#listening to zero percent of what he's saying

[hunnam]

[katzenmas]

pt.2 to my "simon riley is down bad for Johnny's little princess"

they were on leave, johnny invited simon over to his place in inverness, promising to take him hiking and fishing. when simon knocked on the door it was you who opened it, a graceful smile and a hand on his shoulder as you ushered him inside.

walking up the stairs to the guest room he was staying in was painful, with how tight his pants got the second you touched him. you talked to him, asking him if it was his first time in scotland, what kind of food he liked, all simon could do was grunt and nod, not trusting his voice, the images running through his mind were diabolical.

third day of his stay simon was sure he'd died and gone to heaven. you pranced around the house wearing skin tight shorts and one of johnny's old shirts, your hair put up messily as you swayed to whatever music was playing on the telly. it was getting hard to conceal his boners, simon was about fifty percent sure johnny noticed how he would always excuse himself when you touched him.

on the fourth day simon was woken up by a conversation you were having with johnny.

" c'mon lass you were the one that wanted this remember? why you backin' out now? leaving the poor fella with blue balls are ya?" you two were in the kitchen, johnny's hands on your hips as he was grinding against your backside, crowding you to the island.

" i know love but he's too shy! maybe he isn't ready? nothing he's done makes me sure that he would comfortable with it?" simon continued creeping around in the hallway, listening to a conversation he was sure was about him.

" bonnie you cannae be that stupid, poor lad is about to walk into an early grave if ya give him another boner" that caused heat to crawl up simon's face, he stood in the doorway, watching how johnny slid his hand up your shirt and tugged on your nipple, eliciting a moan so heavenly from your mouth that simon was already half hard in his sweats.

johnny looked behind him and his eyes zeroed in on simon, a wicked smile flashing on his face. suddenly he turned you around, a debauched look on your face as he put one hand on your chin and forced eye contact between you and the lieutenant.

" what do you say lt? ready to make this wet dreams of your's a reality?"

thats how simon ended up kneeling near the bed where you were sprawled out, johnny holding your pussy lips open as he made simon watch how your wetness was seeping from your slit.

" go on lt, she don't bite" that was all that simon needed, his nose was pressed into your wetness before the words were fully out of johnny's mouth. a groan left his pretty lips as he tasted you for the first time.

one of johnny's hands left your body and found themselves fisted in simon's hair, guiding his face around your wet cunt, whispering instructions on how to make you feel good.

"you should see what she looks like as she cums lt, might make you cream in your pants the noises she makes" johnny's hand in simon's hair tightened as the latter pushed his tongue into you, another mewl escaping your lips at the action.

soon enough you were squirming on the bed, your hands clawing at simon's shoulders as your first orgasm of the night washed over you. johnny didn't let the lieutenant up for a breath, forcing him to lap at your clit as you were coming down the waves of euphoria.

with a crazed look johnny ripped simon's head away from your wetness and brought him in for a kiss, tasting your juices on his tongue. simon started humping the leg of the bed, becoming near overstimulated as the kiss from johnny tipped him over the edge and he came. shuddering, whining and ruining his sweatpants in the process.

you crawled up from your laying position and cooed at simon, softly running your hands through his hair as johnny maneuvered the bigger man onto the bed. short, labored breaths fell out of simon's mouth as you started pawing at his shirt, slowly raising it up and cupping his chest. your fingers grazing his nipples, making simon's hips buck off the bed.

"such a good boy for us ain't he lass? look at him, all stupid in the head from eating your cunny and getting one kiss." johnny said as he crawled up onto the bed with you two, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he turned to his superior. "we ain't done here yet ghost".

your hands found simon's bulge and you started cupping him through his sweatpants. you let out a giggle as you felt his cock twitch at your touch. slowly you pushed your hand into his sweats and briefs, a small gasp leaving your mouth as you felt how big he was even half hard.

simon threw his head back and let out a deep groan the second your soft fingers touched him. his eyes trained on your lips as he leaned in to kiss you hungrily. it was messy and wet, with no real technique to it. simon just knew he needed to feel you.

"please love lemme put it in, please i'll make ya feel good" johnny chuckled at how the big bad scary ghost was asking his sweetheart to let him wet his dick.

"whaddya ken lassie? should we let him?" simon had tears brimming the corners of his eyes, johnny's taunting words and your touch being nearly enough to send him over the edge, the second you nodded simon was fumbling his pants down his legs.

both you and johnny stopped for a moment to admire just how thick and heavy simon's cock was. he was sliding it up and down your slit, small spurts of pre sliding from his tip and smearing all over your puffy lips and clit.

simon's hips stuttered the second his tip breached the entrance to your cunt. you were so warm, holding him there in a vice grip. johnny shushed you with placing kisses on your brow and the corner of your mouth, one of his hands coming down to play with your clit while you adjusted to the sheer size of simon's tip.

" look at him lassie, he's stretching you out so good" johnny groaned out and forced you to look down at where you and simon were connected. the lieutenant was shaking, it was taking everything in him not to just snap his hips into you and cum like a teenager.

" go on si, you can push in more" you whispered out and looked at him with so mich trust in your eyes that simon had to look away, suddenly feeling to exposed. instead he focused in sliding into you slowly, letting you get used to his size.

when he was fully sheathed in he started rocking his hips, slow and shallow at first, but speeding up as more noises started falling from your lips. he could hear johnny praising him, but simon couldn't make out the exact words, the ringing in his ears as your hot cunt swallowed him reverberated through his mind.

he pulled out, leaving only the tip in, just to piston into you. simon grabbed both yoir legs and threw your ankles over his shoulders, he hunched over you put you into a mating press.

" so. fucking. good. for. me. you take this cock like you were born for it" each word was in rhythm with his brutal strokes, the bed creaking under the force. johnny laughed and asked if simon was trying to fuck you inot the mattress.

the men both saw when your eyes rolled back and a dumb smile overtook your features. you fluttered around simon as he fucked you through your second orgasm of the night. johnny grunted and pushed his hand into his pants, pulling his angry, hard dick out and started lazily pumping it.

" go on then lt, gimme a show" a few more strokes and simon was pushing impossibly deep into you. the overstimulation causing you to sob as you felt his got seed shoot against your cervix.

he was shaking, his head was empty. simon rutted into you through his own overstimulation, riding out the last waves of his orgasm until it got painful. he slowly pulled out, watching his cum dribble out of your used cunt, and then collapsed onto the bed.

johnny patted his head and gave him a quick kiss. "good boy simon"

your boyfriend tutted as he watched the cum ooze out of you.

"not nice bonnie, simon here tried so hard to breed ya and you're lettin' it go to waste?" before you could even answer johnny pushed his cock into you, fucking simon's cum back into your hole.

simon watched the scene in front of him with hazy eyes, leaning over towards you at some point and sucking on your right nipple. your sweaty and spent body was so pliant for both men, you were like a little toy just for them to use and break.

" 's t' much johhny, cannae take it anymo'" your pleas were met with small, cruel laughs as johnny cooed at you and went faster.

simon found his hand creeping down to your cunt, his fingers skimming over your abused clit, making you sob louder.

with a final thrust johnny was growling as he pulled out and came onto simon's chest. little stray spurts landing on his chin. thats when you let out a scream and gushed.

johnny's blue eyes were dazed, watching your pussy gape around nothing, as your juices kept dribbling out.

"oh sweet girl, we made ya squirt" he said lovingly and placed a kiss on your forehead, momentarily leaving you and simon alone on the bed as he went to fetch a towel to clean both of you up.

you turned over to your side and wrapped your arms around simon's torso, your nose pressed in between his shoulder blades as your fingers traced faded scars on his hips.

johnny returned at some point, cleaned you up and laid behind you, his strong arms snaking around your waist and he pulled the covers over you three.

it was dead silent, you could hear johnny start to snore when simon spoke up.

" how long were you two planning this?" you giggled and pressed a kiss to his exposed back.

"johnny could hear you moan my name like a schoolboy every night. we made up our mind when you walked into the doors of the house. now sleep, you did so good today" simon nodded and closed his eyes, sleep overtaking his tired body.

-

WELL HERE YA HAVE IT! im so down bad for sub! simon getting doted on by dom! johnny and switch! reader.

@konigslittleliebling you wanted to be tagged in pt. 2 and i tried to deliver🫡

[highvern]

Houdini

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: smut, hint of fluff at the end

warnings: drinking, allusion to drug use, sub hoshi likes when reader is mean to him, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, protected sex, reader calls hoshi a furry more than once, cumshot, hair pulling, reader wears bunny ears

Length: ~5.3k

Note: this started as a prologue to a different fic but i wanted it to become its own fic. danke @gyuswhore for being my torture subject as always as well as @onlyhuis @temptaetions @cheolism

Summary: The guy wearing a tiger onesie and ripping a bong in the corner might not be the most promising prospect of the night. But you've got a point to prove and a bet to win. series m.list: Green Light [s], Yuck [f], Talk [a, s, f], Casual [a, s, f], Mine [s], espresso [f, s]

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

The cramped living room is hazy with the smell of pot, cut by cheap led strip lights painting everything in violets and blues. Butt numb from the stiff armrest of the couch, you adjust the bunny ears on your head for the fifth time in the twenty minutes you’ve sat there.

Everyone else skitters around, dressed as different animals. More bunnies, a few cats, a guy dressed like a dinosaur hogging a joint. It’s someone’s birthday; a friend of a friend you’ve never met, but the promise of free alcohol before heading downtown isn’t even close to the worst way to spend your time. It’s why you fished out the dumb satin bunny ears from your closet; a relic from Halloweens past when you needed a cheap excuse to wear something scandalous in public with little judgment. 

June disappeared thirty minutes ago to find the birthday boy, leaving your entire group to mingle until she returns. 

You intently listen as Lily vents about her work crush for the nth time. His name is of no relevance, but she’s convinced herself it's love despite the fact he possesses fewer brain cells than a rock. A proven fact since he didn’t know the difference between consonants and vowels despite being well into his twenties.

“Why all the talk about relationships?” you interrupt. “Can we please have one night where we don’t talk about guys.”

“Some of us want boyfriends.” Anna rolls her eyes. 

“And yet, you can find one hundred percent of the benefits of one with zero effort. At least without all the mind games you two go through every week.”

“Easy for you to say.” Anna argues. “You’re like the poster girl for no-commitment sex.”

“I like what I like,” you shrug. “Not guys that say they want a relationship and then claim you're moving too fast when you ask him to treat you like a person.”

Lily gives an exasperated groan to the ceiling. “We get it. You hate romance.”

“I don’t hate it. I just like to be realistic. Most guys are good for one thing and I happen to admire them for that.”

“Do you realistically think you can get any guy here to sleep with you?” Anna asks. 

Any guy is a stretch. You’re easy but not without standards. Taken men are strictly off the menu. Along with weirdos or guys that look like they’ve never seen the inside of a shower. Anyone looking for a relationship typically removes themself from the running after figuring out you aren’t looking to be saved or changed, just a warm body that’s easy on the eyes.

“Pick anyone and if I pull him you owe me breakfast tomorrow.” You challenge them with a smirk. It’s slim pickings so early in the night, but nothing you can’t work with.

“Okay, then.” Lily agrees. “What about him?”

It takes you a moment to decipher who her manicured finger is pointing at. There's a small crowd in the corner of the room, guys too scared to mingle or uninterested in anything beyond their circle jerk. But he’s easy to spot; a tiger onesie and a dark crop of hair are all the details you get from this far away.

He seems to be the main entertainer of the bubble. Hands fly in different directions, chaotic but graceful. Now that you’re locked onto him, the boom of his voice floats under the heavy music. Tiger guy isn't your usual type. He’s lithe and lean; maybe a dancer or something athletic. You like them tall and domineering. It makes it that much sweeter when they try to dominate you, only to be beaten at their own game. Mingyu wasn’t your A-list fuck buddy for no reason. A damn shame he moved away at the end of last year.

But the man Lily’s picked will do what you need him to; prove a point and grant you a free meal. If you get at least one orgasm out of it then that’ll be a bonus. Chugging the last of your drink (which smells like nail polish remover and paint thinner had a very toxic baby), you drop the empty cup into Anna’s hand.

“And we want proof!” Anna calls as you stalk toward the far wall.

One of the other guys he’s talking to sees you approach, and you watch the way his eyes convey your presence, nearly bugging out of his skull. A gentle tap on tiger guy’s shoulder has him turning to greet you.

Confusion clouds his face. He’s cuter than you expected, with furrowed eyebrows and a pout that draws your eyes to his mouth with curiosity. You’ll find out their talents soon enough. 

“Hi,” you smile.

“Hi?” he parrots.

“I’m Y/N.” Eyes round with faux innocence, you make a point to take a few seconds staring at his mouth before meeting his curious gaze.

“Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung. The name rolls along your tongue easily. You light up at the way his eyes follow the curve of your mouth around the sound. It’s too easy.

Pushing forward, chest to chest; raising on your toes. You relish in another shiver at the brush of your mouth against his ear. “Is this your party?”

“Yeah, it’s my roommate’s birthday,” he says.

So that’s who June knows. 

“Cool. Wanna show me your room?”

“What?” You can hear the record scratch in Soonyoung’s brain; see the disbelief in his eyes.

Stepping into his space, your gaze burns a path from his lips to his eyes before you repeat, “your room?”

“Yeah, yeah. I can…definitely do that. This way!”

His own friends, still circled in the corner, gape in their own disbelief. Soonyoung has you charging through the crowded living room and down the hallway. Good. Even more bodies fill the narrow space but he nearly pushes them aside, waving off any grunts of discontent at his roughness.

You pass several doors on each side, all closed from prying eyes but you don’t have an interest anyway. His room is at the end of the long passage. A whiteboard with a crude image of a tiger and a rainbow hangs at eye level, coupled with ‘TamTam + Hoshi 5ever’ but you don’t have time to admire the art before you’re inside.

“So, this is it,” Soonyoung announces, hands wringing in front of his chest nervously. 

The tiger thing isn’t so much a coincidence and more of a theme. A poster of a tiger hangs on the wall above the dresser. But it’s not the worst of it. His bed hosts several plushies, all different sizes and shapes but certainly tigers. 

Whipping around, you eye him with incredulity. “Are you a fucking furry?”

“No!” He shakes like a bobblehead. Like he’s had to explain it dozens of times before. “It’s a joke! From college, with my friends.”

“A joke where you collect tiger memorabilia as a grown man?” You shoot back.

“It’s not that bad.”

Eyebrows flying to your hair line, you make a sweep of the room. “You have a framed picture of a tiger, are wearing a tiger suit, and have a miniature army of stuffed animals.” 

“Okay, maybe it is that bad, but I’m not a furry.”

If he was hiding more of the garish pattern out of sight you wouldn’t be surprised. For good measure, you fold over the blanket of his bed and sigh relief to find navy sheets instead of orange. You’ve slept with weirder guys for less but it’s nice to know he isn’t that weird.

“Whatever you say. But if you ask me to wear a tail, I’ll walk back out there and tell everyone.”

You peel your shirt off without another word. Once your vision is free of the fabric, you’re met with a starstruck man — mouth open, eyes skimming your chest, and what seems to be a half-chub tenting his pants. You revel in the silent awe rolling off him, preening at the attention. So easy.

But Soonyoung seems to come to his senses when you start working on the zipper holding together the back of your skirt shut.

“Woah, okay. We don’t have to go so fast,” he says, taking a step in your direction.

“So I should put my shirt back on?” You make for it like the threat is real.

“Let’s not be too hasty! I’m just saying, maybe we should, like, talk a bit first?”

Your feet carry you until there’s barely a breath between his body and your own. Soonyoung’s shirt brushes against your naked stomach with each stuttered breath as you eye his lips. “Well, do you wanna talk or do you want your dick sucked? Because I can only do one at a time.”

“Definitely the second one,” Soonyoung starts, dipping his hands to your ass for a harsh squeeze while shepherding you to his bed.

His mouth tastes like smoke and need. A disgusting combination if not for your tipsy brain easily ignoring it in favor of focusing on the roughness of his touch.

Soonyoung is eager, to say the least. He can’t touch you fast enough; hands darting from your ass, to your sides, to your breasts, and back down again. If this was happening at your apartment you’d tie him down and refuse to let him feel anything at all just to watch him squirm. 

You manage to flip him under you, pinning him in place with your thighs to rest across his lap like a throne. Taking the change in stride, he uses the new angle to mouth over your bra; sucking harshly at your covered nipples till they stiffen for his fingers to pinch at.

“Condoms?”

Soonyoung shakes his head. 

Digging the heel of your hand into his forehead successfully unlatches the suction around your nipple.  He pouts at the interruption.

“You don’t have condoms?”

“I do, but I’m not about to fuck you after two seconds of making out,” Soonyoung argues. “I‘m not even hard yet.”

Shocked by the sudden attitude, you huff before rolling your hips down. You're met with a familiar lump pressing into the crotch of your pants, and Soonyoung has the nerve to simply return to his previous task as you rock against him again.

“Liar,” you pant after a delicious drag of his teeth on your collarbone and his cock against your ass.

You stay locked like that for a while, writhing against one another as clothes come off without abandon. Your bra first, then the damn tiger onesie. Soonyoung gets you on your back before flipping up your skirt and pulling your panties to the side, revealing your drenched center.

He sucks a bruise on your nipple, tongue messy as he explores what’s between your legs with a gentle stroke of his fingers.

“Can I go down on you? Please say yes.” Soonyoung traces the request across your chest with more nips of his teeth. 

“You have to ask?”

“Consent is sexy.”

“You sound like a PSA,” you comment. “But, yeah go ahead.”

Your hips lift to aid in removing the last scraps of clothing. There’s no shyness as you spread your legs wide, flashing the aftermath of a good make-out session for Soonyoung eyes only.

“Oh my god,” he moans.

The heat of his breath fans across your folds, sending a shiver down your spine. He doesn’t even blink as you clench from the aching need to be filled with whatever he’s ready to offer,

“What?”

“This is gonna make me sound weird again, but you have a really pretty pussy.”

Not something any previous partners have chosen to comment on, but you preen under the compliment. “Thanks.”

“No. Thank you,” Soonyoung says before looking at the ceiling. “God, thank you so much for blessing me like this.” 

“Stop being lame or I'll leave.” 

“Sorry, you’re hot.” He says it like an accusation. “Just wanted to let the universe know I recognize that and appreciate it.” 

“How about you recognize the fact I’m drying up as we speak?” 

“No you aren’t,” Soonyoung argues. “You’re dripping on my sheets.” 

Your hand skates across your front, falling between your thighs. Like hypnosis, he watches with rapt attention as you frame your clit between two fingers, giving a clear target for his attention. 

“Then do something about it.”

With a hand fisted in his hair, he does. An aggressive suck against your clit without warm-up sends a tremor through your core. Your fingers knot in his hair, twisting until he’s forced away from your cunt with a petulant frown. 

“If you keep licking my clit like a scratch off I will make you cry.” A jostle of the bed tells how effective your words are. “Oh my god. Did you just?” 

“I’ve never been threatened in bed before, okay? I'm just as shocked as you.”

He hides the embarrassment by wedging back between your thighs, gentler than before, lapping away the new flood of arousal from his responsiveness. A thrill hums down your spine and settles where Soonyoung’s mouth returns to work. His shoulders burn hot against the underside of your thighs, every surge of muscle rocking you back into the slick of his tongue. 

“Fuck.”

“Better?” he asks around a mouth full of pussy.

There might very well be a crowd at the door listening to every lewd squelch and pathetic whine, but you don’t care. A little direction, a grind of your hips when he does well and the sting of your nails when he gets ahead of himself does wonders. Soonyoung is eager to please and impress. You could probably lay here for an hour without a complaint for him; if anything, he’d actively encourage such indulgence if it meant your approval. 

It makes the temptation to overwhelm him too sweet to ignore. 

One of the hands flat against your stomach falls away easily, knotting his fingers through yours because of course he’d be the type to hold hands during sex. It’s cute, but that fondness is stomped down for something safer. 

Like sucking two fingers between your lips like it's his cock.

Soonyoung grunts frustration straight into your core, refusing to watch you wet his hand even when you moan at the prod against the back of your throat. Another hump against the mattress as an edge of teeth drags over his knuckles. 

You can’t help but laugh as he scrambles to stretch you across them. He curls one slowly, like you’ll object. When you don't, Soonyoung adds the other and resettles your thigh so he can watch them disappear inside. His knuckles return even more soaked and even you can’t pretend it isn’t a turn-on. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot.”

Before you can respond, he’s licking away the fresh wave of wetness from his praise. It isn’t new information, but Soonyoung is impossibly earnest and you’re pretty sure if he came from eating you out he’d be just as satisfied as if you fucked him.

“Gimme a third.”

Soonyoung moans like he’s the one getting off as he does what you ask. 

Your legs lock, sore at the hips from being dragged to the edge so quickly. It bubbles just under the surface. Too far away where you can’t reach it but know Soonyoung can. He knows it too by the way you whisper his name. 

“If you touch yourself right now will you cum?” 

“Probably.” 

“Good.” You're overeager, just like the man between your legs, but the idea he can get off from eating you out can’t be ignored. “Show me.” 

“If you make me cum twice tonight I will talk to my therapist about you, so no.”

You whine a protest. Something that would sound far more responsible falling from his lips in the established dynamic, but you don’t care. One of your feet wedges between the bed and his crotch, toeing along the bulge still hidden behind a pair of thin boxers.

“Is it not enough that I might cum from you insulting me, you have to see it happen?” He asks. 

The picture behind your eyelids is nothing short of demonic; pulling Soonyoung’s boxers down and the inside sticky with cum, but his cock still hard because once is definitely not enough. Or streaks of white coating his chest and thighs, the perfect trail to trace your tongue over. 

You don’t even have a chance to share the fantasy before he splits you on his tongue again. Firmer this time, with a hard press to your knees that has you vulnerable and exposed. He keeps his tongue flat and heavy on your clit. Perfect to grind up against until you shudder.

Since you can’t get Soonyoung to give in, you settle for ruining any future encounter he might have by making a show.

Your fingers tickle up your stomach, nails raising goosebumps at the soft touch. Back and forth and back and forth, a little higher each time until you catch the hill of your chests and circle the hard peaks. There's no reason to ease into it, not when you sneak a glance down and find a pair of brown eyes framed between your legs.

The way he watches makes you feel dirty. Nipples pebbled between your fingers, you arch into his next move. His tongue stays flat for you to use. You curl into it, humping Soonyoung’s face like he’s nothing more than a toy to get off on. 

“Shit, shit, shit.” 

He’s definitely slipped a fourth finger inside. The stretch borders just on the edge of pain but you take it in stride. Soonyoung looks like he might cum before you do. 

“I’m – oh. Just like that.” You groan deep from your core. 

Your clit is throbbing with sensitivity as he continues to coax pleased sounds from your tongue. Heating from the inside out, your hands abandoned the torture on your chest in favor of keeping Soonyoung in place so you can rut against him.

A switch flips with your next moan. Hands on your stomach, your breasts, shoving your thighs out of the way as he digs into your cunt like the best meal the world will know. 

“Cum for me. Please let me see you come,” Soonyoung begs. 

Fizzling out, you do what he asks. Your stomach tenses for a second and then you fly off the mattress from locked muscles. 

Soonyoung doesn’t stop as you twitch, nor when you kick an ankle into his side. Maybe you go a little wet at the eyes as he forces you straight into a second orgasm without an ounce of reprieve but it's probably coincidence.

Soonyoung finally moves away at an inhuman whine. His mouth is stained with the taste of you, but he wears it well. It almost makes you want to push him back down and see if you can survive a third orgasm.

To stop from blindly following temptation, you roll until you’re sat in his lap. You must look as disheveled as you feel; sweaty and strung out. Ready for more.

“Wait,” he sighs with the pain of a man delaying his own gratification. “Wear these.”

The wrinkled satin bunny ears knocked from your head earlier come back into view. Soonyoung doesn’t  even pretend to be ashamed as he plants them back on your head before finding the dip of your waist again.

You hate the idea of giving in so easily, but Soonyoung’s need rolls off him in thick waves feeding straight to your ego.  “Oh, but you’re not a furry?” 

His cock fits well against the curl of your fingers as you stroke him, standing tall and proud from his lap. Oddly enough, you get his earlier sentiment. You’ve never thought of a dick as pretty but Soonyoung’s is nice. Red and leaking at the tip, you’re tempted to duck your chin and get a taste, but Soonyoung drags you up to his mouth before you can even make a good faith try.

“Stop being mean to me or I’ll bust a nut,” he whines.

“Can’t have that,” you snicker. “Condoms?”

“Drawer.”

The door slams open in your haste. It’s a mess of lube, sex toys, and random chargers. Who keeps a phone charger where their lube is? Too eager for the promise of such a pliable partner doesn’t leave with an interest in asking, and the way he continues to suck at your throat isn’t helping. Until you find something that stokes your curiosity even more.

“Soonyoung. What are these?” 

A set of fuzzy tiger print cuffs dangle from your fingers. The jokes write themselves. But you ignore the re-occurrence of orange and black because you really want to know if he likes bondage. (Hopefully it’s a yes. Even more hopeful is he likes to be on the receiving end.)

“Birthday present.”

“Your friends are weird,” you say. “Have you used them?”

He looks shy, like he hasn’t just asked you to don animal ears and ride him into the mattress. Handcuffs are nothing in comparison but you wait out the nerves flashing on his face. “Maybe.”

“On who?”

“Umm…”

“Have you been handcuffed?” 

Do you want to be? The idea is just another fantasy you’ll think about later in the dark of your room when you need a quick way to get off. 

“No.”

“Lame,” you tease before tossing them to the floor and shoving a foil packet into his chest.

Soonyoung’s ability to multitask is nonexistent. Not when your nipping his ear lobe and whispering how bad you want him to fuck you; how you can’t wait to feel him inside you; how big his dick is. Perfect flattery that makes him whine and fumble the condom over and over again until you grant clemency and do it yourself.

His hands are rough against your ass as you slip him inside, slow because you want him to suffer just a little bit. Your thighs scream in protest at the angle but Soonyoung looks at you like he’s watching a miracle unfold and the discomfort is more than worth it.

If there was time, you’d let him fuck you from behind just to see how he’d fair with such a visual, but this is already dragging out too long. Soonyoung looks like he needs more time to adjust to the way he’s digging in your walls than you do. So you keep theme and start bouncing on his cock just to watch him go insane.

“God,” he grunts, neck strained and a vein rising on his forehead. “You’re fucking tight. Shit.”

Your eyelids flutter shut in focus. “Keep talking. Tell me how it feels.”

“Feels amazing, oh my god. You’re so wet.”

Your pelvis tilts so he can meet each stroke from below. The slap of skin on skin drowns out any other noise; the music, the screaming partygoers just outside. If someone walks by his door they’ll figure out what's happening in a second. Makes you want Soonyoung to be louder.

“You’re so hard for me.” 

You sink flat until your ass is cradled against the firmness of his thighs. You use the leverage to sit up and give an uninterrupted view of your front; how your breasts bounce with each movement, where his cock sinks deep into your guts without any resistance.

“All for you,” he nods, eyes wild and unfocused. There’s sweat on his neck and you can’t fight the sick urge to suck against the muscle laying underneath. “Fuck you make me so hard.”

“Should’ve let me suck your dick.”

“I know,” he whines. An arm loops around your waist, crowding you into the sheets from a smooth flip. An open mouth kiss, really just panted breath and tongue, distracts you further. A thumb at your chin keeps you pliant to whatever he wants.

He rocks deeper, as if it's possible. Surges right into that spot that curls your chest tight with rough fluidity. Your thighs fold wide to give him room.

One of your hands rubs at your clit to catch up.

“God, yeah, touch yourself for me.” Soonyoung whines. “Can you come again?”

He’s not just a sub, he’s a sadist.

“I—”

“Please,” he begs with a hard rush. 

“Yeah, okay,” you mumble. “Fuck me harder. Make me cum on your cock.”

You dig your free hand in his hair, tugging until it stings at the roots just the way he likes. The reward is another harsh rut of his hips that leaves you gasping for air. 

“Fuck. Right there, baby,” you moan along with the sloppy noise echoing between your thighs. “Don’t stop.”

You scramble to grab his ass, pulling him flush against you for the perfect angle to batter your insides. Your skins on fire as you tumble closer and closer to that point of no return. 

“Soonyoung!” you gasp. It’s right there. That blissful ending is just a hairwidth away. 

“God, you’re so hot,” he folds in half as he says it, crushing you underneath his body until you're bent in half in his lap with the wet of his tongue at your jaw. “Cum for me, cum on my cock.”

You twist tighter under his insistence, shrinking and shrinking, and then — finally — it splinters. The waves rock through you, head forced back into the pillows from the force of moans wrecking your throat. “Oh— fuck, that—god. Oh.” 

Vision black against the inside of your eyelids, you melt into nothing. Only Soonyoung’s grip keeps you from shaking apart into a million pieces as you whine into his mouth. 

“Holy shit, that was so hot,” he’s rambling the way to his own end, hips shaky from the way you’ve wetted his cock. “You’re so hot. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You want to watch him cum. Even if the temptation to lay there and take it is sweet you won’t give in. 

Bangs sticking to his forehead with sweat, Soonyoung is a mess in his own right. Pink at the ears, lips bruised. You can’t get enough. His eyes darken as you suck along his thumb, tongue lashing against the sensitive pad. Soonyoung isn’t the only one that wishes you got to suck his dick. 

“Cum on me,” you whine. 

He pulls out, quickly tossing the condom aside. Your hand is already waiting to jerk him off over your body, the grease of the latex making the strokes smooth as Soonyoung fucks your fist with the same desperation as your pussy. It takes only a few thrusts before you feel the heat of his spend drip across your chest and stomach. You’re careful to stay still, body spread flat as he coats you in pale streaks. 

“Fuck,” he gasps. He twitches when you don’t stop, biting his tongue through the sting of overstimulation until he has to pull away.

Soonyoung collapses to the side. Shoulder to shoulder, you catch your breaths in the dull thump of music.

“That was fun.” You pat his stomach before standing. The floor is a mess of clothes needing to be plucked through. His shirt becomes a cum rag as you wipe away the mess staining your body.

“You aren’t gonna stay?” He calls from the bed. 

“No?” 

Why would I? you think while pulling on your underwear.

Soonyoung watches, splayed across the bed with his dick still wet in his lap. “Then, can I, like, call you sometime?” 

“No thanks.” 

“If you keep being mean to me I’m going to fall in love with you.”

 “Quoting New Girl isn’t giving me much incentive to be nicer,” you snort, untangling your bra. 

“It’s a great fucking show.” 

“Here’s a tip: if you want to fuck me again, stop being such a loser.” 

“You still let me hit so I think you like losers.” 

He’s smiling. You really need to find your underwear so you can get away from it.

“I like hot guys with big dicks,” you shrug. “You happen to be that.” 

“I know you want me,” he sings

“Dead, maybe.” 

“You’d miss my stroke game.” 

“I’d love to stroke you.” You coo. “With a bat. To the head.” 

“I love when you talk dirty to me, baby.” He groans with dramatic flair. “By the way, you have cum on your skirt.” 

You do, on the hem somehow. A mystery to be solved when you’re safely back in the crowded expanse of a party and not alone with the guy with a tiger fetish you might want to fuck again. “Not the first time.” 

“God…. Please give me your number.” 

You can’t swallow the smile blooming at his request. Instead, you turn to leer over him. He’s watching your mouth, licking his lips like he wants to drag you down for another tumble. “Keep begging.” 

He’s got enough humor to get on his knees and clutch his hands to his chest pathetically. You’re still close, watching him down the slope of your nose while hiding a smirk. 

“Queen of my dick, please bestow a crumb of kindness and allow me the pleasure of hitting you up at 3 AM.” 

“That time I almost caved.” You back away just in time for him to stumble over himself. “Too bad I don’t fuck guys into furry shit at 3 AM.” 

“One, not a furry. Two, who do you fuck then?” 

“One, you're not fooling anybody.” You take extra time straightening out your hair in the mirror just so he can stare at your ass. You feel him do it. “Two, myself.” 

“I will pay real money to see that.”

“I know you would. So you’re never gonna.”

He’s watching you like some lovesick fool, glowing in the light with ignorance of what comes next. Part of you doesn’t want to crush someone as earnest as he is but staying the night is out of the question when you can still hear the party rattling through the walls.

“If I give you my number,” you start. “You have to give me this.”

It’s one of the smaller plushies. Soft to the touch and attached to his keys hanging by the door. It’s cute and perfect enough to satisfy your friends’ demands. Also, an excuse to see him again if you really want.

 Maybe you do. 

“TamTam?” Soonyoung asks from your side. You didn’t even hear him approach but he’s got boxers on so it took him a minute.

“You name your stuffed animals?”

“TamTam is special.” 

“Oh, he is?” you ask. “Well, how bad do you want my number?”

“I don’t know…” Soonyoung starts. 

Your face stings at the rejection but you bury it before giving it a chance to fester into something that needs thinking about. Looking back in the mirror to correct the smudges in your make is the only cover you’ve got.

“Okay,” he nods. “But if you do anything to him I will actually cry.”

TamTam is thrust into your hands and you can’t help but smile. It’s cute. Soonyoung is cute. And it actually might make you explode. 

You hate it.

“I pinky promise I will throw myself in front of a bullet for TamTam.”

He locks his pinky around your extended one, “Good.”

And then he’s kissing you again. Every thought melts away under his lips, soft against your own with a new sweetness. The edge of the dresser digs into your spine as he crowds you against it for more leverage but it’s merely an afterthought.

Soonyoung (not a furry): btw i lied [12:15 AM] Soonyoung (not a furry): im not hitting you up at 3am [12:15 AM] Soonyoung (not a furry): what are you doing tomorrow night (pls say me) [12:16 AM] You: tamtam and i are busy [12:33 AM]

Maybe you smile at the string of intelligible letters you receive after sending the picture of you kissing TamTam’s cheek. It’s no one's business if you do anyway.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @writingbarnes

@dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts @wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[varpusvaras]

"So, like", Bly starts. He is definitely drunk at this point. So is Fox, to be honest, but he is still judging.

"So like what?" Fox asks.

"So, like, what is it?" Bly asks. "The thing."

"Maybe we should have this talk when your brain is not made of 80 percent of alcohol", Fox says.

"No no, we are having this now", Bly says. "Like, the thing. With the Queen and the Senator. Like, you know, I like Aayla because-"

"He's asking you what it is about them that makes you like them that much", Wolffe explains, promptly interrupting Bly, before he can start rambling about General Secura.

Fox knows he shouldn't say anything.

But then he looks at everybody else around the table. They are all grinning.

Yes, his brothers have been teasing him about his choices. Oh, Fox has gotten fancy while on the Triple-Zero. He does not care for the same things as us common folk. No, Fox likes the finer things now, like all the rich people around him.

Fox knows that his brothers are not really taking Bail and Breha seriously. They all respect them, like they should. Bail is not constantly putting himself in the middle of battles to help them and the people out, nor is Breha constantly pushing more credits and aid and trying to handle diplomatics to get better things for the army, for them all to disrespect them.

But Fox knows that they don't take Bail and Breha seriously. They are still rich people, royalty, nobility, people who have gotten used to nice things and nice things only. People who are nice and aspire to do good, but are still soft and delicate in their eyes.

So Fox opens his mouth.

"They are nice", he starts, because that is the starting point.

"Yeah, yeah, we all know that", Rex says. Fox glares at Cody, who in turn, smacks Rex on the arm.

"They treat me well", Fox continues. "And they are fun to be around."

"I'm starting to think that we have a very different understanding of fun these days", Bly grins. "What do you even do for fun? Sit on fancy couches and talk poetry? Do they kiss your hand as a good-bye when you leave?"

"Sometimes", Fox says. Wolffe gags. Fox glares at Cody again, who, in turn, smacks Wolffe on the back of his head.

"Hey, you all have to admit, it's very romantic", Ponds says. "It's very nice."

"Yeah, if sappy romance is all you want", Bly says.

Fox should really keep his mouth shut.

But no. No, he has been listening to this enough. It's time to shut them all up for good.

"You know that they have been married for well over ten years now?" He asks.

"Yeah?" Bly says.

"Do you know how much sex people have on average in long-term relationships?" Fox asks. "According to several databases, at least once a week. That's sex on average every four days. Now, count in your little alcoholic head, how much that is in over ten years."

Bly squints his eyes. Ponds leans his head on his hand.

"It's a lot", Fox says. "And how does it go, Rex? In your book, experience outranks everything?"

Rex pulls a face for being included all of a sudden. Too bad, he opened his mouth first.

"Yeah, but", he says. "Isn't Senator Organa on Coruscant a lot, and not at home on Alderaan?"

"Yes?" Fox tilts his head.

"So like, the calculation is off, then", Rex tries.

Fox grins.

"It is not", he says. "I'm here, too."

Rex looks disgusted. Wolffe gags again.

Cody smacks Fox. Fox smacks him back.

---

"Is everything alright with your brothers?" Bail asks.

"Yes?" Fox asks back. "Why?"

"I met up with a few of the Masters at the Temple earlier today", Bail says. "Some of your brothers were there, too. They seemed a bit...strange, all of a sudden."

"They are all idiots", Fox says. "Don't mind them."

Bail shakes his head.

"If you say so", he says. "Oh, by the way, Breha is coming to Coruscant, to attend a couple of galas and session for educational aid budgeting. She'll be staying a little over a week."

"Oh, that's nice", Fox smiles. "Sorry, I need to send a quick message."

CC >>>>>>>>

Fox: Hey I have to cancel our next two nights out, Breha's coming over

Cody: Okay, say hi to her

Wolffe: Why next two

Fox: She'll be staying for over a week

Wolffe: And?

Fox: Remember, on average, once a week. gotta get that second week's average as well

Fox has been temporarily banned from CC >>>>>>>>

[drchucktingle]

bud in a lineup

interesting thoughts of chuck today i would like to share in thread. it is no secret i have always found inherent queerphobia and ableism in the trot of folks saying ‘well how do we KNOW chuck is actually queer and neurodivergent he could be some scoundrel hidden away under mask'

i have talked on this many times as buckaroos probably know, gettin riled up about gatekeeping and all that. but today chuck was thinking on specific part of this argument (which often comes from progressive and liberal buds, strangely). part of: we cant trust a MASKED PSEUDONYM

over my years seen so many comments saying ‘listen bud i want to believe chuck is who he says and is truthful about his queerness and autistic trot but i just cant because he has hidden his identity and wears a mask’ and to that i say this...

if i did not use a pseudonym or wear a mask, exactly what tests would you use to determine if my way was neurodivergent? would my face show you? would my voice? what about queerness? would you chart my relationships on a graph? have me fill out a survey of inner thoughts?

the assumption that queerness and neurodivergence are things you judge about others by looking at their face without some pink mask, or voice without an accent, is a deeply queerphobic and ableist notion. yet i have seen this many times. ‘HOW DO WE KNOW? WE CAN’T SEE HIS FACE’

anyway buds just something to think on. perpetuating idea that these are things you can pick out of a lineup is silly. if i was to take of my pink bag and stand before you your perception of how valid or invalid my neurodivergence is would change ZERO PERCENT

and like chuck has said before, maybe we should just not be judging whether or not others identities in these realms are valid or invalid anyway. maybe gatekeeping buds in need of a home or a path to expression is harmful, mask or not. okay buds that was my thought LOVE IS REAL

[dreamofbecoming]

more stobin nonsense from your resident trash goblin. feat. shitty harrington parents, lavender marriage, full party found family shenanigans, steddie flirting, steve&will bonding, and a severe lack of dialogue tags

rating: t wc: 5k ao3

“I knew it!”

Steve sighs. Listen, he knew the minute he opened his mouth that this was coming. There was always a zero percent chance Dustin was ever gonna let him get out the whole thing before bursting in with this exact interruption, but that doesn’t make it less annoying. If the little shithead would just let him finish--

"I knew you were perfect together, I can't believe you didn't tell us you were dating! How long have you been a thing? I have money to collect! Can I be your best man? Never mind, obviously I'm gonna be your best man. You so owe me for not telling me sooner! I cannot believe-"

"Henderson!"

"What?"

"We're not together like that."

In fairness, Dustin is not the only one to give them an incredulous look for that one.

"Steve. You literally just announced you and Robin are getting married. What is even the point of pretending you're not in love anymore? What are you still trying to prove? Just admit I was right the whole time!"

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and forces himself to take a deep breath, instead of wringing Dustin's weird little boneless neck. It's not his fault, he reminds himself. They haven't gotten to the second part of the announcement, so his assumptions are natural.

Now, it is Henderson's fault that they haven't managed to say the rest of what they came here to say, so maybe he can keep blaming him after all.

"Do you remember when we sat down and we asked you guys to let us say everything we were gonna say without interrupting?"

"Uh, yeah dude, it was like ten minutes ago. We're not stupid."

"Has it occurred to you that maybe we weren't done saying everything we were gonna say, considering I was halfway through a sentence when you jumped in?"

"I mean, I guess, but like, it's pretty obvious where you're going with this, Steve. You're not a complicated guy, no offense. Now, where did we land on the best man issue?"

Nancy must see the offense very much taken on his face, because before he can open his mouth and say something probably horrifically rude that would feel amazing in the moment and which he would immediately regret, she jumps to his rescue.

"Dustin, you're being very rude. Steve and Robin came here to talk to us, and we promised to listen. Let them finish."

It's nice of her to back Steve up, considering how weird this conversation must be for her. Hopefully it gets less awkward soon.

Henderson grumbles mutinously, but years of dealing with first Mike and then the rest of the little dickheads have left Nancy's control ironclad, and he waves sarcastically for Steve to continue.

This kid is spending too much time with Eddie, the attitude is getting out of hand.

"Right. Thanks, Nance. As I was saying, Robin and I are getting married, yes. But not because we're in love. I mean, I love her, obviously, but as a friend. Only a friend. Or, well, I guess a friend and soon a...friend...wife? Frife? Wend? You guys get it."

"We very much don't." Alright, well, fine, add Max to the shitlist.

He looks over at Robin, hoping for help, but she's stiff as a board and trembling all over.

He doesn't want to be the one to say the words for her. They agreed together to tell everyone the truth, it was her idea even, but the last thing he wants to do is steal that moment from her.

Maybe he can just…talk around it, until she feels up to it. And if not, he’ll just tell them his part of it and call it good.

“We’re getting lavender married.”

Okay, so that’s probably not like. A normal way to say that or whatever. Robin just used that term like fifty times last night, alright? She was really excited about the article she just read about it, something about how it was a thing in, like, olden times or whatever, and now it’s coming back because Reagan is a fucking tool, Steve’s not sure, he was only kind of listening. Regardless, now it’s stuck in his head. Sue him or whatever, geez.

Anyway, he isn’t sure how many people in this room will actually understand what that means, but Nancy’s mouth drops open in a perfect little O the way it only does when she’s genuinely surprised by something, and there’s a tiny gasp from over by the table that he thinks might have come from Will, and Max mutters to herself “Oh shit, that explains so much,” so it’s not none of them, which helps. No pitchforks yet, at least.

Jonathan is eyeing him speculatively, and Argyle is offering him an enthusiastic thumbs up, which is nice.

Unfortunately, the other boys and El are giving him blank, expectant stares, and Erica is eyeing him with both confusion and annoyance, so it looks like he still has some explaining to do.

“What the hell does your color scheme have to do with this? I’m not helping plan the wedding, dude, I don’t care that much.”

Steve mumbles a “Language,” on reflex, but his heart isn’t in it. This is somehow more nerve-wracking than evil Russians.

“Mike, that’s not what it means. Now shut up and listen, or I’ll tell Mom how that red sock ended up in her load of white delicates.”

“Oh come on, she’ll kill me!” When all he gets in return is a single raised eyebrow, he groans and slumps further into his seat, glaring at Steve.

“Right. Okay. So basically, last night, my parents--”

“I’m a lesbian!”

There’s a beat of dead silence, which in this group is more unsettling than just about anything else.

Steve keeps his eyes on Robin, who looks just about as shocked at her own outburst as everyone else in the room. He takes her hand, squeezing gently until she unfreezes a little and looks back over at him. She looks terrified, and it breaks his heart a little.

“You okay, babe?” He keeps his voice low, murmuring just loud enough for her to hear. He knows this moment is the opposite of private, but she needs him to pretend for a second, so that’s what he’s gonna do.

She nods, a little jerkily, but she grips his hand back and intentionally evens out her breathing. She’s so fucking brave. He would burn the world down for Robin Buckley, and he doesn’t care who knows it.

He can’t believe she’s willing to do this for him, but he’s so grateful he feels like he’s choking on it.

“Henderdork will literally never shut up and let you live it down if we do this and he doesn’t know the truth. Not even for a single second for the rest of forever, and I, for one, am not putting up with that shit until death or legal marriage reforms do us part, Dingus.”

It was a solid point last night when they came up with the plan, curled on her bed while she stroked his hair and generously pretended he hadn’t soaked the shoulder of her shirt with his sobs, all his worldly possessions packed into a duffel on her bedroom floor, but he knows her insistence was more about knowing how much he hates lying to the kids than it was about protecting herself from irritating teenagers.

He doesn’t think there’s enough room on the whole planet to hold all the love he feels for her, even if you count the Upside Down and any other weirdo dimensions floating around out there waiting to ruin his day.

“I’m okay, bubba. Don’t let go?” Her hand is shaking in his, but he just squeezes harder.

“Never.” He turns back to the room, eyes hard as he scans the faces of their family for any hostility. He wouldn’t have agreed to this part of the plan if he thought any of them would be a problem, but he’s not taking anything for granted with Robbie’s safety. Not now, not ever. "Everyone's gonna be cool about that, right?"

"Of course we are, right, guys?" From the pained grunt that follows her words, Steve assumes Max has dug her elbow into Mike's ribs.

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

"I suppose this makes you slightly less lame, Buckley. It's definitely better than when I thought you liked this loser." Wow, okay, thank you Erica.

"Yeah totally! Thanks for trusting us, Robin." Lucas is a sweetheart, he really is. He's also glancing surreptitiously at Will while he nods enthusiastically, who is still staring open-mouthed at Robin with wide, shiny eyes.

"Yes, thank you for trusting us, Robin." Nancy is smiling kindly, but she's got that glint in her eye that Steve knows means she just came up with more questions and is waiting for the right moment to strike. Fair enough, at least she's letting Robs have her moment first.

He finally drags his eyes back to Dustin, who he doesn't really want to admit, even to himself, he's a little worried about. Not that he'll be shitty about it, necessarily, but there's nothing that brings out Henderson's bitchy side like being wrong, and he's been so fucking wrong this entire time. It's bound to upset him.

And maybe Steve will never say this out loud where the other kids might hear, but the truth is that Dustin's opinion matters to him more than just about everyone else's. Dustin was the first person in the whole world who saw Steve, the real Steve, and decided he was worth keeping around. If Henderson can't accept this part of Robin, it means he can't accept this part of Steve, and if that happens...if that happens Steve isn't sure he'll be able to come back from it.

So he's...not worried, okay? Worried is not the right word. Anxious, maybe. Concerned.

Okay fine fuck off he's worried.

Dustin...looks like he's about to cry. Shit.

"Did you think you couldn't trust me?" His voice is so small. Steve doesn't think he's ever heard it so small. It feels wrong. Henderson's voice should fill every room he's in, always. "You didn't have to lie. You could have told me the truth."

Aw, fuck.

"Buddy,--"

"It's not that simple, little man."

Steve whips back around to look at Robin. Are you sure you’re up for this? She purses her lips and narrows her eyes. Yeah, Dingus, this is my mess. Let me clean it up. Put the lance down, White Knight. Well, alright then. He waves for her to continue, ignoring the looks the others always shoot them when they do their silent conversation thing. Not his fault they can’t read each other as well, it’s not like it’s hard.

"Before today, Steve was the only person in the world who knew about me. And honestly, I don't know if I would have told him if we weren't both coming off torture and truth serum. I've worked hard to hide it my whole life, baby Dingus, that's not an easy thing to stop doing. It's scary."

"But we're your friends. We're your family! We saved the world together! You should trust your family, right?"

Aw, jeez. Steve forgets, sometimes, how young they are. They've been through horrific supernatural trauma, but they're still the kind of kids who think life is a story with a happy ending, like their little dragon game.

"Yeah, bud, you should, but it's not always that easy. There can be really serious consequences for telling the wrong person. Like, last night my parents found out I'm bisexual by accident and now I...well. Now I don't have parents anymore." Oof, okay, little blunter than he meant to be, but Robbie's getting anxious again so he has to take the focus back.

There's an eruption of sound, as every voice in the Party starts shouting all at once, turning the Wheeler's basement into Steve's own personal migraine generator.

"Did they kick you out?"

"You're bisexual?!"

"What's bisexual?"

"They can't just do that!"

"Does this mean we have to find somewhere else for Hellfire nights?"

That last one earns Erica several Looks, but she doesn't flinch. "What? I'm just being practical."

He wishes Eddie was here. The gremlins actually listen to him, unlike Steve, on account of as their Hellfire DM, he has leverage they care about to threaten them with. Well, most of them, but it's definitely a help when he's around.

Sadly he and Wayne are at some kind of Munson family reunion down in West Virginia this week, so Steve is gonna have to do this whole spiel over again when he gets back. He and Robin thought about waiting until he got back and the whole Party could be together, but the kids would definitely notice him not living in Loch Nora anymore pretty much immediately. And Steve hates the idea of telling him over the phone, so double coming out/engagement announcement it is.

"Alright, Jesus Christ, enough! One at a goddamn time, you animals."

He looks back at Dustin, who's definitely crying now. "Yeah, buddy, they kicked me out, but I'm okay. I'm staying with the Buckleys for now, and Rob and I have been saving up to move in together soon anyway, so all this did is move up our timeline. I'm safe and I'm fine, okay? I promise."

Dustin plasters himself to Steve's front, squeezing like he's worried Steve is going to shatter into pieces and he can hold him together by sheer force of will. It's very sweet, even if it's crushing his lungs a little.

"I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't tell me." The words are muffled in Steve's chest, he's not sure anyone else heard him.

"Aw, kid, it's okay. I trust you, alright? Always. You die, I die, remember? I was just...figuring my shit out, that's all."

"Your parents are mouthbreathers." Steve chuckles a little at the mutinous glare on El's face, not pausing his hand where he's stroking Dustin's hair.

"You're not wrong, Supergirl. But it's fine, honestly. They've always been dicks, I've been planning to move out for a long time. They just...gave me the final push, is all." He's definitely leaving out the part where he broke down sobbing in Robbie's bed last night, asking her over and over why he was so broken that his own parents couldn't love him, but the kids don't need to hear that part of the story.

"Does this have something to do with your whirlwind engagement?" There she is, ace reporter Nancy Wheeler. Observant as always.

"Yeah, pretty much. They disinherited me, but they're still legally my next of kin."

"And Dingus has had far too much head trauma for me to trust he's not gonna end up back in the hospital for something at some point, and the last thing we need is Mr. and Mrs. von Child Neglect getting that call. And I was just reading about gay men and women who are marrying each other so they can have someone allowed in to see in them in the hospital, because of the virus, you know? And I thought, hey that's not a half bad idea! We're gonna be living together anyway, and it's not like I'm marrying anyone else, and it'll be good for both of us to have someone who knows about, y'know, monsters and all that jazz, to do our power of attorney stuff, so, voila! Mr. and Mrs. Bucklington!"

"We are not changing our name to Bucklington."

"Well Harringley is worse, so suck it up, buttercup."

"I'm not interested in keeping the Harrington name, Bobs, I'd rather just be a Buckley."

"Aw, bubba, you're gonna make me cry!"

"You should both become Hendersons! Then we'd really be brothers!"

Steve erupts into laughter, the tension effectively broken by Dustin's wide, toothy grin. "What d'ya say, Bobbie? Steve and Robin Henderson?"

"Would we get access to Claudia's lasagna recipe? Because if so, I'm behind this plan one hundred percent.”

"By 'we' you do mean me, right? Because I love you more than life, Bobs, but I'm not letting you anywhere near a casserole dish. I've learned that lesson."

"It was one time!"

"It took me three days to get all the cheese off the ceiling! There's still a stain!"

"Well good! Ceiling grease stains can be the Harrington's problem now, anyway. They deserve it!"

Argyle is nodding sagely from on top of the incredibly deflated bean bag he's sharing with Jonathan. "I do like Bucklington, it makes you sound like a fancy butler. But family is important, brochachos, and so is lasagna. I vote Henderson."

This spurs impassioned arguments from all corners, which Steve is more than happy to relax into the couch cushions and let wash over him.

There's a light, bubbly feeling in his chest. For the first time since his dad walked in unannounced yesterday, interrupting his phone call with Robin at the worst possible moment, the knot of fear and grief in his stomach starts to loosen.

Robin smiles at him, and he grins helplessly back. Who needs parents when he's got a soulmate? They're together, they're safe, they're surrounded by their family. Steve holds Dustin tighter to his side and lets himself feel loved.

He takes advantage of a lull in the Last Name Wars to get out the last of the speech he'd planned. "Anyway, we decided to tell all of you the truth when we came up with this plan last night, because we do trust you and we didn't want to lie to you, and also because we knew you shitheads would never shut up about us being in love if we didn't and that sounded awful."

He laughs delightedly at the chorus of indignant outbursts this gets him before continuing.

"It's really important that you don't tell anyone outside the Party the truth, alright? We're gonna tell Eddie when he gets back, and we might tell Joyce and Hop eventually, but that needs to be our choice to do. You can't do it for us, and you absolutely can't tell anyone else. The whole point of this is to keep us safe by keeping people from finding out the truth, okay?"

El looks vaguely uncomfortable, but not upset. "Will you tell my Dad soon?"

Steve glances at Robbie, who's looking anxious again, and then over at Will. His shoulders are tense, hunched up around his ears, and he's staring intently at the table in front of him.

Steve isn't sure if anyone else knows what he thinks he knows about Will, but he's pretty sure he recognizes the specific flavor of isolation he can see Will struggling with sometimes, and he's definitely sure he recognizes the looks Will shoots at Mike whenever Wheeler isn't looking. Tommy used to look at him like that.

Either way, he knows the kind of fear the kid must be suffering, just like he knows how terrifying today was for Robin. For Steve, the worst case scenario has already happened, so he has a lot less left to lose. He can afford to smooth the way a little, to test the waters and make sure they're safe for everyone else.

It's not that different from his normal role in this group anyway, just a different kind of monster. He's always been good at taking hits so the others don't have to-- this is just another threat to step in front of.

"Tell you what, Ellie, I'll talk to Hop and Joyce this weekend, that way you won't have to keep secrets from him for too long. I'll just tell him about me, though, at first, okay? That way we'll know if it's safe for Robbie." Or anyone else, he doesn't say.

Jonathan hears it, at the very least, and shoots him a look that's equal parts surprised and grateful. Maybe Will has someone else in his corner after all, then.

El nods happily, satisfied with that.

Before anyone else can jump in, there's a clattering on the basement stairs. None of them have time to tense up too badly before the door bursts open and Eddie comes tumbling through it in a flurry of dark curls and frayed denim.

"Fear not, my wayward wastrels, for I have returned from far off lands, bearing tidings and the promise of libations!"

Steve only recognizes, like, four of those words, but seeing Eddie gives him the same happy, fizzy feeling in his gut that it always does these days, so he grins.

"You're back early, Eds, everything ok?"

Eddie blinks at him, then around the room, looking surprised to see it so packed.

"Yeah, my cousin Clarence accidentally broke my MeeMaw's pasture fencing and set all the goats loose in the hills, and if we stuck around we were gonna have to help round them back up, so Wayne and I snuck out early. I was coming to invite the gremlins out for pizza to tell you all about it, but this is more people than I was expecting. Y'all having a family meeting? Without little old moi?"

Steve valiantly suppresses the shiver that the twang in Eddie's voice triggers. Steve's not sure if Eddie notices the way his accent gets stronger when he's been talking to family, but he's had to work very hard to make sure he doesn't notice the way it affects Steve.

Steve has barely tested the flirting waters with Eddie since admitting his crush to Robin, he's definitely not jumping right in with 'It makes me tingly all over when you start talking with a drawl, wanna call me darlin' and see what happens?'

Luckily Bobbie notices his inner struggle and comes to his rescue.

"It was kind of a time sensitive issue- not a life or death one! Or like. Not a monster one, anyway. But shit went down last night and we needed to brief everyone before the geek squad figured out something was funky and came beating down the door. Steve wanted to tell you in person so we were gonna wait til you got back, but here you are!"

Eddie's looking at Robin with an amused smile on his face, one eyebrow raised and his lips quirked in a lopsided grin that is, frankly, unreasonably attractive. "Here I am indeed, my fair Lady of Feathers. So what's the scoop?"

He plops down next to Jonathan and Argyle on the beanbags, nearly sending them all toppling before Argyle hooks both of them around the waists and drags them practically into his lap.

Steve is not seething with jealousy. He's not.

A half a dozen voices chime out all at once.

"Robin's gay!"

"Steve's homeless."

"Robin and Steve are getting married!"

“Purple married.”

“It’s lavender, dummy.”

“Lavender’s a kind of purple!”

"They're gonna be Hendersons!"

"No they aren't, weirdo, they're gonna be Buckleys."

"Bucklington is clearly the superior choice, even if Argyle was right about the butler thing."

“Bucklington my ass, y’all dumb as hell if you think Mom and Dad aren’t gonna try and make him a Sinclair after this.”

"Mama and Papa Harrington didn't like that Stevie boy has double the love to give. Totally bogus. Bi bros for life, man."

"I still call Steve's best man!"

Eddie blinks a little when everyone quiets down, looking vaguely shellshocked. "That was. A lot of information to get in thirty seconds."

And, listen, Steve is like, 97% sure Eddie's cool. More than cool, even. He moves that bandana to the same pocket every time he changes his jeans, no matter what outfit he's wearing. There's no way that's an accident. But if Steve is being totally honest, which he's trying to do more these days, at least inside his own brain, this is maybe not the way he'd have chosen to come out to his crush. It's somehow way more nerve-wracking when he didn't even get to say it himself.

Oh well, it's out there now. It's fine, probably.

Still, there’s a definite feeling of relief when Eddie turns that megawatt grin on him again.

"Man, I wish I'd known there were other queers in Hawkins, I might have listened sooner when Henderson told me how cool you guys were!"

Steve laughs, only a little hysterically. "Dude, if you thought you were the only one, what the hell have you been wearing that hanky for? Who are you hoping will see it?"

It's a little gratifying to see Eddie go flaming tomato red in seconds. "I am not talking about that in mixed company, Steven. There are children here!"

"Ugh, we're literally teenagers."

"Tiny baby infants! If you're so curious, you can ask me again later."

"Promise?" Steve can't stop himself from grinning wolfishly.

Eddie tugs his hair in front of his face to hide, and the frantic little giggle and the quiet "Oh my god," he lets out both sound more than a little strangled. Steve's having the time of his life right now.

"Gross." Ugh, rude. He glares at Robin for ruining his fun. She sticks her tongue out at him.

Before they can devolve into the inevitable slapfight, Nancy cuts in again.

"Alright, unless anyone else has anything to share in private, I think we should take Eddie's suggestion and get something to eat." Good thinking, Nance. "To celebrate the happy couple, of course," she adds with a smirk. Yeah, that makes more sense.

"Onward then, my noble companions, to pizza and to paradise!" Eddie vaults off the beanbag, sending Jonathan and Argyle tumbling. Argyle laughs and accepts Eddie's hand up, while Jonathan just rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

Eddie slings an arm around Robin's shoulders as they head for the basement door. "So, Birdie, what's this I hear about a wedding? I need context."

As the kids go thundering up the stairs, arguing about who gets to drive in which car, Steve lingers. He noticed Will hanging back from the others, and now they're the last ones left, Will still slowly packing up the pens and notebooks he seems to carry around with him everywhere. Jonathan is hovering anxiously in the doorway, so Steve sends him a nod and waves him off. He's got this.

"You ready to go, kid?"

Will fidgets with the zipper on his bag for another few seconds before looking up at Steve through his, frankly tragic, fringe. "I'm sorry your parents suck."

"Yeah, man, me too." Steve shoots him a wry little smile. "It's alright though, sometimes we're better off without them. I've got plenty of family here that love me, I'll survive without Richard and Diane."

Will studies him for a minute. Steve's not sure what he's looking for, but he hopes he finds it.

"That's what Jonathan says about Lonnie." Steve nods, trying not to wince at the memory of the things he spat at Jonathan that day in '83 when everything changed. "I used to think it was my fault he left, but Jonathan says he was just a bastard, and it's better he's gone anyway."

"I didn't know Lonnie," he's careful not to say your dad, "but from what I've heard, Jonathan's probably right. And he's definitely right that it's not your fault."

"Like it's not your fault your parents kicked you out?"

"Yeah, exactly like that. If it was my fault, that would mean I did something wrong. The only thing I did was exist, and be different than they thought I would be. If they can't love the kid they had, then they shouldn't have had a kid at all. That's their problem, not mine. There's nothing wrong with me."

It doesn't matter if he heard all of these things from Robin first, if he's still trying to learn to believe them. Will needs to hear them like they're true, the same way Steve does.

"Are you sure?" Will's voice is trembling now. He's looking at the floor, but Steve can tell there are tears coming. "How can you be sure this is how you're supposed to be? Wouldn't you rather be normal?"

Oh, kid. "I mean, yeah, maybe it would be easier if I only liked girls, but I don't. I tried for a long time to pretend that I did, but it didn't make it true. And yeah, part of me wants to hate myself, because that's what they taught me to think, and I still kinda wish doing that would make them love me, but it won't. But honestly, you wanna know the biggest thing?" Will nods.

"I can't hate that part of myself without hating Robin, and there's no universe where I could hate Robin. Robin's perfect. She's the best person in the world, and she's gay, so being gay can't be bad. It's impossible. So whenever that voice in my head starts saying shitty things to me, I just think about how much I love Robin and tell it to shut up."

There's a beat where Will seems to be absorbing this.

"How did you know it would be safe? To tell us the truth?"

"I didn't."

Will stares at him in shock.

"Not a hundred percent, anyway. I was pretty sure, but it's never a guarantee with stuff like this, you know? But the other option was never telling anyone, and that...it gets tiring, you know? Always having to hide. Always having to check yourself. Lying when people ask the wrong questions. It wears you down. And I've fought monsters with you guys. I've been tortured by spies with you guys. If I can't trust this group to have my back, I can't trust anyone, can I? And I didn't want to live a life of not trusting anyone. I didn't want Bobbie to live a life like that. So, we took a chance. And it paid off, because all of you are the people we thought you were, and we were right to trust you. But it was a leap of faith, dude. It always is."

"What if I'm not ready?" Fucking shit, this kid. He's been through more than any of them, except maybe El, and he's still so goddamn brave. Steve would have crumpled like a tin can in his place.

"Then you're not ready. It's not a test, Will. There's no right or wrong answers. But I will say that every single person out there loves you, and they'll keep loving you no matter what you do. They're not like my parents, or Lonnie. Our friends aren't broken inside the way they are. Their love isn't conditional. You won't chase them away. You couldn't if you tried."

Will lets out a shaky breath, clearly fighting back tears. Steve leans against the table and keeps his head down, offering the kid the illusion of privacy while he pulls himself together. After a few minutes he speaks up again.

"You ready to go, you think?"

Will nods. He goes to walk past Steve to the stairs before hesitating and, to Steve's surprise, wrapping his gangly arms around him in an awkward hug.

"Thanks, Steve," he mumbles into Steve's shoulder.

Steve runs a hand down his back uncertainly. "Anytime, kid."

He keeps his arm around Will's shoulders tentative, but when the kid doesn't shrug him off or move away, he lets it settle more firmly, tugging him closer.

“Come on Baby Byers, let's go get some pizza. You think I can milk the disownment thing to get Eddie to pay for extra toppings?"

Will snorts. "I think Eddie would pay for as many toppings as you want as long as you do that little eyelash thing at him again."

Steve throws his head back and laughs, long and loud from his belly. Yeah, it's gonna be a good night.

my head hurts too much to keep writing this but please know that the pizza parlor engagement party involves plenty of arguing about roles in the wedding party, resulting in MOH erica/best man dustin (scoops troop babeyy), flower girl team lumax (max demanded the role bc her wheelchair means she can carry extra baskets of petals, and lucas will be pushing the chair so her hands are free. he's just excited to be there.) nancy/el bridesmaids and byler groomsmen (mike grumbles and groans but he's secretly thrilled). jonathan does the pictures and it turns out argyle got ordained back in cali as a joke so he officiates. eddie plays crimson and clover for robin’s wedding march. there’s a bit of a kerfuffle when claudia and the sinclairs both try to claim steve as their son, but after someone makes the argument that charles and sue have two kids to carry their name while claudia only has one, they end up hyphenating and becoming the buckley-hendersons. yes, claudia cries. yes, they get the lasagna recipe.

(at the pizza place, eddie asks what his role will be and steve says he doesn't know yet, but he'll save him a dance regardless. eddie has to hide in the bathroom to stop blushing.)

[clemkruckinnie]

Can you write something like your ‘first time’ fic with Dalton, except the reader is a virgin and Dalton isn’t, maybe Dalton is the reader’s first bf too?

rocky road- d. lambert

a/n: i’m so sorry it took me so long to get to this! appreciate yall so much <333

it’s one of the first warm days on campus, after a long and brutal winter.

the courtyards are full of your classmates, the dorms practically empty as everyone tries to soak up the first few rays of sunlight.

you and your boyfriend, ever the introverts, decided to take advantage of the empty dorms, grabbing ice cream from the place right outside campus and eating it on his bed. dalton’s never been the type for a big social gathering, preferring his own company to anyone elses’. that is, until he met you. you, with your bright smile and warm personality, always ready to listen to his ramblings, or just let him sit in silence with you.

that’s what you two are doing today, finishing off your ice cream and taking turns catching up. dalton’s in the middle of a rant about his partner for a group project, when you notice a smear of his rocky road ice cream on his cheek.

“so i emailed my professor to let her know bryson had done zero percent of his- hey!”

without thinking, you’d leaned forward, licking the side of his face.

“what? it’s too good to waste.” you defend yourself. “i’m listening, keep going.”

“that’s pretty much it.” dalton shrugs, “that’s all i was gonna say before you licked me.”

you shrug, smiling.

“ok, you go next. did your roommate finally break it off with that tinder dude?”

“no! i don’t understand why. dal, when i tell you this man is the literal worst-“

your ice cream drips onto your thigh, the coldness stunning you momentarily.

the story you were about to tell dies on your tongue as dalton’s meets the skin of your thigh, licking off the drops of ice cream off your skin.

he comes back up, running a hand through his hair to push it back, then notices your flabbergasted expression.

“something on your mind?”

“you just-“ you gesture to your thigh, dalton raising an eyebrow.

“yeah? you licked the side of my face earlier.”

“that was your face, though, this was-“ you trail off.

dalton smiles softly at you, heat creeping into your cheeks at the way he’s looking at you.

“different?” dalton offers. when you don’t respond verbally, he shakes his head.

“tell me.”

“it was different. it felt- i just pictured-“

you sputter, your mouth moving faster than your brain.

“pictured what, baby?” dalton urges you. when you look down, silent, he grabs your hand, squeezing it lightly.

“hey, i’m sorry. i know you’re a virgin and i understand if you’re not-“

“i pictured your face—lower.”

you’re not sure where the confidence came from, and judging by the way his eyebrows shoot up, neither is dalton. he puts his hand on your knee, looking at you for assurance. you nod, heart in your throat.

“lower like—“ dalton moves his hand up, towards the middle of your thigh. “here?”

“no, lower like-“ your breath catches when he finally inches his hand towards where you need him, fingers ghosting over the fabric of your shorts.

“i can make that happen,” dalton offers, “if you want.”

you nod rapidly, dalton’s intense blue eyes meeting yours.

“i need to hear it, baby.”

“yes.” you breathe out.

dalton grins at you, leaning in for a kiss. this one’s different than the other times he’s kissed you—he’s needy, desperate to get his mouth lower, and lower, and…

he leans into you, your legs parting around him as you lay back into his pillows.

he pulls back from the kiss, leaving you dizzy as he tugs the hem of your top upward.

you oblige, lifting your arms up so he can get the item off as fast as possible. it’s flung into some random corner of your room, dalton moving to your bra before you can complain.

“can never fucking— there we go.” dalton gets the clasp undone, the way he phrased it reminding you once again he’s more experienced than you. it’s not something you should be insecure about, yet it is anyway, and dalton picks up on your shift in mood.

“baby?” dalton asks , fingers still pressed into your back. “you okay?”

the softness in his voice makes your stomach flip, and before you can even attempt to lie to him, it spills out.

“i’m just worried i won’t be good enough for you.”

dalton’s gaze softens, and he moves back up. you think he’s going to kiss your lips again, but he moves up higher, pressing his lips to your forehead. then, the bridge of your nose, then, under your eye. you giggle at the feeling of his lips on your face, and feel him smile against you.

“there you are.” dalton pulls back to look at you. “you are more than good enough for me. you’re everything.”

you catch yourself nodding as you look into his eyes, almost hypnotized.

“this isn’t a competition, okay? i just wanna make you feel good.” dalton assures you. he redirects his attention back down, sliding the straps of your bra off your shoulders.

“let me?” he offers.

you know better than to stay silent, but what comes out of your mouth next surprises both of you.

“please.”

dalton’s pupils dilate. “oh, good girl-“

and he’s kissing you again, the intensity turned up somehow as he pulls off your bra.

before he does anything else, he pulls his own shirt off, flinging it like he did yours as he leans back into you, skin to skin.

“you’re warm.” you tell him, dalton laughing softly at your honesty.

“you are, too. and soft,” he trails his fingertips up and down your sides softly, his delicate touch making you shiver.

“you’re so responsive,” dalton tells you, “i love it. helps me figure out what feels good.”

“when i touch myself-“ you start, growing shy when you realize what you’re about to describe.

“go on,” dalton urges you, the sweetness and genuine curiosity in his gaze giving you the push you need.

“i start out by playing with my chest.”

dalton nods, sliding his hands up. he moves to cup your breasts in his hands, running his thumbs over your nipples. he groans softly as you buck into him, surprised at how quickly he’d found one of your sweet spots.

“like that?” dalton asks, already knowing his answer.

“yes.” you sigh, letting his hands work you over.

“never had a tongue on them, though. right?” dalton asks again. “bet that’d feel even better.”

“please, dalton-i wanna feel your mouth again.”

he tilts his head back slightly, adam’s apple on display before he moves back down. “you beg so nicely.”he tells you, not giving you any time to respond before he licks one of your nipples, leaning back and blowing cool air on it as he plays with the other one.

“oh-“ you moan out, dalton leaning back in to the other nipple and repeating his actions.

“look at you.” dalton marvels, sliding his hands back down again. “as fun as this is, i wanna taste you.”

the way he talks about it sends a pang between your legs, parting them further as dalton moves backwards. he reaches the hem of your shorts, grabbing the waistband and tugging as you lift your hips.

“you’re just as eager as me.” dalton jokes.

“maybe more.” you joke back. “only by a little, though.” you smile, dalton returning it before his gaze drops back down between your legs. he hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down, you repeating your previous motion to fully reveal yourself to him.

“oh.” dalton marvels to himself. “baby, look at you.” before you can even think of shutting your legs, he seemingly reads your mind, grabbing one of your thighs and pressing down to keep you open for him.

“i’m gonna take my time with you.” dalton tells you, eyes flicking from yours back down to your pussy. with his free hand, he trails a finger up through your slit, slowly dragging your wetness upwards.

“dalton-“ you whine, desperate for more than what he’s giving you.

“i know, baby.” dalton attempts to soothe you. he presses an open mouthed kiss to your thigh, fingertip ghosting over your clit.

“i need you, please-“

he pulls away, cool air settling against the patch of your skin he’d been kissing moments earlier. you’re about to ask him what’s wrong when he finally has mercy on you, dragging his tongue through your folds, circling your clit with his tongue once he reaches it.

you moan embarrassingly loud, thankful that your neighbors work the night shift as he starts to work you over. he’s slow and meticulous, savoring you as you whine and gasp under his mouth. it’s almost too much, and you find yourself squirming underneath him.

he puts a stop to that quickly, wrapping his arms around your thighs and tugging you closer to his face.

“don’t run from me.” he warns you, the seriousness in his voice making you dizzy as he continues to eat you out.

“won’t—“ you moan, voice giving out to a whine as he takes your clit into his mouth and sucks. “i promise, just wanna be good—wanna be your good girl.”

he moans against you, the vibrations rolling through your body as you shudder.

“fuck—gonna be the death of me.” he mutters. before you can respond, he takes your clit into his mouth and sucks, whatever comment you were going to make giving way to a loud whine.

“oh my god, dalton!” you cry out, hands flying to his hair to grab onto something, anything to keep you in your body.

his jaw goes slack against you as you tug, pulling him as close as you can as he continues to lick you. your brain feels fuzzy, each stroke of dalton’s tongue feeling like a little jolt of electricity as you get closer.

“baby,” you gasp, “i’m so close, please-“

dalton speeds his motions up, looking into your eyes as he does. the coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter, until dalton pulls away, lips making a lewd smacking sound against you.

“do it, angel,” he encourages you, “cum on my face.”

the sultriness of the words he chooses and the harshness he sucks your clit with push you over the edge, nearly screaming dalton’s name as you cum.

he detaches himself from you, shaking his hair out of his face and moving to get on top of you.

“feeling good?” dalton asks you, only able to give him a dazed nod as your chest heaves.

“catch your breath.” he tells you sweetly, kissing your temple as you finally come down.

“i’m good. i’m really, really good.” you tell him, finally able to speak again.

“good. i can, uh-“ dalton sputters, as if he didn’t just tell you to cum on his face moments prior, “i can tell. do you want some water, or-“

“i want you.” you tell him. “i’m ready, i want you.”

“you don’t have to, i’m fine just laying here-“

“dalton, please fuck me.” you plead, his eyes darkening as you do.

“well, i can’t tell you no, not when you beg like that.” dalton relents, kissing you chastely before he pulls back to dig through his drawer.

“there we go.” he pulls a condom out of the drawer, tearing the wrapper open. he discards it soon after, pulling down his boxers and letting his already hard length spring free.

“woah.” you marvel. “is that-“

“because of you? yeah. you try listening to your girlfriend’s pretty moans with her thighs around your head without getting hard.”

you grin up at him, watching him intently as he slides the condom on, pumping himself a few times before he moves to line himself up with you.

“hold onto me.” he tells you, you obliging as he slowly starts to push himself in.

“oh-“ you gasp, clutching at dalton’s shoulder blades as his tip starts to stretch you out.

dalton pants above you, tilting his head back as he pushes in further. “so fuckin’ tight, shit—you okay?”

“yeah,” you tell him, “yeah, just keep going slow for a bit.”

dalton nods, grabbing his headboard so hard his knuckles turn white as he pushes further.

“almost all the way in,” he tells you, “you’re taking me so good, pretty girl. you ready?”

you nod, looking into dalton’s eyes as he finally bottoms out, his blue eyes rolling back at the feeling.

“oh my god-“ dalton moans, “fuck.”

the dull ache of being stretched open for the first time subsides pretty quickly, because the pain isn’t as strong as the arousal you feel from watching dalton. he looks angelic above you, face glistening, hair still messed up from your hands.

“move, dalton, please-“

he finds his pace quickly, his eagerness making your head spin as he fucks you. it’s like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to feel you like this, wrapped around him, clinging to him like he’s your savior.

“sweetest pussy i’ve ever fucked, shit-“ dalton groans, his words making your stomach flip. “‘s all mine, right? you’re all mine?”

“yes!” you whimper, scratching down his back. “i’m yours, i’m yours-“

dalton tucks his face into your neck, sucking and biting the skin there, marking you from the inside out as his thrusts get sloppier.

“i’m so fuckin’ close, you gonna cum again? gonna cum around this dick like the good girl you are?”

before you can answer, dalton brings his thumb down to circle your clit harshly, a broken moan clawing it’s way out of you.

“do it baby, cum with me, i’ve got you, i’ve-“

your second orgasm hits you like a freight train, clenching around dalton as you scratch his back.

“good girl, good fucking girl, good—oh, fuck! “

dalton’s thrusts slow to a stop as he pumps the condom full, head hanging low, strands of his hair brushing against your forehead.

he leans down farther, kissing your forehead again as you both catch your breath.

“you’re so beautiful.” dalton marvels, moving the hand not supporting him to caress your face. “how are you feeling?”

“tired.” you tell him honestly.

“aw, i wear you out?” dalton teases you. “i’m gonna pull out, ok?”

he eases himself out of you, tying off the condom before tossing it into his trashcan.

“here,” he hands you the hoodie he’d been wearing and your panties, pulling his boxers and sweatpants back up as you get dressed. he climbs back over you, pulling you into his bare chest as he lays back down.

“i can hear your heart beating.” you tell him, slinging an arm around his waist as he tucks his chin on top of your head. he rubs your back, content to just lay with you.

“get some rest, pretty girl. i’m not done with you yet.”

[popponn]

how one looks. [isagi yoichi x f!reader]

notes: this was born out of love and rage for his anime official arts' clothes because why is my man dressed like t h a t way too many times already... so i will bully him a bit (then feel bad about it. and it shows). other than that: fluff, yoichi got so sappy and so smitten for a hot sec, yoichi's fashion sense slander (and lets be honest. it deserves it. yoichi's plus point, many. negative point, his closet.)

“You know,” you began and Yoichi instantly felt like he was about to get a ball kicked to his face. “I had been thinking. Why do you look like an unfashionable grandpa sometimes?”

“…huh?” Yoichi responded, not really knowing how to answer to that. What should a guy do when their girlfriend of three years plus a half, who is also probably the love of their life, insinuate something about their appearance? Neither Blue Lock nor his parents prepared him for this.

With your eyes squinting at him, you leaned towards him from your seat in the armchair. One hand perched on the armrest and supported your chin as your face scrunched up from your thoughts. “I mean, I do think you are cute and handsome. Charming too,” you said.

Yoichi tried not to melt. Years passed and he is still weak whenever you praise him out of blue like this. From his parents to his teammates to Noel Noa knew about this—so, in attempt to be normal, Yoichi tried to kept everything under a soft smile directed to you only, “Gosh. You know, you are—”

“Hey, this is about you not me. Shush, shush,” you scolded him lightly with a finger pressed to his lips. This time, Yoichi could only blinked absentmindedly as you continued in a serious manner, “But, you see, if I look at you properly without bias—I wonder why I could think like that.”

It was at this point Yoichi realized you were trying to call him not cute, not handsome, and not charming in a very roundabout way. Again, confused on how to react to things like this, he said, “…uh?”

You were not Rin, Barou, Kaiser or anyone he shared competitive trash talking with hell and back—and even calling him ‘ugly’ really was tame to the shits spitted out straight at his face. You were never like this and Yoichi knows since the four years ‘unclear situationship’ period that his appearance really does not matter to you who would look at him gently even with his face dressed in odd drawings courtesy of Bachira’s oil markers. With that being said, he really didn’t understand what was going on.

“Your hair is honestly generic. Like, I really get why Rin said he called you NPC back then,” you explained and Yoichi tried not to wince. “Oh, but don’t change it! If it changes, especially without me knowing beforehand, I probably won’t recognize you. Though what’s a bit unique about them are probably only your sprout and bangs…kind of?”

In silence and in attempt to be a good boyfriend, Yoichi could only nod.

“And then, your fashion sense…” you continued, pity coloring your face, “…actually, where do I start on that one? I think that one part of you is so hopeless it kind of turn around to cute… in a really naive and stupid way though.”

For a moment, Yoichi remembered how he used to think in Blue Lock some people could be very harsh in commenting. Turns out, listening to your girlfriend obliterating you appearance wise is a whole another level of ego bruising experience. “Now, come on, you know I’m not good at those mix matching thing…” he admitted with pain in his voice. Because at this point what could he do?

“Of course I know,” you said as if he was saying that sky is blue. “I mean, remember how I used to tease you about ‘all point in soccer and social skill, zero in others’?” Yoichi doubted that it was all ‘teasing’. At this moment, it felt like lighthearted bullying. “I’m not exactly a hundred percent kidding, you know.”

At least he saw this one coming.

“Ugh, what brought this on suddenly, seriously?” Yoichi asked with a groan. Did he do something? He didn’t forget an anniversary or something, right?

You hummed, before answering hesitantly, “Hmm…nothing much actually?”

“So you just said all that for no reason?!” he cried out, not actually buying you answer. At that, you stayed silent for a moment.

“…actually, it’s because I saw a photo of you online, not the most recent, I think,” you finally admitted, your eyes slowly drifting away from his face. “…your clothes was so ugly there I felt like burning your closet suddenly.”

“Please don’t,” Yoichi said quickly, before prompting you to continue. “And?”

“…it’s a waste,” you continued. “You are handsome, cute. Your eyes look good when you are focused. You are like a really handsome cat who is really good at soccer. But you dress like an unfashionable grandpa who really loves neon green sometimes, so it’s a waste.”

Listening to your explanation, both fondness and exasperation overcame Yoichi in a wave that felt like a pleasant breeze compared to whatever you just dished out to him seconds ago. “Don’t burn my closet though,” Yoichi said, utterly serious and yet somehow still couldn’t find it in himself to be even be a little stern on you after such honest praises.

Suddenly feeling a bit shy and tired, Yoichi buried his face in his hands. He knew for sure his face was red. And he knew how obviously weak he is for you. From the back of his mind, he could hear some familiar voices poking at him for being like this, but in the end there will always be a part of him that is so in love with you it becomes straight up stupid.

Maybe it indeed is so dumb and selfish, because as long as you are happy and it is a time shared with him, Yoichi probably wouldn’t really mind having to listen to you calling him an ‘unfashionable grandpa’ everyday.

He, more than anyone, understands how the two of you has dreams and life that took the two of you away from each other. And even then, Yoichi knows that that one part of him—one that always gaze at your sleeping figure silently, wondering how he could have this and why someone as wonderful as you is here by his side—is rightfully fearful of a ‘bad ending’. Yoichi knows you love him. Yoichi knows he loves you. Yoichi got called selfish, egoistic, self centered, and self serving many times already in matches, and that is exactly why—he knows himself.

If it’s for you—for every part of life you had given to him, for every part of you that he had fallen in love with—he is ready to be as selfless as he could.

Happily and gladly.

“Hey, you have been silent for a while now.” A pair of hands warped itself around him, meekly, as your head rested on his back. “…sorry. Was I too much? I made you overthink, didn’t I? You know I still love you, right? Even if you suddenly wake up as a wrinkly grandpa with creaking knees tomorrow.”

Yoichi laughed at that, still covering part of his face. “I don’t want to retire yet so that better not happen,” he replied lightly, going along with you.

“…you are not crying, right?” you asked, guilt written all over your tone. Yoichi tried and failed to held back a chuckle. So, accepting his fate as a lovesick asshole, he turned and pushed you to the sofa, laying his face down on your stomach as he settled in an uncomfortable position to hug you.

Yet, without paying any mind to his lower body that remained sitting whilst upper body rested on you, Yoichi said, “I’m not. How could I with you hugging me like this?”

“…really?”

“Really.”

“…should we really stay like this any longer though…?” you asked, eventually. “I’m worried for your hips.”

“I’m fine,” Yoichi said while nuzzling his face slowly to your clothes. “Just think of this as payback for bullying me.”

You scoffed lightly at that, “And you said you were fine.”

“Yeah, I am,” Yoichi said as he felt your fingers combed through his hair. So much for commenting his hairstyle. He made a note to tease you later, but for a bit longer—

“Just, let me stay here, okay?”

[pikablu410]

His Mayoral Duties

“Mayor Bradley! How do you feel now that you’ve just won a second term in office with a surprise landslide victory?!” A man with a microphone asked.

“I’m honored the people of Stocksville have chosen me to lead them again. I’m excited to get back in my office and make changes for the better.” The man confidently said, adjusting his casual yet sleek blue suit. He combed over his curls with his hand to make sure they weren’t frizzled.

“Mayor! To what do you contribute to such a meaningful success?” A blonde woman in a red suit nearly jumped out of the crowd. She, of course, was talking about how a black man, like himself, was the first to win a reelection as mayor in Stocksville.

“I think my policies speak for themselves. Our economy is doing better, crime is at an all time low and people are content with their lives in the city.” The mayor confidently responded.

“And mayor, what do you have to say to those who believe your victory was the result of fraud?” A man asked before being pushed back into the crowd.

If the people had known him personally, or had studied his body language, they would’ve known Scott staggered for a brief moment before responding. “I ask that they wait for the voting office to put out their data, and, for now, work with me in making progress towards a better Stocksville.” He smiled.

“How could they have known?! I was completely certain it would be a secret-” A man with shaggy brown hair walked back and forth before being interrupted by Scott.

“Just shut up! I know my office isn’t rigged with cameras or mics I’m not aware of. There’s no way it could’ve gotten out.” He said, leaning forward onto his desk. 

“Then how would they have known we used dark ma-” Scott almost literally zipped the man’s lips this time.

“Roger. There is absolutely, assuredly, zero reason for people to believe we did anything suspicious other than their own conspiratorial beliefs. We have done nothing wrong, and there’s no proof otherwise.”

Roger wiped the sweat from his neck, “Well…”

Scott glared, “Roger.”

“I’m not saying I kept the book, but-”

“Roger!” Scott growled. A rarity for him.

“What if I need a demon for a hot chick or something? You never know.” Roger, now much more casually, admitted.

“If by ‘demon’ you mean ‘advice’ then sure, but you definitely don’t mean what you said literally, right?” Scott said, with a thick emphasis on the sarcasm.

“Relax Brandon, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m like, ninety-nine percent sure there’s no negative side effects.” Roger started, “You did do what the de- what the advice told you to do, right?”

Brandon sighed, pulling out the greasy takeout bag, “Yeah, I bought a burger after I won. I really don’t get how this was equivalent to whatever that…advice did.” 

He took a large bite out of the burger, finding the taste divine. Scott quickly took another, and then a sip of his soda.

“Woah, slow down their champ. Just because you won doesn’t mean you can’t get sick from eating like that.” Roger advised, but it seemed Brandon wasn’t listening.

“Mmph, sorry,” Scott swallowed the last of his burger, “I don’t know why, but that was the best burger I’ve ever had from McTasties.” Finishing his soda and the fries, Scott went on, “I think I’m gonna get another. They must’ve changed their recipe or something!” 

Roger noticed how Scott wiped the grease onto his blue suit, which, thanks to the dark color, didn’t detract much from it. However, he thought back to how Brandon got pissed off when he spilled water onto a similar suit. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna head home. Call me if you need anything not politics related.” Roger said, the drawstrings of his green and gray hoodie flipping through the air. 

Despite his calm demeanor, Roger was still thinking about his friend’s behavior. Just what was it that they had summoned the night before?

“Destiny! Two more orders of McTasties double cheeseburgers. One with fries and one with onion rings. Of course I want two milkshakes!” Scott said over his newly installed desk microphone. He had gotten tired of constantly walking down to ask her to order him more food. 

“Right away Mayor Bradley. Oh, city council wanted me to notify you that they’re meeting for ordinance 5507 in 10 minutes.” Destiny replied.

Scott smiled and thanked Destiny. He slowly sat up from his chair and walked over to his mirror. His stomach bulged against the white undershirt and blue suit he adorned. A ketchup stain marked the white and a grease one the blue suit. It had been a stressful…2 weeks in office. Scott hadn’t taken the time to think about how he had gained weight so quickly, or how fast time had gone by. 

Regardless, Scott decided to head down to the council room and wait for his colleagues there. 

Opening his doors, he found an unwanted surprise.

“Scott! I really need to talk to you ri-” Roger nearly shouted.

“Can it wait? I have McTasties and a council meeting waiting for me downstairs?” Scott replied, rolling his eyes.

“I really don’t think you should. I’m not sure how much longer you have?” Roger panicked, welcoming himself into Scott’s office.

Raising an eyebrow, Scott now fully entered the conversation, “What, do I have a disease or something?” “You might as well! You know that ‘advice’ we summoned the other night?” Roger asked, using his hands to sign quotation marks in the air, “Well, apparently that deal was just its way to get ahold of you.”

“Wait, you mean I’m possessed?” Scott scoffed at his own words.

“Basically! It’s like an infection,” Roger opened the book Scott had berated him for 2 weeks ago, “The longer you don’t treat it, the more it affects you. This weight you’ve gained isn’t natural.” Roger poked Scott’s belly to emphasize his point, Scott smacking his friend’s hand away.

“So what, I've gained a few pounds. I’ve been stressed and cooped up in this office, I’ll be fine.” Scott said, stifling a belch.

Roger looked at his friend with glazed eyes, “You’ve barely done anything but eat McTasties and watched how the media is praising your election.”

Scott didn’t want to admit it, but as he looked at the greasy takeout wrappers on the floor, Roger was right. He hadn’t done much other than eat and pass a few laws that were already in the works before he was elected. But then, a lightbulb.

Well, a buzz on his desk microphone.

“Mayor Bradley. City council is meeting in 5 minutes now. Also, your McTasties is here.” Destiny rang.

Now with a smug look, Scott smiled at Roger, “I’m actually in the process of passing a new city ordinance right now. And you’re making me late. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Scott then headed down the hall and towards the city council. Roger looked at the book and sighed. At least this wasn’t going to ruin his life. He hoped.

Entering the city council meeting room with his two bags of McTasties, Scott settled in before the last of the council members arrived. Immediately digging into one of the cheeseburgers and fries, the other city council members stared in shock. 

“Uhm, Mayor Bradley. Mayor Bradley!” An older council member nearly shouted.

“Hmm? What is it?” Scott replied, licking ketchup off of his fingers.

“We’re starting our meeting…is it truly necessary for you to eat your lunch during our meeting?” The older man inquired.

“Oh, I’m almost done with it,” Scott casually replied, sucking down his milkshake, making a loud slurping sound in the process, “You all should try it sometime. Now, where were we?” 

The following months saw historic change for Stocksville. Probably in the most insipid way possible. Ordinance 5507 gave more freedom to “inexpensive food companies” that was cited to help “impoverish citizens attain a more consummate meal.” 

In reality, Scott just wanted more McTasties near city hall and his house, both of which now had 2 within a block. 

Not that Scott walked to the fast food restaurant, but it certainly alleviated the weight on his employees. Though, it didn’t relieve weight in other areas. Within those months, the Bradley office staff had all put on at least 70 pounds of fat. Dozens upon dozens of McTasties orders came to the office each day, a majority of them coming from Scott himself. 

Speaking of the mayor, he had gone up 3 suit sizes in the several months following ordinance 5507, which of course was followed by ordinance 5508, 5509 and 5512. All of which gave the McTasties company more power in Stocksville. 

None of this caused the Bradley office any concern because, like Scott, they had all become addicted to the greasy junk. Seemingly overnight, the town had transformed into some Las Vegas for greasy restaurants. A competitor, Patty’s Burgers, was on the rise and produced even more restaurants for Scott- for the Stocksville citizens to order from. 

Though, not all hope was lost for the town.

“Scooooooottttt!” A man with shaggy brown hair shouted down the hall. The guards were too fat and lazy to stop him from bursting into Scott’s office. “Scott, I’ve found out how to solve this- what the hell happened to you?!” 

The mayor’s first response with a burp, followed by him trying to sit upright in his chair.

“Do you mind, URP, Roger? I’m trying to eat my pre-lunch snack?” Scott replied, taking a chomping bite out of a burger that looked much too large for human consumption. 3 more bags were filled with food next to him on the desk, Roger being able to tell they were filled because he couldn’t take a step in the office without his legs brushing up against an empty one.

“How fucking fat have you gotten? Do you realize what this is all from? That “advice?”” Roger, again, emphasized the word advice.

Scott slurped down a soda before literally dumping a carton of fries into his gaping maw. “What, the fucking demon? Yeah, whatever. Like anyone believes that shit.” He let out a very noticeable fart before going back to chowing down on a burger.

Roger noticed his friend’s new dialect. “Dude, since when did you swear? I thought you had to uphold an image or something.” 

“Yeah, what-fucking-ever. People are so happy with all the McTasties, and now Patty’s! Who cares if I fucking swear!” Scott said with a little too much enthusiasm, finding himself wedged between his office chair, “Damn, this thing is getting old.” “Uhh, yeah. Anyways, I’ve figured out how to stop all this and get back to normal. All you have to do is eat some vegetables and fruit, lose a bit of weight and the possession should slowly go away. If that doesn’t work we’ll need a priest and-” “Bro, you’re actually still on this possession thing? I told you, I’m in complete control.” Scott said, taking a final bite out of his burger. 

Then, a squeak was heard, followed by a snap and then Scott falling to the ground. Rips could be heard behind the desk as the mayor sat behind his desk.

“Fuck…that actually felt kinda good.” Scott mumbled to himself.

Roger, however, was much more worried, “Dude! Are you alright?!” He went behind Scott’s desk to help his friend up.

He immediately noticed that one of the buttons on his suit had burst off from the fall, leaving a portion of Scott’s belly wide open to the public. As he helped heft his friend up, Roger noticed that Scott’s pants were now torn at his thighs, exposing a significant amount of cellulite. After helping Scott up, the fat man waddled to the mirror in his office. 

“Damn, I don’t look too bad.” Scott admired himself. Roger hadn’t taken the time to notice in his rush to save his friend, but as his friend looked on in the mirror, he really saw how far Scott’s appearance had fallen. The once well-shaved man now had a scruff that was forming a goatee, and the same furry situation could be said for his now-exposed belly. His suit was tattered with stains, and had torn in places Scott hadn’t even noticed. 

“Scott I really think you should reconsider-”

“Roger, my time in office has been incredibly successful. Employment is at an all time low. People who were starving in the streets now have homes and food! Public transportation goes all over the city and our economy is thriving and healthy. All because I’ve invested in McTasties and fast food restaurants.” Scott went on, looking over the city, then back at Roger, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your extra weight too.” He poked Roger in his belly, to which the pale man sheepishly backed off.

“Just listen to me dude, I think something is really wrong. I mean, how did you even convince the city council to get all of this done? Aren’t they notorious for stopping all your ideas?” Roger asked.

Scott smiled devilishly, braggin, “They attributed it to my “charisma.” They’ve really fallen for me.” He walked over to Roger and put his arm around his friend, “Look me in the eyes when I tell you this, Roger.”

Listening to his friend, Roger looked into Scott's eyes, but they weren’t Scott’s. They glowed a deep red, and were almost…hypnotizing.

“Go get yourself some McTasties on your way home. Tell them it’s on me, they’ll cover it.” Scott ordered, very persuasively. 

Roger couldn’t help but slowly nod his head and turn around to leave Scott’s office. He could really go for a McTasties burger.

The next month saw Mayor Bradley’s only roadblock in his reign of ordinances. A group called “Alternatives for Health” rose to political distinction as a, you guessed it, alternative to Scott’s campaign. Not that there would be an election any time soon, but they aimed to rally support against all of the fast food-centric regulations that had recently been put in place. Lobbying Scott’s office near daily, they would’ve annoyed the hell out of any other group in office.

But, by this point, Scott’s staff had grown too fat and tired to care. 

“URRRRRP, Desti-URRRRRRP. Destiny, where’s m’ damn order of fries?” A sweaty, double-chinned, bearded face mumbled over the desk microphone. When there wasn’t a response in 5 seconds, he repeated himself. “Destiny! URRRRRP, I need m’ afta’noon snack!” 

“It’s, URP, on its way now. Sorry, thought it was for me.” A voice that was distinctly deeper than it was 4 months ago replied. 

Just then, several bags of greasy food then came elevated up through a small nightstand-like desk. Grumbling as he slowly stood up from a wider chair, the fat mayor waddled to the bags of food. Not bothering to waddle back to his desk, he plopped his fat ass down on the ground and started devouring the food. 

“God…this ain’t gonna be enough…it’s sho good…gonna need more…” Scott trailed off, plowing through the food like he had the littered takeout bags in his office. Sweat poured down his barely clothed body, pooling into the rolls that were made from hours of eating. A white wifebeater and black basketball pants were what Scott adorned, since nothing else fit and he had to keep up “public decency,” whatever the hell that was.

A voice annoyingly came through his microphone desk.

“Mayor you, URRRRRP, have a visitor.” Destiny rang.

Grumbling again, the mayor heaved his beanbag-esq belly off the ground and waddled back to his oversized chair.

“Send ‘em up!” Scott said, farting as he settled back into his chair. Just moving across the room had gotten him drench in his own salty perspiration. He rubbed his hairy, sweaty belly to coax out more gas before his visitor arrived. Though, he figured he already knew who it was.

“URRRP, Scott, I got more sco-URRRRRP-op on that health group.” Roger barged in. The trip to McTasties a month ago had treated Roger well. Some might’ve said a little too well. But Scott said it hadn’t treated him well enough, and sent his friend back for more.

“Good man! Whadda they want? URRRRRRP” Scott belched out, not bothering to stop eating. 

Pulling out a bunch of graphs and research papers, Roger messily placed them all over Scott’s desk.

“So basically, URRRRP, ‘scuse me. Basically they’re tryna’ prove that bein’ fat is bad. Apparently it raises your chance for “heart disease” and “cholesterol related illnesses” but I haven’t heard of anyone hospitalized for those things recently.” Roger explained.

Scott’s brain was still trying to process the papers in front of him. Months ago these would’ve made sense, but for some reason he could barely comprehend the words. Words like ‘arthritis,’ ‘artery,’ and ‘high fructose’ were hard to read. Almost like he was realizing his descent into slobdom, Scott almost put the pieces together.

That was, until Roger shoved the straw to a milkshake in his mouth.

“Ya looked starved. Thank god I brought more McTasties.” Roger said, with Scott eagerly reaching for the bags with his sausage arms. 

Roger rubbed his own exposed, pale belly that pushed out underneath his green hoodie. Surprisingly, the same hoodie from 4 months ago still fit the growing lard boy, but he was too addicted to the junk most of Stocksville ate for breakfast, lunch and dinner to be bothered to notice.

“So,” Scott pause for a monumental fart, “Heh, that was a nice one. Anyways, what’re we talkin’ about?” 

“This, uh, health group.” Roger explained.

“Oh yeah, how do we get rid of them? They’re gettin’ in the way of me buildin’ more McTasties.” Scott shoveled another handful of onion rings into his mouth. Roger couldn’t even tell what was grease and what was sweat on the man’s face.

“Jus’...lemme handle it.” Roger smiled, with Scott appreciating the simple reply. “How’s the move goin’?” 

Processing the question, Scott remembered he had ordered the leanest of his staff to move his home necessities to his office. 

“Awesome dude! I got a TV and internet, so I’m basically set. All I need is a personal McTasties and I’d never have to leave.” Scott replied, his rolls and moob jiggling as he went to wipe sweat from his forehead. 

“Sounds like the next ordinance at city council.” Roger smirked.

Scott belched and threw an empty milkshake cup into the trash pile that littered the room. “Oh, I disbanded that. They all got too lazy to come. So now they put their trust in me to make the laws.”

Roger’s eyes perked up at those words. “You’re just telling me now?!” Scott let out more gas and continued to eat, “Sorry, forgot I guess.” 

Roger went over to Scott and leaned against his a fat roll.

“My friend, it’s a good thing you’ve started moving; I don’t think you’ll be leaving your office for a while.”

“Whaddare they sayin’? M’ fuckin’ tits r’ blockin’ m’ vision.” A fat blob of a man whined. 

“Hold on Scott I gotta turn up the volume.” A less fat, but still incredibly massive, man replied. The less fat man placed a milkshake in between the blobbish man’s moobs, with the latter eagerly sucking down the contents of the cup.

“Roge-URRRRRRRRRRRP. Whaddare they sayin’ damnit!” Scott whined again, finishing the milkshake in record time. 

Roger smirked and smacked Scott’s immense belly, “You’ve got no opposition m’ friend. You’re running unopposed next election.” 

The wide man forgot to mention how he had gotten a few of the skinnier interns to infiltrate Alternatives for Health’s own office and sneak McTasties into their diet. A combination of this and tactically cutting off their funding so fast food was all they could afford spiraled to a quick downfall of their opposing organization. Scott let out a fart from the pressure on his belly, smiling nonetheless. “Thas…URRRRRRPP…fuckin’ awesome.” He unabashedly stated. 

“Still it’ll be Stocksville’s first mayor who’s a human blob. And I don’t think it’ll be the last.” Roger stated, planting a kiss on Scott’s greasy lips.

Scott let out more gas, drool and more greasy getting into his beard, “Huh? Did ‘m new order come yet?” Scott had gotten a one-track mind. Which might have been a good thing had he not been corrupted with greasy takeout. The naked blob of a man now never left his office. Not that he could, given his recent immobility in the past month. His thighs were as thick as a hog plumped for a Christmas dinner, leading to an ass that was as large as his belly just months ago. Whenever the man moved, either to let out gas, to try to see the TV, or, recently, to pleasure himself, his entire body jiggled as if shockwaves were sent through him.

Arms hung uselessly at his sides, sitting on rolls upon rolls of fat. His face was basically just his unkept goatee, his several chins, greasy, and sweat. Oh christ the sweat. It was as if Scott had constantly come back from a workout at the gym, but his workout was simply processing thoughts and eating his McTasties meals. It got tangled in his hairy body and made the entire office smell like a sports locker room.

“Scott, ‘m back with your pre-pre-brunch snack!” Roger reassured the massive man. 

Roger hadn’t faired much better after being ‘convinced’ by Scott to try McTasties. He was also shirtless, but wore underwear that had definitely seen better days. Just their yellow coloring and greasy stains were enough to paint a detailed picture. His gut rested over these underwear, looking like a dad who had recently gotten divorced and hit the liquor store too much, though with a more jiggly belly. He looked like Scott did just months ago, which didn’t bode well for his future. “Anything I can get for ya while I’m up babe?” Roger asked, opening his phone to see the news about Alternatives for Health.” The two had started dating because of what Scott again contributed to his “charisma.” They were basically inseparable now, Roger serving at Scott’s beck and call.

“Actually, fuck, yeah.” Scott said through mouthfuls of food, “Call in ‘n intern an’ suck me off.” Giving a knowing smile, Roger leaned against his massive boyfriend’s belly. He slowly got on his belly and crawled under Scott’s massive belly. They had done this enough times that Roger knew where to go in the sweaty expanse.

As an intern walked in and started to feed Scott, the immense man started to let out some affirming swears. Roger knew he found his goal.

“URP, Mayor Bradley, what will you do to, uh, ya know, make sure our city stays great?” An interviewer asks over a video call.

“I’ll, uhm, URRRRRRRRP, uh, yeah.” Scott replied.

They were all too fat to do professional interviews in-person anymore. Not that it mattered. They only had one choice anyways. Thank god they weren’t doing this in-person anyways. Scott barely fit in frame on the Zoom call. He barely fit in his office anymore. An amalgamation of sweaty, hairy fat. 

“Great response, babe.” Roger egged his boyfriend on. He was nearing immobility too, struggling to get up and feed Scott nowadays. The interns took care of that for them.

The interviewer, clearly struggling to paint Mayor Bradley in a good light, asked another question. “To what do you contribute your, URRRRRP, successes.”

Scott nearly went cross-eyed. He let out a far that was audible on camera before responding. “More, URRRRRRRRRP, McTasties. Thas what’ll do!” He slurred.

The interviewer smiled and said, “Excellent idea!” 

“They should, PFFFFFFFFFTTTTT, vote fa’ me jus’ ‘cus ‘m hot.” Scott gobbled down multiple burgers after the interview. Grease splattered all over him, and the walls. And his rolls. And his tits.

“That’s a gr-URRRRRRRRRRP-great idea babe!” Roger continued to egg on the massive man. 

It was a wonder nobody realized how their demon, oh sorry, ‘advice’, had caused all of this. Roger didn’t do a very good job at hiding the evidence once he got a bite of McTasties.

If anyone had the brains to realize what was going on, they’d know their mayor hadn’t any.

That was okay, though. A quick bite of McTasties would fix their worries. Thank god they were expanding to other cities nearby.

[all-mirth-no-matter]

Time After Time | Chapter Thirteen

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: A significant death shakes up the Shelby household just as you find your way back inside. That events and those after make you start to wonder if now is the time to finally listen to Madam Despoina.

Warning: character death, language, yelling

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 13: Ghost

I like the sad eyes, bad guys, mouth full of white lies. Kiss me in the corridor, but quick to tell me goodbye. You say that you're no good for me, ‘cause I'm always tugging at your sleeve. And I swear I hate you when you leave. I like it anyway. — Ghost, Halsey

Coming back to the Shelby household wasn’t exactly what you expected. Best case scenario, you expected to be greeted warmly by Polly or Ada; worst case, you expected to have the door immediately slammed in your face by Tommy himself. 

Instead, when you knocked on the door, little Katie greeted you. 

John’s oldest daughter’s eyes widened and a smile spread across her face when she recognized you, “You’re back!”

She grabbed your hand and pulled you inside as you used your foot to close the door behind you to keep out the cold. When you got into the kitchen, Finn jumped from his chair and threw something into the fireplace. 

“Finn,” you scolded. “That a cigarette?” 

“Don’t tell Aunt Polly,” he begged, cowering down more in his chair. 

Jack ran into the room, a smile on his face as he got ready to watch the show of his youngest uncle getting into trouble. 

You hung your jacket on the hook and sat next to Finn, noticing him flinch slightly as you scooted closer. The instinct made you swallow knowing he probably expected you to hit him — one of the discipline actions of the times that still made you cringe despite your attempt to shield your facial expressions. 

“I won’t. But you really shouldn’t smoke, especially while you’re still growing. It stunts your growth, ya’know. You want to be this height your whole life?” You tousled his hair playfully to emphasize your point. 

Actually, you weren’t a hundred percent sure if that was true — you remember hearing it when you were younger (that and coffee) but you never actually ever did research on it yourself. 

“It’s also bad for your lungs,” you added, closing the unattended box of sticks that were sitting in the middle of the table. “It’s bad enough the air quality here is practically smoke itself, the second hand smoke will probably kill us all—“

“Is that what’s happenin’ to mummy?” Katie asked, her hand resting on your knee as she began petting the material of your skirt. 

Brow creased, you looked to Finn and Jack, then around the house and noticed no one was around. 

“Where is your mum?” 

“She’s sick again,” said Jack, or J.J. as you’d immediately called him when you learned that his real name was John, and that he’d been named after his father (Junior). Another moment of instant regret, seeing as you had no idea if initial names or initial nicknames were a common thing yet. But the seven year old latched onto it immediately and you’d apologized to Martha profusely. After the initial shock of her son insisting everyone call him this, who she’d named after John proudly, she finally admitted to finding the nickname quite cute. 

That’d been the first substantial interaction you’d had with Martha after just starting in the house. Even before the boys returned, you’d offered to help watch the kids whenever Polly or Ada were babysitting. You’d built a bit of a rapport with the little ones over the months, which had honestly surprised you seeing as you had zero experience with children, being an only child and not having been around family outside of your parents your whole life. It’d taken a little longer to get friendlier with Martha, but eventually you’d found a mutual ease around each other when you were both in the house. But unlike Ada, you didn’t find yourself spending any time outside the house, or alone even, together. And that was okay. 

But when she first started getting sick, you’d tried to put in a little more effort to at least let her know you were there for her, or Polly, or the kids, if they needed you. Last you’d heard, Martha had started feeling better around Christmas. 

“It’s not smoke, dummy,” J.J. said harshly to his younger sister when she asked again if it was was because of the cigarettes. 

“Hey,” you said instinctively, “no need for name calling.”

“Auntie Polly said she’s cold—“

“She’s got a cold—”

“Where is she now?” You interrupted before they escalated, bringing all three of their attentions back to you. 

“Auntie Polly took her to the ha’pital,” Katie answered. “Teddy and Annie are with Auntie Ada, said they needed naps.” 

And with that, you launched into babysitter mode for the three downstairs. You kept out of the way of the kitchen, especially when the shop opened. When Ada returned with the youngest two, you all took a trip to the shop for food, per Polly’s instructions. By the time you returned, Polly was back and starting dinner. 

That’s when she broke the news silently to you and Ada. 

Martha had passed away. 

Polly was angry with the hospitals, ranting about how she didn’t trust them and how she never should have taken her there in the first place. 

“I’ve sent word to John, but he’s still in Digbeth. I’m afraid I’m going to have to break the news to the children.”

You offered to stay the night to help with the kids and housework. That first night had been filled with tears. You even caught Polly’s eyes damp a handful of times during the quieter moments. 

Over the next few days, whenever you didn’t have a shift at the Garrison, you ended up at the Shelby house, even sleeping in one of the unoccupied bedrooms most nights. Polly was spending most of the following days preparing for the funeral, while you and Ada tried to make this new world make sense to the children. 

You and Ada both had your own experiences of losing your mothers to draw on in an attempt to console the little ones. But it was still difficult, especially for the youngest two, who were still not completely understanding that their mother wouldn’t be coming back. Finn’s patience and kindness to his little nieces and nephews had been the most endearing part for you. He’d been too young to remember his own mother, but was able to explain this new reality in child terms that surprised you.  

Since arriving in this time and place, it was hard not to judge the living conditions and lack of opportunities that surrounded you, especially when comparing them to your own upbringing. You’d always considered yourself middle to lower class, but you still had so much more privilege than whole chunks of the world. 

Here, even with some of those privileges, you were beginning to understand just how much faster it seemed these children of the time had to grow and mature than you ever had to. Hardships like losing parents at a young age were just the beginning — poverty, malnourishment, lack of education opportunities — these were things that you couldn’t imagine having grown up through. It make you think about Ada and Tommy, your previous image of them running around as children suddenly shifting to something more heart clenching. 

Your respect for Polly and her role as matriarch was already high, but over the next few days it only grew as she handled the household, children, business, and funeral arrangements nearly on her own. There hadn’t been a peep from John or any of the brothers until the night before the funeral. 

Not yet asleep, you could hear the banging of doors opening and chairs moving in the kitchen. Instinctively, you rose from the cot and grabbed the fireplace stick. On your way down, you stuck your head in the kids’ room, seeing them fast asleep before shutting the door and heading for the noisy intruders. 

“Come on, Tom,” you heard Arthur’s voice coming from the kitchen. “She’s got a sister—“ 

“S’not tonight.” Tommy replying made you pause, your heart jumping at hearing his voice for the first time in weeks. “We’ve got— got the funeral tomorrow, then back to ‘beth.” 

His voice sounded lighter than normal, if not slightly slurred. 

“Ah fuck it — we’ve been over there for weeks now. The whores here know exactly what I like, them in Dig—“ 

You cleared your throat, startling both men, though only one reached for his gun to point in your direction. Despite your curiosity to hear more about their escapades, Arthur’s voice had grown louder and you were fearful he’d wake John’s kids, who’d been nightmarish already to settle down. 

Tommy’s throat bobbled as he lowered his gun, setting it down on the table. You noticed the dishevelment of his hair and collar of his shirt under his jacket. That, along with the way Arthur was swaying and both with nearly empty bottles in their hands confirmed what you suspected — the boys were wasted. 

“The fuck’re you doin’ here?” Arthur asked, his voice not holding as much disdain as you expected, despite the words coming out. 

“I’ve been helping Polly and Ada with the kids,” you answered softly, crossing your arms. “They’re asleep upstairs, if you wouldn’t mind keeping your voice down.”

Arthur’s brow creased, his voice still at the same decimeter despite your request. “You ain’t got kids—”

“John’s kids,” Tommy reminded his brother. He gestured toward the door, “Go on now. Don’t you have someone to meet?” 

Arthur perked up, “Right! Suppose you won’t join me now, eh? You’ll know where I’ll be!” He gave a final shout before leaving the room and closing the door loudly behind him, causing you to cringe and listen for the stirrings of awakened little ones. 

After a moment of silence, you turned back toward the kitchen where Tommy was beginning to remove his jacket. 

A deep red stain on the shoulder of his shirt sleeve caused you to gasp, walking toward him without realizing what you were doing, setting the fireplace poker on the table.

“What happened?” You asked, touching his arm gently as you rotated it to see a slash in the fabric. 

Tommy shrugged, unsteady on his feet as he instead reached for the fuller bottle of rum on the counter. “Just a scrap ‘fore we went to the pub, ‘s nothin’—“

“I can help—“

“Just go back to the room—“

“Sit down,” you instructed more sternly. He glared at you, but you didn’t let it stop you. “Take off your shirt, that’s going to infect if we don’t clean it.”

“I can do it m’self,” he mumbled and turned to leave, but began to stumble as he became imbalanced.  

You caught and stabilized him before guiding him back to the chair. “You’re drunk as fuck, Tommy. Just sit down and let me help you.”

He huffed, but began to slide down in the chair until it creaked with the extra weight. Satisfied, you finally turned to get a fresh bowl of water and clean towels, then the bandages you’d seen Polly use a few times before. He was unbuttoning his shirt when you pulled up a second chair closer to him, ringing the cloth in the water. 

“What were you gonna do with that?” You caught his gesture to the fireplace poker on the table, his voice laced with condescension. “Should learn how to handle a real weapon.”

By the time you sat down, Tommy had his bad arm out of his shirt. 

“I know how to handle a gun,” you answered plainly, your voice serious as he watched you examine his wound. 

Well, you knew how to handle a gun in the 2000s, that is. With your father being a military man, he wanted to make sure you and your mother went through the proper gun safety and etiquette classes since there’d likely be some weapons in the house. You hadn’t been to a shooting range since your father was alive, but you imagined if you had to handle a gun today you’d at least not make a total idiot of yourself. Now, whether you could actually shoot a live person was another question. 

Concentrating back on Tommy’s arm, the blood had begun to crust around the cut, but began to bleed slightly as you started to put pressure on it. He hissed slightly at the contact. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled slightly as you continued to work. “Why’d you let this go so long? You know better—“

He scoffed, “Do I?” 

“I would have assumed so,” you answered honestly. Someone with the military backing he had, he must have known the dangers of infections and exposed wounds. Though as you worked you began to realize it wasn’t as bad as it’d originally appeared. 

He took another swig of the bottle before handing it to you. 

“No thanks,” you answered, not in the mood to drink tonight. 

“For the cut,” he said as he shook his head, a breath of amusement exhaling from his nose at your reaction. 

Sterilizing, you realized, giving yourself a duh as you took the bottle and carefully poured some on his skin. He hissed again as blood started to flow once more before you applied proper pressure. You sat there silently for a moment, just holding the rag to his arm, when you noticed him looking down at the cut sleeve, running his thumb across the red stain. 

“So much blood for such a small cut,” he said softly, mostly to himself. 

Your brow creased as you lifted the rag to look at his arm. The cut itself wasn’t that deep, but it was pretty substantial, at least in your opinion. Maybe comparatively it wasn’t as bad as some of the other injuries he’d had in his lifetime. The thought made your heart clench as your eyes began to notice other scars along his arm and uncovered chest. 

You kept going back to a particularly gnarly scar just above his chest as you lifted his arm to wrap the bandage. 

“Did you get this fighting?” you finally asked, turning your attention back to the cut, your curiosity getting the better of you. 

He grabbed the bottle and took another drink. “‘Cause that’s all we do, eh? Drink, fight, and fuck—“

“I didn’t say that,” you interrupted, your voice strong in defense. 

You wouldn’t mention how his brother was just talking about whores. Or how they were both currently drunk. Or how the last time you’d seen him in this kitchen he’d been bloody and bruised from an altercation. 

Probably wouldn’t be helpful at this point. 

Instead, you tried to appeal to the logical side of him. “Just with the Digbeth expansion, I’d imagine that can be pretty dangerous.”

You finished the tie of the bandage as you looked back up at him. He was already watching you, his eyes red and glassy, causing the already bright blues to appear more translucent against the candlelight. You noticed how much darker the skin under his eyes were, and couldn’t help but wonder when the last time he slept was. 

“You’ve got some on your hands,” he pointed, gently wrapping his hand around your own. He lifted it, revealing the deep red smear on the pad of your hand. He used his good hand to squeeze out the rag and began to clean your palm. 

“It’s just blood,” you shrugged, trying not to let on that your heart was racing at the intimacy. “Blood doesn’t scare me, Tommy.”

He looked between your eyes. For a moment you felt like he’d suddenly become sober as he lifted his good hand and gently ran his thumb against your cheek. “It should.”

You swallowed. “Tommy, I—“

“You don’t belong here.” 

At his words, you felt your back straighten in defense, not realizing how close you’d been moving in toward him. Your heart began to race even faster as you tried to decipher what exactly he meant. 

Part of you knew he must have been talking more in general terms. That you deserved something more than Birmingham in a gambling den with gangsters. 

But there was something in the rawness of his words. Something that made you feel like he knew what such a phrase could actually mean to you — that you didn’t belong here, in this time or this place. 

“I don’t,” you answered honestly, not helping the sincerity of the words falling from your lips. “But here I am. And here is where I want to be.”

Tommy’s expression remained unreadable as his eyes flicked between both of yours, looking for the lie. His adam’s apple bobbed, then he whispered, “With me?”

The sound of soft whimpering caused you both to jump, turning back toward the kitchen doorway. Katie stopped at the archway, dragging a blanket as she used the end of it to wipe her face. 

You rose from your seat to collect the little one — this wasn’t the first time she’d woken up crying since her mother’s passing. 

Katie nuzzled her face into your shoulder as you turned back toward the kitchen. Tommy was already standing, putting his arm back in his shirt and grabbing his coat and gun, still slightly uneasy in his footing as he headed for the door. 

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Tommy—” you called as the door shut behind him. 

—-

The next morning was hectic as everyone prepared for the funeral. You didn’t see the brothers again until that afternoon, John’s eyes red despite the stone expression he kept on his face as everyone offered their condolences. 

You felt Tommy’s eyes on you as you both navigated through the house, stealing a few glances at him yourself when he wasn’t looking. Neither of you spoke to the other though, and you were beginning to wonder if he even remembered your conversation the previous night. But each time you found yourself thinking in that direction, you shook your head to remind yourself of the bigger picture of the day.

Polly explained that they would start at Charlie’s Yard and walk the body through the town Martha had grown up in before reaching the graveyard. There, the priest would perform the ceremony. Apparently most of Martha’s family was already gone, so the guests would be mostly John’s family and her friends. After the burial, the Shelbys would return to Charlie’s Yard to burn the caravan filled with Martha’s mementos and pictures. Apparently this was more of a Shelby family tradition, something you were greatly interested in learning more about, at a different time of course. 

The preparations reminded you of your recent conversation with Polly over spirits. It got you thinking about the tea Madam Despoina had given you again. 

Excusing yourself to get ready for the events of the day, you left the Shelby house to change in your lodgings, doing your best to find something black. The only thing you didn’t have was a hat, but Ada had promised to bring you an extra. Your eyes kept shifting over to your dresser drawer. 

It’d been almost a month since you’d received the gift. You’d spent months desperate for an answer as to how or why you were here. And it seemed that just as you were given some sort of clue, some key to unlock something — you were rejecting it. You’d gotten caught up in the found family of the Shelbys and the unshakable pull you felt from Tommy. This new life you’d created for yourself had become a distraction and disassociation of the still very real mystery of your circumstance. 

Your eyes moved again to the dresser as you looked over yourself in the mirror. Could the answer be in that cup of tea? 

A knock at the door caused you to jump, your heart racing at being caught with your own thoughts. Half expecting Ada with the hat she’d promised, you were surprised when it was Tommy instead who stood on the other side of your door. 

He had his hands shoved in his pockets as he stood there uncomfortably. He cleared his throat, “Ada wasn’t sure if you’d know where Charlie’s Yard was, so I offered to come collect you.” 

“Oh,” you replied, wondering if it was true. “I just need to get my coat then—“

“Tommy? What are you doin’ here?” You heard another man’s voice down the hall as you turned back around to poke your head through the still open door of your apartment. 

Benji approached the doorway in a button-up and small bouquet of flowers in his hands. 

Tommy’s brow creased as he appraised the man, then looked between the flowers and you before his face hardened and back straightened. 

“What are you doing here, Benji?” 

He smirked, “We were going to get dinner, remember?” 

You hadn’t. The man hadn’t even been a speck on your mind the past week. 

“I’m sorry, Benji,” you began, your voice sincere, “um— Martha passed away this week. We’re on our way to the funeral, I can’t see you tonight.” 

“Oh,” he turned to Tommy. “Right I heard about that. I’m sorry for your loss, mate.” 

Tommy shook his head. “Save your condolences for my brother, Hancock. We’re going to be late, if you’ll excuse us.” 

Without waiting for you, Tommy began to walk down the hallway toward the exit. You rushed to grab your coat and lock your door behind you before apologizing again to Benji and hustling after Tommy. 

“Suppose that answers my question,” was the first thing out of Tommy’s mouth when you finally caught up with him, still looking straight ahead as you both walked down the lane. 

“What?”

“Last night—“

“You remember last night?” you asked surprised. He had been really drunk 

He scoffed, still not slowing in his walk nor giving you a glance. “I remember a lot of things. Including you telling me you weren’t interested in Hancock.”

“I wasn’t,” you answered, trying to catch your breath. 

He scoffed again and your eyes narrowed. 

“But then nearly a month went by after you ghosted me so I thought what the hell, give the guy a chance.” 

“Ghost?—“

“You told me to stay away—“

“And staying away means being courted by a Peaky Blinder, ya?”

“Courted?” Your brow creased at the use of phrase. “It was going to be one date — just a dinner, we weren’t getting married.”

He rounded on you, pulling you abruptly into an alcove off the sidewalk until your back was against the brick. His eyes bore down at you as the fire returned to his eyes. “Do you know what happens to people who cross me?” He started, his voice lower than it had been moments before. “They lose their ears, their tongues, their eyes. You have no fuckin’ idea who you’re talking to.” 

“I do,” you said, your voice just as strong despite the threatening tone of Tommy hovering above you. His eyes simmered for a moment. “You think you’re a monster. Maybe you are— maybe you have to be, maybe you don’t. I don’t care. I said I was going to help you. So shove off with the chauvinistic ‘I’m pushing you away to keep you safe’ bullshit — I don’t want it.”

You surprised yourself at your own words, though you tried to keep your face from showing it. Deep down, you’d always believed what you said, but you hadn’t known exactly to what extent. Did you not care if Tommy Shelby was a monster? No. And you couldn’t shake why.

“You’ll regret it,” he said, his eyes icy once again with the same hint of desperation you saw the night before. 

“Not as much as you’ll regret going from ‘I need you’ to ‘stay away from me’—“

He shook his head, finally taking a step back from you. “I was being selfish—“

“Well then be selfish!” You took a step back toward him. “Because dammit, Tommy, I need you too!”

He pulled your body into his so quickly you nearly pushed him away. But your body immediately reacted to the feel of his lips against yours as you pulled yourself in closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

You broke away first, the whistling of pedestrians on the sidewalk making you remember you weren’t as concealed in this alcove as you thought. Though Tommy didn’t seem to care, his eyes still focused on you as you caught your breath. 

“Don’t think just kissing me absolves you from giving a proper explanation for your actions,” you tried to say as serious as you could muster between breaths. 

You were still mad at him. He’d put you through a roller coaster of unnecessary emotions the last few weeks. For him to get jealous at the prospects of you moving on? There was something more, you could feel it. And there was no way you were letting him get away with not explaining himself fully before you felt you could open back up to him again. 

The corner of his mouth rose in amusement, “Come to the races with me when I return.”

“What?” your brow creased, though the corner of your mouth tugged upward at the prospects of what sounded like a date (you really were delusional when it came to this man). 

“I want to take you to the races. Join me?”

You shook your head, “Is this the Tommy Shelby version of an olive branch?”

He smirked, “Maybe. We can talk more then.”

“Deal,” you answered, pulling his smirk into a genuine smile as you both turned back to continue down the sidewalk. 

—-

The funeral was beautiful. Honestly, you hadn’t any idea what to expect when Polly talked about the arrangements. But the words, the songs, and the beauty of the traditions had you in tears. John held his children during the entire procession, and gave a lovely send off before lighting the fire. 

Despite the grief you were feeling for the family, your brain hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the tea in your bedroom. Tommy had informed you that they’d be wrapping up Digbeth soon, returning properly in a few weeks.

That night was the first night you’d been back in your own apartment. The first thing you did was open your dresser drawer and remove the box. 

You left it on your counter top as you started the fireplace, then the kettle. As you reached for the tea cup, you wondered if it was smart to be alone while you did this. You were, after all, still about sixty percent sure that the old tea was just going to give you either a stomach ache or seizure. But, you guessed that was better than the ninety-nine percent that you’d been at upon first receiving. 

You gently removed the leaves and vial of water, following the instructions from Madam Despoina as you made your cup. 

Holding the warm tea in your hands, you made the last minute decision to sit on the floor — reasoning that if you collapsed or something, at least you wouldn’t have as far to go. 

You settled on the rug, inhaled deeply, closed your eyes, then brought the edge of the cup to your mouth. 

You could feel the hot water run through your throat, then down to your chest before the warmth began to spread through your arms and hands, down to your stomach, then legs, then toes. 

With your eyes still closed, you sat for a moment, waiting for something to happen. 

When nothing did, you took another sip. Again, nothing happened. 

Sighing, you sent a small thank you to whomever was listening that you at least didn’t go into any kind of shock, then opened your eyes. 

“Hello, darling.” 

>> next chapter &lt;;< chapter masterlist

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[withahappyrefrain]

Filet Mignons and Parking Spots

Summary: Against your better judgement, you agree to have dinner with the human equivalent of a Hangnail, aka Jake Seresin. A follow up to Matcha Lattes & Parking Spots!

Warnings: Language, lots of banter, Jake getting turned on by women who are mean to him.

Part 3 is up!

This was ridiculous. Absurdly so. 

He clearly wasn't taking you to dinner because he actually wanted to learn how to park better. He was hoping he could win you over with that small town billboard dentist ad-smile and be allowed into your pants. 

Which wasn't happening. No way in hell was he coming near you.

You refused to give him your address. Like hell he was going to learn where you live. 

You: I've listened to way too many true crime podcasts to give you my address. You've already shown signs of being a psychopath with how you got a Matcha latte with zero sweetener. 

Hangnail: ooo what's your fav podcast? :) :) 

You couldn't tell what was more annoying: his insufferable overall being or the fact he responded to every insult with a question whose goal was to learn more about you. 

Like he actually wanted to get to know you. 

As your grandmother would say, "His cornbread ain't done all the way in the middle."

And yet, here you were, outside the restaurant, waiting to see if this douchebag could show up on time. You didn't have high hopes, considering his parking skills. 

"Hey gorgeous." 

Fuck, right on the dot. 

Your lips couldn't help but part when you turned around and saw the bouquet in his hands. 

He brought flowers. The red roses popped against the anemones and white narcissuses. A yellow satin ribbon wrapped around the stems. 

"Figured the goddess of love deserved some gorgeous flowers," He grinned. 

You wanted to gag. 

"You're supposed to take them." You couldn't decide what was worse: that stupid, nearly blindingly white grin or the Texan accent that laced his words. 

You hesitantly took the flowers. They were pretty. But they were also given to you by a dude who couldn't park. 

And who drank skim milk. 

"They're the flowers associated with Venus, the goddess of love," He said. He looked so proud of himself, you could see him dying to pat himself on the back. 

You rolled your eyes, "Yes, I also had a Percy Jackson phase and went on Wikipedia to look up what was associated with each God. Also, these flowers are associated with Aphrodite, not Venus." 

The living embodiment of a graduated frat bro shrugged, undeterred from your comment, "I mean, they're basically the same." 

You took a step back, "No they are not….Jesus Christ, I have to teach you how to park and the difference between Roman and Greek Mythology?" 

He just continued to smile, "Told ya I need that second date." 

"You need someone to inspect that head of yours," you scoffed, trying to ignore that warm feeling swirling around your stomach as he opened the door to the restaurant for you. 

The human hangover had the audacity to laugh at your comment, "My squad said the same thing today." 

There wasn't going to be enough alcohol to get through this evening. 

—------------------------

You were stunning, absolutely gorgeous. The soft lighting casted a soft glow across your face, highlighting your beautiful features. 

Jake was surprised when you pulled out a marker and a sketchpad. You were keeping your word. You were committed. 

He loved it. 

"So your speed affects the angle you can pull your- are you even listening, Flyboy?" 

"To you? Of course," The lovesick look that had taken over his face remained. It would be cute, if it wasn't so insufferable. 

You scoffed, "Alright, then paraphrase it for me. You do know what that means, right?" 

You looked ethereal as you stared up at him through your lashes. Your brows were raised to indicate your low hopes for him. The way your bottom lip slightly jutted out, forming the most adorable frustrated pout Jake had ever seen. 

"Based on your calculated average of my speed, I need to decrease my that by about forty-five percent, which would put me at going thirty five and a half miles per hour. This would increase my adjustment time by," he moved his head back and forth as he paused, briefly counting, "....twelve seconds, which will allow me greater control of switching from a ninety degree angle to hundredth and twenty." 

"You pulled that out of your ass," you deadpanned. 

"Do the math if you don't believe me." Jake leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms as a smug grin spread across his face. 

He didn't know why Javy was so worried. He was winning her over in no time. 

"Wow," you looked up from your phone after toying with the calculator app on your phone, "You can do more than just count to one hundred and smile?" 

"Darlin," he chuckled, "You don't become the only current generation aviator with two confirmed kills by coasting on good looks alone." 

Boom. Stuck the landing. Jake was internally scoffing at Bradshaw's comments from earlier, about how he'd be lucky if he left this date with no wine thrown at his face. 

Jake knew he'd have you falling for him in no time, especially after you learned exactly who you were with. 

Your face remained the same, apart from a raised eyebrow, "Only two?" 

The corners of your lips turn upward into a smirk as that cocky grin of his faltered. 

"Within the first month at my last place, my cat brought me four mice and two birds. Just saying," you brought your wine glass to your lips, savoring the few moments of silence. 

Jake was thankful he had put the napkin over his lap. It perfectly covered the semi he had been sporting since y'all sat down. 

"Birds and mice are not the same thing as what I've done," he nearly huffed. 

You grinned, shrugging your shoulders, "I think they're pretty comparable." 

Jake huffed, "No they are…." 

Oh. 

You were trying to rattle him. On purpose. And it almost worked. 

He loved it. It was fun, listening to your every word. The fact he actually had to try to see what impressed you. And boy, did he want to impress you. 

"Um…are you two ready to order?" Your waiter asked. It wasn't the first time he had come in at an odd point in the conversation with zero context. 

You were thankful, because it meant that you wouldn't have to deal with the Abercrombie and Fitch wannabe model's stupid stare. The one where his green eyes literally sparkle and a dreamy smile plastered his face. 

"I'll take the hanger steak, medium rare, but with no caramelized onion butter and instead of the garlic mashed potatoes, I'll have the asparagus," you told them. 

"I'll have the filet mignon-" 

"You're at a steakhouse and you're ordering a filet mignon? The most basic steak?" You scoffed at him. 

"Oh, so you're also a meat expert too?" Jake asked, his tone playful. 

"My dad was a butcher. It's just soft, there's no other redeeming qualities about it. Ribeye or Hanger is better," you explained as you rolled your eyes. 

"Alright, then I'll take the ribeye. Medium rare." 

You weren't expecting him to actually listen to you. You were expecting a scoff, an eye roll, a comment about you being too smart, too obnoxious, too annoying. 

As if he could sense your confusion, he elaborated, "You said your dad was a butcher. Makes you more than qualified to speak on which cut of steak is the best." 

It was uncomfortable, how he hung on to your every word. How he remembered little details. When you mentioned earlier that you had walked to the restaurant, he asked what true crime podcast you listened to on your way here. The way he approached all of this like it was normal, like it was the expected thing to do. 

"Also, I have mints, if you want them. No need to avoid great food." 

"What the hell are you talking about, GI Joe wannabe?" That feeling of uneasiness began to morph into agitation. 

"Look, Venus, you don't need to avoid garlic and onions. I got plenty of mints, so whenever you want to kiss me, just say the-" 

A bread roll landing right between Jake's eyes interrupted him. 

"I have IBS and avoid dairy so I don't spend the next two hours on the toilet, it has nothing to do with kissing you, you Chippendale reject!" 

"So you think I'm attractive enough to be a Chippendale?" Was all Jake took from that conversation. 

The second bread roll that landed against his nose made him process what you had actually said. 

"So what do you eat when you're sick?" 

You should have ordered an Old Fashion. Wine wasn't strong enough for this. You pressed the rim of the glass to your temple, hoping the pressure would be enough to wake you up from this nightmare.

"How did you go from me talking about avoiding dairy so I don't shit myself later, to that?" You would have thrown a third bread roll, but the look your waiter gave indicated you might get kicked out of the restaurant for it. 

"It's an important question. Because you can't have Mac and Cheese, or pasta, or broccoli cheddar soup. So what do you eat when you're sick?" Jake repeated, unaffected by your comments. 

He was quite impressed with your aiming skills. He imagined the two of you at the Hard Deck, laughing while you threw darts, a gold wedding band adorning your left hand- 

"I mean, hard cheeses don't really bother me that much, it's pure cream and milk I really avoid," you shrugged, "Usually I order something with noodles and sauce, like Pad See Ew." 

He tapped a finger against his chin, which you were pretty sure could crack a nut with. 

"Good to know." 

"Good to know?" 

"Yeah, it's always good to know what someone likes to eat when they're sick." It was frustrating how you couldn't get a read on him. Was he truly being genuine or was just a dumbass? Or both? 

You scoffed, "I don't know why, considering I don't plan on getting sick anytime soon." 

"I hope not, I want to see you again sooner rather than later," He smiled, those darn dimples showing again, "but it's good to know for the future." 

The future. 

There were so many reasons to throw a bread roll at his stupid face. His heinous parking skills. His stupid callsign. The fact he kept insinuating that he would see you again. 

It would have been easier if he was just a jerk who was looking to get into your pants. That's what you were used to. Folks who saw you as just another notch in their belt, not someone worthwhile enough to date. 

Instead, he had an ego bigger than Texas, couldn't park to save his life and had questionable taste in caffeinated beverages. 

“Y’know, I think I finally figured out who you look like,” you said before taking another sip of your wine. 

Jake smiled before twirling that toothpick, which you really wished he'd stopped doing because it was extremely distracting. 

"Oh really now?" He asked, a devilish smirk on his face. 

"Yeah," a smirk of your own formed, "Pretty sure I saw your face in one of the stock images my college used for their responsible drinking course every freshmen had to take. You were the frat douche in the polo with a red solo cup, right?" 

He laughed. Full on, threw his head back and laughed. 

"You're fuckin' hilarious Venus. I could listen to you for hours," He told you after composing himself. 

Fuck, he meant it. 

You straighten your shoulders as you look across the restaurant, trying to seem as uninterested as possible, "Lucky for you, there's a lot about you I can critique. You just might get your wish, Officer Headache." 

"It's Lieutenant," he corrected, though the smile remained on his face. 

You put your hand over your heart, feigning guilt, "Forgive me, Lieutenant Headache." 

Jake couldn't be mad. You were clever, seeing that he had picked his rank being more important than getting his call sign right. 

He loved it, how clever you were, how witty you were. Talking to you was exhilarating, similar to how he felt when he was flying. 

"So why did you join the Navy? Did being an Abercrombie model not work out?" You asked, taking a bite of your bread roll. 

Jake chuckled as he shook his head, "Actually, I worked for Hollister." 

"Wow, thanks for telling me you peaked in 2009." 

"Oh, like you didn't have a less than desirable job in college?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

He was trying to egg you on, but you didn't mind. It was nice to see that he could do more than just give you heart eyes. 

"I was a barista all through college because I had some dignity." 

"So you are a coffee expert!" His sea green eyes lit up when he spoke. That, combined with how he pointed a finger at you, it was…cute. 

Wait, what? No. He wasn't cute. He was annoying and cocky and insufferable and agitating. 

He was so close. Jake almost got a smile out of you. You were warming up, he just had to be patient. 

He most likely wouldn't get a kiss tonight. But that was fine, he could wait. He had a whole lifetime ahead of him. 

"Guess so. Which, to me, means that I can continue to shit on your beverage choices," you shrugged. 

"You say it like listening to you talk is a bad thing."  

Usually it was for other folks. Why he was an exception was mind boggling. 

"But long story short, when you join the Airforce, you get shipped out to the middle of nowhere. I already grew up with that, and wanted a change. The ocean was a getaway." 

"Huh, I'm surprised. You can say something that's not completely insufferable." 

He loved pleasing you. Jake made a mental note to text his mom later that she would soon get her desired daughter-in-law. 

"I'm more than happy to keep surprising you Venus." You gagged. 

Thankfully your food arrived before he could say any more. You made a mental note to give your waiter a generous tip. 

The roasted asparagus looked amazing and you couldn't wait to take a bite out of-

"Wait! Don't eat that." You looked up at him, your fork inches away from your mouth. 

"It has butter on it," Jake explained, causing your eyes to roll. 

"I go here multiple times, it does not-" 

"Excuse me! What is this roasted in?" Jake asked a nearby waiter, picking up your plate.

"Uh, ghee I believe?" Well, that explains why you always felt bloated after eating here. 

Jake shook his head, pointing to you, "She's got a dairy allergy." 

The waiter apologized, taking your plate away and assuring you that they'll bring something out quickly. 

"Here, have some of mine while you wait." He moved his plate over to you. 

"I'm not going to sleep with you," you blurted out. After all, that had to be why he wanted to play the hero, right? Lieutenant Headache could get fucked if he thought that was enough to allow him into your pants. 

"I'm aware." He didn't sound broken up about it. Perhaps he already had a list of other girls he could call after your date ended. 

"And that doesn't bother you?" You leaned back into your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. Your mind kept trying to think of his offensive driving skills and not the fact that no one had ever paid that close attention to your dietary restrictions before. 

"I didn't do that in hopes it would let me into your pants. You said it made you uncomfortable. So….I don't want you to be uncomfortable," he smirked, "Besides, I can wait, Venus. Got a whole lifetime." 

You scoffed, as this Great Value brand Captain America was unbelievable, "Is that your way to tell me that you plan to kidnap me or something?" 

Jake grinned, "Nah. Just plannin' on marryin' ya." 

"I think you need to get your head checked." He couldn't be serious. There was no fucking way. 

Why would he? You were mouthy and sharp and loud and….he's had heart eyes ever since you first yelled at him in that fucking parking lot. 

Oh God, maybe he was serious. 

"Maybe you should learn how to park properly first before you think of marriage." You begrudgingly took a bite out of his steak, ignoring the soft smile that plastered his stupidly handsome face.

"More than happy to show what I've learned from you." You looked up. He was serious. 

Which was how you found yourself sitting on the grass, watching the human Hangover show his newly learned parking skills. 

"How was that?" He yelled, sticking his head out of his offensive Jeep. 

You waltzed over, taking your time as you circled the perimeter of his car. 

"You're awfully close to the line on the right," you observed. 

Jake scoffed, "But I'm within the line."

"You ever tried to park when some asshat in a big car is nearly over the line? Oh wait," you paused, "you've been that asshat. Anyways, it's next to impossible. So you're still a dick when it comes to parking." 

"So what you're saying….is I need more lessons?" Jake asked, leaning out the window of the driver seat. 

He didn't want lessons. He just wanted another date with you. It was so obvious and- 

"Definitely." 

Regret hit you as soon as you saw how his eyes lit up and a wide smile spread across his face. 

"So we're going on a second date?" 

"It's not a date. You need lessons, that's all." 

"Lessons….over dinner?" Jake was hopeful. You were reserved and he didn't blame you. But he could see cracks, a wall that was slowly but surely chipping away. 

"I'm picking the restaurant as you've shown with your steak choices that you still can't be trusted. And no, you're not picking me up. The verdict is still out on whether you're a serial killer or not." 

"Whatever you say, Venus." Jake made a mental note to tell Bradshaw and Phoenix to suck it tomorrow morning because he has gotten a second date with no wine thrown at him, just three bread rolls. 

It was then he realized you had leaned forward and it was the closest he had ever been to you. He could see every mark on your skin, all the different shades of color in your eyes. 

Man, he hoped y'all's kids would get your eyes. 

You were mentally kicking yourself for allowing him to get so close. The smell of cedar wood was overwhelming, you wanted to gag. His face looked ridiculously smooth, aside from the light stubble that graced the lower half of his face. 

And now you could see how his tongue and lips moved that damn toothpick, flipping it around effortlessly- 

Nope, you had to get the fuck out of here. You were not about to get caught staring- 

"See something ya like, Venus?" He asked, his voice low. Damn it, had he leaned in even more? 

You took a deep breath before pursing your lips into a sickeningly sweet smile, looking up at him through your eyelashes. 

"Yeah, I do…" you voice was breathy as you titled your head up, getting closer to his face. You smelled like cocoa butter and your chest was pushed up against the car door and crap, could see the bulge he was sporting in his lap? 

Fuck you were inches away from his lips. Jake mentally scoffed at his squad, what the fuck were they worried about? 

"A second free dinner. Please thank Uncle Sam for me next time you see him!" With that you walked away, leaving him hanging. 

After taking a few steps, you looked back and couldn't help but giggle. He was in the same position, his eyes widening as he processed what you had done. 

You were going to be the death of Jake Seresin. 

He couldn't fucking wait.

And thanks to that fakeout, he could see your hands up close, confirming that a pear-shaped gemstone would look best on your left hand.

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

@abibliophobiaa @wildbornsiren @maxmayfield @hangmanapologist @sebsxphia @mothdruid @stranger-nightmare @xbamboowishesx @theharddeck @princessphilly @rae-gar-targaryen @shrimping-for-all @mygyn @another-tblr-fangirl @alana4610 @cherrycola27 @annie-franny @whatislovevavy @sugarcoated-lame @ouralcohol @topaz125 @hoe-on-the-range @gigisimsonmars @verdandis-blog@mxgyver @princessofglitterland

[soapflavoredtea]

Dogwatch | Denji

Pairing: Denji x Black Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Denji sees a black person for the first time

Content/Warnings: Denji being an absolute idiot, Not beta read so some typos

"[Name], could you be a dear and cover my shift?"

There they were. The words you had been waiting–anticipating even, to come out of your coworker's mouth the moment she strode in.

"Hard pass."

Your coworker tightly grasped her hands into a prayer as she gave you puppy eyes. A tactic that would’ve been a million percent more effective had it not been for the small fact that she was a grown woman approaching her thirties. "This'll be the last time, I promise!"

"That's what you said last time, Hanami."

“I actually mean it this time!”

She had also said that last time.

Shrugging on your thin jacket you rolled your eyes at her woman before heading towards the door. It was a quarter until ten on a Sunday. You had school first thing in the morning, and to say that you were a little behind on work would be the understatement of the century. 

Hanami quickly moved in front of you, arms spread wide with zero intention of letting you leave. "Please [Name], my feet are extra swollen today and--and the doctor told me it isn't good for me to be working late shifts like this. Me and the baby need rest!”

Usually, you posed zero complaints to the prospect of covering her shifts. Doing so always gave you somewhat of a valid excuse for turning in assignments late and the additional pay was never something to complain about. Also because she was pregnant. That too was very important.

But today, you couldn't find any reason to say yes. Even if for some reason you did agree, you wouldn't be getting home until at least 5:30 in the morning. Leaving you with an hour, if lucky two, to sleep and another to get ready before you had to start booking it to your homeroom. 

Yeah, definitely a hard pass.

Sidestepping her with ease, you resumed your way to the door, pushing it open to be met with the nice feeling of the late summer breeze against your face. The familiar chime of the convenience store rang through your ears leaving you deaf to her continued pleas. 

"I'll talk with the boss about that raise you always wanted!"

At her words, you slammed the brake in your steps. Hanami and the boss had always been close. Perhaps a little too close. (Because for all you knew, the baby was probably his.) But at the end of the day, a raise was a raise and you were never one to stick your nose where it had no business being.

"I'm listening."

Her eyes widened in surprise at your sudden change in attitude. "Yeah...yeah! Tomorrow I'll make sure to talk about it with him and–uh we can go from there."

And though reluctant, in the end, you decided to do it.

______

Working the night shift was a lot less adrenaline-inducing than you had initially thought, and after two hours of working it, you could quickly tell it was going to be nothing like the many horror stories you'd spent your nights reading.

No attempted robbery. No mass murderer. No spooky paranormal experience. Nothing,

A small, small fucked up part of you was wishing for something to happen so you could guilt Hanami into never throwing another shift on you again. 

For a brief moment, you thought the moment was coming when a creepy man. He had an odd, faraway look in his eyes and kept staggering around the store. Mumbling to nobody in particular but himself. However, after closer inspection, it was very apparent he was just a tired guy trying to go home and not some random pervert. 

As much as you were grateful for it, the lack of shoppers left you with nothing else to do but drown in your boredom. You silently cursed yourself for not bringing any of your schoolwork. You'd rather be doing that than rearrange soup cans again. 

The store’s bell, for the second time that evening, finally rang again. You shot up to straighten your posture so fast it was a miracle you didn’t pull anything. Looking to the door you saw a familiar top knot and a not-so-familiar messy head of blond. The former's look of surprise was evident on his face as he, and who you could only assume was his comrade, made their way to the counter.

"Since when have you worked the night shift?" Aki asked.

"Since today, or tonight or…this morning, I guess.” You were tired. Oh so very tired.

"Tell them to move you back. It isn't safe for kids your age to be working this late."

A devil hunter trying to lecture you about safety? You almost laughed at the irony.

You gave him a swift, half-assed salute, "Will do. So the usual?"

He responded with a curt nod.

Grabbing the small pack of cigarettes you moved it up to the scanner ready to recite the price listed on the screen before he interrupted you.

"Actually, add another pack, please."

"Long day?"

His dark blue eyes narrowed at his partner, "You have no idea."

“That makes two of us then,” you replied, repeating the action of scanning once more before telling him the total.

As the young adult fished down into his pocket you finally got a chance to look at the boy who accompanied him, and at that, your brows furrowed in worry. 

You knew what Aki's job was and the many risks that came with it. Over the past three months of working here, he had come in with quite several recruits before they eventually stopped coming. And by the way, the look in his eyes became more diminished–well it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

The boy who accompanied him was the same age as you, if not a bit older. Kids had no business being anywhere near an industry like that but you knew it was out of your control and for that you pitied him.

Or you would have if not for his staring problem.

His head was tilted with eyes that were boring into your soul. You recognized the look on his face easily. It was the same one you would have when you’d be in the middle of taking a test and seeing a question you knew for a fact was never taught. Even if the teacher claimed up and down that it was on the study guide. None of this was cute or flattering. Just deeply, deeply unsettling.

In an attempt to give him the benefit of the doubt, you glanced behind you. Because surely with an expression like that he had to be looking at something else. But just as you suspected there was nothing. You briefly brought your hand up to your chin to make sure there wasn’t any drool on your chin that you had unknowingly let slip. But again, nothing.

"Aki,” you started, “would your friend want anything?"

He looked offended at the statement but let out a sigh turning around to speak with the boy, whose face was still contorted in deep thought. "Oi, Devil, do you want anything?"

"Why..." he pondered for a moment, "why is yer skin like that?"

"Like what?" you responded warily as you slid the cigarettes across the counter.

"So dark."

The packs of nicotine hitting the ground was the only sound that filled the store, safe from the flickering lights.

Aki's face was completely mortified.

Yours’s in utter astonishment.

While the teenage boy just stood there. His eyes darted between the two of you before shrugging his shoulders and turning to the magazine section.

He hadn't even got one step in before Aki was dragging him out by the collar, throwing a large wad of cash onto the counter before doing so.

That night you'd been left with the biggest tip of your life. And the afternoon following, as promised, you received the raise.

[withacapitalp]

How to Rehabilitate a Jock Part 19

Part One Link to ao3 Part 18.

Part Twenty

As always thank you to @stevethehairington and @thefreakandthehair for generally keeping my head on my shoulders and betaing everything I always throw at you guys ily ily ily

Step Nineteen: Sing a Song

“Are you sure about this Steve?” Claudia asked for the millionth time as Steve opened her coat and held it out in front of him with a patient smile. 

“I’m sure. Honest, Mrs. Henderson.” Steve said. He had gone through this exact song and dance with every parent except for Joyce and Hop, and Claudia was the final hold out. Truthfully he had expected Karen Wheeler or the Sinclairs to be the most unsure about leaving their sons at his house overnight, but a few small platitudes had been enough to get them to let go and go home. 

Well, a few platitudes and a bottle of wine to hit the road with. 

“Steven,” She immediately replied, a faux warning tone coloring her voice as she wagged her finger at him with a grumpy look in her eye. 

“Claudia,” Steve amended, still feeling that little awkwardness that he always had when he addressed any adult by their first name. He could practically hear his mother’s voice in his ear telling him off for being impolite. “It’s not a problem, and besides, they’re just going to sleep. Super easy.”

Steve wasn’t exactly sure if that was true, but he had hope. All six of his brats had been letting out big yawns as he had ushered them up the stairs a little while ago, and he hadn’t heard any shouting coming from upstairs yet. There was no way of knowing if the excitement of a sleepover would give them a second wind of some form, but even that would be short lived. 

Besides, Eddie had just left to drop off his friends with the promise of coming back soon, so the quicker he got the kids in bed, the better. 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, dear, you know how grateful I am for everything you’ve done for Dusty and the others,” Claudia said, finally allowing Steve to help her into her coat, “I just can’t believe you don't get tired of having them all here so often. I mean, doesn't it exhaust you? I can barely handle the occasional playdate they have at my house!” 

“It does exhaust me,” Steve joked with a soft laugh, “but it’s also nice? A bit hard to explain, I guess.” 

“You’re starting to sound like a father,” Claudia teased, buttoning up her extremely bright pink coat., “You’ll make some girl very happy someday.” 

Steve laughed along because that was what was appropriate, but he couldn’t deny the weird pit in his stomach that was beginning to grow. A month ago he would have thought it was because of his breakup with Nancy and the prospect that he might never find someone he loved like her ever again. 

That made sense. 

But Steve could say with almost one hundred percent certainty that Nancy was nothing but a friend now. Someone important to him, but wholly platonic. He could also say that he still very much wanted to be a father. It was one of the things he wanted most in life.

So why was Claudia’s joke making him so uncomfortable? 

It made zero sense. There wasn’t any reason. Something just felt… wrong. 

Luckily their conversation appeared to be over. There were still the normal polite farewells and long goodbyes in the doorway, but that was all perfunctory. Steve could go through those motions without much thought, and before he knew it the front door shut and he was finally alone in his house once more. 

Thump. 

Mostly alone. 

“You shitheads better have your pajamas on and teeth brushed by the time I reach the top of these steps!” Steve called up from the bottom, standing still and relishing in the sudden flurry of activity that was coming from his bedroom. 

The kids weren’t even a bit frightened of him, but they still listened to him when they felt like it, and especially if he was doing something big like letting them all stay overnight so they could spend more time with El. It was almost novel, knowing they were going to actually do what he said with only minimal complaining. 

Steve waited one second longer before starting to climb the stairs, purposefully making his steps just a touch louder so he knew the kids could hear him approaching. He even made a show of slowly opening the door to his bedroom, only to be greeted by a truly miraculous sight. 

All six of them tucked tight into his bed, quiet and calm. Max, Lucas, and Will were even pretending to be asleep, just to really sell the bit. Max and Lucas weren’t doing too good, but Steve might’ve actually believed Will’s act if he didn’t know that Will always slept on his left, and not his right. 

“Look at that, turns out you can do as you’re told,” He said, putting his hands on his hips and biting his lip to avoid directly laughing at how good they were pretending to be. The ‘sleepers’ opened their eyes, and the others all relaxed at the easy going tone their babysitter was using. 

“Fuck you, Steve,” Mike grumbled, ever the contrarian. 

“I can still call your mom and dad to pick you up, Wheeler,” Steve threatened lightly, both of them knowing he would do no such thing. 

Still, it was enough to get Mike to back down, grumbling as he snuggled in tighter between Dustin and El. 

“How’d the plan go?” Dustin asked eagerly, leaning over his grumpy friend and jamming his elbow’s into Mike’s ribs, causing the other boy to snarl and try to push him off without success. 

“Pretty much perfect,” Steve sighed walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling at one of Max’s braids idly just to rile her up a little bit. “El should have no problem going to school next year.”

The kids immediately began to cheer and whoop, already excitedly planning all the things they would get to do together next year.

All except one. 

“What’s wrong Supergirl?” Steve asked softly, furrowing his brow at El’s stormy expression. “I thought this would make you happy.” 

That was the whole reason he had come up with this insane plan- he had wanted to make El happy. And yet, here she was, practically miserable. 

El sucked in one cheek, chewing on it in a move that was so reminiscent of Hopper it almost made Steve laugh. She looked just like her dad when he was deep in thought. 

“I am happy about being allowed to go to school,” El finally began, her words slow as she thought through the exact words she wanted to use. Steve waited patiently, knowing she would come to the words when she had them, or would ask for one that might help explain better. 

“I am… uncomfortable with lying. Friends don’t lie.”

Friends don’t lie. 

Steve wasn’t exactly sure who had taught that to these kids, but if he ever found out, he would not be responsible for what he did. 

Don’t lie. What a stupid thing to teach kids. In Steve’s opinion- honesty was overrated. There was nothing wrong with a white lie, or a big fat one, as long as it was for a good reason. What was the point in telling his mother that his dad was out with his secretary again? What sense was there in being truthful when Carol asked if the other girls thought she was mean? Saying those things just hurt everyone, Steve included. 

It was better to be smart, to be strategic with the truth, and hope for the best. He would lie to everyone around him, as long as it was what would keep them happiest. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, and actually, knowing would hurt more. 

Still, he couldn’t say that to them. Especially not to El of all people. The other kids barely understood; her black and white way of thinking wouldn’t be able to get it. Not yet. 

But then again, maybe it would be better if she never did.   

“Friends don’t lie, but friends do keep secrets,” Steve decided, hoping that would be enough. “We’re going to keep your secrets, so you can stay safe. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” El said almost immediately, knowing how important her safety was to Steve. She paused, and Steve could practically see the wheels turning in her brain as she let his words truly sink in. 

Once she did she took a deep breath and turned back to him, making sure Steve was looking at her as she spoke. 

“But I still don’t like it? Does that make sense?” El asked hesitantly. 

“I don’t like it either,” Mike said, and this time Steve could tell he wasn’t just agreeing because it was El. Mike’s little glower had turned into a full blown scowl, and his arms flew around as his voice began to raise, “El saved the world. Twice. She’s a hero, not a monster!” 

No, she wasn’t a monster, and Steve would never want her to think of herself as one, but the world wasn’t so kind. Before he could even begin to try explaining that, the kids kept going. 

“It does kind of suck that I can’t tell my mom anything,” Max admitted, uncharacteristically quiet as she kept her eyes firmly on the blanket covering her legs. “I don’t care about telling Billy or Neil or anything, but my mom asks me about my nightmares, and I can’t tell her why I have them. I’ve never been good at keeping secrets from her.”

“My mom’s still bummed about Mews,” Dustin muttered. 

“My mom knows and it’s still hard to talk to her,” Will added on, looking far too old for just being twelve. 

They all looked old. It was like Steve could almost see the adults they would be someday far down the line. Adults with secrets to bear, and lies to tell, and too many things they would never be able to explain to the world around him. Things that their mothers would never be able to help them with.

Was that what he was now?

Steve had never even considered talking to his mother about everything they had been through. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind once. And now that he was thinking about it, he still couldn’t imagine a world where he would ever talk to his mom about any of this. 

… It was hard to recall the last time he had talked to his mom about anything real. 

“I know it sucks, but it’s not safe guys,” He said, focusing on the thing he could worry about and ignoring the panging ache in his heart. This wasn’t a time to think about his mommy issues. This was about the kids. 

“Yeah, being put in cuffs once was enough for me,” Lucas said, unconsciously rubbing at his wrists. “Not fun.”

“I do not want to go back to the lab. Secret’s are necessary,” El agreed, reaching over and tangling her fingers in Lucas’s, “but they suck.”

“Secrets suck a big fat one,” Dustin declared. 

El leaned back, quirking her head to the side. 

“A big fat what?” She asked, the absolute picture of innocence she was. 

There was a beat of quiet as they all registered exactly what she had just said, and then as a group they all began to laugh. Steve tried in vain to stifle his giggles, not wanting El to feel like she was being laughed at, but she was smiling too, pleased as punch to get her friends feeling happy again instead of sad. 

“I’ll explain it some other time, Elliegirl,” Steve promised, tugging the covers more securely around the brats as he did. “And you guys can always talk to me, you know that right? I’m not the same as your parents, but I’m here.” 

Some sleepy nods and yawns answered him, and Steve figured the conversation had reached its natural conclusion. But, just as he reached over to grab the lights, a quiet little voice broke through the silence. 

“... Who do you talk to?” 

Steve paused, his fingers still curled around the knob on his bedside lamp as he turned to give Will a curious look. 

“What?” 

“You said we can talk to you, but who do you talk to?” Will explained, a little nervous like always, but not backing down. 

No one. 

“Plenty of people. I’ve got my friends, and Nancy and Jonathan,” Steve replied, a little too cheerfully, trying to ignore the immediate response that had come to mind. 

“But you can’t talk to Eddie or the others about the upside down stuff, and you barely talk to Nancy and Jon,” Max argued, joining Will in staring Steve down now that he had considered the question, “so, who do you get to talk to about this, Steve?”

“Where’s all this coming from?” Steve asked, expertly maneuvering around the situation. He ruffled Dustin’s curls, finally free of his hat, poking him in between the eyes to add an extra annoyance. “I’m the one that worries about you brats, not the other way around.” 

“We are friends, Steve. Aren’t friends supposed to watch over each other?” El insisted. 

Steve opened his mouth but quickly shut it before he said something stupid like they weren’t friends or it didn’t work that way. 

But wasn’t that the truth?

The kids were friends with each other, Nancy was Mike’s sister, Jonathan was Will’s brother, Hopper and Joyce were the parents. Where did Steve fit in that equation? ‘Babysitter’ had been an easy thing to use as a placeholder, but how much longer could he say that? What place was Steve supposed to be in for them as they got older? He wasn’t their brother, but he couldn’t see a world where he fit as one of their friends. 

“You’re wrong,” Dustin grumbled, pulling Steve out of his head and back into the moment. 

“Excuse me?” Steve said, more than a little shocked. As far as he knew, El was the only one who could read minds, and he hadn’t said a word. 

And yet, they were all glaring at him, unhappy with whatever they had seen on his face. 

“How many times do we have to say you’re in the party?” Mike muttered, a heavy red blush on his cheeks as he burrowed deeper into the pillows to avoid looking at anyone. 

“Dumbass,” Max added, just to even things back out. 

A hot heavy warmth spread through Steve’s chest and he bit down the stupid smile that was 

threatening to break onto his face. Whatever he was, it didn’t matter. They cared, and that was what mattered. 

“If I need to, I’ll talk with you guys,” Steve offered, knowing deep in his bones that he would never do such a thing. 

“Promise?” Lucas murmured.

“Promise,” Steve lied with a soft, honey sweet voice, shutting off the light and letting the hallway lamp and the glow of the pool illuminate the room in a gentle cool tone. “Now it’s really time for bed.”

“What about Story and Song?” El asked. 

Steve raised his brows in surprise, reminded with a jolt that despite looking just the same, El wasn’t like the other kids. 

Story and Song was a little tradition Steve had started for the nights that Hopper had to work late, an easy way to get her to go to bed in an unfamiliar house without the comforting presence of her dad. He would read one of the short stories from his big book of Disney stories, sing her a song, and she would sleep until Hopper came to pick her up. It was sweet, but none of the other kids would have ever dared to ask for such a childish thing. They would want to act more grown up, more mature, always in a rush to grow up. 

El had no such qualms. 

A familiar storybook was being floated into his lap, and none of them, not even the boys, were protesting. In the blink of an eye, they weren’t old anymore, just kids who wanted to hear a story they already knew to help them fall asleep. 

“Which one do you guys want?” Steve asked, ignoring the lump that was starting to grow in his throat, flipping through the Disney storybook and feeling the worn edges against his fingertips. 

“Lady and the Tramp?” Dustin offered, seeing that Steve was already thumbing through that page. He turned to the beginning and rolled his neck getting into the mood to read, using the light from the pool outside as his guide. 

“Lady was a happy little dog. She lived in a big house with Jim Dear and Darling.”

By the time Steve’s index finger glossed along the last sentences of the story, most of the kids had dropped off. Will had fallen asleep almost immediately, with Dustin and Lucas tripping after him before too long. El had made a valiant attempt to stay up, but she was gone by the time Lady met the other dogs at the pound. 

Steve had just two hold outs left.

“G’night guys,” He said quietly, slowly sliding off of the bed and putting the book on the floor next to his bed. Mike turned over and ignored him, but Max sat up with a little glare. 

“You said we would get a song too,” Max said sleepily, rubbing at her eyes with both palms. 

“That’s being cheap, Harrington.”

Cheap? Was she actually serious?  

“You two… want me… to sing you a lullaby?” Steve asked in complete disbelief. El, he understood. She had no frame of reference, no way of knowing that she might be a little bit too old for things like this, but Max? 

Mike? 

“We just don’t think you can actually sing,” Mike said, his words punctuated by a ridiculously big yawn. 

“You gotta close your eyes then, and just listen,” Steve sighed, unwilling to argue this late at night. 

“Deal,” Max said, snuggling down into the bed.

Steve let his eyes fall shut, taking a long deep breath as he slowly lowered himself to the ground, putting his back against the bed and conveniently facing away from the kids. It wasn’t like he was embarrassed to sing, it would just be easier not to have to see them while he did it. 

But what should he sing? 

It had to be something soft, something easy. Something anyone would want to hear. 

The memory hit him like a ton of bricks. 

“Who could hate this song?” 

Steve had the answer. 

“Love of my life, you’ve hurt me…”

Tag List: Taglist: @paopaupaus @zerokrox-blog @surferboyzaza @whatever-is-a-good-name@minjintea @addelyin @5ammi90 @hagbaby420 @shinekocreator @bornonthesavage @starxlark @electrick-marionnett @resident-gay-bitch @ash-a-confused-enby @classicdinosaurdeathpose @valon-whomsttf @rotten-lil-goblin @thereindeerlady @love-ya-kash @kerlypride @sparkle-fiend @thefreakandthehair @flowercrowngods @milf-harrington @sadcanadianwinter @gothbat99 @hotcocoaharrington @henderdads @lightwoodbanethings @colorful565 @h0n3y-dw @craterbbox @sourw0lfs @lesliiieeeee @bidisastersworld @tinynebula @ravnlinn @bonescaro @mexmatch @cottagecoredreams @joruni @hellykelly @maegan1116 @farewell-wanderlvst @desertfern @due-to-the-fact-that-im-a-slut @anythingforourmoonyedits @eerielake @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @sidekick-hero

[graciegoeskrazy]

if it’s not with you

matty + teen!daughter!reader

warnings: fluff??? short n sweet!!!

a/n: me? writing something with ZERO ANGST???? IMPOSIBLE. lol anywhooooo. ty anon 4 requesting😌

It seems as if every time your father released an album, he did an interview or something with Zane Lowe. He never told you he was doing this one though. So, when you put on your usual go-to podcast and heard your father’s voice it was a pleasant surprise.

You were sat up in your room starting your homework, while your dad was downstairs. You listened to the whole thing. Although you would never outright admit it to him, you enjoyed his music. But you could never say it out loud for fear of him holding that fact over your head for forever.

“And I saw the adorable photo you posted on Instagram of y/n hanging out in the studio.”

Oh shit, that’s my name.

“Did she have a big part in this album as well? Was she there a lot for recordings and things like that? Or was it like a ‘No. Dad’s working. Get out.’ type of thing.”

You laughed. Matty usually kept his private life to himself, especially when it came to you. Wanting to give you every ounce of normality as possible. So you thought that there was no way he would talk about you…right?

Wrong.

“Oh, I’d say she played a big part in this album, whether she realizes it or not. I mean, I write about…life. Other people’s lives, my lives, and she is a huge part of my life, maybe the biggest.”

You smiled.

“Were there any songs on the record directly about y/n?”

“Oh, there’s always songs about her. ‘All I need to hear’ that one is 100 percent her. I mean, every time I play it or hear it, all I can think about is her. You know? And as for being there in the studio? I mean, she was there a lot because where we recorded most of it is like…our house. She had to be there for that. But I would never be like ‘Get the fuck out’. If my kid wants to learn music or play music, hell, I'm all for it. I’m the last person to stop her.”

“Does she play instruments?”

“Well, Hann gave her her first guitar lesson before she could speak.”

True.

“Same with the others, so. Whether she likes it or not, she’s pretty well versed.”

Also true.

“Eh, it might come in handy one day. And she just turned 16 I heard, correct?”

Matty laughed then sighed. “Yeah, my baby is not a baby. It’s weird.”

…

After finishing your assignment you walked downstairs and found your dad standing hunched over the counter. He was answering an email on his laptop while dinner was cooking in the background. You jumped on his back and hugged him. He grunted and you smiled.

“If I am the inspiration for most if not all of your songs does that mean I can get some of the money you four make?”

He laughed and kissed the side of your head, understanding what you were referring to.

“No, but you get to live in my house rent-free.”

[cherrylng]

Useless Trivia about Green Day [INROCK October 2012]

Billie Joe Armstrong

★ The first album Billie Joe bought himself when he was four years old was Elvis Presley's The Sun Sessions. From then on, he sang as Elvis in front of the mirror.

★ At the age of five, he recorded his debut single, ‘Look For Love’. (You can hear Billie Joe singing as a five-year-old on YouTube.)

★ Billie Joe's record collecting began at the age of four, and now, at the age of 40, he has no idea how many records he already owns, most of which are in the basement with his wife Adrianne's also huge record collection. He says, "I'm not a librarian, so the order of the records is all over the place", so even if he suddenly wants to listen to an album, it's difficult to find it.

★ Billie Joe is the youngest of six siblings. His eldest brother was born in 1950 and is much older than him. Under the influence of his older brothers and sisters, he became familiar with the music of The Beatles, The Kinks, The Who, Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, R.E.M. and Black Flag from a very young age. His first concert was a Van Halen (pictured right) show at the age of 12, which "blew his mind". His first punk gig was at Operation Ivy when he was 15. He was not allowed in the venues due to age restrictions, but was allowed in as a member.

★ When Billie Joe arrived at the airport in Minnesota to visit his wife Adrianne's parents, he was surprised to see someone standing in line right behind him. It was his idol Joe Strummer (The Clash, pictured above)! "He was talking to my son Joey. ‘My name's Joey too,’ he said. That was awesome."

★ When Billie Joe tries out guitars in music stores, he plays his own songs. "It's easy to know what that guitar feels like. Of course, I don't want anyone to see me playing my songs, so I do it when no one is around."

★ Billie Joe, although a millionaire, still professes to be blue collar. "We come from a community of people who work hard to make a living… We are still a working class band." So, naturally, he sends his sons to a very ordinary public school, not a private school.

★ "You're lucky if you work hard" is his working philosophy and motto.

★ He has an 18-year-old cat, Cleveland. His brother Zero died in a dryer ‘accident’. He also has a dog, Rocky.

★ Just before Billie Joe gets his creative juices flowing, he gets into a terrible mood and says things he shouldn't say, hurting everyone around him. And then he has to apologise flat out afterwards.

★ What do you think is the album on repeat in Hell? He answered, "Probably the Black Eyed Peas album, right?"

Mike Dirnt

★ Mike loves coffee. As long as it's coffee, it doesn't matter if it's hotel coffee or Starbucks coffee. And if there's a donut in it, he's more than happy.

★ All of Mike's religious beliefs are "based on Star Wars".

★ Mike's natural hair is brown.

Tré Cool

★ He once tried milking a female dog there because he didn't have any milk to put in his coffee.

★ Tré only has one ball. When he was in high school, he was riding a unicycle on stage and fell under the stage. He then fell straight onto the unicycle and crushed one of his testicles.

★ Tré is the godfather of Billie Joe's sons.

About the trilogy “Uno!”, “Dos!”, and “Tre!”

★ The Occupy movement has been sweeping across the USA since last year. The Occupy Wall Street protests in New York City were the most well-publicised, but the demonstrations in Green Day's hometown of Oakland, California, saw some participants turn into rioters, leading to violent exchanges with police. The three Green Day members, who of course position themselves on the side of the 99 percent, are also hesitant to actively participate in the Occupy movement. "The best thing about the Occupy movement is that there is no leader, and that's also its biggest drawback" (Billie Joe). The new album ('Tre!') includes the song ‘99 Revolutions’, which touches on the difference between the 1 percent and the 99 percent, but they don't want to go so far as to join a demonstration and support it with a song.

★ The new album, a trilogy, is said to be mainly about love and sexual tension with girls. "I think we ended up bookending that era with (the politically charged) ‘American Idiot’ and ‘21st Century Breakdown’. So now we're entering a new era for us, and it's more about love and sexual tension than political stuff." (Billie Joe). At the end of ‘21st Century Breakdown’, the band was under a lot of stress and pressure, and that's when they needed to change gears and break new ground.

★ A clear explanation of the trilogy. Uno!’ is ‘an album that gets you in the mood to party’, ‘Dos!' is ‘Let's party!’, and ‘Tre!’ is ‘cleaning up’ (Billie Joe).

★ They wrote about 70 songs for this album. Demo recording was done in Berlin, Glasgow, Amsterdam, and London. Only 40 of the 70 songs were actually recorded. 37 songs will be included on the album.

★ The final chapter of the trilogy, ‘Tre!’ features an orchestra for some of the songs. The orchestral musicians read and play the music, but Billie Joe, the author of the music, cannot read the music. "It's a strange feeling when I look at the sheet music I've written and I can't understand it at all. It's like looking at Braille."

★ About ‘Tre!’, Tré was overjoyed, saying, "I finally got an album with my name on it. How cool is that? What's more, it's "Tre Cool" (super cool)."

Translator's Note: Finally back into the groove of translating stuff. Gotta say, listening to a 5-year old Billie Joe singing is actually super cute.

[bonefall]

OHHH OK now im curious. bc of this ask: https://www.tumblr.com/bonefall/729548700508160000/could-be-like-my-cousin-shes-100-percent-deaf-in?source=share about dovewing being deaf. do cats in the BB AU have a signed form of clanmew? or is it basic gestures/just the written form of clanmew for deaf/HOH cats?

signed,

someone who really loves languages (hoping to god i spelled everything right/actually used the right words. ive been rewatching 3 hour psych lectures sine 6am...)

They have a rudimentary writing system! Clan glyphs be upon ye

It's not phonetic Clanmew, it's glyphs. Snowkit, before his tragic death saving Tawnykit, was actually OBSESSED with these. If he'd survived, he would have built these out into something he could use to communicate with. He was actually a really interesting kid.

But, unfortunately... that passion went with him. Whitewing is the next cat born with a hearing problem, and she's really uninterested in them. She isn't the same creative person that he was, and struggled with the fact that her family seemed to imply she had to "live the life he couldn't."

(note: in BB, dovewing is lionblaze's adopted daughter and bio-niece.)

I think there's going to be a big of a tragedy at play, here. Whitewing has figured out her own methods of communication. It's not a full language, but she's able to communicate basic intent with "rudimentary signs" she's created on her own.

She was only ONE degree of separation away from Dovewing (as Birchfall's, Dove's mentor, mate), but...everyone was forcing Dovewing into what THEY felt she needed. More hunting practice, more glyph practice, more lip-reading. Dovewing wasn't allowed to set her own pace or learn in her own way.

And her response was to bolt, taking all the possibility with her.

IT was the right choice for Dovewing, I think. She thinks that too. But, it wasn't the ONLY choice, you know? There's always things left unsaid and things you'll never be able to try when you make such a big decision. Who knows what could have been?

Maybe Dove and White would have ended up creating the start of a brand new dialect of Clanmew Sign Language, or changed the glyph system in a way that fit them better. Maybe that's not what matters; maybe they would have just been able to make each other feel less alone.

But as it is...

Every deaf, HOH, and mute cat in BB is currently disconnected from each other. They can't pool their skills except at Gatherings.

So Fallowfern, Dovewing, Whitewing, and Stoneclaw all have their own unique way of communicating.

There are tail signs which are used for battle, and glyphs which are used for writing.

Info: Those who go deaf later in life are still usually able to speak. Those who were born deaf often have a harder time. (Clarifying because this is apparently not common knowledge?)

OH! Bonus! Here's how each of those four tend to communicate!

Dovewing

She's REALLY frustrated by everyone forcing solutions on her. I think part of her actually really likes that she can say whatever and then not hear the response. It's like, "Deal with it. Show me you care with your actions if it's so important."

ZERO patience for people who just try to talk over her. She will immediately respect you if you listen to her carefully; only then will she give you the time of day to try and talk back. She kinda treats it like a privilege to talk to her, and she WILL revoke it without remorse.

People who have earned this privilege;

Heartstar. Naturally. And all of their children.

All of the Guardian cats, especially Antfur who is her best friend.

Violetshine, weirdly enough. She visits ShadowClan now and then and Dovewing is very fond of her and her wife and husband.

Strikestone and her new family

Squirrelflight

Briarlight

Alderheart and Sparkpelt

Twigbranch

Fernsong (BUT HE IS ON THIN. ICE. As Ivypool's husband.)

Her preferred method of being talked to is glyph writing. Heartstar is really creative with them, and it's super endearing. She improvises signs a lot and draws full pictures, making whole "doodle pages", even writing little "love letters" in the dirt before Dove wakes up. Literally peak romance, Dovewing loves her wife so muchhh

Whitewing

Also has low patience, but in a more "quick" way. She doesn't like people who take a lot of her time trying to phrase something simple and act awkwardly around her. Time is prey to Whitewing-- cut to the chase and communicate what you need her to do.

Interestingly, this leads to her really disliking Bramblestar as a leader. He's very inattentive to her needs when he organizes patrols on his own. She has very strong opinions and bad synergy with some of her Clanmates, and if she's forced on a patrol with them it ruins her day.

(She's really relieved when Squilf is reinstated post-BOTTE, Squilf knows about this quirk and accounts for it.)

Her love with Birchfall was actually a long time in the making. He really sees her, and something about the way they communicate just clicks. It's easy. They were friends, then partners, and then eventually mates and have been close their whole lives. Their body language just makes sense to each other.

She's been deaf her whole life and only knows a few very important words, but won't "speak" words if she doesn't have to. She does have a habit of making noises when she's happy though, beeping, meowing, and meeping when she's surprised and "not in work mode."

Whitewing is the kind of deaf cat in those videos who sees their human is home and goes "MEEEEEEEEEA." She would walk into a bathroom and wail so she could feel the vibrations on her paws. Vocalizing feels good. She is NOT a quiet person unless she's hunting.

Her preferred method of communication is mostly modified tail signs, but ThunderClan broadly uses glyphs, but she doesn't want to correct them on it. She feels bad telling them it's frustrating that they take so long to draw.

Stoneclaw

She has selective mutism. Her vigil was the night of the WindClan Massacre, and while sitting outside the camp with her temporary silence, ShadowClan attacked and killed her sister Thrushwing in front of her.

At first, WindClan thought it was nobility, that she'd "carried out her vigil to the bitter end." But it never healed. It's not a choice, it's trauma. She can speak when she's extremely relaxed but it's a really rare circumstance.

But, the legacy is to her benefit. She's the granddaughter of Tallstar (through Flylight, his adopted son), has an honorable story, and is a strong and confident warrior... in the daytime. She never hunts at night, when the sun sets, so does she.

(Clan cats are crepuscular, working in the morning and in the evening, but Stoneclaw only takes daylight shifts.)

Glyphs serve her fine, but she really dislikes using tail signs to communicate... brings up really bad memories.

She would REALLY benefit from someone making an effort to "legitimize" some sort of CSL, it would be like a support club to her. SO if it ever happened, Stoneclaw would jump at the chance to join. She's probably friends with Fallowfern though, once SkyClan arrives. Stoneclaw lives to become a very old girl.

Fallowfern

Mom of the Road Safety Man, guy who knows a million words for vehicles, Rabbitleap, and best friend and co-parent with Hawkwing, Plumwillow, Fallowfern is an old cat who ends up losing her hearing later in life like Dovewing!

I'm actually not entirely decided on her personality, but I'm feeling that she'd make a really good "glue" to hold everyone together. Like some kind of organizer-type person, someone who's very good at networking. She's really upset to be losing her hearing, it signifies a lot of really negative things to her.

She suddenly can't talk with a lot of people... even the ones who are reaching out to her are doing exactly that. Reaching out to her.

She likes being the reacher-outerer. It feels like being old and washed up.

SkyClan is a very good, connected Clan, with bonds notoriously VERY strong in comparison to the other Forest Four because of shared persecution... but

She's got this awful feeling that everyone's just coddling her, being nice to her, sending her to the elder's den like a trinket on a shelf.

"Does this mean... does this mean I'm going to lose music? Will anyone dance with me ever again? Do my babies want me to join them, or... or are they just tolerating stinky old mama <:( ?"

They're NOT, btw. Of course not. She's Fallowfern and she means a lot to them.

So I think at the VERY least, she finds a fondness for Stoneclaw at Gatherings. Elder friends, girlies who bond over making little grandma bracelets, but I'm not sure if it's HIT them yet that they can do something very cool together.

In fact it would be kind of funny if they weren't even aware of each other's disabilities at first, like they just started hanging out quietly. Fallowfern assumed that Stoneclaw just doesn't have anything to say and Stoneclaw figured Fallowfern was respecting her silence.

Like something just gravitated them to each other in the most natural, orbital way.

And then Snapstorm, Stoneclaw's wife, bumbles up like "Hey babe who's your friend :) ?" And Stoneclaw smiles, nods at Fallowfern to introduce herself, and then Fallow's like... "Oh I can't hear you, honey."

Stone: !!! (Taps self and makes a crossing motion over her throat)

Fallow: O_O "Ohhhh"

BUT, anyway,

Her preferred form of communication is unequivocally glyphs. I imagine SkyClan might have more written characters than other Clans, simply because they used them a LOT during their time apart under Spiderstar's Plan. Plus, they used to see a lot of road signs which they may have just adopted as glyphs.

Hmm... yeah, seems very cute that The Road Family's traffic theme continues, lmao