#the little lad who wasn't little died

[tea-books-and-reviews]

Me*when in need to buy groceries* : Why is everything so expensive!? Why does a water costs so much? Does it contains gold? Is this Gucci version of water!?

I'm poor as hell. Even poor people are richer than me. Calling me poor offendes the poor.

Me*when books* : take my money

[ccccatttta]

“every magic spell ends when the caster dies”

sirius has always known that. it was one of the first things his tutors told him when he was barely a toddler, and it was mentioned in some hogwarts' classes once or twice.

he sometimes ponders about it, how certain magic wasn't everlasting.

he witnessed it once, in his seventh year. the war had already started, and with each passing day, more and more students got black letters delivered, all of them mentioning some recently deceased relative. it was a third year ravenclaw girl he doesn't quite remember, but who always carried a fairy doll that her uncle enchanted to act like a living one. she always carried it in her pocket and let her out when she was bored or to show it to other students.

the day she got her letter at breakfast, she frantically searched her robes and took out the little doll, and it looked just like that, a doll. no more flapping wings, tiny giggles and fairy dust, just a toy. she burst into tears then, and was inconsolable for months.

it's one of sirius' most vivid memories.

it seemed so bizarre.

he prayed something like that never happened to him, because it would hurt. it would destroy him.

he was only given enchanted things by the people he loved the most, so he would know immediately if any of the different trinkets were to just go dull. the second it happened, he would know he has to face a reality without one the fundamental beings of his very self. it terrified him.

it was one of his biggest fears.

and it happened to him.

it was a thursday afternoon.

they had a rare free day. no fights, no funerals and no war in his and remus' flat, not for that day. james and peter were there too, an 'afternoon with the lads' they called it. they were laying on the living room, sprawled all over, bowie on the record player and cards on the table along with some beers.

he was on the way to the kitchen when he felt his hair falling out of the messy bun he did in the morning.

and, with a little clink, there was a metal star hairpin on the ground.

he knew then.

it was a secret, how he kept that hairpin. well, not a secret per se, but no one knew where it actually came from. only sirius.

no one knew he had the most horrendous time trying to tie his hair when it was long enough to do so. his hair was just as temperamental as him, which meant that they usually didn't get along. he suffered for months until that hairpin was gifted to him.

sirius didn't quite know how it really worked, just that it was charmed to make everything easier. he just had to think about the hairstyle he wanted for the day, and the hairpin would do it, shrinking or getting bigger if it was necessary, securing his hair perfectly and without much fuss.

no one knew that except sirius.

and regulus, who gifted it to him in his third year.

regulus.

his baby brother.

“every magic spell ends when the caster dies”

[fic-heaven]

Ghost x witty! Reader

All for a pair of tits.

Pt 2

.

"Glare at my dress all you want, lieutenant. You won't scare it away."

You said putting your long earrings sneaking a look at Ghost's reflection.

He was sitting on the bed behind you looking at the long red dress you had just put on for the undercover mission. He wouldn't say it but you knew it pissed him to the core that you had to go as Kyle's date and not his, but honestly that was his fault. When Price explained the mission and the tasks you were all assigned to accomplish, Ghost threw an unexpected tantrum about how Gaz wasn't fit to go undercover, because as he explained: "Lad's better at killin' than acting." You were sure he was projecting a little. So the captain asked him if he'd rather go with you instead obviously without the mask, Ghost quickly denied. Then he was assigned watch duty while drowning in jealousy, and you bathed in the satisfaction of letting your lieutenant watch your body like a hawk as you prettied yourself up for another man while waiting in the hotel you were all supposed to meet before heading to the party.

Simon looks up at you from his seated position, his rough hands fisting the sheets. He was wearing his stupid Halloween mask so it was hard to know the expression he was hiding.

"I'm just lookin'. That a problem?"

"If you want it off of me you'll have to find another tactic. Or do you rather have Garrick do the unwrapping?" You grinned turning around to face him properly, your lipgloss shining under the dim light of the lamp near the vanity made his chocolate eyes melt at the sight. Ghost licked his lips under his mask, a mere reflection of what he had in mind to do to you if it wasn't for-

"That's unprofessional, and i'm your lieutenant. I told ya too many fucking times. But, hey, dream all y' like..."

"I am sooo thankful that you remind me, dear lieutenant..." You said sarcastically with a dramatic gesture lifting your hand to your head as if you were about to faint and he had saved you with his idiotic words. "But could you please repeat that without a..."

Your finger points to his lower side, he squints confused before looking at where you were pointing, his cargo pants held a gigantic tent he was quick to cover with a pillow before he leans forwards petrified in embarrassment. You laughed amused and impressed at the sight, but for Ghost you were just mocking him cruelly. You were just a horny vixen who took great pleasure on toying around with his carnal desires, often seducing him on purpose just to get a reaction such as this one. He was red in embarrassment and anger, and it only increased when your pretty laugh slowly died and you, for once, decided to stay in silence.

Ghost stood up abruptly. "I see yer ready. I'll warn Price to hurry the fuck up..." But the following words died on his mouth.

You were standing with a soft smile, the beautiful red dress you were wearing hanged limply by your hips as your arms hid your breasts.

"I forgot I didn't zip it and it just..." You shrugged playing clueless "it fell."

Ghost was petrified in place, his wide eyes ate up every detail he could get of your naked chest even though your pretty breasts were hidden. His hard-on worsened.

"Y'need a hand...?" He mustered.

"Among other things..."

Your lieutenant dropped the pillow to the floor missing the bed, he walked up to you in slow, measured steps giving you time to stop this game you just started like you always did, but to his surprise. You did not. You looked up at him, pupils dilated giving him full permission to turn you around with his big rough hands, he moved your hair to your front with his index finger. The moment you were facing the mirror, Ghost was about to lift the sleeves of your dress until your arms unraveled from your chest, his eyes, trained to pick any movement, caught the moment your tits bounced in place by the mirror. His breathing was heavy, slightly uneven and so was yours.

His hands dropped the piece of clothing in other to caress the skin of your back until he reached your ribcage right under your breasts. Again, he waited for you to move away, to stop this game YOU started, but instead you purred tilting your head to the side feeling his burning mask lean against the delicate skin of your neck, he inhaled your perfume, thumbs poking the underside of your tits until your small hands went to lift his to properly hold them, Ghost was quick to firmly massage the surface, your pebbled nipples held such a beautiful shade of color that contrasted with his black skeleton gloves, he wanted to suck them, he wanted to do things he wasn't supposed to.

In that moment Simon realized that the times he spent explaining you how inappropriate it was to flirt with colleagues in this line of work (specially superiors), he truly wasn't trying to warn you, he was trying to convince himself this wouldn't happen because it wasn't well seen. But... But who the fuck cares, really?

"Simon..." You sighed his name and his cock twitched on his pants. "Take these off... It's bad manners to touch a lady this way wearing gloves..."

"You a lady?" He humored.

"Have you seen a gentleman with these tits?"

His chest rumbled with a chuckle, hips making a slow involuntary thrust against your clothed ass seeking friction, you obliged offering your bum for him to thrust on, he hissed in pleasure.

"You'd be surprised..."

You gasped and chuckled "Simon Riley!..."

He quickly turned you around then, big hands roughly grabbed your ass pressing your naked chest against his with a dark but mischievous glint on his eyes reflecting yours. "Wanna compare sizes?"

"Are you for real right now, lieutenant?"

You asked with all the humour in you. But Ghost did not waver taking his shirt off with one swift tug upwards revealing his muscular torso to you, a litter of scars made it the more eye-catching. You stood there looking up at him in awe before your hand pushed him to the bed, he allowed you this, huffing when he dropped to the soft surface, the cold sheets made his skin erupt in goosebumps. His hard, clothed cock created a tent that pressed against his abs when he incorporated a little seating with his arms behind him supporting himself.

"I can't believe I've never seen your face and the first thing you wanna show me is the size of your tits."

"Pectorals." He corrected.

"Those are BOOBS, call them however you like but oh my god..."

You weren't one to complain, positioning yourself in between his legs to climb to the mountain of muscles that composed his body. He smiled under his mask looking at you fondly and helping you wrap your legs around his waist sitting yourself right on his leaking boner. He was enjoying this. You could see it, feel it poking at your panties...

You kiss his masked jaw, one arm around his shoulder and the other hand massages his chest, feeling his gigantic pectorals and the very small pink nipples that adorned both tips. Ghost threw his head back with a sigh angling his head so that you'd keep your soft ministrations with your lips. Kiss, lick, bite, repeat. The way your fingers worked magic on his chest and how your mouth mauled on his skin made your lieutenant grow desperate for more, he still couldn't believe this was happening. His heaving chest shivered in delight, his mouth was half open letting out soft sounds you never thought you'd hear from your lieutenant until he snapped, he flips you under him, the fire within your bodies roaring in waves of desire, a desire denied no longer.

Ghost hovered over you, eyes black with how dilated his pupils were, his hips thrust against yours, dry humping your cunt like a dog in heat. Your lips part with a moan, delicate hands lift to his face waiting for his permission, he gives you a short nod to lift his mask when an abrupt knock on the door startles you.

Ghost sighs, one of his hands take your wrist as the other supports his weight as not to crush you.

"I'M NOT 'ERE!" You yell annoyed.

"Come on (Y/n)!" Gaz's voice sounds from outside "Price is gettin' pissed... And we can't find Ghost or Soap! The event is about to start, I'm already suited up-"

"Alright, alright, Garrick-...Just gimme a moment..."

You crawl from under Ghost, stand up, ready your dress leaving the back unzipped and trot to the small hall, Ghost was watching you as you did this until he saw you were about to open the fucking door. It was comical the way your lieutenant jumped from the bed hurrying to put his shirt on and adjust his boner from under his pants so he wouldn't poke Gaz's eye out when the poor Brit was greeted by the sight of your prettied self standing all proud and smiley and your lieutenant nervously fidgeting on the spot in front the bed.

Gaz stares in silence.

"Zip my dress Gaz! What the hell are you doing gawking like a school boy? There's a party we gotta attend to."

He shakes his head incredulous, gets behind you ignoring the heated stare Ghost was shooting him from the other side of the room and swiftly zips your dress.

"See? Now I'm ready and I had found Ghost, I solved you two problems."

"Three-..." An all too familiar voice came behind you. The bathroom door opens, Soap was staring just as incredulous with a look that resembled the one hundred yards stare.

Ghost barks "HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN THERE!?"

Soap replies unfeeling, with no emotion, like a robot or a traumatized husk of a man "This was my room..."

You flinch leaving the place practically throwing yourself out the door with a "JESUS CHRIST -!"

Gaz flinches then at the same time following behind with a squint. "FUCKING-....Close the god-damned door Johnny!" Ghost snarled this time.

"I have a sensitive stomach olrigh'!? And y'all were doing nasty things and I didn't know what to do and a' was locked with ma' shit for half an hour... I FLUSHED OKAY!?" Soap had the gal to play offended. "If it wasn't for Gaz I would have died gassed." He jested, and the tall brit had enough, smacking the wall and storming out frustrated as hell.

Just when he was reaching the jackpot, the jungle he has for a team had to ruin everything.

At least he saw your tits... That will compensate for having to see you dance around with Gaz pretending you two are married.

[starry-bi-sky]

i need to get this out of my head before i continue clone^2 but danny being the first batkid. Like, standard procedure stuff: his parents and sister die, danny ends up with Vlad Masters. He drags him along to stereotypical galas and stuff; Danny is not having a good time.

He ends up going to one of the Wayne Galas being hosted ever since elusive Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham. Vlad is crowing about having this opportunity as he's been wanting to sink his claws into the company for a long while now. Danny is too busy grieving to care what he wants.

And like most Galas, once Vlad is done showing him off to the other socialites and the like, he disappears. Off to a dark corner, or to one of the many balconies; doesn't matter. There he runs into said star of the show, Bruce who is still young, has been Batman for at least a year at this point, but still getting used to all these damn people and socializing. He's stepped off to hide for a few minutes before stepping back into the shark tank.

And he runs into a kid with circles under his eyes and a dull gleam in them. Familiar, like looking into a mirror.

Danny tries to excuse himself, he hasn't stopped crying since his parents died and it's been months. He rubs his eyes and stands up, and stumbles over a half-hearted apology to Mister Wayne. Some of Vlad's etiquette lessons kicking in.

Bruce is awkward, but he softens. "That's alright, lad," he says, pulling up some of that Brucie Wayne confidence, "I was just coming out here to get some fresh air."

There's a little pressing; Bruce asks who he's here with, Danny says, voice quiet and grief-stricken, that he's with his godfather Vlad Masters. Bruce asks him if he knows where he is, and Danny tells him he does. Bruce offers to leave, Danny tells him to do whatever he wants.

It ends with Bruce staying, standing off to the side with Danny in silence. Neither of them say a word, and Danny eventually leaves first in that same silence.

Bruce looks into Vlad Masters after everything is over, his interest piqued. He finds news about him taking in Danny Fenton: he looks into Danny Fenton. He finds news articles about his parents' deaths, their occupations, everything he can get his hands on.

At the next gala, he sees Danny again. And he looks the same as ever: quiet like a ghost, just as pale, and full of grief. Bruce sits in silence with him again for nearly ten minutes before he strikes a conversation.

"Do you like to do anything?"

Nothing. Just silence.

Bruce isn't quite sure what to do: comfort is not his forte, and Danny doesn't know him. He's smart enough to know that. So he starts talking about other things; anything he can think of that Brucie Wayne might say, that also wasn't inappropriate for a kid to hear.

Danny says nothing the entire time, and is again the first to leave.

Bruce watches from a distance as he intercts with Vlad Masters; how Vlad Masters interacts with him. He doesn't like what he sees: Vlad Masters keeps a hand on Danny's shoulder like one would hold onto the collar of a dog. He parades him around like a trophy he won.

And there are moments, when someone gets too close or when someone tries to shake Danny's hand, of deep possessiveness that flints over Vlad Masters' eyes. Like a dragon guarding a horde.

He plays the act of doting godfather well: but Bruce knows a liar when he sees one. Like recognizes like.

Danny is dull-eyed and blank faced the entire time; he looks miserable.

So Bruce tries to host more parties; if only so that he can talk to Danny alone. Vlad seems all too happy to attend, toting Danny along like a ribbon, and on the dot every hour, Danny slips away to somewhere to hide. Bruce appears twenty minutes later.

"I was looking into your godfather's company," he says one night, trying to think of more things to say. Some nights all they do is sit in silence. "Some of my shareholders were thinking of partnering up--"

"Don't."

He stops. Danny hardly says a word to him, he doesn't even look at him -- he's sitting on the ground, his head in his knees. Like he's trying to hide from the world. But he's looking, blue eyes piercing up at Bruce.

Bruce tilts his head, practiced puppy-like. "Pardon?"

"Don't." Danny says, strongly. "Don't make any deals with Vlad."

It's the most words Danny's spoken to him, and there's a look in his eyes like a candle finding its spark. Something hard. Bruce presses further, "And why is that?"

The spark flutters, and flushes out. Danny blinks like he's coming out of a trance, and slumps back into himself. "Just don't."

Bruce stares at him, thoughtful, before looking away. "Alright. I won't."

And they fall back into silence.

Danny, when he leaves, turns to look at Bruce, "I mean it." He says; soft like he's telling a secret, "Don't make any deals with him. Don't be alone with him. Don't work with him."

He's scampered away before Bruce can question him further.

(He never planned on working with Vlad Masters and his company; he's done his research. He's seen the misfortune. But nothing ever leads back to him. There's no evidence of anything. But Danny knows something.)

At their next meeting, Danny starts the conversation. It's new, and it's welcomed. He says, cutting through their five minute quiet, that he likes stars. And he doesn't like that he can't see them in Gotham.

Bruce hums in interest, and Danny continues talking. It's as if floodgates had been opened, and as Bruce takes a sip of his wine, it tastes like victory.

("Tucker told me once--") ("Tucker?") ("Oh-- uh, one of my best friends. He's a tech geek. We haven't talked in a while.")

(Danny shut down in his grief -- his friends are worried, but can't reach him. When he goes back to the manor with Vlad, he fishes out his phone and sends them a message.)

(They are ecstatic to hear from him.)

It all culminates until one day, when Danny is leaving to go back inside, that Bruce speaks up. "You know," He says, leaning against the railing. "The manor has many rooms; plenty of space for a guest."

The implication there, hidden between the lines. And Danny is smart, he looks at Bruce with a sharp glean in his eyes, and he nods. "Good to know."

The next time they see each other, Danny has something in his hands. "Can you hold onto something for me?" He asks.

When Bruce agrees, Danny places a pearl into his palm. or, at least, it's something that looks like a pearl. Because it's cold to the touch; sinking into Bruce's white silk gloves with ease and shimmering like an opal. It moves a little as it settles into his hand, and the moves like its full of liquid.

Bruce has never seen anything like it before, but he does know this; it's not human. "What is it?" He asks, and Danny looks uncomfortable.

"I can't tell you that." He says, shifting on his foot like he's scared of someone seeing it. "But please be careful with it. Treat it like it's extremely fragile."

When Bruce gets home, he puts it in an empty ring box and hides the box in the cave. He tries researching into what it is. he can't find anything concrete.

Everything comes to a head one day when Danny appears at the manor's doorstep one evening, soaking wet in the rain, and bleeding from the side.

[tallochar]

Just got hit real hard by a drive-by idea where Flashpoint doesn't happen and Dick just takes a few months off to chill (read: Donna shows up and drags him off to have adventures now that Bruce is back in town and everything seems status quo again)

And when he comes back it initially looks like that set up so many fandom fics have where Tim has been isolating himself / been left to his own means and only works with the others out of politeness.

And the moment Dick clocks that that's what the others think is happening, he can straight up feel the grey hairs trying to show up, because while he had phone calls with Tim (who seemed to be coping better with everything that went wrong in his life) and Damian (with whom Dick did not talk about anyone outside of Damian and, occasionally, Bruce, which was already hard enough on Dick without bringing the others in) he had also thought that things had sort of started settling back into what Dick used to think as normal before Bruce "died" on them.

Except Damian and Jason don't know how to pick up on that sort of thing, Cass is still doing her Hong Kong / Journey of Self Discovery Thing as far as anyone seems to know / Bruce is CLEARLY (to Dick and Alfred and absolutely no one else) still communicating with Tim because he's on an even keel but also he must have done something to piss off Tim because Tim is doing the Politely Co-Workers Thing at Bruce (with Alfred's approval and support so Bruce must have fucked up REAL BAD) and it's stressing Bruce out so much that Dick can practically see the tension lines heading to a breaking point in the man why is no one else seeing the tension lines.

Plus Barbara and Dick were still on not-so-great terms when Dick split from Gotham, so he's not had much luck talking to her and some desire to call her but not enough to actually call her a lot, just some, which hasn't made Babs less pissed at him, so he's not getting information on that side and of course if Barbara is pissed at him and Tim is pissed at Bruce and Dick wasn't around for Tim to bitch about Bruce in person (and Tim would NEVER on a phone line, not even a secure one) then Dick is 1000% sure that Tim and Barbara have been having a shared and supportive bitch fest for however many weeks / months Dick was away that has just solidified them in a block of their own.

All of which means that Dick's little brother has been left unbothered, unnoogied and unsupervised for all the time Dick was away and like, sure, some people would think Dick would feel horrible for that and want to octopus-grab him and cuddle him but those people would be wrong because Dick is now honestly terrified to find out WHAT Tim has been up to without supervision and limits.

Between YJ, his civilian friends, his other friends in the superhero community, whatever new people Tim for sure rustled up, the lack of supervision on who Tim teams up with and for what, all the villain-frenemies he might have decided it was worth cooperating with, Tim being pissed at Bruce enough to keep a physical distance if not a communication distance...

And then, just as it is hitting Dick that, of course just keeping track on the phone was a bad idea to begin with why did he think that was a good idea and that what with Barbara and Tim in agreement and both Tim and Barbara at odds with Bruce and Alfred firmly entrenched in his usual If-Tim-Is-Handling-Master-Bruce-I-Will-Not-Hear-A-Thing-Against-The-Lad british politeness artillery position, this means that no one who would not enable him in the Wrong And Not Dick Approved Ways has been actually keeping as close track of Tim as he should have been kept track of (because *will smith hands memes* TIM!) ...

... Red Robin swings by, Azrael in tow, clearly going after Lynx.

And it's not that new Azrael that they had, which was still an Azrael but wasn't the Worst of the Azraels.

It's fucking Jean Paul Valley, who is supposed to be dead and clearly did not have the goddamn grace to decide to stay dead.

Dick, internally while outwardly having a BSOD moment: Tim. Tim you had just told Dick you were going to check out a couple of leads tonight. Tim why are you swinging from rooftops with JPV in tow. Tim why is JPV ALIVE. Why did you NOT tell Dick about it, TIM. TIM.

[gofishygo]

just thinking abt ghoap x necromancer! reader.... gang ive got an idea let me cook LET ME COOOkkkkkKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!

content: dark concept beware !! angsty at the start, 141 is a little mean to you, obsession, manipulation, (allusions to) kidnapping. (blurb, wc527)

there's a new guy who comes in to fill in after soap dies. it's awkward for him- not knowing why the team glares at him like the parasites on a sunfish, the cracks in their manor. ghost seems to hate you especially; you'd been told by some of the newer recruits that he was usually cold, unfeeling- but this wasn't unfeeling. this was him glancing at you at the shooting range than firing multiple shots at the target, him digging his knife into wooden target just that bit harder when he saw you spar.

and then you meet johnny.

it's not too long until you're having full conversations with the freshly dead ghost, gravelly scottish accent and slightly crooked smile leaving your heart warm and full and almost mushy. he tells you stories, ones that the team had always held back from you; what had happened when he'd took prices hat, why gaz hates choppers, and ghost.

it doesn't take more than a few wistful smiles to know who they were to each other, why he'd never looked at you the same.

but unlike the other ghosts of the base, glaring at living enemies with glassy eyes and rabid, foaming mouths holding curses in foreign tongue, he's ... still warm. almost living.

and when ghost finds out you're a necromancer, it starts out subtle . gruff 'have you seen a lad wif' a mohawk' and such being the only queries he'd bare to talk to you for. and you tell him everything- johnny mactavish and the star wound in his head, johnny mactavish and the shiny eyes and the white grin, johnny mactavish and the boyfriend he fawns over. queries turn into questions, and questions turn into long conversations where you're the translator of two worlds. and while ghost swears he'd only ever see you as a bridge between him and the love of his life (or death?), soap can't say the same.

being a ghost has it's perks. you're no longer confined to the bounds of mortality- solid form can switch to material nothingness, being noting in plain sight. and even as a necromancer, you can't feel how he cradles your face when you sleep, how he kisses those tears away when you retire to your barracks. he doesn't let you feel those because he doesn't want you to, not yet.

hasn't forgotten about ghost, either.

and it's okay- he'll get his love on board with you too. leaves images of you in his dreams; the way your nose crinkles when you banter, the quirk of your smile. darkening the corners of his dreams with sigils and spells, rituals of reanimation. it'll be slow, but still in it's worth. he'll find you eventually.

so when ghost's eyes turn as hungry and wanting as the dead you've met, and when you can now feel johnny's pulse, you know something's gone wrong. very wrong.

too bad that there's already a pair of skeleton-gloved hands pinning as another pair wraps chloroform-stained rap around your face before you can pry any further.

and too bad that you can hear the voices of the men you'd trusted trying to soothe your through it.

[highinmiamiii]

NO FEELINGS - ch. 1

a billy butcher x reader story

years after a wild love in 90s London, Butcher runs into his past flame at that same grimy Nevada steakhouse he’d told Hughie about. Where he’d wanted to go with Len since they were lads. Tension, unspoken history, and unresolved feelings simmer as both grapple with what they've become.

(A/N): this is just a short little vague introduction. feedback is appreciated as always—let me know what you think! and if you’d like to be added to the taglist, just drop a comment. thank you for the support, i cannot wait to get really started on this. prelude chapter set in 90s london soon…

Butcher slid into the worn leather booth of the topless steakhouse, the place he’d told Hughie about. The one he’d always wanted to visit with Lenny. He wasn't sure what drove him here now, maybe the weight of unfinished promises, or the itch of an unfinished life, maybe a celebration for finally having the key to end this all. Kessler—his ever-present darker conscience—sneered from across the table, leaning back like he owned the place.

“Celebratin', are we? Makin’ a toast to not being a dead man... yet?" Kessler’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Maybe crack a cold one open to that virus, eh? Damn good reason to have a drink.”

Butcher ignored him, waving down the waitress instead. The place smelled of grease, burnt meat, and the faint, familiar scent of desperation—Nevada in all its glory. The steakhouse was a dive. Dim lights, gaudy neon signs, waitresses in barely-there outfits serving patrons who barely looked alive. It felt appropriate, a place where he could fade into the noise and booze.

His mind kept drifting back to Lenny, to the promises they made as boys. But Lenny was long gone, and Butcher was still here. Breathing. Existing. Barely.

“What’s the point, mate?” Kessler drawled, a smug grin tugging at his lip. “You’ve come this far, might as well end it on a high note. Wipe ‘em all out—‘every last one’ like ya said, whoever’s left. Ain’t no room for savin’ the day, Billy. That ain’t you.”

Butcher lit a cigarette, ignoring the imaginary weight of Kessler's presence. He hadn’t come to make decisions tonight—he just needed a moment to exist outside the war he was fighting, the war inside himself.

That’s when the waitress appeared. He barely looked up from his drink as she spoke. A raspy, tired voice offered him a menu, but it wasn’t her voice that caught him—it was the ink on her arm.

There, on her inner upper arm, was a faded “Never Mind the Bollocks” tattoo. The same damn Sex Pistols tattoo he’d drunkenly convinced the girl who he’d thought would be the love of his life to get years ago in London.

The memories hit him like a punch in the gut.

🇬🇧 London, 1990s 🇬🇧

They’d met at some dive punk show, a dingy pub filled with misfits, and she had been the loudest voice in the room. She wasn’t British, that much was clear. Her accent, her defiance—everything about her screamed rebellion. She’d saved for years just to get to London, to live the life she’d always dreamed of. But the reality was different. Money was tighter, dreams crumbled under the weight of the city’s indifference, and the romantic notion of freedom faded with every job rejection and overpriced rent.

Butcher had been drawn to her fire—an American girl with grungy style and stubborn resolve. She reminded him of himself. Bold. Fearless. But unlike him, she still had a dream. That dream had kept her going.

They’d spent nights stumbling through the streets of Camden, getting drunk on cheap lager, ranting about the world’s injustices. And then one night, after too many drinks and too many laughs, he’d dragged her to a tattoo parlor.

“Go on then, love, don’t be a priss, get the ink. Bollocks to it,” he’d slurred. And she had. The tattoo was a reminder of their wild nights, of a time when the world felt theirs to conquer.

But then Lenny had died. His world crumbled. Butcher became a ghost of himself. He stopped answering her calls. Stopped showing up. Not because he didn’t love her—but because the weight of grief suffocated any connection he’d had to the world, to her. Seasons faded, savings ran out, friend groups grew apart and suddenly she was back in the states, no sign of his presence or existence in sight but the small reminder of what they had, or rather, what could’ve been, on her left arm.

He looked up at her now, and something in his chest tightened. She didn’t recognize him—not immediately. He looked different. Older. Weathered. And she? She’d aged too, but there was still a flicker of that fire behind her eyes, dulled perhaps, but not gone.

Butcher felt Kessler smirking at him from across the table, his voice low and mocking. “Well, well... Looks like fate’s a real bastard, huh? Fancy seeing her here. What’s next, a reunion? Gonna sweep her off her feet again? You ain’t that guy anymore, Billy. We both know it”

He wasn’t. He couldn’t be.

The waitress set his drink down, her expression neutral, maybe a little bored. But her eyes lingered on him for a second too long. Butcher’s gut twisted. Did she know? Or was it just a flicker of memory, a hint of recognition buried beneath the years?

He offered her a smirk. “Nice ink.”

she cocks her head back, taking a long deep breath, knowing he’s likely noticed by now as much as she didn’t want him to. she’d spent so long trying to erase him from my memory, she felt so foolish for letting myself fall so deeply in love with him all those years ago. she rests her hand on her hip and adjust the very thin white tank top they had her working in, thank god no one had tipped me enough to take it off yet, this place was fucking dehumanizing. even more embarrassing to see butcher here after all these years, she never thought she’d see him again, thought they’d be separated by continent for the rest of time. Her eyes flashed, but she didn’t bite. “Old mistake,” she said, her voice clipped, as if daring him to say more.

“Looks like she remembers,” Kessler snickered in his head.

Butcher leaned back, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. “Aren’t we all just walkin’ mistakes?” He said with a deep sigh.

She didn’t answer, just shot him a look—a look with all the bitter undertones he deserved. But she didn’t say a word, and as she walked away, he could feel the weight of the past settling in the pit of his stomach.

“Last thing she wants is to hear from you again man” Kessler’s voice taunted in his ear.

Maybe. But for the first time in years, Butcher wasn’t sure he wanted to.

She walked away, heart pounding. She knew. God, she knew the moment she saw him. Those goddamn eyes and stupid cocky wide smirk she’d fallen for all those years ago. The snarky demeanor that kept her going until one day he was gone. The way his eyes widened when he saw the tattoo was a dead giveaway, but it was the way he carried himself—the same stoicism, the same haunted look behind those eyes. Billy Butcher, of course. Great.

She’d spent years trying to forget. And now here he was, like some ghost from the past, sitting in the sleaziest steakhouse in Nevada, looking like death warmed over. Part of her wanted to slap him, to scream at him for leaving, for abandoning her without a word after Lenny’s death. But she knew she had gotten too attached. It’d been what, a year together? How dumb of her to think or believe that it would’ve ever been more than a fling. She had to come back to America eventually, they both knew the jig would be up soon, she just hadn’t expected it to end so abruptly.

So instead, she swallowed the lump in her throat, wiped the grimy table next to his, and said nothing.

This wasn’t London. She wasn’t the girl she used to be. She’d been young, stupid, and hopelessly in love. Now she was just... tired. Working for tips in a place that smelled like old beer and regret, serving men who didn’t care enough to look her in the eye. This was what her life had come to. And seeing Butcher again only twisted the knife deeper.

But no. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he’d hurt her. Not yet. Not ever.

Butcher watched her walk away, a strange heaviness settling over him. The memories of London were sharp, but the reality in front of him was sharper. She’d changed. So had he.

“So what now?” Kessler whispered. “Stick around? See if you can fuck things up again? You’re real good at that, ain’t ya?”

Maybe. But something in him, something deep and stubborn, made him want to stay. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was something worse. Whatever it was, Butcher wasn’t leaving Nevada. Not yet.

He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray, his eyes following her as she disappeared into the back. Whatever had brought him here tonight—fate, coincidence, or just bad fucking luck—he wasn’t walking away from it.

Not this time.

current tags: @sickforbillybutcher

[kaylinelizabeth4004]

Young and Beautiful

Alec Hardy (Broadchurch) x Reader

Synopsis: DS Y/N Warner uses DI Alec Hardy’s flat for some late night work

Word Count: 4890

Tags: fem!reader, fluff, smut, praise, sweet, very sweet smut, if your name is Becca look away

She didn't even bother to knock, not knowing or caring if he was in, she just slid open his sliding glass door and let herself inside. Then she plopped the case files on his sofa, pushed his coffee table to the side, and laid them all out in front of in her. He'd come round about an hour later, when all the papers lie in their own stacks across his rug, Y/N in the middle eating a slice of toast with a wild look in her eyes.

"Warner, what're you doing here?"

"There's something we're missing, there has to be, and I'm so close to it!" She said, her baby hairs frizzing wildly as her hair came loose from her ponytail. She either didn't care or didn't notice as she stood up, a paper in hand. DI Alec Hardy stood in his own doorway, flabbergasted to his DS rambling in his room at half past 4am. "I think it has to do with Aaron, it's got to be. His alibi doesn't make sense, he won't tell us where he was, and he knew Sophia well enough. At least more than some of the other persons of interest. I've tracked down the local cab company and one of the drivers says he remembers giving a bloke a ride late that night, said the lad was proper out of breath and not exactly chatty. I've already got him lined up to come in tomorrow for more information. As for the trace amounts of DNA in the victims mouth we don't have a match yet but the lab did say it wasn't as disintegrated as they'd initially thought which gives me hope! I've got -" 

"Warner!" Hardy shouted, interrupting her speech. "What the hell are you doing in my house half past 4?"

She gestured around her as though it should be obvious, "working."

"And you can't do that at your own flat?"

She giggled, and continued to ramble. When she was really tired, like proper one second away from passing out tired, like she was now, she couldn't shut up. It didn't matter if the person she was talking to didn't want to hear it or wasn't listening or couldn't hear it - having a deaf cousin worked to her favor in these instances - she would continue to prattle on about what she needed to, "no. My roommate's got her boyfriend over and they were proper loud. Could practically hear the bed rattling, and it wasn't doing me any good. You don't sleep anyway so I figured I could use the space to lay it out. I didn't think you'd not be home. Why're you dressed nice? Did you come from a date? Is that what this is? Is there some woman waiting outside?"

"No!" DI Hardy looked halfway offended at the suggestion. "I've just got back from work. Was gonna make a cuppa then keep going til you showed up."

She squealed and went for something on the floor, lifting it up then crawling to a different paper,"I take two sugars."

"I know your bloody order. Shouldn't you go and sleep?"

She waved a hand, "I'll sleep when I'm dead. What I really need is for the world to be open 24/7. If I could only call this bloke right now and half my questions could be answered. You know my order? That's sweet."

He scoffed, "it's not unique. Warner, when was the last time you slept?"

"Uhh, I slept a few hours on Tuesday. Why do you look all high and mighty? You don't sleep either, don't eat. You're practically a miserable little skeleton carting your life way through life."

"I am not -" he stopped taking. Partially because she hadn't stopped either, continuing to chatter about whatever her heart desired. And partly because he didn't know if he was going to refute the miserable part, the little part, or the skeleton part. Or if he even could refute it. He snorted, well he wasn't little. He was over 6 foot. And he could eat more, he knew that. But he often forgot about food until he had to.

"I know a fellow who took nine sugars. Can you imagine that! Nine sugars! You're drinking piss flavored juice at that point. Pardon mh French, sir. He was very strange... called himself Witchfinder as though you couldn't search on the web magic shops. Maybe we should start calling ourselves Crimefinders. Criminalfinders? That doesn't roll off the tongue, now does it?"

DI Hardy realized Y/N wasn't going to answer any of his questions in this state, so he shuffled over to the kitchen to make some tea. He took his coat off, tossing it on whatever available counter space there was with a yawn. He wanted to sleep, knew he probably had to, but he'd probably dream of something he didn't want to dream about. Lately it'd been odd mental pictures of his coworkers all hurt, Y/N choked, Ellie crying, hell even Brian made the scene with a glazed look in his eyes. He didn't know why he had these thoughts, he'd never considered himself a particularly caring individual over his coworkers. But it had haunted him off from sleep for the foreseeable future.

He made two cups of tea, disposing two sugars into Warner's as she said. Then he walked back over to his living room and sat down, elbows on his knees as he scanned her work.

"Thank you!" She said, grabbing her mug and take a large gulp of it. "What do you think of this, sir? He doesn't strike me right. Can't place it."

"The name is familiar," Hardy admitted. He went to his laptop and started typing away, trying to place the name. "Ah, he's been arrested for aggravated assault. Both charges dropped, looks like some brawls in the pubs."

"I s'pose that doesn't suggest he murdered a girl."

"Doesn't rule him out either, if he's willing to punch a stranger in a pub what would he do to someone he knows?"

She giggled and scrambled for her pencil, "I should write that down for my novel!"

"You're writing a novel?"

"Mmhmm, started it tonight. 'Adventures of Harner and Wardy.'"

Alec set his mug down, and took hers from her hand as well. "Alright, time for bed now."

"What? No! I've got more novel to write and crime to solve! We've not even started discussing the potential that Louise is lying about her husband's alibi. I mean really? She says he binged Big Bang Theory with her all night and I'm all for binging telly but of all the shows you choose that one? The laugh track is funnier than the actual show half the time - is this your bedroom?"

Hardy had helped Y/N to her feet and led her to his bedroom in the back. She was still rambling about the most irrelevant things when he guided her to sit on the edge of his bed. He didn't often make it, so he was glad to note that it was done up well. Warner hadn't slept in almost a full 48 hours and he knew that even with a brain as sharp as hers, it was dull as Katie's without sleep. He got on his knees before her, carefully untying her shoes and sliding them off her feet. He put them by the door and helped her out of her coat jacket.

"What're you doing?" She finally asked as he hung the jacket on the back of the door. "Are you hitting on me?"

"What? I -"

"Because if you are hitting on me that's totally okay, but I should warn you I'm getting sleepy so I might not be the best lay. But you are proper good looking so I wouldn't say no." She made a face, "my boss wouldn't like that would he? Noooo, can't call someone proper good looking. I'm not trying to be a knob, just communicating that you've got no problems in the looks department. None, like ever. Personality maybe but you took my shoes off for me so that gets you at least a few brownie points."

Alec felt like he was malfunctioning, his arm stuck out, frozen midair from her words. She just called him attractive. And not just good looking, but good looking enough she'd want to sleep with him! He'd never been used to such straight forward compliments and didn't quite know if he believed it. So he just worked on autopilot, helping tuck her into bed.

"Go to sleep, Warner." He flicked off the lights and closed the door. What the hell. What the hell. Alec blinked rapidly like that would make any of what just happened make any sense at all.

He stood awkwardly outside the door of the bedroom. Should he - is he- what's the proper procedure with this? He should know, he was married once, had enough sex to have a child! But it seemed all that knowledge left the moment Claire stole back the pendant, fizzling his marriage, his life, his career. Now he was left taking uneven breaths as the sun crept up, an employee who's attracted to him sleeping in his bed after 40+ hours of not sleeping.

He found himself back at his laptop, slowly typing out what to do when someone admits to fancying you. But the results were not his thing, videos of very forward men and women moving very quickly into other actions. Alec was not opposed to the action, sex. But he couldn't fathom how to get there. So he sat in his kitchen drinking old tea, and staring at his door.

An hour later he crept in to grab a different tie for work, and saw Y/N completely passed out. She was curled in a ball, cradling his pillow and lightly snoring. She looked content. It made him smile against his better judgment. He left her in there, scribbling a note on a piece of paper he taped to the bedroom door before he left for the station.

Y/N Warner woke up nearly 12 hours later. It was practically dark when she opened her eyes. She blinked away the sleep that threatened to creep in around the corners of her eyes, and propped herself up on her elbows to survey the scene around her. She didn't recognize the room she was in, blank walls and bland sheets. There was no personality to it. For a moment, she wondered if she'd gotten a hotel room and just had no memory of it.

Then she smelt a familiar, faint scent. She couldn't place it or really describe it other than she liked it, it was warm. Stupidly, she let her face fall into the pillow to inhale the scent. Oh my god.

She shot up quickly, realizing where she was. The memories of last night flooded her mind.

"Shit, shit, shit." A hand flew to her brow as she tried to process. She'd come here to work because her roommate was fucking her boyfriend into the oblivion. DI Hardy came back, made her a cuppa. She wouldn't shut up, kept rambling about the Big Bang Theory (why?) and Witchfinders (how?) before he guided her here. Then she - "no." She said audibly, she did not make a pass at DI Hardy in his bed, late at night and practically drunk on exhaustion. Her eyes flit around the room before landing on the one piece of decoration, a framed photo of Hardy and Daisy, his daughter. "No." She said again, as though it could stop her ramblings.

Y/N rushed out of the bed, scrambling to find her shoes before she saw them neatly lying next to the door. She was usually very professional, if not a little eccentric. But no one could fault you for being a lot when you were good at your job and solved cases. She brought justice to people, she knew she did. And she might have risked it all because she worked herself too far and hit on her boss. Regardless of how stupid attractive he was, that was still work place harassment.

She shoved her shoes on, forced her arms into the holes of her suit jacket and ambled out into his living space. There were papers everywhere. They covered the floor like a new rug, slouched over the chairs and clung to the walls by hall dead pieces of tape. She looked for her mobile, patting her pockets. Shit, she must have left it in the bedroom. When she turned she spotted a note on the door.

'At the office. Feel free to not come in.'

Oh she was dead. She'd lost her job forever, she would never work again. This stupid blasted career she'd worked so hard on gone.

She ran back and found her mobile among the sheets, shoved it into her pocket and ran to leave the home. Then DI Hardy stood awkwardly at the front door, bags of Chinese hanging from his hands and a weird not grimace not smile expression. He didn't look pleased to see her, but he didn't want to kill her. Good news, right?

"Sir, I am so sorry about last night-"

"Don't worry about it." He waved his hand, coming in to set the food on the counter. He got a lot of it.

"No, I can't not worry about it. I came into your home, made a mess, took your bed and propositioned you-"

"Warner, we've arrested a man for the murder of Sophia Garcia. It was Aaron Baker, his dad's golf clubs, just like you'd said."

Her mouth fell open, "shit, really?"

Alec gestured to the mess of papers while he spoke, "you'd mentioned something about the cabbie last night. When I went in I gave them a ring, and while there was a driver who picked up a grumpy lad it wasn't Aaron. Sounds like a Christie book but it was his twin. Aaron was cross town cleaning up the scene."

"Not good enough," Y/N said softly.

Alec nodded, "not good enough."

"I'm sorry, sir." She said again, her voice still quiet and meek.

He didn't answer her, just stared for a beat before gesturing to the food, "I didn't know what you liked so I bought two of everything."

"All this is for me?"

"You solved the case, Warner."

She shook her head, "I ... you let me sleep in your bed? I ransacked your house, I propositioned you, and you let me sleep and brought me food?"

Alec scratched the back of his neck. He did not like how often Y/N asked questions. It stressed him out, like he had to have an immediate answer to every single one when he figured his actions spoke. But she looked so confused. He just gestured to the food and went to grab plates.

She sat down in surprise, blinking quickly as she watched him come over. "Just a, uh, an egg roll and cho mein please."

He nodded and shoved two of both onto her plate before giving it to her. He didn't put anything on his plate. Y/N sighed and scraped off half of hers onto his.

"Eat, sir. Please."

He blinked, "wot?"

"I've known you for years and never seen you eat. Just eat the egg roll."

He stared at the greasy food. He can't eat that, he thought and was about to say as much when she shot him a dirty look. Tentatively, Alec took a bite of it. He cringed, he didn't quite love the taste but Y/N seemed pleased he was eating so he finished it off just for her.

When they both finished he cleaned up, and she stayed seated. Then he moved past her to the bedroom, undoing his tie and tossing it, along with his jacket, onto a chair in the corner. He started to roll his sleeves up round his elbows when Y/N waited by the door.

"Thank you, sir."

"No need-"

"Let me. Thank you, sir. For the food and the sleep and, uh, well thank you for everything."

"Of course, Warner. I take care of my people." Not typically this much care, but he didn't want to make her feel bad. He focused on sliding off his shoes, shoving them out of his sight.

Alec jumped - well, Alec never really jumped just blinked harshly and cocked the one eyebrow - in surprise. Y/N was now closer to him, her chest heaving as she stared up at him. She was shorter than he remembered.

"I-If I may, sir?" She asked, lifting a hand.

He had a feeling he knew what she was asking, but didn't know for certain. But all the same he nodded. He watched as her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned in, going onto her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

He hadn't been kissed in a long time, and the surprise of her initiating it made him stand there and accept her soft lips against his. When she broke, he could see the fear in her eyes as though she had done something wrong. Alec hadn't kissed in a while, and he felt the anxiety creep in that he didn't remember how. But the look in her eyes made it worth the fear.

He plunged forward, grabbing the back of her neck gently while his other hand came to cradle her jaw. Her skin was soft under his touch, melting as he held her. Y/N's hands came up to hold his jaw, scruffy and itchy in the most delightful way. Her mouth melded with his as his tongue licked along her bottom lip.

She cherished the way his jaw scratched against hers slightly, sighing when he broke to trail soft kisses down her jaw and the length of her neck. The scratch was enough to make her giggle like a schoolgirl, holding his shoulders. He shot back up, hair slightly wild but nothing compared to his eyes as he looked into hers deeply. He needed to be absolutely certain. There was no time for messing about and hurting anyone.

She smiled. He was so handsome to her, but in an understated way. She took the moment to run a finger on his sculpted jawline, along his freckled cheeks and down his crooked nose. No, not everyone might look at those features and call it handsome. But to her, he was everything. Smart, kind, and good-looking as sin. Her finger fell upon his lips, slightly open and let out harsh breaths as he searched her eyes desperately. Alec always wished he could read expressions better, he was terrified he'd make the wrong decision somewhere down the line.

But Y/N smiled, and nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his nose before taking a step back. Then she toed off her own shoes, shucked off her own jacket, and began to undress.

He followed her lead, removing his shirt and pants. Eventually, they both stood in front of one another naked. Y/N felt that pang of anxiety in her chest at being bare in front of a man. She'd made it very clear to Alec that she found him to be hotter than hell, but did he feel that way about her? She wasn't ugly, she knew that, but she wasn't a showstopper.

And yes, she could see the surprisingly length of him hardening before him. But didn't every man get hard when sex was on the table?

Alec came forward and placed his hands on her hips, pulling her forward as his eyes took in every inch of her. He ran a hand along her stomach - an insecure area for her - and up between her breasts, before settling it on the base of her neck. The simple action left her breathless.

His eyes were still on her body before he brought them up to hers. She was struck by how deep his were, how warm and brown, they seemed to go on forever.

"Look at you," he said hoarsely, his accent suddenly get thicker. "You're gorgeous."

"You think so?" She felt stupid asking it. She should be confident, she should pose seductively and tell him to strap in the way girls do on the telly. But this felt real and raw, and raw didn't shy away from the insecurities. Insecurities laced with cellulite and hair, parts that feel too pudgy there and too concave there. Never quite where it needs to be, never "ugly" enough for the world to tell you you have a right to complain.

"'Course. 'Course, look at you. You think I'm g-good too?" He asked back.

Y/N smiled, "thank you for saying that, most men don't."

"Don't they?" Alec asked in surprise, figuring that was just a part of the experience.

She shook her head and let her gaze trace along his body as well. He was lean and tall, with thin legs and arms wrapped in gentle muscle. His stomach was slightly pouchy and soft, beneath it his length was already hard at the sight of her. She ran a hand up from his stomach to his chest, mimicking his actions, and let it stay on his heart. Beneath her touch it thumped violently. Then she looked up to see his face, her favorite feature. His eyes were warm and gentle even when they didn't mean to be. "All of you is handsome to me, all of you."

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, "you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. And if it isn't too crass to say, I'd fuck every inch of you."

It was too crass to say, and even a little cheesy, but it made her blossom with a smile. She threw her arms around his neck and let herself fall into one of his all encompassing kisses she was starting to like the taste of too much. Alec's lips were firm but not overpowering as they engulfed her, setting a tingle from her toes all the way up to her head in a heady giggle. His hands held onto her waist, grasping the flesh there with a sweet intensity. His lips parted with a deep groan.

She walked backwards to the bed, leading Alec until he was over her. His arms were poised by her head, his neck brought down as he peppered open mouth kisses along her neck. She laughed lightly at his scruffy beard, moaning when his lips found the spot between her neck and shoulder that shot straight through her. Y/N writhed under his touch, heat searing her skin. His hands were everywhere, branding her, skating up her waist to grab a handful of her breast, down her back to cup her bum, and feather like fingers traveling over the top of her thighs to the place in between. She gasped as he ran a finger down her slit.

"So wet..." he murmured, not expecting her to be so aroused by him. He'd barely done anything for her, hadn't touched down there at all. Yet she was slick to the touch, heat and arousal. Alec loved the way her chest flushed, her eyes closed tightly as she savored his touch on her skin.

He ran his fingers down, keeping his touch light as he experimentally nudged around. When he found her clit she gasped, her whole body tensing and focusing on the nerves right there against his finger.

"So responsive," he murmured, starting to work gently against her clit as she took shaking, uneven breaths. Alec went to speak again, then stopped. Tess never liked when he spoke in bed, said it distracted her from her climax. So he'd learned to stay silent and focus on his partner's body, her mouth as she fought her body's reaction to grind violently against his fingers. He kissed her sternum, biting at the flesh gingerly. Despite himself, Alec growled into her as she bucked her hips to meet his ministrations.

"Keep talking," she said in a hoarse voice.

"Wot?" Alec asked, taken aback.

Y/N looked up at him, eyes heady with need, "your voice is hot. If it's okay to ask, please keep talking, sir."

Alec grinned his charming, crooked smile. He bent down to kiss along her stomach as he quickened his pace on his clit, driving her faster to a climax then she was used to. That deep Scottish voice rang our praises, some loud enough that she could hear them and clench her thighs, others murmurs against her flesh that made her head feel light and airy. She giggled at the thought of all the beard rash she'd have along her body from him. All the same he told her how well she was doing, how beautiful she was, how lovely she looked squirming underneath him.

Then, as her back began to arch and she could feel the orgasm just a hair's breadth away, he stilled. Y/N whined. Actually felt herself whine in protest. He chuckled, clearly meaning to edge her, using his large hands to keep her legs wide open.

"A-are you ready?" Alec asked, his usual confidence lost to the arousal he was trying to keep at bay for her. His hands were large and warm, holding onto the space between her hips and thighs with a firm yet gentle touch.

Y/N's eyes gazed down to his cock, hard and ready. It looked about ready to burst, but Alec squeezed her thighs to look up into his eyes. They were warm and kind. Asking for consent even in a position like this. It made her all the more sure of her answer.

She reached up for his face, grabbing his jaw and planting a warm kiss on his mouth as he started to guide himself inside of her. He was slow, letting her gasp and adjust to the length inch by inch until he was fully inside of her. Alec paused. She could feel her heartbeat everywhere, pulsing desperately for friction.

She nodded, kissing Alec again. She'd never had a kiss like that, so strong and comforting. Kisses were never her thing, she hadn't understood the fuss over them. Just two sets of lips pressed against one another, the taste of the day infecting it. But with Alec it was more than the cho mein or egg rolls, and it was more than chapped lips pressed against one another. It was full of desire, trying to communicate all that words couldn't. She drank it in fully, gasping against him as he started to move inside of her.

Alec was bigger than she expected and bigger than he was used to, and she wiggled her hips to the feeling of being stretched so full like that. He cherished the feeling of her gasps and moans, dipping to kiss every inch of skin near him.

"So beautiful, so gorgeous..." he thrusted in quickly this time and saw her body tense from surprise. "You're taking me beautifully, Angel."

Y/N could listen to his voice all day. Even before she realized he was far from an ugly bloke, she fancied the way his voice poured over her in sexy waves. Deep, guttural, it was honest and raw. He didn't lie, he didn't cover it with some pretense to be sexy. Even when his voice would break, small gasps from the sensations breaking up his sentences, she found it all the better.

Alec leaned back, not wanting to stop kissing her not wanting to miss the view. He'd pulled her hips down to the edge of the bed, him standing and her legs spread wide and resting on the small of his back. With a gentle pace that started to grow more desperate he thrust into her, watching her body flush and squirm beneath him. Y/N threw her arms up, arching her back to take him deeper. Alec was enamored with the way her breasts bounced with each thrust.

"So fucking beautiful," he grumbled, snaking a hand down to stroke her clit. He could feel that he wasn't going to last as long as he would have liked, but by the way Y/N let out little moans by his feather light touch, he figured she didn't mind all that much.

Y/N was in her own world, feeling his voice slide off her skin like oil as she chased her high. His denial of her orgasm earlier made this one all the more powerful. It seemed to slam into her, causing her to gasp wildly as Alec kept firm ministrations on her clit. Then he too reached his climax, grunting in a low voice before pouring out in a shocking spurt.

Then he pulled out, falling beside her as they both gasped for breath. Y/N quickly ambled out of the bed and used the restroom before she came back in, feeling like her limbs were absolute jelly. Alec brought her back to the bed, laying next to her. His hand held hers, thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand.

"That was incredible," he finally said.

"You could say that again."

"That was incredible." They both paused, turning to look at one another, before bursting into a fit of giggles.

[natelia-aldelliz]

More ghost! Roach - Accidental Necromancer Soap AU : little moments

141 in the middle of a briefing, when suddenly Soap gasps, interrupting Price. Everyone turns to look at him and he looks back like a deer in headlights, apologises with a stammered excuse, something like he saw a spider or something, and the meeting continues with dubious looks.

"You're so bad at that," Roach giggles from where he's floating around above the table. "It wasn't even that big of a news, they were flirting for months! I have way worse, you know one of the Corporals under your command, the redhead one? She's been secretely married for years to the medic lady that stitched you up last week! Stop gaping at me, where's your pokerface oh my god-"

And then Soap uses all that information to win bets against Gaz.

Or also, Roach telling jokes while there's people around Soap. "Don't laugh," he taunts him. "Don't even smile or they'll know you're crazier than they think."

And then he tells the worst joke ever and Soap can't help the snort that escapes him and again, everyone turns to look at him.

"I can't believe you're laughing in a room full of explosives tied to people," Roach gasps, knowing full well that's exactly the result he wanted.

Soap rolls his eyes at him quickly and focuses back on defusing. He'll get him back when they're alone and he doesn't look weird talking to the air.

"He knows you find him hot, he's neither blind nor stupid," Roach says, peeking above Ghost's shoulder. "If you want him to blush you need to call him 'pretty'. Worked every time..."

And he's right. When Soap tells Ghost he's a bonnie lad, explains what it means, it's very obvious how flustered he becomes, and the visible part of the bridge of his nose gets very red.

"Be ready to be grabbed at every opportunity, his love language is physical touch but he'd rather die than admit it."

Roach has a bit of a poltergeist moment when he finds out he can touch things again. Cups go flying into walls, chairs move around, shoes disappear. Roach is very overwhelmed and gets non verbal, which is a bit hard because Soap only knows the basics of BSL and has to ask Ghost to translate by copying live what Roach is saying. (Ghost, who has seen the ghost of his dead lover save his life just a day before objects started flying, recognising in the back of his mind the quirks of Roach's way of signing being reproduced by Soap, but not willing to believe yet)

It lasts a few days and the whole base is convinced they're haunted by a ghost. They're not wrong, Soap wants to say. And not only one, but the others are far more apathetic, barely there.

Then Roach calms down, all at once, when he realises that maybe... maybe he can touch people too. He's very nervous. It's been years since he touched someone, years of his hand going through Ghost's arm as he tried to make him see him. Years of not feeling the warmth of a living being.

That scares him. What if he can touch Soap, but he doesn't feel anything? What if it feels the same as the glasses he's been trying to juggle for days?

So he waits until Soap is asleep and he holds out his finger, slowly, hands trembling, and presses it softly to Soap's forehead. He's... He's warm, he realises with a gasp. He's warm!

Soap wakes up to sobbing and soft fingers on his cheeks and in his hair. He gets reassured very quickly that it's happy sobbing and Roach kisses him.

Ghost, after learning about the ghosts existence, starts having really bad nightmares every night. Has to be reassured that no, he's not actually a ghost. He hasn't actually died in that grave, he's here, he's warm and he's alive and loved.

[loulouwrites]

PROSE . ALFIE SOLOMONS

summary: alfie found comfort in her letters during his darkest moments, even if they were never meant for him warnings: angst, war, death, ptsd, a bit of politics, happy ending, unedited for now word count: 2.2k a/n: a short lil story x

Lieutenant Adam Weiss would read those letters over and over, a smile on his muddy face whenever he pulled the envelopes from his pockets, almost as if the words made him forget where he was.

The letters were creased and the envelopes were worn, mud caked the sides and gritty fingerprints decorated the edges from where he would run his hand down the pages. Some of the letters were longer than others, ranging from one page to four, front and back.

Captain Alfie Solomons watched the boy pull out a fresh letter, amazed he received so many. Delivering letters to frontline soldiers was not a priority in the war, nor should it be, men waited months for notes from their family, but somehow, Adam always received his - he must have been the luckiest lad in France.

People didn't write to Alfie.

His parents were long gone, his sisters had husbands they would rather scribble away to, and the few friends he had were scattered throughout Europe, fighting the same fight he was - one none of them quite understood.

Adam's smile felt like an assault on the captain, the grin he wore reminiscent of a time before, a time that didn't exist anymore. The lieutenant had never shared who the letters were from, he kept them tucked into his breast pocket, only pulling them out when everybody else was busied with other, more important tasks.

"Who's writing you these letters?" Alfie asked the boy, trying to stretch his legs the best he could in the cramped quarters below ground.

Adam's grin faded from his face, and he shrugged non-committally, tucking the letter away.

"Just a girl I know," he said, face bashful.

"A girl you know," Alfie nodded. He was surprised he had never met Adam before the war, they were both raised in the same area, both Jewish, of a similar age, yet their paths had never crossed. "A pretty girl?"

"Just a girl," Adam scowled, crossing his arms across his chest.

The sound of gunfire interruped whatever Alfie was about to say next.

Lieutenant Adam Weiss succumbed to injuries sustained in the battlefield two weeks before the armistice was signed. He died at the age of 24, with a hole in his head, and even more in the chest.

Alfie didn't feel much when he died, there had been so much death that he feared he had become immune to it, and he was never particularly close to the man. Yet, it didn't stop him from taking the letters from the dead man's pocket before his body was dragged away.

He had no intention of reading the letters that were now kept in his own breast pocket, he wasn't even sure why he took them in the first place, but the weight of them comforted him.

More letters arrived the day after Adam died, a small envelope addressed to him at the bottom of the pile, and Alfie took that one too, snatching it from the boy who delivered them before he could question it.

It was a lot quieter these days, men were being picked off one by one, and those that were still alive, found little to talk about. At first, they would joke about finally being away from their wives, or make lewd comments about the nurses, but now, there was nothing, it was if they couldn't remember their lives before.

Alfie opened the letter before he could stop himself, the cursive handwriting was so neat, not a word had been crossed out, suggesting the author had taken their time with every word, possibly rewriting it completely whenever she made a mistake, a showing of her care, not just for the letters, but for Adam too.

He carefully read the well wishes and pleasantries. The one page letter was not particularly engaging or poetic, but the talk of day to day life in London was comforting to Alfie in the most painful way.

His eyes led to the bottom of the page, where the writing got slightly messy, and the words were slanted more than they were in the beginning.

Revolution is in the air, and peace is on the horizon. You will be home soon, hopefully before the month draws to a close, and we will celebrate your birthday together, as we have always done.

The slaughter will end, and you will be home.

Your dearest, and only friend.

She didn't sign it, there was no need to, he supposed, the letter was not for him, it was for the boy dead on the battlefield, and he already knew her name.

Alfie scoffed as he reread her words.

The slaughter will end.

Bullshit.

The armistice was signed less than two weeks later. The girl from the letters was right, the slaughter had ended and peace had come - though the men returning were forever changed.

Alfie wondered whether word about Adam had reached her, it should have by now. He considered tracking her down and telling her himself, he was the boy's captain, after all, but he had no fight in him to search for a nameless girl in London - he was tired.

The journey to London was long, they had heard them like cattle onto boats and trains, the men silently sitting in their misery, no celebration to be had.

The time allowed Alfie to read the other letters he had been carrying. He read them in no particular order, skimming through the cursive writing, more to distract himself from the sadness filling the train carriage, than anything else.

Mr Feldman brought me flowers again, he thinks I'm his dead wife.

Your mother came over for shabbat, she cried a lot.

I still go to the bakery we used to go after school, the bread isn't as nice now that Issaac isn't there to make it.

James proposed to me - again. It is the fifth time I have declined. He doesn't understand why I have no intention to marry a ten year old.

The girl talked a lot about what was happening at home, Alfie appreciated that, other than well wishes and the odd scathing political rant, she rarely mentioned the war, the men reading letters didn't need reminding of the war, the needed to be reminded of home.

Life returned to a new normal in the years following the war. Alfie was able to forget the war better than most, maybe because the violence didn't end for him. He went from a war in France to a war in London, and he enjoyed every minute of it.

Tensions rose, men died, and Alfie survived - as it was, as it always would be.

He sat in his office a lot, when everybody had left for the day, he would pull out the stack of letters from the second drawer of his desk, and read them over again, as if he couldn't recite them word for word at his point.

He had a favourite, one that was now more creased than the others, and had more bends in the edges, read far more often than others.

I had an argument with my mother, again. I shall not bore you with the details, but I am certain the war will end soon, that the trend sweeping the East will come here and you shall return home.

We will go to Abraham's bakery the day you step off the train and eat the pineapple cake you like so much, we will then go to Finsbury Gardens and spend the rest of the day there, and we shall end the day at the pub, I haven't been allowed in without my male companion.

May you remain safe and well, and may you return home soon.

Your only and closest friend.

The girl was not a particularly poetic writer, yet Alfie was more enthralled by her prose than he ever had been by Shakespeare or Austin, because alone in the dark of his office, he could lie to himself, and believe those letters were for him.

He fiddled with the papers in his hand as he stood outside of the bakery. It had just opened, and people ushered in and out, their eyes avoiding his.

He had built quite the reputation for himself upon his return.

The bell above the door dinged when he walked in, and the lady at the counter looked away from the customer she was serving to wave at him.

He hovered behind the girl in front as she chatted to the woman, laughing and pointing to various cakes and pastries.

"Sir?" The woman waved a hand up and down to get his attention, and Alfie snapped out of whatever daze he was in, clearing his throat out of embarrassment.

"Urm...yeah," he muttered, looking down at the paper in his hands. He could recite this letter word for word, why couldn't he remember the cake now?

The baker and customer watched him as his eyes flickered to the page and back up to smile apologetically at them.

"I can help," the girl smiled at him, holding a hand out for the letter. "I'm a good reader."

She thought he couldn't fucking read.

"I can read," he defended, and she held her hands up jokingly. His eyes skimmed the words, failing to find the one he needed.

What kind of fucking cake was it?

And why did he even fucking care?

"For fuck's sake," he muttered, holding the letter out to the girl. "There's a type of cake in there, can you find it?"

She let out a small laugh as she took the paper with a smile on her face. He watched as she began to read it thoughtfully, her smile slowly dropping from her face and her eyebrows pulled together. Her head snapped up, and she held the letter up, a scowl on her face.

"Where did you get this?" Her tone wasn't something Alfie could place, a mixture between shock and confusion, and something else entirely.

He was never one to be lost for words, but he couldn't string a sentence together for the life of him, what the fuck was happening?

He must have been quiet for too long, because the girl fled the bakery, brushing his shoulder as she pushed past him, the letter still in her hand.

His favourite letter.

His body reacted quicker than his brain did, and he rushed after her, jogging to catch up with her as she stormed down the street.

"Oi," he called out when he was close enough for her to hear, "give me my fuckin' letter back."

She stopped in her tracks, spinning around to face him, pushing a hand to his chest when he was close enough to touch.

"It is not your letter," she spat. "Where did you get it?"

"The fuck are you chattin' about? You stole it from me."

"And you stole it from Adam," the girl shrieked, turning to storm away again, but Alfie was faster, grabbing her arm to stop her.

"Fuckin' hell," he smiled despite himself. "You're the girl from the letters."

"Who the fuck are you?" She cried, pulling her arm out of his grip.

"My name is Alfie Solomons," he held his arms out in defense, watching as her eyes widened at his introduction.

He really did have a reputation.

"I was Adam's captain in France," he reached down to take the letter from her hand, and she didn't put up a fight when he pulled it from her grip. "I took the letters off Adam when he died."

"Why?" She whispered, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"Couldn't tell ya, love," he shrugged. "Maybe because they made him very happy."

Her face scrunched up as if she were in pain at his words, and she breathed a deep breath to quell the tears in her eyes.

"They made him happy?" She breathed out, Alfie nodding in confirmation.

"It was annoying, really," he joked. "They made me happy too, even if I did steal 'em."

She huffed a laugh in response, dabbing at her eyes with her gloved hands before gesturing to letter he now held in his hands.

"Keep it," she sighed. "It was pineapple cake, by the way."

She went to turn away, but Alfie spoke before she could.

"Tell me to fuck off if you want, but would you fancy goin' to Finsbury Gardens?"

She looked at him blankly, and Alfie was certain she was going to say no, to tell him to fuck off with his letter and leave her alone.

"Okay," she nodded eventually. "But only if you take me to the pub after, I need a new male companion."

"It'd be my pleasure, love."

[fili-urzudel]

If you don't mind #9 and #7 with Thorin and Dwalin.

7. Sleeping in a dog pile

9. Forehead touches

I was quite honestly immediately inspired by this one, it was just bridging the gaps between every flash of inspiration I had lol. It felt nice to write something platonic, and I hope that this was close to what you had in mind, or if it wasn't, it's still something you enjoy. <3

Word count: 1.1 k

Warnings: Might getcha in your feels idk, old man dwarf Balin POV

Pebbles - Platonic Balin, Thorin, and Dwalin

Dwalin could hardly keep still, hands fidgeting with the head of the wooden axe Adad had gifted him some months ago. "Will you let us stay up as late as we want?"

"No," Balin answered sternly, still feeling a bit strange, entrusted with all this authority. "You will go to sleep when Amad and Her Highness said you need to go to sleep. And you'll eat your dinner."

"I thought brothers were supposed to be fun."

"I thought sons of the advisor to the king were supposed to be well behaved," Balin said, before ruffling his brother's dark hair. He hadn't quite gotten the hang of braiding it yet, so he decided to leave it all out, and it stuck out quite impressively from his head. "And you can have fun, just be mindful. It's not your house. And be gentle with Dis, she's just a little'un."

"Aye, aye," he waved him off.

The older dwarf hoisted his school bag over his shoulder again before knocking on the door to the common quarters of the royal family. "Come in!" The princess's voice rang through, and Balin took a deep breath as he pulled the door open. 

"Dwalin!" Thorin jumped up from whatever it was he was doing at the table to all but tackle his little brother, initiating their special handshake that always ended in a headbutt. 

He had taught them it. 

"And what am I? Chopped liver?" As he spoke, Frerin and Dis came running up, sticking to either side of him and forcing him to drop his bag of schoolbooks on the floor. "Ah, at least someone cares," he joked, a hand on each of their backs.

"Thank you for showing up early, we're about ready to leave," the princess told him with a genuine smile. She was always so warm. "I know you'll all have so much fun!"

"Not too much," Prince Thrain reminded them.

"Of course not, sir."

"I know you're a good lad, Balin," Thrain reassured him. "I'm sure we'll return to clean plates, clean rugs, clean clothes, and no damaged art, right?" He asked, pointedly turning to his eldest son and his best friend, who seemed to be tuning him out.

"Yes, da."

"Yes, sir!" They said at the same time.

After a round of goodbye and another set of reminders for Thorin and Dwalin, the pair were off, and Balin could get started on his homework. Right?

"Dis, you've got to finish your vegetables," Balin encouraged her, though he knew the words would have irked him when he was her age. 

"But I don't like green food," she pouted, blue eyes welling with on-demand tears. 

"Thattagirl," Dwalin praised, and Balin shot him a look that had him shrinking in his seat. 

"They're good, I prom���Frerin, that had better not be drawing clay," he warned as he saw the pebble nearing the wall with a suspiciously clenched fist. "I may not be your ma but I won't let you color the walls either."

After redirecting Frerin's creative energy to parchment, Balin cleaned up after dinner. 

It wasn't much easier after.

"Boys, no wrestling on the furniture," he said exasperatedly, still trying in vain to do his schoolwork at the dinner table. He moved his papers and books haphazardly in his arms to the table in the sitting room, hoping to dissuade them from trying again. 

They continued amusing themselves with tasks of varying volume, and Balin was almost done with his essay on the First Age when it went quiet. Too quiet.

"Boys?"

"Quick, pick it up!"

"Why weren't you watching her?"

"She's your sister!"

"She's your sister too!"

"You're older!"

By that point, Balin had made it to the room at the end of the hall—the master bedroom. Someplace none of them should be.

The scene was simple enough to decipher. A vase of some sort lay on the ground, formerly perched on a table that Dis must've walked into and knocked over. Surprisingly, the noise was not enough to make her cry, but enough to make the other pebbles start panicking.

It wasn't a big deal. Honestly, if it was anyone's fault, it was Balin's, something he would readily admit to when the prince and princess returned.

But the pebbles thought they were in big trouble, with enough anxious energy to keep them up all night. 

"Why, you little goats!" He roared, and the pebbles perked up almost instantly. "You'd better run!"

Dis shrieked and toddled away, the others in hot pursuit. Balin chased them around tables and the kitchen island, catching them and earning more screams every time they hid behind a bed or chair.

He let them get ahead of him just enough to confer among themselves, and when he caught up, they attacked. 

"Get him!" Dis cried in her small voice, and Balin couldn't hide his smile.

Frerin and Thorin each took an arm, and Dwalin bowled them back onto the couch. "My own brother, betraying me!" he shouted, closing his eyes in defeat.

The couch was wide, wide enough for the five of them to spread out as they wished. Dwalin lay on his chest, his untamed hair tickling Balin's chin.

Thorin laid his head on his stomach, his baby sister in his arms and his little brother laid out on his legs.

And finally, they could rest, Balin thought as not-so-quiet snores filled the room.

"Balin?" A small voice asked, and it took a moment for him to realize it was Dwalin's. It had been a while since he sounded so... little. 

"Yeah, nadad?"

"I'm sorry for not being better tonight."

"You were just having fun," he assured him. "It's alright."

"Are you sure?"

Balin touched his forehead to his brother's briefly, patting his back. "Yeah. Go to sleep, nadad."

His brother snuggled back up to his side.

He would clean up the vase later. He would tell the prince and princess when they got home and apologize profusely for not watching them more closely.

But right now, it was nice being right where he was.

My, where did time go?

It had been a long time since then, Balin reminisced. A lot had changed. They were charging to recover the mountain he had lived most of his life in. He had a couple hundred more grey hairs, and all the pebbles had full beards now. The ones that were still alive, at least. Dis had pebbles of her own, and they were on the quest. 

He wasn't sure, but he did know one thing. It was an absolute fact, actually, as Thorin and Dwalin lay snoring on each arm.

Some things didn't change much at all.

[lukascout]

Guess I'm The New Scout!

Story 2: Dumpsterfire

Why did I take this job? Why didn't I just run? I'm gonna die all because I'm a fucking moron.

Luka never dreamed he'd be staring down the barrel of a revolver. A revolver that shouldn't be in the Medic’s hands. He kept his hands over his head as the cylinder slowly clicked, a sound that whispered death. What would even be the point of running away? As the disguise dissipated in smoke, Luka's gaze wandered to meet the Spy's as he saw the poor lad out.

“My apologies, but ze doctor is not available.” Was the last thing he heard before… blackout.

…? Numb…? Why am I suddenly numb?

He could have sworn he was dead. When's the last time you heard of a man surviving a point blank gunshot? Unless the Engineer was not kidding or this was limbo, this was Hell for all he cared. Bracing for the worst, Luka tried to force his eyes open.

…W-White light… hurts…

A muffled voice pierced the lad's senses. He tried to respond to the voice but to no avail as he couldn't seem to find his own voice. He almost wanted to scream but wasn't sure if he still had a mouth. 

A pair of blazing red hands meeting Luka’s eyes were enough to send them into panic as they finally found feeling in their legs, crashing back-first into the lockers. He grabbed his Scattergun but nearly lost his grip on it before aiming it at the figure in front of him.

“Whoa there, son! You're OK!” He heard the familiar, albeit still a little muffled, voice of the Engineer.

Luka blinked, not fully trusting his surroundings still. Slowly he turned his head in the direction he heard Engineer.

“D-Dell…? Is that you? Where am I?”

“You're back here in resupply! Safe and sound!”

Wait. Resupply. If I'm here, then who's-

As they scanned the room, it sank into Luka that they were aiming their Scattergun at the Medic, the real Medic, who leaned back as he held his hands up at face level. A hot wash of red burned across their face and down their shoulders as tears started to form in the corners of their glossy coldsteel eyes. As if dying to that sapphire snake wearing the doctor's face wasn't enough.

“You alright there, son?” Engineer asked.

Before Luka could even say a word, the roaring disturbance known as Soldier echoed through the room. Luka winced at the volume. The men watched him punching the air around him.

“Graaah! I had that son of a bitch right where I wanted him! If I ever see that Sniper out of his little nest, I'll snap his neck in half!” The Soldier ranted at basically nobody before rushing back into battle as if this was just another day for them. This struck a nerve in the already overstimulated lad.

“How can you guys die then walk around like nothing happened!? You're all insane!” Luka shouted as he slumped down into the floor sobbing and covering his ears. “Why didn't I just say no, why?”

The other men found themselves unsure of what to say to the crying mess before them. A shout directed at the Medic brought him quickly to his feet. With the doctor gone, the Engineer was left to deal with the still sobbing Luka. He grabbed a bottle of water and sat next to him.

“Didn't know what to expect, eh?”

Luka only responded with a glare.

“Heheh… I understand.” Engineer chuckled as he handed the water to Luka. He hesitantly took the water and took a few gulps to reclaim some lost moisture. God, Luka hated crying so much.

“...I'm sorry.” Luka said after a period of going non-verbal.

“For what?”

“For… Well, ya know. Being myself.”

“Hey now. You're alright, son…” Engineer reassured him, “Whenever you're ready…”

-----

It had been a little over a few hours since Luka's brush with death and resurrection. He died quite a few times since then but it was still a bitch every time. The worst part of it was the nausea that he could swear his whole body felt. You know, like when you skip breakfast. It took him all the willpower and copious amounts of water to not puke. This time around, he took probably the worst hit to the face since a childhood jungle gym incident. At least he got his teeth back. Did he like the fact he died once again? No. Hell no, even.

“Uuugh! I will never get over that!” Luka yelled as the numbness, nausea, and panic came and went.

The jovial laughter of the mad doctor brought Luka back to the present. He couldn't tell if Medic was laughing at him or not but he still wasn't happy about it.

“Oh bore off! I'm new to this!”

“Zat's ze exhilaration of ze cycle of life and painful deaths!” Medic said with a laugh. Luka looked at him like he had two heads.

“Excuse me?”

“Rush into ze battlefield knowing full vell zat you're going to die a painful death. But you'll get better in about five seconds, ja?”

Luka knew everyone on the team was their own brand of crazy based on what little he observed. But what he just heard made him question how and why this man became a field medic. Or why he even still had his medical license. (Spoiler alert; he does not.)

“...Doc?”

Medic tilted his head in questioning.

“Why do you give pep talks in the creepiest ways?”

“He's not wrong, Doktor…” Heavy commented.

“I beg your pardon!?” Medic reeled back and made a pearl clutching gesture. It was hard to tell if it was real or exaggerated, but they started arguing. It was a weird sight to behold but Luka was not gonna stick around to see how it was going to end. He awkwardly backed out while they continued to bicker.

I'm not bothering with all that mess.

Not even half an hour after his last death, Luka respawned back into resupply. But instead of looking panicked his face was dusted with a lovely shade of pink. And it wasn't because Heavy and Medic were still on about their weird, pointless argument. Although, that itself seemed to come to a weird head as he turned to see that Heavy was now sitting atop of Medic's back, pinning him to the floor.

“Get off of me, Schweinhund!” Medic shouted as he tried to crawl out from underneath the giant man.

Heavy simply ignored the shrieking doctor as he realized that Luka had come back. An enraged Soldier followed shortly after.

“Hartman!? This is the twentieth time you've died today! What do you have to say for yourself!?”

“Seventeen! He actually died seventeen times!” Medic corrected him.

It only occurred to Luka now that this was a pretty normal thing that happens around these parts with this group of mercs. How and why the hell any of them took any of this, he had no clue. But it was definitely going to be a new normal for him. Hey, who knows? Maybe Luka could finally get over some anxiety issues and shyness along this crazy road. The only thing that made it not perfect was the Fullmetal Jackass. Eh, I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

“...Well, I'm not afraid of death anymore, but now I'm terrified of dying embarrassing deaths.” Luka said after processing the whole ordeal.

Medic raised an eyebrow “Oh? What happened?”

“I uhhh… stumbled backwards off a cliff and head first into a dumpster.”

Heavy winced at the image in his head. Not only would it hurt like a knife to the face but it'd probably smell like slow death too. The sound of Soldier chuckling brought him out of his thoughts.

Luka groaned “What's so funny?”

“This isn't garbage day, Hartman!”

“Did you just call me trash!?”

[agentditto]

My Disney Animation Agent

James Pleiades "Jim" Hawkins, also known as the "Rogue Warrior of Montressor", is the only son of Sarah Hawkins, the proprietor of the Benbow Inn, and one of the first off-world members of the Autobot Resistance. Jim is a very adventurous, rebellious, and caring young lad. At first, Jim is stoic and guarded, but as time goes on, he begins to open up, and in the end, he becomes a much more open, confident and happier young man, bearing a side that is very brave, selfless, strong-willed, independent, and loyal to his allies. He is also friendly and willing to help strangers, especially if they are injured or lost, showing that he's kind and compassionate towards animals. He is also shown to be fun-loving, a jokester, sarcastic, mischievous, charismatic, and a bit of a dreamer. He is also usually honest, yet quite private, and hardly ever lies; he only lies if he feels that he really has to, but can also be very sweet, innocent and polite, and cares greatly for his allies and will protect and defend them from anything and anyone. Jim is also very forgiving, shown when he forgave Silver for his antagonistic actions, particularly when Silver chose to save Jim's life instead of Flint's treasure, also allowing Silver to sneak away in lieu of outing him, showing that Jim has completely forgiven Silver and accepted him as his friend and father-figure again. Ultimately, even with his few flaws and his bad-boy exterior, Jim has got a heart of gold and refuses to embrace the typical greedy and ruthless pirate life like his pirate enemies. He's also very intelligent for a lad of his age (as in so intelligent that he is very skilled in mechanical engineering, showing this when he was able to build his own solar surfer all by himself at age 8 and he was able to fix up the late Captain Flint's spaceship in just a few minutes, come age 15). He is also pragmatic and logical, more than people give him credit for. Despite his great intelligence and pragmatism, he can do very stupid and reckless things, but regardless of his reckless side, Jim can be very cautious and serious if the situation presented itself. He likes playing around with Morph, but he can get annoyed by the little floating pink blob of mischief sometimes, and the same can be said for B.E.N., who gets on Jim's nerves fairly often, especially when B.E.N. talks too much or touches Jim too much. Nevertheless, Jim does consider B.E.N. a good friend and a useful sidekick (also, Jim learned to accept B.E.N.'s hysterical and annoying habits somewhat and even enthusiastically hugs B.E.N. back when B.E.N. hugs him for saving everyone from Treasure Planet's destruction). Divergence: After Jim saved everyone, they landed on another world: Cybertron. Dr. Doppler mentioned that most of the Cybertronians died out after the Earth War of 2006, but Jim always wanted to see it. They make planetfall, but Jim and Silver realize that they crossed into another reality, upon being fired at by the Decepticons. It wasn't until an unlikely alliance of characters brought Jim and the others to Nova-Terria, an amalgamation of worlds, using Montressor's technology to operate as computers, phones, everything. The others make themselves at home, with Jim using a Solar Surfer he created out of junked-out parts and a Crystallic Fusion Power-Cell, which he realized was just a giant battery. He often runs into a spot of trouble with the Decepticons, so much so that Team Epsilon, with Pursuit in command, saves him, but Jim does take some Decepticon tech and repurposing it for the Autobots, because he knows now: the war's still going on...and he's just been drafted into it, to save ALL realities. (Note: This is my sort of AU, and I'd not like anyone stealing ideas from me.)

[writing-for-the-gays]

ermm i have another request to make :3c if thats ok :3c

billy loomis and stu macher (both of em, in the poly way :3c) x reader with all of the specifications i had in my last request with uhmmmm :3c knife play :3c and predator/prey dynamics :3c

again, reader being fat nd hairy being central to the story :3c

also again, do whatever format and length you want ^_^

-🐛 anon

'Can I get a kiss? And can you make it last forever?'

Billy Loomis x trans male! Stu macher x trans male! hairy! reader

Again with these things being self indulgent, reader is a disk jockey and a radio host who spreads misinformation Abt the lads so they can fuck two serial killers for a lil longer .

Brought to you by ovulation and weed.

I'm a Stu fucker so Billy is a little neglected.

I read hairy and ran with it.

You can pry my trans male stu hc out of my cold dead hands.

I wasn't sure how to end it but I did it.

Up to my usual bullshit

- You were supposed to be a victim, a little bit of a trial run before everyone else.

- you were a generally quiet guy, they didn't think that anyone would really notice you disappeared. Save for the fact the news station would have to get a new host, but who even really listened to it. Billy and Stu definitely didn't listen to it.

-they probably should've though. Desensitize each other to it. But they didn't.

- so when they called you Stu's face instantly turned red and he hung up. Which confused the hell out of Billy. ("Stu, what the hell was that?!" "His voice, man! It's making my fucking head foggy-!" "Fine I'll fucking do it!")

- Billy wasn't any better, but at least he was talking to you unlike Stu.

- he's palming himself through his jeans just listening to you try to tell him off for calling, but then he starts talking about fucking you with a knife to your throat and you go quite.

- he keeps going and he hears you panting on the other end, and he doesn't assume you're touching yourself at first.

- but then you fully moan while listening to him talk about fucking you balls deep and he's not dumb so he can put 2+2 together.

- he asks what room you're in and you give it too easy (he knows where you are, he can see your shadow from the window.)

-and soon you have two strangers fucking you so hard you can't think!

- Stu finds out you're trans too and starts rubbing your t-dicks together, and Billy fucks into Stu's hand, and you watch as they make out and-

- you cum so hard you literally pass out.

- Stu thinks he's killed you, and honestly, if he had you would've died happy, but he didn't and so you wake up to a very concerned Stu and a cackling Billy.

- You're fine obviously. But Stu still tries to be gentle with you, Billy keeps teasing your t-dick though, more fascinated with it than anything else, it's different than Stu's bc he's gotten surgery to make it appear bigger so he's just seeing how it's different, and he finds out you're significantly more sensitive!

- you three become semi regular fuck buddies, and when the official killings start you pretend you have no idea who's doing them, you pretend that when stu and Billy come over covered in blood to fuck your brain out you don't almost cum in your pants.

- then fuck buddies become something more. Somewhere in-between that first call and being bent over the bed as stu pegged you and Billy fucked your mouth 6 months lster you'd fallen in love with them.

- in the heat of the moment as you come moaning their names you say it.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"Fuckfuckfuck! Fuck right- right there please right there- Stu " your fingers sink into the sheets as you pull away from Billy, whose cum you'd just finished swallowing; mouth finally free to beg like the good boy you where.

"so good- so good Stu it's- ngh- haah please please more, need you to touch my cock~." The double ended dildo you were oh so familiar with fucked into you.

"Gonna cum- Please Please- Please-"

Normally you would fake it with penetration, there wasn't that much pressure in it... but with Stu- oh Stu was special, he knew exactly what to do with it, what to do to make your toes curl and your eyes roll back.

He denied your request with a simple scoff.

"No- not yet, I'm not even close, you can cum when I cum got it?"

You nod desperately, needing to submit to the look in his eyes. Filled with hunger, the urge to hunt. His hands travel up your body to your neck, resting on your Adam's apple.

Gently pressing down and cutting off your air Stu lets out an airy chuckle. "You don't even put up a fight... Fuck- don't even get the thrill of the chase with you, I just fuck you so good you forget that you're rubbing dicks with the big bad Ghostface..."

He grinds his hips, the dildo inside of you lets out a wet noise that makes your eyes squeeze shut and face go bright red.

"Fuck-! Pretty boy you're so wet, Jesus, it's the prettiest fuckin thing I've every seen, just glistenin' and shit-"

His free hand goes to your thigh, massaging the flesh and playing with some of the dark coarse hair that covered it.

He places his hand flat and plays with the fat on your thighs, watching as it jiggles with every harsh thrust he gives you. He admires the way they look powerful, dark hair covering your body, he admires the way you look different from him.

The way your body was covered in thick hair, starting from your face (a light stubble, and the starting of an already well maintained moustache)

to your chest (dark hair covering two mounds of mouth wateringly hot flesh, softer and bigger version of Billy's pecs.)

to your cunt (fuck the way your hairy cunt rubbed against his clean shaven one made him weak, he didn't know something like that could even turn him on that much.)

to your legs (You wore a pair of shorts mid summer once and both Billy and Stu couldn't keep their eyes off your legs).

Stu was thin and almost totally hairless, what hair he had was sparse and blonde, it hadn't changed with T for him, and he wasn't mad. He generally likes being hairless, a preference.

He was always at least trimmed if not fully shaved down there. (To show off his t-dick, that surgery was expensive. Wasn't as expensive as full Phalloplasty tho.)

A Twink in all regards making his big handsome bear fall apart on some silicone, it made his dick throb, twitching in-between his folds.

He locks eyes with Billy who's staring at you intently, focusing on the way you seem completely out of it, face flushed, mouth hanging open and eyes squeezed closed in concentration. Trying not to cum until you where told.

Your cunt flutters helplessly against the dildo in you, It's slick, not just with your juices but his as well, the double ended dildo didn't have any barrier to prevent your juices from mixing, or your t-dicks from grinding together with each thrust.

Billy's once softening cock perks right back up when stu brings his hand in-between your bodies to rub at both of your cocks. finally.

Your mouth hangs open and Billy doesn't hesitate to take the opportunity to thrust into your mouth, leaning over you to capture Stus lips in a heated kiss, tongues sloppily rubbing against each other as they use you. Billy's hands rests on your chest, running his fingers over the thick dark hair and massaging your boobs while playing with your nipples. He's not in your mouth long, mind you, still overly sensitive. He jerks off slow and steady as he watches you two.

Then you're cumming, eyes rolling back mouth hanging open. It's like your body is lit on fire, thighs jolting and quivering

you babble "Fuck! Fuck I love you- I love you your cock is so big- your so fucking hot, both of you, need-need both of you-!" Your hips are rolling wildly, right against Stu's clit. Which sends him over the edge face scrunching up before it relaxes and his mouth hangs open.

Billy comes on your face with a low growling noise slumping over as his cum decorates your cheeks his cock twitching with every shot of jizz.

After a moment Billy lets out a soft chuckle, breath heaving.

"Stu... I told you they'd say it first."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

- you three are basically inseparable.

- the girls think you're just best friends, and considering the fact you're a disk jockey with the school radio station they don't put if past the boys to just be using you to play their favorite songs more often.

- you also did the morning news, and you always reported on the ghost face killings. Billy would sit under the desk and suck particularly hard on your dick if you said something that would throw the investigation off.

- Billy loves playing with your ass, he's such an ass man it's almost funny.

- he gets hard just watching you walk away. Especially if you have a particularly large ass. (His nickname for you is booty.)

- he just grabs a handful of your ass.

- both of them are constantly horny have fun trying to keep their hands off of you.

- y'all's sex playlist is mostly disco

[leiflitter]

I've figured out the You’re Almost Home Timeline so for the gang who care about the passage of time it's under the cut.

Firstly, I have chosen to totally ignore the gravestone dates because of Reasons, including "okay look I started writing this when it wasn't on streaming and this is mostly so it makes sense to me" and "time is an illusion I just need to know this so I can say what year it'll be on NYE". Felix has a January birthday in my little canon and nobody can stop me.

So let's go!

2007

Felix is in Expensive Rehab Facility until Christmas. Sir James and Lady Elspeth have pulled a lot of strings to make sure that Felix's accident won't impact him in any way, shape or form. This mostly means getting him an expensive tutor and essentially permission to submit all of his work online. No need for tutorials because he's had a hard time and is a very special boy. Felix takes this chance to essentially do as much work while he's stuck in the facility as he can because there's fuck all else to do, and he's being made to quit smoking so he's mad about that. Farleigh's back as if he never left, and Venetia is being an absolute rock.

Oliver returns to Oxford, makes contact with the Student Counselling Services, and throws himself into studying so hard it hurts. He needs to distract himself. They allow him to switch tutors and move to a different dorm where he turns into a studying hermit. If he sees any of the Alpha Hotties, he hides. He becomes invisible again, even more than before. His new tutor helps him switch to an accelerated degree program.

2008

Felix turns 21 and does the Spring and Summer terms. His parents decide to go on a tour of Europe to celebrate Felix getting back on the horse. They also know he's going to graduate, because the Special Little Boy measures are in place for him so all he has to really do is log on to Moodle and submit one of his pre-written essays every so often. He's burned a few bridges because he's being very twattish. Felix decides to sack off Christmas term and heads to Bali in late July/early August. Sir James has made sure he has internet access, so what's the point of even being in Oxford? He meets Lucia, who is 18 and on her Gap Year. Because it's the end of the summer, there aren't many options, so Felix sticks with her. Harry is part of the group from maybe like... week three? Luckily, Lucia is on a cleanse, so although they're partying, she isn't drinking or indulging in anything else. In November, Lu gets food poisoning- or so they think, until the doctor Felix hauls her to gives them the news. Felix contacts his parents in a hurry, and they are flown back to the UK and subjected to a major parental conference. Felix proposes to Lu at a Catton Christmas party.

Oliver graduates early. He doesn't go home for the holidays, saying he needs to keep studying. He decides on teaching because it won't be sustainable to be a student forever. His tutor is a major help; he's from Newcastle, although you wouldn't know it because his accent has long since faded and has taken Oliver under his wing. He remains Oliver's main advisor throughout his studies and is probably the reason he gets the job- he's keeping an eye on him so he knows there'll be a Northern Lad Professor once he eventually retires. They're not exactly friends, but there's a lot of mutual respect there.

2009

Felix turns 22 and marries Lu shortly after. He briefly returns to Oxford, but mostly to make sure he graduates. Harry is born in on the 10th of April and he gets his degree in absentia. Lu gets pregnant with Ru maybe a little too soon afterwards, and Rufus is born prematurely on the 27th of November. Oopsie.

2010

Oliver gets his Masters degree in english literature.

2011

Sir James dies of a heart attack in May.

2013

Ellie is born on the 1st of August. Felix gets a vasectomy.

2014

Oliver gets his PhD. His thesis was titled "Narrative Accessibility and Diversity within Academia".

2015

Lady Elspeth passes away in her sleep.

Then a bit of a time jump until

2020

Oliver is finally an associate professor after being in postdoc for 6 years.

Farleigh finally hits on a startup that works- a designer resale app that offers item verification for an add-on fee. It's wildly successful, mostly because he's been hobnobbing in America hardcore and is getting a ton of celebrity endorsements.

2025

Venetia is diagnosed with lung cancer.

2026

Venetia passes away. Felix is bereft.

Harry gets her A level results and Oxford place, despite being 17- Lucia, having not got a degree herself, is adamant that her children be highly educated as fast as possible... and Harry will turn 18 in her first year anyway. Harry doesn't mind this, as she has a fake ID and cannot wait to be away from boring boarding schools.

Oliver Quick receives an email notifying him that, amongst others, he will be tutoring Harriet Catton.

And then Felix Catton walks into his office, and they proceed to go bonkers.

[teenage-monster]

Maybe a month or so ago I happened to listen to some unreleased Oingo Boingo songs (all catchy btw). I liked this one in particular because of the beat and lyrics, and as I usually do while listening to a song, I read the comments until I came across this specific one:

...And then it dawned on me, the song is from the perspective of Johnny himself! I mean, I think it was kind of obvious from the lyrics of the song, plus this song would confirm in a way that the boy on the cover is Johnny himself because of the green hand he has, being literally a "teenage monster". Anyway, my English is not very good, so I didn't catch it the first time.

I started thinking how great it would have been if "Teenage Monster" had been added to the final version of the album. I mean, "Only A Lad" tells us about what a bastard Johnny is and how everyone tries to defend him by saying that he is "unprivileged and abused, perhaps a little bit confused". What does Johnny have to say about it? I mean, yes, in the song it is very obvious how evil Johnny is (he killed a man and apparently didn't suffer any charges or punishment!), but nobody is born wanting to do evil.

In "Teenage Monster" Johnny describes the other kids as "stupid" and how he is a "product of a modern time", blaming society for his behavior just as the other adults around him do. In the song there also seems to be a bit of character development, as Johnny says he is no longer a teenage monster, getting a job at the discount store, although I question whether he instantly stopped being a "teenage monster" just by getting a job, mentioning having a cool car and "drive real fast". Maybe it was in this song that Johnny hit the poor man who died.

ANYWHO for me this song, out of all the unreleased ones that also deserved to be released, deserves more to have been released for the context of the song, allowing us Johnny's point of view on his own acting, however ephemeral it may be and not having very much correlation with "Only A Lad". Besides, it would have been a bridge between "Only A Lad" and "Cool City", in which Johnny is basically going to start a new life from what I understand, just let's hope it's for the best.

I don't understand how it wasn't released. I think it would have been an immediate classic, plus with this song it would have been 11 songs in total on the album, Danny Elfman's favorite number apparently. I don't think it would have been that their label wouldn't have let them. I mean, if they accepted "Little Girls" I don't see what's so explicit or controversial about this song along with this one or "Only A Lad"...

Anyway, this is just my point of view of this song or whatever, thank you very much for reading!