#save me good boy intak save me

[sunflowerseob]

WRITER LEEPACE THANK YOU FOR MY LIFE OH MY FUCK

The pet play with Intak still being dominant you're sick for that ‼️‼️‼️All of your fics are feeding me so well 🤤

Good Boy ☆ Hwang Intak

18+ MDNI

☆ intak x a!fab reader

☆ wc: 2k

☆ warnings: pet play, cunnilingus, unprotected sex

“It’s just really embarrassing sometimes,” Intak had stormed through the front door, still rambling on about the conversation he was having mostly to himself the entire way home.

There had been one too many jokes at the expense of Intak’s feelings, which was usually only a few. Trying to coax him into taking his mind off something it was set on was always impossible, which is why you let him blabber the entire time from Jiung's to your apartment.

“And really, I don't see it. I don't think I act like a dog at all. It’s like they think I should be drinking out of a bowl,” he continued.

Taking off your shoes, you moved closer towards Intak so that you could wrap your arms around his torso, snaking your hands beneath his leather jacket. It allowed you to smell the earthiness of his cologne.

“You don't think you're a good boy?”

It was mostly a joke, but when you felt Intak gently pull away from your touch, you realized now was not the time to hint at anything funny. His demeanor stiffened as he turned to face away from you.

“This isn't funny, ok? I’m serious,” Intak said, crossing his arms across his chest.

You couldn't see it, but you knew his lips had formed into a pout, his round eyes becoming susceptible to any pleas he may need to let out. Rolling your own eyes, you raised your hand to place it on top of his shoulder, pulling at him to look back in your direction.

His strong upper body practically melting into your palm, Intak barely giving any resistance when you tugged at him. He stepped back, arms still crossed, the suspected pout displaying proudly across his face. You could also see how his pants had slightly tightened, Intak’s stance only shifting so that he could grab at the fabric, trying to hide the fact that your words had awakened something in him.

“I can see why they compare you so much,” you started, Intak staring at the floor. “You’ve got those big puppy dog eyes, and I don't think your current attitude is helping your case. You look like you've got your tail in between your legs.”

Your hand left his shoulder as you turned to walk further into the apartment. Making your way towards your shared bedroom, you felt a tug at your hand, pulling you back into close proximity to Intak. You should have known better, Intak not being able to let this go, similarly to how a dog refuses to drop a toy.

He pouted, looking as though he was ready to stomp his feet down like a stubborn child. “If I’m a dog, then I’m the ones that bite and bark,” it was like he had grown in size as he straightened his back.

Not letting go of you, Intak tugged you by your hand to lead where you were originally heading. His grip was strong, like he was desperate to get you into the bedroom. And he was; the moment he stopped, Intak got to work by tearing off your clothes, turning around again for you to see his tented pants.

“I think it’s cuter than that,” you confessed after lifting your arms for him to remove your shirt, the fabric going over your head. “Unless you wanted to prove me wrong?”

Intak’s mouth connected to your neck, his tongue lapping at the skin before using his teeth to bite down. Leaving kisses behind, he trailed upward before latching his lips onto yours, hungry and wet. Reaching for your hips, he pressed himself against you, making you feel the growing hardness that was trapped in his jeans.

It made you disconnect your lips, a short string of spit forming between the two of you as you broke away. “You’re one sick puppy.”

A sigh came out of Intak, his grip around your hips tightening enough for him to lift your feet off the floor, throwing you onto the bed. The billowing comforter broke your fall, but his sudden dominance still took away all of the air in your lungs. He was quick to get on top of you, his large stature overtaking your vision. He kissed you once more on the lips before trailing back your neck.

His movements were painstakingly slow, licking and nipping at the thin skin. Making his way down, he got to your collarbone only to begin to suction his lips around it, creating a large hickey. Lifting his head, Intak admired his work before returning to his current task. Using one hand to grope at your breast, his mouth went to the other, flicking over your nipple with his tongue. With goosebumps rising across your arms, you shivered under his touch.

He detached his mouth from your chest to go lower, carelessly sprinkling kisses down your stomach, stopping at your navel. The only thing keeping Intak away from your bare skin was your underwear, which he swiftly tore down your legs so that you were on full display for him. His eyes were transfixed on your pussy, taking in the fat lips and pink folds that encompassed your clit. You caught him rutting down against the bed, his hips moving to relieve the growing ache in his groin.

Intak had gotten low enough so that he was at eye level with your cunt, placing the pad of his thumb without any warning. Soft moans came from above, escaping your lips as he started to play around with your clit, rubbing counter clockwise circles and using his pointer to squeeze it between his fingers. Your moans became a desperate whimper the more he toyed with you, creating a half smile forming on Intak’s face.

“I’m not sick,” Intak started, the pressure on your clit becoming heavier. “I’m loyal, to this, to you,” he was still on the trajectory of being man’s best friend.

Sinking his head down with your legs hiked up against his shoulders, he licked a strip from bottom to top, immediately covering you with his saliva. Opening your tightly shut eyes, you looked down to find him already staring back at you, his pupils blown as he suctioned his plump lips around your clit.

The connection was overwhelming as you met Intak by rolling your hips, burying his face, soaking it with the slick between your legs. He grunted in response, clear in his enjoyment of eating you out and the way you tasted. He made you yelp out when he grazed his teeth, taunting the inflamed skin. Instead of biting down though, he flattened his tongue to lap against your swollen clit, once, twice, with an eagerness that sent a message to the growing heat inside your gut.

Intak’s lips parted, lifting his head only so that his mouth was free to move, his hot breath still blowing against your cunt. He placed a hand just below your navel. “I’m going to fuck you so deep I reach your stomach.”

Thrown into a tailspin, you responded by whining out, the lack of touch being completely torturous with his sentencing given to you. You didn't have to say anything for him to lower his head again, his wet chin disappearing. This time his grip around your stomach tightening and his other hand reached for your thigh, his fingertips indenting the fatty flesh. Ignoring your clit, he skipped it to lick his way inside of your hole.

Your hands went to his hair, his moppy bangs being the perfect reigns for you to grab onto. He groaned against your leaking cunt again, creating a vibration that rippled through your body. His velvety tongue swirled, fucking you open to take his cock.

Drawing back, Intak rested his weight against his heels so that he could lift his shirt about his head, hastily continuing to undress by fumbling with the button of his jeans. Roughly shaking them off his legs along with his underwear, he revealed the precum that had poured out of his dick, and how it was smeared across the head. He hissed out when he wrapped his fingers around it, pumping his fist a few times before lining himself up.

Before nudging his cock inside, Intak rutted it against your pink needy lips, rocking back and forth between the shiny folds of your pussy. It was warm and obscene, the sound of him rubbing against you ringing in your ears. The contact made you shake, the anticipation making you grab at his hips, your fingernails digging at his sides. He got the message that way, slipping his cock further down so that it was pressing against your pillowy hole.

“Am I a good boy?” He asked, resisting from moving further until you answered.

You squirmed under him, rocking your hips, doing anything to try and get him inside of you. When you didn't answer, he asked again.

“Am I a good boy? Tell me,” He whined, his voice innocent in comparison to his actions.

“You’re a good boy! You’re a good boy,” you practically shouted, dripping with desperation.

“I’m you’re good boy. Only yours,” his words were met with him thrusting forward, the tip of his cock stretching out your hole to take the rest that followed, sinking down until he bottomed out. His hanging jaw let out a string of curse words and groans as he felt you convulse around him, hooking your legs to wrap them around his waist, pushing him irresistibly deeper.

Intak’s hips jerked back, only to come crashing down onto yours. His pace was unforgiving from the start, the heavy scent of sweat and sex filling the air. The inside of your brain had turned into mush the longer he fucked into you, the length of his cock filling every inch of your clenched cunt. He barely had room to breath, swearing you could feel him reach your cervix whenever he got especially needy with his harsh strokes.

The crook of your neck was overtaken by Intak, his hair in the perfect position for you to latch onto, hearing breathy moans coming from where he had hidden his fucked out features. A hand went to your breast, kneading, before taking your nipple into his fingers, giving it a twist.

You pulled the hair at his neck. “Intak–, fuck, please,” you begged for nothing in particular.

Intak raised his head, his hands going to either side of you so that he could raise his body above you. “Please what? Do you want to cum?”

His steady pace slowed, dragging his cock against your walls as he restrained. Shaking your head yes, you dropped your legs to begin to meet his thrusts shamelessly. In response, Intak grabbed at your waist to stop you from moving, quickly reaching down to then grab at your thigh to hitch it above his shoulder, his arms now wrapped around your leg.

Rolling his hips, his cock was flushed against you, throbbing, until he reeled back to continue the pace he started with. He dragged you towards him, working his hips hard. “You’re going to cum around my cock,” his hips buckled with his demands “And I’m going to fill you up until you're leaking.”

It was like Intak had pushed you off the side of a cliff, making you fall into your orgasm with no way out. It rippled through you, causing you to tighten your grip around his cock. His strokes became short, barely managing to move in the tightness. You could feel how it pulsed, begging to coat your insides. He thrusted once, twice, and then he was coming, his short nails digging into your thigh, allowing him to fuck himself through his orgasm.

Letting go of your leg so that it dropped back onto the bed, he snaked his way back up to kiss you, the lingering taste of you still on his lips. Intak kissed as if he was never going to kiss you ever again, licking into your mouth with a desperation. He stayed there inside of you until he was soft, breaking away from the kiss to take the spot on the bed next to you with a huff.

You looked over to him in a daze. “How about a leash and collar next time?”

Intak didn't have to answer to let you know how he felt about that idea, a blush spreading from his ears to his chest, and the lame twitch of his softened dick.

[peppermintquartz]

Praiseworthy

--

"Tell me about how it's been for you these past couple days."

With a soft moan, Buck releases Tommy's neck from his mouth's exploration and peers at him, confused. "I already did."

Tommy weaves his fingers into Buck's curls and scratches lightly on his scalp. Buck's eyes flutter shut at how good that feels.

"Tell me how you saved the days," Tommy amends. "Without mentioning that old git. Tell me. Start with how you saved the little girl and her mom from the bee-covered car."

Buck is trying to remember how to form words, his skin tingling from Tommy's gentle caress of his scalp and the not-so-gentle petting of his belly. That same hand is drifting down to his hip.

"Um. We were using CO2, didn't work," Buck murmurs. Losing himself to Tommy's touches, Buck lets the words unfurl freely, his legs tangling with Tommy's. "And the intake was jammed. Couldn't - ah! - couldn't hose the bees away."

Tommy hums, his left hand rubbing soothing circles into Buck's hip, while his right is still giving Buck the best scalp massage in a long while. "So what did you do?"

"Something had caught fire, and. And I remembered that. Smoke. Beekeepers use smoke to dampen bees' senses, make them - ohh, please, Tommy, that feels - make them docile." Buck feels a little lightheaded. That is a common symptom of making out with Tommy, but today every move Tommy makes seems purposeful. Buck moans softly when Tommy's fingers dip under his waistband, even as Tommy encourages him to keep talking. He swallows, licks his lips. "Told Eddie. Told Eddie to direct the smoke. At the car. I, uh, ahhh. Tommy. Tommy."

Tommy's hand is inside Buck's shorts. "Yeah? Come on, keep talking," he says innocently, as if his index finger hasn't just been nudging at Buck's hole moments ago.

Gulping in another breath, Buck continues. "The smoke worked. The bees... calmed down. Got them off one side of the car, got the mom and girl out." He gasps when his boyfriend slides his big hand from its place on Buck's ass to the front to gently grasp his hard, leaking cock.

"You're so well-read," Tommy murmurs approvingly. "Keeping all that knowledge in your gorgeous and adorable head. I love how much you know about the world."

"Yeah? Really?" Buck feels like he can melt into Tommy's voice.

"Mm hmm. Now tell me about the perfume launch."

Rolling his hips slowly as Tommy starts stroking him, Buck murmurs, "The perfume... Oh, oh, please Tommy, more, please?" When Tommy doesn't tighten his grip the way Buck wants him to, he whines, "Please, Daddy?"

Tommy huffs a laugh. He knows what Buck is trying to do, and two can play at that game. "Tell me what you did, baby boy, and Daddy will give you what you want," he says. Promises, with a wink.

Buck pouts, but the effect is lost when Tommy twists his wrist a specific way, which instead makes Buck shudder.

"Perfume launch lady. Um. Told us that, that her assistant is stuck under water, breathing through a hose." The words tumble out. Buck hisses in a sharp breath when Tommy runs the pad of his thumb over his slit, and whimpers again when Tommy does it a second time.

"And what did you do to get her out of it?"

"I overheard. Someone, um, someone. Talking about. Perfume, and-and asked to, to see it." Buck closes his eyes, floats in the sensations of Tommy's voice rumbling in his chest and his warm grip of Buck's erection and strong fingers still massaging his scalp. "The scent was floral... But it had, um. Banana."

"And what was so special about banana, sweet boy? Can you tell Daddy more, please?"

Buck whines high in his throat. "Floral scents attract pollinators like bees," he manages, "and banana riles them up, makes them - mmm - defensive."

"You're so brilliant," Tommy praises. "I didn't know that. I'm so lucky to have a clever and beautiful boy." He pauses his ministrations to kiss Buck deeply, drinking in a faint whine. Then his hand resumes moving. "But it doesn't answer my question, darling. How did you get the bees away from that poor assistant?"

Now Buck has to giggle. "Made Eddie bait." He nuzzles Tommy and says, "He was already suited up, and, mmm, he looked so cute with that dumb moustache. Chimney and I doused him with the perfume. Made him run really fast. Mmmm. Daddy, don't stop."

Tommy is laughing, his whole frame shaking, and his hands are on Buck's hip and shoulder now. "You made Eddie killer bee bait?"

"Yep." Buck preens and nudges Tommy's cheek with his nose. "It worked very well too. We got the woman out. Any longer and she'd have died."

"You're really amazing," Tommy says, turning his face into Buck's arched neck, kissing tiny nipping kisses all along that exposed column. Nothing that will leave marks. "You're really something else, sweet boy, you make me so proud of you every time you show just how capable and resourceful you are. I wanna show you off to the world so so much."

"Really?" Buck asks breathlessly, his chest tight from emotion. Before this moment, he didn't think he needed to hear all that validation, but the praise flowing so freely and sincerely from Tommy is making his skin tingle and his heart pound, even more than the purposeful petting and groping. His throat feels like it's closing with tears, and he buries his face in the closest part of Tommy - his big, strong shoulder - and his eyes are stinging.

With another gulp of air, he gives himself over to pure sensation, letting Tommy's words wash over him and fill him up, letting Tommy's hands draw pleasure from his core out into the open air, letting Tommy's love soothe the thousand little hurts he's been enduring at work. It's not that long before his teeth are pressed to Tommy's shoulder, tongue flat against his skin, as his hips jerk helplessly against his lover and he comes and comes, wrapped in a hazy cocoon of praise and adoration woven from Tommy's voice and sure handling.

Afterwards, when his mind is more his own, he murmurs, "You must think I'm so needy. It must be exhausting to deal with me. With my... I don't know, my neuroses."

"Where did you get that idea from?" Tommy asks, draped partly over the younger man, nose pressed to Buck's soft cheek.

"I don't know why I can't just do my job and not, you know, want an Attaboy now and again. Like, Chimney and Eddie just get on with it. Hen doesn't even seem to be mentally present some days, and she is still incredible at her job." Buck sighs. "Sometimes I feel like I never did leave behind Buck 1.0."

"You're you, whatever version you think you are," Tommy replies. "And the Evan Buckley I know is a quick-thinking, spontaneous, resourceful, and kind man. You're not needy for wanting validation, especially since you have put in work to know that much. It's nice to be seen." With a grunt, Tommy leans over Buck and peers down into the younger man's eyes. "And you're not exhausting to love, Evan. You're so easy to love. So deserving of it. I'll praise you every damn day until you see that for yourself."

[sunflowerhae]

-Forever.

• established relationship!hyuck, sickening sweet fluff, feeding into yalls delusions BAD. I just need haechan something evil yall and with the sadness surrounding the SMAU im writing abt him , I need to share some love.

• main masterlist

♬　 ❛ (｡•̀ᴗ-)✾🐚 ˚　♡　 𐚱

If every word I said could make you laugh,

I’d talk forever

I asked the sky just what we had,

It shown forever

If the song I sing to you could fill your heart with joy,

I’d sing forever

I’d be so happy loving you

Let the love I have for you

Live in your heart and be Forever

Donghyuck needed to stop staring.

At this point it was getting uncomfortable. Not in a “you’re a creep and need to stop looking at me” way, but instead a “my boyfriend is looking straight into my soul with the look that his whole existence is in the palm of my hands and I’m just trying to eat a sandwich” way. You laugh slightly as you finally acknowledge the look on your boyfriend’s face, setting down your lunch as you stare back at him with upraised eyebrows, “can I help you, lover boy?”

He sighs softly, looking down at his untouched food before glancing back up at you. You see the blush on his face - coated across his cheeks like an Aurora borealis in the night sky. He picks at his nails, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say your outgoing, extrovertive, attention needing boyfriend of 3 years was…shy. You stare at the sight, trying to imprint it on your mind; burn it into your memory. Donghyuck continues his gentle gaze with a laugh, “just looking at my beautiful girlfriend - what’s so wrong with that?” You roll your eyes and pick your food back up. If he was going to act weird, you were going to ignore him. After all, these little lunch dates in between the two of yours busy schedules were sometimes the only opportunity for you to intake substance in your jam packed day, so regardless of hyuck’s…unusual…attitude, you’ll continue eating.

You just finished taking a bite of your sandwich, and was currently chewing in peace when Donghyuck suddenly popped a question so insane that it was quite literally the last thing you would ever expect him to ask in a subway at 12:42pm on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, “y/n, will you marry me?”

He watched as your eyes went wide, and the bite in your mouth threatened to kill you as you coughed and reached for your soda. After a good 30 seconds of struggle, with Donghyuck just staring at you with a red face, silently handing you napkins to clean up, you finally managed a, “Thanks,” before continuing with a mumble, “Donghyuck respectfully what the fuck.” It’s not that you didn’t want to marry the man in front of you. In fact, it was only two nights ago that you were scrolling on Pinterest in boredom, saving wedding inspo pics to a board you effectively titled “Y/n and Donghyuck <3”. This, however, was never the way you envisioned him asking you. Ignoring the fact that the both of you were still in college, and had $2,566.12 saved in your bank accounts (collectively) - you also still lived with your roommates, and while you know there’s never a “right time” to tie the knot with your forever person, maybe right now wasn’t that time. You were honestly confused, because this was never really something you and donghyuck talked about. Sure, you had conversations about the future - but to you the future was years down the road when you were both financially ready for that type of thing. You suppose that for Donghyuck, the future was now.

You sat in stilled breath, waiting for your boyfriend’s reply as he looked down, gathering his thoughts. You felt bad - you don’t want him to think you’re rejecting him. You chose this as the moment to reach across the table and grab his hand in yours, softly squeezing it and smiling gently at him when he looks back up at you. With a deep sigh, donghyuck explains, “I’m sorry, I really don’t know where that came from. I wasn’t expecting to ask you that. I just…I don’t know what it is right now but I just felt like I had to ask. I needed to hear what you would say, I guess,” he trails off, connecting his thoughts together again, “you just…you don’t understand what you do to me, y/n.” He blushes again, as you cock your head to the side.

“What do you mean?” He laughs in almost disbelief, as if he can’t believe you don’t see it.

“I think of you 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 12 months a year, y/n. I always thought I knew love, I thought I could see it; that I could handle it. But then I met you. You changed my chemistry. You changed who I am as a person. I thought I lived for myself, my future. But as the years have gone by, I realize more and more every day that I really just live for you; your smile, your laugh, your love. I live to have you near me, to have your attention on me. Everytime you talk to me, look at me - even if I think you’re thinking of me - a chill runs up my spine and I feel sick, in the best way. It’s like a drug, what you do to me. I always felt this way about you in some form, and I thought when we first got together that was the most of it. I thought it would calm down and I would get comfortable. But I haven’t, really I haven’t. It’s gotten worse, y/n. I used to think of you a lot, now I think of you every moment; what you’re doing, who you’re with, how soon until you’re with me. I would do anything for you. You could ask me to run across the world, I’d do it. I don’t know what lengths I would go to for you, and I don’t really want to know to be honest. But I do know that the thought of not spending the rest of my life in your gaze, in your arms…that’s no life for me. We don’t have to get married now. But I want to, one day…soon. I want to make sure I have you forever, if you’ll take me.” He finishes with a sigh, sitting back in his chair in relief, like he finally got something off his chest that he was harboring for a while. You can barely see him, what with the tears pouring out of your eyes at a concerning rate. Donghyuck finally finds the courage to look at you, and immediately his own eyes go wide as he leans forward and dabs at your eyes with a clean napkin. You just sit there and let him do so, frozen. Finally, after a minute or so, he finishes and sits back to normal, suddenly anxious as he bites at his nails, “say something, please. I feel like a loser right now.” He laughs softly, obviously uncomfortable with how much emotion he suddenly shared.

“Donghyuck,” you softly exclaim, “I love you so much, I really don’t know what to say. I’ve never had anyone say that about me. I’ve never…” you can’t finish your sentence, the choke in your throat cutting you off. It was Donghyuck’s turn to comfort you, holding your hand tightly as if to say, “it’s okay…I know”. You nod at him, your chin wobbling as you find the strength to finish, “you have me completely, hyuck. I’m never going anywhere. Not today, not tomorrow - never. We can take all the time we want, you’ve got me forever.” His smile that spreads at your words is infectious, the both of you staring at each other in a warm glow of love and happiness, feeling complete together. Maybe you won’t get married soon, but it doesn’t matter, because the both of you know that you have forever.

[wandagcre]

What about Sam having a hyper energy golden retriever gf??

sam with a hyper golden retriever girlfriend

(gif not mine, credits to who owns them)

OH BOY. you weren't only a sunshine for sam but fueled with an unmatched high energy, you were basically a deadly combination for her

deadly in a way where sam sometimes can't keep up with you BUT tries hard to do so because she absolutely adores how you light up the room! she refuses to make you uncomfortable or ashamed in any way <3

it's like, she's sleepy? but you're still rambling and tugging on her arm? NOT ANYMORE. you can see sam fighting it off and you give a hearty chuckle because she's reaaally close to dozing off she looks so silly you can barely see her pretty brown eyes anymore 🥺

seriously, sam can't remember the last time someone made her smile this MUCH. all of her facial muscles are working overtime whenever she's around you!! it's so infectious it warms her heart ;(

texts between you two are the funniest 😭

sam: Good Morning ☺️❤️

you: OH MY GOD

you: the absolute love of my freaking life.

you: my precious girlfriend. finally you have graced me with your existence. i could not be anymore glad about this thank you, thank you 🥰

sam: We have been dating for 2 years now? And I'm coming to your house later BTW

you: your point????

sam: Ha. I love you, silly goose :,) 💐

[also you: had been bombing her notifs over cute pictures and videos for the past hour and sam will check them religiously and react one by one on her free time, ASAP]

would kill (considers it in literal sense) if someone was responsible for your mood drop in an instant. sam is worried and already beside you to try and comfort you because?? who dares to disrupt your sunshine self?? it's equivalent to kicking a cute puppy for her!

keeps you away from energy or any caffeinated drinks 😭 besides that it was a death sentence given your nature, she'll insist how they're super unhealthy and you're shocked that sam's literally listing all of the cons of it - you're surprised why she is ranting about your kidneys and all? 😭

AND YOUR PUPPY EYES? no, sam will not cave in. (sam totally would) (she will end up doing a deal with you to balance things up)

in return, she'll check on your daily water intake because that's more replenishing for your body

LOVES YOUR BIG GESTURES. the way you talk with your limbs involved and all the sound effects, it's pleasing to her honestly sam has never seen someone look so endearing and highly entertaining of a storyteller as you are

you probably see the goodness in people and tries so hard to understand that and sam admires you so sooo much for that ;( literally, you're her angel

she probably has you saved on her contacts as "(y/n/n) ☀️🥰🐶"

and that trait of yours probably what made sam to be at ease with you. usually she's closed off but even with you knowing the truth about her life, how she had this grim upbringing, you just sat there soaking all the information up with attentive eyes and comforting touch on her hand

sam doesn't expect that it will lead to an eventual romantic relationship between you two or how your soothing presence has made her try her hardest to open up more and more to you!! ;(

and what she likes is that you match your words with actions. whether it's good or bad, she loves the transparency and honesty. it proves that you're not faking anything. sam thinks that's rare to have these days and you being like that? makes her love you so sooo much even more ;((

like literally, it's 3/4 core four + you on the top of her list oh my goddd

sam would be surprised at your bursts of energetic moments especially in public for the first time, sometimes even later on, but embarrassed? never! it's new to her and you're just there beaming and not caring about what others think. she thinks you're the cutest for that!! <333

[i-smoke-chapstick]

damn ur last pengy smut was 🔥🔥🔥 in those 3 imagines with him ive read u write the character so fucking accurate like u actually feel him. can we have more of a needy bird boy? smth with him being all pent up but not wanting the reader to think he only sees her like that? powerful men are hot when vulnerable😈

'CURTAINS,

-GOTHAM!OSWALD COBBLEPOT X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; really just oswald and reader fucking.

⋆ tags/warnings. small GOTHAM!oswald x female reader. SMUT!!!! Somewhat of a character study but not really. Oswald wants to be a gentleman so bad. Inspired by Frankie Carbone's death scene in 1x07. Oswald being needy. Bondage. Oswald's canon praise kink. Lots of open-mouthed kisses because he can't help himself.

♫ “It's not over till it's over baby. / I stepped outside myself so transcending. / The lights go dim and every sin, that ever was, will always be a perfect part of me.” Curtains by Jackie Vae

He can't help it. He never can. Deep down he's just a silly, love-starved little boy. You've struck him, amused him, amazed him. How could he not gift you with whatever you wish? His true love. How you stay with him enthralls him everyday. Maybe that's why he can't help himself.

He was raised to be a gentleman. He was supposed to be saving himself. For marriage. He dreamed of that night for so long. Perhaps, it's came a bit early.

Every bit of you is on fire. Your arms tied to the bedframe, chained together by his own sleeve garters. You watched as he took every inch of you in, savoring you like the wine he adores. Enchanting blue-green eyes mesmerized by your every breath, every moan, every sound he elicits with every thrust.

The way he speaks. Murmured praises on his parched lips, aching to speed up.

"Good girl." He whispers, half-incoherently, expression twisted into a grimace of pure ecstasy. His chest rises and falls as he pants on top of you, hanging onto threads of self-control.

"So good to me. So precious, baby. So good." He's babbling, moving as slow as he can, feeling his cock piercing you deep. When you cry out, trying to bounce against him through your restraints, body begging for more friction, he has the kindness to offer you a quick chuckle.

"Patience, my dear." He whispers against your lips, coming down to kiss away your eagerness. His tongue sweeps the bottom of your mouth, begging to taste you. It feels warm and wet, the way he worships you.

"I have no more patience." You whimper, yelping against him and his defiance. He half-heartedly rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue. Such a brat. He thinks. His beautiful brat.

His hand traverses up your body, jaw-clenched tight as he moves against you; still inside your core. He grabs your face in his fingers, offering you just a taste. A particular hard thrust causes the both of you to moan, his hips stuttering. He throws his head back as he groans, taking the time to savor the feeling.

He wants too speak. Talk down to you. Tell you you're behaving like a slut, a hussy, but he knows it'd be hypocritical, seeing as how he's tied you up like his own personal gift. He cringes in pleasure before opting to take the leather between his teeth- keeping eye-contact with you, as he pulls away to untie your restraints. Self-control be damned.

Those big beautiful colorful eyes of his, they never leave your own. Now untied, your hands immediately go to his back, forcing him up and down. His pace finally speeds up.

The world around you is a blur as he cradles your head. He looks down at you, his mouth open and eyebrows together. He pounds into you- and you feel the mattress shake. You watch his face contort in euphoria, and scrunch together with a sharp intake of air as he reaches his orgasm.

As you both cum, sticky ropes filling you up, he leans in. An intimate kiss placed to your lips, slow and all-consuming. And another, placed to your forehead. He rocks back and forth as finishes, gently hushing you and your cries of pleasure through his own shakiness. You feel how he pets your hair, still fucking you through your orgasm.

He finally rests his forehead against your own- breathing against your mouth, still kissing and sucking the ghosts of kisses on your lips.

He can't help himself. He never can. You're too lovely.

[covetyou]

some good friend - pt. 1

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3

pairing: Tim Rockford x Soft Dom!Sex Worker!f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: pegging, anal fingering, praise kink, mild glove kink, very mild feminization, masturbation, Tim has body image issues and a bit of an identity crisis, kind of coming untouched, sex work, comfort word count: 7k summary: Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it. And it made him nervous.

A/N: finally, my boy Tim sees the light of day. I've been working on this for a while, and it's been nice to try something a little different. I hope you like it (and someone, anyone, please, stop me from making this a 3 part series too late, it's going to be a series)

divider by @saradika-graphics follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

Everything burns. His lungs, his legs, his goddamned feet.

He wasn't made for this. Not any more. His fucking shoes definitely weren't made for this - a fact made more and more obvious with every harsh, sharp, slap of his soles against the ground. Gone were the days of intense foot chases. They'd long since been replaced with hours spent at his desk, in interview rooms, searching the stacks in the archive room. The only saving grace was at the very least he was accustomed to low light - the dimly lit rooms he frequented coming in handy now as he thuds along in the semi-darkness, chasing after someone who is more shadow than man.

The drizzle of a cold October day certainly isn't helping either. He's coated in a fine mist of rain and soaked through to the marrow. His shoes - these fucking shoes - skid on the wet road, threatening injury with each turn of a corner. Every intake of breath blooms pain in his chest, each gasp seeming to draw in more water than air. That is, of course, if the biting chill of the wind doesn't swipe it all out of his mouth first.

He's drowning. Drowning and suffocating and burning all in one, but he can't stop. He can't will his legs to stop, even through the burn. Stopping means he loses, and he cannot lose. Not again. Not with this case.

But then, he turns a corner and the shadow is gone, faded into the darkness of an unlit alley, and out of his grasp once again.

Shit.

The ache is settled well into his bones by the time he gets home in the early hours of the morning. His tie sits damp in his jacket pocket - discarded at the roadside in a fit of rage and stomped into the wet ground, only to be picked up and pocketed a moment later. He liked that tie. His holsters tug uncomfortably at his shoulders, the twist of his body as he was running having shifted them to where they now pinch uncomfortably at his underarms. He can't wait to discard it all, to take off the whole damn lot - and these fucking shoes - and pretend for just one moment that he's not who he is.

So, he begins to shed the skin of Detective Tim Rockford.

The shoes go first. The jacket second. And then he removes his gun, stashing it in its case where it belongs and throwing his holster at his closet, where he'll no doubt struggle to find it again tomorrow. The burning sear of a shower is the last thing left to rid himself of the title that hangs over him, but instead he walks to his office. He needs to be Detective for just a moment longer.

It's tidier and more comfortable in here than it has any right to be. Dark wood, soft leather, neat folders, and blank papers. Of course, it's neat because he's rarely here to use it, preferring to use the space given to him downtown where a plaque sits on his desk telling all and sundry that Detective Tim Rockford works here. Here, in this room, he can be a little less Detective and a little more him.

He flops heavily into his chair, a move he immediately regrets when he feels the relief of taking the weight off his feet. How he'll ever get up from here, he doesn't know. Maybe he'll sleep here. Halfway between Detective and himself, stuck in some weird limbo where he is both and neither all at once. That'll lead to some good dreams.

Tim thinks of you. This was the place for that kind of thing, after all. This office where he is himself and someone else, the perfect parts of a person to be liaising with someone like you. Because that's what it was with you, a liaison. Nothing more, nothing less. And you, everything that you were, were his last chance for some good news before he peeled back the rest of the Detective and became himself for a few blissful hours.

Pulling a card from a drawer, he flips it in his fingers once, then twice before tapping it on his desk. You'd given it to him on his last visit - your address and number emblazoned on the front, both things he no longer needed to see to know, and a small list of services on the other side. Services that he ignored when you'd first pointed them out to him with a wink, but that he'd since spent a long time mulling over and, on occasion, searching in an incognito window of his browser.

With a heavy sigh, he picks up the phone, dialing your number from memory, and waits for you to pick up. Anyone else would be furious with a 4am phonecall, but not you. For a while he thought it was what suited your work best - common sense, and his years on the job, had taught him that illicit activities so often were better suited to darkness than daylight. But he'd seen clients leave your studio in the middle of the day on more than one occasion. No, by this point he simply suspected you didn't sleep at all.

A click of the call connecting, a soft breath down through the line, and there you are, the lilt of your voice ringing through his ear like music.

"Detective Rockford, how nice of you to call. What can I interest you in this fine morning?"

He pinches his nose, card still gripped tightly between his middle fingers. You did this every time, no matter the time of day or night. You were always on, always ready to try to rile him and get into his bloodstream. He'd admonished you once, told you he was only trying to do his job and he expected you to do the same. When you told him you were doing your job, Tim had to admit you got him there. You were both professionals, just in very, very different ways. From then on, he'd learned to appreciate it. Even if it did make him ache sometimes in ways he thought best to ignore.

"You got any news for me?"

You scoff down the phone. A light sound, but he can picture you rolling your eyes with it anyway. "Always so charming, Detective. Diving straight in without any foreplay at all. You can do better than that. Sweeten me up a little before you -"

"Please."

He sounds desperate in a way you haven't heard before. A year into your arrangement and he'd never sounded so bone tired and stressed out. You can even hear the pinch in his brow over the phone, the wrinkles there getting deeper and deeper the longer you knew him.

"It's been quiet, Detective. I doubt I have the names you're after, but a few whispers have been floating around. The case with the cat still causing you problems?"

From the heavy sigh he gives you can tell it's not what he was after, but that it is, indeed, still causing him problems.

"Well, I heard that..."

And so, you divulge your secrets, secrets that aren't really yours to have or to give, but you give them anyway. Whispers and names softly delivered down the phone line where he scribbles them down on a blank sheet of paper, careful not to indent the pages below it.

The pen clatters to the desk when you finish. You both know you haven't given him what he needs, but if Tim's honest with himself he isn't always sure what he needs from you any more. Though, he knows what he wants. Yes, he's frequently made painfully aware of what he wants.

"Anything you need?" he asks, his voice sounding tight with frustration. You can't blame him any more than you can hold back the laugh that trickles from your lips.

"Nothing right now. Here I was thinking that was my line anyway, Detective. The things I could do for you, if you'd let me."

Tim's eyes are drawn to the card again, now face up on the desk beside the scrawl of information you'd just given him. Truth be told, your services are as emblazoned in his mind as the details on the front of the card. Sometimes, like right now, he could barely get that list out of his mind long enough to think straight.

That's the moment when, after a long day at the end of an even longer week, part Detective but part just him, he gives in to what he's been fighting himself for for almost a year, and clears his throat.

"Like what? What... what exactly could you do for me?"

You're caught between surprise and glee, briefly straightening where you lounge in your chair. Softening back into the plush fabric, you dance a finger across your lower lip, wry smile tugging at your mouth as you think of the very many things you could do for him.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I thought you'd never ask."

Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it.

And it made him nervous.

He was in half a mind to walk away, but it was too late. His knuckles had already rapped against the wood, and you were already flicking the latch on the other side, readying to let him in.

When you do he's stunned, just like he always is when he sees you. This time you're half naked, a thin robe draped over your shoulders and left untied at the front. Beneath it you're wrapped in soft mesh lingerie, your nipples visible through the fabric as you beckon him inside.

The space - your studio - was a simple office unit in an undesirable part of town, but you made it work. As funny as it felt to admit, it was familiar to him now, and there was a comfort in that that was already easing the swell of nerves in his body. It wasn't always this way, of course, that first visit being eye opening both figuratively and literally. Furniture and furnishings that were odd were now somewhat normal, and the soft, rich, scent that permeated the room was one that he now associated only with you and this place you existed within. It was a smell too, he notices, that is so much stronger today than it has ever been on any of his previous visits, and he breathes in deeply, both to savor it and to calm the last of the nerves vibrating in his core.

When you shut the door, closing off the world outside, you stand before him again, looking a picture of sultry confidence as you size him up. This wasn't something that was new. You often stood there, letting your gaze wander up and down his body, lingering in places that made him flush red as you taunted him with flirty quips he'd ignore. This time is no different, and he finds himself mesmerized by the way you toy with the ties on your robe as you eye him, fingers gliding up and down the fabric.

"Are you here on your business, or mine, Detective?" you say with a smile, drawing his gaze from your fingers to your face. It was a long running joke, something you said each and every time he visited you here, despite the answer always being the same. But today, finally, it would be different.

Tim rolls his eyes, just as he always does, but instead of replying with a curt mine, he lets a smile pull at his lips instead. "Yours."

"Music to my ears. And you still want to do this? You're ready?"

You both knew that had a double meaning. In the literal physical sense, he knows he's as ready as he could possibly be. But he still takes a moment to check in with himself, to see if going through with all of it is something that he still wants. If those whispers down the phone, whispers that had quickly turned from flirty promises to guidance, to gasps, to relief, were what he still wanted. Would it be worth it, or was it a momentary blip of weakness and want? But then he remembers that relief once again, the soothing of that ache like sitting down off of pained feet, and can only imagine how much better that will feel here, with you, in this room. He's ready.

Tim nods, prompting you to take another step forward. The smell isn't the room at all, he notices. It's you. The fragrance clinging to your hair or your skin, he's not sure, but so much stronger each time you move.

"Good," you say on your slow approach. Barely a step from him you reach out, tugging on his jacket and straightening his tie before letting your palm rest on his chest. The soft stroke of your fingers does nothing to soothe the rapid hammering of the muscle pumping in his chest cavity, but you suppose it wasn't meant to. You wanted him excited and desperate for it. He'd already shown you how beautiful he could be for you over the phone - all whines and whimpers and yes ma'am's. Now you wanted the real thing.

"Why don't you get all of this off for me."

Before now, Tim had wondered how you started these things - how you went from 0 to seemingly 100 with clients to get them in through the door and out in the allotted time frame. He hadn't expected it to be so quick, or so easy. Maybe he just hadn't expected himself to be so quick, or so easy, but he's tugging at his tie before you even move away to settle against your desk with your ankles crossed.

"That's it, Detective," you prompt, letting your robe slip from your shoulders and pool at your elbows as he stuffs the tie into his pocket. "I want to see all of you."

And he wants you to see all of him. He wants to take off everything that makes him Detective Tim Rockford right in front of you, and have you take control, tell him what to do, make his mind blissfully empty. So, first he kicks off his shoes, then he takes off his jacket. Slowly, his shirt is peeled from his body, the nerves racketing up again with each button. He doesn't look how he did 10 years ago, he was less lean and more soft than he had ever been, the middle aged spread proving to be a fact of life he couldn't escape.

You know what he's thinking as his fingers stall on the last few buttons of his shirt. You'd dealt with these insecurities before, in countless other clients. You weren't immune to similar thoughts either. But, he'd told you he wanted to let go, to give up control with you, so you nod to the remainder of his clothes and prompt again.

"Come now. Let me see."

Tim's fingers work quickly over the last buttons and pull the shirt from his broad frame just as quickly, giving no time for the nerves to take root. You voice the sound of your smile the moment his shirt is discarded and he looks up to see your appraisal. Each button had drawn your eyes down his chest, to the soft swell of his belly, and further still to the growing bulge in the front of his pants. Tall and broad and beautiful, the mass of man in front of you had the power to catch your eye even fully clothed, but now, shirtless with the promise of more on the horizon, you couldn't ignore the thrill at seeing so much of his tanned skin, littered with freckles and a soft smattering of hair.

His belt is unbuckled and off, and his fingers are pulling open the button of his pants and his fly. He doesn't look at you again. He can't right now - if he does he'll choke up and stop himself, feeling entirely inadequate offering this body of his to you. Pushing down his pants, down past soft thighs and strong calves, he steps out of them, taking his socks with them with each step, before nervously scratching at his belly.

Only then, does he look back up at you. You're enraptured, and have already pushed back off your desk, circling him to look at every inch of his body. You'd dimmed the lights slightly, as you always did for client sessions, but even in the soft lamplight he looked stunning. Your fingers trace the swell of his bicep, across his shoulder and the jut of his shoulder blade. A shudder runs down his spine as your fingers dance across it, down to the dimples at his back and over his hip before you round him again where your fingertips rest on his soft belly and the trail of hair there.

"You've been hiding all of this from me for how long, Detective?" you whisper, letting your fingers glide down further and further with each word. "It makes me wonder what else you're hiding."

Tim's cock twitches in his boxers, the thin fabric straining more and more with each passing moment under your gaze. He'd never felt so seen, so appraised, before. The way you looked at him was so easy, the shine in your eye so bright as he peeled back each layer.

"You still want this?"

It's what he said he'd wanted. Days ago now, but he'd said he wanted it and he did. He does. He swallows thickly, desperate to get moisture back into his mouth, nodding a croak of a yes.

At that, you slide the tip of your finger into the waistband of his boxers and pull, stretching the elastic a fraction before releasing, pinging it sharply against his skin.

"Then get these off too, Detective."

His boxers are on the floor a second later, his cock springing free semi-hard between his legs. Raising your hands to your face, you gasp in faux shock, hiding your very real delight behind your hands as you take in his entire naked form.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I'm disappointed. After all this time you've been hiding that from me?" you gasp, and while Tim can't help but roll his eyes, his cock betrays him and stiffens even more at your words. You'd been through it all with him. Your services, yes, but also specifically what he wanted from you, some of which you'd discovered together on the phone that morning. This was one of those things - a thing you'd discovered on a whim, but something you both knew he would like before the words left your lips. There was a reason he was asking you for this and nobody else - Tim knew the specific brand of sordid you dealt in and, more than anything, he trusted you. Unfortunately for him, you planned on keeping exactly to your word from that call and, guiding your fingers down his bare chest, you tease closer and closer to his length.

"Tsk. Such a shame I won't be playing with it today."

Tim groans, a gasp of a thing he cuts short with a pinch of his lips. He's frowning again too, but nods, knowing that what he came here for wasn't that, but also very aware of the weight of the words you used. Not today, but not never.

Then, your robe is off and you're guiding him to the bed, where he lowers himself and leans back, watching your form as it retreats into the other room. He looks down, down at the body you'd just spent minutes looking at and enjoying, and wonders what you see that he doesn't. All he knows is he's trusted your word for as long as he's known you, and it's no different now. Whatever you see in him, you at least believe it to be true, and that alone makes it easier for him to believe himself. Before he can figure much or anything else out, you're sauntering back into the room.

In your hands you hold a few things. None of them should be surprising to him, but he still sucks in a sharp breath when he sees it - the strap you'd picked out just for him. You'd told him about it over the phone, said that you had the perfect one for him, that you could picture him beneath you taking it, moaning and shaking as you fucked him, and now there it was, exactly as you described. This was never something he felt able to ask for with anyone else, his ex-wife especially. It's true he was always married more to his job than to her, but even in the privacy of their own bedroom he had secrets and wants he could never share with her - she made that much clear early on. With you, he didn't even need to mention it first for you to suggest it to him, didn't even need to feel the heat of shame in his cheeks as he struggled to find the words for what he wanted, because there you were already with all the answers.

You settle everything beside him, letting him see the soft, slender, curve of the dildo up close for the first time, and pass him a bottle of water. Tim takes it, grateful that once again that it was another thing he didn't have to ask for, and cracks open the lid, taking a deep gulp of the cold liquid before setting it out of the way. Another day he'd wonder how it got to this - how on earth Tim Rockford got so used to suffering in silence that even thirst wasn't something he'd remedy until he was desperate. But, right now all he knows is the heat of your body and the smell of your skin as you kneel next to him on the bed, looking down at him with a smirk on your lips.

"Usually I ask people how they'd like it," you whisper, stroking gently down his neck, "but I think we both know you'd like it on your knees, Detective." You twirl your finger in the air, signalling for him to move, and like the good little thing he is, he shifts onto his hands before crawling forward slightly to perch on all fours on the bed.

You think he looks glorious; he feels so exposed - entirely naked for you while you're draped in that thin mesh he can see right through. He doesn't want to think about how he looks like this, on his knees with his ass on total display, his cock hanging low and, already, starting to leak precum.

Blunt nails drag down his back, softly scraping down his ass cheeks and the backs of his thighs. He shudders. You can see his cock where it bobs between his legs, and his balls where they hang softly just beneath the cleft of his cheeks. If he were a different client, maybe you'd give in and drag your nails across the soft flesh of them too, cup them in your palm and give them a firm squeeze, but you resist. Whatever this is doing to you, you'll deal with later. For now, this is for him and that desperate man, the Detective, who had all but begged you for information down the phone.

Grabbing at the small selection of things you'd dumped next to him, you get ready. Tim watches, eager eyes looking as you pull a black nitrile glove down your hand and snap it around you wrist, wiggling your fingers at him when you spot his gaze.

"I can tell you're excited," you say with a look down to his ass where his cock bounces hard against his belly with a tense of his muscles. "You're so ready for this too, aren't you? You've been waiting so long..."

Guiding your ungloved hand down his ass, you squeeze, gripping the flesh and pulling him apart, exposing him to your gaze. "Very pretty."

Tim huffs a laugh, not believing for a second that he is pretty at all, let alone like this, or there.

"What? You don't think you're pretty, all bent over and exposed for me, Detective? I'd argue you've never looked better."

"Right. Is this how you get all your information? Your clients must tell you all sorta things, huh? Vulnerable like this."

A swift, sharp slap is delivered to his right ass cheek, making him gasp as you tut and soothe the sting with your palm. "Ah-ah, Detective, you're off the clock. No work talk. We're here on my business now, not yours."

"Fu- Never off the clock, not in my line of work."

"And that's exactly why you're here, sweetie."

"...Yes ma'am."

There's a small delighted giggle that you just can't hold back, a sound that makes him flush, before you speak again. "Polite and pretty. Are you ready for me, Detective?"

It's then he realizes that your hand hasn't stopped its slow, steady caress of his ass cheeks, pushing and pulling him apart as you watch the tension leave his shoulders. He nods, trying not to brace himself for whatever is coming first, not hearing the click of a lube bottle through the blood rushing in his ears, but definitely feeling the cool trickle of it when it drips onto his asshole.

"That's it," you say, soothing with your ungloved hand, as your gloved one comes down to stroke the pucker of his ring. "We both know you're familiar with this feeling, Detective. Are you going to let me in here?"

The wet swipe of your finger between his cheeks almost feels like it could be cool, cold tongue with how you swirl it around and around his asshole. He tries not to curl his toes, and manages not to until he can't help but beg, a small please falling softly from his plush lips, and you immediately push, sinking the tip of your finger into his ass.

Tim groans, gripping the sheets in an effort not to surge forward and away from the gentle probe of your finger.

"Make all the noise you need to, Detective."

"Fuck."

Your finger steadily sinks into him, drawing out and in to collect more lube as you drizzle it onto his hole.

"Remember how this feels?"

He remembers. Remembers the crackle of your voice over the phone line as you told him to finger his ass. How his hands had scrambled to turn on speakerphone, the other still wrapped around his cock, jerking weakly as you whispered filthy encouragement down the line. Before even that, he remembers the nights spent in his own bed, concocting his own fantasies while he fucked his fist and fingers in tandem.

Except, your fingers feel so much different from his own, can reach places his cannot, and he's groaning with his head hung low between his shoulders before you're even knuckle deep.

Curling this way and that, you feel him from the inside out. Soothing him with a hand on his back, you can feel the deep breath he takes just as the tip of your finger collides with a spot inside him he was all too familiar with, massaging back and forth until he's a groaning mess.

"Oh, well that's a pretty sound, Detective. It sounds to me like you want another."

If he closes his eyes, he can see it, see the black of your gloved hand curled into a fist as your index finger stretches his hole. He can see already as you pull out a little, unfurl another finger, and slide it next to the first, ready to push into him again.

And he takes it, letting out a shuddering gasp, as your fingers fuck into his ass once again, scissoring in him before pushing down and beginning a slow curl against that spot again.

"There. That was easy. I think someone is enjoying this quite a bit, aren't you, Detective?"

There's no denying it, he is. The feel of your hand making him want to buckle into a heap on the bed already and you'd barely even started.

"Yeah. It's - ah fuck - it's good. That's - uh - not fair."

You'd been curling and prodding against his prostate as he tried to talk, making him garble words at you as you watch his cock get more and more engorged between his thighs. "What's not fair?" you ask, with a firmer press down into the spot, and you relish in the deep gravelly moan that grumbles from his chest, forcing his elbows to drop down onto the mattress.

When his hips buck forward, you place a steadying hand on his back, stroking soothing circles with your bare fingers over the dimples in his skin whilst your gloved ones curl into the spot again and again. Part of him is longing to reach down and grab his cock, to jerk it and come all over his fist with your fingers buried in his ass, but that's not what he's here for. Each time he opens his eyes he's made aware of what he's here for by the strap that still lays next to him. If he comes too soon, he's scared that'll be it over, the relief he was really seeking from you still totally out of reach by his own failure. He couldn't, wouldn't, fail at this too.

"Just look at you, Detective. You're getting so wet already." He is. He can feel it. His cock is dripping, beads of precum collecting on his tip and threatening to make a mess of the sheets below. Nodding and groaning and squeezing his eyes shut seem to be all he can do already, feeling like a total mess of a man with your voice like honey trickling into his ear. "So good. I think you can take one more finger. That's it, just one more. Good. Good boy."

He preens, back arching with the praise, cock definitely dripping onto the sheets now, three of your fingers curling and thrusting into his ass. He throbs, the ache of arousal thrumming through him with no relief, just building and building and building with nowhere to go, because you don't let it. You control it, each press of your fingers still so achingly slow that it can make him drip and ache but never explode.

A thin sheen of sweat is coating his body, his legs shaking, forehead pressed into the cool sheets, groans falling wantonly from his mouth, by the time you gingerly pull your fingers from him. That in itself feels like a relief, he thinks. Even though he's still painfully hard at least, for one moment, he's not being worked up and up to an edge you won't quite let him over just yet.

But the strap beside him is gone when he looks up, pushing up on shaky hands to look around for you again. Now, it sits on your hips, straps pulled taught over the mesh of your lingerie. You're pulling a condom over the length of dildo, rolling it down to the base, your glove discarded somewhere he can't see. His mouth is dry again, so he reaches for the water, swallowing deeply, wiping away an errant drop from the scruff of his beard.

He can't stop looking. Between your face, your beautiful face, your scantily clad body, your hands and those fingers that had just been inside him, the cock between your legs. He's entranced. It takes a gentle hand on his shoulder for him to notice you're talking to him.

"Look at you, Detective," you hum down to him, and all he can think is Yes. Look at me. Please. Here he was, stripped bare as a man could be, seen by you in ways he'd never been seen. And that name - a taunt coming from you that he longed for rather than loathed. Each tease of Detective a reminder that with you he could be both and neither all at once, just as he always was.

He reaches for you then. Slowly. Delicately. Fingers bridging the gap between you. Usually you'd step back, move away from grasping hands when permission wasn't granted. But, you let him touch, his fingers resting on your mesh covered hip and stroking you. It's the first time he's ever touched you, and it's so soft. You're so soft.

"You're ready for it, aren't you?" you ask, your eyes lazily dragging down to the strap between your legs where his follow.

Without word, and avoiding the mess already splattered on the sheet, he moves back to all fours, his hand leaving you cold. Slicking more lube across the strap, you kneel behind him, palming his ass with both hands, rubbing soft circles down his thighs as you gently rut against the crevasse of his ass.

"Do you trust me, Detective?"

It's a stupid question - stupid because you already know the answer, and so does he.

"You're kidding, right?" he says in disbelief, looking around to see the coy smile on your face.

"Humor me."

"Of course I do."

With his eyes still on you, you press forward, hand steadying the dildo to slip the tip into his slick asshole.

"Oh. That's it. Look at me when I fuck your ass. That feels so good doesn't it?"

Tim pants, nodding as you bear forward. The strap is barely thicker than your three fingers, but his rim still stretches and pulls as you breach him, slowly, steadily, until the entire length is buried in his ass.

"There we go. That's it. I'm all the way in. You take an ass fucking so well, Detective. Are you sure you haven't done this before?" With another roll of your hips he's gasping again, dropping his face to the sheet. The heat of his thighs are against yours and you know, you just know, that his cock is straining, his balls begging to empty already.

"There we are. That's it. You can take it. Oh, good boy. You like that don't you. You like being a good boy."

With his cheek is pressed to the mattress, you can see nothing but the pinched look of ecstasy on his face. It's boiling in his veins too, the heat spreading up his back and burning his cheeks. If he opens his eyes he'll see you, looking down with intent at his ass as you slowly roll your hips into him, and the thought alone makes him groan, brings him so close to coming that he's scrambling for purchase on the bed again, desperate gasps rattling out of him. The cloying scent of you is all over him - stuck in his lungs like molasses, each deep breath in of you coinciding with each slap of your hips against his ass until desperation turns to pleading.

"Please. P-please. Fuck. Please."

"Please what?" you say, looking around at him. And that's when you see his cock, angry and weeping, splattering cum all over your sheets. You hadn't felt him come yet, there'd been no tensing of his muscles or twitching of his cock, just a steady stream of precum dripping from him like a leaky faucet. "Oh, look at that. You're making quite the mess, aren't you, sweetie? Are you going to clean that up? Hm? Or will I have to bill the city for my laundry?"

"Oh, fu-," he pants, and you feel a shiver trickle down his back at the empty threat, his palms pressing harder into the mattress beneath him as his shoulders draw back. He's going to come. You don't even need to move, you could just talk to him in that voice of yours, call him a good boy and tell him how dirty he is and he'd be gone, skyrocketing to a place he'd never been and making a glorious mess of everything.

"What was that?" You slow down the roll of your hips, drawing him back from that edge you'd been dangling him so deliciously over.

"No. No. Don't - Fuck."

"Then you'll have to clean up your mess."

You swipe your finger through the cum that has steadily dripped from his cock and onto the sheet below, and lean forward to bring it to his lips, pressing your hips further and further into his ass. There's a sticky sheen of sweat on his back that slicks you together, and you can't resist. You kiss him. Soft lips pressing into the muscle of his shoulder, waiting for that moment he parts his lips in a voiceless moan to slip your finger inside. His tongue laves around your digit, tasting himself on the salt of your skin and he groans, vibrating desperate sounds from his chest to yours as you fuck so deep he's seeing stars.

"That's it, that's a good boy," you coo, dragging your finger from his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva across the scruff of his cheek.

"It's such a shame I have no use for your cock when it looks so pretty, Detective," You say, lifting your leg to fuck more deeply into him. "Look at it, all drippy and useless. You're going to come, aren't you? Even without touching your cock, you're going to come and make even more of a mess."

"Yes. Fuck, yes. Don't stop."

The steady slap of your hips picks up, and you're panting with exertion now too. You could've had him coming in five minutes, but that was no fun for you. You'd waited too long for this not to drag it out, not to see how long he could hold off for you, how much of a desperate mess he could be before he was begging for release. This was it. His limit. You'd found it, and his groans were suddenly impossible to ignore, shooting white hot heat into your own core, making you feel slick with want as you fucked him. You need him to come, before your need for more friction clouds your brain and you need to slip your hand between your own legs before he even leaves.

"Such a pretty ass to ruin. Come for me, Detective. Oh, fuck. Come for me."

He stops breathing. He thinks he's died. He has to have. You think you've killed him. But then his whole body tenses and he groans out a sob, biting sheets and spitting them out over and over as he comes, and comes, and comes. You don't stop, each shuddering sob of a gasp spurring you on until he's milked dry and almost prone on the mattress.

"That's it. That's it. You did it. Good boy. Well done, Detective. Well done."

He feels so soft. His bones must have turned to dust and spurted out of his cock with that final thrust of the strap in his ass. He's never been this weightless, never been this carefree. There's not an ache in him, just pure bliss, and he's so relieved he could cry.

And you're there. Pulling out of him slowly, wiping down his back, his thighs, with a damp towel, cooling him before you dry him with another, bringing water to his lips for him to drink. Pushing his hair back from his forehead, you guide him onto his back, letting him lie down and take a moments rest you know the man wouldn't take any other time. You're fairly certain he doesn't sleep. Detective Rockford works too hard because he cares too much, you know that. And you also know he doesn't care for himself. That is why he's here, even if he'd never say so himself.

"Up you get, sweetie. It's cold. Let's get something on you," you're whispering to him all too soon. Tim's lost, the concept of time gone from his body entirely, but he supposes it has been too long, his time is up. He only paid for an hour of your time, and even that seemed much more valuable than the price you'd put on it. He should go.

When he sits up he's lethargic, reaching for his clothes as he shuffles to the end of the bed. He doesn't know you're holding a robe out for him, strap discarded. He doesn't see the concern in your eyes because he suddenly can't meet them. "Should get going, I guess."

"No. You shouldn't. Stay."

Tim looks up to you then, seeing you wrapped and fully covered for the first time in the year he's known you. You're no more on the job right now than he is, he realizes, blinking in confusion at the robe you toss next to him.

"Look, I've taken up enough of your time, I don't want to overstep -"

"I'm not asking you to stay as a client, Detective. I'm asking you to stay as a friend. Stay. Talk to me." And you say it because god knows you mean it. You want him to stay and you want him to talk as much as you know he needs it, that gap he'd bridged with his hand now being bridged by you, and your simple request that he stay.

"Some friend to have."

"A good friend to have, Tim.”

“- I didn't mean - I meant me, I -”

“The point still stands either way," you say. And you mean that too. "Stay."

And that's it. There he is. Stripped back, just like he wanted. No more Detective. Just Tim. And there you are. Sitting on the blanket draped sofa, looking him straight in the eye. You don't need to look down to see him, and he doesn't need to look up to see you.

Grabbing the robe, Tim drapes it around himself, walking on unsteady feet toward you, the mess of the sheets and his life forgotten for one more second.

"Decaf? Might not have all the answers. But I do have coffee. And that's a start."

"Yeah," he says as he sits beside you. "Yeah, that's a start."

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr @corazondebeskar-reads

also a little sneaky tag if you showed interest in my snippet the other day 💛 @heareball @nerdieforpedro @missredherring @survivingandenduring

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER TWO — VIOLENT DELIGHTS at HARRINGTON’S HOUSE

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: it's a rager at the harrington household! you attempt to reconnect with carol, tommy and the gang (it goes horribly, but they started it), accidentally connect with robin buckley and inadvertently have your life saved by eddie munson and his stupid van. you swear, this guy is following you. content warnings: NSFW / MINORS DNI swearing boots the house down, underage drinking, good old fashioned 80s homophobia and slut shaming, mean mom moment, implied attempted sexual assault, billy hargrove haters club (sorry) word count: 4.7k

Dear reader, I know you think of yourself as a harsh person. 

Cold and exacting, surgical in the way you deal with people. You put on a good show, though, masking it all up with quiet confidence and pretty smiles. The prettiest smiles. And you’re never too mean. At least, not out loud. 

It’s different when it comes to him, though. With him, you’ve got all the reason in the world to be mean. Vicious, even.

His dad is the reason your dad is in prison. That simple fact makes you want to grab his ridiculous hair and slam his head against the lockers so his ears ring. 

Al Munson probably has no bearing on the way Eddie Munson lives his life, because he’s a deadbeat the way his son is destined to be a deadbeat. But the mere genetic suggestion of that piece of shit is enough for you to want to cut the brake lines in his little boy’s van. 

You’re trying not to think about it too much, but it’s harder and harder when he’s right across the fucking lot, playing the same pedantic guitar riff over and over and over and–

Ssskrrrp. 

The pressure you’ve been putting on your poor fountain pen tears through the lined paper, interrupting your line of thinking. 

What doesn’t interrupt, what has no sign of stopping, is Munson’s incessant fretboard shredding coupled with–Christ almighty–an ear piercing harmonica. And look, you’re not one to ignore technique– he’s fine, you suppose, as much as anyone who can adequately handle an instrument can be fine, but it’s the fact that he keeps going. He’s relentless.

Doesn’t this place get noise complaints? 

You almost yank up your window and aim the nearest heavy thing in reach–a commemorative Indianapolis Christmapolis snowglobe from 1981–toward Munson’s window in the hope that it sails clean in and puts a hole right through his amp, but you stop yourself short. 

You do not exist to me and I better not exist to you. 

You’re a woman of your word. 

And you’ve got a party to get ready for. 

You’ll admit, the trepidation factor of showing up to Steve Harrington’s house after your trailer trash makeunder is major. This is why every element of your look has to be just meticulously so, from your hot roller curls to the angle your off-the-shoulder dress sits at. 

“Are you going somewhere?” your mom mumbles from the doorway. 

It almost make you draw a jagged edge in your lip liner– you’d forgot you left the door ajar and she moves like a ninja nowadays. Silent and deadly, or not at all. At the very least she’s not slurring her words; she’d heavily upped the intake of Beaujolais since she had to appear on the witness stand. You wonder what she’ll do when the contents of her old wine cellar that’s now living in the trailer’s living room runs out. 

You wonder what number glass is the one she’s currently clutching. 

“It’s Friday night,” you say, like that’s a sufficient response.

“Whatever happened to keeping a low profile, hon?” she says, perching on your dinky twin bed. She pokes around the measly few pieces of jewelry you’ve scattered there, the only ones you have left. The rest went to the pawn shop, then that went to the legal fund. 

Fat lot of good that did us, you think. 

“I get that you’re probably… upset by all this change, but,” she continues, sighing deep, “Going out and making a fool of us isn’t going to help anything.” 

You cap your lip liner and wonder just who the fuck your mother thinks she’s talking to. 

“And drinking yourself into a stupor in front of cable TV is?” you bite, “--scratch that. We can’t afford cable anymore, can we, Mommy?” 

Your mother’s purple-tinged lips peel over her teeth in a sickened smile. “Don’t be a bitch, Lacy. No one likes a bitch.” 

“I’m not,” you assure, unrolling the first of your hot rollers, “I’m being pragmatic. Game face, right? That’s what Daddy said. We’re not going to let this town of gossip mongering wannabes tell us who we are,” you say, rendering a pitch-perfect impression of your dad that makes your mom shudder. “I’m going out. I’m going to a party. I’m going to act like nothing has changed because it hasn’t–” 

It’s eerie how easily you can lie to yourself. 

“--you’re the one who’s not being a team player.” You don’t exactly say that your mother is the one that’s bringing extracurricular shame to the family name, but that’s what the reality is. If there’s not whispers flying about your incarcerated father, there’s mumblings about your mother showing up blotto in Melvald’s with more than one run in her stockings. 

Getting up from your makeshift dressing table to pick your jewelry from the bed, you turn– and run chest-first into your mother’s wine glass. She lets the wine spill down the front of your dress–your white dress–with just enough manufactured shock to let you know it wasn’t an accident. You gasp– is she serious?! The stain spreads just like her smile does; slow and languid and completely immovable. 

“Oh, baby, look at that mess,” she pouts mirthlessly, “Do you know how difficult it is to get red wine stains out?”

You just about keep your composure as she leaves your bedroom, slamming the door behind her. It might appear that your mother has nothing left in this world, but she still has the ability to make you feel two feet tall. 

Blinking away the hornet’s sting of tears in your freshly mascara’d eyes, you glance to the clock radio– no! You had planned on a bus route that included a fifteen minute walk from the park to get you to Steve’s on time (and to avoid another car ride full of ribbing with Carol, Tommy et al) and there’s no way you’re going to make it now. Plus, you now need a full outfit revamp and you still weren’t organized enough for that. 

Panic runs a trail of hot spikes up the back of your neck as you rifle through the nearest suitcase for anything remotely appropriate and you come up with– something. 

Something slightly risque, that you weren’t counting on debuting at a party where you needed to convince people that I’m normal and nothing’s different and everything is fine. 

Your new outfit requires you to be practically hermetically sealed into it, it’s so tight, but it matches your shoes at least– you’re a stickler for details. You’re also a stickler for multitasking, so you drum up a last ditch attempt at hitching a ride to Harrington’s house and barrel out the trailer door without so much as a Don’t wait up, Mom!

A sharp left is your first move, and you nearly swear you see Munson drop a note in his hard rock symphony as you dash past his window. Good. Hope you can’t nail that intro for the rest of the night, just like you can’t nail anything else. 

You’re sure, no, you’re positive that you’ve seen that car around here somewhere… and just like a very dangerous North Star, the Chevy Camaro sits askew in front of a nearby trailer home. The front door pops open, there’s some incoherent yelling, and a shadowy figure identifiable only by a trail of cigarette smoke and an ever-present cloud of too-strong drugstore cologne swaggers towards the vehicle. 

Someone up there’s looking out for me.

“Billy!” you call, teetering his way on your heels, “Hey.” 

Or wants me dead.

Billy Hargrove pauses in his tracks, tossing the dying ember of his cigarette into some nearby, extremely dead and extremely flammable, shrubbery. He drinks you in, top of the lid to the bottom of the label, and you want to fidget with your outfit. A black waistcoat with nothing but a bra underneath hitches your breasts to your clavicle. The matching skirt feels suddenly illicitly short. He’s regarding you with a newfound if sleazy appreciation– then again, you daresay Billy Hargrove eyes up froyo with the same lascivious look. Guy has a chronic case of eyeball nymphomania. 

“Lacy, right?” he drawls, like you haven’t been in the same social sphere at least a dozen different times. You nod, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear in an effort to out-cute yourself. This is very not you behavior, but– needs must. “Fresh meat.” 

Again, like you haven’t met a billion times before, but trailer park politics change everything. 

“Yeah,” you say, skipping over that particular prelude to a come-on, “Um, no way you’re going to Harrington’s party, are you?”

Billy heel-toes his way toward you, slow like molasses (or slurry, or tar), giving you his best half-lidded come-hither shit. Look, you get what Tina and Carol and the rest of the girls see in him– it’s the whole greased up dirtbag, fuelled by chauvinism, sponsored by Pall Mall thing that is designed to piss off their parents and give them bacterial vaginosis. It’s their first taste of adulthood. You, on the other hand, have tastes in the opposite sex that are as-yet unmet by this half-assed corn maze of a town. 

“I was thinkin’ about it,” he smirks, barely a breath away from you. And you play right up into it, even if you want to recoil from his ratty moustache. 

“Well, think I could ride shotgun?” you ask, and tack on, “With you?” 

“What’s in it for me?”

Oh, Jesus Christ, does it ever end. You have to swallow in order not to roll your eyes and ask him if he ever thinks about changing that broken flirting record. 

“The most impeccable company in Hawkins, of course,” you simper, amping up the princess angle. Though you were pretty sure that dynamic played better when you weren’t living on the edge of civilization.

Billy folds easily, but doesn’t go so far as to open the passenger door for you. He jams the radio on as soon as the key’s in ignition, speed metal rattling through the car’s interior. Another cigarette lit and he’s revving up and out, while you’re still struggling to find the non-existent seatbelt. You give up and reach for a smoke from the open soft pack on the dash– it’s not a regular habit outside of parties and stealing your mom’s every once in a while, but again, needs must. 

Billy flicks a Zippo dangerously close to your face. “What’s your deal.” 

Despite the monotone delivery, you’re sure it’s the closest thing to an honest-to-god question Billy’s ever asked you– or any girl, for that matter. 

“That’s a vague line of questioning, Billy,” you say, cracking a window so the smoke can escape. 

“You’re like, bad now or something?” he scoffs, “Shunned from the suburbs so you’re acting all edgy?” 

By hitching a ride with you, you mean. God, how pathetic to uphold yourself as the standard of bad behavior– as far as bad goes, I could do a lot better.

“Thaaat’s it,” you nod animatedly, half-yelling over the din of 'The Four Horsemen', “I figured with my father in the big house, I might as well commit to the bit. I might even get a tattoo. How’s that make you feel?”  

Billy barely emotes an answer, his himbot expression set on seduce mode. He’s just smirking, lashes low. “If you wanna let loose, I know someplace we could do that.” 

His free hand, the one that isn’t oh-so-casually resting on the wheel, reaches over to brush a lock of hair from your cheek. The knuckle trails down to your jawline, skips to your shoulder, your forearm, until his palm comes to cup your knee. Your skin feels like it hardens under his touch.

You’ve seen this movie before. Rebel Without a Condom: Skull Rock Edition.

Your hand closes over Billy’s, holding it firmly in place. He has a hair-trigger temper. You know that. You're attempting to handle it delicately.

“So do I. Harrington’s party.” 

His tongue runs along the edge of his bottom lip, and you wonder what’s fundamentally missing in you that this shit doesn’t have you trembling. He grips tighter, fingers edging up your thigh under your vice. Your stomach seizes. “I mean really loosen up, Lacy. You wanna be bad, let’s go be bad.” 

And suddenly, as his foot edges the gas to push you down the dirt road faster, you are trembling. But for all the wrong reasons. 

Then– an ungodly rumble from behind, headlights blaring through the rear window as a vehicle zooms almost bumper-to-bumper with Billy’s. The horn honks and each car’s sound system wages a war to be heard– Metallica versus Black Sabbath. 

Your neck snaps around. You don’t even need to see past the blinding light into the driver’s seat to know who the hell that is. 

The van hits a dangerous swerve in order to come neck and neck with Billy’s car, spooking him enough that he snaps his hand off of your leg. The van boisterously overtakes you and Billy slams on the horn, revving the engine from his position behind. The sign of relief you breathe is barely contained, but can’t be heard over metal-on-metal drums. 

“What the fuck is this freak’s problem?!”

“At least he’s bringing party favors.” 

–

While Billy Hargrove’s admittedly sick Camaro sure can burn rubber, she’s no match for Eddie’s old lady in the arena of sheer bull-in-a-china-shop obnoxiousness. She hauls a lotta ass and takes up a lotta road, which is perfect for raising the blood pressure of an asshole like this. 

And before you think it, before you even imagine it– he’s not fucking up Billy’s cruising hours because of you. 

Not entirely, anyway. 

Truth is, his uncle’s hours have been cut at the plant, as have Eddie’s shifts at the Hideout so he’s seizing opportunity wherever he can. Keep the lights on, right? And if that means palming off dimebags and powder to some drunk kids who are overzealous with their unpetty cash, then fine. He’d got the word from a couple of meatheads that his services might be useful, so it’s not as if he’s planning on gatecrashing Harrington’s. Gatecrashing a Quaker meeting would be more entertaining, if you ask Eddie. 

But, gun to his head? Alarm bells started ringing when he saw you bowl out of your trailer in that ho–... that outfit and head towards Hargrove’s. Well, Mayfield’s, technically– the only time Hargrove shows up there is to cool off when his dad kicks him out. Hargrove’s dad and the redhead kid’s mom have split, and she is not taking it well, so add in the macho madness of Billy and you’ve got a maelstrom of disaster.  

Sometimes he sees Little Red sneak out in the middle of the night and he’s gotten in the habit of keeping an eye on her. 

From a safe distance, of course. That kid’s like a rabid dog, jumpy and paranoid. He’s positive she bites.

Anyway, that’s how come he came to spot you. Activity in the Hargrove enclosure. And again, if he’s to believe any kind of insidious gossip, girls that slide into the passenger seat of Hargrove’s ride are not necessarily safe. 

So, he figures, it’s time to peel out and get to work. 

Eddie manages to keep Billy entertained on his tail right until the turn to Harrington’s, so you don’t swerve off onto an unlit dirt road with him. What can he say, he loves the chase!

Billy’s car almost blocks him in when he pulls up, you clambering out of the passenger side unassisted. Douchebag. The minute Eddie’s sneakers hit the pavement, Billy is just about nose to nose with him, frothing at the mouth. Rabid dog must run in the family.  

“Fuck was that about, huh?”

“Jeez, Hargrove, a little early to be scamming on your date already,” Eddie teases, drawing up to his full height– he’s got a couple of inches on Hargrove, which he knows is a sore spot. “But I’m flattered.”

On instinct, not insistence, Eddie’s eyes snap to you– but you don’t give him so much as a glance, just huff, “Thanks for the ride, Hargrove,” and head into the party. His eyes follow you, watching you stalk inside with your shoulders all hunched and your ankles about ready to give out in those dumb shoes. 

Billy shoves him, hard, as if to draw his attention back. “Fucking wanna go, huh?” 

But Eddie, at this point, is beyond over it. He’s done all the dick measuring he wants to do tonight. He digs a joint out of his pocket and slaps it into Billy’s hand. 

“Christ, Scrappy Doo, hit the brakes already. Have one on me.” 

–

The one time in your life you’ll be thankful for the bottomless pit of the male ego is tonight. Billy completely rerouted his fucking pea brain to dog Munson all the way to Steve’s house, and all you had to endure was motion sickness. 

Could have been a lot worse. 

You’re still regaining your land legs by the time you cross the Harringtons’ porch and are instantly cornered by Tina and Nicole. 

“Lacy,” they say, in unison and almost gravely. Very the twins from The Shining. “We didn’t think you’d make it.”

“Wait, did you come here with–”

“--Billy Hargrove,” you supply before anyone can make any stupid assumptions. “Almost died in a game of chicken in the process, but that’s that Forest Hills life for ya.” 

Tina looks past you, distracted and distant. “I always forget he lives there,” Nicole shrugs. You don’t bother to correct her, because you don’t think he does. Whatever. 

“Wish I could forget I live there!” you chirp, “In fact, that’s exactly what I’d like to do– forget. What are we drinking, ladies?”

You push past the hovering bodies and make your way to the kitchen, the girls bringing up the rear but real slowly. Something’s wrong– something’s off with them. But then again, maybe something’s just off with you. You choose to forget about it, forcing your party mode switch to on. 

“Jesus, what is Robin Dykely doing here?” Nicole scoffs over your shoulder as you search the kitchen island for anything you can free pour, and fast. You purse your lips– Nicole’s obviously started early, because when she’s tipsy, she’s got no volume control nor spatial awareness. The Robin Buckley in question is lingering by a punch bowl and definitely in ear shot. 

“Looks like she’s drinking punch at a party, Nic,” you say flatly, pulling a bottle of vodka from the gaggle of glassware. That’ll do fine. 

“Probably hoping Tam Thompson will finally join the softball team.” 

“Doesn’t Steve work with her?”

“Yeah, they’re like, buddy-buddy right?” you non-committally muse, grabbing a shot glass; in fact, you had seen the mousy girl mousing around Family Video with Steve. He’d even given her a ride to school a couple of times, whatever the hell that dynamic was. You didn’t know much about Robin, other than she was in band so you matriculated in the same gym space what with due to your spot on the cheerleading squad. Well, that, and the obvious rumors. 

But largely and absolutely, you didn’t care. She’s a relative nobody. 

You knock back a searing shot of vodka. 

“That’s proof Harrington’s exhibiting early signs of dementia, I’m sure,” Tina grimaces. “Like, doesn’t he know she’s a carpet muncher?”

“Like Harrington can’t have a girl within three feet of him without wanting to bang her?” you say, matching Tina’s grimace with a strained voice after the shot. “Yet here you are, Tina.”

It’s a little meaner than Tina is used to from you– and it shows. She blinks, once, twice, three times, visibly hurt because she knows that you know that she’s had a thing for Steve Harrington since the dawn of forever. 

Well, fucking get in line. 

Then she scoffs, recovering herself. “Have another drink, Lace. ‘bout time you loosened up.” 

Tina slinks by you toward the patio and you almost call after her, but don’t. Nicole, starting after her with a roll of her eyes, tells you, “We’ll be by the pool. See you out there, maybe?”

Your mouth curls into a sarcastic smile and you wave the bottle of vodka. “Soon as I catch up, girl!”

The vodka lands with a clunk on the counter after you line up another shooter. You look up, and catch Robin Buckley staring at you, right before she has the chance to avert her eyes. She’s gripping onto that solo cup for dear life. You can see the cracking dents in the plastic. 

“You want a shot?” you yell over the music and the people and the claustrophobia of it all. 

“Uh,” she says– too damn slow. You grab another glass and fill it, passing it her way. 

“I’ve, um, I’ve never really done this before. What’s, like, the custom, should we cheers?” Robin half-yells over the kitchen island.

You shrug. Fuck it. “Sure– here’s to being in places we think we belong with people we secretly hate!” 

“Oh, I for sure don’t belong here!” 

Robin sinks the vodka and chokes on it, spluttering up the shot. You gulp yours like a fish gulping water and dash around the island to slap her on the back. She recovers pretty quickly, wiping the dribbled booze off her face with the back of her hand. She wheezes gratefully when you pass her a sticky dishcloth. “Gross.” 

“I know, right? Party.”

“I get it, though, by the way,” Robin says, husk in her voice more pronounced after she’s coughed a lung up. She dabs awkwardly at her argyle printed shirt, doing nothing. “The secretly hating people thing.” 

Fuck, had you really said that? That’s way too personal. That’s way too revealing, especially to someone like her. Reverse, reverse, abort abort abort! “Well, it’s not that, y’know how it gets with your friends sometimes–”

“Because I know Steve. Like, I really know Steve– but not, not in like a sexual way because that’s not– more in like a paternal, fraternal, we were worms together in another lifetime sort of way– I just, I know Steve,” Robin steamrolls you, nodding. From the glassy look in her eye, that punch is finally hitting her. And she really does mean what she says, from the timbre of her voice. She gives a real fuck about Harrington, which is more than you can say for ninety percent of the people in this house. “He, y’know, he’s not exactly made for this crowd either.” 

You unscrew the bottle of vodka and take a cursory swig, then another, which makes Robin’s eyes widen and makes you feel a little bit like a pirate. “Then why are we all here, band girl? At his house? Why am I drinking his father’s Stoli?”

She casts her eyes down and shrugs, looking back up with a sour smile. “Party?”

Your shoulders drop and your head lolls back. Maybe you shouldn’t have come here after all. “Ffffffuck.” 

“I totally hate drinking. I hate that wobbly out-of-control thing,” Robin says, scooping more punch into her half-crushed cup. It occurs to you that she might not realize the punch is alcoholic. 

“You said it, sister.” 

“I like your outfit, by the way. It’s like if a librarian was… a slut.”

God, if this is the way she flirts, I hope Sarah Lawrence is kind to her.

“You said it, sister,” you repeat, hitting the bottle again. 

When you perform a quick scan of the room, you spot Billy advancing through the crowd, lighting a cigarette with another cigarette like he’s about to just smoke both cigarettes because that would be double badass. 

And then, veering in from the right just like he did on the way here, is Eddie Munson. He looks as if he’s looking… for you. 

Well, not the fuck anymore!

“Pleasure doing business with you, band girl,” you mutter, grabbing the solo cup from her hand and chugging the rest of the contents, “Don’t drink any more of that shit, it’s three quarters peach schnapps.”

You maneuver yourself (just barely) to the patio, where the gang, your gang, are all holding court on the pool loungers. There’s Carol, Tommy Hagan, Tina, Nicole, Cass, even Tammy Thompson if Robin’s still looking, but no Harrington in sight. Maybe it’s because of what Robin just told you, but you feel like this would feel less bad if he was here. 

A hush falls over the group as you approach– you know, the kind where you know people have just been talking about you? That lead feeling in your gut makes you take another sip of vodka. 

“Well, hello there,” you say, and it comes out as one slurred-up noise. Wellyellothur. Not ideal.

Tina gestures to the bottle. “Washing something down, Lacy?”

“A shot of Hargrove spunk?” Carol drawls. 

“With a Buckley bush chaser,” Hagan sniggers. Fucking Statler and Waldorf over here. 

“You guys, c’mon,” Nicole starts– and it sounds like a defense, but she’s the meanest motherfucker of them all when you give her some leash. “Lacy’s way too frigid for that.” 

“Guess that tracks,” Hagan shrugs, leaning forward to flick his cigarette into the pool. He looks at you in a way that drills a hole, only the way ugly, empty-eyed bastards know how to do. “I mean, if it’s true that your dad was pimping you out to Al Munson, it makes sense he’s in the slammer. No one got their fuckin’ money’s worth in that deal.”

“Shit, that is so true, Tommy,” you start, before you even know where it’s going. All you know? It’s going to be bad. Real bad. So bad that you set the bottle on the ground next to you and clasp your hands behind your back. Debate team stance is what you used to call this. “About me being frigid, I mean. Because I sure remember turning you down a lot– like, a lot.”

Hagan scoffs and lights another cigarette. Something electric in you makes you lean over and grab it, “Lemme have this one. –but like, you don’t remember that? Because I remember you begging–like hands and knees begging–me to fuck you the night of junior prom.” 

“Bullshit,” he scoffs again, like ‘scoff’ and ‘chauvinist insult’ are the only retorts he’s wired for. 

“And on the last lake trip,” you go on, taking a drag of the cigarette. “Oh! And on the night of Carol’s eighteenth birthday! Which was like, what? Two months ago? And every time, I said no. Do you remember why I said no, Tommy?”

This Greek chorus of Brat Pack wannabes, they just sit there and stare at you. And you don’t even notice the hush that’s crawled over the crowd assembled on the patio. The party rages on indoors, but those who are out here are rapt. 

Tina emits a nervous snort, which makes you bend at the waist and cup your ear, like you’re in the goddamn elementary school production of Horton Hears a What the Fuck Have You Got to Say.

“Bet you could tell me why, Tins,” you grin, big and houndlike. “I drove you to the clinic, remember? I fronted you the money for the lice cream– which you never paid me back for, by the way! Not even when I got all poo–oor!”

Tina reacts in a scramble, gasping unto herself and darting her eyes away from everyone. She doesn’t know where to look– no one knows where to look! No one but Carol, dear awful honeybun Carol, who has gone so pale it looks like her blush was painted on by Bozo the Clown. She stares you right down and you stare back. One of you is the barrel of the gun, and one of you is the poor loser looking right down it.

“You’re a fucking dirty liar, Lacy!” The sound of her voice feels like it’s ricocheting off every stony surface on Steve Harrington’s patio, that’s how deadly silent it’s gotten.

In a flourish, you throw the cigarette on the ground and stamp on it, hard and heavy! 

“Only one way to know for sure, Caroline!” you holler, flinging your arms out, “Feelin’ itchy lately?!”

All you know is you’re cackling louder than the thundering crowd rush that erupts when Carol fucking lunges for you.

author's notes: CLIFFHANGER ALERT! everyone fucking dies. jk but thank you so much for reading this chapter that i had so much fucking fun writing. and thank you for showing love for chapter one! i'm posting this one a little sooner than i planned because i want to get this show on the road for y'all. so, a few bits: - the song eddie is playing is the wizard by black sabbath which goes so incredibly hard. he also definitely learned how to shred on harmonica from wayne which is a piece of fanon i think i picked up from chrissy and eddie’s infinite mixtape, the preeminent hellcheer fic by @little-scribblers-heart (i don’t even go in for hellcheer like that but Now That’s What I Call Characterization) - never heard of Indianapolis Christmapolis before? check out the history here! - there is nothing i love more on this planet than making fun of a swaggerlicious shitbag character like billy hargrove. anyway he was blasting the four horsemen by metallica in the car which he canonically listens to in the show! you know, the scene where he puts cologne on his balls. i like to think billy only knows one song and this is it - rebel without a condom: skull rock edition is a reference to rebel without a cause and goes out to all the failed threesomes that have happened at skull rock - scrappy doo found dead in miami after one hit of eddie munson's ditch weed - i also have to say, i feel like more people knew robin was a lesbian than robin realizes, which is truly The Gay Experience. absolutely no one will be surprised that she's fucking crushing puss at a liberal arts college once stranger things 5 comes out in 2038 - anyway, crabs are a real threat, be safe and get tested! thanks so much for reading, pls reblog, like and comment to show support and i will throw things around my enclosure with the wild abandon of a dopamine rush. ur everything to me

[sanest-bsd-delegate]

Hey sorry friend! Here, i will request it separately for you.

Can you make headcanons for taking care of dazai after the prison arc? I feel really really bad for him and i just want to let him sleep and dote on him for weeks.

P.s. he deserves warm food and head rubs and for people to stop talking shit about him. 😭

Reunion with blood and tears

Headcanon: Dazai is reunited with his lover after his escape Dazai x Fem! Reader Masterlist Tysm anon for the request! Hope this doesn't disappoint your heart :)

Dazai Osamu was laughing. That's the first thing he does escaping the prison.

You looked bloody and beaten up badly but nevertheless you came to pick him up (I mean duh, he is the Osamu transferring information through his heartbeat Dazai)

"Osamu, please, I can't even think to loss you again" that's the first thing you would say to him as you hug him tightly, sobbing .

You know this man, despite having the happy shell, even he breaks down crying and in that embrace none of you wanted to separate.

You stared at the exit all covered in blood and wounds but you couldn't care less. Your lover was sent to the prison long ago for the past crimes he did. He was the former port mafia executive, you knew sooner or later he had to pay his deed, but this was a ruthless act.

And in the moment time didn't exist for you as you stared at you lover, so beaten up and broken almost limping to an extent and you couldn't even help him by taking his pain away. All you could do was hug and embrace him in your arms and you wept. Sooner then expected, for the second time in his life, Osamu Dazai cried, because he was relieved to go back somewhere who he could call home.

Now Now, that was one moment you had. Because of this mess created by DOA, the best service you could provide a runaway criminal was your own secret base like home.

The only supply you could give that moment was giving him food and bandages, as he proceeds to bath. He was limping badly and you told him that you could least have the made-up support for him but he brushed of saying it wasn't a big deal.

You then forcefully make him seated on the bed considering his physique screamed broken bones which you couldn't heal.

Dazai was silent all the time, he wasn't eating nor talking and seemed to lost his touch, simply showing his true nature.

You know this was the real Osamu Dazai, the one without the barrier of fake happiness. He already had bags under his eyes as if he never slept, and how fragile and thin he had gotten over the past few months.

"Dazai? Osamu, Darling please eat something, i made you some crab soup you always liked" You would plead as he just stare as you.

"I don't wish to eat right now"

And that was the moment that broke your heart. You know it would be to much for him to intake such a heavy meal so you simply came back with some fruits, cut in bits and you proceed to take a seat next to him and open his mouth.

"I love you babes but if you cant eat, i will have to forcefully make you eat, I don't want anyone to die at me"

You swear you could hear him saying 'kinky', before you proceed to fed him food.

"Good boy Osamu, you finished your food" You said joyfully giving him a head pat as you proceed to keep the dishes in the kitchen.

Head pats, rubs and hugs.... that's what he needs

He wouldn't open up to you fully and you respected his decision.

You finished up everything as you re-bandaged his wounds later at night, which seemed to fallen quiet early today.

Dazai seemed to have gained his energy, and willingly ate up all the crab soup you made.

Currently you were in the bed with him, hugging him so closely not wanting to lose him again. This war was to much. You didn't wanted anyone to die, especially you two but it was your duty, to save people's future even if it meant to destroy your own.

"Hey Osamu, promise me you wouldn't pull any of this stunt again understand? I already lost much and I don't want you loss anyone more" You said as you bury your face lightly against his chest, listening to his heartbeat which could tell wonders.

Dazai pulled you closed, his arms around you and he secures the position, his head above your head, for the first time after his escape he spoke, "Y/N I love you and I promise I wouldn't change it for the world, I wouldn't leave you, I promise"

You looked up to see him sighing with his breathe, as he slowly closes his eyes, letting the darkness wash over him yet again, but this time within the comfort of his lover by his side and it was a sight you would never change it for the world.

'I love you Osamu Dazai' you whisper as you watch him fall asleep, least with a small hinted smile on his face.

Loosing yourself a little, you kissed him on his forehead and then lightly on his lips before embracing him yet again under the covers of your bed with your lover beside you, as you listen to his heartbeat, and you swore you could decode his heartbeat saying I love you too.

Hope this satisfy all those dazai kinnies including anon and me, cus Dazai deserves much more then all this. honestly idk if this directed mainly towards the hc! But dazai fluff is all we need.

[wolvesandshine]

Time passed differently in Azkaban.

Or maybe that was just Barty losing his last remaining brain cells. Either way, he was beyond caring.

Evan was dead. Dorcas was dead. Regulus was dead. Pandora was forever lost to him - locked up as he was in Azkaban.

So really, Barty doesn’t bother to acknowledge his new cell mate.

Whatever he’d done, he was no threat to Barty.

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Barty blinks. That voice. It sounded so similar but it couldn’t be -

Barty turned to see the new comer, seeing black hair and grey eyes, his heart beat picking up.

He was alive, he was alive - and -

Oh. Barty slumped, as he realised the person in front of him was not in fact, Regulus arising from the dead.

Sirius, the objectively worse brother, was still ranting. “He’s a fucking death eater and - “ Suddenly he cuts himself off and then starts laughing mumbling something about how he’d join the club. As if Sirius Black would ever become a death eater.

He sounded deranged, unstable, even to Barty’s ears.

The auror seems horrified and without much more effort dumps Sirius in the cell and hightails it out of there.

“If I had known all I had to do to get them to leave was laugh I would have done it ages ago.” Barty muses and Sirius suddenly stops laughing, turning to him.

“You.”

Barty simply stares back.“Yes. Me.”

Sirius ignores him. “What did you lot do to Regulus.”

The name turns Barty cold. “Why would you care? I thought you didn’t have a brother.”

At this, Sirius visibly flinches and Barty stares, shocked. The Sirius Black he knew never displayed any emotions, especially with regards to Regulus that wasn’t blatant disinterest.

Sirius stares at him. “I.. Look.I need to know. I just.. I need to know.”

Barty hears it the familiar heartbreak. That’s the thing isn’t it? He didn’t know either. He had assumed that the order had somehow got their hands on Regulus but well, it was foolish to assume so anyways. Regulus was much too smart to be caught.

“I don’t know.”

At that Sirius intakes a quick breath, “So he’s alive then? There was no body so he could have run away- “

“Regulus was many things but he wasn’t a coward.” Barty cuts in coldly. Regulus wouldn’t just leave them. At least not without informing first.

Sirius just slumps, tears filling his eyes. Good. Barty thinks. Sirius had caused Regulus enough pain. Maybe it was sadistic but it felt good to know that Sirius was also hurt by Regulus.

Finally when Barty thinks that’s it Sirius adds. “He was always one to keep things close to him.”

Barty couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. He had been Regulus’s friend for 7 years and at most he could say he knew 5 facts about him. “Understatement of the century.”

And then they both look at each other and laugh, a harsh sound that comes from grief for the boy they both loved but couldn’t save.

[reallyromealone]

Hello again I'm sorry if I'm bothering I just wanted to ask if I could have Bonten's reaction to falling in love with the nanny (Reader) of (Child Name) to see being so kind and careful with (Child Name) different from the other nannies who become arrogant or negligent, the (Reader) is like a mother to (Child Name) of them

(I hope not to bother you or anything like that if you do not want to do no problem I understand and thank you very much for posting a kiss 😘 )

You're not bothering dw

♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

Bonten had nanny trauma.

Every nanny they had either was one of these categories:

Arrogant about their position

Neglectful to (sons name)

And finally, tried to sleep with one of them.

They have all been...uh dismissed one could say.

Then came (name), a former preschool teacher and daycare attendant who wasn't even meant to be their nanny, (sons name) having somehow gotten separated and ended up being found by (name) and by time they found Bonten, little (sons name) was absolutely obsessed with the man.

Bonten did an aggressively thorough background check on (name), the man was honestly a total saint compared to them.

(Name) wandered the penthouse with little (sons name) in his arms, the two year old tuckered out from playtime and a snack and was dozing off on (name)s shoulder as the man gently rubbed his back as he sung a lullaby to him.

"He's so good with him" Ran commented as they ate their food, (sons name) enjoying his food unaware of the conversation as he had his favorites before him.

Well sort of.

"Excuse me, Mr. Sanzu?" (Name) asked the pink haired man softly, the men having returned from work and (name) having just put (sons name) for a nap "what?" Sanzu said bluntly to the new nanny, still rather hesitant and not trusting of him "I noticed (sons name), struggles with eating veggies and I know of a lot of alternatives to help him get the intake he needs" (name) said pulling out a paper "these are vegetable based foods, like these are fries but they are loaded with vegetables, we used them at the daycare I worked at and kids don't even notice they aren't normal fries"

(Name) showed Sanzu all the alternatives and explaining the health benefits "also I think it would benefit if we didn't prioritize some foods as better foods compared to others, it could help significantly"

This conversation alone was what earned Sanzus trust with the man, (name) genuinely wanting to help and support (sons name) and make sure he had the best and Sanzu could see just how much he cared.

"He sure has a way with children" Mochi said as (sons name) offered him some of his food "you like (name)?" He asked his kid who immediately began bouncing in his high chair "(name)!(name)!" The boy chanted excitedly "we bake cookie tomorrow!"

"Make sure to save us some"

"Ok papa!"

Bonten watched from the cameras how gentle and kind (name) was with their son, having successfully potty trained him and everything.

He was just so wonderful and sweet.

They don't know when they started falling for the nanny or even how but they collectively found themselves not upset with it.

Maybe it was the fact that he cared more about their son then them, showing how caring he is.

Maybe it was the attractive looks and nice voice?

Whatever it was it was working.

Really fucking well.

When they came home, food was prepared for them "sorry for not telling you, (sons name) really wanted to make dinner for you all"

They knew, cameras being all around the house to notify the if anything happened.

It was honestly precious seeing their two year old help cool, (name) letting him do the easy and safe things and Bonten decided that they wanted this every day.

"We brought you a dessert from the bakery" Rans voice was smooth like honey as he handed (name) an incredibly expensive bag of treats, the nanny looking at it almost shocked "oh, you guys didn't have too!" (Name) fretted only to be silenced by Rindō "you take care of our kid and you do it well, just take it"

(Name) nodded softly "is he sleeping?" Koko asked softly and (name) nodded softly "he wanted to be awake to see you guys but was tuckered out from wanting to try yoga, a character in his show did it and he tried but fell asleep like two minutes in"

"Yeah that sounds like him"

"Are you doing anything after this?" Kakucho asked and (name) shook his head "you wanna eat with us?"

"I wouldn't want to intrude"

"You're not" Mikey said bluntly, startling (name) and the nanny realized this might have been the first time he heard Mikey speak, usually be has the others relay things to (name).

"Why not" (name) said with a soft smile, letting himself get led to the dining area as the men tried to learn anything about (name), the poor nanny not even realizing that he's gonna be (sons name)s new step dad in one years time.

[artbychromo]

(little comic + 1.7K words, inspired by chatting about timezones + @swbookerr's fics uwu)

To be honest, Ace had partly forgotten about the Den Den Mushi. It sat on its own little table outside the Spade Pirates’ galley, and the thing hadn’t been touched since Shanks gifted it to him a few weeks ago. It also hadn’t rung yet, and Ace wasn’t certain what was appropriate grounds for calling the Red Force, anyway. 

Maybe it was only meant for emergencies? That had been Ace’s assumption. Meaning, he was startled when the thing first let out its odd, burbling call around dusk one day. He ducked out of the kitchen—he’d been helping Deuce and Skull prepare that evening’s supper, but now the two of them peered after Ace from the doorway.

Heart in his throat, he lifted the receiver. 

Sounds of chaos blared out from the little creature. Ace’s pulse raced even faster. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, until finally, the cacophony resolved itself into songs and shouts—and above that, a slurred, cheerful drawl. 

“Angel! Hello, angel? Are you there, gorgeous?” 

Ace’s nerves transformed into appalled heat, sensing the start of Deuce’s laughter from behind him.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he managed. “Shanks, what’s going on?”

The other captain let out a meandering whoop. “I just missed you, baby! Wish I could see your smile so bad. How am I supposed to dance, when you’re not here in my arms-s-s-s—arm?” 

On his end, Ace wondered if the Den Den actually replicated the waft of alcohol, or if it was just his imagination. At least no one was in danger.

Shanks went on, “The boys here got me thinking about you—”

“More like,” a voice interjected, “he wouldn’t shut up about your ass.” 

Ace flushed, hearing Skull’s chuckles join Deuce’s. It only got worse when Shanks replied, “It’s a lovely ass, I’ll have you know.”

“I didn’t mean his literal ass, Captain, though I’m sure it’s wonderful—”

“It is! Abs-o-lute heaven!” 

“Shanks!” Ace yelled (cutting off the man’s claim of “To die for!”). Chancing a glance over his shoulder, Ace was chagrined to find Skull with a hand slapped over his mouth, trying to remain composed, while Deuce had fully given up on standing and was now doubled over against the galley wall. 

Before he dealt with them, Ace had to address the matter at hand. 

“Look, we’re a little busy here,” he said tightly. “Anything else you needed to say? Otherwise, I’m gonna have to talk to you later.”

After a moment without response save for some shuffling, Ace added a cautious, “That alright, old man?”

Finally, Shanks let out a dramatic sigh. “Stars, but I missed your voice.” The background noise from the other side grew muffled, as if he’d at last found a spot away from the hubbub of his crew. He went on, drawn-out and wistful: “I don’t mean to keep you, sweetheart. Just wanted you to know I was thinkin’ about you all day, and I’ll be dreamin’ about you all night.”

Ace cursed himself for flushing further. Turning away from the galley (and the growing sound of cackling), Ace mumbled, “You’re drunk as fuck, Shanks. …Don’t go falling overboard tonight, okay?” 

“In vino veritas, little flame,” Shanks said with dignity. Then, more groggily, “Or, in sake veritas?” 

Ace put his head in his hands, but couldn’t stop the wobbling, frantic smile pulling at his cheeks. 

“Gods. Good luck with your hangover.” Then, in a rushed breath—because this whole situation was bizarre and new, and his heart was racing, but he was also so, strangely happy—Ace said, “Love you.”

Actually, this situation might be too bizarre and new: Shanks was taken off-guard. Ace heard a swift intake of breath, and then in a flood of boozy admiration, he swore, “Oh, baby, I’ll sail to you tonight! The boys’ll listen—I’ll follow the moonlight off the water, we can be together by dawn—what do you say, angel? We could spend all day together, having just the filthiest, crazed-animal se—”

Ace hung up.

—

Ace sagged against the doorway of his quarters. Even though most of his crew had retired for the day, he could feel his insomnia acting up like a jitter in his limbs. He probably wouldn’t land a good night’s sleep no matter what he tried. 

The issue wasn’t helped by his swirling thoughts. For the sake of restocking supplies, the Spade Pirates had docked in a town with some heavy anti-pirate sentiment. Somehow, the crew hadn’t been particularly bothered. Ace, on the other hand, was on edge the whole time, tensing up whenever he felt anyone’s eyes lingering on him too long.

There was no way anyone knew the truth about him. Even so, he couldn’t help superimposing faces from the rundown taverns of Goa onto those of the locals. Ace could feel the old, familiar unease simmering in his veins, like everyone had just finished hiding a sneer from him; like a knife was waiting to catch him unaware at any turn. 

But he was on his ship, now. Safe. Ace took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, yet the tension remained. A night like this one was better spent in the open air of the deck. He was just about to make his way out, when the Den Den Mushi reflected a hint of moonlight, catching his eye. 

After a moment of hesitation, Ace gathered the little thing in his arms, and took it with him to the bow of the ship. He stared contemplatively at where he’d set it on the rail. Since that first fiasco, he and Shanks had used the device a few times; their calls made it clear that he didn’t need to wait for some emergency. Still…

Watching starlight glint off the Den Den’s metal trim, he wondered what time it might be where Shanks was. The last time they’d talked, Shanks had been about half a day ahead of him. Who could say if they’d kept pace since then, though.

Stealing a glance at the crow’s nest—he was pretty sure Finamore was on shift tonight—Ace’s hand hovered over the receiver. His thoughts roiled. The tranquil rocking of the ship and the peaceful glow of the moon should have soothed him, but for some reason, they just made Ace more agitated.

He finally thought, Fuck it.

Ace waited, feeling suspended in time as the call went out. Then, he heard a click. 

“Mm… Hello?” 

Ace’s mind stalled. He was thrown off, watching the snail mimic a very sleepy Red-Haired Shanks. It was amusing at times to see the creature capture the other man’s expressions, but a little unsettling for this call; Ace directed his gaze out toward the ocean instead.

“Shanks?” he ventured. “Um. Morning?” 

There was a yawn. Then, “G’morning, little flame.” The cadence of Shanks’ voice was even slower than usual, syllables softly melding into each other. “To what do I owe the pleasure, sweetheart?”

Ace’s mouth quirked, impressed at the immediate smooth-talking. He was also, undeniably, taken in by the calming lilt of Shanks’ words. Ace twisted and untwisted a ringlet of the Den Den Mushi’s cord. 

“It’s nothin’ important, just… checking in.” Ace was unable to keep himself from adding, “What time is it there? I can call back later.” 

He heard a gentle sigh. 

“It’s never too early for you,” Shanks said. “A bit ahead of when I usually wake, but…” he hummed, exceedingly smug. “It’s cute, how you just can’t wait to hear my voice. So precious, baby.” 

Ace rolled his eyes toward the starry sky. “Yeah, I’m hangin’ up.”

Shanks let out a laugh. “Wait, now, come on. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“It’s just… been a long day.” After a few moments of curling the cord tighter, Ace asked, “Actually, could you talk about your day? What’ve you been up to?” 

A thoughtful hum came over the line, followed by a snort. “You should’ve seen the damn mess Yasopp got us into yesterday. There we were, perusing a market, when the man starts haggling…”

Ace sighed. It was nice, listening to Shanks describe the people he’d run into, the locales he and his crew had explored. Really, it would’ve been nicer to be there at his side for it all, but… the timing wasn’t right. Not yet.

Still, Ace could imagine it. He laid his head in his arms, and let Shanks’ voice carry him over the water.

Finally, as Shanks murmured about dishes they could try “just a few islands over,” Ace felt his eyelids drooping. He gave himself a small shake.

The nighttime breeze was cooler now, biting against his skin. Ace noted the hazy ache of tiredness beneath his eyes; the rhythmic lap of the ocean and its vast, ceaseless waves. Domed above him, the crispness of the stars only added to his sense of the world being yawningly immense. It would have left him unsettled… if not for the sound of Shanks’ steady breathing over the line: a tiny, precious tether in the dark. 

Ace cleared his throat. 

“Thanks, Shanks.”

His conversation partner snickered. “Good rhyme.” 

“Yeah.” Ace smiled. “I mean it, though. For this, and… everything you’ve done. For being you.”

Ace hesitated, stomach churning at his trite words. The night’s darkness helped mute his embarrassment, though; same as the blush on his cheeks. 

“It means a lot,” he finished, voice soft.

There was a brief, yet heavy silence after that, like Shanks was lingering in the pause between one breath and the next. Finally, he murmured, “We’re lucky bastards, aren’t we? I mean—” He waited a moment, so Ace could finish chuckling. 

Then he said, “I’m grateful too. To have found you.”

Ace blinked, staring out into the moonlit night. All he could offer was an agreeing hum. 

After lingering in the contented silence a moment longer, Shanks finally gave a soft laugh, and said, “Guess you should give sleep another go.” 

“Ugh. Yeah.” Ace wiped a hand down his face, but turned toward the Den Den Mushi with a smile. “Alright. Love you.” 

“Love you too, little flame. Goodnight, Ace.” 

He grinned. “Good morning, Shanks.” 

Shanks’ laugh was just crackling out when Ace replaced the receiver. He heard enough, however, to be flooded with warmth on the way back to his quarters; and as he laid in bed, easily welcoming sleep.

[iamdronegirl]

Purest Puzzle,

Don’t address me as Hermione, or must I actually curse you for my intentions to be clear?

Did you know that Tom means ‘innocence,’ or ‘purity’ in Hebrew? I find that delightfully ironic.

You seem keen on gaslighting me into thinking that you weren’t, in fact, hiding behind a bookshelf whilst staring at me. Perhaps you should grab a dictionary on your next impromptu trip to the library. On second thought, to save you the effort…and the next victim, “to pursue or approach stealthily,” is the definition you’re looking for.

It’s alright, I won’t tell anyone that you like stalking girls. You don’t have to talk your way out of it, but would it really hurt to put a bit of effort into the things you do?

Regarding the sweet offer from your letter, I wouldn’t dare lean on you, Head Boy, because you’ve got so much product in your hair that I’d probably slide right off.

You say I’m brash and yet you’ve already called me an abomination! I didn’t know strawberries were so aversive to you. I’ll have a chat with the house-elves and ask if they wouldn’t mind mixing tiny bits of fruit into your every meal.

Also, waffles distribute the syrup better. Pancakes are glorified sponges.

If you were my ‘cup of tea,’ I would be dead from poison intake. You are diplomatic in the way of a politician, I suppose. Clever, however? Still debating. Then again, you never claimed that you were those things, only that you preferred them in your company.

I’m thrilled to meet these impressive friends of yours after the holiday. Fingers crossed they’re the ones who might find my nature charming.

Don’t worry about speaking with Dippet regarding my OWLs, I wouldn’t want to take time out of your busy schedule of skulking about the castle. What were your exam scores? Whatever they were, I’m planning to surpass them. When we take the NEWTs, perhaps we can have a proper rivalry. A very distant, very unacquainted, lonesome rivalry, of course.

I asked you to leave me be, and yet I’m writing you another letter. I’m afraid that my pride won’t allow you to remain unchecked. As you said yourself, don’t write such a terrible letter to which I have no choice but to respond.

Happy Christmas Eve Eve! In two days, you can put the coal in your stocking to good use, rather than casting all those incessant warming charms on yourself.

With indifference,

HG

FF: “This is how you lose the time war” by @fleabagshair

AI-art by Your Journey , commissioned by me

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I’M HERE FOR THE TEA please can we see Mama Rosehearts seeing Trey again?? You know the boy she probably blames for leading her son astray with SUGAR 😆 maybe throw in the Clover siblings or Clover parents too? Only if you want to though!

Scalding hot tea to go with those banned strawberry tarts... 👀 (Not gonna lie though, it's so funny to me that Mrs. Rosehearts may see Trey, one of THE most normal and mild-mannered dudes in the main TWST cast, as some kind of twisted degenerate that peddles an addictive white powder to her child 🤡)

While writing this, I kept thinking of the passive aggressive dinner scene in Shrek 2 (that eventually turned into a full-blown food fight) 😅 Trey can be Shrek since he's green and Mrs. Rosehearts can be Fiona's dad since they're both protective parents-- (I decided to keep it to Trey, Riddle, and Mrs. Rosehearts! The rest of the Clover family would be a lot of people to account for in one interactions.)

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

Trey was used to cutting cakes, not cutting tension. The vice dorm leader job description had said nothing about the latter—yet here he was, newly saddled with the responsibility.

To his right was Riddle, forcing himself to maintain impeccable posture for afternoon tea. Back straight, head up, eyes forward, as he wove a teaspoon through a cup of warm liquid. Normally, he would slightly sweeten his tea with honey—but he went without it today, only stirring on reflex.

A ha-RUMPH! sounded as Riddle set the teaspoon down on his saucer. Their guest was disapproving, as Trey had expected. He gathered his strength and muttered a silent prayer to the Great Seven.

"Tea?" Trey offered the woman to his right, teapot at the ready.

Mrs. Rosehearts tapped a dagger-like nail against her arm. She had painted them a deep crimson, the exact shade of the red velvet cakes Patisserie Clover whipped up—though with the scathing expression she wore, Trey figured the last thing she wanted to hear about was baked goods. The woman looked like she was out for his blood, rich and oh-so-red.

"Okaaay, no tea then." Trey carefully returned the teapot to its spot and reached for a plate of the least sweet item avaliable. "How about a finger sandwich? We've got all different kinds of fillings, so just pick the one you like."

Mrs. Rosehearts didn't so much as pass the poor sandwiches a glance out of pity.

"Alright, I guess that's also a negatory?"

Her icy eyes bore into Trey, silently judging him. The tension thickened, turning heftier than a filling pea soup (though he doubted she was in the mood for any food at this point).

A hand reached over and plucked a sandwich from the top of the pile, staving off some rigidity in the air.

"Thank you, Trey." Riddle offered a small smile.

"You're very welcome. Don't eat it all up in one bite now. Remember to save some for everyone else," Trey joked light-heartedly. "You've got a smoked salmon on whole wheat there. I tossed the fish in lemon juice, salt, and pepper, then mixed it with a little cream cheese, dill, and minced onion."

"Is that right? It sounds delicious and healthy," Riddle said carefully, emphasizing the final word. He delicately nibbled at the crusts--still left on--while eyeing the contents of his teacup.

The table settled back into a stiff silence. Riddle staring at his drink, his mother staring at Trey, and Trey staring at the wall behind her. If he made eye contact, would she explode?

Trey rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. His hand came away damp with perspiration. He dared to say what was on everyone's mind.

"Well, uh... This is awkward."

There was an audibly sharp intake of breath. Riddle, paralyzed. His thumb pressed down hard on his sandwich, puncturing a hole in the bread.

"You're the eldest son of the bakers," Mrs. Rosehearts declared, her first utterance as prickly as thorns. "The boy who led my Riddle astray with sugar."

She makes it sound like I was peddling something way worse than what it actually was! It was only a slice of strawberry tart...

Trey bit back his protests and tried at a smile. He and Riddle had spent hours reviewing and rehearsing their game plan for this dreaded moment. "Don't challenge her, don't instigate," his dorm leader had instructed him. "Be agreeable. Lie if you must. Whatever it takes for us to come out of this encounter unscathed."

His had confidence wavered, worry in his big eyes. A flash of fear, and Trey saw the sad little child from years before, the fat tears that had been dribbling down Riddle’s contorted face. Sobbing, apologizing, pleading.

He had tipped his head and nodded. A mere card soldier obeying his queen. The line he parroted so often was spoken once more: “Yes, dorm leader.”

Trey reached within himself for the best he could manage. "It's nice to see you again, ma'am."

"If only I could say the same!!" Mrs. Rosehearts huffed dismissively. She then snapped, quick as a whip, to Riddle, who flinched. "It’s no wonder why you came home in such a sorry state for the holidays! I suspected it for a while now, but this confirms it. You’ve been reintroduced to bad influences at school."

“That’s not exactly…” Riddle trailed off, his voice weak. His mother continued to rant, undaunted.

“NRC has its fair share of students that cause trouble,” Trey confessed, tactfully cutting in. “Still, that’s to be expected of teenage boys."

“My Riddle rarely ever behaves in such a disrespectful manner,” Mrs. Rosehearts retorted. Rarely stung like a slap to the face. “Were it not for poor choices in friendship, he would never act out.

“Why a prestigious learning institution like Night Raven College would allow such riffraff in, I’ll never understand! They only ruin it for the others. It only takes one bad seed to spoil the whole bunch.”

She didn't name names, but it was clear who she was talking about from where she directed her intense gaze.

“I don’t know about spoiled apples, but bruised ones can still be used,” Trey pointed out, eager to divert the heated topic. “They don’t look the best, but they still taste fine. Bruised apples work for lots of recipes. Salads, sauces, ciders, jams..."

The smoked salmon sandwich slipped, falling into Riddle’s untouched tea. His eyes widened. Then Trey’s slowly followed. Both of them caught the misstep, their times staggered.

The scowl on Mrs. Rosehearts deepened, her crimson lips forming an almost bloody line. “You would just love to stuff my son with more of that sugary poison, wouldn’t you? Just like you’ve filled his head with your poisonous thoughts!!”

“What? No, I wouldn’t… I haven’t—” He instinctively pivoted to providing a defense, something to placate her.

It was an ill-advised mistake.

"Young man!!" Face red, she rose from her seat, slamming both hands on the table. The fine china and silverware clattered violently. "First you feed him that horrible junk food, then you've graduated to feeding him all these untruths!! You've done quite enough damage to my son."

He had one foot in the rabbit hole now, the situation spiraling into chaos. Trey braced himself against the verbal barrage, wincing as her volume climbed higher and higher, her features distorting from rage.

A part of him wanted to cry out. To argue, to shout. But fear clawed at his throat, seizing his tongue.

"Look where hanging around you has gotten him! He comes home over the winter break spouting nonsense—nonsense he no doubt picked up from you. I thought I had done all I could to rid us of the pests buzzing around him, but clearly even those efforts haven't been enough!"

"M-Mother, please... I can explain!" Riddle insisted, jumping up. His teacup wobbled, threatening to topple over and stain the table and rug. "I implore you, don't blame Trey--"

"A mother knows what's best for her child! I'll be speaking to the headmaster about this, and there WILL be some changes around here!"

Riddle recoiled, defeated. He balled his hands into fists on his lap—to stop them from shaking.

It's happening, Trey realized. Again, it's happening...

The edges of his vision blurring, his throat closing up. A distant memory of his parents profusely apologizing to a screaming woman. Riddle huddled behind her, in tears, tugging, begging to be heard. Him, standing frozen, unable to act.

"Riddle..." Trey made to place a hand on his shoulder to reassure him, but a protective arm blocked his path. He met the livid face of Mrs. Rosehearts.

"Don't you touch a hair on my son's head.”

His hand jerked back but refused to fall limp to his side. He frowned slightly, brows furrowing in hesitation.

But he pushed himself forward and tumbled deeper down the rabbit hole.

"With all due respect, ma'am," Trey said very evenly, "I get wanting to support and protect him, I really do. That's part of my job as his vice dorm leader—but Riddle doesn’t need it all the time. He’s not the fragile flower you seem to think he is.”

He was the thorns that warded off enemies. He was the stalk, morally upright and willful. He was the roots that burrowed deep and anchored the group.

He was anything but a rose.

“Frankly, I think you sorely underestimate how strong Riddle really is,” Trey continued. He must be, if he has the courage to speak up for me when I couldn’t do the same for him. “I don’t mean just in magic either. He has the will of a queen too.”

Mrs. Rosehearts drew back, positively appalled. Her nostrils flared. "And just what are you insinuating?!"

Shock replaced the delicate discomfort on Riddle’s face. “Trey, you…”

“Ahahah… Sorry, Riddle.” He passed his friend a faint smile. “I guess I couldn’t help but meddle this time. I broke my promise to you. My bad.”

“No, don’t be.” His response was quiet, like the trace of a whisper on a breeze.

“I understand now. It’s not the school that needs changing, but you,” Mrs. Rosehearts snarled, jabbing an accusatory finger at Trey. “I’ll have you expelled from this school!! You won’t ever be put in a position where you can sink your venomous fangs into my…"

"Stop, mother...!!"

"Riddle?" Mrs. Rosehearts looked expectantly at her son. She had stiffened, the fire in her eyes now petrified to stone.

He hesitated under her gaze.

"... Hey. It's okay. You've got this," came a soft voice from beside him. From Riddle's right, his right-hand man. "No one else can speak for you but yourself."

Riddle swallowed. He tried to maintain his cool, but his words came out shaky.

"Mother, I..." He stopped and started again. "You may see Trey as a villain, someone who leads children astray from the good and morally righteous path with a house of sweets. But that's not what he is.”

Riddle remembered the scene well.

In a garden of rose hedges… Collars turned into fluttering playing cards. Then the pitch black had consumed him. A light he had reached for. The hand that had reached back. Someone calling out to him, panicked.

That person was…

"At my darkest moment, Trey was there to stop me from sinking lower than I already had. When I sought a hand in the void, it was he who reached back for me. His hand is what pulled me up when I was down.

“For that, I will always be grateful, no matter what you may think of him. He is worthy of standing by my side as Heartslabyul’s vice dorm leader. That is my decision—a decision acknowledged by all.”

His mother bristled. "You would side with this… this boy over me? Your mother? Your family?"

“I’m suggesting that raising a complaint to the headmaster wouldn’t change the circumstances. He, too, is aware of Trey’s merits as my second-in-command and would wish for him to stay.”

Riddle shared a small, knowing smile with his friend. Indeed, Crowley had been present for the debacle—and indeed, he would promote their support of one another. To save face and reputation. (“Wh-What nonsense is this!! Of course my students are well-mannered and cooperative! What would make you think anything less of them?!”)

“Clever,” Trey mouthed.

“Well, I never!!” Mrs. Rosehearts huffed, abruptly rising from her seat. “The depths of depravity know no bounds!! To think you’ve magically convinced the entire school that you’re good…!!l

“I’ll do my best to show you my good points too, ma’am,” Trey replied. He couldn’t stop a smirk from making its way onto his lips. “After all, everyone at NRC’s like a diamond in the rough. All they need’s their time to shine.“

At this, Riddle coughed into a fist to conceal choked laughter. “… Yes, one could say such a thing. Rest assured, mother; I’m in good hands. There is no learning institution more fit for me than here.”

At our Night Raven College.

[writing-for-life]

Would love to see a post about how Destiny is the worst older brother. Not like, actively, but just because he always fulfills his responsibilities and then treats Dream like a baby for having any difficulty with his. And he also visits the parents and doesn’t ask them for anything. Maybe you’ve already done so!

We also have a serious take/meta now…

Oh you know, I totally think he is the worst brother, older or otherwise 🤣

Getting kind of cozy with the Fates in SoM and calling in that family meeting? Check.

Being the one who both saves but also somewhat dooms Dream several times over (and of course he’s NOT doing either because he’s just… Destiny)? Check.

I mean, do we know what would have happened if he had left Dream in that black hole in Overture instead of going, “Erm, actually, you dropped something in my garden, can you sort out your mess?” That looks so typically older brother who pulls up the little brother to sort out his shit, and then we’re made to believe, “Well, but he was helpful in a way, wasn’t he?” Yes, he was, but someone also had to help setting up that stable loop from which there would be no escape, right? The one where Dream had to be actively pulled out of some shit to land him in it even deeper (of course for the greater good, yeah yeah, we get it). And who better to do that than Daddy Time’s favourite boy Destiny, right?

Wondering how the father/son meetings between Destiny and Time go. I mean, they’re hardly ever happening, because our boy is not annoying. Not as annoying as Dream anyway (but then again, Dream is the one with the mummy-issues, the daddy issues are just the cherry on top). Destiny will probably just check in for that half hour visit every couple of billion years, and Time will go, “Alright son?” And Destiny will be like, “Yup, never better.” “Want a coffee or something?” “Nah, need to run.” Quick awkward nod, done. And Time will have more fuel to go, “See Dream [I can literally hear the contempt in my head], your brother never asks for anything. Not even a coffee.” And Dream will go, “But but… I didn’t want mum’s food either. I didn’t even ask, man, she just tried to force it on me.” <insert mild sob> And all Time will say is, “Don’t call me man, son! Bit more respect, please…”

Or Destiny’s, “I’m your big brother, be sensible”-speech in Brief Lives. Where we all go, “Wow, he actually advises him. Sorta. The way he can. Tells him stuff. Gets rebuffed by Dream, so it’s his own fault really.” But then he turns round and goes, “Yeah, but that most important question, the one about how to find Destruction—sorry mate, we all know I know how, but you’re still on your own and need to ask that oracle. Crap it’s your son, eh? Sorry, I abide by my rules and responsibilities. Shit, do I recognise this somehow? Never mind…” And when Dream goes, “Nope, I don’t want to do this,” Destiny says, “Atta boy, finally you’re being sensible, well done. Knew you’d get there in the end.” And then Del steps in, tells Destiny off for always doing everything by the book (d’uh!) but unfortunately also gets Dream back on his feet, and Destiny just turns round, shrugs his shoulders and inwardly goes, “Guess I tried, huh?”

They’re a funny bunch.

Also, the real dilemma is they have ongoing beef about a coffee spill on a dream record, but that’s info Dream only shares with his therapist…

[If we wanted to be serious about it for a sec: I’d love to see more people exploring how we always talk about Desire as the main antagonist but sort of never about the others. When they are all fairly good at putting the final nails into Dream’s proverbial coffin by mere being their function (when Desire is the one who actively disengages when the shit hits the fan). Never mind, always getting carried away with that one 🙈]

@hyperboreancomics ask answered

[dragonydreams]

Fic: I choose you as my man - BuckTommy

Title: I choose you as my man Fandom: 9-1-1 Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Pairings/Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinnard Summary: Buck wants another date with Tommy before the wedding. Timeline: post 7x05 Word Count: 1,382 Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over these characters. I am merely borrowing them from Reamworks, Brad Falchuk Teley-Vision, Ryan Murphy Television, and 20th Century Fox Television. Betas: Thank you to @medieshanachie for looking this over for me. Author's Note: Title from "Take Me As I Am" by Wyclef Jean from Love, Actually soundtrack

Read on AO3

Buck couldn't believe he had as many butterflies in his stomach as he did as he adjusted the placement of the popcorn bowl on the coffee table. He glanced up at the television to where the movie was waiting to be started. 

He grabbed a couple of coasters and set one on either side of the popcorn bowl because he was an adult and didn't want rings on his table from when the beers that were still in the fridge inevitably began to sweat.

He didn't know why he was so nervous. It wasn't like this was the first time that Tommy had been to his loft. Then again, this was the first time he was coming over for a date. 

He felt the smile begin to grow as he thought back to the last time Tommy had been here. To when he'd turned Buck's world upside down with that kiss. The kiss he hasn't been able to stop thinking about since it happened.

He really hoped that they would kiss again tonight. And boy, did he feel fourteen years old again, just hoping for a kiss. 

Before he could get too lost in his thoughts, there was a knock at the door. Buck smoothed down his polo shirt and hurried to the door.

"You're here," Buck said, holding the door open for Tommy. A thrill raced down his spine as Tommy gave him an appreciative once over. One he couldn't stop himself from returning.

"I'm not too early, am I?" Tommy asked, stepping inside. 

"N-No, you're right on time," Buck answered, closing the door. "Go ahead and sit on the couch and I'll grab a couple of beers."

Tommy's rich laughter boomed when he saw the TV. Buck grinned to himself as he hurriedly opened the beers and joined him.

"You've been talking to Howie about me?" Tommy guessed as he accepted the beer Buck held out for him.

Buck dipped his head and looked up at Tommy through his lashes. He heard Tommy's quick intake of breath at the gesture but ignored it. "Well, he has known you the longest."

Tommy's bright eyes dimmed a bit. "Yeah, I was a different man back then," he said.

"Don't worry, he told me that, too," Buck assured him, reaching out to squeeze his - very muscular - arm.

"How'd that conversation go?" Tommy asked, somewhat nervously. 

Buck gestured towards the couch and they sat, both turned to face the other.

"I pulled him aside during a slow period at work and told him that I was bringing you as my date for the wedding," Buck said. 

"I wish I could have seen his expression to that announcement," Tommy said. "I wasn't out to anyone when I was with the 118."

"This was also how he found out that I'm bi, since I'd never been on a date with anyone who wasn't a woman before you," Buck admitted.

"And you chose a fire station as the place to come out to him?" Tommy asked, eyebrows raised. "Howie can't keep a secret to save his life."

"Which is why he was the last one on my team that I told," Buck said. "Not on purpose, but it just kinda ended up happening that way. I was kinda almost hoping that Maddie would let it slip, but unlike her fiance, she can keep a secret." Buck paused, then rushed to say, "Not that I'm keeping  us a secret. I'm not ashamed that I'm bi, or to be going out with you. After all, I'm bringing you to my sister's wedding. To Chimney!"

Tommy reached out and rested a hand on Buck's knee and squeezed. "Relax, I didn't think you were."

Buck took a deep breath. Not just because of how good it felt to have Tommy's hand on his leg, but also to release some of his nervous tension.

"Anyway, once that news sunk in he was so excited that we're going out and couldn't wait to share with me some of your favorite things," Buck said, glancing at the TV. "And I figured that since we missed the movie last time, that we should start with one of your favorites." 

"Have you seen it?" Tommy asked, resituating himself on the couch to better face the TV.

Buck grabbed the popcorn and remote and did the same, scooting closer to Tommy, but with a couple of inches still between them. 

"I used to watch it with Maddie," Buck said. "She loves it, too."

"But you don't? We can watch something else if you don't. I'll have lost some respect for you, though," Tommy teased.

"I do," Buck confirmed. "Who doesn't love a movie about people falling in love and the hope that being in love inspires?"

"Exactly," Tommy agreed, stretching an arm out behind Buck on the couch as he settled more comfortably. 

Buck eyed the arm behind him and just grinned to himself, having pulled that move himself way too often, pleased to be on the receiving end of it. He felt the heat rise on his cheeks. 

He raised the remote and pressed play before setting it on the coffee table.

As he sat back, he spread his legs just a bit so his knee was lightly pressing against Tommy's. The other man didn't say anything, but Buck felt him press his knee a little more into Buck's in acknowledgement. A pleasant shiver ran down Buck's spine as Tommy brushed a thumb against Buck's shoulder.

Buck glanced at Tommy from the corner of his eye and he was smiling. Whether that was because of Buck's reaction or the movie, Buck wasn't entirely sure.

He grabbed a small handful of popcorn and tossed it in his mouth. As he automatically began to lick the lingering butter and salt from the palm of his hand, he suddenly realized that he'd forgotten napkins. He leapt to his feet to find Tommy staring hungrily at him. 

"I-I forgot napkins. For the popcorn," Buck stuttered. 

Tommy looked from Buck's buttery lips to his fingers. "I think I can help with that," Tommy suggested, reaching out for Buck's right hand; the left still holding the popcorn bowl. 

Buck blindly set the popcorn on the table as Tommy pulled Buck back down next to him, much closer than before. 

Keeping his eyes on Buck's, Tommy sucked one of Buck's fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around each one until it was cleaned of butter and salt. 

Buck could barely catch his breath as he watched Tommy suck each of his fingers clean. His dick took an interest as well, suddenly wishing for Tommy to suck that appendage as well. It took all of Buck's effort to not glance down to see if Tommy was enjoying this as much as Buck was.

"That was so hot," Buck breathed when Tommy finished. 

"Oh, I'm not done yet," Tommy promised. 

He reached out with the same two fingers as last time and pulled Buck into a kiss.

Buck whined with relief to be kissing Tommy again, letting himself rest the hand that had just been in Tommy's mouth in his shoulder, his fingers digging in as Tommy's tongue flicked against his lips. He parted his lips and they both moaned as Tommy's tongue brushed against Buck's.

When they pulled apart a few minutes later, Buck panted, "This isn't why I invited you over tonight."

"You sure about that?" Tommy teased.

"Well, not the only reason," Buck admitted. "I hoped. I really hoped. But I also just want to spend more time with you."

"You don't hear me complaining, do you?" Tommy asked, running his fingertips along Buck's shoulders and upper back.

"N-n-noo," Buck said with a shuddering breath. "How do you do that to me?" he muttered quietly.

Tommy chuckled. "I remember what it was like when I first admitted that I was attracted to men."

Buck's wide eyes met Tommy's smiling ones, his fingers running down Tommy's arm. "Is it like this for everyone?"

"I can only speak for myself," Tommy said. "But in my experience, when you click with the right person, yes."

As if to prove his point, Tommy leaned back in and captured Buck's mouth again. 

It was a good thing that they'd both seen the movie before.

The End

[zeroseuniverse]

DO NOT COPY OR IMITATE MY WORK   

 FILE NAME: FROM ASHES

Featuring: TXT|Choi Soobin|Choi Yeonjun|Choi Beomgyu|Kang Taehyun|Huening Kai|SKZ|Bang Chan|Lee Minho|Seo Changbin|Hwang Hyunjin|Han Jisung|Lee Felix| Kim Seungmin| Yang Jeongin|ATZ| Kim Hongjoong|Park Seonghwa|Jeong Yunho|Kang Yeosang|Choi San|Song Mingi|Jung Wooyoung|Choi Jongho|BTS|Kim Seokjin|Min Yoongi|Jung Hoseok|Kim Namjoon|Park Jimin|Kim Taehyung|Jeon Jungkook|ENHA|Lee Heeseung|Park Jay|Sim Jake|Park Sunghoon|Kim Sunoo|Yang Jungwon|Nishimura Riki|SVT| Choi Seungcheol|Yoon Jeonghan|Hong Jisoo|Wen Junhui|Kwon Soonyoung|Jeon Wonwoo|Lee Jihoon|Lee Seokmin|Kim Mingyu|Xu Minghao|Boo Seungkwan|Chwe Vernon|Lee Chan|P1H|Yoon Keeho|Choi Taeyang|Choi Jiung|Hwang Intak|Haku Shota|Kim Jongseob|

   SYNOPSIS: OVERVIEW

  40 years ago the government announced their trials for genetic testing on humans. It started innocent, treatments for less severe hereditary conditions, people lining up to get the treatments. The world had no idea of the plans hidden under the facade of curing ailments. The damage started small, an odd quirk here and there, maybe some horns sprouting or skin changing color. As the years passed and technology improved, more and more subjects received more apparent powers, which would be passed down and mutated as the generations continued, it wasn’t a controlled test anymore. 

       Now the once bustling city was silent after 7 PM, their attempt to protect the public from the monsters they created, each identified mutant had to go through a test and get approval for citizenship, old abandoned hospitals refurbished to house the new citizens in their attempt to keep the mutants away from the standard citizens. Though they seemingly lived cohesively, prejudices were very common in this new world, every mutant and mutant sympathizers had to deal with ridicule, protests, threats. The once happy country had become one of hate, but maybe the ones you hate could be the only ones to save you, what would you do then?

         Index…

                       𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .

                                 1%...

SIREN [P1harmony]

Test subjects, that was all they had ever been, all that they had ever known. Time was almost nonexistent, no light seeping through any window, just the fluorescence from the lights above. Hope of an escape slowly seeps away, was it even possible anymore?

1.Too Young to Die[Soul x reader x Jongseob] 2.Back to Back[Theo] 3. Stupid In Love[Keeho] 4.Nice Guy[Intak] 5.Off the Mask[Jiung]

                                15%...

Light A Flame [SEVENTEEN]

1.Numb [Wonwoo x reader x Woozi] 2. In Your Head[Joshua] 3. Trial and Error[Mingyu]4. Slow[Vernon x reader x Seokmin]5.Live Wire[Dino]6. Midnight Mirage[Seungkwan] 7. Meet You On The Plane[Soonyoung]8. Lovers In Black[Jeonghan x Reader X Minghao X Reader X Jun] Otherworldly[Seungcheol]

                                35%...

Good Boy Gone Bad [TOMORROW BY TOGETHER]

1.Can’t You See Me [Yeonjun] 2. Purposefully Accidental [Taehyun] 3. Jinxed [Kai] 4. Taunt [Beomgyu] 5. Chill [Soobin] 

                                50%...

The Sound [STRAYKIDS]

1.Facts or Fiction?[Han]2. The Love We Feel[Jeongin X Reader X Seungmin X Reader X Lee Know] 3. Addicted To You [Changbin] 4. All Of The Things We Try To Forget [Hyunjin X Reader X Felix] 5. Burn For You [Chan]

                              70%...

Outlaw [ATEEZ]

1.Wielding Love[Seonghwa] 2. Taking A Chance [Jongho] 3. Fight For Love [San] 4. Through The Firewall [Hongjoong] 5. Snagged Heart [Yeosang]6. Bare to Me [Mingi] 7. Smooth Criminal [Wooyoung X Reader X Yunho]

                              99%...

Mortal [ENHYPEN]

1.Learn to Love [Heeseung X Reader X Jungwon] 2. Puppy  Love [Jake] 3.Fatal Flaws [Niki] 4. For The Plot [Sunoo] 5.In The Codes [Sunghoon] 6. Taste Of Love [Jay]

                            100%...

Life Goes On [BANGTAN]

1. If This Isn’t Love[Jimin X Reader X Taehyung X Reader X Jungkook]  2. Kindest Lie [Hoseok] 3. Silver Spoon [Namjoon] 4. Who Am I To Judge [Jin] 5. Delicate Love [Yoongi]

                      ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

REMEMBER: You do not have to read every story to understand, this is a series of stories taking place in the same universe at different periods but I will write summaries to keep you in the loop don't worry, also some of these stories will be fem pronouns, some might be gender neutral, it depends on the mental character for each story, please don't be too harsh when judging, this story is a few years in the making

Also I will be updating this page as I go, placing the links in this will be the Navigation for the series.