#to tack on to the bit of no one ever getting my name right

[diorkittys]

somethin’ sweet before i go ˚ ♡ ⋆｡ vi + fem!reader

synopsis : when your arrest turns out to be an attractive, arrogant zaunite who’s, obviously, had a bad night, there’s one thing she asks for before being turned in. c’mon, can’t you give her something sweet before handing her to a cold cell?

—TW : kinda hate fucking , fingering , dom!vi , afab , post jinx attack

“hey, princess, any chance you’re sweet enough to loosen these up a bit?” your pinkette prisoner grunts, rolling a kink out her neck.

your expression is nothing short of unimpressed for the taunting games your newest problem has come up with. glaring up from your paperwork, you bit the inside of your cheek in frustration, “quit with the pet names—do you find your situation funny?” you turn around to face the arrogant zaunite, cuffed hands extended behind her back. you found it rather annoying how nonchalant she was—or worst, she found this amusing. “you are being detained for assault,” you continue, “that’s a night in jail, ‘sweet stuff.’” mocking her previous taunt.

she just scoffed, but it was far from being insulted. a sly smirk and dangerous blue eyes peaking beneath cherry strands looked up at you.

“ya’ think i’m sweet, princess?”

you hear the familiar clanking of metal rubbing against each other, bringing attention to her restraints.

“undo the cuffs and i’ll treat you sweet all nigh-“ her prurient statement cut off by the force of your forearm knocking into her chest, subsequently shoving her against the wall.

“you forget yourself, trencher,” your arm jabs in the smug, although rather charming (and quite attractive), outlaw’s chest, and her eye twitches in a wince. “you’re in my territory now—it’d suit you well to not make a fool of me; i’m sure you’ve been taught the same in that… mess of a city across the bridge.”

your tongue held venom as you almost seemingly spat out the insult like it was truly sickening to speak of. there’s an unspoken challenge being held between the both of your glares. you tack on a huff from your flared nostrils to seal the conversation and to warn the zaunite in front of you from talking back.

but as the tense silence subsides, the cherry-haired woman draws out a teasing smirk, scoffing again, “ever been to the undercity, sweet-cheeks?”

her question seemed more rhetorical than anything. you didn’t answer, clenching your jaw, keeping your eyes fixated on hers as to not give a look of submission. she took your quietness as a ‘no’ and raised a brow,

“thought so.”

she leaned her head in closer, as close as your arm would allow—although, there wasn’t much distance to set you apart anyways. her eyes lidded now as your confidence wavered from the almost predatory air hung around her; like when a lion, hidden in the tall grass, gets a perfect angle of their prey.

“they’d eat that pretty, little ass up as soon as you stepped foot beyond that bridge.”

you gasped, quietly, eyes widened at her obscene words. you could already feel your body betraying you, blood involuntarily heating up the plump of your cheeks.

the arm held sturdy against your prisoner was now weak, a second thought; not to her, no, that was accordingly.

calloused hands snaked their way to your waist, armored with enforcer gold, a symbol of integrity to wear, resolute.

your eyes flicked to the (god, she is attractive) woman near inches away; you were trapped in a lion’s den, she was already staring back at you.

“how di—when did you…”

so much for standing your ground—your stuttering voice gave it all away.

“what? get those things off?” she chuckled, motioning back behind her, “you were right ‘bout one thing, princess: i learned a whole deal in that ‘mess of a city’.”

she near whispered your quote, not hushed, but emphasized, troublingly so. her hands wandered, dangerously, coming to settle at the plush of your hips, hips that had you bent atop her. a deft thumb pushed pass your attire and gently circled into your bare skin.

“are you… are you gonna hurt me?” you pressed your lips in a fine line, apprehensively awaiting a dreaded answer.

but to your surprise, she paused, then snorted, and in a quick motion, she manhandled you to sit on her lap. you yelped in shock, your hands were rigid against her chest that you were so very close to now; stiff as a board as you feared for the worst.

“can’t a girl want somethin’ sweet before you send me to a cold, hard cell, huh?” now the finger in charge of exploring your supple skin came to swipe at your plush bottom lip. “but if you want it to hurt i can make that happen too.” her voice was sultry, thick with an insatiable desire.

your proximity gave you a chance to see the small initial tattooed on her cheek, “vi.” you spoke out loud, really only for you to memorize.

vi smirked, “yeah, princess? don’t wear it out just yet.”

your brows furrowed, pursing your lips; you tried to move, but vi had a firm hold on your hips that just wouldn’t let up… (not that you even tried that hard). “piltover station will be here soon… we can’t—i can’t be seen like this; this is unprofessional.”

“when’d you make that call?” honestly, vi was barely listening to your reluctance and excuses, busying herself with unfastening your gold belt that you hardly even noticed.

“an hour ago.”

“then we have an hour to ourselves. c’mon, do you really think ‘proper piltover station’ is any more worried about a call for an undercity scum than the rest of the hundred they receive a day? they’re preoccupied with the councilors after that attack… seems to me like they left you out the loop, hot stuff.”

you took offense to her insulting jab at your importance, disregarding her sing-song mockery of addressing piltover station. you reached for her wrist that was unbuttoning the blue fabric of your enforcer two-split skirt, “what is that supposed to mean?”

she took no notice to your grip and pushed aside the outer garment, glancing back up at you through that addictive, crimson hair. she gave a dry smirk, “didn’t mean to rile you up, princess—just meant that i could treat you better than them.”

that betraying flush tickled your cheeks once again, and you, rather hesitantly, let way of your grasp, allowing her to do what she needs.

she snorted, in an amused manner, tapping your thigh, “sit up.” how shameful it was for you, an enforcer, to take commands from anyone else—let alone an… undersider. yet, here you were, standing upright as she told you to, albeit a little more eager than intended; you hoped she hadn’t noticed.

she noticed.

her legs spread out on the chair, making her appear even larger than her stature gave her credit for. she bent over, resting her elbows on her thighs as she pulled at the hem of your khaki shorts. you assisted and looped two thumbs at the waistband to shimmy down your legs. your shorts pooled at your feet and vi leaned back to admire the sexy sight she had in front of her with a grin on her face.

a pretty enforcer, nervous as can be, with a half-undone uniform and pink, lace panties exposed just for her. what a contrasting view. you were captivating. already trained to take orders like a puppy, she’d think in her crude mind; you’d be her good girl for a while, you’d be so good for her.

with two fingers, she motioned for you to come sit back down on her lap; the way her legs manspread was inviting enough. you obliged, holding onto her broad shoulders.

those engrossing fingers came back to handle your hips, slowly moving to cup the mound of your ass and kneading. you huffed, painted nails digging into her trapezius.

“ya’ like pink, princess?” she mentioned your cute, lacey panties; although, now stained a darker shade.

your eyes flickered up to her hair before timidly searching anywhere else to keep your focus busy. vi found that cute, not admitting that that turned her on way more than it should.

“i don’t disdain it.” you purse your lips, “and quit calling me that.”

vi chuckled, “but you’re poised, like a princess.”

“you have no idea of me.”

“well, i know you’re risking your title just so i can get you off,” fingers go to trace the hem of your panties, her middle drags along your clit muffled by the fabric. she grins, “and by the looks of it, you’re enjoying the thrill.”

you gasp at the sensation, a feeling your pussy was aching for. “is it because you know we might get caught? geez, princess, you into that kind of thing?” she almost laughs at you, but not to mock you; she finds that hot as fuck.

adept hands push the annoying polyester to the side. fingers, rather spider-like, creep over your throbbing cunt; middle and index gather your pooling slick to act as lube as she glides over your clit.

you bite your lip to suppress a moan. you find your legs begin to tremble, being forced open by her own, keeping you spread for her to do as she likes.

“i didn’t know topsiders could be so dirty.” this time she does laugh. she rubs at your clit long enough for your heart rate to pick up, long enough for your head to find stability on her shoulder, long enough for you to become a mess in her hands… but, not long enough for you to get off just yet.

vi reaches down to your neglected hole, pressing her index atop it, deep enough for an audible squelch to echo through your office, which in turn makes vi groan. you mewl, nails digging deeper into the muscle of her back.

“not so poised now, though.” she mutters, mostly to herself. with your dripping slick, it takes nothing more than a swift movement for vi to slide her index inside you, bottoming out knuckles deep. you keen, arching off her chest. the scratch from her bandages only added fuel to the fire.

“fuck.” vi’s grip on your hip strengthens, almost certainly leaving a prominent bruise later. “do that for me again, princess.”

and she didn’t have to ask because as she pulls her finger almost fully out, tantalizingly slow, she greedily shoves it right back in, curling the tip of it to hit in that, god, that perfect spot you know so well.

and, again, you keen, long and guttural—like a silent scream. subconsciously, your pelvis bucks into her hand, searching for more than you could even take.

after a few minutes of this, vi deems herself your voice and determines you’re ready for two. she pulls out entirely, much to your dismay, teasing you with a pause.

you brace yourself for something that never comes, and you huff, slightly pushing yourself up off her shoulder,

“vi… don’t st—“

and she stuffs her middle and index into your pretty, impatient pussy.

“ah!”

“who said i was stopping, pumpkin? we just started.” you slam your head back to its assigned spot.

vi thought she was right in this moment: you looked a complete and utter mess. it was one thing to fuck a pretty girl, it was another thing that she had a topsider, an officer—someone who, to piltover, was a woman of dignity and honor… a rich, privileged somebody who hated zaunites, found them filthy and worthless…hunched over her shoulder with a sopping cunt you were practically begging her to abuse. now that’s ironic. (and was you coming undone for her maybe a little bit of a victory for her hatred of topside, that she was degrading—fucking someone so noble?)

“shit, baby,” vi cursed, biting her lip. her whole train of thought did nothing but make her more horny, and she pumped extra hard this time, making sure even the graze of her knuckle filled you up.

“when’s the last time someone’s fucked you like this?” she chuckled—you hated her smug little laugh.

you sneered, just not before you moaned into the crook of her neck, breath fanning over her black-inked tattoos. “that’s, fuck, none of your concern, underside.” you spat, but, really, your words held no weight, not like this.

“hey, no need for the name calling, princess; if you’re a virgin too that’s totally fine—honestly kinda hot.” she teased, grabbing the mound of your ass to raise you up and slam back down on her fingers. you cried, your hands instinctively reaching up to tangle in that (rememberable) cherry hair.

“i’m not!—i’ve had—ugh! i’ve done this plenty of times… not that, ah, you should need to know.”

“oh yeah? you fuck a lot of your inmates then?… or is that just my privilege?” vi leaned into your ear, knowing that’d get you going. and what do you know? it did.

and you would’ve argued back, head picked up and everything, had she not curled her fingers the way she did or twist to find an ever better playing field or, god! even the lechery in her voice had you toppling over, had you right there! yes, fuck, right there!

“fuck, vi, right there! keep going! yeah, right there, ugh!” you moaned, legs shaking, trying desperately to close and hide away from how fucking good this felt.

you bucked into her hand and you didn’t have to tell vi twice because she was already pumping extra hard and faster than before, with a combination of her thumb rubbing circles into your swollen clit.

“shit, princess. almost there?” she already knew the answer. she was groaning as if she was fucking herself; just the pure sight of you, of this, was enough… although, she’d need to engrave this memory into her brain and use it later to get off herself (she could use this picture of you to get off for years it felt like).

“vi!”

you sang like gospel, pulling her hair like you’d fall if you hadn’t. you came hard, right on her bandaged fingers and she road you through it until the only thing you could hear in the room was the lewd, wet noises coming from your hole.

she stuffed you full of your own juices and at that point, you couldn’t tell if that or her hands were more filling.

you were both panting, one more than the other. vi hoisted your left leg over hers to hold you bridal style as you settled down. bringing her hand to the light, she pulled apart her middle and index to watch your slick web between them and she weakly laughed.

blue eyes looked over to the gold, industrial clock you had sitting on your work-desk, reading a quarter til’ 12. she sighed, picking you up with her before setting you on the chair you had originally handcuffed her to.

“looks like i gotta go, princess.” she feigned innocent, as if this whole interaction was a drive by. one by one she picked up discarded clothing and crouched at your legs to dress you back up. you, too tired to protest to being treated like a child, let her dress you like a doll, even buckling up your belt.

you watched as she went to write something on a piece of sticky note paper you had sitting by your confidential files before turning to walk out the door, running a hand through her hair.

“you can’t leave—you’re… you’re under arrest.” there was no confidence in your tone, just a fucked out raspy voice.

vi stopped before leaving, hands in her pockets, “tell ‘em officer kiramann already came to pick me up, they won’t give you trouble.” she threw the hood of her red jacket over her head, reaching for the doorknob.

“oh, and… meet me at my place if you wanna do this again… okay, princess?”

[themostlesbianever]

College AU sevika x reader chapter 1

A/N: HI, this is my first ever fic so please be nice lol. English is not my first language so please keep that in mind while reading.

This fic doesnt have a name yet oops, so please feel free to suggest names.

Please let me know if you like it or not🙏

more parts

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After months of impatiently waiting, planning and preparing it was finally that day, move in day. You were feeling both excited and scared at the same time. You have been waiting for so long to go to college and live in the dorms. Really live that college life; sports, clubs, hanging out with friends and of course college parties. Living in the dorms also meant being away from your mother. You love her to death but it's about time for you to ‘get out of the nest’ as they say.

You take in a deep breath before opening the door in front of you. You push the handle down and gently push the door open, revealing a small room. It was a bit smaller than you had expected. On both sides of the room there's a surprisingly high bed pushed up against either side of the wall, a desk and a not very comfortable looking chair at the foot of each bed. Plain white paint covers the walls, you can see a few badly patched holes in them. You take a step into the room and see that there's also a small closet on either side of the room, ‘i hope all my clothes fit’ you think to yourself.

You're snapped out of your own little world when your mom says “it's quite cozy isn't it”, you chuckle at that “you're allowed to call it small y’know” you reply, and step further into the room, allowing her to step in too. She drags the big kart of decorations and stuff you brought from home into the room behind her. “Let's get to decorating then” she says with a big smile on her face.

You had gone on a few shopping sprees together with your mom, she insisted on coming because she had ‘so little time left with you’, acting as if you were dying or something. Of course she has every right to be sad about you leaving, you’re her only child and she loves you to bits. You know she will be okay tho, she has plenty of friends and activities to keep her busy without you around.

You lift one of the boxes out of the kart and place it on the very uncomfortable looking blue mattress, if you can even call it that. Luckily you had done plenty of research and had bought a nice and comfy mattress topper. Your mom had already started unpacking one of the boxes with your clothes in it, and putting them in the closet. 

You open the box that has the word “DECORATIONS” written on it in sloppy, capital letters. You take out a small stack of posters, photos and various other little wall decorations. You had also brought that sticky tack stuff to hang up your posters damage free. You shuffle through the photos and posters before starting.

There were a few photos with your friends from high school, some with your mom, and some of your kitty you had to leave back at home with pain in your heart. You had taken some posters off your wall in your room back home to take to college too. There was one of your all time favorite game, The last of us. There was also a spiderman poster and a billie eilish poster. 

Once you're satisfied with the layout of all the posters and photos you glance over at your mother who had just finished putting away all your clothes in the closet, she also used two of the four drawers that were under your bed. You hop off your bed and thank her for putting it all away.

You continue decorating: putting a small lamp on your desk, hanging some fairy lights on the wall and putting a full body mirror against the small part of your wall you had left over. You're in the process of making your bed, you had put the mattress topper on, a mattress cover and your blanket as well. You’re busying yourself with putting the pillows down neatly when you hear a soft knock on the door, you turn around and are met with a pair of stormy, grey eyes.

In the door frame stands a tall woman, who has to be at least six feet. Half of her brown,  shoulder length hair is tied back into a ponytail. a few strands escaping the grasps of the elastic. She's wearing a big white t-shirt, a pair of beige cargo pants and some simple white sneakers. Her fingers are decorated with chunky, silver rings and around her neck is a silver necklace. She has a septum piercing as well as small studs in her ears. She's also quite muscular, no, very muscular.

“Hi” she speaks softly, her voice low and smooth. “Hi” you return, she looks you up and down, taking you in just as you had done to her not too long ago. “Uh, you must be my roommate” she says, sounding a bit unsure of herself. You walk up to her with your hand out, “yeah i think so, im y/n”. She takes your hand, shaking it carefully. “I’m Sevika”.

Your mom introduces herself too, sticking her hand out and shaking sevikas. Sevika makes her way further into the room, looking around and taking the small space in. She also has a kart of stuff, but there's less boxes in it. She starts unboxing her belongings in silence.

The silence is a bit awkward, you expected her parents to show up or something but she was alone. After a few minutes of silence your mum starts talking, “How old are you sevika?”. Sevika pauses what she’s doing and turns around to face your mother, “I’m nineteen” she answers and leans against her bed with her arms stretched out behind her, hands planted on the edge of the wooden frame. “me too” you say and turn around to face Sevika. 

The three of you chat for a little bit while Sevika finishes decorating. She has put dark green sheets on her bed, you mention how you love that color and she thanks you. She also puts up a few photos with friends from back home you assume. After a little while your mother looks at her watch, “oh i should get going, it was so nice to meet you sevika. I’m sure you and my lovely girl will get along great”. Sevika agrees that you will probably get along well and says goodbye.

You follow your mom out the door and, as slowly as possible, make your way down to the parking lot. Once you reach her car you feel tears begin to prick behind your eyes and you can’t help but let them flow freely. You hug your mother tightly for a few moments before she pulls back and takes your face into her hands, “You’re going to do great baby, I just know it, you're awesome. Now go kick college’s ass and make some great new friends”. 

She smiles at you, but you can see the tears begin to form in her eyes, “I love you” you say with teary eyes. She steps into her car, “I love you too baby” she replies before closing the door and starting the car. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, then drives off.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

let me know what you think of this story, more chapters are in the process of being made

@misswynters @vikaswife

[helianyx]

rescuing kittens -

pairing: sylus x mc word count: 2,509 summary: While attempting to rescue a poor cat stuck in a tree, MC… also gets herself stuck in the tree. Fortunately, a certain 'Good Samaritan' known for helping strays just happened to be passing by… tags/warnings: lighthearted, slice of life, flirty banter, developing relationship, silly sweet shenanigans in the style of some Tender Moments. a/n: This was my first little lads fic, technically a one-shot that could have a future follow-up but I don't have anything in mind for it atm. Mid-point in the slow burn, definitely before Grassland Romance & Wander in Wonder. P.S. I forbid any use of my writing in any form of generative or AI training.

(ao3 link)

“Sylus!” Against all odds and reason, she couldn’t stop herself from a thrill of excitement and relief seeing that familiar face just happening to pass beneath her on the sidewalk.

An eyebrow arched as he stopped, lifted his sunglasses, and looked up.

“I’ve heard of cats getting stuck in trees, but this seems a little ridiculous, kitten.” The pointed emphasis on the pet name was particularly heavy-handed this time around. She sighed. Yeah, even amidst her relief she’d expected his teasing.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up…” she grumbled, awkwardly crouched among the branches of a tree in a street-side park, a tiny tabby tucked in the crook of one arm. 

“Care to explain?” 

“I… miscalculated.” Her face scrunched up and she hung her head. 

She had been sure she could extricate the little critter just fine on her own, but now that she was several feet in the air with the cat in her arms, she had to reconsider. It was behaving well enough, but by the look in its eye and the twitch in its tail, she couldn’t be sure it wouldn’t react unpredictably if she suddenly leapt or otherwise maneuvered down. She didn’t want it to hurt itself because of her. 

“I’m not sure this little guy is going to cooperate if I make any sudden movements.” 

“That sucks.” He drawled with faux sympathy, replacing his sunglasses and moving to leave. “Well, good luck with that.”

“Wait! Come on! I know you’re not that heartless! Can you really leave a-...” she pursed her lips, swallowed her pride, and then did her best to put the most pathetic pair of puppy eyes on she could muster. “-Two adorable kittens to their sad fate?”

Sylus choked out a single bark of laughter, looking insufferably smug as ever. 

“All right, all right.” He shook his head in amusement, taking a few steps closer to position himself beneath her. “But I have one condition.” 

“Don’t agree and then tack on favors!” She scolded, and then was painfully, keenly aware she did sound a bit like a hissing cat.

“If a kitten needs saving, shouldn’t it be making cute little sounds so someone will come help it?” He ignored her. And of course he went and said something ridiculous. She felt the corner of her mouth twitch.

Deep down, she was pretty sure he’d help her even if she refused. Or she could even propose a different deal, and in her experience he was typically pretty lenient with her… But in this situation, nothing was coming to mind. 

“...Are you sure about that? That’s what you want?” When had she ever ‘meowed’ in her life? 

He folded his arms and tilted his head. “What? Is the Kitty Queen incapable of mastering her own native language?” 

She sighed and shook her head. “All right, you asked for it…” Clearing her throat, she took in a deep breath through the nose. A meow. A cute, small sound that tugged at the heartstrings. 

“Me- meow~!” It started strong! But then her voice cracked and it sounded a bit like she had a hairball stuck in the back of her throat. Or a cat in heat. She clapped her free hand over her mouth in vehement, physical, knee-jerk denial such a sound had left her mouth.

Sylus just laughed, and even as her face burned with embarrassment, she could hear the warmth in it, rather than sounding particularly mean-spirited. 

“Oh, that was very cute.” He lifted his arms up. “All right, I’m compelled. Hop down and I’ll catch you.” 

She groaned quietly to herself, but took careful hold of the cat in both of her arms. This way she could focus on keeping the cat restrained instead of how best to land. 

Funny, actually, the complete faith she had that Sylus wouldn’t let them get hurt. She’d suspected him many times in the past of trying to deceive or otherwise mislead her, but as he said: when he made a promise, he always followed through.

So while she did her best to angle herself towards him, she otherwise didn’t hesitate to take the leap. She was hardly surprised when, in an instant, dark energy wrapped its tendrils around her waist, significantly slowing her fall to almost nothing. Though once she was in reach they dissipated, replaced by his hands on her hips, effortlessly lowering her down to the ground.

For all of her concerns, the cat in her arms didn’t seem to so much as bat an eye. It mewled softly -and unquestionably adorable- as if saying thanks. 

“And now the kittens are safely returned to terra firma.” His hands withdrew, but instead he lifted one to pet her hair like one would a cat. “Try not to repeat the same mistake, hm?” 

“I don’t see the problem,” she said, brushing his hand off. “You could use all the help you can get stocking up on good deeds to balance your scales.”

He scoffed, and started to say something, but the real cat had expended all of its patience and began twisting and squirming around. Quickly she knelt down to release it, watching as the furry little critter bounded off and disappeared into some bushes. 

“Aw… I wonder if it lives around here. It seemed pretty young.” 

“Young and feisty. Smart, too.” Sylus mused, his eyes glinting with mirth as he looked at her. “Definitely sounds familiar.” 

Denying him for the millionth time seemed pointless. At this juncture she was more or less resigning herself to her fate. There were worse things than being a cat, she supposed.

“Not sure how smart either of us were getting stuck in a tree,” she mumbled, brushing off the fur she’d accumulated on her shirt as she stood up.

“It was smart enough not to scratch the hand that helped it.” He shrugged. She narrowed her eyes at him - and then mimed a scratching gesture, hooking her fingers like claws.

“Just like I haven’t scratched you yet?” Was what he was getting at. He just chuckled, idly rubbing his thumb over the pads of his other fingers. 

“I believe the emphasis there is on ‘yet’.” 

She recalled that he had a habit of caring for stray cats, though. And a habit of getting scratched to ribbons for his trouble. As well as a habit of never holding a grudge against them…

“It’d be worth it regardless,” he went on to say, tucking his hand in his pocket as his gaze leveled on her. “I got to witness a truly fascinating new side of you.” 

Of course he wasn’t going to drop that, was he? She huffed and folded her arms over her chest. 

“Being cutesy isn’t exactly my forte. You should be more grateful for the rare opportunity.” 

For a second he looked genuinely bewildered, and she didn’t think it was because of the second thing she’d said. But if she’d blinked she would have missed it, because it was quickly replaced by that subtle arch of his brow and less-subtle smirk. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I find you cute plenty of the time.”

“You have a delightful way of making that sound uncomplimentary.” She could feel her glower deepen - along with the wrinkles between her brow. 

“Another astonishing misunderstanding.”

Even if she accepted that he was being honest, she didn’t want to really reconsider what that meant at the moment. Instead she dropped her arms along with her bristly attitude and exhaled, letting ease overtake her. She was truly grateful for his help, after all. 

“Anyway, thank you for the assist. It’s still a bit early for you, though, isn’t it?” She cast a brief glance at the sky; the sun would be going down before long, but it was still fairly bright for him to be strolling around Linkon. “I suppose you had business here?”

“I did, but it’s all wrapped up now.” 

“I’m sure I’ll be hearing about it on the evening news,” she sighed. But how warped was she becoming by association with him, that there was a tell-tale bit of amusement in her tone she simply could not deny? 

She might have still had plenty of reservations about him, but at least in her limited experience, most of his enemies were criminals of the worst caliber. There was no way she could quite define him as a ‘vigilante’, but there had yet to be an instance where she felt the people he dealt with were particularly deserving of pity.

“And what about you? You’re not in your hunters uniform. Are you such an altruist you spend your days off looking for more good deeds to hang on your scales?” 

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I was just heading out to get an early dinner, when I heard cute little sounds begging for help.”

He didn’t quite laugh, but gave a low, breathy exhale that came close. 

“I was also just about to get a bite to eat,” he said, his tone shifting ever-so-slightly. A hint of gentleness crept in through the cracks, a subtle sweetness that never failed to entice her. “Would you care to join me?” 

It was a little distressing to realize how quickly she felt inclined to accept his offer. Which felt directly correlative to how much she wanted to spend more time with him. Which was borderline humiliating. The more her heart sang, the more she wanted to shove a pillow over it and press down until it stopped.

She tried to make a show of giving an exasperated huff, but it trembled pathetically on the way out as if betraying her. Still she stuck to her very stubborn guns and said: “You could have used that as your bargaining chip to get me down instead of making me meow.”

“I’ll admit the thought did cross my mind… But that wouldn’t be much better than coercion, now, would it, kitten?” 

Her lips tightened into a thin line. “I suppose. Maybe.” 

The real question was: Would she have minded? But the fact he cared enough not to use such ‘underhanded’ methods only made her singing heart that much more exuberant.

“What were you thinking? That sandwich shop nearby?” He offered his arm to her not unlike he had at the auction. For a split second she was bewildered by the fact he had psychically divined her destination - then she remembered this was Sylus, and rounded back on the fact he was just cruising ahead again.

“I didn’t even agree to anything.” It sounded like such a pathetically empty resistance. Because it was, and it had been from the moment he asked.

“Maybe not out loud, but… Didn’t you already make up your mind?”

“Aughh…” She hooked her arm around his. She really didn’t have to do that either, did she? And yet he seemed so finely tuned to knowing exactly what she really wanted, deep down. 

“Okay, but how did you know about Benny’s?” 

“It was just a guess. You like sandwiches,” he said as matter-of-factly as if it were common knowledge, “and when I looked earlier, the ratings I saw would suggest it’s the only place in this area that would make it worth coming this far from your apartment.”

Yeah, that level of calculation sounded like him. Well, she knew a thing or two about him, too!

“Sounds like you’ve never been there, then. Their slow-cooker French dip is one of my go-to’s, I think it’d be right up your alley.” She said with no lack of confidence, enthusiasm beginning to bubble over. “But they’ve got their seasonal apple cider pulled pork right now I’m dying to check out.”

“Hmm, those do sound good,” he nodded, shooting her a grin. “Should we go splitsies?” 

She snorted and laughed, hearing him say things like that always caught her off-guard in the best way, and he seemed to know it. 

“I thought you didn’t like to share. I seem to remember a greedy crow who complained whenever I tried his food before.”

“There’s a key difference between sharing and stealing.” 

She couldn’t stop herself from a mischievous little giggle remembering the look on his face when he’d gone for his last dumpling and found it mysteriously vanished.

He leaned towards her a little, lowering his voice, his breath brushing her ear. “But I suppose… we don’t need to worry about such distinctions between us anymore.” 

Rather than bend away, she turned her face towards him, drinking in his closeness. “How benevolent of you.” 

He laughed and straightened up, and she tried not to be too disappointed. 

“You’re the only one who would say that about me.”

“I’m just calling it like I see it.” She shrugged one shoulder. “But I’m fine being the primary recipient of your benevolence, too.” Grinning up at him, she lifted her free hand to poke his cheek. “Especially if that means I can rope you into a few good deeds here and there.”

He gave her a brief glare for the poke, but it was almost hilariously short lived and as paper thin as her resistance earlier had been. How was she supposed to just ignore that? 

“So that’s your angle? Course correcting me onto the straight and narrow?” 

“Hmm…” Considering it briefly, she probably would have said yes before. But now? It was less about that than she found herself worrying for his safety. “I think I’d be happier if you maybe had fewer people trying to kill you at any given time.”

“That would be quite the list… And who was it that once sat at the top of it, I wonder?” He flashed a ruthless grin. Her expression immediately soured as she nudged her shoulder into him.

“Are you ever going to drop that?”

“Well, I still haven’t heard a sincere apology, sweetie.”

“And now definitely isn’t the time for it, either.” She mumbled, feeling the heat of embarrassment along her cheeks and the tops of her ears. Still she gave her all in shifting the subject by making a sweeping gesture of her free hand to the building in front of them, cheering enthusiastically. “Because we have arrived! Time to eat!”

“Haha, how convenient for you. All right, then.” 

Benevolent once again, he did indeed drop it as they made their way into the restaurant. But he wasn’t wrong, and she knew it. For something like that though, all of the rage, hatred, and vengeance she’d pinned on him… A simple apology wouldn’t do. 

She was going to have to think of something, some way she could truly show how sincere she was, and paying for sandwiches wasn’t going to cut it. In truth, she didn’t think he cared much about whether she went to extreme lengths, but the real guilt she felt over it wouldn’t be assuaged by half-hearted measures. She needed to really think of how she could make it up to him, even if he didn’t truly seem to hold any grudge against her - like all the strays that had lashed out at him before.

[reywaffle]

Generational String

Pairing: Harry x Draco, James x Regulus

Description: Harry Potter is desperately into Draco Malfoy, but he has no clue about it. He finds himself going through some old stuff in Sirius’ attic. He finds an old notebook that used to be his dad’s. Harry discovers that his dad was not only with his mom, but also dated Regulus Black during his time at Hogwarts. He reads through the flashbacks which help him to process his own feelings for Draco.

Word count: 1.7k

Author’s note: This is the first chapter of my first ever fic, so please be kind. I wanted to do this cause I enjoy fanfiction and wanted to practice my creative writing skills. If you do like it then give it a like or comment and feel free to follow if you want more updates. The next chapter should be posted later today. Thanks for reading!🫶

Playlist I listened to while writing

Chapter 1: Pages of a Secret Story

20 October, 1995

Harry James Potter loathed Draco Lucius Malfoy. At least, that’s what he thinks. His friends know differently. Ron and Hermione knew that Harry had a massive crush on Draco. It was so obvious that his whole house could know as well. The only person that didn’t know was Harry himself. He was completely oblivious to his own feelings.

Right now, Harry is making his way toward 12 Grimmauld Place to visit his godfather, Sirius Black. He’s staying there for the weekend to spend some time with the only living man he considered family. He was a bit nervous; he didn’t really know what he could do there. He supposes he will find out in about a minute. He stared at the flat, almost afraid to walk in. He hadn’t really gotten to know Sirius that much since he had to stay in hiding after escaping Azkaban in Harry’s 3rd year. This was the first time he’d ever spent any elongated time with him. Harry made his way to the door, hesitating slightly. He knocked. He waits a moment and hears a pair of footsteps getting louder, making their way to the door. He watches the door handle quickly turn. He looks up to see the kind face of Sirius Black looking him right in the center of his bright green eyes. “Harry! Welcome!” Sirius exclaimed.

“Yeah, thank you for inviting me over Sirius.”

“Of course, my dear boy! Please come on in. I’d hate to be seen.” Sirius rushed Harry inside. The place looked exactly as he remembered it when he first came to join The Order. It still had that cold and regretful feeling to it. Almost as if there was a ghost haunting the place. A ghost with a lot of regret that is. “Please make yourself at home this weekend. I made Kreature clean all the rooms, so you’d be able to choose which one you’d want to sleep in. They’re just down that hall if you want to take your bag down.” Sirius told Harry, with an almost equally as nervous tone as Harry felt on the inside whilst gesturing toward a stairwell. “Alright. Thank you.”

“Of course. And down there is the kitchen and sitting room if you want to hang around down here.” He said now gesturing towards the corner that led to the kitchen. Harry nodded and started to make his way up the stairs. It was quite a dark and harrowing hallway. It made Harry feel as if the walls were closing in on him. It was a bit different last time he was here because there were also about 13 other people there to make it a bit more comfier. Now it was completely silent aside from the faint sound of Kreatcher cooking dinner all the way downstairs.

He made his way down the hallway and decided to stop at a room that said “Regulus” on the door. Harry knew that name. It belonged to Sirius’ estranged younger brother. For some reason, Harry felt drawn to the room. As if fate were telling him to open the door. He stared at the golden door knob for a moment before reaching toward it. He slowly turned the knob and when he opened the door he saw a room no different than a teenage boys would be. It had peeling blue wallpaper that had decaying Slytherin quidditch posters tacked to it. There was a piano in the corner, as well as a desk and dresser on the other wall. They were all the same shade of brown, but the dresser had a dirty mirror on top of it. The bed was quite wide which left little walking room through the bedroom. Though Harry didn’t mind too much, considering he lived in a cupboard for 10 years of his life, this room was like a mansion. The sheets were a reddish color and the comforter was blue. They were the only things in the room that looked new. Everything else seemed to have been sitting there and rotting for 30 years- “well I suppose it had.” Thought Harry.

He set his stuff down and sat on the bed. He was tempted to look through the desk, as he was a bit nosey sometimes. He started toward it and sat down at the chair. It almost gave out at Harry’s weight the second he plopped down on it. He stared at it for a while and pulled on the golden handle that opened the bottom drawer. Inside was only some old parchment and quill. There was also an empty bottle of ink that Harry assumed was either used up or dried out over time. It all was quite boring, so Harry decided to wander around a bit. He set his jacket down on the bed and set back off for the unlit hallway.

As Harry stood in the hallway he contemplated where he should go. He looked around and then up. He stopped and noticed that there was an attic door opening with a string hanging to pull down the ladder. He slowly walked toward it cause he didn’t want to be too loud incase he wasn’t allowed to be up there. He did stop for a second and consider whether or not it was a good idea to go into the attic. Dinner was almost ready and he wasn’t sure if he was allowed up there. After sort of careful consideration though, he still made his way up the rickety ladder.

The attic had a dusty smell to it. Harry could feel the 30 plus layers of dust traveling up his nose and down to his lungs. He coughed into his shirt sleeve, trying to conceal that he was upstairs. The attic was cold as well, but not in a temperature way. More of a lonely way, like no one had been up there in years. The attic was practically filled to the brim with boxes of stuff. He looked around a bit, but nothing caught his attention. That is, until he saw a small box labeled James sitting in the corner of the room. He made his way to it, eager to find out what things of his fathers Sirius still has. He picked up the box and sat on the attic floor in its place. It wasn’t very heavy and it was also untaped. He set the box on his lap and began to open it. Inside he saw only 3 things, including a quidditch trophy from 1974, a few Spider-Man comics from the 70’s, and a journal. Harry had to admit he was a little hesitant to open the journal. Last time he found a journal it turned out to be the ghost of Tom Riddle and he was going around petrifying people with a basilisk. He even forced Ginny Weasly to do his dirty work for him. Thinking about that time during his second year surprisingly reassured Harry that nothing can be as bad as that.

He opened the journal and saw that there were entries all throughout. Turns out it was a diary from his dads time at Hogwarts. The first entry was from 4 October, 1975. Almost exactly 10 years ago. Harry started to read in hopes to find a connection with his dad. The only other time he felt that way was when he played quidditch, and he desperately craved a way to know his family better. He never got the chance to know either of his parents personally. He only heard the same things from everyone else; His mother was bright and his father was a prankster.

4 October , 1975

Today was the first day of quidditch practice for this year's season. I saw Regulus in the air practicing as well. He looked so beautiful from that angle. Like he was an angel. Or perhaps a demon sent to tempt me. Unfortunately, it was working a little too well. Everytime I see him, it’ s like my heart swells up and might just burst. I feel a little bad for Lily, even though we never dated or anything, I still told her I liked her for 4 years. I’m just glad she never felt the same. I also feel bad for Sirius. I mean what kind of best friend falls for his best friend's baby brother. I mean it’ s not like I’d act on these feelings anyway. Not unless I got Sirius’ blessing which I know he would never give. That kinda sucks doesn’ t it? I suppose I ought to go to bed. I have more practice in the morning. At least I can watch from a distance right?

Harry’s jaw had dropped and his eyes had completely bugged out. He could not believe what he just read. His head and heart started to pound in synchronization as the words lightly uttered out of his mouth. “My dad and Sirius’ little brother?” Harry had a fear behind his voice. Almost as if he was scared of his own thoughts about this. While he had no problem with homosexuals, he never really knew any, and he certainly didn’t think his father would be one. About a million thoughts raced through Harry’s brain. However, the one that stuck out the most was “Does this mean my dad never loved my mom?” This thought terrified him. If it were true that would mean everything he had ever been told was a lie.

“Harry? Would you like to come down for dinner?” Sirius faintly shouted from the bottom of the stairs. Harry forced himself out of his trance to answer him back. “Yeah, I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Alright.” Harry heard back. He quickly stood and set the box back in its spot. He kept the diary and swiftly climbed back down the ladder to shut the door on the ceiling. He went into his room and shoved the diary in his jacket’s inner pocket. He made his way downstairs trying to remain calm and get through this dinner as fast as he could because oddly enough, Harry found himself wanting to read more.

Links to more chapters(will add as I continue to write)

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

[bucking-mustangs-with-wings]

Heart of Gold (5 Times Gale's Heart Gives Out And +1 time Ken's Does) Barbed Wire Hearts Universe - Chapter One

God I can't believe I can finally publish this after so many problems preventing me from both writing and editing it, it feels like it's been too long! But here's the next instalment in the BWH universe. Only one chapter written and edited so far, but I'll be updating when I can with more. This is to add some much needed little details and lore for upcoming plot fics in this series.

For now though, enjoy! This chapter is only a short one, just to give the general start to the fic, but following chapters will be a little bit longer as the story continues (and don't worry, the big plot fics will be longer as always haha)

@swifty-fox @onyxsboxes @stoneinyourshoe @carnevol @trashbag-baby666 @slowsweetlove

Ken stared at the little box that Curt was brandishing in front of himself with a raised brow, taking in the self-satisfied smirk behind still fading clown paint from the day before on the other man’s face. He let the exasperated sigh escape him from where it had been building since Curt first showed him the box.

“You can’t be serious, Curt.” 

Curt wiggled the box at him, the item inside rattling gently in response as Curt’s smirk grew. “Oh I’m deadly serious,”

Ken eyed him, judgment clearly written across his own expression as he snatched the box from Curt’s fingers. He looked down at the box, eyes scanning over the words with another sigh, albeit gentler than the one before. 

“You’re gonna give Gale a Fitbit, because you wanna, and I quote ‘record the uptight bastard’s stress and heart rate because it would be funny’?”

Curt shrugged nonchalantly, reaching out and plucking the box from Ken’s fingers with the tip of his tongue caught between his front teeth.

“Yes. I think you’re missing the whole point here, Kenny. Have you seen the guy? Man is one big walking ball of stress, especially around Bucky and his bullshit, and all he says is that he’s ‘fine’.”

“So you just wanna prove him wrong so that you have something to brag about, basically?”

Ken raises one eyebrow at Curt and watches as the other gapes slightly, expression turning chastised but no less mischievous underneath Ken’s scrutiny. A hand comes up to scratch at the back of his neck.

“Basically,” Curt affirms, looking slightly sheepish, and Ken can’t help the knowing smile that curves his lips. 

“Uh-huh,” Ken hums. He stares down at the box again where Curt is starting to peel the edges of the tape holding it closed with the edge of his fingernail. 

Curt pauses and glances up at Ken through his lashes, scanning over Ken’s face before his shoulders sag and he rolls his eyes.

“Look, I’m not trying to be a dick. Call it genuine curiosity and slight worry for the sake of one of my best friends and his well-being.”

“With bragging rights,” Ken tacks on with his own answering eye roll.

Curt laughs, goes back to picking at the tape again with a wide grin. “Exactly! See? Now we’re getting on the same page here, Kenny my boy.”

Ken breathes out through his nostrils, watching Curt work away at the tape until he flicks the opening flap upwards and starts to extract the packaging holding the little black watch from its confines.

Curt holds it up, like a prize dangling from his thumb and pointer and looks at Ken with no less pride on his face. “You can even hook it up to your work phone so you have 24/7 access to Gale’s heart rate. Just in case there ever is actually cause for concern. It’s got a little alarm setting and everything.”

He waggles the device towards Ken’s face, eyebrows rising and falling in a suggestive gesture until Ken once again snatches it from Curt’s hold.

The little watch is cool in his palm, and he turns it over to observe it before glancing up at Curt again, lips pursed.

As much as Ken wouldn’t put name or face to it, he couldn’t deny that there had been a few times through the course of getting to know the men in their circuit that he had observed and noticed that Gale, in particular, had a bit more weight sitting on his shoulders in comparison to most of the others. 

When he had first met the blond cowboy, all done up in his roping get-up with his stoic steel-hard expression and sizeable buckle sitting on his belt, Ken could admit that even though he wasn’t a competitor himself, that he couldn’t help but be a little bit intimidated by the air that Gale often exuded. Especially when in competition mode.

Despite only being a rodeo EMT, it was hard to come by anyone involved in the circuit that hadn’t at least heard of the great Gale Cleven and his achievements in the arena. Coupled with the known talk that the guy was ‘all work and no play’ and advice of ‘just don’t get in his way and you won’t have to worry’, Ken had truthfully dreaded the day that he would have to meet the man and have him under his jurisdiction of care and medical expertise. 

The day he had met him, Ken felt like the world was trying to swallow him whole as he was faced with meeting most of the crew that he would be looking out for and tending to if any of them sustained injuries in the arena. He had shaken hands and introduced himself a number of times, friendly smiles and warmth being directed at him as easy as breathing before the group had all but parted in the tail end of their greetings and Ken was faced with Gale.

The blond cowboy had walked up to Ken with his shoulders straight, blue eyes questioning while also exuding an air of careful scrutinization as he’d looked Ken up and down, and Ken had felt like he was about to be snapped up like a bird between the jaws of a cat and crushed between sharper than needle fangs. 

He’d stared at Gale, not game enough to break eye contact as the other thrusted his hand out in Ken’s direction, still adorned with worn but expensive looking brown leather gloves. The strength and power behind Gale’s grip alone once he’d taken his hand in to a firm handshake was enough to have him shivering in his sneakers. 

But as Gale had introduced himself, Ken had watched as a slight look of warm fondness had broken through Gale’s expression, lips curving upwards in to a perfect smile full of straight white teeth directed at him, and felt his shoulders relax from their timid posture.

“Welcome to the crew, Ken,” Gale had said to him, words soft and sweet and dripping with unintentional charm. “Heard you’re one of the best we could possibly ask for. You might have your work cut out for you though, with this band of hooligans.”

Ken couldn’t help the smile that had slowly crept its way on to his own face in answer to Gale’s obvious attempt at easing his nerves, and he had felt his shoulders sag as Gale had dropped his hand, but feeling no less welcome. 

It was from that point forward that a sort of easy friendship had blossomed between Gale and himself, the terrifying tales of strict and hard-faced Gale Cleven all but melting away in his mind until any time he heard Gale’s name whispered with unease from the mouths of any of the other competitors from different circuit teams made him smirk knowingly. 

The guy was all bark and no bite, as far as Ken was concerned. At least when it was towards his own team, and he had come to realize that whenever Gale would be the first one to comfort or build up the confidence of the other boys without a second thought. 

It was all a structured hierarchy, and Gale had been appointed the unquestioned leader of the group and the overseer to most of the happenings and organizing both between and during the rodeos that they travelled to and from over the course of the season.  

It was with that unsanctioned leadership, though, that Ken could also see the immense strain heaped up on top of the cowboy’s shoulders in the thick of it all. And he would be unhesitant to admit that there had been a few times that he had observed Gale in the quieter moments where the weariness and need to keep on a brave noble façade was obviously eating away at him. 

Especially once Ken realized that the group’s main bull rider John Bucky Egan was more than just a friend to Gale, and every time the man went in to that arena and sat on one of those great muscled animals, Gale turned a few shades whiter every time Bucky’s dismounts were a little less than graceful. 

Ken had also noticed, through several different interactions both with himself and with other members of the group, that as much as Gale would unthinkingly dole out support and softness and strength, that when it came to himself, it was a completely different story.

He had noticed on more than one occasion the cowboy shying away from support directed at him, waved it off with a strained smile or an off handed comment that left Ken with a sour taste on his tongue and a worry settling in deep in his bones like a festering flame. 

As much as Gale gave it, receiving it was a whole other ball game, and was met with such a conditioned resistance that Kenny often wondered what was laying in wait underneath Gale’s carefully composed surface. What scars were carefully concealed under a strong expression.

He was thankful for John in those moments, seeing Gale respond to Bucky’s carefully extended supports more than anyone else, but even then it was barely a sliver of open acceptance to the gentle touch, cards still close to his chest and roped back against him and away from prying eyes.

Ken looked back up to where Curt was still standing in front of him, now holding out the charger for the Fitbit and Ken’s work phone that had been sitting on the counter being waggled in his direction underneath an imploring look. 

He stared at it for a few seconds, mind running through all the pros and cons and the precarious thought of ‘what could possibly go wrong’ cycling through his head, and let his shoulders sag with an exasperated sigh. He tried to ignore the gleaming smile Curt shot him as he took the charger and phone from his hand. 

“Fine,” Ken gave in, switching on the phone and opening up the app store to download the accompanying app that would sync with the watch. “But I’m doing this purely for Gale’s well-being, and to give myself some piece of mind.”

Curt laughed, a smug but joyous lilt to its tone as he walked up to Ken and patted his shoulder. “Yeah you keep telling yourself that, Kenny.”

Ken rolled his eyes, a small smile working its way on to his lips as Curt pressed a loud smacking kiss against his cheek as the other made his way to the door of the trailer, swinging it open and stepping out to leave Ken to hooking up the devices. 

“You’ve still got paint on your face, by the way!” Ken called out behind him as an afterthought before looking back down at his phone. 

He could hear Curt’s laugh echo back to him from a small ways away outside. 

“All part of the charm, baby!”

–

Surprisingly, Gale had accepted the watch from Ken without so much as a second thought, albeit a small look of question directed at him as the watch was passed into his hands. He had turned it over in quiet observance a few times, lips pursed and brows furrowed before he’d carefully pulled back the sleeve of his shirt and fastened it to the surprisingly delicate circle of his left wrist.

Ken couldn’t help the way it lifted a nervous air from his body and mind at Gale so trustingly taking the watch paired with Ken’s words of professional reassurance, and had to remind himself that as much as Curt had palmed the whole endeavour off with the pretense of it being a joke, it also gave Ken some peace of mind to now have a bit more of an insight into the medical signs of one of the most important cowboys in the team. 

He also couldn’t deny that Curt’s curiosity had bled into him as well in the face of the act.

“Can’t say I ever really put much thought in to actually using one of these things,” Gale confessed to him, eyes still curious as he looked down at the face of the watch with interest. The time flashed back at him as he turned his wrist, experimenting with the movement of it a few times. 

Tapping the face of it, the small screen cycled through his steps, distance travelled, energy burned, and finally the rate of his heart, which Ken couldn’t help but notice was currently sitting at a steady 89 as they spoke.

“You can thank Curt for that,” Ken chuckled, pointedly and casually adding in Curt as the culprit as well so he wasn’t the only one being thrown under the bus. “He figured it’d be a good idea to keep an eye on you fellas, your health and what-not seeing as how you’re all meant to be tip top athletes. And you’re one of the only ones who doesn’t actually have one.”

Gale looked up at him, a knowing smirk on the blonde's lips as he quirked one brow. “You mean Curt’s morbidly curious and just wanted something to brag about to John when I blow my top at him.”

Ken couldn’t help but laugh at Gale’s words, the sound punched out of him in surprise as Gale hazarded the guess and got it as close as he possibly could. He had had a feeling long before he’d even set up the watch that Buck would be clued in to exactly what was happening, especially once Ken name dropped Curt in the scheme. 

“It’s alright Ken,” Gale assured him, smile still colouring his face as he winked. “I won’t let him know I’m on to him if you don’t.”

“Sweet,” Ken grinned, holding out a fist towards Gale in a silent ask for a fist bump which the cowboy gladly reciprocated without a second thought. 

Gale gave another small look down at the watch as he let his hand fall back to his side, carefully pushing his sleeve down over it as it went to hide the little device from view.

“I’m actually a little curious myself,” Gale added on as an afterthought. “Might actually come in handy.”

Kenny nodded, casting his gaze over his shoulder towards the arena where Brady and Rosie were currently trotting their horses around in circles around a fake practice rig shaped like a steer. He could hear them laughing good-naturedly as they threw their ropes over it, joking amongst each other in friendly competition as Brady missed and Rosie whooped in triumph, arms coming up high in celebration. 

Jack, Benny and Everett were perched up on the rails watching with smiles on their faces and chatting amongst themselves, Meatball at their feet chasing something in a patch of tall grass against one of the posts. 

Ken pointed his chin in their direction. “This lot seems in a good mood today.”

Gale looked up to where Ken’s gaze was directed, and Ken couldn’t help but note the small fond smile that slipped on to Gale’s expression. Likened it to that of a proud parent looking at their unruly bunch of teenagers.

“Yeah it’s a lazy day today. Figured with more than a week until the next rodeo I’d back off and let them have their fun. Don’t need me breathing down their necks 24/7.”

Ken looked back at Gale with a questioning expression that he hoped Gale didn’t notice. Underneath the pride, Ken could sense a sudden hint of doubt mixed in Buck’s words, smile still evident but more muted as he stared over at the others. His blue eyes were slightly distant, and Ken felt his chest constrict just a little at the sight.

“I’m sure they’ll need your instruction sooner or later with how that’s going,” Ken tried, grinning as he turned to watch Brady expertly lasso Rosie around the middle with the other cowboy’s laughing squawk of offense. Brady’s replying laughter reached them seconds later with a shouted insult barely audible, and Ken could see the fond smile return to Buck’s expression. 

Buck rested his hands against his hips with a gentle sigh, smiling up at Ken before dropping his eyes towards the ground. “Yep, yeah, I’d say you’re right.”

Ken saw a suddenly questioning frown pull at Buck’s brow as the other looked back up towards the arena, eyes scanning over the expanse of it, the stands behind and then flickering around. “Speaking of, you seen Curt or Bucky anywhere since earlier?”

Ken felt his eyes slightly widen in realization as Buck’s words sank in and a pit of innocent fear started to curl its way in to his gut. 

“I can’t say I have, and I don’t know how I should be feeling about that,” Ken confessed to him with a grimace.

Buck blew out an exasperated breath, shoulders squaring as he tipped his hat at Ken with a smile before making his way past him. “Terrified, would be the correct term, I reckon.”

Ken couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him at Buck’s words as he watched the blond walk casually over to the others. 

–

The sounds of the crowd spectating the rodeo from a small distance away reached Kenny as he took a long drag of his cigarette, smoke curling its way out in to the air on his exhale in a wispy array of patterns before disappearing into nothing. He adjusted his seat on the step at the back of the med van, the back doors open to reveal the sterile and organized inside, medical equipment stored carefully and tucked away ready at a moments notice if needed while the current rodeo was in full swing. 

This one had been going on without so much as a hitch so far, which Ken and a few of the other EMTs were thankful for, leaving them meandering around outside the van without much to do to occupy their time besides talking amongst themselves or scrolling on their phones to pass the time. 

They knew at some point they’d probably need to patch up a knee or do the mandatory check over for concussions or other types of damage, but they were taking the peace while they could and being lax in the moments they were afforded. 

It left some room for a tiny hint of boredom to thread its way through, but Ken would rather feel that unconcerned drag of time over doing vital signs on a bull rider that got too big for his chaps or be knitting together another cowboy’s split open brow while trying to stem blood flow with a stern hand and hint of exasperation. 

The audience noise crescendoed in to a flurry of whoops and hollers by a few octaves, but being where he was Ken couldn’t quite see what event was currently happening around the edges of the towering bleacher seats. It was only still halfway through the rodeo so he knew that nothing truly spectacular was happening at this point, and he was content to sit, sneaker propped up on the tow-ball of the van and scroll for a few moments on his socials while sucking down the last few dregs of what he guessed was his third cigarette of the day. 

Thought on the disapproving glance that Curt would be sending his way if the other wasn’t currently out behind the bull chutes painted to the nines in clown makeup and baggy shorts and suspenders waiting to run in and save the day once the bull riders were performing.

Also thought on the way the other would tut in disgust but still pluck the still burning cigarette from his fingers before stealing a drag in the face of Ken’s knowing smirk. 

Almost too lost in the depths of his thoughts as he brought the cigarette up towards his lips for another inhale, Ken couldn’t help the way he jumped, startled and nearly losing grip on the burning stick as a sudden continuous beeping blared at him from the pocket of his jacket.

Frowning, he propped the cigarette in between his lips and reached down to clumsily fish what he realized was his work phone from the deep pocket and pull it out. 

It was only when the bright words of warning that the current connected device was picking up irregular rhythms did he also manage to look up in time to see Buck, pale faced and looking a little worse for wear stumbling from somewhere over towards the camp grounds in the distance before leaning one shaking arm up against a telegraph pole.

Distress was obvious in the tense line of the cowboy’s shoulders, shuddering on a deep inhale and face pointed towards the dirt with tightly squeezed eyes, and Ken quickly stubbed out his cigarette in to the grass by his shoe and flicked it away as he half rose, alert.

“Buck! You okay, man?” Ken called out, worry tainting the tone of his voice, hand that was holding the still beeping work phone tightening until he could feel the plastic creak underneath his grip.

He kept his eyes trained on Buck’s figure, worry seeping even further in to his awareness when the other only managed a haphazard glance in Ken’s direction, a gloved hand waving out in dismissal before he turned his eyes back to the ground at his feet, arm falling back against his side.

With a groan of effort, Ken hoisted himself up off of the step of the med van and started in Gale’s direction with purpose. He turned off the work phone, silencing the noise and shoving the device back in to his pocket without a second thought. 

The closer he got to Buck, the more he could hear the ragged exhales the blond was attempting to get under control and see the trembling shudder wracking the other’s taut shoulders.

Ken reached up one hand, resting his palm on Gale’s shoulder and leaning down to try and catch Gale’s line of sight where it was currently still trained downwards, brows furrowed in obvious distress.

“Talk to me, buddy. What’s happening here?” 

The professionalism that bled into Ken’s voice in the situation finally reached through to Buck, blue eyes glancing up to Ken’s face with a blank look that morphed into a humourless smile for a second or two before falling again. 

“‘m fine, Kenny,” Gale huffed, shoulder trembling more violently underneath Ken’s hold for a fleeting moment. “Don’t gotta get all serious on me, now.”

Ken chuffed out a laugh, a bit disbelieving as his eyes raked over Gale’s shaken form. “You sure? Because from where I’m standing your words aren’t exactly hitting home for me, Chief.” 

Gale flicked a dismissive hand in his direction again, body straightening marginally like he was trying to put Ken’s mind at a little bit more ease if he showed less weakness. It made Ken frown in reply, the minute beeping originating from underneath the cuff of Gale’s shirt where he knew the watch would be reaching his ears amidst the ambient sounds of the rodeo around them.

Gale sniffed, eyes flickering towards Ken again in what he could only name as chastised. 

“Was wondering though,” Gale started, tilting his chin towards his sleeve as he brought up his other hand to pull it back and reveal the Fitbit. “That ain’t normal, yeah?”

Ken gave Buck an exasperated look before turning his attention to the face of the watch, and felt his eyes widen marginally but managed to conceal the sudden unease in his expression so that Gale wouldn’t pick up on it.

Knew he had failed when Gale shot him a frown with accompanying worry reflected in his own eyes.

“I’m guessing no,” Gale grinned, forced and fake as he swallowed underneath the scrutiny of Ken’s expression. 

“No, not so much, man.” Ken answered, simple and direct. He adjusted where his hand was on Gale’s arm, moving it more up underneath in a concealed attempt at support as he tugged slightly. He was still very aware of the shudders wracking through Gale’s frame, the beads of sweat sitting on the cowboy’s upper lip and across his brow underneath the brim of his hat on an ashen pallor. “Why don’t you just come over to the van with me and I’ll give you a quick look over, yeah?”

Gale shot him an unreadable look, but allowed himself to be guided back to the open back of the med van thankfully only a short distance away. 

Ken helped lower him down so that the blond was occupying the seat against the low step that Ken was only on a few moments before, movements a little bit stiff and uncomfortable and made sure that Gale was comfortable before he stepped up in to the van. 

He glanced back at Gale’s figure, reaching out and getting the vitals pack hooked up on the far wall and snatching the blood pressure cuff off of the built in bench as he turned.

Jumping back down onto the hard packed dirt, Ken knelt down in front of Gale who was still looking pale but not as frantic as the younger man started retrieving different equipment from the bag that he sat in front of him.  

Gale eyed everything speculatively with that ever present frown still evident on his face. “I’m fine, Ken. Really.” 

Ken glanced up at him with a strained smile as he pulled the velcro of the blood pressure cuff apart with a stark ripping sound, reaching up to secure it around Gale’s upper right arm with perfect and practised precision. 

“Just taking precautions.” Ken assured him. He started manually pumping the small decompressor attached to the cuff. He unlooped the stethoscope from where it was draped over the back of his neck and lifted Gale’s sleeve up enough to be able to press the cool metal against his inner elbow gently. “Alarm went off for a reason, Buck.”

Gale rolled his eyes at Ken good-naturedly, but Ken could see the hint of worry reflected in the blonde's eyes as he flickered his gaze down to where Ken was listening to the thrum of his blood underneath his skin, wincing at the tight restriction of the cuff around his bicep. 

“Dumb is what it is, I don’t even feel that bad any more.” Gale grumbled. 

A few moments of silence went by as Ken listened intently to Gale’s pulse, holding his breath but allowing it to pass back out in a gentle exhale as everything seemed to be normal at least as far as blood pressure went. 

Pulling the stethoscope away from Gale’s skin, he rolled the cowboy’s sleeve back down to cover cool but clammy skin and ripped off the cuff from further up. “Yes, well, as true as that may be right now, I just want to check you over in case. False alarm or not. I don’t particularly feel like having to explain to Bucky why you keeled over dead from a heart attack on my watch.”

Gale let an amused snort escape him at Ken’s words, lips curving up into the semblance of a smile as he kept his focus on Ken’s rummaging around in the med bag below. 

“Point taken,” Gale mumbled, and Ken felt his own lips quirk up in reply. 

The next few tests went by without so much as a suspicious blip or reading, and as much as Ken was confused, he was also incredibly relieved that Gale didn’t seem to be suffering from anything life threatening. As a small after thought, he reached out and gripped Gale’s wrist wearing the watch gently and turned the face of it towards himself, eyes scanning over the lit up surface and feeling satisfied when no warnings or alerts glared back at him. The heartrate had also gone back to a steady pace, and he let Gale’s hand drop with a sigh.

“Well, whatever was happening, you seem to be fine now,” Ken informed him. He looked up in to Gale’s face from where he was still crouched in front of the other, taking in the now more normal looking complexion and clear blue eyes staring back at him in curiosity and their own brand of confusion. “It might have been just a false alarm.”

Gale sighed, peeking down at the watch hidden back underneath the sleeve of his shirt with a blank look, posture relaxing that small increment more so he was slouched in a lazy lean, an elbow propped up against his knee.

“Fat lot of good a false alarm is,” Gale grinned. One of his hands came up to wipe the remaining perspiration still sitting against the ridge of his brow underneath the rim of his hat. That same hand then rose up to point an unthreatening finger in Ken’s direction, a mock expression of seriousness moulding on to his features. “But not a word of this is to be spoken to Bucky, under any circumstances.”

Ken chuckled, pushing himself up to stand and wincing at the ache that accompanied the movement from being crouched down in the same position for so long. He stretched out his back with a groan. “For once, I do agree with that statement.”

Gale looked affronted, mouth gaping slightly as Ken’s words but Ken could see the humour reflected there. “For once?”

Ken raised his hands in mock surrender, feeling something in his chest warm at the sight of Gale’s barely concealed amusement as he reached out a hand in Ken’s direction for help. Ken gladly accepted, gripping the other cowboy’s hand and pulling him easily to his feet until the other was standing tall and firm in front of him. The other did sway slightly, and Ken held out a hand in concealed readiness in case he needed to keep the other balanced, but in a blink any tilting had disappeared.  

The sounds of the rodeo pierced back in to both men’s awareness, and Ken watched as Gale’s focus turned out towards the arena with a sharp turn of his head, the small smile that was there slowly slipping back into something that Ken couldn’t quite put his finger on. He allowed his own gaze to wander over in the same direction as Gale’s before pursing his lips and glancing back towards Gale’s face. The other looked lost in thought, blue eyes far away amongst whatever was running amongst his thoughts as the sound of cheering echoed across the grounds in a muted distant roar. 

Licking his lips, Ken hesitated for a few seconds before parting his lips and letting the words that were sitting on his tongue escape in to a more simple question than the true ones he had. 

“You sure you’re okay, Buck?” 

Gale seemed to come back to the present at Ken’s words, face whipping back to look at Ken with a blank numb expression before his lips pulled up in to a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Though they were soft as they looked at the younger man.

He reached up and let his hand fall in a friendly comfort against Ken’s shoulder, patting it twice before allowing his arm to fall. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. You don’t gotta worry, Kenny, promise.”

Ken let himself smile back in reply to Gale’s words, but he knew that it didn’t quite reach his own eyes either as the image of Gale only a small time before all but hyperventilating and looking moments from death leaned up against that telegraph pole flashed through his mind in vivid technicolor. He could almost hear the ghost of the beeping of his work phone buzz behind his ears. 

He almost asked again, taking in the way that Gale had suddenly started gnawing at his bottom lip between perfect white teeth until the plush skin was red and looked moments from breaking apart underneath the ministrations, but something squeezed in his ribcage and he swallowed the words down. 

[starlightiing]

I was inspired by my own anger towards someone this morning. No, my anger doesn't come with unresolved sexual tension or heartbreak like Esteban's does, but I'm not projecting, merely channeling ;)

Anyway, enjoy?

It's meant to be Estemick, but it is also Mickierre and Estemickierre. Unintentionally.

To say Esteban is surprised to see Pierre at the door, already half-undressed and eyes dark with anticipation and desire, would be an understatement. Dread, hot and heavy and electrifying, claws its way up from the pit of his stomach and wraps around his heart like a vice grip.

The surprise on Pierre's face mixed with the gasp of horror from Mick over in the corner of the flat does little to quell the nonsensical jealousy bubbling up in his gut.

"Pierre." Esteban spits, proud of himself for keeping the waver out of his tone. Though he does sound rather unfriendly - and he is, right now, since there are no cameras and no media around to force them to play nicely.

Pierre has the gall to wince. "Esteban."

Anger roars hot like the blood in his veins, and Esteban has to take a deep breath to keep from shouting at Pierre at the top of his lungs. For once, this isn't Pierre's fault. No, no this is Mick's.

And that makes it hurt even worse.

"Esteban, wait - I can explain!" Mick sputters, quickly bridging the gap between them. Esteban listens to the thump of his feet as they hit the floor, and recoils away from the fingertips that lightly graze his shoulder. "Esteban..."

"No explanation needed, Mick." Esteban says, cool and calculated and firm. His heart is pounding out of his chest and his hands are shaking, but this is fine. It will always be fine. It always has to be fine. That is the name of the game, after all.

"I didn't - I didn't think you...I thought we were..." The way Mick flounders should be satisfying to Esteban. The way he wiggles and squirms under the pressure he's only brought upon himself. The way Pierre clears his throat and looks away, clearly uncomfortable. It should bring Esteban some sort of sick satisfaction.

It does not.

"You know, Mick, for once in my life it would have been nice to just...have something that was mine and mine alone. For once, I would have liked to have something that did not come with Pierre tacked on at the end."

Pierre looks like he wants to say something in response, but in a shocking turn of events, he keeps his goddamn mouth closed. A feat, Esteban thinks, to render Pierre Gasly speechless, among all people.

"Because nothing ever comes without you. Not when I was a child, or a teenager, and certainly not now as an adult. My friendships, my career, everything I do, somehow it always leads back to you."

Pierre looks up now when he realizes he's been addressed, eyes ablaze with something Esteban can't quite decipher. Anger? No, no he's seen anger on Pierre enough times. Fear? Sadness? God help him, should it be pity.

"You used to prefer it that way, no? That at the end of the day, we could take out all of our frustrations on each other and in the morning act like nothing ever happened. Somewhere along the way, you were the one that could not look at me anymore."

"No, Pierre. I could not bear the way you looked at me. Your anger, your pity, your shame. The worst of all was your disappointment. I still see it, even now."

Pierre sighs, a quick and dangerous little huff of breath, and takes a rather brave step across the threshold into the flat. He closes the door behind him, as if telling Esteban he has no choice but to stay, and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks every bit the defiant teenager that he was ten years ago - the one that stole Esteban's heart, stomped on it, and ran away with some of the pieces.

"Then take it out on me again. Scream in my face, throw me against the wall, have your way with me like you used to, before things were bad." Pierre suggests, and the hint of desperation to his voice gets Esteban's heart racing even faster still.

"And what will it change? You will still look at me with disgust and disappointment when we are done. You will still warm Mick's bed on the days I am not here to do it. You will still be attached, no matter what I do."

Pierre closes the gap between them, causing Mick to take a few steps backwards away from them. His hands are oddly cold as they cup Esteban's cheeks between them - a mixture of tenderness and desperation - and Esteban can see the pulse in Pierre's neck thumping along to a similar rapid pace as his own.

"Maybe it changes nothing. Or maybe it changes everything. I think, in the end, that one is up to you. But do not lie and say this is not something you want. I know you. I know you want it just as much as I do."

Esteban knows he's in trouble the moment he makes eye contact with Pierre. He knows there's no escaping this whirlwind that comes with Pierre's offer, or Mick's terrified desperation for him to stay.

When he wakes up sandwiched between the two of them the next morning, he lies to himself and says it will be okay.

But as long as Pierre is around, trailing along at the end of all of Esteban's loose threads -

It never really will be.

[thevanillerose]

TRAINING | GLADIOLUS x READER | FFXV

~ WRITING COMMISSIONS ~ ~ PATREON ~ ~ KO-FI ~

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators.

“Hey, time to get up sleepy head!” “Mnn...” “C'mon princess, you'll have plenty time to doze later...” “Jes...just...one more minute...”

THWACK. “OW!”

You jolted up like you were on a spring, and quickly shoved his heavy boot away from your side. He hadn't kicked you hard, you were more irritated by the fact that he had pulled you out of such a nice dream. Riding a Chocobo through a field of fluffy white cotton. Ah...you could just...lay back down and...drift away again...

“Ah ah ah, you're not gonna slip that one by me. Come on-” A strong hand took you by the arm and hoisted you up before you had a chance to even open your eyes properly. Rubbing the sleep from them as you were sent stumbling forth and out of the tent flaps, you finally came to enough to turn and give him a good glare.

The man who woke you up was Gladiolus Amicitia- the trusted and loyal bodyguard for Prince Noctis. He stood tall in the sunlight...though he always stood tall, whatever the weather. Hard not to when you were pushing 6'6”. And if his height wasn't notable enough, his muscles certainly were. To say the guy worked out would be an understatement.

Amber eyes smirked back at you, and you scoffed, running a hand through your messy [H/C] hair so you could at least smooth it down. Yes, much like the Crown Prince himself, you were bad for sleeping in. However, Gladio hadn't even given you time to get ready, much less compose yourself. And you needed to. He was training you this morning...and training with him was really no joke.

“Remember what I taught you last time?” he walked over and slapped his palm down around your shoulder. You just looked up at him sourly. “I barely remember my own name right now.” He just laughed heartily. It was hard not to cheer up a bit when he did. His happy moments may not have been as infectious as Prompto's, but it was always nice to see such a tough man smile. Really, he wasn't so bad.

Gladio had been training you like this every morning for the past week while you camped out in Duscae, but it wasn't out of cruelty. If anything, it was the opposite.

You were more of a tactician than anything else, and sometimes you really felt tacked on to this party. Even being sent to accompany and protect Prince Noctis had been a last minute affair. Not that you were complaining...it was far better to be here than back in Insomnia.

You were still shaken by the news. And Noct...well...you tried not to ever talk about it with him.

Gladio only wanted you to feel like you were of more use, since you had told him you'd felt you weren't of any. He was looking out for you by doing this...as torturous as it could be having to wake up at the break of dawn and start exerting yourself. Regardless, you were grateful.

“C'mon princess, let's get going before the others wake up. You wanna be back in time for Ignis' famous breakfast, right?” Gladiolus attempted to spur you on with the promise of food, and yes, shamefully, it was enough to get you going. Letting him lead the way down off the camping plateau and toward the marshy plains, you jogged lightly after him, but soon picked up the pace enough to become level with the guy.

A little sweat was already gathering on your brow but you tried not to make a big deal of it. It would be true to say that part of you wanted to impress him. When it came to anything physical he was always the king, and you at least wanted to keep up in some respects.

Eventually you reached your destination, which was one of the fishing shacks arranged around the edges of the vast lake there. Coming to a stop by the mirror-esque water, you caught sight of yourself reflected within it. All hunched over with your hands on your knees like that and your hair strewn haphazardly around your face, you couldn't help grimacing.

So what? You were spending one-on-one time with an objectively attractive male. Who could really blame you for wanting to look presentable?

Quickly fixing yourself, you then turned and exhaled slowly, seeing that Gladio was already standing there ready and waiting to start the next phase of training. The run here was only meant as a warm up. Here was where the real tricky stuff started.

You called it 'tricky' because you really weren't a fighter. Sure, you could handle the daggers you carried well enough, but you were still distinctly lacking when it came to combat. Gladio was here to help you gain that sharp edge...to become more capable. You hoped.

“Let's pick up where we left off last time.” he cracked his knuckles, though it was for preparation, not intimidation. “You need to learn to become more aware of your surroundings. Half of combat is all about blocking. If you go crazy just trying to get in a hit anywhere you can, you'll not only tire yourself out, but you'll leave yourself completely open for a counterstrike.” This was all knowledge you could have inferred yourself, but you still listened to him intently as he carried on: “The key is timing. Knowing when to attack, and knowing when to shield yourself. Now-”

Suddenly, his fist swung. You gasped and stumbled back a step, quickly throwing up your arm in a clumsy fashion. Naturally he didn't plan on actually hitting you, but his knuckle still came close enough to give you a scare. Pulling back again, Gladio took another step towards you and laid his hand upon your shoulder once more, making sure you were steady. “See, now that's an issue. And it was only hand to hand too. You'll definitely struggle if you try to block a sword like that.”

Most certainly in the case of the one he carried. No innuendo intended.

“Right...okay...” you sighed heavily. A bout of weariness hit you again but you quickly shook your head to get rid of the sensation. Gladiolus didn't seem to notice, instead just carrying on with his lesson.

“Let me show you the best way of doing this. Take out your daggers for me.”

Doing as he asked, you placed them in his palm when he held it out expectantly. Lifting the weapons to his eyeline, Gladio then felt the blade of one between his thumb and forefinger, before humming and nodding.

“Yeah, it's strong enough alright.” “Strong enough for what?” Your innocently phrased question prompted a live demonstration from the man. And you didn't feel quite so innocent when he stood behind you and pressed up against your back.

It was in moments like these that you really noticed how small you were compared to him. You weren't actually that tiny for a girl, but you were practically a gnat in comparison to someone like Gladio. His strong and muscled arms looped around in front of your chest, though didn't wrap around you. Rather, he had only positioned himself in such a way so that he could take your hands in his and help guide the glinting blades. Even his hands alone seemed to engulf yours...

“See, if you cross them like this-” Gladio moved your limbs so that blade was against blade, forming something of an 'X' shape, “-it'll act as a makeshift shield for you. Blocking a two handed beast like this still isn't ideal, but it gives you an option if you don't have the time or speed to roll aside.”

As you stared up at the two intertwined blades, you could see the sun shining boldly through the gap. The heat from those golden rays beat down upon your already sweating face, and you squinted. Your vision started to blur, your knees wobbling.

Suddenly the sky was rolling around you. A mix of blues and greens shot through your vision, until you felt the middle of your back hit something firm. The sight before you was replaced by a sudden darkness, and your eyes fell heavy before closing...

Some time passed, yet for you it was an instant. Those same eyes of yours began to flicker, letting in little glimpses of far more filtered light, before eventually opening enough to let you see the canopy of leaves above. At your side, your palm ventured out to help push you up, gracing over a soft, cool fabric, set down against the slightly moist grass. Though you managed to urge yourself to sit, something quickly took hold of your shoulder.

You knew that motion anywhere.

Looking over, you could see Gladiolus sitting on the same navy blue blanket, his arm outstretched to hold you steady. His sharp amber eyes never left your weary visage for a second.

“Easy there...just take it slow.” he urged you cautiously, before gently letting his hand slip away when he was sure you were sitting fine. Blinking a few more times to clear away the last spots of drowsiness, you observed the gruff man with a furrowed brow.

“...What...what happened?” “You fainted.” he stated simply, turning his attention away from you momentarily to focus on the pot of food he was stirring, before looking back again. “It was my fault. I think I pushed you too much, too soon.” “No that's...that's what I wanted though...” you spoke drearily and shook your head in what felt like slow motion. Clearly you still weren't totally together after that ordeal, but at least you were in the shade.

Gladiolus must have caught you when you collapsed. Good thing he was standing right there, eh?

“Doesn't matter what you wanted, I should have seen it coming. Obviously you were already at your limit.” Gladiolus continued to scold himself while he spooned up some soup and motioned closer. His hand went to your lower back and he held the spoon before your lips. “Open up. Ignis made this for you.”

Usually you would have been internally freaking out at this point. Every time he touched you during training you always felt a bit of a spark anyway, but here he really was treating you like the 'princess' he affectionately called you (even though you were far from royalty). However, you were still so woozy that you merely did as he wanted with little reaction, opening your mouth and letting him feed you. It was delicious of course, as could be expected from the delicacy master himself- Ignis. Though a worrying thought came to mind as he helped you eat, and between your second and third spoonful you had to ask:

“-Did the other boys find out about this then?” “What, about you fainting?” Gladiolus smirked and shook his head. “Don't worry, I had a feeling you'd want to save face. I just told them you wanted to have breakfast down by the lake since it looked so nice. They didn't suspect a thing.”

Good. Relieved, you started to relax a little more. Your strength returned enough to let you finish the soup yourself, and once you had you felt magnanimously better. Finally, you were human again.

“That was awful. Dammit...why am I so weak?” you questioned curtly, and Gladiolus took his turn to frown. “[Y/N], you're not weak. Not even slightly. Do you think we could have come this far if you were?” He had a point. You were already well underway on your journey, and it wasn't like it had always been a piece of cake. Still... “I need to be stronger than this. I need to get stronger so I can protect the Prince...”

Yes. Maybe you did. But as Gladio looked at you, he didn't see a single thing he really wanted to change. At first he could admit that he had doubted how useful you would be as part of the Crownsguard. Yet over time he had come to see just how important you were to the team. You were incredibly smart, and quick thinking. You had a knack for knowing what to do even in the most baffling situations. Just as a good defence was as important as a good attack, it was also crucial to have that kind of clarity at your disposal.

Besides...that wasn't the only thing he had started to notice about you. You had many other notable assets too...and as you sat there in the mottled shade of the lakeside tree, he saw one of them very clearly. A gentle, tender smile had spread across your lips and in turn illuminated the rest of your features. Sometimes he doubted it was possible you could look any prettier, yet in that moment you perhaps looked the most beautiful he had ever seen you.

“Thank you, Gladio. For helping me so much. I promise I'll do better next time...” “Don't...don't worry about it.” Did he just stutter? Stumble over his words? Hell, he even rubbed the back of his neck like a sheepish schoolboy. Gladiolus quickly composed himself again though. Right now wasn't the right time for that. Right now he wasn't ready to reveal anything of that nature.

“You can take a day off tomorrow, and then we'll carry on after that.” he told you, to which you nodded affirmatively. “Sounds good.”

That was right. For the moment...he just had to focus.

In a way...he was training himself too.

[akayukihime]

Bad Decisions (Pt. 1) - Brett Hand/Reader

A drug-enduced hookup is a scandal in and of itself, even at Cognito Inc. Despite being in the entire office’s hot seat, you’re horrified by something else entirely: your growing crush on Brett Hand.

Crossposted on AO3 @akayukihime​

“I am this fucking close to putting in my two weeks,” Reagan blurted out as she and you walked into a conference room. She pinched her fingers together for emphasis. You didn’t utter a word in acknowledgment, but you agreed with her sentiment. The both of you stared ahead at the usual scene in front of you: everyone was plastered, even Brett. Myc let out a groan that you couldn’t find yourself to pity. It was always weird thinking about how a sentient hallucinogenic mushroom could get itself high. Ever since you started working at Cognito Inc., though, you were left with little to disbelieve.

“You’d think that a secret government agency would have more competent employees,” she grumbled, rubbing her temples erratically. That poor girl needs a vacation, you thought ruefully, nodding in agreement.

“Awe, I’m totally competent,” Brett whined, looking up at the two of you from where he was on the floor. You were surprised you didn’t see any lipstick smudged across his face or collar. Jealousy twinged in your gut as you remembered when he hooked up with Gigi, who was across the room and appeared to be struggling to type something on her phone.

“Right, (Name)?” Brett asked, looking into your eyes with a stare that left you a little flustered.

“I mean, yeah, sometimes,” you knew you would feel bad if you said no, but you tacked on the last bit so Reagan wouldn’t think ill of your reply.

“I don’t even know what to say, but I’m not surprised…” Reagan huffed. You shot her a worried look. The bags under her eyes were so dark that they resembled Halloween makeup. You didn’t want to think about the last time she slept—or showered. You subconsciously inched yourself out of the doorway and into the room.

“Ray, why don’t you just let me handle this?” You asked, trying to be helpful. To put it in Layman’s terms, you were the middle man between Reagan and Brett; you weren’t as uptight as the former, but not a hopeless himbo like the latter. You could be trusted with responsibilities, but didn’t take on an unhealthy amount like the somewhat-reclusive daughter of Rand Ridley. You were also able to let loose, which is what you would have preferred to do at the moment.

“Are you sure?” Reagan looked around the room again, her eyelid twitching. You nodded and her shoulders slacked.

“I would say go home, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you leave work before seven…” you trailed off, watching as Brett stretched out on the floor, noting his loose tie and unbuttoned jacket. You had seen him half-naked before, because he always managed to be lacking clothes at inappropriate times, but you found yourself staring at his exposed collarbone.

“Okay, (Name), see you.” Reagan looked at you with impossibly tired eyes and you smiled sympathetically, your eyes crinkling as you did so.

“I’ll see you ‘round, Ridley.”

You watched as she trailed off down the hallway and turned the corner almost hurriedly. You knew she was tired and you hoped she would doze off while working on something if it meant she could at least get a few hours of sleep.

Finally, you unceremoniously turned to your coworkers, not flinching at the fact that none of them were sober, and settled yourself on the floor. Just because you were making sure nothing bad happened didn’t mean you couldn’t join the fun, right?

“I’ll pass on any psychedelics, but if we’re just smoking weed, it’s a different story,” you looked at Andre, who grinned and passed you a small bong.

“Sweet,” you muttered, holding it up to your lips.

“Wow, you sure are great at ‘handling’ these work conflicts,” Myc commented, his voice slurred as he gestured toward you with one of his tentacle arms. You shrugged, taking your time with each hit. You exhaled slowly through your mouth, your throat tickling and urging out a cough.

Wherever Andre gets his weed from, you needed to know. On second thought, he probably grew it himself. Regardless, you weren’t paranoid or anxious whatsoever; you’d argue that you were at peace, even if you were on the floor, slumped over against a large table. If you were this zen every time you were high, maybe you’d be as dependent on drugs as the doctor. You shook the thought from your head, thankful for your ability to function sober in your daily life.

It wasn’t long until your peace of mind would be disturbed.

Brett had scooted over to your happy little corner, smiling widely. You looked over at him and met his eyes. Almost immediately, you looked away. You were acting almost as jittery as Reagan.

“Man, I haven’t been this high since my days in Pi Kappa Alpha. Oh, they had the best hazing rituals.” The brunet remarked, seeming to relish in the memory which most definitely happened differently than he chose to remember it. You nodded in lieu of poking fun at him.

“‘That so?” You asked, tilting your head and looking at him with lidded eyes.

“Yeah, those six hours were the most fun I’ve ever had. You see, it was…” Brett’s voice sounded more like white noise than an actual conversation you still had to engage in. You felt loose, hazy, like you could melt into the floor. You were enjoying yourself so much that you didn’t quite pay attention to what he was saying anymore. Your eyes trained on his lips and tongue as he spoke, trailing down to his ruffled shirt and loosened red tie. Sure, he was a distraction in your usual work environment, but this was bad. Unfortunately, your brain was too fried to realize how overt you were being.

You blinked yourself out of your reverie when you realized something: this was the perfect opportunity and the perfect excuse to get intimate with your coworker. The thought of fucking Brett made the back of your neck heat up, and your mind lingered on the idea for way too long. You were trying to imagine the details of his face and body in such an intimate and vulnerable situation, and you felt your face flush even more. Why are you so flustered? You reasoned with yourself that it was only because of how hot he is, nothing more.

Whatever, fuck it.

You shuffled over to Brett, straddling his lap and shoving one of your knees between his legs. Your hands came to his shoulders, flattening wrinkles on his crisp, white shirt. He had a nervous smile plastered across his face. He is so cute. You grinned playfully, leaning down and kissing up his jaw.

“Wanna go back to my office?” You watched him expectantly, biting your lip. You were a little nervous. It had to be the drugs, right?

“Yeah, sure.” Brett blinked, looking pleasantly surprised at your offer.

You took his larger hand in yours and the two of you snuck out of the conference room. It was only a few corridors and hallways down, close for convenience. You thanked God or whatever higher being in dark robes that existed that you were spared an elevator ride. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to act normal enough to convince whoever watched the elevator security footage that the two of you weren’t about to hook up.

Soon enough you were in your office, which was luckily a closed off room. As the overseer of finance, you had similar status to Reagan and Brett, but while Reagan had her lab, you had a spacious office where you were able to sort through Cognito Inc.’s annual revenue and costs, insurance policies, and new ways to evade taxes every year.

You shut and locked the door with a quiet click. Even though you had been in here many times, you took in your surroundings. The large windows behind your desk overlooked a nice view similar to J.R.’s. No one could see you from the busy street far below, but the off chance that someone did was exciting to consider. You unbuttoned your blouse halfway down, revealing your (luckily nice) bra. Brett’s eyes found their way to your chest and he couldn’t look away. You felt exposed—the weight of his gaze was something you had never felt before. Something about it excited you, causing a heat to pool in between your legs as he approached you.

“Okay, wow, this is happening,” Brett looked a little nervous, and that made you want him even more. If he hadn’t wanted to do this, he would’ve said so. Even if he was a people pleaser and high off his ass, he seemed just as interested in sexual endeavors with you as you were with him. Despite this, you just wanted to make sure.

“Is this okay?” You came up to Brett, placing your hands on his chest. He nodded eagerly and wrapped his arms around your waist. You leaned up to kiss him, and he returned twofold. You were caught off guard by his eagerness, but tried to kiss him more fervently to match his pace.

Brett reached down and grabbed the meat of your thigh, hiking your leg up his side. You sighed into his mouth as he grabbed at your leg and held your body flush against his. You felt his dick press against you through your clothes and your ears prickled with heat. You were thrilled that he seemed to want you—bad.

Suddenly, you pulled away, and Brett actually frowned at the loss of contact. That look he was giving you was enough to get you off alone. Slinking an arm around his shoulder and pressing yourself back against him, you moved your hand down to the bulge in his slacks, rubbing against his erection tentatively. He groaned quietly, breathing a hot breath down your neck, causing you to shiver.

You traced the brunet’s pants in the shape of a heart and then moved to palm his clothed cock. The moments were slow and deliberate, almost teasing. Seeing him like this was something you just couldn’t put in words, so you decided that you were going to show him with your actions. You squeezed your thighs together when the sound of a repressed whimper left his lips, which were now a little red and swollen.

“You’re doing so good, Brett,” you whispered quietly, your tone genuine and loving. He let out a shallow breath, clearly turned on by your words of praise.

“I wanna make you feel good…too,” he whispered back, and you swore your heart skipped about four beats. You cupped his cheek with your hand that had been around his neck and looked up at him, brushing your thumb on his smooth face. How does this man never have any stubble?

“Maybe another night. Right now, I’m here for you, pretty boy,” your lips curled into a smile as you finished your sentence. Brett’s mouth formed into a small ‘o’, but he didn’t protest. You held his shoulders and guided him backwards to your office chair. He sat, his legs slightly spread out and his arms resting on each side. You stood in front of him and slowly started taking off your clothes.

Your shoes went first; you slid the comfortable loafers off and placed them next to each other on the floor. Then was your blouse, halfway unbuttoned but still tucked into your faded black pencil skirt. You casually tugged it out of your bottoms, taking your time to unbutton the rest of the buttons before shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor. Next was your skirt, which had a tiny zipper that you didn’t rush to unzip. Playing things out seemed to be working, because one glance at Brett and you could see that his hard-on was straining against his pants. He bit his lip as he tried not to cover himself up.

Finally, you tugged off your skirt and let it join your blouse on the ground. You were left in your bra, underwear, and a bland pair of tights. You clearly had not planned on presenting your half-naked self to the titular coworker, or else you would’ve worn nicer undergarments or even lingerie.

Brett stared, perhaps in awe, at your figure. His hand moved so he could palm himself through his pants. You blushed, the bold action catching you off guard, but you tried to keep it together. You shook your head and climbed on top of him, straddling him and placing your hands on his chest.

“Let me take care of you, alright?” You looked at him with a lidded gaze, which he returned. He nodded and mumbled an, “okay,” with an already fucked-out look on his face (you were just getting started, too). Honestly, you found it kind of cute. The way he could barely look at you, or maybe it was how he was breathing a little erratically. 

You could hardly wait.

As a way of testing the waters, you slowly circled your hips, grinding against Brett’s crotch. He groaned almost painfully, and you took that as a good sign. Holding onto his shoulders, you started to dry hump where you felt his enclosed cock. With each rock of your hips, you felt your clit throb with pleasure. You sighed, breathing hard through your nose. Momentarily, you locked eyes with him and he gave you a pleading look, but you didn’t stop.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, his hands moving to hold your waist in an attempt to help you grind on him. You moved your hips at a more fervent pace, giddily watching him fall apart underneath you. And oh, he just felt so good rubbing against your clit, now swollen in your damp underwear.

“I—,” he choked out, “I think I’m going to cum.”

And just like that, you stopped, completely halting the motions of your hips. You yourself were making your way to your own orgasm. Brett gave you a look of utter devastation, but you brought a hand up to his face and rubbed his cheek with your thumb.

“Good boy.”

Brett let out a small gasp as you moved your hands down to his pants, undoing his belt and pulling his fly down. You grazed his straining erection with gentle hands before finally pulling his length out of his white underwear. Of course his underwear is white, you thought to yourself, but quickly brushed the amusing thought away to focus on the task at hand.

“Thank God I take birth control,” you muttered as you pulled your underwear to the side and lined Brett’s cock up with your dripping entrance. You held his length and dragged it up and down your other lips. The way the head of his dick felt against your clit had both him and you moaning already.

Finally, you lowered yourself onto his cock. The two of you moaned as you stretched out around him. Moving at an almost grueling pace, you used his shoulders as leverage to lift yourself up and back down on his length. Unsurprisingly, his dick fit you perfectly. Your eyes filled with adoration as you began to ride him, but, unbeknownst to you, your feelings for him hardly held a candle to his.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Brett chanted under his breath, his chest rising and falling with each large breath he took. If you weren’t so focused on the way his cock hit your g-spot, you might’ve noticed the way he was looking at you. His heart was full and beating hard. Adrenaline pumped through his veins like liquid fire and he gave up on holding back his gasps and groans. His hands grabbed at your bare sides as he rocked his hips up into yours.

“Oh, p-please, I…”

You didn’t mind his neediness; on the contrary, you started fucking him more erratically as you felt your own climax on the horizon. Your clit bumped up against his pants as you rolled your hips, sending twinges of pleasure from your core to the rest of your body. You moved to grab onto his forearm, watching the way his eyebrows knitted together as he occasionally babled your name along with a string of curses.

“You feel so good, oh my God,” you hissed out as you continued to fuck yourself on his dick. He breathlessly agreed with your sentiment, his cheeks and shoulders flushed with pleasure.

“Can I cum inside of you?” Brett asked weakly as if to imply his impending orgasm, rolling his hips without any sort of rhythm. This time, you were going to make sure he came.

“Y-yeah,” you nodded vigorously, trying to focus on guiding the two of you each to your own orgasms. And when that wire inside of you was pulled so tight that it finally snapped, you moaned his name loudly. You tried your best not to stop until he came, which he did—hard.

The feeling of so suddenly being filled with the brunet’s cum was something that you tried to ingrain into your mind. You wanted to remember this forever, or even better, experience it again. Your chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, your brain was fuzzy despite you having sobered up, and you were undoubtedly going to be sore from riding him so hard.

You closed your eyes for a moment, catching your breath and relishing in the feeling of Brett still being inside of you. The moment only lasted for a brief moment because you suddenly felt a hand on your face. Your eyelids fluttered open at the feeling of the man’s gentle caress against your cheek. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and you felt your cheeks prickle with heat. Finally meeting his gaze, you were surprised to see him already looking at you.

Brett felt a lot less nervous than he had earlier; he hardly wanted to move from out of his position in your chair, and he just couldn’t get enough of the way you looked right now. He sighed softly, cocking his head to the side as he went to stroke your hair. That is, before he stopped himself. 

“We should…get cleaned up.”

“Yeah,” you agreed with a small smile plastered on your face. You hadn’t even realized you were smiling until you opened your mouth to respond to him.

“There’s a bathroom attached to my office,” you whispered, “we can—“

“I got it. You stay here.” Brett insisted, looking up at you with a fixed expression. Your heart skipped once more and you averted your eyes to a plant in the far corner of your office. After another moment, you finally pulled yourself off of the man and collected your clothes, shrugging your blouse back on but hesitating to button it back up.

Brett tucked himself back into his pants and headed off in the direction you pointed him in. For a moment, you were left there alone. You stared at the now open bathroom door and the yellow-white light that spilled out of the room, and you tried not to focus on the feeling of cum dripping down your leg. Brett’s cum. Inside of you. The words took a second to register, and by the time the brunet came back, you were blushing.

“Here, lemme get this,” he awkwardly leaned down and wiped you up with a paper towel before quickly returning to the bathroom to flush it down the toilet and wash his hands. Always a people pleaser, that man.

You finally put your skirt back on and tucked your blouse in before zipping it up. Luckily, you had worn only a little bit of makeup to work that day, so the only thing that looked off about you was your hair, which was slightly frazzled. Brett’s was as well, so, to his utter delight, you quickly fixed it for him.

“There you go,” you smiled, trying not to think about how the two of you were a lot more sober than you had been earlier. Brett thanked you sheepishly.

“Uh, I-I’m gonna get going. See you, (Name),” He rubbed the back of his head as he slowly backed up to the door before finally unlocking it and leaving. Well, that was weird. You didn’t expect that he would have been in such a rush to leave. You wanted to shrug it off, but that odd feeling lingered in your mind before spreading to your heart and the pit of your stomach.

“Don’t worry,” you said to yourself as you checked the time on your phone. 5:08 PM. Damn, it’s time for me to get going too. You collected a couple of folders and put them in your bag before slinging it over your shoulder.

“It’s okay, tomorrow things will be normal. It’ll be business as usual.”

Yeah. Business as usual…

[quibbs126]

I’ve made another fankid, this one’s name is Cloudberry Cookie

So I’ve been struggling to come up with designs for my actual requests, which sucks because I want to draw more fankids, so for now I’m just drawing ones that I’ve been wanting to do, but aren’t on my requests, with wildchip being one of them

Anyways, so for the name, I picked cloudberry since cloudberries are berries, so like Wildberry, but they also grow in very cold climates, like where Crunchy Chip lives

Cloudberry I think was originally a contender for a hollycacao fankid, but then I thought it could also work for wildchip, so that’s what I did instead

Also, another contender that I had for this ship was pineberries, since they’re white with red seeds, which reminded me of Crunchy Chip’s hair, but if you replaced the dark brown with Wildberry’s pink. But I liked cloudberries more, so I went with that. But if I make another one, I’ll probably do Pineberry

Cloudberries:

So I’m aware that neither Crunchy Chip nor Wildberry have orange in their hair, but cloudberries are that color, so that’s her hair color. I still worked in Wildberry’s pink though. Not the proudest of how her hair turned out, or at least the top part, like I think it looked different in my head, but I was trying to make it look closer Wildberry and Crunchy Chip

I admit, I probably could have done better with her outfit, I just wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it other than “cold climate”. Maybe I’ll redesign it some time later

I also made a version with markings like Crunchy Chip’s, but I thought maybe they were just tacked on, so I took them out. But I’ll still post that version at the end, to see if that looks better to you guys

Now let’s get on to her character, since I have some stuff for her

So Cloudberry lives in the Dark Cacao Kingdom, as she prefers the cold climate, but she mostly just lives in solitude in the mountains, not really part of the military like her father. She visits her parents from time to time, and she has a good relationship with them both, she just prefers to live by herself. Generally she farms cloudberries, knowing where they grow, and will on occasion sell cloudberry jam to others. But she also works as a hunter and tracker, being open for hiring if you want someone or something tracked down. Also, she uses and trains birds, like the Cacao Hawks (was that what they’re called? I can’t seem to find where they’re mentioned). She likes the Cream Wolves well enough, she just prefers birds. Plus, they can send letters for her

Generally she comes off as a rather serious person, at least to others, as she’s mostly focused on the task at hand, but she’s also very intelligent and witty, and will sass when you least expect it (unfortunately I am not very witty, so I cannot tell you what she says)

As for the sketch with Crunchy Chip, I just imagine he would just be showing her off to anyone with the time of day. Also that her hair used to be more bouncy and berry like in shape

Edit: oh yeah, something else I thought of that I wanted to mention. So cloudberries are supposed to be incredibly rare and hard to find if you don’t know where to look. Assuming Wildberry and Crunchy Chip baked her, I’m just assuming they were trying to figure out what ingredients to use, and Crunchy Chip suggests these berries he’s heard grow in his kingdom but are very rare, and as they aren’t really sold places, they have to make this long trek across the mountains to find cloudberries, which they inevitably do. I don’t know why I added this bit, I just thought it was neat

Also for some reason, in my head I kept calling her “Wendy”. I don’t know why, but she felt like a Wendy. I guess if she ever needs a proper human name, I’m going with Wendy, despite the fact it sounds nothing like her name

But yeah, I think that’s about it for her, hope you enjoy!

Oh right, the alternate one with her markings! Forgot that

[razorblade-richards26]

HOOD JEPORDY

WRITTEN BY ME:

Episode Title: Greasers’ Hood Jeopardy

Scene 1: Curtis House Living Room – Evening

(The Greasers are hanging out in the Curtis living room, sprawled across the couch and floor, looking for something to do.)

Ponyboy: (flipping through a magazine) Man, nothing’s on TV anymore. You’d think Saturday night would have something interesting.

Two-Bit: Well, they don’t know we’re watching, or else they’d make it better! (grins) I say we make our own entertainment. You guys ever hear of “Jeopardy”?

Johnny: (scoffs, laughing) Yeah, right! Like any of us could keep up with that.

Dally: (grinning, leaning back) I bet we could make it better. Forget the smart stuff—let’s do “Hood Jeopardy.”

Sodapop: (raising an eyebrow) Hood Jeopardy? Alright, but it’s gotta be real, like stuff we all know.

Two-Bit: (getting up with enthusiasm) Alright, first question: “This is what Johnny’s high-pitched screech sounds like!”

Ponyboy: (laughing, buzzes in by slapping the arm of the couch) What is...a cat stepping on a tack?

Johnny: (trying to defend himself) Hey, that’s not fair! My voice isn’t that bad.

Sodapop: (cracking up) No, it’s more like... (mimicking) EEEEK! Like when Dally’s smacked him upside the head.

Dally: (snorts) That’s true, and it’s usually ‘cause he’s up to something he shouldn’t be!

(The group laughs as Two-Bit marks Ponyboy’s answer as correct on a “scoreboard” drawn on an old cardboard box.)

Scene 2: “Hood Jeopardy” Round 2

(They’re all a bit more invested now. Two-Bit grabs a marker and starts creating categories on the cardboard: "Neighborhood Legends," "Socs and Such," and "Greasers’ Greatest Hits.")

Darry: (leaning in, challenging) Alright, how about this one: “This is the one way to get Darry to actually laugh out loud.”

Ponyboy: (buzzing in) Uh...what is catching Soda tryin’ to dance to rock ’n’ roll?

Sodapop: (pointing) Hey! I got moves. (starts doing a terrible attempt at a rock ’n’ roll dance, stumbling over his feet)

Darry: (smiling, shaking his head) Yeah, sure you do, Soda. (writing Ponyboy’s name for the answer) Pony’s got it.

Johnny: I got one: “This is where you’re least likely to find Dallas on a Friday night.”

Two-Bit: (immediately buzzing in) What is...jail?

(The gang bursts out laughing)

Dally: (mock scowling) Watch it, Two-Bit! And hey, I’ll have you know I’m trying to keep clean. Sorta.

(They all laugh and continue playing, throwing out questions and jokes.)

Scene 3: The Final “Hood Jeopardy” Round – Ponyboy’s Turn

(Ponyboy, encouraged by everyone’s laughter, clears his throat and reads his question with a grin.)

Ponyboy: Alright, “This is the one thing Darry does that shows he’s a softie at heart.”

Sodapop: (buzzing in immediately) What is keeping our favorite snacks stocked?

Johnny: (buzzing in right after) What is making sure we’re all fed before we crash out?

Two-Bit: (grins) Nah, I got it—what is patrolling like a hawk when Pony’s in a sour mood?

(Darry looks away, pretending to be unaffected, but the gang shares a warm moment.)

Darry: Alright, alright, game over! Any more answers, and I’m tossing you guys outside.

(Everyone laughs as they wrap up their version of Jeopardy, grinning as they clean up.)

[thefreakydeaky]

After the Thrill is Gone

Part Seven

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Negan Smith x Reader

Modern AU

Summary: From the first moment you laid eyes on Negan you were inexplicabley drawn to him. The passion between you is hot and only grows more intense the longer you see each other. There is only one problem, you're both married to other people.

Warnings: Dark Fic , Stalking, Stalker behavior, Smuttyness, Adult Language, I'll add more warnings as I post, so please check the warnings for updates on each chapter.

"The brakes need replacin'."

You liked the gruff sound of the mechanic's voice.

"Is that what the problem was?"

His eyes drifted to your cleavage, then back up to your face.

"No, mam. You needed an oil change. Badly."

"Oh, right. I forgot."

"Yeah, well, you keep forgettin' it's gonna happen again." He said very matter of factly.

"What's your name?" You asked.

His eyebrow raised.

"Daryl. Why?"

You put on your sweetest smile.

"Well, Daryl, I just moved here. I was wondering if maybe you would show me around?"

His eyes widened.

"Me?" He asked with disbelief.

"Yeah, you."

He sized you up for a moment. You thought he would say no. Then he wet his dry lips with his tongue and said, "I get off at six. If you wanna meet me here then."

You nodded.

You were there promptly at six.

Daryl took you for a ride on his motorcycle through town. The wind in your hair and the feeling of freedom had been thrilling. He took you to a diner afterwards and you had asked about his future plans.

Apart from making the shop a bit more successful he really didn't have any plans. You decided to fix that. You had kissed him that night and it had been the start of your whole lives changing. A new adventure.

You had gone from an aimless wanderer to a wife in a year. You had tacked on the title of Mother a year after that and your life had become about caring for your little ones and your home,. Your routine had since become a little predictable. Slowly you noticed there was a rift in your marriage that was steadily getting worse.

Then He had come up to you in that grocery store and told you, you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The man was tall, tan, and lean, hazel eyed, with black hair and a handsome smile. He asked for your number and when you said you were married he said he was too. He told you he had never done this before. He told you he was drawn to you, that he couldn't help it.

He asked again for your number telling you if you wanted to, you could just be friends, but that he would love to get to know you. There had been a glimmer of danger in his eyes and the excitement it sparked in you had been enough to persuade you to give him your number.

Six months of flirting and meeting for coffee on the down low hadn't been enough. You craved an even bigger risk. It turned into kissing and making out in the back seat of your car, escalating into your needing a motel room. And there it was that thrill again, the feeling of excitement and freedom. When would you ever learn? You planned it all very carefully a doctor's appointment here, a dinner with your mom there. For him a poker game with the boys, and having to work late. You both came up with reasons to get away though you didn't see each other more than twice a month as a rule.

Now you were giving up that wonderous feeling so you could keep what was truly important, the happiness of your kids and the love of your husband.

"Has your physical intimacy improved since your last appointment?" Your counselor, Sherry asked.

Daryl nodded.

You shook your head.

His eyes widened.

"There have been a couple of instances where he didn't tense up or move away and we held hands once, but two of those times led to sexual touching and," You sighed. "that isn't progress."

He said your name.

"Do you know how hard it is for me to do that? It doesn't come naturally to me. I'm doing my best."

"Are you- ugh." Daryl's jaw ticked with frustration.

"I know that. I'm not saying that you aren't trying. I see you. I see the effort you put in. I'm trying to tell you that the point of this is non-sexual touching. You never had a problem with touching me that way in the first place."

"It's alright. Take a deep breath then tell her how you feel." Sherry guided him.

He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out.

"We haven't had sex in years. Three years, in case you didn't realize. We haven't been touchin' at all until recently. So yeah, I think sexual touchin' is an improvement."

You caught your therapist raising her eyebrows at the revelation.

"You haven't slept together in three years?" She inquired.

"Yes, it's been a while." You admitted.

"And how are you handling your desires if not with each other?"

You went still for a second, unable to look at Daryl, just waiting for him to answer. You could feel him watching you. You sat there in the quiet long enough to make you feel nervous.

"We're all adults. Masterbation is a normal healthy thing."

"Yeah, well. I've been handling things myself." Daryl said.

You said nothing and worked on getting your body to relax a bit.

"Maybe, you should try what did you call it? "Sexual touching?" Maybe at night before you go to sleep, you could touch one another. It doesn't have to lead to sex or sexual acts. Something as simple as caressing your partner can strengthen your bond."

You felt a weight on your chest at the thought of doing what she suggested. It had come easily to you the morning you had almost let him have you, but that was different, you woke up aroused and weren't fully awake. Now to do so completely conscious of what you were doing was a different thing entirely.

"You should still try to implement little touches of affection through out the day, but this new homework can help too."

You agreed to try, even though it made you anxious.

[barkhoffman]

does anyone wanna see a preview of my hoffstrahm Christmas fluff fic too bad you're getting one

“So you’re a cop?”

“I’m a detective, yeah.”

“But you have a gun? Like a real gun?”

“Yup.”

“And you get to shoot it at people?”

“Uh—” Hoffman smiles awkwardly, fingers wrapped around the mug of coffee Henry handed off to him moments before. (It’s one of Marie’s holiday-themed ones, and says “Christmas calories don’t count” accompanied by a picture of a smiling, half-eaten gingerbread man. Strahm’s always found that one kind of morbid.) “I wouldn’t use the words ‘get to,’ but if the situation calls for it…”

“Have you ever killed anyone?” Ethan asks with the sort of wide-eyed stare little boys get when they’re really interested in hearing a violent answer to something.

“Okay, let’s not talk about that sort of thing,” Marie laughs from her spot on a recliner. Henry sits on the arm of it, hand on her shoulder, and she, in turn, has her hand pressed to his. “It’s Christmas. Happy questions, okay? Does anyone have any happy questions for Mark?”

Strahm wonders when this turned into “Grill Peter’s Spouse: The Game Show,” but Hoffman seems to be taking it in stride, smiling there beside him.

“Do you— do you— do you solve mysteries?” Liam asks, sitting on the floor at his mother’s feet, fidgeting with a plush toy she must have brought from home with her to keep him occupied.

“Yeah,” Hoffman says. “Real tough ones.”

Liam looks blown away, gaping up at him. “Like Sherlock Holmes?”

The adults all share a laugh, and Hoffman says, “Just like him.”

“Don’t give him too much credit,” Strahm scoffs. “When he can’t do his job right, they send in me to figure it out instead.”

“You’re a detective too?” Liam asks, reverent, because of course the kid he only sees a few times a year, who’s barely in school, can’t remember what his actual occupation is. Hell, it’s a shock Liam seemed to remember him by name this year, instead of last year’s Christmas gathering, when he was simply dubbed “The Scary Man.”

“FBI,” Strahm says, and despite how much he hates his shithole job sometimes, saying that still gives him just the barest hint of a swell of pride. The badge means something, when you use it right.

“That means he works for the government,” Sofia says with a grave nod. Sharp as a tack at nine years old, she’s also a bit of a know-it-all, but then, so was Strahm at that age. Does it count as being a know-it-all if you’re always right, he wonders?

“So that’s how you met?” asks Charlotte, Robert’s wife. “Through work?”

“That’s the long and short of it,” Hoffman says. “He came in, stole all my thunder, then stole my heart.”

That gets another round of chuckles, and even a few annoying “awww”s. God damn Hoffman for being so personable and easy to like. Can’t he see Strahm has sulking to do here?

[sheepwithspecs]

The Price of Fame

Sean has one chance to make a name for himself in the true crime community, and he's willing to do whatever it takes. But is success truly worth the price? This is my entry for @dotzines "Red Zone- Vol. 3" horror zine! The zine is free and you can find it here!

The email simply said, "go back". No signature, no explanation; the sender's address was an incomprehensible jumble of letters and numbers.

Probably some fan trying to be creepy for clout. Rolling his eyes, Sean tossed his phone onto the passenger seat. It was bound to happen eventually; he was finally starting to make a name for himself, and personal experience had taught him that nothing on the internet was truly private. If parasocial freaks were the price of stardom, well… so be it.

He practically flung the rental car onto the neglected county road, spitting gravel onto the dusty highway. He took one deep breath after another, fingers drumming an unsteady tempo against the steering wheel as he fought to settle his nerves. Everything would be fine. It had to be. After today, Sean Masters would be a household name in the true crime community. This was the story that would push him out of obscurity and into the spotlight, his viral Hail Mary: the Stovald House.

He'd been scoping the property for days now, his frustration mounting at the never-ending parade of construction workers and white collar middlemen. Even at night, the humid air stirred not with crickets, but the ceaseless whir of power drills. Tomorrow the property would officially go on the market, ready for a perfect, smiling family to move in and call it their own. Today was his last chance to do what no one had ever done before: a podcast from inside the infamous Stovald House. He’d even splurged on a new camera in the hopes of shooting a vlog or two while inside. Surely his loyal fans would be willing to pay for behind-the-scenes footage?

The peaks of the house appeared on the horizon, its new metal roof gleaming in the sunshine. There were craftsman-style renovations along the wraparound porch, an accent wall of false stone, even a fresh coat of paint on the white picket fence. Hardly anything remained of the old antebellum home, save the large windows in their dark shutters.  

As he rounded the final curve, Sean caught sight of a figure standing by the mailbox. Tires squealing, he slid to a stop in front of the large FOR SALE sign tacked neatly beside the front gate. The woman turned curiously to look at him; her face was a mirrored reflection of the beaming image on the sign itself.

Son of a—! Sean bit down on his tongue, cutting off the curse before it made its way past his lips. He’d planned for cops, construction workers, even potential buyers. How could he have forgotten the real estate agent? Thinking quickly, he unbuckled his seatbelt and forced his expression into a polite smile.

“Mornin’!” He opened the car door but did not get out, trying to sound like a pleasant, ignorant stranger. “This property’s open to view, right?”

The agent walked over, heels crunching on the uneven gravel driveway. She was middle aged, her curls pulled back in a fancy twist and half-moon spectacles hanging low on her nose.

“I’m afraid you’re a day early, sir.” She rested one hand on the door, effectively boxing him in. “I do apologize. You’d best turn back, and try again tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s a darn shame!” he sighed, slumping back in the seat. “We—my wife and I—were told the house would be open for viewing today. She really has her heart set on this place, you know, and I thought maybe if I drove up early enough….” The agent stared at him for a long moment, pale eyes burning into his.

“Well….” She glanced at the empty house. “I suppose a quick peek wouldn’t hurt. I can’t take any offers, though.”

“Of course! Thank you, ma’am.” Sean reached for the camera, pausing only when he saw the agent’s expression tighten. “Erm… you don’t mind if I take some pictures? For my wife?”

“Wouldn’t you rather call her?”

“I would, but she works long hours. Can’t get away from her desk.” Could she hear the tremble in his voice? Was she second-guessing him? No! No, she was backing away from the car, allowing him to get out! Hook, line, and sinker. 

He paused at the front of the manicured lawn, taking a few peremptory shots of the house. Even if a podcast was out of the question, he could still use the thumbnails for a YouTube recap.

“The house has been fully renovated from the ground up,” the agent explained, waving him through the front door. “The kitchen, I believe, is the standout success. French style, double ovens… does your wife cook?”

“Huh?” Sean peered curiously up the winding staircase. That’s where they found the first body… or body parts, at least. “O-Oh! No, we, uh… we eat a lot of takeout.” He snapped a quick picture of the shadowy landing before following the agent into the belly of the house. “Do you expect to see a lot of locals? I’ve heard stories about this place, and the family that lived here. The Stovalds?” The agent paused, turning on one heel to face him.

“We are only accepting serious buyers at this time.” Was it a trick of the light, or did her eyes flash to the camera in his hands? “Now, the kitchen.”

“Right, right.” He snapped a few obligatory shots of the kitchen, nodding with feigned enthusiasm at her descriptions of the new appliances. She had just finished modeling the walk-in pantry when his patience finally reached the breaking point.

“But you do know about what happened here, don’t you? The Stovald Murders. It was the talk of the papers for weeks… or so my wife says.” Thoroughly irritated, the agent pressed her mouth into a thin line as she studied him over her spectacles.   

“I’m sure your wife would much rather hear about the house she’d like to purchase, Mr. Masters.”

“If you only knew! She’s a real true crime nut, my wife—” Sean paused in the corridor as her words sank in. “How did—? I haven’t told you my name.” The agent let out a low chuckle.

“You really ought to have turned back.” The hair on his neck lifted, heart hammering against his sternum. Sean dropped the camera, bolting for the front door. He was barely three steps from freedom when it seemed that his shoes glued themselves to the floor. With a violent wrench he stopped, crumpling in a heap. The agent passed him calmly, closing the door and locking the deadbolt. She regarded him thoughtfully, her expression caught between amused and annoyed.

“Don’t bother,” she sighed, watching his fingers fumble with his shoelaces. “Even if you manage to free yourself, there’s nowhere to run.”

“Who are you?!” he spat, trying to sound braver than he felt. “Is this some kind of sick prank? What the hell have you done to me?”

“You should be asking what you’ve done to yourself, Mr. Masters.” A wry smile lifted the corner of her painted lips. “At the moment, I’m a real estate agent… but you might say I’m an adjudicator of sorts. My colleagues and I deal mainly in sin, and you have committed several in your short time on this earth. Now, I’m here to collect.”

"What’re you talking about!?" he howled, scanning for something, anything that might be a decent weapon; he lunged as hard as he could for the camera, but it was just beyond reach. "What sins? I haven't killed anyone, or—"

“Let’s see.” The woman squatted next to him; adjusting her glasses, she began to count off on her fingers. “An inflated sense of arrogance, craving what others have, profiting off the misery of victims? Pride, envy, greed… need I go on?”  

“But—But what about others? Why are you doing this to me?!” His gasp ended on a choked sob.  

“Why not you? No sin is greater than another, after all.” She looked him in the eye. “If you must know, a long time ago I took a calculated risk on a fallen angel. You can guess how that ended. But there is something of a loophole… are you familiar with the Christian Bible, by any chance?”

Sean shrank into himself, eyes darting feverishly between her calm smile and the door. Something twisted in his leg as he struggled to free himself: muscle, or tendon? This can’t be happening!

“Yet if thou warn the wicked, and he turn not from his wickedness, nor from his wicked way, he shall die in iniquity,” the agent quoted. “But thou hast delivered thy soul. See? The more unrepentant sinners I claim, the sooner I’ll find myself back in good graces.”

“But you never warned me!” he sobbed, yanking fruitlessly at his leg. “I didn’t know!”

“I told you twice to turn back. It’s not my fault you didn’t listen.” The agent wiped at his tearstained cheeks with a gentle hand. “But don’t worry.”

“You’ll be a household name one day… just like the Stovalds."

[some-little-infamy]

Nostalgic for Disaster

(Read on AO3)

Eddie made a mistake.

Okay, Eddie made a series of mistakes, one terrible choice after another that brought him to this moment, the culmination of a day’s worth of regrets.

The first one was going back to look at the woman from the shop, Kim. The second was talking to her, and the third was flirting with her. The fourth was inviting her to dinner, and the fifth was actually going. He supposes there’s a sixth in there, arguably the worst of them all - ignoring the way that seeing Kim brings back such visceral memories of Shannon.

The longer this dinner goes on, the stronger those flashes of memory become. Sometimes it’s a smile, or the glint of Kim’s eyes. Her mannerisms and speech cadence are completely different, but that doesn’t stop Eddie from latching onto every minute similarity.

The more he does, the more guilty he feels about it - about being here with Kim for all the wrong reasons. He’s in a relationship, one committed enough that they nearly moved in together. And he lied to Christopher and Buck about who he was going out with, more or less. He never said it was with Marisol, but obviously they assumed, and he didn’t correct them.

So Eddie orders a drink with dinner - a strong one. And then a second with appetizers, a third with the entree, and two more before dessert and the check comes.

He isn’t sure he’s getting what he wants out of this. All he’s done is spiral, too busy clinging to a lost past to properly enjoy the conversation he’s having, even if he smiles and laughs in all the right places.

“Do you need a ride home?” Kim asks at the end of the night. Six words and Eddie knows that whatever he thinks he’s doing here isn’t working. She must sense his distance and distraction, or maybe it’s the way his words are starting to slur now, eyes glazing over from the liquor.

He’s about to agree when he thinks through what that would mean. He’s going to need to get his car the next day, which he’d have to explain to Buck when he drops off Christopher… which is if he can even keep Christopher overnight. Eddie only asked about a few hours…

“No. I can…” he trails off, trying to think through the slight haze around his thoughts. “I’ll get a ride.” “I’ll wait with you until it comes,” Kim says. It isn’t a question, and Eddie doesn’t argue, though it limits his options to an uber that he can’t afford (going to a restaurant way outside of town and away from anyone who may recognize him seemed like a good idea at the time), or a favor from a friend who may or may not keep this secret for him.

Well, what’s one more questionable decision to tack onto the list.

Eddie hits two buttons on his phone and waits.

“Tommy? Hey. I need a favor.”

-------------

Tommy pulls up half an hour later, window rolled down, the upper half of his body leaning out the window to chastise Eddie the second he hits the brakes.

“I know the helicopter ride was my idea, but I’m going to have to start charging you if you make a habit out of-” Tommy starts, but trails off seeing the woman standing behind Eddie with her arm around his waist. Tommy doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to - his look says it all.

“Thanks, Tommy,” Eddie manages. He’s starting to sober up a bit, the air from waiting outside helping. “Sorry.”

“I offered to take him home myself but he was very insistent on calling you,” the woman adds, sounding confused, as if she hopes saying it out loud will get an explanation as to why from either of the men.

It doesn’t.

“I’ll, uh, text you later. It was really good to see you Sha… Kim,” Eddie hopes the name slip comes across as nothing more than a drunken stumble.

“Get home safe,” she replies, something safe and noncommittal. Eddie doesn’t blame her. Eddie doesn’t blame anyone other than himself.

Once she’s sure Eddie can manage the walk to the passenger side of Tommy’s car on his own Kim turns to leave, and he wonders if he’ll ever get the chance to see her again.

Eddie gets into the car, buckles, and focuses on a few deep breaths to stop the swirling surroundings once the truck starts moving. They drive in silence for thirty seconds… a full minute… two minutes…

“So,” Tommy starts finally. “You gonna tell me what that was all about?”

“I got too drunk to drive home,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, that bit is pretty obvious. I mean the part where you were on a date with someone who isn’t Marisol.” Tommy keeps his eyes on the road ahead while he speaks, probably more for Eddie’s benefit than his own. “That I’m guessing Evan doesn’t know about since you called me instead of him.”

“Evan’s watching Christopher…” Eddie tries to deflect.

“So Evan knows?” Tommy re-words, not giving Eddie the easy out.

“No,” Eddie admits, turning his head to look out the passenger window. “I’m not cheating, you know. It isn’t like we’re…” “Living together? You were about a week ago, so it isn’t like you two aren’t serious. Too serious to be sneaking around behind her back with another woman, I’m guessing, which is why you felt the need to hide it.”

“I know. It’s also why I ended up drinking my way through dinner,” Eddie sighs. “It was a mistake.”

“Glad you know that,” Tommy says. “If you don’t want to be with her, just tell her. Don’t do… whatever this is. Neither of you deserve that.”

It isn’t judgy. Tommy, bless him, isn’t like that - at least not with Eddie. What Tommy’s good at is being honest in a way that doesn’t pull any punches but also doesn’t deal any low blows.

There’s more silence after that. Eddie doesn’t have a response. He isn’t sure Tommy’s looking for one. They’re a few minutes away from Eddie’s place when Tommy finally talks again.

“What’s your plan for tomorrow?” Tommy asks. When Eddie looks over to him with a rueful half-smile, Tommy sighs. “I’m your plan for tomorrow, aren’t I?”

“Please?” Eddie practically begs. “I’ll pay for gas. You can even stay here for the night, so you don’t have to drive back and forth.”

“I take it that means you don’t plan on telling Evan?” Tommy questions.

Eddie frowns. “Are you going to tell him?” It comes out more pleading than questioning, praying Tommy can keep this one thing from Buck.

“I’m not going to lie to him,” Tommy starts slowly. “But, I won’t offer the information. If he doesn’t ask, I won’t tell.”

Eddie considers arguing the point, but honestly, it’s a better deal than he deserves.

“And what about the ride back?” Eddie asks, feeling like he’s pushing his luck.

“I get the bed,” Tommy replies without hesitation. “And you seriously consider telling Evan about this on your own. He’s your best friend, and you obviously have some things to talk through.”

Eddie sighs. “Deal.”

-------------

Eddie spends half the night sick to his stomach from the alcohol, going back and forth from the sofa to the bathroom at least half a dozen times. If it keeps Tommy up he doesn't say anything about it when he gently shakes Eddie awake at the crack of dawn to go get Eddie's car before it gets towed.

“Thanks again, Tommy. I don't know what came over me yesterday.” It's only a half-lie. Eddie might know what came over him, but he doesn't understand it.

Tommy spares him any further chastising. “Take care of yourself, Eddie,” is all he says before driving off, leaving Eddie with a long car ride back in the morning traffic rush to sit with his own thoughts and the events of the past 24 hours.

He's no better off when he gets to Buck's than he was when Tommy left him.

“Looks like someone had a long night,” Buck greets with a smirk.

“You can say that again,” Eddie mutters, but his frown quickly turns to a grin aa he walks in to the sight of Christopher with whipped cream on the corner of his mouth, a plate of half-eaten waffles in front of him.

“Those look like they're more dessert than breakfast,” Eddie observes, eyeing the chocolate syrup they're slathered with.

“Waffles are breakfast, dad,” Christopher insists, as if this fact is too obvious to be questioned. The ‘duh’ isn't spoken but heavily implied by his tone.

“Of course. Sorry I dared to question you.”

“So I guess not living together is working out for you two,” Buck says, and Eddie tenses. Every word Buck says hits like a punch to the gut at the secret he's keeping and how every word Eddie speaks feels like a lie even when it isn't.

He gets how Buck could only live with the guilt of keeping his own secret for a day before needing to come clean and tell Eddie - this is torture.

It's entirely self-inflicted torture at that. Eddie may believe he deserves it, but Buck certainly doesn't deserve the deceit, especially since he's the one being nice enough to watch Christopher while Eddie is out losing his goddamn mind, apparently.

“Hey Christopher, why don't you play some video games when you're done eating until it's time to go?” Eddie suggests.

Christopher agrees eagerly, rushing his last bites to ensure as much gaming time as possible before Eddie changes his mind.

Buck raises an eyebrow. Eddie nods back towards Buck’s bedroom and the two silently slip away from the distracted Christopher, Eddie shutting the door behind him.

Buck doesn't ask what's wrong, waiting for Eddie to initiate whatever conversation he needs to have here. If only Eddie knew what that was.

He figures he should start with the truth.

“I wasn’t with Marisol.”

Eddie waits, watching Buck absorbing that statement, his face shifting from confusion to worry, eyeing Eddie up and down, his gaze lingering on any exposed skin.

“You're not fighting again, ah, are you?” Buck asks.

“What? No! Of course not,” Eddie reassures him, that potentiality never even crossing his mind.

Buck relaxes for just a second, not bothering to hide the relief that answer gives him.

“Who were you with?” Buck asks. Eddie sees how hard he’s trying to sound neutral, simply curious rather than concerned, though it shows through the cracks all the same. “Her name is Kim,” Eddie says.

“...okay.” Buck says, understanding slowly dawning on him as he processes.

“It was just dinner,” Eddie’s quick to say.

“Was it a date?” Buck asks.

“It was a mistake,” Eddie says, not directly answering Buck’s question. “Nothing happened.”

“But you wanted it to.”

It isn’t a question, and Eddie doesn’t volunteer an answer.

“Why? I know things were rough with the nun stuff, and the moving in, but I thought you two were past that.”

“We were - we are.” “Okay,” Buck starts again slowly. “Then… why?”

A great question, Eddie thinks to himself.

If anyone is going to understand, if anyone is going to get it, it’s Buck. Buck is his best friend. Buck is the person Eddie’s trusted with not only his own life, but Christopher’s. So it seems fitting that he trust Buck with this, too.

“She looks like Shannon,” Eddie says, the confession barely above a whisper.

Buck freezes, sensing the dangerous waters this conversation is entering. “Eddie…” “If I didn’t know any better…” Eddie’s suddenly far away, remembering how it felt to sit across from her at dinner. He’s too distracted by a mixture of mourning and longing to notice Buck’s look shift to proper worry. “Being with her is just… I can’t stay away. I don’t want to stay away. It’s like she never left.”

“But she did, Eddie. She died,” Buck reminds him gently, as if he could ever forget.

Except he can, when he's with Kim. It's like the accident never happened at times.

“I know that. I know it isn’t her… but it’s the closest I’ve felt to her since she left. It’s like… it’s like part of her is still here. Like she never left. ” Eddie hears how desperate he sounds now that he says it out loud, his words laced with an underlying tremor as he speaks. “I don’t want to lose her again.” A tear escapes Eddie’s rapidly blinking eyes, unable to keep down the swell of emotion that rises up with the admission.

“Hey, hey,” Buck says, wrapping an arm around Eddie. “She isn’t Shannon. Whatever feelings you have when you, you're with this woman, they’re from your memories. You haven’t lost them.”

Eddie’s breathing comes short and sharp, and he has to focus very hard to even it back out, staving off his rising panic.

“You can’t keep seeing her just to remember Shannon. It, it isn’t fair to you, or her… or to Marisol,” Buck adds.

Eddie fights the urge to grow defensive, to insist he hasn’t hurt anyone other than himself, but after a moment seems to deflate in on himself. “I know.”

“I know,” Eddie repeats, not sure who he's trying to convince more - Buck, or himself.

[cowgurrrl]

Hi love!

I was thinking of this situation where like rockstar!Joel is jealous/insecure of reader’s love interest in a movie while the reader and the kids laugh about it because Joel doesn’t seem to get that the reader’s love interest is more interested in Joel more than the reader but is a masculine (like maybe Scott Eastwood type, so cowboy and just overall male bravado energy) but Joel gets surprised seeing the love interest shreek at the sight of him asking for a picture and then the reader pokes fun and is like “heavy competition you got right?” and Joel is just blushing like crazy

I took this in a little bit of a different direction, but it's in the same vein!!

Just a Boy

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Summary: Joel struggles with your newest castmate [1.3k]

Warnings: Joel being jealous/insecure, the tiniest bit of spice, I think that's it

When Joel finds out Barrett Trace got cast as your newest love interest in a Western period drama, he's only slightly jealous. Barrett is a 6'5 former University of Alabama baseball player with an insanely charming accent, curly hair, and that comforting Southern hospitality running through his blood. You and Joel have been married for six months when the casting news comes out, and the second he finds out about it, he walks into your office with a worried look on his face. 

"What's up, baby?" You ask, barely looking up from your computer.

"Did you know who else was gonna be cast in On the Western Front?"

"Oh, yeah. Bear came in for a chemistry read about a month ago," you say. "He did really great. I think it's gonna be a fun movie."

"Bear?" He asks, and you finally look up to see him standing there, fiddling with his wedding band, and you smile.

"Joel Miller, are you jealous?" You ask, smirking, and he rolls his eyes.

"No," he grumbles. "Just don't understand why you gotta call him Bear." He says under his breath, and you laugh. You close your laptop and walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Who's name is tacked onto mine?" You ask, and he sighs and wraps his arms around your waist.

"Mine." He says, and you nod. You knew you wanted to hyphenate your name long before you met Joel but worried that whoever you married might not be cool with it. Joel, however, loved the idea and had no problem with your choice not to completely change your name.

"And who did I promise to love no matter what in front of our friends and family in August?" You ask. He doesn't say anything, and you raise your eyebrows at him. 

"Me." 

"And who do I sleep next to every single night despite their awful snoring?"

"Okay, okay, I get it. You don't have to be mean bout it." He says, and you make a face.

"I was talking about Daisy. Not everything is about you, Joel," you joke, but he doesn't laugh. You take a deep breath and play with the curls at the nape of his neck. "I chose you, okay? I'll always choose you. Whatever relationship Barrett and I portray is fictional. It's work. That's all it is. You," you kiss his jaw and down his neck and feel him sigh at the feeling. "You are my husband. My incredibly talented, caring, loving, sexy husband who I get to spend the rest of my life with. There's nothing and no one who could ever change how much I love you." Your teeth scrape against his pulse point, pulling a familiar sound from the back of his throat, and you tug at the hem of his shirt. 

"Are you tryna distract me from the fact that you're gonna pretend to be in love with someone else for the next few months?" He asks, putting a hand on your wrist to stop you.

"Why? Is it working?" You ask, and he whines your name. You lift your head to look at him and those big puppy dog eyes. You sigh and put your hands on his face to show him how serious you are. "I'm your wife. Yours. But I'm also an actor. This is a job, and Barrett is a coworker. When I leave set, I come home to you and our daughters. No one else. You have nothing to worry about, okay? Besides, once you meet Barrett, you'll see he's not a threat."

"Oh, I won't think the six-foot-five cowboy kissin' my wife is a threat?" 

"Nope," you say as you kiss him. He relaxes and pulls you flush against him, his big hands wandering. You reach for his belt buckle and smile when you hear his breath hitch. "D'you need a reminder of how much I want you? Need me to show you that 'm yours?" You ask, and he nods breathlessly as he walks you backward until you fall onto the couch. 

Needless to say, after having his way with you in your office, he feels a little more secure. Once filming starts, you do your best to avoid telling him about what you did that day at work, but people online can't stop talking about how excited they are to see the chemistry between you and Barrett. As soon as he heard it compared to Bridgerton, he cleared his schedule to come to set with you. It didn't matter how often you told him he didn't have to worry. He'd made up his mind, and there was no way to change it. 

"I hope you know how ridiculous this is." You say as he walks beside you on your way to set. 

"Can't I just support my wife while she works?"

"Oh, that's the only reason you're here? It has nothing to do with Barrett?"

"Who?" Joel asks, and you give him a look. You roll your eyes but decide to let him figure it out for himself. Barrett and the director, Maeve, are waiting for you in the middle of the fake town the crew built in the middle of the desert. The second Barrett sees you, he lights up and hugs you once you're close enough.

"Hey! What's goin' on?" He asks, squinting at you from under his cowboy hat, and you smile.

"D'you have a second? I've got someone I want you to meet." You say, and he nods. Together, you start walking over to where Joel is standing, but Barrett stops when he sees who it is.

"Are you shittin' me?" He asks, and you laugh. You grab his hand and half drag him over to where Joel is standing, giggling at the blush that's taken over his cheeks.

"Joel, this is Barrett. Barrett, this is my husband." You introduce them, and Barrett nervously shakes Joel's hand.

"This is so wild. I've been a fan of yours since you started." Barrett says, and Joel smiles half-heartedly.

"Thanks so much. I appreciate that."

"No, thank you. I met my husband at one of your concerts. We absolutely love your music," Barrett says as he flags down an intern who hands him his phone. "Could we actually take a picture? Ty's never gonna believe this." He asks, and Joel complies. You take a picture of them standing beside each other and silently bask in your victory. Barrett thanks you and quickly shoots the picture to his husband before looking at you.

"You ready for today?" 

"Give me just two seconds to talk to Joel, and I'll meet you." You say, and he nods. He shakes Joel's hand again before leaving the two of you to talk. You cross your arms over your chest and smile as Joel stares at you guiltily.

"I'm sorry," he says. "You were right."

"What was that?" You ask, putting a hand to your ear like you didn't hear him. He sighs and rocks on the balls of his feet.

"You were right. I should've listened to you," he says. You step into him, rest your hands on his chest, and peck his lips. "I mean, can you blame me for bein' a little jealous? He's like James fuckin' Dean."

"It doesn't matter what he looks or acts like. You're my husband. No one could ever compare to you, okay?" You say, and he takes a deep breath before nodding. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He leans down to kiss you again, but you pause, refusing to meet him halfway. 

"I need you to believe me when I tell you someone's not a threat because I'm not doing this every project. Got it?" 

"Yes, ma'am." 

[lady-byleth]

top five new job moments!

Ooooooh are you trying to get me go brag??? XD there's are my top 5 but in no particular order because animals

We have a cat that lives in the stables, a stray that just kinda moved in named Katzi (literally just Kitty) who has no teeth and no regard for her life apparently. On my first day she climbed into my arms and refused to get down again until I threatened her with the muck cart. She likes driving in it now though. I have lost.

Was cleaning up two stalls down from Campari and looked up to her just staring at me. She didn't stop until I came over into Alana's and stroked her nose, at which point she farted real loud and walked away satisfied

Cleaned out a stall, carried the last bit of muck out to throw into the cart, turned around and found Katzi just taking a shit on my wonderfully clean straw

Lost sight of Katzi for a bit and went looking for her with the boss. She wasn't in the tack room, she wasn't sleeping on the straw (she does that a lot), she wasn't with the cows or in one of the stalls. Found her in the backroom, on top of some machinery. She was stuck. We got her down and she immediately went to piss on my clean staw again.

Was standing with my back to Mala, putting my gloves on. Mala was NOT inside when I got there. Turned around to have her nose right in my face, borderline flehming. So apparently I smell kinda great to her? She kept sticking her face in my face until the boss brought her outside. Turns out she made the biggest fucking mess I'd ever seen. We think she tried to butter me up before I noticed.

Bonus: sometimes the cows will just start SCREAMING for no reason next door and if you go check on them they all very pointedly don't look at you.

Anyway, it's a fun job and I ache all over xD

This is Katzi, she is the boss and likes to steal food left for the staff in the tack room. Nothing is safe.