#my fic: keep me

[mistressheroine]

Keep Me chapter 6: In Your Love

“You know you… don’t have to sit so far away…” Beth said hesitantly, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth as she shifted nervously in her seat. His gaze intensified, before he ducked his head and rolled his shoulders. She heard him hum at the back of his throat. Her mind flashed back to that moment in the funeral home, as it so often did these days, to a similar gesture he’d made in the softly lit darkness. This time she was struck with a different kind of realisation.

“Oh.” Beth smiled, her eyes lighting up with surprise for a brief moment. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“Done what?” Daryl turned his body towards her, lifting a foot from the floor so he could sit further back and mirror the way Beth was sitting. He lifted his hands and Beth’s heart began to race when she thought he might reach out to touch her, but then he laced his fingers together as if he didn’t quite know what to do with them. She could feel his nerves and something else, something she hoped was desire, rolling off him towards her in steady waves.

“The whole ‘come over for dinner and hang out’ date thing.”

“You could have stopped at the date thing.” Daryl whispered, blushing as she saw him fight the urge to hide his eyes from her. She suppressed a grin when he shook his hair out of his face but his eyes never left hers.

“It’s okay, I don’t really know how to do this sort o’ thing either.” Beth confessed, licking her lips that had suddenly gone very dry. Daryl leaned forwards slightly, causing a small breath to catch silently in her throat.

[soldrawss]

Something something 16yo 2k12 Mikey gets sucked into a portal and sent into the RISE universe and ends up helping raise the RISE kiddos AU

[iamanartichoke]

I don't know who needs to hear this, but as a creator -

I am fine with "the audience" -

downloading my fics

printing my fics

copy/pasting or screenshotting my fics

sharing your saved copy of my fics with anyone else who might want them in the unlikely but never impossible case that my fics are no longer available on ao3

making a book of my fic(s) and running your fingers across the pages while lovingly whispering my precioussss

doing these things with anything I create for fandom, such as meta, headcanons, au nonsense like 'texts from the brodinsons,' etc

I am not fine with "the audience"

doing any of the above with the purpose/intent of plagiarizing my work or passing it off as their own in any capacity

feeding my work into ai for any reason whatsoever

Save the fandom things. Preserve the fandom things. Respect the fandom things.

Enjoy the fandom things.

[you-were-meteowrong]

reblog for bigger sample size

[mikimuun]

until the end of time

-

sketched as a cover for a playlist i put together. i did my best to structure it so it feels like it has an underlying narrative flow, so check it out if you wanna experience billford: the musical lmao

[soodoonimin]

See Logan is very soft and loving and gentle with whoever is lucky enough to have his affections. So I think once he began to realize his feelings for Wade he almost immediately stop hurting him.

And this would confuse the hell out of Wade.

So much so that he starts doing extra annoying shit just to make sure he hadn’t entered a new level of insane. Because did Logan seriously not stab him after he smacked his ass?? Did Logan really let him get away with calling him “baby girl” in front Laura?? Was James Logan Howlett’s only reaction to being kissed on the forehead with red lipstick really to just tell him to “don’t ever fucking do that again”???

He’d question Logan about it for sure and unsurprisingly he’d be evasive as fuck about it, he’d probably even deny it.

Mind you I think Wade does kind of like the pain and physical closeness the occasional stabbing from Logan brought him so not only is confused but he also kind of misses it and in some weird way thinks he did something wrong and he spends weeks trying to figure out why the The Wolverine suddenly stopping hurting him.

When he finally figures it out his head nearly explodes from excitement.

[drabsyo]

me? shipping another rare pair wlw in a fandom i'm 16 yrs late to? just another tuesday

[padfootastic]

can’t help but think of how, if we choose to go by sirius’ characterisation as a private, arrogant teen who only lets a select few into his circle, sirius’ post-azkaban life just have been such an utterly humiliating experience for him.

especially OoTP. when he has all these near strangers in his childhood house, that he hated and loved and ran away from and couldn’t ever escape. if he spent his entire pre-azkaban existence building a cold and aloof persona, not letting people know what his home life had been like, then to have all of these people get a front row seat to it because of kreacher and portrait walburga’s shenanigans must have been near unbearable. to have the entire order, including snape whom he disliked and mistrusted, hear the kinds of names he’s being called.

not only does he have to deal with the retraumatisation of his childhood, but also the fact that he’s flayed open for everyone to see. it’s not only his freedom, innocence, dignity that has been snatched from him but his privacy also. it’s such a cruel thing to experience, on top of everything else.

to have literal children, his godson who he has been kept away from all this while, whom he presumably wants to be able to look up to him, to have him see into the deepest parts of his soul. to have to be so weak in front of him. not only is he subjected to such vileness but he also cannot do anything about it.

sirius has not had a moment of peace in all the time we knew him. it is indignity upon indignity that is heaped onto him. every other character has gotten a moment of respite but him. it fully breaks my heart.

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

posting this with absolutely no context

[choccy-milky]

the twins and their jelly genes 💕💢 ((from the newest chap of my fic! ao3/wattpad))

[mistressheroine]

Keep Me chapter 4: I'd Give Up Forever To Touch You

Music was like muscle memory to her, it always had been. Even after the gunshot all those years ago, the thing she remembered clinging to in her darkest moments were memories that usually involved music in some way. Memories of sharing a piano stool with her mama when she was about 4 years old, how Annette would take Beth’s tiny hands in her own and dance them delicately across the keys as she taught her how to play basic notes and chords. Maggie and Beth singing together out by the pond at the farm on balmy summer nights, while their daddy clapped along as they performed whatever songs he requested. Later, after the world fell apart, singing out in an open field in the shadow of their new prison home while Lori ran her hand absently over her baby bump. Another memory of an evening lit by candlelight, Daryl asking her to keep singing and feeling like even if they were the only two people left in the world they would still be okay. She came back to this memory more than any other. After that night, after Grady, the music had still lived within her but she hadn’t sung again until much later. Until the day Dr Edwards died and she'd made him a promise as he drew his final breaths. She took a deep breath, held onto it a moment as she allowed the sadness of the memory to pass over her but didn’t allow it to consume her, before repeating that promise again in her head and exhaled, beginning to play. 

Keep Me chapter four is here! Please go give it a read and show it some love :)

[buddie-buddie]

Buck drums his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel of his Jeep, his left knee bouncing as he waits out the red light in front of him. His shift ended half an hour ago, but the tension in his shoulders hasn’t budged. He thought the drive across town to Tommy’s would help— windows down, music blaring— but it’s done nothing to quiet the anxiety buzzing beneath his skin.

The light turns green, and Buck presses the gas pedal a little too hard, the Jeep lurching forward. Driving through the quiet, tree-lined streets of Tommy’s neighborhood usually settles him, quiets his mind in the way that only the promise of strong arms and that warm, familiar smile can. But tonight, even the hum of crickets and the soft glow of porch lights can’t soothe the unease twisting in his gut.

He pulls up in front of Tommy’s house and sits for a moment, his hands resting on the wheel. He stares at the front door, watching as a couple of moths flutter around the porch light Tommy always leaves on for him. It’s something so small, yet it hits him right in the chest every time. It makes Buck’s skin flood with warmth, makes those three little words rise in his chest until he can practically taste them on the back of his tongue.

In every other relationship, those words felt like a lifeline— something he had to cling to, something that had to be said and something that had to be heard, just to make sure he wasn’t standing on shaky ground. He found himself constantly waiting for that reassurance, always needing to feel wanted. Even when the words came, they didn’t bring the safe, steady feeling he was so desperate for. Instead, they left him restless, chasing a sense of belonging that slipped through his fingers, no matter how tightly he held on.

It’s different with Tommy.

He doesn’t feel rushed, doesn’t feel pressured. He doesn’t feel like there’s a countdown ticking in the background, waiting for the moment those words will finally fall from his lips or Tommy’s. He’s content to let it be what it is, for as long as it takes.

Because with Tommy, it doesn’t have to be said. He can feel it.

He hears it in the quiet moments that hang between them on slow mornings, when they’re curled up together in bed, limbs tangled beneath the sheets, the world outside forgotten. He feels it when they’re in the car together, when Tommy’s left hand rests on the steering wheel and his right hand settles on Buck’s thigh like it belongs there.

It’s in the small, thoughtful things— like the porch light, glowing softly and guiding him home. It’s in the way Buck’s favorite coffee quietly appeared in Tommy’s cabinets, how his fancy, hard-to-find body wash showed up on the ledge in Tommy’s shower one day.

It’s in the way Tommy leans in close, steadying him when his mind runs too fast, grounding him without a word. How he always remembers the little things— like Buck’s complicated coffee order from the cafe down the street from the loft, or how he always wakes up thirsty in the middle of the night. 

It’s in the glass of water that’s always on the nightstand next to Buck’s side of the bed. It’s in the feel of Tommy’s hand on the small of Buck’s back when they’re out, a touch that says I’m here without needing to say anything at all. How, when Buck has had a hard day, Tommy makes space— quiet, gentle space— for him to just be, without asking for anything in return.

It’s in those little moments, tucked away between heartbeats and breaths, where words aren’t needed. 

Tommy leaves the porch light on. And even if they haven’t said as much yet, it feels like love, all the same. 

Buck leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes for a second, exhaling slowly through his nose. The knot of unease in his chest hasn’t disappeared, not entirely, but it’s loosened just enough for him to get a deep breath and turn the engine off. 

He finally gets out of the car, grabbing his bag from the passenger seat. He walks up the path to the front door, the sound of his boots quiet against the brick. The porch light casts a warm glow over everything, and Buck finds himself smiling, just a little.

Before he can dig out the key Tommy gave him a few weeks ago, the door swings open, and there’s Tommy— hair mussed, barefoot, wearing one of his old threadbare t-shirts that’s too soft for its own good. Buck’s heart unclenches just a little. 

“Did they let you out early for good behavior?” Tommy says by way of greeting, his mouth curling into that little lopsided smirk Buck loves so much. He steps to the side, his back against the open door to let Buck through.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Buck mutters, pausing as he steps inside to meet Tommy’s lips in a soft kiss. While Gerrard didn’t technically let him out early, it was the first time in the last few weeks that he didn’t approach Buck in the last twenty minutes of the shift to saddle him with a ridiculously tedious task–– the kind that takes at least an hour–– and tell him he wasn’t to leave until it was finished. Which meant that Buck actually left the station on time for the first time in the better part of a month. 

“Hi, baby,” Tommy murmurs against Buck’s lips.

Buck exhales, the tension in his chest loosening just a bit as he leans into Tommy, chasing the kiss for a moment longer. His hands come to rest lightly on Tommy’s hips, grounding himself in the familiar feel of his steady, solid warmth.

“Hi,��� he whispers back, his voice low and tired. He lingers there, forehead pressed gently against Tommy’s, letting the moment stretch between them. 

Tommy pulls back slightly, his thumb brushing along Buck’s jaw in a way that feels like both a comfort and a promise. “Rough shift?”

“Uh,” Buck toes his sneakers off, leaving them beside the door next to Tommy’s boots. “Weird one,” he says, trying and failing to suppress the weariness that pulls at the corners of his voice.

He lets his bag drop to the floor beside his shoes as Tommy turns to close the door with a quiet click. Buck watches as he locks up and flips the porch light off, a quiet confirmation of Buck’s suspicions that Tommy turns it on for him, a 60-watt beacon guiding him here, guiding him home.

The realization settles deep in Buck’s chest, spreading warmth through him like a slow-burning fire. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of being cared for like this— so subtly, so consistently, without any sort of fanfare or obligation. It’s not something he had to ask for or fight to get. It’s just here, waiting for him.

Buck swallows hard, the tight knot of exhaustion and frustration from his shift loosening just a little more. Tommy catches the look on Buck’s face, his expression softening as he steps back into Buck’s space.

“C’mon,” Tommy murmurs, his hand finding the small of Buck’s back, the same familiar touch that grounds him every time. 

Buck leans into the touch, letting Tommy steer him toward the couch. He slumps onto it, dropping his head into his hands with a low sigh. Tommy sits beside him, close enough that their knees bump, but doesn’t say anything else. He’s good at that— letting the silence sit until Buck is ready to speak.  

“Gerrard hugged me,” Buck blurts out, his hands tugging at his hair. 

Tommy goes still for a second, and then— “He hugged you?” There’s disbelief in his tone, and when Buck lifts his head to meet Tommy’s eyes, he sees that crooked smirk forming again, fighting to stay serious.

“That’s not even the worst part,” Buck mutters, voice tight with frustration. “He— He told me he’s gonna take me ‘under his wing.’” He tears his hand from his hair long enough to make air quotes around Gerrard’s words.

Tommy blinks. Then snorts.  

“Under his wing?” Tommy echoes. “That’s where all the love and joy of life go to die.”  

Buck huffs out a laugh. He leans back against the couch cushions, his hands falling to his lap. “You’re not helping.”  

“I’m not trying to help yet,” Tommy replies, smirking again. He nudges Buck’s knee with his own. “I’m trying to make you laugh so you don’t spiral. Looks like I’m halfway there.”  

Buck shakes his head, but the small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth anyway.  

“Okay, seriously,” Tommy continues, his voice softening. “What happened?”  

Buck sighs, letting his head fall back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I– I don’t know. He had us line up at the start of shift. Went down the line and was his… usual self to everyone else. And then he got to me and– and…” Buck’s voice trails off, discomfort curling in his gut as he relives the moment. “He– He told me I saved his life and then he hugged me.” He drags his hands down his face. “And now, suddenly, I’m his pet project.”  

Tommy’s brow furrows. “He really hugged you?”

Buck makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Yeah. A hug. Not, like, a friendly slap on the back, but a full-body, completely awkward, get-in-here-son hug. You should’ve seen everyone else’s faces. I thought Eddie was going to keel over.”  

Tommy lets out a low whistle, eyebrows raised. “That’s... something.” He leans back, resting an arm along the top of the couch behind Buck. His fingers slip into Buck’s hair, running through his curls as the silence hangs between them. Buck relaxes into the touch, tipping his head toward Tommy, leaning into the warmth and steadiness of his hand.

“Under his wing,” Buck mutters again, almost to himself. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means you’re officially his new favorite. Congratulations, babe. You’ve leveled up.”

“Oh, yeah. Lucky me,” Buck deadpans, dragging his hands down his face. “Just what I’ve always wanted—mentorship from a guy who makes my skin crawl.”

Tommy lets out a soft chuckle, his fingers still threading gently through Buck’s curls. The silence between them stretches, comfortable but charged, like Tommy is waiting, watching, reading Buck the way he always does. The humor fades from his face, replaced by something softer, more careful. “Okay,” Tommy murmurs after a moment, his fingers brushing lightly along the nape of Buck’s neck. “What’s really going on?”

Buck freezes for a second, caught between wanting to say it and wanting to shove it down. Tommy always has this way of coaxing things out of him without even trying. He approaches him with equal parts gentleness and insistence, like peeling back layers until Buck has no choice but to lay it all bare.

“It’s nothing,” Buck tries, voice thin.

“Evan.” Tommy’s voice is low, steady, patient. His thumb sweeps a slow circle against the back of Buck’s neck. “Talk to me.”

Buck blows out a breath, frustrated more with himself than anything. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair as if it might shake the thoughts loose.

“I don’t even know that I meant to save him,” Buck admits, his voice tight. “I can’t... I can’t tell if I pushed him because I heard the blade, or if I just— snapped.”

Tommy stays quiet for a beat, letting the weight of Buck’s words settle between them. His hand doesn’t leave the back of Buck’s neck, fingers still working in soothing circles. “Maybe it’s both.”

“Both?” Buck glances at him, brow furrowed. 

“Yeah.” Tommy shrugs, his expression steady but kind, his gaze warm with quiet understanding. “You’re not exactly known for your patience, Evan. But that doesn’t mean your instincts aren’t solid. Maybe you snapped, and maybe you also saved his miserable life at the same time. Those things don’t cancel each other out.”  

Buck lets the words sink in, his jaw tightening as he rolls them over in his mind. He exhales slowly, the tight knot in his chest loosening just a bit. “I– I don’t know. I keep thinking, what if– what if it wasn’t instinct? What if it was just... me losing control?”

Tommy’s thumb strokes a slow path along the back of Buck’s neck, and he leans in even closer, their foreheads almost touching. “You’re human,” Tommy says, his voice gentle. “You get angry. You hit your limit. But you wouldn’t have let him die, even if you wanted to knock his teeth out.”

Buck huffs out a wet laugh, shaky but real. “I definitely wanted to knock his teeth out.”

Tommy grins, brushing a kiss against Buck’s temple. “Rightfully so.”

Buck closes his eyes for a moment, letting himself sink into the warmth of Tommy’s presence, the steadiness of his voice, the way his hand stays firm and reassuring on the back of his neck.

“I just don’t want him anywhere near me,” Buck admits, well aware of how petulant and childish he sounds— and yet, he doesn’t care. Something about Tommy makes it easy for Buck to drop the mask he wears everywhere else, to let the frustration and helplessness spill out without fear of judgment. With Tommy, he doesn’t have to be composed or tough all the time; he can just be— messy, tired, and human. Tommy’s presence is like a safety net, one that will catch him no matter how ridiculous he sounds or how tangled his emotions get.

“I don’t know how I’m going to survive this,” Buck mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“You will,” Tommy says without hesitation. “Keep your head down, lean on all of us who’ve got your back, and wait him out. He's going to burn out or screw up sooner or later. You’ve just gotta outlast him.”  

Buck huffs a tired, bitter laugh. “I’m not good at keeping my head down.”

“I know,” Tommy murmurs, his lips brushing the top of Buck’s hair in a soft, steadying touch. “But you’re good at the important stuff— like saving people. Even assholes who don’t deserve it.”

Buck closes his eyes, leaning into Tommy, the familiar weight of his hand still resting on the back of Buck’s neck. The knot in his chest loosens just a little more, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit under the warmth of Tommy’s words. “Yeah, well... maybe I’m getting tired of being good at that.”

Tommy’s arms tighten around him, pulling Buck closer. “That’s okay, too,” Tommy says simply. His voice is barely louder than a whisper, low and steady and full of quiet, unwavering conviction. “You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to carry all of it by yourself.”

Buck closes his eyes, sinking deeper into Tommy’s embrace. This time, when those three little words rest on the tip of his tongue, he doesn’t swallow them down. Even though he knows they won’t ever be enough, he can’t think of anywhere better to start. 

“I love you,” Buck whispers, the words slipping out like an exhale, simple and unforced.

For a moment, Tommy stays perfectly still, as if letting the words settle between them. Then, slowly, a smile curves against Buck’s temple. 

Tommy presses a kiss to the top of Buck’s birthmark, soft and reverent. “I love you, too.” 

And just like that, everything feels lighter. Not perfect. Not fixed. But it’s enough.

It’s quiet between them, the kind of silence Buck used to hate. The kind he used to scramble to fill with words, desperate to bridge the gaps. But here, in Tommy’s arms, the silence feels different. It feels easy. It feels safe. 

It feels like home.

also on ao3

[somerandomcockroach]

"Mistakes on mistakes until" (my speed of reading is that one day where every planet stands in one line)

2 chapter in nutshell

3 chapter in nutshell

[abusivelittlebunny]

Can't believe Ferrari is taking away Charles' emotional support dom top...

(Based on the iconic image of Carlos squeezing Charles' thigh like he's his groupie and Charles looking like he's imagining those big hands parting his thighs forcefully and wreaking havoc inbetween)

[tellydroid]

oop