#stands panting and sweating and sunburnt and stupid looking

[wayward-banana]

“hey where’s your art why aren’t you posting any art—“ ITS JUST MY XIV OCS KISSING AND BEING STUPID THATS ALL IT IS AND IM NOT USING THE TUMBLR MATURE TAG I DO NOT HAVE THE COURAGE FOR IT!!! FUCK!!!!!

[capseycartwright]

if you want it baby i can show you

so here’s the thing – eddie diaz is very aware that his boyfriend is a ridiculously attractive human being. even before buck was his boyfriend, eddie was aware of this – evan buckley was 6’2, nothing but muscle and pure strength, with a heart of goddamn gold. buck could rock just about any outfit and eddie would find it sexy - but he never expected his downfall to be a backwards baseball cap.

ao3 link

So here’s the thing – Eddie Diaz is very aware that his boyfriend is a ridiculously attractive human being. Even before Buck was his boyfriend, Eddie was aware of this – Evan Buckley was 6’2, nothing but muscle and pure strength, with a heart of goddamn gold. It was the kind of combination that made people notice, and notice they did; on calls, when they went out to bars, even in the line at the grocery store. People thought Buck was hot – and Eddie very much shared that sentiment.

Eddie knows his boyfriend is hot. Eddie gets to see the younger man in various states of undress, okay – he knows what Buck has got going on underneath his clothes is even better than what anyone could imagine when they’re trying to undress them with their eyes in the middle of the street. Eddie knows, because he’s the only person in the world that gets to take Buck’s clothes off whenever he wants to, like he’s unwrapping a goddamn present for him.

Eddie gets to experience Buck gloriously naked and in his bed, and standing under the spray of their shower, pale skin seeming to go on for miles, and he gets to be on the receiving end of one of Buck’s goofy smiles as he stands in Eddie’s bedroom, wearing nothing but underwear and wondering where he put his spare uniform while Eddie gets to count his abs and fantasise about getting his mouth on Buck’s hipbones and sucking a hickey into the taut skin there.

The point was ��

Eddie knew his boyfriend was hot, and he thought he’d seem Buck in all his favourite outfits – or lack thereof. When they’d first started dating, exploring Buck’s bare skin had been a glorious adventure in figuring out exactly what Buck liked, and didn’t like, and how he’d squirm, just a little, if Eddie pressed his fingertips into Buck’s ribs, and how he’d moan helplessly, like he couldn’t keep the sound in, if Eddie grazed his teeth over his collarbone. And then Eddie had to go to work everyday and live with the knowledge of what was under Buck’s clothes – and it was fine, really, because Eddie was a big boy and he could compartmentalise, even if seeing Buck in his turnout pants and those damned suspenders was enough to have his heart racing in his chest sometimes.

The desperate want of those first few weeks hadn’t lessened, really – Eddie still wanted Buck with a fiery passion he was sure would never diminish – but the newness of their relationship had slowly turned to familiarity and Eddie could appreciate without feeling like he was going to have to hump Buck’s bones in a supply closet or there was no way he’d make it through his shift.

That didn’t happen anymore.

Until today.

It was unbearably warm. Los Angeles in July was always warm to begin with, but a heatwave had hit, and they were in the middle of a drought, and it felt like the concrete of the pavements was sizzling under the ridiculously high temperatures, and of course, they were stuck at work. Christopher was – and Eddie was really trying not to begrudge his son here – at the beach with his abuela and Pepa, up to his knees in water and utterly delighted to be away from the dead heat of the city, and Eddie was stuck rolling hoses in the carpark of their station house.

And Buck was wearing that goddamned hat.

Buck rarely wore hats – at least, in the time Eddie knew him, Buck rarely wore hats. He’d mentioned he’d gone through a bit of a hat phase, in his early twenties, but he’d apparently grown out of it by time Eddie had come along.

Or so Eddie had thought.

Buck was wearing one of his LAFD t-shirts, the dark material soaked through with sweat as he bent over to roll the next house, an LAFD baseball hat shoved on his head – backwards, to protect his neck from the sun, apparently.

It was a nice sentiment and all, and Eddie did worry about his pale-ass boyfriend getting scorched in the California sun, but the backwards baseball cap was so deeply distracting, Eddie wondered if it would be better if Buck was just getting sunburnt.

Buck looked like a douche-y frat boy. There was no other way to describe him – not when he was wearing a t-shirt he’d clearly ordered a size too small to show off his muscles (“Because, Eddie, I don’t work hard at the gym to hide the fact I’m fit, do I?”) and he was wearing that stupid goddamned baseball cap, a few blond curls escaping the brim, Buck not bothering to even try and slick back his hair when the weather was this hot and he knew he’d just be sweating all day long.

Buck looked like a fucking frat boy, and Eddie wanted to slam him against a wall and fuck him until he forgot his own name.

[be11atrixthestrange]

Waking Up In Vegas Chapter 9

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M for reasons.

Ao3 | FFN

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[Ron]

"Okay. Let's talk," says Ron, throwing his arms down in defeat. "Go on, then."

"Not here!" exclaims Lavender, her eyes nervously scanning the restaurant where they're still drawing attention. "Not in front of people," she whispers.

"Where, then?"

'Your room."

Ron narrows her eyes at her. His room has to be the worst place for whatever conversation she wants to have. He has an inkling that her grievances will include 'don't you miss me?' and 'we're in Vegas, let's live a little' and being in a room alone with her and a king-sized bed is a very bad idea.

However, unlike her previous attempts to get him in bed, this time he has his eyes set on someone else, and her tricks won't work.

"Okay then," shrugs Ron. "Let's go to my room."

Lavender beams, and Ron reckons he should tell her to keep her pants on and her hopes down.

They leave the bar and continue up the stairs to his room, Lavender skipping by his side while her hand swings between them, almost begging for an accidental brush of his fingers. Ron crosses his arms in front of his body, wondering if his intentions were that obvious on the walk back to the hotel with Hermione, when he was painstakingly aware of how close his hand was to hers.

Panic sets in as they approach the door to his room. Did he ever clean up the whipped cream and champagne flutes from last night? Does he even care if Lavender sees?

His question answers itself when he opens the door to find that the room is spotless, thanks to the hotel's cleaning service, but his stomach sinks in disappointment. Maybe spotting the evidence that Ron really has moved on would have been a clear signal for Lavender to follow suit.

Immediately after entering the room, Lavender tumbles into his perfectly-made bed.

"Can you get off my bed?" he hisses.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Seriously. It's a bit weird, don't you think?"

She narrows her eyes, which are momentarily wet with tears, before making a dramatic show of getting up.

"Where can I sit, then?"

Instead of getting too comfortable, he'd rather she get straight to the point. "What do you need to talk about?"

"Nothing in particular," she says airily, taking a seat beside him on a barstool.

Ron rolls his eyes. "You just said—'

"I said, I want to talk. We never just talk anymore," Lavender says, as if that was a valid reason to drag him away from a very enjoyable afternoon at the bar.

"We never talk because we broke up."

"Right, and I want to make sure you have people to talk to. You know, confide in."

"Confide in?"

"Yes, Ron. Confide. I can tell you're stressed out. You're doing a lot for Harry and Ginny, planning this whole trip and everything. I just want you to know I'm here if you need a sounding board."

The way she bats her eyelashes at him and reaches her hand to his head to brush his fringe from his eyes sends tingles down his spine, and not the good kind. He sees right through this.

"I'm not stressed," he says, and it's true — he's not at all anxious about the trip. Hermione's done most of the planning, and thanks to her itinerary, things have been extremely smooth.

It's almost as if Lavender can see Hermione's name passing through his thoughts. "It looked like you were having a pretty intense conversation with Hermione Granger at the bar."

Ron doesn't like the sound of her full name in Lavender's voice. It makes Hermione sound like a stranger. Emphasizing the name instead of the person behind it sounds like an attempt to create distance, and Ron doesn't want to know what Lavender plans on justifying with that distance. Other than being a bully, of course.

He hopes his calculated response will get under her skin. "Yeah. 'Mione's great."

Ron's never used a nickname on Hermione before, but Lavender doesn't need to know that. Plus, he likes the way it sounds. Maybe he'll try it later, if she'll allow it, of course.

Without warning, his mind flashes to his bed, where his fingers are digging into her flesh as he grips her by the thighs to pull her writhing body hard against his erection. He's on his back, watching her ride him and freely calling her 'Mione' — moaning it, even. She bites her bottom lip and her breasts bounce with every thrust, her pleasure is evident by her arching back and hitching breath, and she doesn't seem to mind the nickname one bit.

Lavender's shrill voice pulls him from his ill-timed daydream. "I agree, she's great!" she says, her tone suddenly cheerful, like she's talking about a beloved college roommate. "I'm quite surprised by how much I like her. There's more to her than meets the eye, you know."

"Yeah, well, that goes for most people—" says Ron, now in two minds about diverting the conversation away from Hermione. What does she mean there's more to her than meets the eye?

There's not enough time to decide if it's worth humoring Lavender before she continues. "I'm just surprised that you two get along. You're like polar opposites."

He opens his mouth to respond but she interrupts.

"Oh of course! Football!"

"Football?"

"Yeah, she's a pretty big football fan, but you knew that, didn't you?"

He didn't know that, and as exciting as that news is, it makes him wonder how it didn't come up in conversation. She knows he's a football fan. Why has she never engaged him in a conversation about it? Ron shakes his head, refocusing on the present conversation. Lavender might be trying to get into his head.

"I'm sure most of it she picked up from Viktor, but still. She can probably carry on a sports conversation better than me."

Viktor. He knows that name. But it can't be… "Viktor?" he asks, unable to resist asking for more information.

"You know the one, that Bulgarian player."

He sure does. Viktor Krum. "Hermione knows Viktor Krum?"

Lavender scoffs. "Yeah. She dated him. For a long time," she says, reaching for his fringe again. Misreading the jealousy etched across Ron's face as confusion, she continues, "I was surprised too. He's hot. She might not look like much, but she clearly has no problem landing a really good football player."

To Ron's dismay, his daydream returns and he's back in his bed, pinned down by Hermione as she grinds on top of him. But this time, she answers to 'Mione' with a nickname of her own: Vicky. She screams that name when she reaches her climax, but it sucks the pleasure from the moment, and all Ron wants to do is fucking cry.

"Anyway, that's not really my tea to spill," says Lavender, shrugging innocently.

No it's not, he thinks. Although he wishes she didn't spill it, he's grateful she did.

"Are you sure you're okay?" asks Lavender, drawing her hand away and taking stock of his hollow expression.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he responds curtly.

"And we're good?" she asks.

Are they good? He doesn't know — he can't decide if she is manipulating him or not. All he knows is that he's suddenly self-conscious about having kissed Hermione, and curious how it compared to Vicky. He can't help but wonder if her disappointment in finding out she's married to Ron stems from the fact that she could have had anyone else — for example: an older, hotter, professional football player.

"We're good," he says. Lavender doesn't need to know any of it.

"Good."

An awkward silence encroaches as Ron waits for Lavender to leave, but she doesn't move. She looks like she wants to say something else.

"You know I still care about you, right?" she says eventually, breaking the tension.

"Of course," he adds, unwilling to say it back. He does care about Lavender, but he knows she wants to hear it too. It has to be a trap...

"I just miss my best friend. That's all." At that moment, she leans in so their shoulders are touching, and reaches her hand toward his exposed knee.

"Best friends don't sit this close," he says. His tone is colder than he anticipates, but that might be a good thing. It's probably necessary to get his message across at this point. "You should go, Lavender."

She lets out a shaky sigh, and Ron dares himself to look at her face. Her face is reddening, and her eyes water. She's not accustomed to rejection, especially not from him. "Walk me back?" she asks.

"Sorry, Lav. I really need a shower."

She opens her mouth to respond, but then snaps it shut, as if her automatic response was to flirt with him and invite herself to stay for the shower. Her face reddens and she looks away, his rejection fully catching up to her.

"Okay then. I'll see you at the bar later?"

"The bar?"

"Yeah, we're all getting together. Even Hermione," she adds icily.

Ron groans, shaking his head. He knew it. She fucking knows.

"Maybe," he says, avoiding her gaze. He then stands, stumbles into the bathroom, and slams the door.

She is so damn good at getting into his head. How does she know? And is that Viktor Krum stuff true?

There's only one way to find out...

He can vaguely hear Lavender huff as the bathroom door shuts, and he places his hands on the counter to gauge his reflection.

He looks like absolute hell. His skin is shiny and peeling, he has more freckles than he ever thought possible, and his hair is still dripping with sweat. Fuck the desert. How stupid was he, thinking that Hermione might have found him attractive in this state? She was probably relieved when Lavender settled into his lap at the bar; it was the perfect escape plan. Thanks to Lavender, Hermione didn't have to sit around and wave off unwanted advances from the weird sweaty guy she accidentally married — why would she want him when she was used to Viktor Fucking Krum? If it was true, that is.

He hears his hotel room door slam shut, and only then does he feel comfortable turning on the shower and stripping off his clothing, making a point not to look at his scrawny self in the mirror. Ron steps into the shower and groans as the cool water hits his sunburnt body, and forces his mind to wander far away from Hermione Granger.

When he's done, Ron steps out of the shower and towels off, still avoiding his reflection until he can't anymore. He ties the towel around his hips and stomps to his suitcase; maybe he owns something that can make him look somewhat desirable tonight.

He rummages through his clothing, settling on a royal blue button-down shirt and grey shorts. Lavender always says the blue brings out his eyes, and maybe she's right. He reluctantly makes his way back to the bathroom to check his reflection. The blue seems to distract from his reddened skin, and the structure of the shirt makes him look a little bit less lanky. Maybe he could catch Hermione's eye tonight, or, if she's truly not interested, he could attract the attention of someone else.

Someone else? The thought makes his stomach flip — he doesn't really want anyone else.

What would Hermione think if she knew that?

Ron leaves the bathroom, slips on his shoes, and after checking to make sure he has his phone, his wallet, and his room key, he turns out the lights and leaves.

Ron arrives at the hotel bar, and its new appearance leaves him momentarily confused. The bar has transformed from the quaint eatery where he and Hermione shared a round of drinks and appetizers just a short time ago to a bustling nightclub. The walls have come alive with flashy neon lights, which gives the portraits the illusion of movement. Just when he thinks this hotel can't get any more ridiculous, it seems he's proven wrong.

Previously an open-air eatery, the restaurant's doors are now blocked by a security guard standing his ground like a gargoyle. He checks Ron's I.D. then gestures to a sign on the door — something about no guns allowed on the premises.

"I'll have to pat you down."

"Uh, okay," says Ron, holding his arms out, while the security guard scans him for weapons. America's a strange place.

He enters the bar through a cloud of smoke, reminding him of a grade school stage production. People are everywhere, the music has shifted from acoustic tunes to electric pop remixes, and the place smells of cologne and alcohol.

Then he spots his sister at a large rectangular table across the dance floor. She waves him over and hands him a mystery cocktail.

"Drink this!"

Ron can almost smell the alcohol on her breath even though she's feet away. He glances over at Harry, slumped in a chair looking dazed and confused.

"You've gotten the party started quick, haven't you?" asks Ron as he brings the straw to his lips. The wave of guilt induced from the turtle-killing plastic straw is cut off by a slap of sugar and alcohol. "What is this?"

"Don't know!" says Ginny. "You're too sober!"

He decides her assessment is fair as he scans the crowd, looking for no one in particular, of course.

"Lavender's not here yet," croons Ginny, once she spots his eyes washing over the crowd. "If that's what you're wondering."

"It isn't," says Ron pointedly.

But then someone catches his eye. Hermione's at the bar, wearing a tight black dress that instantly makes Ron's shorts feel a size too small. Her hair is pulled back to display her gorgeous sun-kissed skin which looks shimmery and flawless, as if she's wearing a spot of make-up.

As far as he can remember, he's never seen her wear makeup before. Although she looks stunning all glammed up for the night, she didn't need to do any of it. It makes his heart swell and clench at the same time — there's something so vulnerable about Hermione doing hair and makeup for an evening out, and he even dares to wonder if he crossed her mind while getting ready.

If so, he hopes he will have the opportunity to tell her how beautiful she looks tonight. Maybe he'll even get a chance to say it again tomorrow, when all that makeup has been washed down his shower drain or even better — rubbed off by his bedsheets.

Ron gulps down the rest of the sugar-bomb masquerading as a cocktail, and makes his way toward Hermione. As he approaches her, his stomach clenches into knots at the memory of his conversation with Lavender. Viktor Fucking Krum. Is it true? Did they really date? Are they still shagging? It could be Lavender trying to get into his head, but he has to know.

"Hey, Hermione," he says as he reaches the bar. "Long time no see."

Hermione whips around and scowls at him. "What do you want?"

Ron takes a step back, baffled by her response. Did he say something wrong? Maybe she really was relieved to get rid of him earlier, and him approaching her now is the last thing she wants.

"Well, we were interrupted earlier, so I was hoping we could just pick up where we left off at the bar—"

"Oh really?" Her eyes are wide and suddenly angry — it almost wouldn't look out of place if they had turned crimson-red. "You want to pick up where we left off? And where exactly was that? With you staring down my shirt over a cocktail?" The rest of her words blend together, and it's then that Ron realizes she's had a bit much to drink.

Ron's face floods with color and his throat tightens. He steadies his voice to hide his hurt, but it only comes off as angry. "Hermione, are you okay? We should get you back to your room."

She opens her mouth to retort but is interrupted by a man's arm sliding over her shoulders. "Is there a problem here?"

The man is tall, muscular, and wears a smug smile that makes Ron want to punch him in the face. Although it's tempting, one glance at the man's ham-like hands stops him. Ron knows better than to start fights he can't finish.

"Who are you?" he asks instead.

"Cormac," says the man with a thick southern-American twang. "Who the fuck are you?"

Hermione leans into Cormac's arm as he slides a drink in front of her. Hermione immediately puts her mouth to the plastic straw and takes a long swig.

"Well listen, Cormac. I'm a friend of Hermione's," he begins, trying to emphasize 'friend' to convey how blurry their line really is. "She's had too much to drink, so I'm just going to take her back to her room safely now."

Ron reaches for her arm but is cut off by Cormac's hand. That's when he notices the large football tattoo on his forearm. Great. Another football player. Hermione has a type.

"I can do it," growls Cormac.

"No," says Ron. "I will."

"Can I have some water?" slurs Hermione toward the bartender, who instantly obliges.

"Mione," growls Cormac, and Ron's stomach sinks. He immediately wishes he could unhear the nickname slipping from Cormac's mouth — it sounds wrong in his seductive grumble, like he's appropriating a word from a language he knows nothing about. "Do you want to go back with this asshole, or with me? Remember, he lied to you."

"What are you talking abo—"

But Ron doesn't have time to finish his question before a wall of ice-water slams into his face, causing him to stumble back. Suddenly, he's alert, shell-shocked, and full of adrenaline. "What the FUCK?" he yells.

"You lied to me!" mumbles Hermione, now holding an empty glass of water, while Cormac watches on, wearing his smug but knowing grin.

"What are you talking about?" He turns to Cormac. "What did you tell her? And who the FUCK are you?" Ron's heart is pumping fast with anger, likely energized from the rush of ice water that when paired with the heat he's starting to grow accustomed to, has left him shivering from temperature-whiplash.

"Just a guy trying to get some action," says Cormac, quietly enough that Hermione, slurping away at the mystery cocktail that Cormac has so kindly purchased for her, can't hear.

Ron is seeing red. If Hermione's too far gone to care that she's drinking out of a plastic straw, she's too far gone to go home with this twat. The buzz from Ron's single but very strong cocktail is becoming apparent, and he feels like he can run a marathon. Instead, he channels his energy in the best place for it— Cormac's stupid face. Consequences be damned, Ron clenches his fist, winds up, and slams it right into his cheekbone, underneath his left eye.

Ron yelps — his buzzed and adrenaline-filled state isn't enough to mask the pain of his knuckles hitting hard bone, but luckily, his cry is drowned out by Cormac's, who clutches his head and stumbles a few feet back.

"What the hell?"

Before Cormac can retaliate, something, or someone, grabs Ron by the shoulders and shoves him away from the bar. "Get out."

It's the security guard from before, now clutching Ron's upper arm and leading him toward the bar's exit. "It's him that you have to worry about!" he says, trying to motion toward Cormac and Hermione, but he can't loosen the guard's grip on him to muster any gestures.

"Looked to me like you threw the punch," says the guard calmly, before pushing Ron out the door and slamming it shut behind him.

Well, fuck. Now what?

Ron rummages in his pocket for his phone, only to find that it won't turn on. How did he not think to charge it? He has to text Ginny, or even Harry, and warn them about Cormac. Who knows what that man is going to try with Hermione.

He shoves his phone back into his pocket and takes the stairs two at a time, with one goal in mind: find a way to keep Hermione safe.

[drsenkustone]

🧪How to Survive🧪

CH6 - Mind Reader

It’s been a couple months now since that night you learned about Tsukasa. A lot has happened and progressed in that short time. Old man Kaseki joined the team, glass was acquired, more rocks, the village had finally surrendered to Senku when he cured Ruri of her illness...more...rocks. ANYWAYS. He seemed slightly different since that day, but you didn’t want to be rude and ask. You don’t know what she brought him out the woods food, it wasn’t your business. But for some reason, your chest had a small ache in it for the rest of that party night while they were gone. Senku didn’t look all too joyous when he came back though, neither did Ruri. You had no gall to ask them what happened, neither did anyone else though.

Now, you were considered the new cook for the main team, since so far out of everyone, you proved to make the ramen the best. So it seemed logical that you could create other average foods that tasted better. While you did agree and held a bit of proudness in your skills, you knew you weren’t the best out there. However, Suika’s praising of how wonderful the ramen gave you a few chances to live in the moment of it. You looked over as your pot boil the lunch, watching Kohaku kick Kinro and Ginro’s ass. In all the chaos in the past couple months, the village had joined the Kingdom of Science and now everyone was preparing for a large battle. Watching Kohaku though it warmed your heart a bit, seeing a woman in this day and age that could kick a man’s ass so easily.

“That’s the wrong person you’re staring at,” a silky voice behind you softly stated in your ear. Shivers shot down your spine as you snapped your head over your shoulder to see Gen leaning so close into you. He hadn’t moved an inch from when he spoke in your ear, the closeness made you fall back to your side a bit for space. He had been a freakin inch away!! What the hell?!

“Wh-what the hell are you talking about Gen? I’m watching a strong woman in action!” He had decided to take a seat next to you and you straightened back up and focused on your cooking. You didn’t like how he made himself so comfortable with you already.

“Well, I guess if you’re bi it makes sense,” he snickered, his grin not moving as he stared at you. You could only return a glare back. (But being real, if you were bi or gay Kohaku would be the best one to long for, you love a strong woman any day!) “I could watch her all day. But shouldn’t your eyes be looking in that direction?” He motioned his head to your side and by instinct you looked. It was Senku in the glass shed trying to craft something on the table, you couldn’t tell what from here. He wasn’t the best craftsman, but you could see he was giving it all his thought and energy. His muscles flexed as he struggled with certain items, a couple drops of sweat falling from his forehead. Listening closely you could just about hear his labored breathing once in a while. Chrome shortly walked up to him with more stones and glass and joined the process.

“It’s Senku and Chrome trying to build somethi—“

“You’re undeniably falling for Senku (y/n)-chan~” Gen hummed lowly, once again, in close proximity of your ear. Your back straightened as another wave of shivers hit, but you felt your cheeks flush at the thought and immediately turned around glaring at him.

“The hell I’m not!!” Gen knew that would be your reaction, and he didn’t miss it in his peripheral vision when he Senku glance over for a moment, then turned back to his work.

“Then why are you cheeks suddenly so red (y/n)-chan?~”

“I--That—…you don’t!—“ Your brain racked for answers, fuckin hell mentalist getting into shit he knows nothing about! “Th-the ramen is getting too hot, that’s all!” You huff, staring all your energy into the one pot of ramen. Gen chuckled lowly. You should at least know better to try to look a person in the eyes if you’re trying to lie. This was too easy for such a skilled mentalist like himself.

“That’s not the only pot that’s getting hot, yours just needs a scientific snack~” To add emphasis to his words, his hand lightly tapped just above your kneecap and pulled away again, his all-knowing grin reaching to each side of his ears. He got you good. Your (e/c) orbs were twice the size, mouth dropped open inviting any flies in the area to come in and your face redder than a sunburnt tomato. You couldn’t even find words, any words!!! He malfunctioned your brain on a secret that only your brain had known! You couldn’t let him be right though, he would torture you with his stupid mental games! You got your brain back online and realized then he stood up and walked away to see how Senku and Chrome were doing. Dammit!!!

You rested your head in your hand as you stirred the pot. It was too late now, you were screwed. The mentalist knew and you couldn’t find a rebuttal fast enough. You knew Gen a bit better at this point, he wasn’t the type to blab it to Senku. He would find a way to have fun to his satisfaction. You groaned…you were probably in this for the long haul.

“(Y/n)? Are you okay?” Your head lifted at the soft voice, seeing Suika who had offered to get the bowls and chopsticks for the group. “You look kind of flushed, are you sick again?” You smiled to the child, Suika was such a pure soul.

“Nah, the ramen is just a bit hot for this weather,” you motioned to the sky on this bright sunny day. “It’s just about time to eat, go let the boys in the shed know and I’ll get Kohaku’s team.” Suika jumped for joy to be useful, rolling away to the shed. You lifted yourself and went to interrupt their scrimmage.

It was finally that time of day that it was dusk, nightfall was just upon you. You panted heavily as you fell flat on your stomach into the dirt. You were sweaty and exhausted, but you felt pretty amazing oddly enough. Senku laid next to you panting as well...this might be somewhat erotic sounding if Gen wasn’t panting on the other side of you. (Or maybe some of you think that adds to it.) You pulled yourself to sit up and used your arm to wipe the sweat off your forehead. Pumping the furnace was a team-effort, but damn with just the three of you it was torture to get it going and staying aflame.

“A-alright..” Senku panted, pushing the droopy bangs out of his eyes. “That’s all for tonight, let’s all get some rest.” He was obviously exhausted while he stood, but while you moved to stand his hand was in front of your face, palm up offering to aid you. You thankfully took it as he pulled you up, his eyes did lock with yours, even while you two were on your feet. You saw his lips about to twitch to a smile when your body was shoved harshly into his. Not a second later you both were on the dirt and you laid on top of the scientist.

“Ooh, oops, I’m sorry! I stumbled getting to my feet,” Gen exaggerated, wiping the sweat drops from under his chin. He didn’t exaggerate his exhaustion, but he fully meant shoving you into Senku. You were right, you knew this would happen. Your face was pressed against his chest, his hands on the sides of his body and your legs a tangled mess. You cheeks flushed a bit as you scrambled to your feet, stuttering out apology after apology to him.

Senku chuckled lightly, “It’s no big deal,” he waved it off, a soft smile trying to calm you.

“I-I’m gong to go clean up, then I’ll go to bed,” you stated  heading towards the wood line, thankful you knew where the water was now.

“You shouldn’t go alone when it’s getting late out,” Senku stated loud enough for you to hear, he knew you did.

“I’ll be fine!!!” You practically yelled with nervous energy. You wanted to be separated a bit, you felt entirely flustered. Before allowing another one of them to think or act, you sprinted to the water. Guess you weren’t all out of energy.

The Scientist sighed, it wouldn’t take too much longer until it was quite dark out, and in these woods it can be hard to navigate. He was worried about you getting back, but also about the dangers that may or may not be lurking. He wasn’t much protection...maybe he could fetch Kohaku or Kinro.

“Senku-chan, you should go after her,” Gen piped in, catching Senku’s attention, looking over at the mentalist.

“Huhhh?” Senku raised an eyebrow, obviously confused.

“It is getting pretty late, by the time you find somebody else to go with her, something may happen before then.” He wasn’t wrong on that, Senku knew that was entirely possible. “Besides, maybe you can get a peek~” Gen grinned wiggling his eyebrows to the younger. Senku’s eyes widened before he scoffed off Gen’s perverted comment, turning his back and began walking where you ran away.

“I have no interest in such problematic extravaganzas. However, you’re right, by the time I find Kohaku or Kinro to go with her, it’ll be dark. I’m going to go wait for her nearby.” Senku stated as he disappeared into the wood line following your steps. Gen was so proud of himself, his imaginary flowers twirling around his head as he went to his hutch under the science shed. It was fun to mess with you, but it’s even more fun to mess with the scientist. Did he notice how he stared into your eyes? Did he notice how his hand lingered on your fingertips? When you two laid in the dirt, he aimed to catch you to lessen your fall? Hands holding the small of your waist? His very hard-to-see blush? The change in his breathing and even up to now, how simple it was to convince him to follow you. Gen didn’t miss a beat, the foolish scientist.

Unknown to Gen, Senku did notice every single effect you caused in him. Every one.

[rosedavid]

A one shot in which TJ and Cyrus run into problems during their hike //

“Remind me again why I agreed to this?” Cyrus complains, placing one hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

“Because you loveee me,” TJ singsongs with a smirk.

Too tired to respond, Cyrus rolls his eyes. A smile flits onto his face as his boyfriend squeezes their interlocked hands. Although Cyrus can feel how sweaty and gross his hand is, TJ doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, TJ has been in such a great mood all day. That’s the reason Cyrus decided to join him on the stupid, long hike anyway. He adores seeing TJ’s face light up as he points out different types of plants or wildlife.

Cyrus can handle walks if they meet three criteria: They aren’t too long, they aren’t all uphill, and they aren’t boring. As of right now, this hike isn’t meeting the first two criteria. Of course, Cyrus doesn’t think he’ll ever be bored when he’s with TJ, so the last one is not an issue.

The sweltering heat does nothing to help matters. Even Cyrus must admit the hike is pretty. Creeks race through clusters of woven trees. Inside the bushes, squirrels chase each other round and round. Birds chirp and flutter their wings from their nests. The problem is, Cyrus can’t focus on any of the beauty because he feels as if he’s about to spontaneously combust.

“Are we almost there?” Cyrus whines, lagging severely behind TJ.

TJ turns around and pauses to wait for him to catch up. “Almost.”

Cyrus is confident that TJ’s definition of almost and his own definition are very different. Still, Cyrus persists, focusing on putting one foot in front of another as they trek up the hill. Although he feels miserable in numerous ways, it’s all worth it to see TJ grinning in awe at their surroundings.

Panting from exhaustion, Cyrus sees himself getting further and further away from his boyfriend. He increases his speed slightly trying to stay closer to the other boy.

“TJ, wait up!” He calls out.

Thankfully, TJ hears him and comes to a stop up ahead. Wiping off the sweat gathering on his forehead, Cyrus keeps on going. The hill has finally begun to level out, and Cyrus feels a false sense of security that the worst part of the hike is over. But of course, his rotten luck persists.

A large rock juts out of the dirt in the middle of the path. Too focused on TJ, Cyrus doesn’t spot it. Instead, he stumbles directly over it. He gasps in surprise and pain as he feels his ankle roll underneath him. He slips on the soft dirt, falling on his knees. Dust completely coats his arms and legs. His ankle throbs in pain.

“Cyrus! Are you okay?” TJ asks worriedly, jogging back toward him. A crease forms between his eyebrows, and he bites his lip.

Cyrus groans, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He goes to stand, momentarily forgetting about his ankle. The second he puts weight on it, though, he gasps in pain. TJ holds onto him, so he doesn’t immediately collapse back into the dirt.

“You’re obviously not fine.”

“I’m sorry, Teej. I ruined our hike.”

TJ presses his hand against Cyrus’s cheek. “You didn’t ruin anything, Underdog. I’m sorry you got hurt. Let’s get back to my house and ice your ankle.”

Cyrus eyes the pathway back where they came from. It’s a relatively steep downward incline that Cyrus knows he can’t walk on with his ankle.

“How are we going to get down?” Cyrus wonders. “Will I have to be airlifted out of here?”

TJ giggles at his boyfriend’s theatrics. “Don’t worry, I have a plan.”

With that, he bends down into a crouch. Cyrus frowns, unsure of what he wants him to do. TJ notices his confusion, and motions to his back.

“Hop on,” TJ urges. “I’ll try not to jostle your ankle.”

A blush forms on Cyrus’s cheeks, not that anyone could tell through his sunburnt face. Cyrus climbs on as best he can, wincing at the pressure on his rolled ankle. After he’s secure on TJ’s back, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, TJ rises to his full height. Just as TJ promised, he’s careful to avoid Cyrus’s foot where his arms wrap around the back of Cyrus’s legs. As TJ starts moving, Cyrus tightens his grip even further around his neck.

“You’re choking me, Cy,” TJ coughs.

Cyrus loosens his grip sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Even though his ankle continues to throb in pain, being so close to TJ distracts him. He leans in and kisses his boyfriend’s cheek sweetly. TJ cranes his neck to try and look at him.

“What was that for?”

“Everything.”

TJ piggybacks him all the way down to the bottom of the hill and into his car. By the time they get there, TJ’s arms and back are sore from carrying him. Of course, Cyrus tries to fret over him, but TJ is having none of it. Instead, he focuses on Cyrus’s swollen ankle.

By the time they arrive back to TJ’s house, both boys are tired and ragged. Cyrus stumbles onto their couch with TJ’s help. After collecting a bag of frozen peas and a towel, TJ flops down beside him after placing the cold peas against his ankle. Immediately after sitting down, Cyrus snuggles into his side, burying his face into the crook of his neck. TJ wraps a protective arm around him. They’re both still dirty and sweaty, but neither of them care to move.

“I’m never going hiking again,” Cyrus mutters into the fabric of TJ’s t-shirt.

TJ laughs, pulling him closer and kissing the top of his head. “Okay, Underdog.”

[nogood-nobody]

Childhood Memories

“C’mon, over here!” Mark called, waving his arms in the air to get his two friend’s attention. “It’s flowing from this cave here!” He was like a kid at Christmas, bouncing and jumping from one side of the small stream to the other, water splashing on his hiking boots and jeans when he landed just a bit short.

“Bouncy mother-” Luke cut himself off as he tripped over yet another root. They had traveled far off the trail in their quest to follow this small stream, and there were hazards abound.

“Why did I agree to this hike again?”

Trey looked back from his perch on top of a rock, looking for all the world like a tan forest sprite, and shrugged before jumping down and making for the cave. Luke sighed and quickly followed.

“Nice of you to show up,” Mark grinned, “Get lost or something?”

“I’m gonna lose my foot up your ass if you don’t shut up.” Though the words were harsh, Luke’s smirk showed it was all in good fun. Trey gave a quiet chuckle as he observed the cave. The stream they had followed lead farther back, going out of sight in about forty feet. “Dark.” Was all he said.

“Caves usually are.” Was Luke’s response.

Not one to be deterred so easily, Mark quickly took out his phone and flipped on the flashlight. “WOO!” He called into the cave, listening to the low echo rolled further into the depths.

“It definitely goes a good ways back.” He said, going up on tiptoes as if it would help him see further into the gloom. “C’mon!” Was the only warning he gave his friends before running off.

“Will you slow the hell down!” Luke called after him, he and Trey scrambling to keep up with him as the echo reverberated through the cave. They saw the bobbing light turn left, then disappear. Rounding the corner, they saw Mark standing stock still some ten feet in front of them.

“What’s the matter Jackrabbit?” Luke grinned, panting. “Run outta steam already?” He looked to Trey to see if his comment had won him a rare grin, but all he got was a scrunched brow and darting eyes. That was never good. The boy had instincts that would put a wolf to shame. If he was unnerved, they all should be. Mark still hadn’t moved.

“Hey,” Luke’s voice became wary as he turned his head back to Mark, eyes lingering on Trey, “What’s up man? You find a body or something?” The words, normally taken as a joke, seemed all too possible as he moved to stand by Mark. He heard Trey do the same. Finally looking at what Mark had trained his light on, Luke mumbled a simple “What the fuck?” to which Trey and Mark both grunted in agreement.

There were toys. Scattered all around the cave floor were toys of all types. Closest to them were legos, RC cars, even a small plastic boat bobbing on the stream that had lead them here. Shining the light a bit further back showed etch-a-sketches, yo-yos, old cloth dolls that were in surprisingly good condition. There were still more little boats, though they seemed more crudely made.

Mark stepped forward, being careful to avoid the strewn objects as he moved further in, his friends not leaving his side. The toys seemed to become more simple the further back they went. The dolls had that unsettling look you always saw in old photos, like their eyes stayed trained on you after you walked by. The toys were more wood than plastic. Eventually they were nothing more than marbles and small tops, rings and sticks.

“I recognise this stuff,” Mark murmured, almost afraid to raise his voice any more than necessary. “Back in elementary school. The colonial day, remember? We had to dress in stupid outfits,” Mark had always been prone to rambling when his nerves got the better of him. “This is what we played with. What they played with I guess.” He moved toward the large wooden top with a string wound tight around it, like it was just waiting to be played with. He crouched to inspect it further.

“What the hell is all this stuff doing out here?” Luke asked, not really expecting an answer. Trey shrugged, but his troubled look had never faded.

There was a sudden gasp and the two boys whipped their heads back to Mark, who was scrambling back toward them, face pale and breathing harsh.

“Whoa whoa whoa what the fuck man!” Luke quickly crouched down and grabbed his friend’s shoulders as Trey stepped forward, eyes narrowed and fists clenched, ready for a fight.

Mark’s eyes were wide open, remaining fixed on the small top sitting harmlessly in front of them. His chest heaved and his whole body shook, even as Luke held his shoulders, moving to crouch next to him. “Talk to me man.” Luke ordered, “What’s goin’ on?”

“I-” Mark paused, shaking his head. “No. Nothing. Don’t-don’t worry I’m just- it’s just the wind it’s fine it’s good don’t-”

“Bullshit.” Luke was quick to cut him off. “You’re a spaz but you’re not one for panic attacks. Now what the hell just-”

“DON’T TOUCH IT!”

Luke fell back as Mark lunged forward at Trey, who was reaching his hand out for the small top Mark had been eyeing moments before. He snatched his hand back, eyes wide as Mark sat on his knees, one hand still reaching for Trey.

“What the shit man?” Luke barked, getting to his feet. “What the hell was that?”

Mark shook his head again. “I’m not crazy guys. Not really. You know I’m not. I’m not.”

“I’m starting to question it. “

“Shut up Luke.” Trey muttered, eyes still fixed on Mark. Mark continued as though he hadn’t heard either of them.

“I… I touched it ok? And- and I don’t know. I just-there were voices and- and i could see. I could see my hands playing with it but-but they weren’t my hands, they were some kids but they belonged to me and-”

“Ok ok hold on. Breathe,” Luke soothed, crouching at his side once again and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’re not making much sense here man. And that’s not gonna change unless you start calming down.”

Mark shook his head, taking deep breaths as he said, “It’s not going to make sense because it doesn’t make sense. That shit’s not supposed to happen man! Whatever just happened isn’t supposed to happen!”

“Look,” Luke sighed, “You probably just heard the wind or some animal or hell even just the stream. Just relax-”

“How about you fucking touch it then!” And just like that, Mark was on his feet, eyes wild, “I’m not gonna have you guys thinking I’m a fucking nut! Just touch the damn thing then!” He turned to Trey, who was still crouched near the top. “Go on man! Fucking touch it!”

“Mark!” Luke yelled, rising to his feet, “Listen man, yelling at us ain’t gonna help your case so just-!” There was a sharp gasp that cut off his order, and they both turned to Trey. He was pale, a surprising feat for him, and was shaking from head to foot. “Trey?” Luke called, “You good man?”

“He saw,” Mark whispered, “He saw it man. Just touch it!”

“Mark just chill for a sec, ok?”

“Touch it, Luke.” He turned to Trey, who still hadn’t taken his eyes off the small top. His voice was surprisingly calm, though his pallor remained the same.

“You can’t be serious-”

“JUST FUCKING TOUCH IT YOU STUBBORN ASSHOLE!” Luke recoiled as if slapped. Trey could be mistaken for a mute by how little he talked, and he couldn’t remember a time he’d ever heard the boy yell. Maybe he wasn’t as calm as he appeared. Luke glanced at Mark again. His shaking had died down, but he was still pale and his wide eyes were pleading with him. Trey was still laser focused on the top. Luke sighed, “Ok. Ok I’ll touch the damn thing.”

He stepped forward and crouched down next to it. He glanced at Trey, who nodded, then wrapped his hand around the top.

It was like being transported to another world. Children laughed and played around him, the girls in long dresses and the boys in white shirts and different colored vests. A group of boys were playing marbles next to him, and another was tapping a stick against a loop, urging it forward as he ran down the street. A dog barked, the wind blew, and the sun showed bright overhead. Looking down, he held the little toy top in his hands.

“Come on then, William!” He looked up to see a boy, sunburnt cheeks and gap-toothed grin sitting in front of him, “Let her fly! Make it the longest go ever!” Laughing he took the top in his small hands, tanned and already work hardened and yanked on the string, sending the top spinning.

Luke leaned back with a gasp, sweat beading on his forehead as he whipped his head around. He saw Trey and Mark, both looking at him solemnly. “You-you saw...You saw that right? That’s what...that’s…” They both nodded and Luke put his head in his shaking hands. “What the fuck just happened,” He whispered.

“I don’t know,” Was Trey’s response after a few moments of silence, “But this place...We shouldn’t be here. I don’t like it.”

“Wait,” They both looked up to see Mark, eyes roaming around the other toys. “Do you think…” His voice trailed off.

“What?” Luke quickly became wary, it was dangerous when Mark started thinking. That was his experience anyway.

“The other toys. Do you think...They’re the same?”

“What, you wanna fuckin’ find out?” Luke’s laugh was shaky and forced as he looked up at Mark, and it stopped altogether when he saw his face. “Are you shitting me? You just damn near pissed yourself-hell we all did!-and now you wanna do it again?” Luke was astounded. His friend could be adventurous but Jesus Christ where was the line?

“Look,” Mark explained, holding up his hands-still wavering with the slightest tremors- in defense, “It was freaky as shit yeah, but look at us!” He threw his arms out in demonstration, “We’re fine right! We didn’t fall into a coma or anything, so who cares?”

“Not yet,” Trey muttered, but even he began looking at the objects in renewed interest.

Luke groaned. How were these nutjobs his friends? “You’re gonna do this no matter what I say aren’t you?”

“Yup!” Mark grinned, acting as if he hadn’t just had a literal out of body experience and was raring to have another one. Trey simply shrugged, a small smile edging over his features.

“What happened to not liking this place?” Luke asked.

“I don’t,” he answered, hoisting himself onto his feet and reaching a hand down for Luke “But we can’t leave him.” He was right. The boys would never let one of their own get into trouble by themselves. It had been all or none for as long as they could remember.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Luke quoted as he rose to his feet.

“And satisfaction brought it back,” Mark retaliated, going towards the newer toys, “Now c’mon and pick a toy ya wimp!”

Luke sighed, he’d been doing that a lot today, and went over to a foam sword towards the front of the collection. Trey went for a small doll and Mark settled on a simple yo-yo.

“Ready?” Mark called, to which the others nodded, “One, two, three!” And they touched their chosen objects.

The boys lost track of how long they sat in the cave, reliving memories that weren’t their own. Luke had been a little pirate, a racecar driver, and a ruler of action figure land. Trey had fallen into the water retrieving his toy boat, been hit in the head by his RC plane, and almost got trampled by a horse as he raced after a loose hoop. “Shit luck you got there,” Mark joked and was met by a swift punch in the arm. Mark had been a fairy princess, the Queen of England with a court of royal plushies, and an aspiring artist. “Getting in touch with your feminine side?” Was Trey’s easy rebuttal.

The trio sat in front of the mass of toys, replaying the memories they had obtained. “I’ve gotta wonder though,” Luke mused, “How’d they all get here? I mean, a lot of them were in towns, and barely any of them were in forests, so what the hell?”

Trey shrugged and Mark did the same, commenting, “This has been a weird enough day. I’m not gonna question much else about it.” He glanced at his phone as he said this and whistled. “We’ve been here a while man, we gotta get the hell outta here before it gets dark or we’re gonna be up a fuckin’ creek,”

“Literally,” Trey grinned when his comment was received by tired groans. With that, the friends left the cave and began to follow the stream that started it all back to the walking path.

If only they had held the items a little longer each time. If only they had seen the wayward hoops that tumbled into the river, or the marbles that were carried away by runoff after being left outside in a rainstorm. If only they had seen the coloring books and tea sets and dolls left behind when families camped in the woods. If only they saw through the eyes of the little creature with no memories of its own. If they only saw how it would collect the forgotten toys and bring them home. If only they saw as it watched and listened and mourned for the lives it could never live, and the friends it could never have. If only they knew.