning, flexing your body to show off your sweat-glistening body, posing just right for the light to reflect off of you like a glazed donut.

Tim was of course a huge fan, burying his hands in your body and feeling you all over, only seeming to grow more giddy with time as you let him get his fill. He did seem really shy about wanting to lick your pits when you asked though, but he clearly wanted it.

Maybe it started out smaller, like kissing and rutting together after training or battles after you get the armor off.

Then it becomes you grabbing the back of Tims head and telling him to lick your neck or chest, and Tim is very happy to go along with it. When you coax his face up under your arms he freezes for a moment before just burying it in there, snuffling like a pig in mud when he really gets going.

It’s a bit of an ego boost, to have a guy like Tim huffing up your scent and moaning like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever smelled and tasted. His desperate rutting against you only adding to it, like the cherry on top of the sundae.

Coming at Tim in armor makes him do a doubletake, since you went into this training session without a cod piece for your armor, and the chainmail pulled up and to the side just enough to give Tim enough room to bury his face between your thighs.

It becomes one of his favorite spots to be, kneeling by your feet, face tucked into the area where your thighs meet your body, his nose pressed into that crease as his tongue laps at you. Even better if you grip at his hair with your armor-clad hands.

The clinking of your armor becomes a bit like a pavloving response, in both of you. Specifically, the sound of your armor being taken off, as well as the smell of the polish you use for it. It’s a bit embarrassing sometimes, but at least you have a layer of metal to hide how hard you get sometimes.

And as much as you let Tim lick and worship your body after workouts, you still drag him into the showers afterwards. For a good winddown, but also because you guys have so many friends and allies with sensitive noses. You don’t wanna scar then more than you two probably have.

[alive-gh0st]

˗ˏˋ❝Afterglow❞ˎˊ˗

Mark Grayson x Med!Reader♡ྀི

….ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨.ـ…

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⛨ summary: you’re here to teach, not manage a walking concussion with charm issues. but he keeps looking at you like you hung the stars—and asking questions like you owe him answers. it’s temporary. it’s professional. it’s absolutely not personal. right?

⛨ contains: sfw. slow tension. hospital-grade sarcasm. emotional constipation. accidental pining. reader being done™. mark being so not subtle. vending machine cameos. background bureaucracy.

⛨ warnings: mild language. cecil stedman. lingering looks. golden retriever energy. mild secondhand embarrassment. one scalpel-related flirtation if you squint.

⛨ wc: 2839

prologue, part one, part two

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a/n: honorable mention to donald for surviving government-grade stress, doing 99% of the admin work and getting 0% of the appreciation. chapter three is happening. probably. don’t look at me like that.

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The hum of fluorescent lights should’ve blended into the background by now. So should the low thrum of activity—boots echoing against concrete, the shuffle of files, hushed conversations between medics and masked vigilantes. But somehow, everything still feels a little too loud.

Maybe it’s the migraine brewing behind your eyes. Maybe it’s the fact that he won’t stop staring at you.

You shift your weight, cross your arms, and resolutely pretend you don’t notice.

That Invincible is standing three feet to your left, burning a hole through the side of your head with an intensity that shouldn’t be allowed from someone who wears goggles.

You’ve been ignoring him for seven minutes and counting.

You’ve acknowledged literally everything else in this sterile, underground chaos bunker—someone called Sea Salt (you can’t be bothered to care enough to remember properly) pacing in the background, a superhero with a dislocated shoulder yelling about insurance coverage, the world’s most suspicious vending machine—but not him.

And still, he stares.

You exhale slowly. Sharply turn your head.

He flinches like you threw something at him.

“Can I help you?”

The words are flat, clipped. The tone you use when a patient insists they know better because they once watched half an episode of ’Grey’s Anatomy’.

Invincible stammers. Actually stammers, like he doesn’t know what to do now that you talked back.

Your brows lift. “You’ve been standing there like an underpaid mall cop—gaping at me like I’m the last donut at a police briefing. Do you mind?”

He fumbles for a reply. You regret asking immediately.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

A few days earlier.

You were on your fourth cup of coffee and hour three of mid-insomnia spiraling when the email came in.

A subject line so vague it practically screamed delete me.

“URGENT: National Heroic Outreach Program — Personnel Request.”

It sounded like someone stitched together LinkedIn buzzwords with a glue stick and a dream.

You almost deleted it without opening. Fingers already moving to close the laptop.

And that’s when your eye caught the numbers.

A full contract breakdown, bolded in crisp font at the bottom of the message. Enough zeroes to make your exhausted brain glitch.

You squinted. Re-read. Laughed.

Then read it again.

Field medics, trauma therapists, stabilization specialists…

Working directly alongside sanctioned heroic units. Teaching them.

Short-term. High risk. Higher pay.

You were already muttering “absolutely not” as you clicked Reply.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

And now here you are.

In the middle of a hidden operations center that smells faintly of iodine and military-grade deodorant, trying to keep your expression neutral while Invincible looks at you like you invented sunlight.

You narrow your eyes.

“Seriously man. What is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem,” he says almost too quickly. “I just…”

Didn’t think I’d ever hear you again—he wants to say, but the words die in his throat.

You groan like a middle-aged man.

“Fine, whatever—keep your staring fetish a secret. But you’re still in my space.”

And somehow, despite the sarcasm, despite the walls you’re already rebuilding brick by brick—he smiles. Like you just handed him a sunrise.

Weirdo.

The silence stretches.

Finally—finally—he stops staring. You can feel it.

Like the sun setting. Like freedom on the breeze. You don’t know what bliss tastes like, but you’re pretty sure it’s this exact moment.

Invincible turns his head. Doesn’t say a word. For the first time in almost ten minutes, you can breathe.

The air tastes clearer. Your shoulders lower half an inch. You feel like Eren Yeager looking out at the ocean, finally glimpsing the other side of the fence—finally, the taste of freedom.

You close your eyes, let your arms fall just a bit looser, and begin to reach for that fragile, sacred—

“So… what’s your name?”

You shut your eyes tighter. Channel the serenity of that dog meme you saw once—some old lab basking in the light like he’s ascended to a higher plane. That’s you now. Resigned to whatever curse has chosen to follow you. Accepting the inevitable.

“…Hello?” he tries again.

You breathe in. Deep. Steady. And swallow a curse.

“It’s not important,” you finally say, voice flat.

He blinks.

“Uh—it kinda is? We’re working together, technically. It’s basic team-building. Knowing names builds trust. It’s psychologically proven—like in war movies or HR seminars. I feel like not knowing your name makes it hard to build rapport. Or connection. Or, you know, that dramatic tension where I save your life and you cry over me in slow motion.”

He’s rambling now.

You open one eye. He’s serious. Or, worse—he thinks he’s funny.

You tune him out.

Just completely power down. Close your eyes again, channel the dog meme—serene, resigned, ascended. Accepting your fate as a woman destined to be cornered by a golden retriever in a super suit.

But of course—of course—luck hates you.

Footsteps echo behind you. Measured. Heavy. Government-issued.

Invincible’s voice finally stops.

You open your eyes slowly, carefully.

Cecil Stedman stands a few feet away, looking like someone who’s been awake for forty-seven hours and hates it less than he hates incompetence.

He looks at the hero. Then at you. He exhales like he regrets every decision that’s led to this moment.

“Invincible,” Cecil says, deadpan. “It’s not your job to harass new personnel.”

You smile. A flicker of victory warms your chest.

But it’s short-lived.

“And you—” Cecil turns to you, voice sharp and gravel as he states your full name and last name, “…stop ignoring people when they’re trying to learn from you.”

Invincible’s head snaps up.

Your smile dies on impact.

“…yes, sir.”

You hate him now. Fully. With your entire soul. You will refer to this man as Sea Salt until the day you retire, but only behind his back (you have bills to pay).

Cecil nods. Done with this interaction.

“You’re both assigned to Medical Rotation C for the next three hours. Report to briefings on time, don’t destroy anything, and for the love of god—try not to bleed on each other.”

He turns and walks away like he didn’t just detonate a small emotional warhead and bounce.

You blink slowly.

The superhero grins. Way too close to you.

Invincible repeats your name. Softly. Like he’s trying it on. Like he’s going to wrap it around a sentence any second just to hear it out loud again.

You don’t look at him.

You stare at a crack in the ground and plot how to fake your own death.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

This is fine. Totally fine. No one has died yet.

Except maybe him. Internally. Repeatedly.

You’ve been working together for exactly twenty-three minutes and some change, and Mark is dangerously close to pulling a muscle from glancing at you too often.

It’s not subtle. He knows that. He’s just hoping you haven’t noticed yet.

Mark Grayson—Invincible, world-class puncher of bad guys and part-time public disaster—is on assignment. Medical rotation. One-on-one.

With you.

You haven’t said more than three words since you got here.

Okay—technically, it was four if you counted “Don’t touch that,” which he did. Emotionally. Spiritually. Like a prayer.

He glances sideways. Again. That’s… what? The fifteenth time?

You’re focused. Like laser-cut precision focused. You haven’t looked at him once since the briefing ended, and that alone is doing something catastrophic to his brain chemistry. Your sleeves are rolled up, fingers moving quickly as you sort through supplies and assess whatever half-broken med bay gear they shoved into this basement. And he—

Technically, he’s supposed to be learning. Technically.

He commits the angle of your jaw to memory. He might need to sketch it later. For science.

A cart wheel squeaks. He jumps.

Smooth. Reeeal smooth Mark.

Mark’s dropped the same tool twice. He’s reorganized the same three items five different ways. And when you leaned over earlier—just for a second—he forgot how to breathe.

He thinks he said something to you. Maybe. You didn’t respond.

You probably didn’t even hear him.

Which is fair. You’re working. This is work. He should be working too.

Instead, he’s cataloging every tiny thing about you like it’s the last time he’ll get to. The little crease between your brows when you concentrate. The way you tilt your head when you read a label. The way your lips move slightly when you mutter to yourself. It’s ridiculous. He knows it’s ridiculous. But it’s also—

He nearly knocks over a tray of syringes and freezes like a man in a minefield.

You just say, “Don’t,” without even looking up.

That’s it. One word. And he listens.

Like his soul has been stapled to your command.

He exhales slowly. Starts organizing gauze packets like they’re puzzle pieces and not the only thing keeping him from going absolutely feral with nervous energy.

You’re right there. You’re right there. And not in the middle of some catastrophic collapse or stopping someone’s bleeding from a stress wound. Just—here. Breathing the same recycled air. Wearing scrubs like they’re armor. Not looking at him.

Mark resists the urge to break something—anything—just to make you look at him.

He peeks again.

Yeah. Still perfect.

“Invincible.”

He startles.

You don’t even look at him. Just gesture vaguely at the scalpel in his hand. “That’s upside down.”

“…Right,” he mutters, flipping it. “Just testing you.”

“You failed.”

You don’t say it with heat. Not quite. But not nicely either.

He clears his throat and tries again, forcing himself to focus on literally anything that isn’t the fact that you’re within touching distance. That you smell like antiseptic and cheap gum. That you’re here, and for some reason—still kind of talking to him.

He wants to say something normal. Something clever. But everything that comes to mind sounds like it belongs in a YA novel or a fever dream.

Instead, he peeks at you again.

You don’t notice. Or maybe you do.

But you don’t look back.

And still—he grins.

Because this? Being close enough to reach, even if you never turn around?

It’s more than he thought he’d ever get.

It’s not enough.

Mark lied.

All that pretending—organizing, fixing, standing next to you for three and a half hours like it didn’t matter—like breathing the same air wasn’t scrambling his brain chemistry?

He thought it would be enough. Just this. Just being near you.

But now you’re packing up.

And suddenly, it’s not.

You toss a roll of gauze into your bag like it keyed your car in a past life. Peel off your gloves with the grace of someone absolutely done with today.

The neckline of your scrubs shifts when you move, collarbone catching the light, and he has to look away.

You’re leaving.

You’re actually leaving.

He thought he’d be okay with it. He’s not.

You stretch your neck like it’s stiff, roll your shoulders with a sigh, and Mark swears it’s the most captivating thing he’s ever seen.

Which is insane. It’s a shoulder roll.

But you’re doing it. And it’s happening five feet from him. And he doesn’t know when—or if—he’ll see you like this again.

Normal. Off guard. Not covered in ash and dust.

You zip your bag shut.

And that’s when panic hits him.

It spikes in his chest like a bad punch—jarring and immediate and almost embarrassing. Because if you walk out now, that’s it. You’ll vanish again. And he’ll be stuck wondering if he imagined all of this. You. The way you said his hero name like it was a dare.

His fingers twitch at his side.

He has no idea what he’s going to say.

He just knows he needs to say something before you’re gone.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

You clear your throat. Loud enough to be polite. Dismissive enough to make a point.

“I’m done here.”

He blinks. “Oh. Yeah. Right.”

You wait for him to move. He doesn’t.

You arch a brow. “Door’s behind you.”

Invincible stares at you like you’ve just committed a federal crime. “You’re—leaving?”

You frown. “Yes? That’s what normal people do when the job is finished.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Frowns.

“I just—” The hero shifts, eyes darting anywhere but your face. “I figured we’d—maybe—uh, debrief?”

You blink.

He looks panicked now. “Not like a real debrief! I meant like… decompress? Debrief-light? Low-stakes post-mission rapport-building?”

You pause. Then snort. You can’t help it. It slips out before you can stop it.

He looks like he just won the lottery.

You sigh, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “If this is your way of asking to walk me out—”

“Yes.”

“…I didn’t finish.”

“Still yes.”

You stare.

He fidgets. “Is that okay?”

You hesitate for a breath. Then roll your eyes. “Fine. But if you get weird again, I’m tasering you.”

Invincible grins. “I’ve survived worse.”

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A few days later.

You look like shit.

Not in a poetic way. Not in a cool, morally-gray antiheroine way. Just in the deeply human, overworked, underpaid, sore-back, I-haven’t-slept-since-Tuesday kind of way.

The ER lights buzz too loud. The coffee machine’s broken again. There’s a spot on your scrubs that might be blood or ink or maybe just your will to live leaking out.

It’s a Tuesday. Maybe.

You’re half-asleep at the nurses’ station when Carla walks up with a folder. She chews her gum like it’s keeping her tethered to this plane of existence.

“Room 9’s yours.”

You blink up at her. “Seriously?”

Carla shrugs. “Guy’s already in there. Looks like he could pay off my student loans in one go, but what do I know. File’s clean. Probably just here to flirt or die. Those are the only two kinds we get.”

You sigh. Take the clipboard. Totally miss Carla’s knowing expression and lazily stroll down the hallway.

Your pen’s already clicking as you push through the long corridor, shoulder nudging the door open without thinking.

You flip through the back pages first—vitals, allergy list, something about minor lacerations. The usual.

The door clicks shut behind you as you scan the first page for the name.

“Mark Grayson…” you murmur, before finally looking up.

He’s already watching you.

Smile crooked. Sheepish. And oddly familiar.

You blink. Shake your head. Tap your pen once against the clipboard.

“…What can I do for you today?”

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Before the bunker. Before the clipboard. Just burnt coffee and bad timing.

The room smells of government-grade stress and poor decisions. Fluorescents hum overhead. Somewhere outside the door, someone’s arguing with a vending machine again.

Cecil Stedman doesn’t look up from the file in his hands.

Donald stands nearby, half-glancing over his shoulder like he’s expecting someone to call out his name and ruin his night any second now.

“I don’t need someone who wants to save the world,” Cecil mutters, flipping a page. “I need someone who knows how to keep it breathing long enough to do that.”

Donald doesn’t answer at first. Scrolls through his tablet with the dead-eyed speed of a man two cups past his caffeine limit.

Cecil drops the folder on the table.

“Her.”

Donald glances down. Sees your name. Frowns.

“She’s not exactly—uh, team-oriented.”

“Good.” Cecil leans back in his chair. “We don’t need another idealist who thinks CPR is optional. We need someone who’ll tell a cape to stop cauterizing wounds with laser vision.”

Donald shifts. “She’s got a record of pushing back on authority.”

“Yeah. So do I.” He picks up the file again, thumbs through it like he’s reading between the lines. “Field trauma specialist. Surgical certs. Five years ER, three years private contract, and one particularly colorful incident involving Invincible.”

Donald raises a brow. “You want her for the hero-medical crossover?”

“Yeah. Not full-time. Just this once.” He thumbs through the file again.

”She’s not exactly a fan of the spandex crowd.” Donald reminds him.

“Which is why she’s perfect.” Cecil taps the edge of the folder. “She doesn’t worship them. She knows how they break. And better—how to keep them from bleeding out on asphalt.”

Donald crosses his arms. “You really think she’ll say yes?”

Cecil shrugs. “Send the contract. Let the pay do the talking. If that doesn’t work… remind her how many heroes think gauze solves internal bleeding.”

A beat passes. Donald exhales slowly.

“We’re asking her to train them. Teach them medical response. Basics. Field aid without powers.”

“Exactly,” Cecil mutters, eyes back on the file. “We’ve got too many weapons and not enough medics. Time we taught the kids how to stop the bleeding before they cause it.”

“And you think she’ll go for it?”

“Temporary contract,” Cecil repeats simply. “Send the numbers. Dangle the autonomy. No long-term commitment, no spandex worship, just her and a bunch of capes learning how not to be idiots for a few hours.”

Donald nods once and turns to leave.

Cecil stays where he is, flipping back to the front of the file.

A photo clipped to the corner. Dark circles under your eyes. Expression flat. Hands gloved, steady.

Unimpressed with the world and clearly not afraid to let it know.

He smiles, just barely.

“Let’s hope she doesn’t kill anyone.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

ongoing TAGLIST: @pickledsoda @f3r4lfr0gg3r @bakugouswh0r3 @katkirishima @delusionalalien @bellelamoon @monaekelis @feminii @sketchlove @lilacoaks @cathuggnbear

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

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[ducksido]

If this one is too confusing please don't do it 😭 

So basically NRC (maybe Ortho too but platonic love) with a s/o that got turned into a cat by a potion mix-up, not naming names Grim and Adeuce 👀 (also, maybe reader could be like a maine coon? Idk but I love the idea of reader was a cat they would be bigger than grim but any cat is cute too 😖) but the twist is that s/o is not a normal cat, but actually a flerken cuz you know, not of this world haha (If you don't know what that is, it's basically a space cat from marvel) So when Idia is petting them too aggressive or Floyd is squeezing them too tightly or if anyone is annoying them, they just open their mouth and swallow them up like a fckin snack, and maybe spit them back out when they're in a good mood leaving them so fckin traumatized. And the people witnessing it are like 🧍

(I tried :])

Grim: “It wasn’t that much spilled potion!” Ace: “Yeah, you only turned the prefect into a cat the size of a toddler.” Deuce: “With... tentacles coming out of their mouth?” Grim: “Okay, maybe a little mistake.” Yuu: (blinks with void eyes, swallows a bench)

🍓 Riddle Rosehearts

Cat Form: He attempted to collar you to follow dorm rules. You yawned… and swallowed the collar. Then the leash. Then the binder full of rules. Riddle: “I—WHAT—?! OFF WITH YOUR—WAIT—" Started avoiding eye contact and leaving strawberry tarts as offerings.

Human Flerken Form: You "accidentally" inhaled the rules board again during morning announcements. Riddle: slams desk “YOU NEED TO BE BOUND—NO, I MEAN RESTRAINED—NO, I MEAN—” He’s spiraling. You blink slowly and open your mouth. He flees.

🍀 Trey Clover

Cat Form: Stayed calm even when you slurped up Ace like a spaghetti noodle. “...Guess that’s one way to deal with backtalk.” Fed you tarts like he was bribing a god.

Human Flerken Form: You swallowed a whole picnic basket. Trey blinked. “...You’re not eating me, are you?” You stare. He hands you a tart and runs.

📸 Cater Diamond

Cat Form: Livestreamed your first “snack.” “GUYS. Yuu just ate Deuce. Deuce is GONE.” Then you burped up a slime-covered Deuce. “#VoidCat is trending!!”

Human Flerken Form: You swallowed his phone mid-selfie. His scream echoed through the dorm. Ten minutes later: “W-Wait… selfie with me spitting it out???” Still posted it.

♠️ Ace Trappola

Cat Form: You got him first. He was flailing inside you. Once out, he screamed and ran to Trein for protection. He now throws stuff to test if you're in a good mood before approaching.

Human Flerken Form: You accidentally slurped his dice mid-game. Ace: “NOPE. I’M OUT. I’M GONE.” Won’t enter the same room without backup. Or garlic. Or both.

💧 Deuce Spade

Cat Form: You swallowed Ace. He panicked and offered himself next to "save" him. You swallowed him too. Now refers to you as “Elder God Prefect.” Carries salt "just in case."

Human Flerken Form: You inhaled a toolbox. Deuce stared in horror. “Y-You still have the powers?!” Tries to study void safety in his spare time.

🛌 Leona Kingscholar

Cat Form: Lifted one eye. “So you bite now. Whatever.” Then you swallowed Ruggie mid-joke. Leona sat up. “...That’s new.”

Human Flerken Form: You inhaled a whole playbook. Leona: “You’re banned from the stadium.” Still lounges near you. Tells everyone, “Watch out for the portable black hole.”

🍩 Ruggie Bucchi

Cat Form: Got vacuumed into the Flerken void while holding a donut. Returned confused, sticky, and sugar-covered. “What... what plane of existence was that?!”

Human Flerken Form: Watched you slurp a snack cart. Now keeps you on a leash when food’s involved. Bribes you with jerky to behave.

🐺 Jack Howl

Cat Form: Growled. “What are you?” Still tried to pet you. Got swallowed for his efforts. Returned with fur on end. Doesn’t speak of it.

Human Flerken Form: You absorbed a whole duffel bag. Jack: squints “You’re still... not normal.” Still protects you. Just from afar.

🦑 Azul Ashengrotto

Cat Form: Tried to offer a contract. You slurped the paper and sneezed. Azul: “That was a legal document.” Avoids you now. Low-key terrified.

Human Flerken Form: You devoured his shelf of emergency contracts. Azul fainted on the spot. Now insists on magical NDAs before entering a room with you.

🐠 Jade Leech

Cat Form: Amazed. Let himself be eaten to “see the world inside.” Returned… enlightened. Maybe.

Human Flerken Form: You inhaled a poisonous mushroom by mistake. Jade: “Ah… fascinating. May I study your digestion process next?”

🦈 Floyd Leech

Cat Form: Thought you were a new toy. “Can I squeeze ya 'til ya burst?” You swallowed him instead. He laughed the whole time.

Human Flerken Form: You devoured the pool noodle he was using to whack people. Floyd: “NEW GAME. I throw stuff in ya, you spit it out!” He's obsessed.

🌞 Kalim Al-Asim

Cat Form: LOVED YOU. “SO FLUFFY!!!” squish Got eaten and came back smiling. “THAT WAS AMAZING!! Can we do it again??”

Human Flerken Form: You inhaled a whole fruit tray. He cheers every time you eat something. “Yuu’s like a party trick AND a friend!”

🦂 Jamil Viper

Cat Form: Panicked when you swallowed Kalim. “THIS IS WHY I CAN’T HAVE PEACE.” Avoids you. Constantly sighs.

Human Flerken Form: Saw you suck up a mop and bucket. Just turned and left. “Crowley can deal with this.”

👑 Vil Schoenheit

Cat Form: Almost pet you. You hissed—your jaw cracked open with cosmic horror. Vil: “Absolutely not.” Left face masks and beauty products as tribute.

Human Flerken Form: You slurped his mascara tube. Vil: “That was limited edition.” He hasn’t forgiven you.

🍎 Epel Felmier

Cat Form: Thought you were the coolest thing he’d ever seen. “You’re like... cosmic and deadly and a cat? That’s METAL.” Tried to ride you like a steed. Got eaten instead. 10/10.

Human Flerken Form: You devoured a crate of apples. He clapped. “You’re still terrifying! That’s awesome!!” Loyal hype man for your eldritch nonsense.

🏹 Rook Hunt

Cat Form: In AWE. “Ma bête galactique! What haunting beauty!” Asked to be consumed. Came back poetic.

Human Flerken Form: You swallowed an entire statue. He wrote a sonnet about it. Calls you “la bouche du néant” (the mouth of nothingness).

🐉 Malleus Draconia

Cat Form: Pet you gently. You unhinged your jaw and let tentacles stretch. He smiled. “A kin of dragons. How wonderful.”

Human Flerken Form: You absorbed a bolt of magical lightning. Malleus laughed. “What a glorious ability.” Treats you like a royal creature of wonder.

🗡️ Sebek Zigvolt

Cat Form: You swallowed him mid-Malleus speech. He screamed. Emerged slimy. Still screaming.

Human Flerken Form: You slurped a chandelier. Sebek screeched, fled, and now hides behind Lilia when you enter.

🌙 Silver

Cat Form: Napped on you. You swallowed him. He emerged still asleep. You gave up.

Human Flerken Form: You inhaled his sword mid-conversation. He blinked. “...That’s new.” Still naps near you anyway.

👹 Lilia Vanrouge

Cat Form: Cackled. “Oh you’re just like my old war beasts!” Voluntarily got eaten. Emerged humming.

Human Flerken Form: You absorbed a stack of cursed tomes. Lilia: “Ah, snacks and smarts. I approve!”

🦴 Crewel

Cat Form: “Do NOT bite me—” CHOMP Returned covered in glitter. “How DARE—!”

Human Flerken Form: You inhaled his teaching stick. He’s taken to calling you “My most feral student.”

☕ Trein

Cat Form: Lucius loved you. He was betrayed. Trein muttered, “You are an affront to biology.”

Human Flerken Form: You slurped a bookshelf. Trein quit teaching for a week.

💀 Sam

Cat Form: “Now that’s marketable!” Tried to sell Void Treats™.

Human Flerken Form: You slurped a register. Sam: “No refunds~”

🎭 Crowley

Cat Form: Mid-monologue, you devoured his hat. He shrieked. You spat it out. He wears it with fear now.

Human Flerken Form: You swallowed his desk. He's hiding in his office and filing for “unholy insurance.”

🧠 Idia Shroud

Cat Form: Lost his mind. “You’re like a Cthulhu Pokémon. I LOVE YOU.” Tried to scan your organs. Got eaten. Worth it.

Human Flerken Form: You inhaled a gaming console. He had a full breakdown. Still simps. “Yuu-chan, if you ever wanna... uh... eat my soul, I’m cool with that…”

🤖 Ortho Shroud

Cat Form: Amazed. Called you “bio-dimensional.” Took readings from inside the void.

Human Flerken Form: You ate a vending machine. Ortho: “Can we test this on a car next?!”

🔥 Rollo Flamme

Cat Form: Called you “blasphemous.” You inhaled his incense burner. He screamed.

Human Flerken Form: You slurped a stained-glass window fragment. He now holds weekly exorcisms. Avoids you like you’re a demonic comet.

🃏 Chenya

Cat Form: Thinks you’re hilarious. “You eat people? I vanish. That’s balance.”

Human Flerken Form: You devoured a whole table. He dares you to eat things now. “Bet you can’t slurp a tree.” You did. He laughed until he disappeared.

GRIM

Grim saw you as a massive Maine Coon and immediately puffed up in a mix of awe, jealousy, and denial.

Grim: “Wha—H-How did you turn into a cat?! I’m the only cute mascot around here, ya know!”

Cue him circling you with suspicion.

Grim: “You better not try to steal my spotlight—WAIT WHAT ARE THOSE?!”

Your mouth stretched open and writhing tentacles peeked out from a dimension far beyond what Grim was emotionally prepared for. You yawned and sucked a textbook into your maw like it weighed nothing.

Grim: “NYYYYAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!”

He bolted behind the couch, eyes huge.

Grim: “You ain’t no regular cat! That’s illegal! Cats don’t have stomachs the size of the Netherworld! That ain’t biology!!”

After you swallowed Ace whole for booping your nose, Grim realized he could be next.

Grim: “Listen, buddy—pal—roomie—Yuu, we can talk about this, okay? I’m sorry I knocked over the potion, okay?! I DIDN’T MEAN TO!!”

Now? He brings you treats daily. Not because he wants to. Because he has to. It's protection money.

Grim: “I gotcha tuna! And sardines! Please don’t eat me today…”

He sleeps with one eye open now.

You finally returned to your human form—Grim was so relieved he almost cried.

Grim: “You’re back!! Thank the Sevens! No more freaky tentacle nonsense!”

You smiled… and then opened your mouth to suck up a broom, two socks, and a floating pen into the eldritch void that is now your stomach.

Grim: “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! YOU CAN STILL DO THAT?!”

He screamed. He screeched. He fled.

Grim: “That’s NOT normal!! Humans don’t do that!! Even I don’t do that!!”

He tiptoes around you now. Occasionally hisses when you stretch.

Grim: “Don’t make me disappear again, you freakin’ dimensional cryptid!”

…But also?

Grim: “...You’d still protect me if someone tried to hurt me, right? …Right???”

He’s both terrified and clingy. You're still his human. Just... one that now contains multiversal horrors in their torso.

Ain’t that sweet?

[jobean12-blog]

Donut: The Hole Story

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 969

Summary: When you stop at your favorite donut shop to grab some sweets on the way home from work they only have one left of your favorite flavor so you do what any other person would do...even though it's your husband's favorite too.

Author's Note: This is just because. We recently got some donuts from one of my favorite shops nearby and I just love writing about our fave guys with sweet things! If you wanna to check out the donut place you can find their website HERE. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: fluffy sweetness and fun

*All text messages in italics*

You: I’m on my way home Buck! Going to stop at the bakery, I want something sweet 🥰

Bucky: Ok doll face. And I got somethin’ sweet waiting for ya at home 😉😏

You: I know and I definitely want some…but I also want a Dough donut 🍩I’ve been craving it all day 😁

Bucky: Want me to come and get you on my bike? I can leave now and I’ll take you right to Dough❤️

You: I’m already half way there but I hate to miss a ride with you…take me after we have dinner and donuts? 😍

Bucky: Of course doll, be careful, love you❤️

You: I will love you too, see you soon!❤️

Bucky: AND DONUTS!🍩

You: YAY DONUTS!🍩

Before you even get the door of your apartment open Bucky does it for you, filling the frame with his broad shoulders and even broader smile.

Your greeting is cut off when he grabs you around the waist, tugs you inside, shuts the door- all in one smooth and quick motion- and presses you against it, his body caging you in while his lips cover yours.

“Mm you taste extra sweet,” he murmurs when he pulls away to let you breathe.

“Hi Buck,” you giggle.

He kisses you again, cradling your cheek in his hand and softly grazing just under your eye with the sweep of his thumb.

“Really sweet…” he whispers against your lips.

“Wait a second…” he mutters.

He kisses you again.

“Did you…?”

And another kiss.

“You ate one already didn’t you?!” he grumbles.

He pulls back with wide blue eyes, his mouth hanging open to match.

“Ate one what?” you ask, feigning perfect innocence with a bat of your lashes.

His mouth chases yours and his body keeps you pressed to the door.

“A TOASTED COCONUT TOO!”

“BUCKY!”

“IS THERE ANOTHER?” he asks with an accusatory tone as he frantically pats you down.

“Do you think I’m hiding the donuts in my clothes?” you laugh with a raised brow. “Or are you just trying to cop a feel?”  

“I’m always trying to cop a feel,” he winks before his expression morphs back into suspicion.

You bend down and grab the box you unceremoniously dropped to the floor when he pulled you into the apartment.

He takes it from your hand and narrows his eyes, holding the box covetously close to his chest.

With one more kiss to your lips he rushes off to the counter and rips open the top of the box. He stares at the full box of twelve donuts for several seconds before meeting your eyes.

You walk over and wrap your arms around his waist from behind.

“See? A full box of donuts!”  

“But…” he starts, grabbing your arm and pulling you under his to bring you around to face him so he can kiss you again. “There’s not toasted coconut!”  

You shrug with nonchalance and smile sweetly. “They were all out. It is the end of the day so…”

He studies your face and tightens his grip on your waist.

“No they weren’t. There was one left and you ate it on the way home!”  

Your shoulders lift to meet your ears in another act of indifference and you try to turn in his arms so you can grab a donut.

“No,” you answer. “I wouldn’t do that. But I’d like one now.”  

You manage to wiggle your way around and look down at the donuts, tapping your cheek as you try to decide on which one to eat first.

Just as your hand reaches out for a blueberry lemon the top of the box shuts.

“BUCK!” you squeak. “What the heck!?”

He pushes the box to the other side of the counter and in another smooth move that’s too fast for you to fight he has you turned around and seated atop the surface, trapped by his body.

You cross your arms over your chest.

“Can I eat my donut please?” you huff.

“Not until you admit you ate the one toasted coconut left on the way home,” he counters with a smirk.

You lift your chin defiantly but you don’t answer.

“I knew it!” he shouts. “I can’t believe you ate it without waiting to share with me!”

You try and scooch off the counter so you can eat another donut but he doesn’t let you move.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he simpers.

“I want a donut.”

“You already had one doll.”

Your lips press together and you scowl.

“I can’t believe you’re denying me donuts Buck!”

“I just wanna hear you say it doll.”

“And if I don’t?” you challenge.

“No donuts.”

“You wouldn’t!”

He waggles his eyebrows. “Try me baby doll.”

You grunt and punch him in the chest.

He just smiles.

“I can’t believe you Barnes!”

He doesn’t budge and just stares with a triumphant grin.

You stare right back and slowly your lips curl into a smirk as an idea forms in your head. Without another word you press your chest to his and wrap your legs around his waist, gently rocking your hips. Your arms circle his neck and you run your fingers through his hair.

His fingers dig into your skin before slipping under your shirt and slowly inching higher.

Your fingers slide from his hair and down over his shoulders then bunch into his shirt to tug his lips closer.

“A distraction?” he hums. “Really?”

“I don’t see you trying to stop me,” you whisper.

Your fingertips dance lower, tracing the waistband of his jeans.

“No,” he murmurs. “Why would I ever want to do that?”

“And I’ll just have my donut after I have you.”

“That’s what you think,” he says right before kissing you, easily distracting you with his hands, lips and everything that's him.

@hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @lizette50 @goldylions @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @buckysdollforlife

[lesservillain]

borrowing.

Steve wasn't a pervert.

Sure, he's done some unsavory things in his younger years that he's not proud of. But he's never been the type to take advantage of a woman. He's not like some of his guy friends who look down women's shirts or touched someone without their permission.

Call him a pussy or a feminist, but that shit makes him sick to his stomach.

And yet...

"Fuck your pussy tastes so good."

Steve pants against the crotch of your panties. The fabric hugs his face tight as he breathes in your scent, his nose tenting the cotton fabric. His lips hold the crotch between them as he sucks and licks the damp material until your juices coat his tongue and then some.

His eyes open for a moment, looking out the leg hole to check his surroundings for bystanders. His beemer sits in the far corner of the YMCA facing the back of a gas station. It's not where he had originally parked when he arrived for his work out today. A work out he didn't even get to, all because he bumped into you.

He's noticed you ever since he got the membership with Robin. Their goal was to attend 3 days a week together per Robin's request. Something about wanting not wanting to gain the freshman fifteen when she started her semester.

But school quickly became overwhelming for her and Steve found himself going to the gym by himself.Without Robin to distract him, Steve started paying attention to some of the people at the gym.

It was just a couple passing glances at first, not wanting to be one of those guys who stares at girls while they work out. He couldn't deny you were beautiful though. And when you approached him one day after it was just you and him in the gym, he felt that there was chemistry between the two of you. You laughed at his dumb jokes, engaged him with personal questions...hell you even touched his arm with your hand.

Your friendliness expanded beyond that day, too. If he didn't say hi to you first, you were approaching him to wish him a good workout. You'd even brought him "counter productive" donuts one day because he said he loved the local shop.

It was safe to say Steve had become completely head over heels for you over the last few months. And he totally has plans to ask you out. He really does. But, after all the failed dates he had been on since high school...he was almost afraid to jinx what the two of you had going on.

Today was going to be the day though. Or...it was supposed to be.

He was running late getting to the gym this morning, bad traffic on the commute to drop Robin off to her classes put him an hour behind schedule. So as he pushed through the YMCA doors with haste, silently praying to himself that you'd not left yet, he accidentally ran full speed into a body as they were leaving.

"Woah!"

Steve recognized your voice. It pulls him out of his head, focusing on your frame before him. He's bummed to see you in your work uniform, obviously done with your work out for the day.

"Sorry I didn't mean to almost knock you down," he apologizes, looking you over to make sure you're okay.

"It's okay," you reassure him, your bright smile making his heart ache. "I thought I wasn't going to see you today, so running into me is better than nothing!"

"Ugh, yeah, I really was trying to get here earlier but traffic and--and, life! Ya know?"

You nod sweetly. "Totally!"

"Yeah..." Steve's heart thumped in his chest. He didn't need to suffer through a whole work out routine before asking you out. He could ask you out right now. And if you rejected him, he'd be able to walk away and inevitably cancel his gym membership since he'd never be able to show his face again in this establishment.

Or, you would say yes, and he could walk you to your car so you could give him your number on a napkin you keep in your glove box in case of emergencies.

"Well, I guess I'll see you on Friday," you say after a beat of silence. Steve felt the words on the tip of his tongue. But, when your hand landed on his arm with a squeeze, he froze in place. All he could muster was a weak goodbye before you were pushing out the second set of double doors and walking to your car.

He waited to make sure you got in okay before letting out the breath he had been holding. His head slumped in defeat. What happened to the crown that sat on his head when he was in high school? Was it because he wanted something real with you?

There wasn't much dwelling on the subject as a bundle of pink just a few inches away from his feet caught his eye. Steve's eyebrow quirked, and he crouched down to grab...whatever it was.

The material felt soft but wet in his hands. He cringed a bit until the material unfurled in his hands, revealing to be a pair of pink, skimpy panties. The initial shock had him almost dropping the panties, but a split second closer look had him twitching slightly in his pants.

The underwear was yours. They must have fallen out of your gym bag when he bumped into you.

He knew they were yours because he'd see them peaking out of your work out shorts when you were bending down to tie your shoe. He didn't look on purpose, you'd just happened to have stopped in front of him and he saw them. He told himself it was on purpose when he touched himself that night, but deep down he knew it wasn't.

The door almost came off its hinges with how hard he pulled it open, making a bee line to his car. He slammed the car door shut and locked it, giving a quick look around before he was ducking down just out of view.

He breathed in deeply as he inhaled the scent of your panties, exhaling with a groan as your smell infiltrated his nostrils. It felt like he took a hit from a drug. He could practically taste you on his tongue when he went in for another sniff.

Flipping the underwear so that the crotch was resting between his hands, Steve's mouth watered at the sight of the creamy white that painted the pink fabric. His tongue darted out slightly, eyes darting around again as the nerves set in. This wasn't like Steve, but he blamed the way you drive him crazy on the dirty thoughts that were running through his head.

Just as he was about to act on them, the sight of a person walking out of the building had him hesitating. He placed your panties in his passenger seat and started his car, moving to the back of the building in a far off spot that was less traveled and slamming it into park.

Once the coast was clear, Steve wasted no time bringing his tongue to your underwear and lapping at it messily. He whined as your taste hit his tongue, and suddenly his pants were way too tight on his crotch.

This wasn't like him he thought to himself. Not that he hadn't had a hook up or two out by Lover's Lake. But to do what he was considering in such a public place went against his morals...

Your panties sit between Steve's teeth as he undoes his belt. He has to scoot his seat back or else his hard cock will just bump against the steering wheel. He pumps himself a few times in his hand, squeezing some of his precum out of his tip and using is to lube himself.

Steve sucks in a breath as he starts to fist himself. He holds the panties against his face as he begins to imagine your pussy on his face. His imagination runs wild as he thinks about all the ways he would eat you out, your pussy right in his face waiting for him to run his tongue through.

"Such a pretty pussy," he says to himself.

Without much thinking, he pauses his jerking to take the panties and stretch them out, hooking under his chin and pulling them until they're taught over his face.

With his free hand, he's able to cup his sensitive balls as he jerks himself with more vigor. He doesn't know how long he's at it, too engulfed in his pleasure to care about the passing time. All he can think about is making you cum all over his face and thanking you after.

Steve's hips buck into his hands. He can feel his climax approaching, his hand focusing on his tip as he brings himself to the edge.

Just as he's about to come, Steve pulls your panties off of his face and wraps them about his cock. He does the best he can to aim for the crotch where he has completely saturated it with it with his own saliva, cumming hard into the bunched up fabric.

After a moment of coming down, Steve slumps back into his seat. Guilt begins to wash over him as he looks at the sticky mess he's turned your sweet pink panties into. How could he even face you, let alone ask you out after what he's done?

Steve shoved your underwear into his gym bag. He didn't think he could give them back, even if the thought of you wearing them after he's cum in them made him almost half hard again. He would just throw them away in a dumpster somewhere...or he could wash them and--

thanks for reading.

[loulou-land]

5 Times Buck Realized He Could Be Clingy + 1 Time Tommy was the Clingy One

Day 4 of @bucktommyfluffebruary | Clingy Boyfriends | 4,076 words

(1) Before a Shift

Mornings like these were always the hardest for Buck. 

After days spent together—wrapped up in each other, tucked away from the world—it was too easy to get used to having Tommy there. Waking up beside him, getting to roll over to steal lazy kisses, lingering in bed until the sun had well and truly come up. Then, moving to the kitchen, sharing warm coffee, leaning into each other's spaces as they made breakfast, coming up with half-baked plans for the day that they may or may not follow through on. 

Buck had done a bit of the domesticity thing with Taylor, but it wasn’t anywhere close to what this was. He had never felt as comfortable as he did with Tommy.  And the most incredible part? How seamlessly they had fallen into it, without a second thought. 

But eventually, reality came knocking. 

And Buck hated it. 

The soft glow of their cozy bubble would be ripped away by ringing alarms and the harsh reality of shifts that wouldn't align for a while. And today, it was Tommy’s turn to leave for a shift while Buck still had the rest of the day off. 

Buck tried to be normal about it. He really did. 

Continue Reading Below or on ao3

He'd stayed curled up in bed, watching as Tommy moved through his morning routine—brushing his teeth while Buck sleepily watched from the pillow; buttoning up his uniform with practiced ease, Buck following the movement of his hands spellbound; sitting on the edge of the bed to lace up his boots, just within his reach. 

Okay, time to be cool. Rein it in, Buck thought. Wish him a good day and go back to sleep. 

Instead, before Tommy could make a move to stand, Buck latched on. 

Nothing dramatic—just a small tug at the fabric of Tommy’s shirt—just enough to stall him. 

Tommy huffed out a quiet laugh, and Buck immediately backtracked. 

“ Sorry ,” Buck laughed, sheepish. “Just…fixing your shirt. All good now.” 

It was pathetic, but his fingers still didn’t let go. 

Tommy hummed, turning slightly, looking at him consideringly. “Thank you, sweetheart.” 

And Buck…he definitely should've let go by now. He didn't want to make Tommy late. Instead, his finger tightened in the fabric, just slightly. 

Tommy noticed. He always noticed. 

But he didn't call him out on his dramatics. Didn't tease him. He just reached down, cupped the side of Buck’s face, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, right over his birthmark. 

“I'll text you between calls.” Tommy promised. 

Buck swallowed down the lump in his throat, forcing himself to nod. “ Be safe .” 

Tommy kissed him again, slower this time—lingering, reassuring—before heading for the door. 

A little while later, Buck decided to brave the day. He had barely finished pouring his coffee when his phone buzzed. 

8:55 am

Tommy: Lucy brought donuts today :) (attached image: Tommy biting into a glazed donut, blue eyes sparkling happily) 

Buck huffed out a startled laugh, shaking his head at his boyfriend's massive sweet tooth. 

Buck: Looks delicious. But not as delicious as the man holding it ;) 

Tommy: Evan…behave 😤 

And that was only the beginning. 

9:47am 

Tommy: you have competition, look at how adorable he is (attached image: a orange tabby stretched out on the concrete taking a nap) 

Buck: I’m more adorable tho 🥺 right?

Buck: Tommy?? 

Buck: right?!!

10:05 am

Buck: I just watched that new documentary on black holes.

Buck: Did you know a black hole could fit in your pocket? 🤯

Tommy: That must be why I’m always losing stuff after I’ve put them in my pockets…

Buck: dork 🙄

Tommy: only for you ❤️ 

10:58am

Tommy: I’m going to kill the newbie

Buck: why? 

Buck: please don’t. I need you here, not in jail. 

Tommy: he keeps using my coffee mug 😑

Buck: wow, brave man…

11:05 am

Buck: (attached image: Buck in front of the mirror, wearing form fitting workout clothes and smirking into the camera) 

Tommy: Baby 😍  

Tommy: You don’t play fair. But two can play this game

Tommy: (attached image: Tommy wearing aviator glasses, smiling smugly, sitting in the cockpit of the helicopter) 

Buck: …you win 🥵

They continued texting every moment they could throughout the day. Tommy telling him about an interesting call they'd gotten about a naked hiker stuck up in a tree, how he regretted asking the guy how it happened, how Lucy kept teasing him for texting so much and how he couldn’t wait to see him again.  

Buck loved it.

And somewhere in the back and forth of messages, Buck realized something. 

 Tommy really was unlike anyone he'd ever met. 

Because Tommy didn't just tolerate Buck’s need to share every thought, every feeling, every random little moment—he truly wanted it. 

(2) Holding Hands

Buck was a touchy person. 

But it wasn't something he'd ever really thought about—until he started dating tommy. 

Because now, whenever they were on a date, every time they were out together, Buck found himself hyper-aware of the way their shoulders brushed as they walked side by side. The way Tommy’s warmth bled into him, a steady presence, grounding, there. 

Buck relished it. Enjoyed being close to Tommy. 

But what he really loved? 

Holding Tommy’s hand. 

There was something addicting about the feeling of it—calloused and strong, big enough to make Buck’s fingers feel almost small in comparison. It was ridiculous how much he liked that, how obsessed he was with the way his hand fit so perfectly in Tommy’s. 

It had been a revelation the first time it happened. They were walking through a farmer’s market on a lazy Sunday morning, sipping coffee and browsing fresh produce. Buck had been excitedly telling Tommy about the health benefits of squash while Tommy listened intently. It had been natural, the way Buck’s hand had found Tommy’s—automatic, easy, just right. 

And then he’d looked down at them. At their fingers interlaced together, Tommy’s grip was firm and warm. Confident and sure. 

Buck hadn't meant to stare at them, completely oblivious to the world around him. But he was amazed at how perfect it felt, like a puzzle piece finally slotting into place. Then Tommy squeezed his hand, and Buck had looked up—face flushing, embarrassed at being caught. 

Without a word, Tommy lifted their joined hands and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to Buck’s hand. 

Buck tripped. 

It was just a small misstep, but Tommy definitely spotted it. 

“You good, Evan?” Tommy said grinning. 

“Yeah. Totally. That wasn't—” Buck stammered, clearing his throat. “Just, uh, uneven pavement.” 

Tommy smirked. “Mhm,” 

Buck glared at him, but it was hard to look indignant when his heart was currently doing flips inside his chest. 

That moment had opened the floodgates.  

After that Buck would reach for Tommy’s hand without even thinking about it. His fingers sliding between Tommy’s, intertwining, squeezing just slightly. Holding on for as long as he could. 

If Tommy needed to open a door, reach for something or take out his wallet Buck would relinquish his hold for a few seconds before immediately latching on again. 

Tommy always smiled, a small little pleased thing. 

So Buck kept doing it. He reached for him when walking together. When they were waiting in line for coffee. In the car, driving to places. While out at the bar with their family and friends. At home, snuggling on the couch or laying in bed.  

And every time, Tommy let him. 

No teasing. No hesitation. 

Just a gentle squeeze back, like he never wanted to let go either. 

(3) After a Bad Call

Some shifts turned out bad.

Buck had accepted that a long time ago.

But knowing it didn’t make it any easier.

It didn’t make it easier when a call went south, when a victim slipped away no matter how hard they tried. It didn’t make it easier when he could still hear the sounds of screaming or see the way that life slipped through his fingers.

It didn’t make it easier when the self-doubt crept in, making its home in him, when his chest tightened with the weight of it all, when the voices whispered in his ear—you should’ve done more, you should’ve been better, you should’ve saved them.

Sometimes, those voices sounded exactly like his parents.

Other times, it was just his own.

And on those nights, Buck needed something solid. He craved something warm. Something that told him he was still here. That he still mattered. 

But asking for comfort had never been easy for him. Especially when Buck felt like he didn’t deserve it. When he felt like he was making things once again all about himself. 

So when he walked through the door, carrying the weight of that night’s failure, he didn’t say anything.

Buck dropped his keys on the counter. Stood with his hands flat on it as he stared unseeing at the grainy dots of the countertop. Then he rubbed a hand over his face like that would somehow scrub the frustration off of him.

Buck tensed when he felt strong arms circle his waist and got pulled into a steady chest. He matched his breathing to Tommy’s and felt himself slowly relaxing and letting go of some of the tension in his shoulders. 

It helped that Tommy didn’t ask.

He just took one look at Buck and knew.

Knew what Buck needed, even if he couldn’t say it.

“C’mere .”

Buck didn’t even hesitate.

He turned around and let himself be pulled in, let himself be wrapped up in Tommy’s arms.

And for a while, he just stood there, breathing Tommy in, grounding himself in the warmth of his chest, not thinking about anything other than Tommy Tommy Tommy . 

Eventually, Tommy kissed his temple, then nudged him toward the bathroom.

“Hot shower first. Then I’ve got you.”

And Buck froze for a second, completely amazed at the concept that someone had him. 

After the shower, Buck found his favorite sweatpants and hoodie waiting for him. The ones that were soft and well-worn, the ones that felt safe. The ones he’d hide in when he was feeling particularly raw and bereft. His heart picked up speed at the thought that Tommy had picked up on that. Had remembered. 

There was a cup of soothing tea on the nightstand.

But most importantly?

There was Tommy.

Sitting on the bed, waiting with open arms, like he already knew exactly where Buck needed to be.

Buck didn’t fight it anymore. 

He climbed into bed, curled into Tommy’s chest, let himself feel it— the warmth, the comfort, the weight of arms holding him together when he felt like he was falling apart at the seams. 

Tommy didn’t say anything, just rubbed slow circles into his back, a steady touch that anchored him, that reminded him he was here.

At some point, Buck let the pain in him crack open.

He exhaled shakily, pressed his face into Tommy’s neck, wrapped his fingers in his shirt and let himself cry.

And Tommy just held him.

Didn’t judge him, didn’t rush him, didn’t tell him to pull himself together, didn’t make him feel any less for showing emotions, didn’t say it was fine because it wasn’t.

Tommy just held on tighter to Buck. 

And when Buck’s breathing evened out, when the exhaustion started creeping in, Tommy finally spoke—low, soft, certain.

“You did everything you could, baby.”

“You’re a damn good firefighter, Evan.”

“I’ve got you. I’m here.” 

And Buck—warm and safe, pressed against the only person who had ever made him feel like he could just be, that he didn’t have to hold it all in—let himself believe it.

(4) In Public

Buck had never really been big on PDA.

Not because he was uncomfortable with it—he just hadn’t really been the type. With past partners, he’d hold hands, drape an arm around their shoulder, maybe rest a hand on their lower back. A quick kiss on the cheeks or lips. But that was it. 

With Tommy, it was different. He just— wanted. All the time.  

It was like some switch had flipped in his brain. Like his body just instinctively sought Tommy out. Tommy was Earth, and Buck was his moon, caught in his orbit. 

He couldn’t help it.

Wherever they were, Buck was aware of him.

Tommy could be across the room, deep in conversation with Bobby, or standing at the truck joking around with Eddie, and Buck would still know exactly where he was at all times.

(Chimney had once called it his Built-In Tommy Radar™.)

Which, granted, was very dramatic.

But also, not entirely untrue.

And really, he blamed Tommy. He’d totally conditioned Buck. Because every time their eyes met across the room, Tommy would give him that smile.

The soft, scrunchy one, the one that was just for him.

And Buck?

Buck was a lost cause. 

What else was he supposed to do but make his way to Tommy? To kiss that smile that was his and his alone, to sigh happily into his mouth, to melt under Tommy’s touch—the warm press of his hands on Buck’s hips, the rest of the world fading away. 

So yeah. Maybe he was a PDA guy.

Maybe he did like having Tommy’s arms around him, the way he got pulled in effortlessly as Tommy talked to Chim, Hen or Eddie, like it was second nature, like he was proud to have Buck in his arms. 

And maybe he did like the steady hand on his lower back when walking through a crowd, the way Tommy would subtly shift in front of him, protective without even thinking about it (and though Buck could take care of himself, there was something about the action that made him feel cared for), the soft kiss to the side of his head when there was a lull in conversation. 

He also loved the dorky, completely endearing compliments Tommy gave Buck regardless of whoever was standing within listening distance, they always left him grinning like an idiot. 

 He doesn’t ever remember being as giddy as he gets when Tommy flirts with him—making him feel as nervous as their very first date. 

And maybe—just maybe—he was a little obsessed with Tommy’s hugs.

(Okay, a lot obsessed.)

Because Tommy gave the best hugs.

Big and warm, arms wrapped around him like a shield, like Buck was something precious.

So yeah, he sought them out. Constantly. And maybe that happened to be when they were around people. So what. It was always a good time to get a Tommy hug. 

And Tommy never denied him.

So Buck kept doing it. 

One time, Buck had been trapped in a long-winded Chimney movie rant, which was fine, except he really missed Tommy and wanted to be in his arms. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fascinating. Uh…excuse me, I gotta go ask Tommy something…” he said, turning in the direction of where he knew Tommy was. 

Chimney stopped mid-sentence, shaking his head. “You didn’t hear a single word I said, did you?” 

Buck blinked. “Hmm? What?’

Chimney sighed. “Go on. Find Tommy. I’m stealing him later.” He pointed a finger at Buck. “Heactually appreciates my movie discussions.” 

Buck snorted. “Good luck with that.” He patted Chim’s shoulder and happily took off. 

He found Tommy in the kitchen, drinking a glass of wine and talking to Hen. Without hesitation, Buck slotted himself into his side.

Tommy didn't even pause—just wrapped an arm around him, tugged him in closer, and kept talking.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world, to have a Buck shaped limpet attached to his side. 

Which, to be fair, it kind of was now.

Hen just raised an eyebrow. “You really can’t go five minutes without touching him, huh?”

“Nope,” Buck said easily.

Tommy just smiled, pressed a kiss to the top of Buck’s head, and kept rubbing slow circles into his back.

Buck grinned, nuzzling into Tommy’s neck, unable to mask the joy he felt in simple moments like this—where he objectively knew he was maybe being a bit too much, but had learned that in Tommy’s eyes? 

It was never enough. 

(5) After the Breakup 

After the breakup—and after Tommy realized his mistake, and after Buck ignored what everyone else was telling him and went to get his man back, and after the screaming-crying match outside Tommy’s house, followed by clothes ripping, up against the door, we’re-having-sex-and-getting-back-together moment—Buck’s clinginess ramped up. 

Not in a bad way. Not in a suffocating, unhealthy way.

Just in a he-knows-what-life-without-Tommy-feels-like-and-doesn’t-want-to-go-through-that-ever-again way.

And luckily for him, Tommy felt exactly the same.

Which was why, after a week of barely seeing each other because of their shifts, Buck was on the verge of losing it. He needed his Tommy time. It was a necessity at this point. 

Buck was so ready to make up for lost time.

Usually, when this happened, they’d spend a full 48 hours wrapped up in each other. No interruptions, no responsibilities—just them.

But this time?

This time, the universe had conspired against them. 

Buck didn’t know what god's he’d pissed off, but he’d love to make them an offering because this? This was just unfair. 

Instead of catching up properly—with a nice dinner (Tommy for desert), a relaxing movie (which they wouldn’t really watch, because Buck would be riding Tommy), a long shower (where Tommy would suck him dry), and finally going to bed (making love until they wrung a couple of orgasm of each other)—they’d fallen asleep. 

They’d both come off exhausting shifts that had gone into overtime, stumbled into bed, shared a sleepy kiss, and promptly passed out. 

Of course, the next morning, they’d overslept.

Which meant no lazy morning kisses, no waking Tommy up with a blowjob, no time to soak each other in, and—worst of all—no shower quickie.

Nope. Rather, they’d had to rush out the door to make it to Bobby and Athena’s BBQ. 

“Can’t we just stay in this time?” Buck pouted. “I can just tell them I got sick.”

Tommy chuckled, “Baby, we did that last time. And they didn’t believe it.” 

“Well, how was I supposed to know you were such a bad actor? Buck huffed. “I told you to sound nasally, not British.” 

Tommy shrugged, throwing him a long-suffering smile. “Well, now you know why I’m a pilot and not an actor,” he said drily. 

Buck slumped in the passenger seat, fidgeting with Tommy’s fingers “I just want you all to myself. I feel like I haven’t seen in forever,” he whined. 

“I know, sweetheart. I feel the same.” Tommy squeezed his hand. “But if we don’t make an appearance, we’re getting disowned.”

“Fine,” Buck grumbled. 

And now, Buck was suffering.

He was pretty sure his family had conspired to ruin his life. Because tell him why everyone kept stealing Tommy away.

First, Chimney cornered him to talk about the greatest horror movies of the ‘90s (Who cares, Buck thought viciously.) 

Then, Eddie pulled him aside for car talk. (C’mon man, you guys have your own bro day for this!) 

After that, Maddie and Karen had claimed him, dragging him into a corner with wine and gossip (And okay, fine, Buck couldn’t compete with that right now—Tommy did love juicy gossip.) 

But Buck? 

Buck was two seconds away from doing some maiming. 

He tried to be patient.

Tried to play it cool.

But after an hour of barely seeing Tommy? When they’d come here together? 

Enough was enough.

So when they finally sat down to eat, Buck plopped himself right into Tommy’s lap.

Just. Dropped right in.

Complete silence around the table. 

Until— 

“Oh my god.” Chimney, squawked. 

“Can you two be normal for five minutes?” Eddie sighed.

“Buckaroo, you do know there’s an empty chair right there?” Athena said, dryly. 

“I’m surprised he lasted this long without touching Tommy,” Hen smirked. 

Bobby just shook his head and passed the potatoes to Maddie. 

“I think it’s sweet,” Maddie said, completely unbothered.

Tommy just laughed, wrapping an arm around Buck’s waist, pulling him closer.

“Missed me, babe?”

“You have no idea,” Buck sighed dramatically, melting against him.

The table collectively groaned.

“Disgusting.” Hen.

“Sickening.” Chimney.

“Truly vile.” Eddie.

“You’re all just jealous,” Buck mumbled into Tommy’s shoulder.

Tommy chuckled, dropping a kiss to the side of Buck’s head, keeping one hand on his waist and pulling their plate closer to share. 

Buck grinned.

Yeah, he was exactly where he was supposed to be. 

(+1) After the Breakup - Tommy’s Version

Tommy woke up first.

He blinked the sleep from his eyes, his breath catching in his throat as he found himself staring at Evan. 

Evan, who was sleeping peacefully beside him, face soft and relaxed, his lips curved into the smallest, barely-there smile.

His head was pillowed on Tommy’s arm, his fingers curled loosely around Tommy’s waist, even in sleep still holding on.

Tommy exhaled, slow and careful, like if he moved too fast, it would all disappear.

Because some part of him—the stupid, still-scared part of him—was afraid this wasn’t real, that this was all a dream, a hallucination, a cruel trick of his own mind.

How could Evan really be here—in his house, in his bed, in his arms?

But no. He remembered.

Tommy remembered opening the door yesterday and coming face to face with an angry, teary-eyed Evan.

He remembered the way Evan had yelled at him—loud and emotional and so heartbreakingly honest.

“You don’t get to make that choice for me, Tommy! You don’t get to decide that you won’t be my last!”

And Tommy had broken down. Had said things he never meant to say out loud.

Had told Evan that he deserved better.

And Evan had shouted right back—loud, frustrated but completely sure of himself.

“I don’t want ‘better.’ I want you. Not some mythical, perfect person out there. You—Tommy. You’re already my perfectly imperfect guy. I love you.”

And Tommy—God.

Tommy had wanted to believe him. Had wanted to trust it.

So he’d made a choice. Because living without Evan had been the worst experience of his life.

And now, here they were.

Evan made a soft sound, stirring awake.

Tommy watched as his eyelashes fluttered, as his breathing shifted, as blue eyes slowly blinked open.

And then Evan saw him. And smiled, bright and beaming and easy, like he’d never once doubted Tommy was going to be here.

God.

How could Tommy have ever let this go?

He lifted a hand, fingers tracing the shape of Evan’s lips, his nose, the sharp line of his jaw. He followed the slope of his eyebrow, the curve of the pink mark above it.

Evan hummed happily, leaning into his touch.

And something in Tommy cracked wide open. Now that he could finally touch again, he couldn’t stop.

Not in the desperate, frantic way they had last night, when their hands had been all urgency, all need, all pent-up longing and desperation.

No. This was softer.

This was Tommy relearning Evan—as if he could ever truly forget him—his hands traveling slowly, memorizing and rediscovering all at once.

The curve of Evan’s hip. The dip of his spine. The warmth of his skin under Tommy’s palm.

Evan preened under the attention, sighing happily, and Tommy just soaked him in.

They lay there for a while, watching each other, saying everything without really saying a word.

Until finally, Evan made a move to sit up.

Tommy hadn’t even realized he made a noise—something small, something desperate, something aching—until Evan stopped instantly.

“Hey.” Evan’s voice was soft, questioning. “What’s wrong?”

Tommy swallowed.

His throat felt tight.

“Just—” He hesitated, but only for a second, then let himself be honest.

“Stay. A little while longer. Please.”

Evan smiled, soft and knowing. “Of course, honey.”

He opened his arms, and Tommy fell into them, into warmth and safety and home. Fell into the one place he never wanted to leave again.

Evan’s arms came up around him, holding him just as tightly as Tommy was holding on to him.

Tommy pressed his face into the crook of Evan’s neck, exhaling slow, letting himself breathe, letting himself believe.

He had Evan.

Because Evan had chosen him.

And this time?

Tommy wasn’t letting him go.

[owlisbuffering]

Cheap Thrills

Inspired by this post by @a-twistedheartslonging and by my own experience

Word count: 667

Pairing: Ruggie x reader

Tags: fluff, flirting, being silly, pre- established relationship

You turned to leave Sam's, your errands completed for the morning, and a couple of small machines caught your eye. Just like the ones from your world, they were full of small plastic capsules containing cheap toys or stickers and rings. They only cost a couple coins and you'd gotten some change from Sam, so you wandered over. Ruggie, your errand partner for the morning, looked over your shoulder. "Whatcha gonna get?"

You hummed as you looked between the machines. An idea suddenly came to you, and you pointed to one on your right. "I like these rings."

"Seems like a waste of thaumarks if you ask me."

"Hush, you." you shushed as you put your money in and turned the handle. There were a couple of thunks and your capsule rolled out.

You popped the capsule open and let out a happy "oh!" You held it up so Ruggie could see it better from his vantage point where he still lingered at your shoulder. "Look how cute it is! It's perfect."

The plastic ring certainly looked every bit as cheap as it was, but it had a yellow floral design that reminded him of dandelions. He loved that you were so happy with such a simple little thing, especially one that hopefully reminded you of him, and he couldn't keep a soft smile from his face.

The smile quickly became a look of confusion when you turned to him, grabbed his left hand, and slipped it onto his ring finger. The hole in the molded plastic was small enough that the ring wouldn't go past his first knuckle. Undeterred, you took it off and slid it onto his pinky instead and grinned.

"Now we're engaged."

Ruggie's face took on a playful smirk. "I don't think so."

"Why not?" you pouted.

"You can do better than that. Come on, prefect. Ask me properly."

Your eyes widened briefly, but without missing a beat, you sank onto one knee and gently took his hand with the ring in both of yours. You slipped the ring off and started gently caressing his hand while you began dramatically, "Ruginald Cornelius Bucchi-"

"Cornelius?" Ruggie snorted.

You went on as though he hadn't said anything.

"Would you do me the greatest honor- and make me the happiest prefect alive- and marry me?"

He pretended to think about it and sighed. "Oh, alright, I guess."

You let out a small cheer and slipped the ring back onto his pinky, giving his hand a little kiss as a finishing touch.

He wasn't expecting that. Ruggie could feel a blush starting in his cheeks. You had gotten up again and were dusting yourself off, so maybe you hadn't noticed. He cleared his throat.

"But I hope you realize I don't come cheap! I expect donuts every Saturday."

You hummed. "Dang, that is steep. I don't think I can afford you."

Heaving a dramatic sigh and putting his hands behind his head, he said, "Well~, I guess I can cut ya some slack in light of the help you've given me with past errands. Donuts this Saturday and we'll call it even. To commemorate our engagement. Shishishi!"

You smiled brightly and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Done. I can handle that much for my fiancé."

With a little laugh, you grabbed his hand and pulled him along with you to finally exit Sam's and start back towards Ramshackle.

Ruggie was slightly dazed as the two of you walked along. A lot had happened in a few short minutes. You had kissed him? You were holding hands? How much of this was commitment to the bit and how much was maybe something else?

He could feel his tail wagging and he adjusted your hands so his fingers intertwined with yours. When you smiled at him and squeezed his hand, he decided the answer didn't matter.

He looked at the plastic ring on his pinky and smiled, too.

Maybe it wasn't a waste of thaumarks after all.

[ai-dream]

Keep your eye on the donut, not on the hole.

RIP to a true artist.

[valentine-cafe]

Y'all know I can never have enough of Rishen 781. He's so cute and slutty and it makes me want to be mean to him <3 Why not slide a remote controlled vibe into them and take a walk around town? See how long Rishen can last under the pointed shifts in intensity before their legs are shaking and he has to bury his face into his partner's shoulder to hide how red he's getting. Of course his partner will only shove him over the edge when they have a good amount of privacy, don't want to damage that reputation, after all <3

˖⁺. ﹙ bttm preppy hybrid nerd bf x top gn reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . quiet, pretty boy !! 🍒 :  moth-spider-mantis hybrid ˖ hero ˖ preppy nerd character﹙verse 781 rishen. ﹚

 you just loovveee messing with your cute, slutty boyfriend out in public - he gives the best reactions! | cw: public sex ˖ use of vibrator

𖹭. ps : anon I love you and all your rishen 781 asks - please be mean to him <3

rishen dressed up so prettily today. you couldn’t help but want to be a little mean to him when you saw how dolled up he was. with his pretty checkered black and red skirt. the vibrant red turtleneck and black stockings with those scarlet heels you love so much. . .

of course you just had to slip tat vibrator into his cute little hole before you both went out on the town. he’s always so pretty bent over the bed while you have a hand up his skirt. fingering him to prep him up for the toy. the way he moans at you -

“b-baby - babbyyy - ah,”

you make sure to redo his makeup for him when he’s back up. what a messy boy he can be at times.

walking around time was fine and dandy. he tried his hardest to keep himself in check. it was easy with the low vibrations at first. it felt like a comfortable - but pleasurable buzz that simply made him a bit giddy.

perfect for a sunny, breezy day! the two of you went out shopping. when he roamed over to a isolated isle to check out the clothing rack - you sped the vibrator up as he leaned over.

it was quite the amusing sight. seeing him bent over the clothing rack and trying his utmost hardest not to moan out. his thighs squeezing together and his skirt hiking up so that you saw a nice view of his stocking-covered ass.

it took everything within your core not to keep him bent over like that. stroke him off amongst the clothes until he’s whining at you. he always gets so quiet out in public - it’s cute listening to the way his voice whines and quivers.

alas, you gave him a break when he looked at you with those big, pleading maroon eyes. the both of you found your items and left. the setting’s back to normal and while he looks flustered - he’s back to his calm state.

throughout the day you’d continue this little trend. when he ordered the both of you mini donuts. at the movie theatre you’d both planned on going to. the park where you fed some birds -

all so you could see his pretty eyes tear up and hear your name whispered out on his tongue.

you both decide to end the day off with his favourite milkshake parlour. it had been some time since you’d been cruel to him — so his guard was down.

perfect.

he was so happy next to you. drinking up his strawberry milkshake and rambling to you about the week and his newest schematics.

poor thing. you decided to let him finish his milkshake at least three quarters before your devious fingers turned the setting up. to the highest - most violent -

oh the way that he limped into you. how his eyes widened and he just so managed to bury his face into your shoulder to muffle his noises and hide his face.

he was bucking against nothing! so you decided to give him your hand between his thighs. he was so precious with the way he whined at you.

“p-please - amor - come on,” he whines. you feel his hard cock underneath his skirt. throbbing in his thin stockings.

“fuck baby. so hard? been walking around like that all day?”

you’d give him a few subtle strokes. just to see him squirm about and whimper that you can’t do it here - not in the booth!

so the bathroom is your final destination. pushing him into one of the stalls and shoving him to the wall. simply watching the way his knees shake and he whines like a slut. manicured, red nails scratching and clinging onto your shirt as the vibrator keeps its course.

you’ll shove one of his legs up. push it over your shoulder and press up against him. yank his stockings down and grab at the end of the vibrator. so that you can fuck it into his tight, quivering ass. hard. fast. all so he can whine and cry out against your hand that clamps over his mouth.

“ssshhh baby - you gonna start sobbin’ here in the bathroom? want them to hear you?”

“m-mnn! mhhm! hngh -”

he stains his pretty skirt full of his sticky cum. your hand from his mouth drops to palm at his cock. crooning at one of the pulsing veins and stroking your thumb around it before you slip the vibrator out.

your fingers go at it. pounding him knuckle’s deep until his eyes are rolling back. his make-up smudged as he cries. drools all over his red lipstick. bucks into you as best his can.

“p-please - pleasepleaseplease-p-por fav- angh baby - c-cummin’ ag-aggaaiin-”

you’ll shush his spluttered chokes with a wet kiss to his lip. alternate between fucking his twitching hole and stroking his trembling cock. even throwing the vibrator in so that you can see him all limp and dumb against the wall.

anything for your pretty boy. he just loves when you’re mean after all.

[bashibuzuk]

Il y a un grand vide dans ce monde maintenant que David Lynch n'est plus avec nous. Mais comme il le disait, "gardez les yeux sur le donut, pas sur le trou." There’s a big hole in the world now that David Lynch is no longer with us. But, as he would say, "Keep your eye on the donut and not on the hole.”

[saywhat-politics]

Director-writer David Lynch, who radicalized American film with with a dark, surrealistic artistic vision in films like “Blue Velvet” and “Mulholland Drive” and network television with “Twin Peaks,” has died. He was 78.

Lynch revealed in 2024 that he had been diagnosed with emphysema after a lifetime of smoking, and would likely not be able to leave his house to direct any longer. His family announced his death in a Facebook post, writing, “There’s a big hole in the world now that he’s no longer with us. But, as he would say, ‘Keep your eye on the donut and not on the hole.'”

[thefreakandthehair]

we feel a little warmer now.

rating: teen & up | wc: 1.1k | tags: canon-typical injuries, pre-relationship, getting together, fluff, light hurt/comfort | prompt: love is a fire that never goes out @steddielovemonth & a happy birthday gift for @henderdads! title from the woods, by hollow coves.

February in Indiana is still the dead of winter— cornfields are barren, trees sway in the wind without their leaves, and the sky seems to have a sheer layer of grey even on the cloudless days.

Eddie’s always loved winter. The shorter days followed by longer nights, snowy Sundays, watching the smoke from a joint or cigarette dance in the freezing air, and excuses to do donuts in the local abandoned grocery store parking lot. He’s always loved winter, or at least he did until his world shattered at his feet, leaving him with injuries that take ages to heal and scars that leave him perpetually cold.

It’s been difficult to explain, even to the people who’d lived it with him. He can’t fully enjoy winter anymore because the cold seeps into his bones, maybe through the scars, maybe just because of the nerve damage. He’ll never know for sure because Hawkins General doesn’t exactly have a Demobat Specialist on staff so he just keeps it to himself.

Well, mostly. Steve knows.

Hiding anything from Steve has proven impossible. His constant chill, his frustration with the new but still-improving limp, the grief, the guilt, the confusing simultaneous euphoria of survival. The only secret he’s managed to keep is the big fat crush he’s harbored, probably since Steve helped find him in the woods.

Maybe earlier. Maybe since high school. He tries not to think about it too much.

The point is, Steve knows and even if Eddie hasn’t said that it breaks his heart to lose the quiet winter nights smoking on the porch or the hood of his van, Steve figures that out, too.

He must, because Eddie nearly jumps out of his freezing skin when knuckles rap on the front door of his and Wayne’s new trailer. There’s a system these days: check the peep hole, crack the door with the chain still attached to confirm, and only then does Eddie open the door completely. An unfortunate system, but he’s far from the town hero that Steve’s been hailed as, albeit against his will.

Speaking of, through the peep hole, he sees Steve standing on his porch wrapped in what looks like a thick hoodie and winter coat.

“Who goes there?” Eddie asks, cracking the door and peering out with one eye.

“It’s me, you ass. Let me in, I have a surprise.”

The door chain unhooks with a metallic click and Steve enters the trailer like he belongs there.

Because he does, Eddie thinks.

“A surprise? For me? Oh, do tell.”

Steve stands in the living room, a live wire if Eddie’s ever seen one. His hair is a little messy, as though he’s been raking his fingers through it. His nose is pink, complemented by his frosty cheeks, and his eyes are wide and wild.

“If it’s overstepping or whatever, we can pretend I never mentioned it but I know how much you miss winter nights. And I uh, I built a fire pit at my house?” His voice pitches up, as though it’s a question.

“You built a fire pit? Today?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. It was a lot easier than I thought it would be honestly, time consuming but, yeah. I built a fire pit. And I was thinking that maybe with the fire and some blankets and a good jacket— a real winter coat, not just your leather jacket— you might be able to get some of that back.”

Eddie tries his best not to think about Steve lugging brick pavers and forcing them into place, thinking about Eddie and his stupid broken internal thermostat. Wanting to give him back something the Upside Down took. Worrying Eddie would somehow see this as overstepping.

It’s a quick Yes and even quicker drive to Loch Nora, a drive that Eddie’s always found hilarious. How can two neighborhoods exist so close together but feel like different worlds?

The whole way there, Eddie keeps Steve talking. If Steve’s talking, there’s less room for Eddie to spill yet another truth inadvertently, the only one left to spill. Instead, he asks questions about work, and Robin, and if he’s heard from his parents.

(“It sucks,” “she’s great,” “nope”. In that order.)

Pulling into the driveway, Eddie hops out of the car as best he can in one of Wayne’s old winter coats and follows Steve to the backyard. His jaw drops when he sees exactly what Steve’s done. More than a simple circle of bricks, there’s a pit made of concrete blocks in the center of a larger circle filled with wood chips and grey pavers marking the perimeter. Wood logs are already split in a pile off to the side next to two lawn chairs and dear God, Eddie really hopes that Steve bought that already split. He’s still not over him swinging on demobats with his bare hands, and the image of him with an axe is enough to put him down for good.

“C’mon, I’ll get it started,” Steve nudges their shoulders together and walks through the pit to the stack of logs.

Steve gets a roaring fire going, the kind that cracks and burns both red and blue, and passes Eddie an extra blanket. Flames dance beneath the clear sky, speckled with stars that do little to distract him from how unbearably warm he is for the first time in months.

People don’t just do things like this for him, not without expectation or out of obligation. So much of Eddie’s life has felt like a spectrum spanning from pity to transactional with very few exceptions in between.

Then again, Steve feels like an exception to a lot of things.

“Why?” Eddie eventually asks, exhaling a puff of cigarette smoke like a kid seeing his breath.

Steve shrugs and tosses the butt of his own cigarette into the flames. “You lost enough down there, and I know how that feels. If there’s something easy enough to fix, I want to. You deserve that.”

Eddie turns and sees Steve smiling, just a soft upturn of his lips as he looks up at the sky. His face is flushed and Eddie wants to think it’s not from the flames.

“You’re really something, you know that?” Eddie says, scooting his chair over close enough for the arms of their chairs to nearly touch.

Steve looks back from the sky to Eddie, long lashes and the scar on his neck on full display.

“That a good thing?”

Eddie nods. “Oh yeah, definitely. Maybe the best thing.”

They sit outside for hours, eventually sharing a blanket draped around their shoulders and a first kiss that lights him up from the inside.

Eddie’s warm long after the fire burns out.

[strawbxrryanime]

all broken from wood - jealous!succubus!reader x BSD men (Ranpo Edogawa ver.)

All Broken From Wood is a series that I'm creating of a Jealous Succubus Reader finding out that their beloved character husbands have been with some other people without you. ^^

I might do this series with other shows too so be on the lookout ^^

~

He was too naive. Talking with that other person. Tch, pathetic. Seems like he’d always try to crave attention once in a while, just not from his succubus significant other. How naive. Does he ever get the point? Ranpo, chewing on his donuts while talking to his stupid coworkers, they don’t even love him as much as you.

So you just had to show Ranpo who he should always divert his attention to. Ranpo woke up to being stripped bare, as you climb over him. “Y/N! What are you doing!” Ranpo said, you were going to drain him soon one way or another, and he’d better take it like a good boy. Ranpo was shaking, scared.

“Such patheticness.. shaking? Really Ranpo?” You smirk, as you lower down to his ear and mutter. “I will drain you hard, and I’ll make sure you pay some real attention to me.” You chuckle as Ranpo widens his eyes in fear. You slam hard down on his cock, your walls absorbing his whole cock, squeezing and rubbing against it making Ranpo scream out in pleasure.

"Maybe you should've thought twice before talking to that person~" You smirk. "B-but.." Ranpo shakily tries to find a comeback but he can merely talk with your hole squeezing on him. "I don't care! Silence!~" You chuckle as Ranpo trembles in fear, you were going to drain him no matter what it costs. You began to slam down and bounce again, making Ranpo moan and groan even more.

"Shut it!" You scream out to Ranpo. Leaning in for a mindblowing kiss as you kept slamming down on his cock, leaving him a moaning mess. Crushing his ballsack as you keep bouncing on top of his cock like there's no tomorrow, a mindboggling pleasure that lingers throughout Ranpo. Ranpo kept his mouth open the entire time you start bouncing, moaning and groaning as he tries to explain himself.

"Mind breaking?~ Hm?~" You smirk as you kept bouncing on his cock, leaving him to arch his back upwards only to be slammed back down again by your ass, his cock submerged deep within your hole, gummy walls squeezing and squeezing the life out of him. Ranpo's eyes began to roll back, he surely didn't suspect this coming even with his glasses on. But now, it's too late, he's being drained by you and there's no turning back.

"This is what happens when you talk to other people~" You ride even faster, being all aroused by Ranpo's screams and groans as he holds on to the sheets, gripping them as hard as he can with his fingers so much that it hurts. His emerald green eyes desperately looking at your frame, your bouncing frame as you fuck his mind up ever so slightly within your bounces. Your gummy walls unraveling and wrapping around his dick as tight as it could ever be was enough to make him squeal.

"Y/N!~ I-I!~" Ranpo couldn't even finish his sentence, but you knew he was going to cum deep inside you anyways, so you bounce even faster, crushing his ballsack even more, pelvis being shattered as you ride his cock so well, treating it as if he was your horse. You tighten your walls even more around his cock, leaving him to burst completely inside you, as you drain his thick, hot, white strands of cum inside of you as Ranpo let out a loud moan.

But that wasn't over yet, not unless he feels you, you enwrap him into Missionary style, Ranpo was on top, and you below him. "Y/N!~" Ranpo screams out. As you shush him. "I'm letting you have a chance now fucking thrust!~" You scream while you wrap your legs around his waist, making his cock go deeper inside your tight walls leading to a loud moan.

"AAAAGHHHHAAA!!~ Y/NNNNN!~" Ranpo called out your name, but you just kept chuckling as he mindlessly thrusts deep inside of you, brainwashed by pleasure, brainwashed into cumming more deep inside you. All Ranpo could think about was cumming deep inside you, fuck being the best detective, you were fucking the best detective after all. Ranpo kept thrusting sloppily as he groans and grunts and moans.

"Keep going!~ Good boy~" You smirk at the sight of Ranpo's shaky breathing and his sloppy thrusts, his rhythm was fast but out of hand. As he kept devoting himself to you, mindlessly in the brink of pleasure and ecstasy. You pull him even more deeper, making him thrust even faster, his cock struggling to go through your tight walls leaving him in an pleasurable state of madness. His emerald eyes only glared at the fact that he couldn't see the bridge of his cock go in.

"Y/N!~" Ranpo grabs onto your hips more, gripping it hard as he splurts his load deep inside you, as you absorb it and smirk. Ranpo panted, until you took him down to the ground and gave him a big old deepthroat. Submerging his cock down your throat as you kept bobbing up and down, Ranpo still screaming your name as you just kept going. "Y/N!~ AAAAGHHAAAA!~~ PLEASE!~" Ranpo was in a mindless state now, going further and further close.

You grab Ranpo's waist as you kept bobbing deeper and deeper up and down his cock, as Ranpo moans and curls up his toes. His eyes glaring at the sight of you swallowing him whole. It's too much, the pleasure, the pain of cumming again, he screams again as he splurts another load, but you just kept chugging it. Drinking it like it was nothing, like it was an ordinary bottle of water.

You went off on Ranpo with a 69, making Ranpo lick your hole as you kept sucking on his dick, and no matter how much he tried he couldn't escape. Muffled screams surround the room as you kept sucking even after he cums, draining him till the end of night.