#to the point where he had to take his attention away from you for a second. not only that but your attention away from him too

[alchemistc]

Consider this the emotional sibling of the Eddie Makes It Worse series.

"I have thought about it, you know," Eddie says, and Tommy nearly inhales the straw of his stupidly sweet cocktail. That's what he gets for always accepting the drinks Buck decides a sip in aren't to his taste.

Eddie gives him a hearty slap on the back, and continues before Tommy's done more than wheeze.

"I had to recontextualize like, seven years of my life after Buck met you. After you turned him into an insane person and also somehow a teenage girl with her first crush and no control or understanding of her emotions."

Tommy's too busy trying to stretch the knot out of his neck and breathe through his nose to call him out on gendering his comparisons. In his experience, boys are the ones committing violence for attention. Not the point. So not the point, and he breathed half an ounce of vodka on top of that.

"I'm - sorry, what did you have to think about?"

Tommy absolutely knows what he's talking about. Eddie absolutely knows he knows. It's not quite out of left field, but definitely center field facing a righty before the shift got banned.

"About Buck. Me and Buck. Us and our... thing."

The shock of Eddie being introspective about this enough to be able to articulate it is enough to keep him quiet. He's not a dumb man. Far from it. It's just - in Tommy's experience Eddie tends to avoid looking internally with the same fervor you try to avoid latrine duty.

Eddie's watching him. Waiting for a reaction. They've already done this song and dance, so Tommy's not entirely sure what to do with this. What reaction Eddie's looking for.

"Okay?" Tommy prods, and Eddie rolls his eyes like the diva he is.

"Okay so, I'm saying. I am 100% sure I'm very straight. Because after Buck came out I thought about it."

"What are you saying?" That's his uncontrollably bitchy tone, right there. His eyebrows are probably putting in work. Eddie seems...incredibly nonplussed.

"I'm saying I thought about it."

Tommy rewinds. Considers the context that got them here, at the bar top, gathering a round for the table...Russo, Hen and Karen, Evan... Karen had made some offhand comment about Eddie and Evan that had made Eddie's eyes dart to his like he was looking for signs that Tommy was wearing Nike Zooms.

"Sorry, are you taking this opportunity, in this moment, to tell me you're definitely straight because you fantasized about fucking my boyfriend?"

Two stools down, a woman wearing a pair of neon suspenders and steel toe boots flicks her eyes away from them in the mirror over the bar.

Eddie's eye roll is always a marvel to behold, but this one might take the cake as far as disdainful energy rolling off him like an aura goes.

"Yeah, like you were worried about the physical attraction."

"Are you saying there is physical attraction?" What the fuck. What the fuck. Where the hell is he going with this?

"I'm saying we're each other's next of kin and he's in my will and I may be more subtle about it but I'm just as weird about him as he is about me. It's, like, contagious, man."

Tommy has to give him that point. His insanity levels have increased exponentially since meeting Evan Buckley. Realizing that taking the lid off of that actually made them stronger as a couple had really opened things up.

"I was having a nice night," Tommy says, and tries to wrangle this conversation back into some semblance of order. "What, exactly, are you trying to tell me?" Eddie opens his mouth and Tommy has to stop himself from smacking his hand across his lips to prevent him from speaking. He points a finger, instead. "If you say you thought about it, I swear to Christ, Diaz..."

"I think Buck probably had a crush on me when we first met. You know - pulling the pigtails, desperate to know way too much about me, that kind of thing."

Great. Cool. Tommy's feeling really good about where this is going.

"And I think I fucking desperately needed someone to love me, no strings attached. And Buck - he did that. No question. Almost from the jump."

Tommy downs the rest of the cocktail in one go. Yep. Still as bad as he remembered.

"So. After you guys got together, I... added some context. You weren't the only one who thought he was pissed at me for finding a second friend."

"What was your conclusion, exactly?"

"He's my best friend, Tommy. Family, in a way no one else will ever come close to. If he called and asked if I had a shovel, I'd be researching endangered plant species before we even got off the phone."

Getting Eddie into true crime podcasts was a mistake. "Ride or die, yeah, we all know."

"See, I don't think you do, Tommy. I really don't think you do."

If they could get to the point, already, Tommy might not have to gouge his own eye out with the cocktail straw poking temptingly out of the empty glass in front of him.

"Because as much as I care about him, as much as he cares about me - we'd never be what the other needed. I'm too in my own head all the time. He's - way too needy." Tommy wants to contest this assassination of his boyfriends character, but Eddie seems like he might actually be meandering somewhere near the point. "And, yeah, sure, I did once attempt to figure out if I was attracted to him."

Jesus fucking Christ. They're in a bar. They have an audience, at this point, even if it is just the lesbian couple two stools over and the bartender who's either needs to tap a new keg or learn how to pour without creating a drink that's mostly head.

"My point is the only reason you should be concerned about me is if you ever piss Buck off bad enough for him to need an alibi."

The words come out before he's had time to filter them through his brain. "Did you get off?"

Yeah. The cocktail was mostly vodka, but there's no way in hell he can blame that entirely on alcohol. He'd had a wallowing jack-off or two featuring more than just Evan, in the months he'd drive past Evan's loft hoping for some rain and for Sia to organically pop up on his Spotify station.

Eddie slides a shot of tequila in Tommy's direction. He doesn't remember ordering those. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Edmundo."

"Thomathan."

Tommy takes the shot without bothering to cheers him. He doesn't deserve the time it would take for his mouth to form the "Salute". Hell, he's not even worthy of a "Cin Cin", not with his face doing whatever it's doing right now.

"Tell Buck he's welcome from me," Eddie says, and before Tommy can do much more than blink he's gathering up all but Tommy and Evan's drinks to take them back to their table.

This feels like a mind game. He isn't sure whether he's meant to be grateful, or murderous. Two stools down, Suspenders swivels to stare at him. "You look like you just got slapped in the face with a fish," she says. The bartender eyes him like she might be thinking of pouring him another shot.

"Hi," Evan says, directly into his ear, and Tommy jolts. "Eddie said you were right behind him. Did your arms stop working?"

"Just his brain, honey," Suspenders chimes in. The woman to her left titters into her hand.

"Give it to me straight," Tommy says, and Suspenders snorts into her drink. "Has Eddie told you about his Thinking About It process?"

"Oh, with the trying to picture enjoying me naked?"

Tommy pinches his nose and makes a valiant effort to ignore the hand slapping down on the bar top to his left, the canned attempt at hiding a choked laugh. "Sure. That. Normal best friend things."

"If it makes you feel any better, I think I got even less enjoyment out of it than he did."

Suspenders wheezes.

"You did it together?"

"Gross, Tommy."

"Oh, sure, I'm the one reacting weirdly to this."

"If it makes you feel any better, we were broken up. And the only reason I even thought of it was - you know. Tech- technically your fault. You were the one wining and dining my straight best friend while I was trying to get your attention."

Suspenders girlfriend is having a conveniently timed coughing fit.

"Am I having a stroke?" Tommy asks, but it comes out perfectly coherent, so knock that off the list.

"Do you wanna go home?" Evan has the ability to switch moods on a dime. Tommy's really never seen someone so good at it. "I can settle the tab. I - are you okay? Do you need - water, or - " he's reaching for a stool " - or we can sit."

Tommy's been resistant to being taken care of since he can remember. There's something to the way Evan approaches it - purposeful, the opposite of effortless - that makes Tommy want to crumble like a house of cards. He snags Evan's wrist in his hand. "Evan."

As usual, that's all it takes to still him, for a moment. The cheeks rise, the dimples grow more prominent, his eyes alight on Tommy's like he's seeing something worth looking at.

"I love you. Your best friend is insane and you're half a step behind him, and I love you."

It's not the first time. Thank fuck, that would be a terrible way to drop that bomb. But it's still new enough not to be casual. New enough to make Evan's cheeks burn a rosy pink.

Evan smirks. "You wanna get out of here?"

He'd been enjoying a conversation with Karen, twenty minutes ago, but he doubts he'd be able to form a single coherent thought anymore. The green demon he's kept under wraps for forever now has somehow both gone dormant and is currently trying to convince him to toss Evan over his shoulder and make a break for it.

Tommy makes eye contact with the bartender. Raps his knuckles against the bar top.

Evan's grin goes a little feral.

[clarkeysbedchem]

slip ups

george clarke x fem reader

summary: you and George have been hiding your relationship from the internet but there’s been a few slips along the way before George finally bites the bullet.

masterlist | main masterlist

At first, your appearances were barely noticeable—just subtle background moments that, if you blinked, you'd miss. You and George had been officially together for just over eight months, having been talking for just under a year. So, when you started spending more time at his flat, it was only a matter of time before your presence began to be noticed.

Example A: In George’s one-shot-every-minute Halloween video with all his friends, you could be spotted for a split second, helping Arthur Hill get a bowl of water for the apple-bobbing challenge.

Arthur stumbled into the kitchen, half-blind from his ghost-face mask, rustling around in the cupboards. You were sitting on the sofa in the living room, watching the five boys with amusement when George nodded toward Arthur, “Help him, will you?”

You laughed softly and got up to join him in the kitchen. Kneeling down, you grabbed a saucepan big enough for their heads and held it up just as the camera turned to you. “I’ve never been in this kitchen before. I don’t know where the bowls are,” arthur joked, in a terrible attempt at the Ghostface voice - one that was slowly slipping into a Donald Trump impression.

The boys laughed, and the camera panned back to them as you stood up, filled the saucepan with water, and dropped the apples in. You carried it over to the table for them, prompting a drunken ArthurTV to laugh, “What a great assistant you have, George!”

You flipped him off with a laugh before taking your seat back on the sofa.

Example B: At George, Chris, and Arthur’s annual New Year's party, the fans a new girl made a random appearance.

You had been featured in a few of Florence’s TikTok’s and Youtube videos over the years so that lead the fans away from assuming you were dating any of the boys. But being pictured near George? That was new. Still, it apparently wasn’t enough to make fans speculate anything.

You were sitting on the sofa, squashed between your boyfriend and the back of the couch, while a particularly drunk Chip sat next to you, yelling over the music.

“You two make a good-looking couple, you know?” he slurred, taking a long sip of his drink. You and George both laughed, “Like you’d have gorgeous kids. Nice hair and eyes.”

“Oi, Chip!” Isaac yelled grabbing his attention, pointing his phone at him, the flash blinding him.

The two boys burst into laughter, and Isaac posted the video to his TikTok without a second thought. He didn’t realize that in the background, you could be seen with your legs draped over George’s.

The fans brushed it off, too busy laughing at Chip’s antics to notice that George was clearly cozy with someone – a few of them saying it wasn’t even George in the background.

But when Liv and Sabina posted photos the next day and you appeared in them, fans started matching the tattoo on your wrist to the one in the Halloween video, some of them started to get a little suspicious.

Then George started streaming on Twitch and you both knew it would be harder to stay in your secret bubble. Still, you were okay with it.

The biggest giveaway of your presence in his life happened during one of George’s casual streams where he had no set plan - just chatting with the fans while scrolling through ‘Private Clarking,’ laughing at some of the ridiculous tweets people were posting.

“Anyone else think it’s weird he has a willy?” George read aloud from the chat, making you snort from the bed off-camera, “What the hell does that mean?”

You laughed louder at his confused, defensive tone, which made him smile and glance over at you. His eyes flicked back to the chat as it suddenly flooded with question marks about the mysterious laughter in the background. But George didn’t acknowledge it; he just kept scrolling through Twitter.

His eyes landed on a poorly photoshopped picture of him. He opened it full screen, let out a sigh, and spun in his chair to face you, pouting.

“You’re such a drama queen,” you muttered, teasing him, but loud enough for the chat to hear.

George froze, not expecting you to speak. His mouth opened in shock, blinking like he’d been hit. He quickly spun back around in his chair, shaking his head with a shy laugh, “Ignore that,” he mumbled, reaching to mute his mic immediately.

He walked over to you, pulled you to the edge of the bed, and you let out a surprised yelp before laughing at his stunned face, “They’re gonna go mental,” he muttered, referring to his chat.

You shrugged, “So?”

Instead of replying, George cupped your face in his hands, pulling you in for a sweet kiss before returning to his stream, red-cheeked and smiling like nothing had happened.

That’s when the fans finally started to catch on. Not completely, but the seeds had been planted.

The moment it all blew up came during a podcast episode. George and Max had shown up for a recording, and you were off-camera as usual, sitting with Calum, Andrew, and Maisie. The boys were deep into one of their random tangents while Calum tried his best to steer them in a more normal direction.

But Max was in top form as he leaned back in his chair, smirking, “So, George, important question, because I’ve been seeing it all over TikTok,” Max began, “Do you have a new flatmate?”

George blinked, confused, and you slapped your hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter, “What are you talking about?”

Max grinned, “You know, the mysterious giggling, the random arm that keeps popping in and out of videos. There’s some off-camera entity in your flat. So, either a new flatmate, or a ghost.”

George sputtered on his drink, laughing nervously, “We’re not doing this,” he mumbled, eyes darting off-camera toward you.

“Oh, so we are.”

And that’s when the fans started losing it.

Old clips from nearly a year ago – from both your socials - were being shared all over social media, edits popping up within hours of the podcast dropping.

Slow zooms on George’s reactions, dramatic music, and screenshots of every moment you were half-visible. Stan Twitter threads started mapping every single appearance you’d made, complete with timestamps, and even theories about who you were - some of which were surprisingly close to the truth.

You had officially been dubbed “The Mystery Girl” by fans, even though many of them already knew who you were and followed your channel.

But with the love came the hate. Some people started sending you hate and threats, even though they didn’t know who you were. You swore it didn’t bother you - but it definitely bothered George. He did everything in his power to protect you, even posting a long message on his story and a stream where he ranted for an hour defending you.

And, of course, then there were the theories. Some fans swore you were just friends, others thought it was a PR stunt to boost George’s subscriber count, which made him laugh and turn it into a running joke.

George never expected to do a ‘hard launch’ to be honest, he thought they were a bit cringe. But there he was, at 1 a.m., having just finished a stream, with you asleep beside him, one arm flopped across his chest, the other tucked under your cheek.

His mind was racing, replaying all the questions he’d dodged during the stream. Almost every question in his life had become “Who is George’s girlfriend?” And yet here you were, peacefully curled up next to him, blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil your boyfriend was experiencing.

He exhaled slowly, brushing his thumb across your knuckles.

He could just keep denying it - say you were just a friend, a flatmate, or claim Max was joking. But the fandom wasn’t buying it anymore. They had screenshots, edits, and the timeline down to a tee.

And you weren’t a secret he wanted to keep. He wanted to show you off, share moments of you on his social media, involve you in his videos. He wanted you more than anything.

He carefully reached over for his nightstand, making sure not to disturb you, and opened his phone, staring at his camera roll for a moment before tapping on his favorite photo of you.

It was from the recent ski trip to Lapland: you smiling at the camera while George leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek. It was his favorite photo from the whole trip, and he hadn’t been able to share it anywhere.

He posted it without hesitation, tagging you and adding a simple red heart emoji.

Then, in a panic, he tossed his phone across the bed, “What did you just do?” you mumbled, curling closer into him, your voice groggy from sleep.

He pulled you close, hiding his face in your hair, “Ruined my life.”

“Okay, but did you post the one where I look cute?”

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your head. “Obviously.”

“Then I think you’ll survive.”

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chrismd10 thank god abt time 🙄

arthurnfhill brilliant now i dont have to keep lying

userone THIS IS TOO CUTE 😭😭

usertwo shes so pretty i cant 🥰

bambinobecky those 🫵 are my parents

italianbach this is so cute dafaq

userthree she’s not what i imagined him to be with icl

┃usertwo good think nobody asked

arthurtv ah its my favourite assistant 🙂‍↕️

userfour she definitely timed this with her channel blowing up, don’t be blind

taglist: @jamiekluivert @reidyourpalms @roc-haze @whisperturnedecho @graceln4 @dopeysunflowers @super-gay-for-u @bethorwhateverr @livvymd @lilyyxoii @4ngelrealm @kiyoomology @canyouseethesainz

[viperify]

AU | ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⁺ ⚕₊ In His Fangs.

Short Summary: Curiosity killed the cat. Yet, you don’t really believe Tom Riddle is dead. Not when rumours spread he has returned as a vampire to claim the immortality he has always sought for…

Warnings: 18+ only! NONCON. blood kink, biting, branding, choking, creampie, clit play, degradation, forced orgasm, hair pulling, impact play, overstimulation, rough sex, slight cum play

A/N: I am scared of myself.

wordcount: 2,9k

Mind the warnings before reading. If you are not comfortable, feel free to scroll. <3

Curiosity killed the cat—or so they say.

Rumours caught your attention. Rumours that Tom Riddle—believed to be dead—had sacrificed everything to gain immortality, returning as a vampire.

People didn’t believe it. Nobody did. They were rumours after all, rumours someone spread deliberately—with the intention to scare the general public.

Tom Riddle, Voldemort—he was dead. Killed by the Ministry right before he could create his third Horcrux. Students, teachers, some of his followers—they all witnessed his death.

He would never return.

Never.

Right?

You tried to believe it.

For so long, you tried to forget the conversation you overheard in the Three Broomsticks. Just a drunk old man blabbering about an attack on his livestock—unusual really. The animal wasn’t killed for its flesh. But its body was completely drained of blood. Various detection spells showed no results, diagnostics failed. Until some old, wise witch found something—a vampire’s bite, hidden under dark, dark magic.

That’s how it all started.

And it fit too—the timeline was perfect. Weeks after Tom’s supposed death. Just a mere month after, more and more animals were killed in the exact same way, the bite always hidden by dark magic so it would be insanely difficult to discover and place. But never humans—no single human died. Which, in the end, calmed the public down. Rumours steadily disappearing from people’s conversations at the bar. Just another vampire, passing by the Scottish Highlands—feeding on animals—after all, feeding on humans, let alone killing them, was strictly forbidden by the Ministry.

But you felt it. There was more behind the story. Something that made you shudder each time you only looked in the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

And yet, you felt a strange pull towards it.

—

You have been restless for days. Total lunar eclipse, they say—better known as blood moon.

You can’t sleep. Can’t rest, can’t nap. The closer to a full moon, the worse it gets. To the point where you decide to go for a walk in the evening, to take your mind off things.

Originally, you didn’t intend to go into the forest, not really. But then, when you see a rare potion ingredient right at the edges of the woods—you rethink. After a brief moment of hesitation, you decide to collect it, putting it in a tote bag you have brought with you. As you look back up, you see it.

There are more, scattered around just a little further away—

Just a little deeper in the forest—

At some point, your bag is full. Potion ingredients that are so rare, if you sold your bag, you could probably afford a home for yourself.

You must have gotten really, really lucky, you think.

It’s getting darker and darker, the sun disappearing behind the horizon. You shudder when a chilly breeze brushes past you and finally decide to leave the forest.

Looking around you, you try to find the exit. This tree, that rock—you don’t exactly remember where you came from. But it couldn’t be that far.

Right?

You decide to turn around and just walk in a straight line, figuring that would be the fastest way to find the exit of the Forbidden Forest.

However, after 15 minutes of walking, you return to the same spot you left off at. There was no way you walked in a circle, but yet here you were—exactly where you started.

You try again.

Same outcome.

Your heartbeat races—you want to leave. It’s dark by now, and mindlessly wandering through the forest at night time, during a full moon, when there are possibly still vampires around—is not something you are keen on doing.

You shriek at a sudden movement, a soft crack of a branch somewhere behind you—but when you turn—there is nothing.

Then, a low growl to your left—

And your legs react faster than your brain. By the time you reach a small bush, somewhere to hide under, you are completely out of breath.

You listen intently for any strange sounds, try to control your breathing—when you see it.

A small hut, not far away.

Looking left and right, you slowly make your way towards the wooden structure, entering in one swift movement, closing the door behind you. For a moment you let yourself rest against the wall, inhaling deeply. It’s quite cold in here, the scent of mossy wood flooding your senses, the rough wood scraping against your arms. But it’s silent. Calm. Dark. And for the first time since you entered the forest—

Safety.

Or so you think.

“You came for me. I knew you would. Stupid, stupid girl.”

Your heart skips a beat, head turning in the direction of an all-too-familiar voice—

It’s too dark to make out more than a faint outline of the person next to you—besides their scarlet eyes directly burning down into yours.

His voice, his eyes, his height.

Tom Riddle. Now, a vampire.

One hand firmly wraps around your throat before you can even think about running, pushing you up against the wooden panelling. Squeezing tightly enough you can barely fucking breathe.

“Let— me go!” You rasp, the last bit of air left in your lungs wasted on words you know will do nothing to help your situation. Oh, no—not until he’s gotten what he’s wanted. What he has been after ever since he turned. Your blood. Only yours. Animals, in the meanwhile, merely acting as a substitution—he wanted you.

“Too late.” He says, fingers pressing down even harder on the side of your throat. “I have always thought you were a smart girl, but clearly I am mistaken. Falling for a trap this obvious.”

The last few words fade into a blur, your brain too deprived of oxygen to function. Just as your vision goes black at the edges, his hand leaves your throat. Without him firmly pressing you against the wall, your knees give in, having you drop to the floor, gasping for air.

He doesn’t wait for you to recover—instantly bending down, grabbing a fistful of your hair just to forcefully yank your head backwards. Forcing you to look into his eyes again.

“So the rumours are true,” you whisper, trying to back up—but his grip is too strong. “It was you all along.”

He merely grants you a nod. “It was the only way. I wanted to avenge myself—wanted to find the someone whose fault this all is.”

His expression is unreadable as he looks down at you—a brief flash behind his eyes—almost predatory.

Your breath catches in your throat. Fuck.

“Quite curious, isn’t it? The very person that found out about my plans, getting me murdered in consequence—is the one’s blood I crave most.”

And then he smirks, subtle but dangerous. The red moon, now at its highest on the pitch-black horizon, casts a shadow on his sharp features through the window.

“Tom, I didn’t—“

His palm comes down on your cheek. Hard.

“If you want to live, you should act accordingly. No more lies. You will obey my every command. And I might just let you leave afterwards.” He says, thumb softly wiping over where he struck you. “If you are a very, very good girl, that is.”

You swallow. He set up a trap, and you walked into it, thanking him even. Served yourself on a silver plate. You curse yourself for it.

Tears well up in your eyes. “I will do anything you ask. Please just don’t— kill me.”

His eyes glow at your response. Just how he’s wanted you. Pliant. Obedient. Helpless.

He’d taken in your unique scent from miles away. He’d felt the racing heartbeat in your chest—pumping your sweet, sweet blood through your body as you panicked while looking for an exit. Tom merely had to wait for sunset to get to you then.

Back at Hogwarts he secretly admired you for your intelligence—though you were never smarter than him, not even now.

“Anything, you say?” He purrs, pulling you to your feet by your hair, so you are mere inches from his face. He still looks the same as he did in school. This beautiful, dark hair, sharp jawline, perfect height. You nod, carefully.

“Strip.”

His voice is rough, demanding—not giving you any space or option to complain. You can’t say no, and you know it. You try to keep your breathing steady—however, when you feel his gaze dropping, hand coming to rest on your neck, thumb deliberately caressing along your most prominent neck vein—you can’t help but inhale sharply, followed by a shaky whimper.

“We are alone in this forest, just you and me.” He drawls, pressing down on your pulse point, brows furrowing as he feels your heightened heartbeat under his finger. You are warm. So deliciously warm, he thinks.

His hot breath ghosts over your cheek as he leans in closer—dangerously close. Uncomfortably close. “I could drain you right here. And nobody would notice.”

That’s it. Any sane thoughts are ripped from your mind, and you start sobbing.

“Shhh.” He soothes, a condescending grin decorating his face, the rough pad of his thumb wiping a freshly spilled tear from your cheek. “I am not going to hurt you. Not more than necessary.”

You nod again, wiping a tear from your face.

“Now do as I said. When you are done, bend over the table.”

With a flick of his fingers a few candles light up, illuminating your body as you undress piece by piece. All while he watches you intently, hungry eyes roaming over your bare skin.

You take a deep breath before you turn around, bending over said table in the middle of the small room, the rough edge digging into your hip bones.

The sound of his clothes dropping to the floor is the only thing that breaks the silence between the both you, and a mere minute later, he’s behind you. Cock pressing against your thigh, hard and heavy—a bead of precum leaking from the tip. But he waits, lingers there—thumb trailing along your spine—hand coming to a rest on your hip before two of his fingers push inside, working you open for him. You gasp at the feeling—hips meeting his thrusts.

Tom instantly halts inside of you, other hand smacking your ass so hard it must tingle on his own skin.

“This is supposed to be a punishment. Yet here you are, bucking your hips like a whore. Stop that.”

His words sting. But he isn’t wrong—not entirely. As messed up as the situation is, you can’t help but whimper at his touch—how he already knows every single spot that makes you whine and moan. You hate him, you really do—but Merlin— there is something about him like this that makes heat pool in your lower stomach—and as much as you want to deny it, you can’t.

And he notices, of course he does. Quickly withdrawing his fingers, turning you around and helping you up on the table, immediately pushing you down on it. His hand wraps around his cock, stroking himself before he swipes through your soaked folds once, twice, maybe three times—groaning as your arousal coats the head of his cock—and then he pushes inside. Not slowly. Not carefully. No time to adjust. No stopping—never stopping. Until he is fully hilted inside you.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream—the stretch close to unbearable—but he doesn’t grant you much time to think about it. One second later he’s already moving, hips snapping against yours—so hard it has your body moving up the table, and he has to pull you back down.

And then, with one swift movement, his head dips, breath hot against your skin before his tongue laps over your pulse point. Slowly, teasingly, until your breathing slows—and then, without further warning, his fangs sink deep into the flesh of your exposed neck. Blood wells from the wound, dripping down your chest, drying on your skin.

The pain is sharp, blinding—you want to scream, cry—but the sound gets caught in your throat. It’s not until a few seconds later that the sting eases—replaced by something almost pleasurable—something that eases the burning ache between your legs. Suddenly you feel the heat of his bite coursing through you—and what it’s doing to you is on the verge of embarrassing. It makes you want him—want him like you have never wanted anyone else before.

“Already loosening up for me. All it takes is a bite.” He drawls against your skin, crimson staining his lips. His grip on your waist tightens, preventing you from moving up the surface of the table as he thrusts harder, deeper.

You breathe shakily as he continues feeding on you, all while mercilessly pushing into you—hitting all the right spots, too. It’s all too much. His bite, the blood loss, the way he splits you apart so perfectly. Soft whimpers spill over your lips as your mind grows hazy—maybe from his fangs sunken deep in your neck, though more likely from your quickly building orgasm.

You don’t want to give it to him. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

But he knows, he knows what you are capable of—what he makes you feel. What he will make you feel.

Tom continues feeding until he’s satisfied, groaning, sighing against your neck—continues draining you until you are on the verge of passing out.

You are so, so close. So close to shattering around him. You shake your head no, tears welling up as he meets your eyes, feeling your walls flutter around him.

And he—merely grins.

“So close, aren’t you? Trying to keep it from me, I see. But that’s not how we play, sweetheart.”

His hand travels down your body, thumb finding your swollen, aching clit. Rubbing tight, delicious circles until your hips buck and tears stream freely down your cheeks. Until your voice is hoarse from whining and moaning. Until you can’t hold it anymore, and you finally, finally let go around him. His hand wraps around your throat as your walls clamp down tightly around him, as your mind is stripped of the last bits of sanity you had left. Thighs trembling violently around him as your orgasm hits you like a freight train. And you can do nothing but take it.

“Fuck— squeezing me like a vice. Going to ruin you. Ruin you for everyone else.”

And with that, his hips stutter against yours, a low groan falling over his lips as he thrusts all the way in, brushing against your cervix one last time before he spills deep inside of you, coating your walls with his release. But he isn’t done—doesn’t stop thrusting, forcing his cum deeper, not until you are whining in overstimulation.

“Please, no more, Tom— can’t take it.” You whimper, hand closing around his wrist.

“Oh, but you can, and will. You will take it until I am satisfied, and you aren’t leaving a second earlier.”

He keeps going until you are limp beneath him, so full of him you’ll be dripping for days to come. Keeps going until he is satisfied, until he’s wrung out every last drop of pleasure from your body.

Because after all, you agreed to it.

Anything, you said. Anything so he would let you live.

Anything.

Right?

Only when your sobs fade, exhaustion taking over, does he pull out, slowly, making you feel every inch of him.

He helps you up then, hands now carrying a subtle gentleness to them. Tom holds your head in place as he inspects your wounds, kisses your tears away. His eyes too have softened, the once scarlet red irises now a darker shade of red, almost brown.

“You did well. Took me like a good girl until the end. I reckon you have earned your life.”

He’s used you. Fed on you. Nearly broken you. Bitten you in a way you’d stay pliant for him.

You dress yourself. Still sobbing, fresh tears staining your cheeks. You don’t look back as you walk to the door to leave.

But before you get to do so, a hiss slips out instead—a sudden, burning pain radiating from right under your collarbone.

Looking down, you see three bright red letters appearing on your skin, drops of blood spilling from them.

T M R

“What the—“ you gasp, softly wiping the blood away before you look back up, meeting Tom’s expression—closed, with a hint of pride. He takes a step closer, gaze fixated on his work on your skin.

“Means you are mine.” He explains, reaching out to wipe over the letters, earning a sharp hiss from you.

“Means I will find you. Anywhere. In every last secluded part of this world, I will always find you. Because you are now bound to me. Bound by blood. You are mine, until death does us part.”

Horror washes over you at the realization.

“And I am certain a smart girl like you knows— a vampire lives forever.”

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | AUs.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

a huge thank you to my sweet girl @juliet-017 for listening to me yap and complain about this fic - just for me to come up with a whole new plot anyway.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

One of the mind-only fics I’ve had rolling around in my head is kinda similar to the Strays AU, but whatever, might as well.

Reader is Akainu’s kid and by some series of misadventures ends up being collected by Whitebeard. Kinda shifts between whether the Reader is a marine like their dad wants them to be, or if they ran away because they don’t like their dad. I typically imagine them as an older teenager, but I guess it doesn’t matter.

Maybe a bit much on detail, but if they ran away, Akainu reports them as missing, either because he won’t publicly admit that his child ran away, or he’s delusional and doesn’t realize how much they hate him, so marines are actively searching for them and when they show up with Whitebeard people think that the pirates kidnapped them, (which may or may not be true, not like the old man wouldn’t).

Breaking Point

Whitebeard Pirates x Teen GN Reader

3.6k words

Summary: An espionage mission gives you the perfect cover to get away from your Admiral father and the life he forced you into. Everything seems to be going according to plan until some pirates corner you.

Warnings: unhealthy parent-child relationship, akainu being akainu, reader being in a terrible mental state, hopelessness, suicide attempt, blood, drugging

I did tweak the prompt a little bit, so I hope you don't mind. I also hope you aren't opposed to darker themes. If it bothers you, I'll write an alternate version of the scene where the reader snaps.

Clothes? Check. First aid kit? Check. Matches and firestarter? Check. Food and water? Check. Hygiene supplies? Check. Emergency shelter? Check. Money? Check.

Looks like you’re all set. Time to head out.

With your backpack slung over your shoulder, you march out of the barracks so you can begin your mission. At least, that’s what everyone thinks you’re doing. You’ll let them keep believing that.

A sharp call of your name brings you to a halt, and you instinctively stand at attention. The empty halls allow for the sound of his footsteps to echo all around you. It’s debatable which is louder. The Admiral’s footsteps, or your own heartbeat. 

Akainu comes to a stop in front of you, glowering down at your form. His piercing eyes scrutinize your appearance. Instead of your usual uniform, you’re in civilian clothing for the mission. Spying in a Marine’s uniform would obviously not go well.

“At ease.” You relax your posture at his command. “I trust that you don’t need any further briefing on your mission?”

“No, sir.” Despite the man in front of you being your biological father, this is the only way you referred to him. Both in and out of work. “I understand the assignment in full.”

“As you should. I expect you to come back with results.”

“I will, sir.”

The Admiral stares at you a moment longer, then nods sharply, “You are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.” With that, you take your leave, stepping down the halls of the base to leave. Just as you’re about to pass the threshold, you hear your name spoken again.

Akainu’s expression is as terse as ever as he stares a hole into you. He then sighs and turns away, “Don’t disappoint me.”

Of course those are his last words to you. Resentment twists inside you like a knife. Fuck this. You can’t wait to never have to see this bastard’s face again. You don’t respond to him, and you know that he doesn’t expect you to.

You march out of the base and toward the docks where a privateer vessel is waiting for you. It was a small, inboard paddlewheeler with an enclosed helm that doubled as a sleeping quarters. A nice ship. Shame you’re going to have to ditch it soon.

“(Y/N)!” There was a call of your name yet again, but this time it didn’t leave you in a worse mood for it. Koby sets down a couple of boxes of provisions on the boat, then leaps onto the docks, “We’ve got her all ready to go!”

A wisp of a smile graces your typically stern features, “Thanks, Koby. I appreciate it.”

“Hey!” Helmeppo jumps from the ship to the docks as well, landing with noticeably less grace than the former, “I- whoa- I helped too, don’t give him all the credit!”

His moody outburst makes you chuckle. Almost no one dared to speak to you in such a way given who your “father” is. You’ll miss these two. “Sorry, sorry. Thank you, Helmeppo. The Marines would be lost without you.” The new recruit beamed with pride, seemingly not picking up on the sarcasm. 

Koby was looking at you with awe. He’d never once tried to hide his admiration for your strength and rank, and he wasn’t about to start now. “It’s amazing that you get to go on a solo mission! I can’t wait until we get to do something like this!”

Helmeppo has a whole body reaction to the statement, recoiling away from his comrade as if the very words would harm him, “Speak for yourself! Did you miss the part about them having to spy on Red Haired Shanks?!”

“I know! Imagine being entrusted to go after an Emperor!” Koby’s eyes had turned to stars as he fantasized about his own missions some day resembling yours. 

“I’d rather imagine literally anything else.” Helmeppo shudders at the thought, “I mean, really? Why are they sending some kid to do this? Shouldn’t an Admiral like your dad be taking on missions of this caliber?”

Hearing Akainu getting referred to in such a cozy term of endearment makes you want to punch Helmeppo in the face, but you refrain. Barely. Hoping that your schooled expression doesn’t bely your true emotions, you answer him curtly, “Because they need to send someone that won’t be instantly identifiable. Do you think there’s a single pirate in the world that wouldn’t recognize an Admiral immediately?”

“I guess that’s true, but it’s still kinda messed up to be sending a kid. There are plenty of no-name Marines that are actually adults. I don’t see why they’re sacrificing you.”

Okay, the twenty questions game was starting to get old. You wanted to get out of here, not linger and explain your mission in excessive detail to a newbie. If you don’t leave soon, you run the risk of Akainu coming over here and asking what the delay is. You shoulder past the two recruits and leap onto the boat, “I’m not a sacrifice. The rank of Commodore wasn’t handed to me, I earned it. I’ve been trained for this for as long as I can remember.”

Koby ducked down to untie your boat with haste, then tossed the rope to you. He’s still starry eyed, and waves excitedly at you as your boat begins to drift away, “Good luck! I can’t wait to hear about everything when you’re back!”

Instead of answering, you just hit him with the good old smile and nod maneuver, then slip inside the cabin. You won’t be back. Never. You’d rather die than ever set foot on a Marine base again.

—

Several weeks have passed since your departure and covert runaway. At this point, they still believe you to be on assignment, and if everything continues as planned, it should be several months until your absence becomes known. Due to the high risk nature of spying on an Emperor, there would be zero communications until you got back. Sengoku wasn’t willing to risk you being found out if the Red Haired Pirates had a black transponder snail on them. Not only would it jeopardize your safety seeing as that you were alone and didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell against an Emperor’s crew, but the discovery would likely make them much harder to tail going forward since they would now know to be wary of this tactic.

Of course, you were nowhere near where that crew had been sighted lurking about. Your end goal was to get out of the Grand Line entirely and start life anew on some remote island where no one would ever think to look for you. Ideally, you would be assumed dead. Killed in action while stalking a predator you had no hopes against. 

If anyone knew you were still alive and just deserted the marines… Well, you’ve seen what Akainu does to people like that, and you aren’t naive enough to think that you’ll get special treatment because you’re his child. If anything, that would incentivize him more to make an example out of you. To prove that he would never go easy on anyone.

All in the name of his precious Absolute Justice. 

Currently, your biggest hurdle was the calm belt. Even if you hadn’t ditched- and burned- your original vessel, it would have done little to help you cross it. Sure, the absence of wind and ocean currents wouldn’t have slowed it down, but its wooden structure never would have stood a chance against the dense population of sea kings lurking in the depths of that part of the sea.

What you needed was something sturdy and fast. A high powered engine in a preferably metal boat that could take a few hits if need be. On top of that, you needed some weapons to assist you in fending off the beasts. As powerful as you were, even you could only do so much against the likes of such a creature.

Despite all of the risks, you feel relatively confident in your plan. All that you need to do is make it at least halfway through. After that, you think you’ll be able to fly the rest of the way out or at least island hop to the North Blue. Of course, you being a zoan devil fruit user came with risks, but hopefully the fear of drowning if your wings grow too tired will motivate you to persevere through exhaustion.

As long as you can pull this off, and do so without calling attention to yourself, you’ll finally have the freedom you’ve yearned after for so long. It’s so close that you can taste it.

“Commodore (Y/N)! Fancy seeing you here.”

W h a t ?

Once hot blood runs cold as ice through your veins. Who the fuck said that? You slowly turn your head to look over your shoulder to see who just recognized you. This could ruin everything. You can’t risk a sighting. You’ll have to kill whoever saw you.

“Whoa! If looks could kill, I don’t think I’d survive that one!” The man laughs and jumps down from the rooftop he’d been perched upon. Oh, fuck. That’s Fire Fist Ace. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

Another person drops down in front of you, prompting you to whip your head back around only to see Marco the Phoenix blocking the other exit to this alleyway. Oh, this couldn’t get any worse! What’s next?! Is fucking Whitebeard himself going to appear, too?!

More Whitebeard Pirates filter into the alley, but Ace and Marco appear to be the only big name members here. Your hands clench into fists at your sides, “What the fuck do you want from me?”

Marco holds up his hands in a placating manner, though it’s anything but. “Nothing much,” he steps closer, “I promise that none of us want to hurt you, but we’re in a bit of a bind.”

“And? How’s that my problem?”

“We need to pick up some medicine for pops, but the only island that has enough of it right now has a Marine base on it. This medicine is really important, we can’t risk it getting destroyed in an attack, so that’s where you come in. In order to guarantee its safety, we’ll let them know that we have an Admiral’s kid in our custody, and that you won’t be released unless we get what we need.” Marco smirks, “Now are you going to make this easy or difficult? Because I can promise you, you’re coming with us whether you like it or not.”

No. No, no, no, no, no, no! This isn’t happening! This can’t be fucking happening! You were so close, and now everything is going to be ruined because of some fucking pirates! Your hands are shaking- no, your whole body is! Your heart is pounding, adrenaline is spiking, your nerves are on fire. No. You aren’t about to give up and let them take you and ruin your life.

“No… you can’t do this to me.” You shake your head and meet Marco’s lax eyes, “I won’t let you!”

In a split second, your arms transform into wings, and you shoot yourself up into the air. Your legs turn next, shifting into clawed talons that you use to send an attack at Fire Fist and the people clustered around him. Everyone but him dives out of the way as the strike slashes through the cobblestones and walls. Ace tanks the hit directly, but all it does is go right through the logia devil fruit user.

“Not bad, but you’re going to need to do better than that to actually hurt me!” Ace erupts into a column of flames and directs it right at you. Just what you wanted. You flap your wings hard, blasting the fire right back at him- but more importantly- the people around him. They all scream as their clothes catch to fire, making Ace immediately panic and focus on them rather than you.

Not wanting to waste a single precious second, you take off, cutting through the air with remarkable speed. That much is to be expected of someone with the Tori Tori no Mi Model: Peregrine Falcon. As one of the fastest animals on the planet, your speed was generally unmatched. Kizaru was the only person that could ever really challenge you in terms of speed. Escaping these pirates should be a breeze.

“You’re pretty good! I wouldn’t expect anything less from an Admiral’s kid!” The voice of Marco comes from above.

You look up just in time to dodge him swooping down to try and grab you. Fuck, he’s fast! It’s time to engage in some real evasive maneuvers. You rip off your backpack and chuck it at him, then shift into your full beast form.

With your body shrunk down to the size of the bird your devil fruit is modeled after, taking the backpack with you would be impossible. You’ll have to come back for it later, or maybe not at all depending on how poorly this goes. 

In your true form, you’re able to take full advantage of the speed the peregrine falcon is known for. Buildings all meld into a blur as you rocket through and around them. A family shrieks as you speed through one open window and out the other, then you’re weaving through lines upon lines of laundry, and next you’re in an open market.

As quickly as you shot off, you stop and slip under a table, the cloth on it easily concealing your presence. Your heart is pounding and you’re panting hard as you wait in silence. The tablecloth doesn’t get ripped off by your pursuer or anyone else, so you’re cautiously optimistic that you succeeded in losing him. Now you just had to figure out how to get out of here without being spotted again. All of those pirates saw what you look like in all of your forms, which was going to be a major problem. The second you leave this sanctuary, you’re going to be at risk.

There isn’t a clear, easy option. You’re just going to have to take a gamble and hope that your beast form will be unassuming enough to not catch their eyes again. You peek under the tablecloth to see if any of the Whitebeard Pirates are lurking nearby. It doesn’t look like any of them are here.

Okay, here goes nothing. You fly out from your hiding spot and high into the air at what should look like a normal speed for a bird. Flying as fast as you can would just draw attention to you. So long as you look like a normal bird at a glance, you should be able to get away unnoticed.

“There you are.”

Before you can even blink, a taloned foot closes around your small form. You squawk in surprise, then immediately shift into a half-bird form to try and break Marco’s hold. Something cold snaps around your wrist, and all of your energy is sapped away in an instant, right along with your powers.

Sea stone cuffs. They came prepared. You fall through the air, but only briefly before Marco catches you. He lands hard on a rooftop, but remains upright and doesn’t drop you. He grins, but his eyes have an odd gleam to them that you don’t recognize, “You’re good. I didn’t think they still made Marines like you anymore.” Why is he complimenting you? Weird.

You start to struggle in his hold, but he’s faster than you and locks the other cuff around your free hand. Now you’re completely at their mercy. This is awful. This is a worst case scenario.

“Now then, let’s get you back to the ship.”

—

The journey from the small seaside town to the Whitebeards’ ship was lost on you. You weren’t processing any of it. As soon as reality sank in, you went completely numb. Every word said by the pirates around you bounced right off you.

They were going to know. You’re nowhere near where Shanks and his crew are. They’re going to know you deserted. He’s going to know you deserted. It’s over. Your life is over. These pirates signed your death certificate as soon as they locked those cuffs on you.

Distantly, you glance at your surroundings. You’re chained to a cot in what looks to be the ship’s infirmary. Only one of your hands is cuffed, the other is free again. They aren’t concerned about a devil fruit user being dangerous while sea stone cuffs are eating away at your strength. What a disaster. Years of training, and this is how it ends.

Fingers snap in front of your face, and you look up sluggishly at the person disturbing you. Twin Blade Thatch is at your bedside, looking… confused? Sad? This is another expression that you don’t recognize.

He smiles slightly, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, “You okay there, kid?” When you don’t answer, he looks over his shoulder, “Did you give them something?”

“No,” the voice belongs to Marco. “They’ve been out of it since we caught them. They’re… really upset about getting captured, it seems.”

Thatch lightly claps you on the shoulder, “Don’t beat yourself up about it, kid. It’s not like you got caught by a weak crew. There are plenty of Marines well above your rank that wouldn’t have won this fight either.”

“Yeah, you actually gave us some real trouble there at the start.” Ace was in here too, apparently. “Not many people are able to use my own powers against me, that was pretty smart.”

“Before I forget to ask, do you have any allergies? I don’t want to accidentally kill you with my cooking.” Thatch stares at you expectantly, but his smile fades as you neglect to answer his question. “Is that a… no? Come on, I’m just trying to help you out here, you don’t need to be so guarded. I can even make you your favorite meal to make up for the situation we put you in.”

“It doesn’t matter…” Nothing does.

“Don’t say that. We’ve gotta feed you, kid.” That weird expression is on his face again. You wish he’d stop making it. “It won’t take long to get the medicine we need. You’ll be back with your old man before you know it.”

No! “I won’t go back!” Hot tears start to drip down your face, then pour as the last thread of sanity within you snaps, “I’m not going back! You can’t make me go back there! I won’t let you!”

Ace is standing close enough that you’re able to lunge at him and rip the dagger from his belt with your free hand. He tries to snatch it back, but your frantic state gives you the speed you usually only have with your devil fruit’s help. You aren’t going back, you’ll make sure of it! Marco might be able to heal, but he isn’t a necromancer. Even he won’t be able to do anything about a corpse. Dying by your own hands will be better than being burnt alive by the magma Akainu will use on you.

You raise the knife high, then plunge it down at your stomach. Blood splatters all over your torso… but you don’t feel any pain. You blink once, then twice. Your eyes finally focus on the sight in front of you. The knife is stabbed into a hand. It then closes around the hilt and snatches the weapon from your hands. Ace lets out a string of curses as he rips his own dagger from his hand.

All you can do is stare at him. W… What? Why did he do that? That shouldn’t have hurt him. Why would a logia devil fruit user let themselves get hurt like that?

Nurses rush toward him, but also you. All of your limbs are pinned down by them. Not that there was any need. The fight had left your body as your mind grew hazy again. You didn’t get it. You couldn’t comprehend what just happened or why.

A prick to your neck snaps you out of it. Your head was being held down, but your eyes flit to the side and see that Marco had a needle pressed into your neck and was injecting you with something. In an instant, a warmth spreads through you, and your body goes completely slack.

Marco heaves a sigh and sets the syringe aside. His hand gently strokes your hair for reasons you couldn’t understand. He speaks softly, “There we go, just calm down. You don’t have to go back if you don’t want to. It’s okay.”

On the other side of the room, Nurses are fretting over Ace’s wound. One even goes so far as to scold him, “What were you thinking? You have logia powers! Why would you let yourself get hurt like this?” Even in your sluggish state, your ears perk at the interrogation. You wanted to know this, too.

Ace looked almost offended by the question. “What do you mean “why”? If I’d let that go through me, it would have gone through them instead. Better my hand, than their guts.”

His answer did nothing but spawn more questions. What did he mean by that? Why would it be better for him to get hurt than for you to die? Your life was of no real significance to him. All that you were was a bargaining chip, and you didn’t even need to be alive for that. They just had to make the Marines believe that you were.

None of this makes sense. What is wrong with these people? You’re an enemy. Your death should be celebrated, not prevented. You don’t get it, and your mind growing more and more foggy by the second isn’t helping.

Your eyes are so heavy. Sleep… Sleep sounds good. Just for a little bit. You’ll figure this out after. It’s not like you’re going anywhere.

[we-do-be-writing]

Let's Be Crazy

Floyd Leech x Gn!Reader

*Notes: I included some photos from the game... let's just pretend he isn't standing in Ramshackle, lol. Also, I'm a big believer that Floyd would appreciate a partner who stands up for him when people call him crazy or make fun of his mood swings cause I feel like it would kinda upset him when people did that. Finally, there's swearing in this.*

Your morning started as usual: breakfast with Grim and walking to class with Floyd. Unfortunately, Azul had called him after class about an emergency at the Mostro Lounge that required immediate attention. You reassured him that you would meet up with him at lunch. He left with a relaxed smile, but his eyes were squinted just enough to give you the impression that he was annoyed to be called in while trying to spend time with you. That had been a couple hours ago, and lunch had started, but there was no Floyd to be found. So, you went looking for him.

It didn't take long as you quickly heard screams and shouts from the courtyard. Looking around a pillar, you see your boyfriend squeezing the life out of a Scarabia student. His friends shout for Floyd to let him go while the student struggles and screams for help. You take a deep breath; why do people always have to provoke him? ... Well, to be honest Floyd normally gets provoked when people aren't trying, but still.

"Hey!" you call out, causing Floyd to swing around to face you, the Scarabia student flailing in his arms. Noting the stern look on your face, he tosses the boy to the side where he hits the ground hard.

Floyd opens his mouth to explain, but his expression changes to shock when you gently cup his jaw.

"What happened?" You whisper, "Why are we angry at him?"

Floyd stays quiet in a curious turn of events, breaking eye contact with you. Your brows furrow, but when you realize he isn't going to say anything, you turn and walk to the Scarabia student still lying on the ground.

"What the fuck did you do?" You hiss, looking down on him.

The student looks at you in offense that you would assume he did anything in the first place. He stands, glaring at you while his friends huddle closer.

"I didn't do a damn thing, he's just crazy!" The boy yells, gesturing to Floyd behind you.

Before anyone can react, you swiftly kick the boy in the groin. As he doubles over in pain, you push him back onto the ground.

You gasp in surprise as if you weren't the one who did that, but you quickly collect yourself, leaning closer.

"I'm honestly not that sorry because you've been very rude. I'd hate to hear what people say about you..." you glance up at his friends, who look torn between defending him and keeping their distance from you.

Looking back down, you force the boy to make eye contact, "Pull that shit again, and I won't be so gentle... maybe you'll come to learn who's truly the crazy one."

You bring your leg back, making it seem like you'll kick the boy again. He flinches, scrambling back to his friends who surround him as they walk away.

Holding back a laugh, you turn back to see Floyd's rare soft smile.

"Hey, Shrimpy, you didn't have to do all that." He mumbles, his cheeks flushing a little.

"Of course I did. There is no way I'm letting him insult you, especially to my face." You walk closer, wrapping your arms around Floyd's waist.

Immediately, he squeezes you tightly to the point that you start to lose your breath. But you don't stop him, which he laughs gratefully at.

"Wanna tell me what that dick did?"

Floyd looks at you with a somewhat sheepish smile, "Ohhh y'know, talking 'bout how you must be deranged to date a psychopath like me."

Your hands tighten on the back of his coat, and you take a calming breath before smiling brightly at him.

"Well, I think that's none of his business. If I wanna date someone most people on campus are scared of, that's my choice. Plus, I always want you to express your emotions, even the heavy ones. Your feelings are valid, and I'm not going to push them away; we'll deal with them together."

Floyd can barely contain his excitement with each word out of your mouth. The moment you pause, he hurriedly crushes his lips to yours. You can feel the pinpricks of his teeth as he becomes overwhelmed by love.

When he finally pulls away, he whispers, "Thank you... Y/n."

[themeraldee]

How’d think homelander would react if his friend, naybe a bit younger, as inexperienced and asked him lessons on kissing?

Homelander’s taken out of  his thoughts when you drop the bomb. He blinks a few times, shaking his head clear before letting out a mix of a scoff and a chuckle.

“Why the fuck are you acting as if you’ve never—you’ve never been kissed… Wow! Talk about a confession huh?” From downturned confused lips to a downright wolfish smile he steps closer to you, pointing and waving his signature red gloved finger in your direction.

“Well, you’re lucky you came to the expert, really. Some other loser wouldn’t even know where to start.” With downturned lips and a sweeping gesture of his arms he keeps a steady pace.

“You’re really gonna teach me?” You’re surprised at his approaching form. While you did ask, you expected a ranked list of top five do’s and don’t’s rather than a full-on demonstration. The nervous coil in your gut bursts into butterflies.

“You betcha—embarrassing that I even have to teach you at this point. What the fuck were you doing in your teens? Something wrong, clearly.” He’s thoroughly enjoying poking fun at your inexperience. Toying with the precious gift that just landed in his lap.

You roll your eyes, ready to give up on the topic if all you’re gonna get is teasing, but Homelander stops you.

“Regardless, what kind of friend would I be otherwise?” At this point he’s right in front of you, gloved hands cradling your jaw as he tilts your head around, almost inspecting your lips for the best strategy moving forward.

“A sane one, maybe.” You huff out an embarrassing little laugh while Homelander thankfully chooses to ignore your sassy remark. Your heart is thumping loudly in your chest—now that’s got his rapt attention a lot more than your words.

His eyes are locked on your lips, licking his own at the thought of tasting yours.

“Alright, you better be taking notes. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.” He seemingly can’t get off his high horse now that he’s finally the one to have had more human experience than you. Sure, your childhood may have been perfectly fine compared to his but he’s been kissed many times. He’s got that on you.

“And none of the little pecks alright, you’re not kissing your grandma here. I’m gonna show you the big guns. So all you gotta do is part your lips a teeny bit—perrrfect, just like that—and when I press mine against yours you’re gonna press back into mine, okay? Easy peasy.”

You nod seriously, as if you were truly taking notes throughout this invigorating lecture.

Homelander leans in, pulling your jaw towards him at the same time and he does just as he said. His lips slot right in between yours, his thin and slightly crooked yet perfectly soft. You follow his instructions and movements and you press yours into his before loosening them up again. The intimate warmth of a slow kiss has your butterflies raging, eager to escape the cage. Your heart is thundering in your ears now. 

Homelander lets out a soft little hum, pressing his lips against yours again, this time trapping your upper lip with a loud mwah upon release. The nature of it all has the tips of your ears burning hot, with your cheeks feeling unbearably warm to the touch. Your lips are tingling when he pulls away, brain short-circuiting a little at how affected that left you.

“Not bad for a newbie, not bad at all.” You’re surprised to see him equally flushed, though he hides it well behind his words.

Before you have time to process what just happened he continues. “Now you kiss me.” Your eyebrows shoot upwards in shock. “Come on now, don’t be shy. Right here.” He teases and purses his lips, tapping them with a gloved finger, making silly kissy noises straight after.

“Like… you want me to initiate?” You blink a few times, starting to feel like this was a bad idea all along.

“Mhm.” He hums with a nod, eyes sparkling with mischief as he leans in closer, not letting you get out of it.

You do your best, parting and pressing your lips into his clumsily, hitting more the corner of his lips than the soft part of them. His little chuckle sends a new hot wave of embarrassment down your neck. You try again, this time hitting the target just right, focusing on the feel of him more than the technique as your eyes flutter shut. Repeatedly with slight change in angles you kiss him, pressing your lips into his, surprisingly feeling light-headed at how enthusiastically he’s kissing you back.

It kind of sweeps you off your feet really. You let Homelander envelop his arms around you, pulling you closer as he attempts to deepen the kiss. “Open wider, use your tongue.” He says, muffled by your lips, unwilling to pull away.

After a little trial and error, your tongue is meeting his with every kiss now, lips parted and eager to meet the other ones. Homelander eagerly licks your lips open, sucking on your lip with a little whine. This demonstration is nothing like what you imagined your request to be met with, yet here you are. Your legs feel like jelly now, if it wasn’t for his hold you’d be boneless on the floor with hot swollen lips as a sweet reminder.

What was meant to be a little lesson of how two people’s lips interlock turned into a lengthy breathless and heated make-out session. While you never expected the movie-like fireworks you get your own version of them with a beating heart so loud it might as well be an explosive device. You never imagined your first kiss to feel so intimate and passionate but it is just that. That and more.

When you both pull away—mainly to allow you access to oxygen—you’re both flushed and hot, lips swollen and wet. You’re more surprised at how affected he ends up looking. But Homelander doesn’t like being on level ground with just about anyone. He pushes through his own flustered appearance, bringing back his bravado.

“Well, fuck. Look at that! Popped your cherry—or well, not quite yet but that can be arranged. Buuut, we might as well get all of your firsts out of the way with the expert. What do you say?” With his flushed cheeks, for once his wolfish smile doesn’t feel quite so dangerous. But you’ll sorely come to regret that thought a little down the line.

[starwovenkiss]

goodnight n go

You continue your daily tradition of calling Kyle while he's away for deployment. A/N: this man has unfortunately taken up too much real estate in my brain and at this point, the only solution is to write it out. <3

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─ ─ ⋅

The dial tone rings, and you count the seconds until he answers. Thirty-two today, nine quicker than yesterday.

“‘Ello love.” A murmured drawl crackles through, and you smile, turning over into the pillow directly next to you. You take a deep inhale, savoring the fact that Kyle’s body wash still lingers. You know you have another week before it fades completely. “It’s a bit late for you to call me. I thought you would’ve been asleep by now.”

“I was,” you giggle, “but I had a dream about you.”

“A dream, eh? And what was this dream about?” You roll your eyes at the shift of tone, knowing that if he were here, he would get a smack in the face with his pillow for the innuendo. And your heart tightens, wishing for a moment that he was lying right next to you instead of 5,000 miles away in some war-torn country.

“Our first date,” you hear his chuckle, smiling at your memory. You close your eyes, painting a picture of the freckles that litter his nose, the whiskey color of his eyes, and his flat curls after lying in bed all night. Your fingers reach out, feeling cold sheets rather than the warmth of where his hand should be.

“Tell me about it,” he asks smoothly.

“You should know, you were there,” you laugh.

“I still wanna hear.”

“Well, you were late.”

“Only by 15 minutes. You’ve been way later than that!”

“It was our first date!” you giggle. “And you were wearing flip-flops!”

“I didn’t know I needed to dress up,” he groans. “We were best friends! We had hung out by ourselves all the time.”

“Kyle, we grew up together. You would think I would’ve taught you how to impress a girl on a first date by the time you were 25 years old!” you laugh incredulously, and you hear his laugh back. 

The window creaks slightly as an evening breeze passes through, open to combat the summer heatwave in England. You smile fondly. It had been sweltering the day the two of you met. You were running down the street, chasing the ice cream truck, and were short a few pence for an ice lolly. Only seconds away from putting it back, when Kyle, a boy with sunburned cheeks and grass stains on his knees, stepped in without hesitation. He handed over his allowance and just grinned when you tried to protest. You shared it with him, of course, and from that moment on, the two of you were inseparable.

It wasn’t until he turned sixteen that something shifted. His voice dropped. His limbs stretched. His back straightened like he was growing into a version of himself the rest of the world hadn’t seen yet. Gone was the scrawny boy who still secretly collected trading cards and snuck over to yours to watch rom-coms under the guise of “movie night.”

And you weren’t the only one who noticed. Girls started paying attention, laughing loudly at his jokes, twirling their hair around their fingers. You told yourself the jealousy was just a habit. That it only hurt because you’d gotten used to having all of him. 

It wasn't until after his first deployment that the fear of losing him completely led you to reckon with the love you had been trying not to name since you two met.

“I’m pretty lucky that you gave me a second chance then.” Kyle’s smile laces every word, and you shuffle closer to his side of the bed as if you can will him closer to you by moving into the space he normally occupies.

“Well, you brought me flowers!”

“Lilies. Your favorite.” And almost instinctively, your gaze catches the vase of lilies on your nightstand, delivered the day Kyle left for deployment. Your brows knit as a petal falls, the dying buds serving as a marker for how long Kyle’s been gone.

He hears the pause, and always Kyle seems attuned to the shift in your emotions even through a phone call, so when he suggests “tell me more,” you follow. 

“At least the restaurant you picked was nice.” The cafe was only a short walk from your apartments, perfect for Kyle to show up grinning ear to ear at your apartment door, holding a bouquet of lilies. You had spent the entire morning on the phone with your friend, worried that you were making the wrong decision, and that would be the end of you and Kyle. That everything would be weird and awkward with this new romantic subtext in your friendship. But when you looked down and met eyes with a pair of thong flip-flops, you couldn’t help but laugh in relief that Kyle would always be Kyle.

“I miss you,” You whisper. He’s quiet for a beat too long, and the absence of his voice feels like a weight in your chest. You briefly wonder if you overstepped. It’s not easy, you knew that before you even started dating Kyle, comforting him as ex-girlfriends couldn’t handle the strain of not seeing him for months and months. Yet you could’ve never imagined yourself in the same position of wanting more from a man who could only give so much.

“I miss you more,” he whispers back, voice hoarse with longing.

You're quiet, and you can almost see Kyle’s frown before you hear it in the next words that leave his mouth.

“You’ll call me tomorrow, yeah?”

“Of course. I love you,” You whisper, barely audible over the rustle of the sheets as you shift beneath the sheets.

“I love you always. Now get some rest. I’ll be here until you fall asleep.” You set your phone beside you, eyes fluttering close at the gentle hum of Kyle’s chatter. 

Forty-eight minutes tonight, seven longer than yesterday.

[haechsauce]

DEFINITELY SOMETHING - O.SO

PAIRING: best friend! sion x reader

GENRE: friends-to-? au, humor, fluff

SYNOPSIS: you and sion make a trip to the grocery store to find rice vinegar to complete today’s meals. what sion finds instead, however, is a zap in your eyes.

WC: 726

AUTHOR’S NOTE: *writes a short story in one sitting for fun* ehehe it’s very simple, but i hope it’s enjoyable! just felt like writing for sion on the get-go today \(( °ω° ))/

you watch as best friend! sion scratches his cheek to block you from seeing how hard he’s trying to suppress a smile. his glinting eyes totally give it away once he looks at you, though. “are you sure we’re in the right aisle?”

“this is what the grocery clerk said.” you divert your attention back to the pastel-colored lotion containers—almost giving yourself a tunnel vision for anything pink or purple. you laugh, “but i’m pretty sure kimchi fried rice and gimbap don’t go with toothpaste.”

“you mean lotion.” sion lightly nudges your shoulder with his. it’s the friendly alternative route he takes rather than squeezing your cheeks when he finds you cuter than usual.

you purse your lips at your mistake. “i meant to say lotion.”

he finally lets out a chuckle. “oh my,” you’re too cute and pretty today, he’d say, if he only knew whether or not you’d find him weird afterwards. besides, you’ve always found romantic feelings weird. although it’s unfair to him, he has a mental reminder of it every time you two spend time alone.

you continue to scan the delicate colors that make up the aisle, but don’t miss to scrunch your nose as a response to the falling boy.

sion shakes his head as a physical attempt to put his feelings aside. he grabs the shopping basket from the floor and proceeds to observe the grocery store. “let’s just look for rice vinegar on our own.”

he walks before you even return your attention to him, yet you follow suit as soon as you notice him straying away from where you stand.

sion doesn’t look back at you as he takes a peek at the aisles that come after. it doesn’t go on for long, especially when his primary reaction to seeing a couple share a passionate kiss near the boxes of pepero is to jerk back.

“ouch!” you exclaim when sion accidentally steps on your foot.

as the head-over-heels best friend he is, sion’s initial response is to apologize and see if you’re okay, only he hasn’t considered the fact that you’re right behind him.

by the moment he turns to you in panic, your close proximity face-to-face dawns on him like cold water being poured from his head to his toes. what’s even more shocking is the fact that he sees excitement and curiosity in your eyes, as if you’re hopeful about what happens next within the small space between you two.

“a-are you okay?” sion forces to let out in spite of his state, however weak his voice sounds.

he blinks hard to try to make sure he’s not hallucinating it, but your hope is seriously there. you even accompany the excitement in your eyes with a giggle that can pass as a sweet whisper to him.

you nod without missing a beat of his expression. “yes.”

the falling boy swallows and admits to himself that he’s officially doomed by your captivity. he takes a step back—otherwise, he might finally listen to his head that keeps chanting, kiss her! kiss her! or maybe squeeze her cheeks!

you, however, furrow your brows in the slightest possible way. it won’t be any surprise at this point if you ask him why he’d taken a step back. yet, you don’t make any sound for a while. instead, you look around and avoid his eyes, but the zap in yours are still as sparkly as they can be. “come on now, sionnie.”

it’s your turn to walk before he can even register it. sion stays frozen facing the direction where you stood a few seconds ago. he’s lost in his thoughts that are slowly (yet surely) making sense of your accidental closeness.

during the time his lips were only a few inches away from yours, you didn’t flinch. you didn’t push him back. goodness, you even had sparks in your eyes and you giggled! you didn’t tease him about his weird state at all, either.

although you’ve always found feelings weird, sion thinks to himself, that apparently doesn’t mean you don’t have any. has he been so caught up in his own feelings for you, that he’s failed to notice yours?

with this conclusion, he pokes his inner cheek with his tongue to contain his mutual excitement. he considers the realization that there’s definitely something more between you and him.

[aboutcustardcreams]

A day in the life

Summary: Nicky learns something new about Rio. And you three learn how much Nicky hates fights.

a/n: It's a small chapter, I'm aware. Nothing major happens here, just family bonding.

previous chapter

“Mommy, I can’t find her!” Nicky approached you with a little pout on his face. 

The four of you had been playing hide and seek. He’d found you first, then Agatha, and now it was Rio’s turn, but apparently she was nowhere to be found. Nicky had searched everywhere—by the creek, behind the trees, through the bushes. And he was starting to worry, afraid she might’ve left… or worse, that something bad had happened to her. 

“Can’t you now, huh?”

“She’s just.. vanished!” he responded dramatically. It brought a sympathetic smile to your face as he reminded you so much of Agatha whenever she was worried about something, or rather someone. 

Wrapping an arm around Nicky’s shoulders, you pulled the boy closer with a growing smile. “I’m sure she hasn’t gone far, don't worry. Rio’s just very good at hiding, I tell you that,” you confessed with a playful whisper. 

Agatha walked towards you both, glancing around with a sharp, careful gaze. “She sure is,” her voice trailed off. “How about we look for her together, young man?”

Nicky nodded at that. His pout turned into a hopeful smile. “Will you use your purple?” He asked, excitement filling his tone at the possibility.

“I could,” she grinned, a sparkle lit up the pads of her fingers, as she wiggled them at him. “It would be fun, right?” 

With an amused eye roll, you interfered, “I’m sure we can find her without relying on magic. It’s just hide and seek, Ags–”

She barked out a small chuckle. “What if she is cheating” 

“I think I’m gonna place my trust in her this time,” you said, despite not being quite convinced. 

Agatha eyed you fondly. “Aahw, poor you– always so incredibly trusting,” she watched you take your boy’s hand into yours. 

A soft, dramatic gasp slipped past her lips when you stuck out your tongue at her. 

“Let’s go that way, shall we?” You told the boy, then. 

Agatha sighed, as she followed. “Wait until I say– I told you,” she muttered under her breath, watching you and Nicky walk a few steps ahead of her. 

The forest was quiet. Except for the sounds of nature, which were all easy for you to distinguish. The whisper of wind weaving through the trees. The chitter of squirrels. The grass bending under your steps. And the birds—there were so many that morning. Each with their own sweet, delicate chirping. 

Until a different sound, a little harsher, caught your attention. 

You lifted your gaze toward the trees, narrowing your eyes slightly. Nicky watched you, brow furrowed. His free hand resting atop his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun. The other hand was still curled in yours. It comforted you in a way you couldn’t quite explain. 

“Mommy, why did you stop?” He asked.   

“Sshh, listen–” your eyes landed on a black raven, perched on the branch of a tall tree standing right before you. 

Agatha’s brows arched, as she followed your gaze with curiosity. Placing both hands on your shoulders, you felt her body press against yours, and her hair tickle the side of your cheek as her face leaned closer. Her lips were only inches from your ear when she spoke. “You don’t say! Rio is , after all, cheating…” her voice was filled with sarcasm. 

You eyed her with the corner of your eye and huffed, “you got lucky.” 

“Sure thing, I did.” Agatha ran the back of her hand against your cheek. “And you are a sore loser,” she teased, before pecking at your cheek. 

You pushed her away with an amused groan. “Shut up!”

“What are you talking about, mommies?” Nicky frowned. “Where’s Rio? Did you find her? How come I can’t see her? Did she turn invisible? ” He was growing impatient, the stomping gave it away. 

Agatha chuckled fondly, watched you guide him right in front of you, then point your finger through the leaves and branches up your noses. “She’s up there, my love,” you whispered in his ear. 

All Nicky could see was a raven. “Huh?Where?”

“You can come down now, Rio. We know it’s you.” Agatha’s voice was playfully accusing as she folded her arms over her chest. 

The bird’s head bobbed side to side, before squawking, causing a flock of smaller birds to fan out in the sky. 

The boy’s eyes widened. “That’s really Rio?”

“Yeah. I told your stubborn mother, she can’t play fair,” Agatha mused. 

An amused grin found its way onto your face. “You see, Rio has the ability to shapeshift into night creatures, such as that one. This is probably the first time she’s played hide and seek, otherwise she would know that’s called cheating–” your eyes bored into hers for the last part of your sentence. 

She squeaked again. Almost innocently. 

Nicky giggled, his eyes bright. “She looks silly.”

“She is silly,” Agatha shot back.

“Are you coming down on your own, or do I have to summon the spirits of the underworld to give you a push?” You teased, already wiggling your fingers. 

Agatha let out an indignant sound at the sight of your  silver. “How come you can use your magic and I cannot?”

“I never said you couldn’t–” you clarified, but your response was interrupted by Nicky’s bouncing in excitement. The black raven spread its wings and swooped downward towards the three of you. He let out a dramatic gasp just before the bird exploded into a swirling puff of green smoke. When the smoke cleared, Rio stood there, a sly grin on her features.

She later bowed with a dramatic sweep of her arm. 

Classic Rio. 

“Ta-da!” She mused. “Congratulations, my love!” she grinned, took your hand in hers and lifted your knuckles to her mouth to leave a kiss. 

You chuckled, amused and just a little dazzled by her dramatics. “Show off,” you added fondly. 

“Cheater,” Agatha deadpanned, though the corner of her lips twitched slightly up. 

Rio winked and before she could add anything else, Nicky launched himself forward, colliding into her with a joyful cackle. “You were incredible!” he gushed, then lifted his chin up to lock eyes with her. “You turned into a bird! You flew ! Like, really flew! Can you teach me that? Pretty please? I’ll behave for three consecutive days!”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “By the stars–”

“That’s a deal you cannot refuse, Rio,” you joked. 

Rio ran a hand through his brown hair. Nicky had magic now, sure, but she couldn’t exactly teach him how to shapeshift, simply because it was something only she could do, as Lady Death. In fact, neither you nor Agatha could. 

“I wish I could, querido . You see—”

“What Rio’s trying to say is that you can’t turn into a bird, my love. That’s her…specialty, I’m afraid,” Agatha cut in smoothly, stepping closer and resting a hand on her son’s shoulder. 

Rio’s head lolled right and left, before adding. “One of many, actually. But your mother is right.”

Nicky’s pout returned and his shoulders sagged. A soft, heartbreaking ‘ow’ slipped past his lips making your heart ache immediately. You’d literally do anything for that boy. And maybe there was something that you could do. 

“Well, you can’t exactly turn into a bird, that’s true–” your voice trailed off. 

Agatha’s gaze shifted from Rio to you, her frown deepening. Your cheeks flushed just a little, and to avoid Agatha’s piercing look, you lowered your eyes, focusing only on your son. “But you can definitely fly if you want to.” 

Rio let out a quiet chuckle. This was going to be fun. 

“Really?” Nicky asked, his voice rising an octave to his renewed excitement. 

You nodded promptly, but before you could say anything else, Agatha stepped in, “Sweetheart, I’d think twice before saying what you’re about to say,” she warned. 

You rolled your eyes, with a soft sigh. Of course Agatha would activate her mama-bear mode. This was the month you’d vowed to make unforgettable. And if Nicky wished to fly, truly fly, you’d move heaven and earth to make it happen. Though it was much easier than that, and you three knew it. All you needed was a fairly sturdy trunk, an incantation, and then it’s done.

“I’m just informing our son that witches can fly, if they want to—” 

“No, no we cannot. ” She insisted. 

Nicky looked confused. Who was telling the truth? 

“Now you’re acting like a child,” you retorted, brows furrowing. 

“You’re deliberating suggesting that it’s okay that our son– at the sweet age of seven– should be flying simply for the fun of it.”

You nodded your head, with a shrug. “Yep. You got it right.” 

Agatha’s hands curled into tight fists, her jaw clenched like she was seconds away from launching herself at you. A low, dangerous growl escaped her. She looked quite fun and adorable, you could hardly suppress a  giggle. “Oh– you wanna fight me?” 

“Thin ice, babygirl–” she hissed, though you could see the glimmer of amusement in her eyes. 

Rio scoffed and batted her lashes. “Alright my loves, do not quarrel.”

“I am not,” you quickly retorted, then pointed a finger at Agatha. “She looks like she wants to–”

“This is all your fault,” Agatha lamented, glancing at Death. “Had you not shapeshifted into a bird, we wouldn’t be talking about this… nonsense.”

“ Mom– ” Nicky tugged at the hem of her dress, with a heavy sigh. “Please don’t get mad. I don’t want you three to argue.”

Your heart ached for him. Agatha stilled and so did Rio. You three weren’t arguing, not really. You were just playing around. “We’re not, Nicky,” you cooed, offering him a gentle smile. “Nothing’s wrong, I promise.”

“There would be way more blood if we were,” Rio’s attempt at joking was met with a glare from both you and Agatha. “Sorry, my bad,” she lifted her hands defensively. “Forget what I said, kid.”

Agatha’s lips pursed. She knelt in front of her son, slowly and gently. She cradled his face in her hands, thumbs brushing over his warm cheeks, and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Listen, my heart. Thing is, I don’t want you to get hurt. Flying… It is possible, yeah, but it can also be dangerous, and I couldn’t bear it if something ever happened to you.” She wanted to add ‘again’ but didn’t. “Do you understand that?” 

He nodded quietly. “I think I do, mama,” he mumbled, still a little sad. 

Rio pursed her lips to the side of her cheek. She spoke to Agatha. “We would never put Nicky in danger. I get his safety concerns you– it concerns us too, but he’s safe with us. That you know.” 

You sighed and knelt right beside Agatha. “Rio’s right,” you continued, resting a hand on Agatha’s forearm. She gave you a hesitant glance. “Plus, he gets to fly with one of us.” Your head turned to him, with a growing smirk. “How about this, Ags? You get to choose who he flies with and we won’t argue.”

“Can I fly with Rio?” Nicky squealed. 

Cool, so he completely ignored the whole ‘Agatha chooses’ part.

Lady Death licked the inside of her cheek and crossed her arms, her chest filling with pride. “You heard the boy, my ladies.” 

“I mean, it’s fine with me, if you’re also okay with it, Ags,” you added, with a shrug. 

“Oh so if I refuse, I’m gonna be the bad parent–” she snorted, looking down at her child. 

Nick shook his head adorably. “Please, mom! ” The little boy clasped his hands under his chin, giving her those big, expressive doe-eyes, he knew, she couldn’t resist. “Please, I’ll be good —” His lower lip even quivered slightly for dramatic effect.

Agatha stilled. Those words. She pronounced those exact words once, with the same whiny tone, the same hope in the eyes, the same yearning. “Ah– you’re being so unfair right now–” she groaned– trying hard, so hard to push her worries aside. 

“Come on, my love,” Rio cooed, her voice like velvet mischief. She pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek, smirking when Agatha shot her a glare sharp enough to cut stone. “Live a little.”

Agatha exhaled through her nose, slowly. “If something happens to him,” she said, her voice low but laced with that same teasing cadence Rio had just used. “ I’m killing you.” 

But Nicky didn’t catch the joke. His little face twisted into panic and practically leapt between them. 

“ No! ” he cried. “You promised me no more witch killing, mama!”

Agatha’s breath hitched in her throat. Her smile faltered. “Nicky, I didn’t– I wouldn’t–”

Rio, sensing Agatha’s sudden distress and rising panic, reached out and gave the boy’s wild curls a fond tousle. “Your mom and I were just messing around, kid. That’s how we talk when we’re being silly. She didn’t mean that literally.”

Nicky blinked, unsure. His little mouth dipped into a pout, and a stubborn crease formed between his eyebrows. “Is that true, mama?”

You pursed your lips, feeling your heart ache for him and Agatha. Quite frankly for yourself too. That guilty feeling lodged in the back of your throat was something you knew would never truly fade. And maybe it shouldn’t. Maybe it was meant to stay as a reminder of the things you did, things that couldn’t be undone, and that you foolishly thought wouldn’t affect your kid.

“It is, Nicky,” Agatha held back a sob. “I’m sorry I scared you with what I said.” 

The boy nodded silently. 

You scooted closer to Agatha, letting your arm brush against hers before pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. She tilted her head just slightly, with a faint, yet grateful smile curving her lips. 

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Rio stepped in. “Your moms and I share a bond. A very unique one.” She paused, glancing up to the two of you, to make sure it was okay to say those things. 

And it was. 

“You might see us fight sometimes,” she added gently. “Throw a little shade, maybe even yell at each other when we get frustrated. I know that can be scary. I know you don’t like it. We don’t like it either.” She reached out slowly, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “But here’s the thing, pequenito. That doesn’t mean we stop caring for each other. Not for a second. Not ever. We love each other. Immensely. And we love you, just as much.”

Nicky let out a soft giggle the moment your arms wrapped around his tiny waist, his back pressing snugly against your chest. “We love you so much, Nicky,” you murmured, “So, so, so much –” 

Rio, standing just a step ahead, caught sight of the tears glistening in your eyes, the kind you were determined to blink away. It broke her heart because she understood why you felt that way. It was likely a mix of things, one of them being the painful reminder of how little time you had with your son.

“I know mommy,” Nicky replied, wrinkling his nose only slightly when you pecked at his cheek. “I love you, too.” 

Agatha frowned slightly when you pulled away and was met with your shiny eyes.  She was about to ask if you were okay, but Nicky’s voice preceded her. 

“Does it mean I can fly someday?”

Agatha sighed tiredly. You and Rio shared a quiet laugh instead. 

“How about you give us a couple of days to think it through?” Rio suggested eyeing both you and Agatha. 

Nicky beamed and nodded. “Okay!”

“More like a couple of decades,” Agatha muttered under her breath, just loud enough for you to hear. 

You bumped her arm playfully, earning a dramatic scowl from her. “Behave.”

Agatha just shook her head, but you saw the way the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement. You were gonna be the death of her.

[honeyinthesummer]

warden!reader and inmate!rafe cameron because i personally think he'd look good in orange (and he's bound to go down that road anyways).

LONG AS FUCK and not proofread. someone make a smut out of this please! MAKE IT NASTYYYYY

he'd be stuck in his cell with limited privileges. for the first few weeks he'd yell shit, rattle the bars and point a finger to anyone who passes by his cell that sometimes other wardens who weren't from obx would be petrified to do rounds in rafe's corner (shoupe is IMMUNE to this.)

inmate!rafe who, give or take three months, has slowly settled. his screams slowly die down, but he'd sulk in a corner and be incredibly stubborn.

inmate!rafe, sitting on his bed and occasionally banging his forehead to the wall, mutters "man up, man the fuck up!", seemingly in a dazed, in a spell. a poor attempt to put his shit together.

inmate!rafe, who's now silent. he probably thinks he's intimidating and calculated that way, but he saw his reflection one time, all lanky and tall, rough and ruined. this is not the look of a male cameron.

inmate!rafe, who now speaks gently instead of raising his voice, stands up in the first order, keeps in line in the first warning. compliant with no extra drama. but what they don't know is every time he's out of his cell for a test or government-issued activity, he scouts the place. the people. the system here. then he sights you.

your silky hair is arranged in a neatbun, your features soft and angelic, a simple blush and light lipstick accentuating your beauty. you normally speak in a delicate tone, but you're not against having a few laughs with anyone, inmate or warden.

you stand tall and move swiftly, and inmate!rafe swore he could tackle you down and escape promptly. but when you ended a fight in the yard between two men with no assistance, you had no problem inserting your authority and displaying your strength, showing who's the boss.

you would be his perfect escape.

you don't back away from an invite for conversation, but it's your ability to stay distant despite appearing to be an open book. you are smart.

but he doesn't miss the way you look at him in the yard. when inmate!rafe is playing ball against other inmates, you'd stay in the shade. just an officer doing her job — looking out for trouble.

a jab in the ribs, a punch in the face, a body collision with another. inmate!rafe notices the way you react or wince whenever he's hurt. you wear shades to appear stoic, but your stare just burns through him. it etches in his soul.

but most of all, he could blatantly and loudly laugh at your pathetic state when you see him soaking under the sun, grabbing the hem of his white wifebeater to wipe the sweat on his face, letting the sunrays hit his now toned body, glowing and all.

you're squirming. shifting. clenching then unclenching your fist. you could redirect everyone's attention from your personal life but this? you're fucking transparent. maybe you're just like any other woman. firm in the outside, but it takes one single touch from a man for your facade to crumble.

he doesn't touch you, though. not in the way you'd like. he'd brush up against you, purposefully volunteer in activities that require labor or put him under the scorching heat, because you noticed that's how you love him. huffing and hot. being a warden for women empowerment and all but really, you'd just want a strong man like any other woman.

you are unabashed and unashamed of what you're doing. he saw you take a quick look of up and down on him and let out an approving nod, where he's got his top totally abandon, the slacks of his uniform hanging real low on his waist, his skin dirty from working with some car parts for a program with the city.

inmate!rafe almost doubts himself when you didn't bother to strike a talk with him for the past seven months of his stay here. it annoys him, pisses him off that others find comfort and no problem in talking to you. you look at him, but you don't approach.

inmate!rafe was about to give up on you and devise a breakout plan with barry who's a couple cells down when he hears shoupe calling someone to take him out for an outside time today.

he stands at ready, bummed out, until he hears you say "i got him", personally fetching inmate!rafe. he stands surprised, his heartbeat thumping in his chest. fucking finally. he smirks to himself. maybe you're that easy to get with just a small display of his masculinity.

you stop by the door of his cell, and his smile to you his uncanny, because you swear it feels like nice and sweet, almost gentleman-like. you fumble with your keys and insert them to the lock.

"you're being transferred to a facility in charleston for a moment. i'll personally escort you there."

just you? he thought to himself, raising a brow. but when the door opens and you handcuff his wrists, your fast touch burns. and he likes it. but what got him the most is how your lipstick is not your usual shade, it's red. it captivates him.

who needs a blaring red lip for an escort ride to charleston?

certainly you for him, and his cock that will be kissed and worshipped by your lips, and his abs, which with no doubt you'll leave a trail of kisses on.

[spoonerwrites]

The 60k celebration poll had joint winners, which means...TWO extracts!

“Your friend is very unusual, isn’t he?” said Miss Westenra.

“He can be that,” I answered carefully. “But he is a brilliant man, and his mind works like no other I have ever known.”

“Oh, I meant no offence!” She looked suddenly stricken.

I smiled as I buttered my toast. “I know you did not, my dear. For those who have never met Holmes before, he can come across as strange, and even standoffish, yet I have always found even his oddest behaviours have significance which reveals itself when the time is right. If he insists on walking about the garden, he is undoubtedly looking for something.”

“What clues could he find in the garden?”

“What clues might be found in any garden? Footprints, disturbances in the grass or flowerbeds, animal tracks; all sorts of things. I can think of more, and Holmes would know more still.”

“But that does not make any sense, doctor!” She laughed, covering her mouth with a delicate hand. “How might animal tracks have made me feel unwell? It is true that sometimes I like to go out and watch the birds or the squirrels, but I have not been for more than a week. I am afraid Mr Holmes may be wasting his time.”

I continued to do my best to entertain Miss Westenra and keep her spirits up until my friend returned, while enjoying a hearty and delicious breakfast. I encouraged the young lady to eat as well while we talked. She managed a good amount of tea and toast liberally spread with bright orange marmalade. I found the same technique that I sometimes used on Holmes worked on her; if I kept her attention, she didn’t seem to notice that she was eating, and would only acknowledge the food when I made her laugh and she covered her mouth politely.

The door to the dayroom was slightly ajar, and so I spotted Holmes out in the corridor just before he knocked. “Watson, if you’re finished, I must speak with you,” he said with a polite nod towards Miss Westenra. “Do you mind me stealing him away?”

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

My nerves would not let me rest. In the cab, my knee jogged up and down without me realising until Holmes put his hand on my leg to stop it. I apologised at once.

“Nonsense, Watson,” he said, waving a hand, “it stands to reason your nerves are tried after tonight, and with what will come tomorrow.”

I shook my head. “I have witnessed things tonight that belong in nightmares and legends, and even having seen them with my own eyes, part of me refuses to accept them.”

“It’s only natural for your mind to revolt, my boy.”

“Do stop making excuses for me, Holmes. My mind is not revolting; it’s at war with itself,” I grumbled. “I know what you’ve told me, what Van Helsing has described, what I have seen. Each explanation only raises further questions. What sort of spell did that creature weave over our minds, to make Lord Godalming wish to embrace her in spite of his revulsion and grief? How was it that the crucifix repelled her so? And the use of the Host to seal the tomb - how on earth does the professor know to do these things?”

“He is an inexplicable sort of fellow, isn’t he?” said Holmes with a little laugh. “The use of the Host; I wonder if His Excellency might grant me a similar supply. He does owe me a favour or two.”

“You’re very energetic, old chap, considering what we’ve just seen,” said I.

“I am full of plans, Watson!” he declared, taking my hand and giving it a shake. “All we have had for days is mere speculation. The missing children, the bite marks, they all pointed toward Miss Westenra as the culprit, yes; but tonight – oh, tonight we have had a concrete truth laid before us. Now we may – Harker!” he added suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“Harker.” He shook my hand again. “Van Helsing mentioned ‘the diaries of Harker and the rest’, and I have been racking my brains trying to remember where I have heard that name before. There was a letter to Miss Westenra from one Mrs Mina Harker, in which the latter described finding her husband recovering from a traumatic ordeal in a hospital in Buda-Pesth. They married then and there, with the young man in his sickbed.”

“You went through Miss Westenra’s correspondence?”

He gave a sharp nod. “Her mother’s too. It is how I knew of the changes to the will. Miss Westenra and Mrs Harker appeared to be very close friends.”

“What do you suppose the Harkers have to do with all this?”

“That, friend Watson, will have to wait. I am confident an explanation will come in time, as explanations have come for everything else. Tomorrow we have more urgent business.”

[chaos--s]

platonic yandere! alien dad x reader

bring your pet to work day

--

Arkuma has always been dilligent in finishing his work. He's known for completing tasks with the best quality, but he needed focus.

That was hard with the crowd that gathered in front of his office door. Multiple of the younger and newer recruits were practically climbing on top of each other, trying to catch a glance of you. The human pet that the Sergeant brought into his office.

"Quit pushing!"

"Lemme see- awww It's so cute and squishy looking!"

"I wonder if the sarge will let us meet them. Wait they're looking here- Hi!!"

He took a breath as he tried to go back to working on reports. You are adorable, no doubt about it. He glanced at you sitting on one of his other chairs, waving back at the group of young recruits who were still gushing and cooing at you through the glass window of the door.

But he needed peace.

His eye twitches at a particularly loud one and finally snaps his head around, glaring at them. Arkuma watches as they finally scramble away, cursing at each other for being too loud.

"You're going to bring trouble here too, aren't you." He teases, bringing your attention back to him. "Don't look so innocent, you knew what you were doing."

Being a Sergeant, a reliable one at that, there wasn't a moments peace that he could count on. A knock on the door and Arkuma knew that he had more work to do.

A soldier walks in and does a quick salute. "Sir, the Captain needs you over in his office."

"Now? Is it urgent?"

"Yes. He says he needs you immediately." He sighed, massaging his temples and nods. "Give me a second."

"Alright, sir." He salutes again, as he leaves the office he notices you. Taking a moment to gawk at the human that was just casually sitting across from Arkuma. You wave at him, knowing it'll probably freak him out. It does and he quickly walks out.

The aliens were intimidating at first, but once you realized most of them melt when they see you, you couldn't help but abuse that power a little.

"Little one? I trust you know not to wander around, right? It's dangerous without me. Especially in here." He crouches in front of you, pointing at the door and then shaking his head.

No going out, got it. You nodded at his words and he smiles, petting your head. "Good. Behave, okay?"

You swat his hand away and he smiles fondly, you were still adorable. He finally leaves the office, leaving you alone to do whatever you wanted in the office.

Whatever you wanted.

You felt like a little kid being left alone in a candy shop as you hopped off the chair and started roaming around the office. No way he expected you to just sit around and wait for him to come back. It's boring, and you were going to entertain yourself.

You walked up to his chair, getting ready to climb up top to his table when the door creaks open. Shit, why was he back so early?

"Damn, sarge has way too much trust to not lock his doors." An unfamiliar voice mumbles, you freeze trying not to make any noise. You were 99 percent sure it was the freaky aliens that gawked at you through the window that was currently breaking into the office.

"Shh, why are you guys so fucking loud?" One hissed. "Wait, where did they go? Shit, sarge probably brought them with him." Another complained.

You make the best decision ever and you peek you head from behind the chair, three aliens stood there as if they were stealing something. All three giant, all much more intimidating than you first thought.

"Wait look!" Ah, crap. You quickly duck back behind the chair but too late, they already noticed you.

"Go, go," One urges, pushing the purple alien to go in front of you. He spins the chair to face them, unfortunately making you face them as well. "Aw, it's so scared..."

You shake your head as he starts reaching for you. "You're just a cute lil' squishy thing, aren't you? C'mon, lemme hold you for a sec." He cooed.

You jump down the chair, stumbling on landing but immediately getting back up to run away. You swerve between the group of aliens and run out into the hallway. Going directly against his directions, but you'd rather not be harassed by a bunch of random aliens.

You didn't need to look back to know that they were right behind you, yelling after you as you dodged other aliens in the hallway. It was terrifying. You missed your alien.

"Dad!" That's the name he taught you, right? That's the only thing he wanted you to learn so badly, he kept pointing at himself while repeating it to you. It had to be his name.

You turn a corner and into another long winding hallway. Yelling his name again, only turning more and more heads of aliens that wasn't your alien.

Shit. A large purple hand grabs your shoulder, pulling you back.

"Gods, why does it run so fast?" He pants, pulling you close to him. "You're gonna get me in trouble, human."

You try shrugging his hand off but he doesn't let up. You try one last time, calling out for him.

"Dude, why do they keep calling for their dad?" The taller one of the group walks next to the purple alien, who was still trying to keep his grip on you unknowingly bruising your shoulder. "How should I know? Just- just help me get it back to the sarge's office."

"...Hands off."

You could cry in relief when you see the only alien you actually wanted around you right now.

But Arkuma on the other hand was beyond angry. Fuming would be what described how he was feeling right now.

Seeing his little one being hurt, calling out for him as they ran. It took a lot of restraint not to kill them where they stood for even attempting to get close to you.

The pair of recruits immediately stop crowding you, the purple one lets you go and you run to Arkuma, wrapping your arms around him.

"Get out of my sight." His tone was dark. Words couldn't express how he felt, or maybe he was feeling merciful because his human was finally clinging to him. The two scramble away, not looking back for a second.

Arkuma sighed before bending down to pick you up. You were shaken up, clearly, by the way you had a death grip on his clothes.

"I'm sorry I was gone for so long, little one." His voice is comforting. Huh. You buried your face into the crook of his neck. "I think we should go back home, you've had enough fun for one day."

[starseclipsing]

ִֶָ࣪☾. | Sinister.

ᥫ᭡. Part two! (Part 1 here)

Tags: canon-typical violence, pwp (porn with plot), cunnilingus, oral sex (f receiving), interrupted sex, sinister mark is his own warning.

Silently, you read on your soft, large bed. The one that you’d told Mark to get you after he had kindly snapped the last one’s framework in half.

Afterwards, you’d tried to convince him to sleep on the pull-out couch downstairs. Unfortunately, he had thought you were making a less-than-clever joke. 

Even with the window closed shut and the curtains drawn, you could still hear the destruction and the screams of agony from outside; and it was creating a serious detriment to your train of thought. You can’t focus if you’re rudely interrupted by a cry or a pained scream after reading a single sentence. 

You let out an annoyed groan when you hear a goddamn gun go off, and decide to take matters in your own hands. Or rather, dump them on Mark. 

You place your bookmark with little cats on it in the page you’ve stopped, a paw extending to point to the last sentence you read. Then, you hop off the bed to draw open the curtains and open the window. You don’t bother to direct your gaze downwards, where the murder and destruction occurs. 

“Mark!” You call out loudly. You wait for a few seconds, keeping an eye on the sky as you wait. Your expression warps to a more annoyed the longer he takes. “Maaaark!” 

Amidst the polluted sky, you see something like a sonic boom approach from far away. When he’s a couple hundred meters close, he steadily slows down, angling his feet forward to slow himself further. Till finally, he’s face level with you. 

“Yes?” He says with a grin. 

“What took you so long? I’ve been waiting here forever.” 

He sighs, “Baby, I was in Rome. You know how far away that is?” You roll your eyes, “Pretty damn far away.” 

He leans in through the window and plants a kiss, “If you want, I can take you with me right now.” He says musically.

You shake your head and smirk, “Lovely offer, but no.” Then, a frown takes place on your lips, leading you back to the reason you called him, “Mark, I can’t pay attention. I'm trying to read that stupid book, but I can't.” You gesture to your ears, “Everything is so loud.” 

In that exact moment, an explosion goes off. Mark genuinely thinks about it for a moment, offering a solution, “So, do you want to live somewhere more remote?” 

“No. I don’t want to live in a wasteland.” 

“So do you want me to kill everyone here?” 

“But then who will I talk to?” You complain. 

He sighs, “Can’t you just deal with it?” You frown, and he eats up his words, “Okay. Fine, fine.” You can practically see him roll his eyes, even with his ridiculous goggles. “But I want pasta for dinner.” 

You pout, “That’s what we had last night!” 

He grins, “But not from Italy.” 

He gives you a last, parting kiss, and then darts away. You nearly tip over at the force of it, then wipe your lips with a groan. You close the window and shut the curtains. 

For a few, particularly annoying moments. There’s nothing but annoying loud noise. You try to keep your mind off of it by plugging in your headphones and listening to the songs you’ve saved. 

You walk over to the bookcase in the room, pristine and untouched. After the fiasco a few nights ago, you refused him when he wanted to put it back in its original spot in the living room. Instead, you decided on keeping the nook close to your heart, and you. In the bedroom. 

You run your fingers across the rows of books. By the time you find that same, slightly tampered with book, the noise has dispelled, leaving you in a comforting silence. You hum along to the song as you open the book. 

The book that you are fairly sure that you hadn’t possessed before your fight. You don’t know what had compelled you to look for a book you didn’t own that night. But somehow, you knew you needed that book, and you knew it was just within your reach. 

For some strange reason, the man that had opened a portal to your dimension –Angstrom Levy– was not keen on grabbing your Mark by the scruff and chucking him to a lovely reality he can ruin for his own enrichment. Or, that’s what you thought the idiot’s thought process was. Who the fuck knows what he’s thinking, really. 

The book is on how dimensions work, how people that can open realities do that, and most importantly, how people who can’t inherently create a hole in the fabric of reality, learn how to. 

Interesting stuff. 

On the armchair near the bookcase, your legs are pulled to you and you drape a blanket over your lap. You take a sip of your warm cup of tea and set it down on the small coffee table next to you. 

You open to where you stopped, and begin to read. 

You have read this book more than a few times over the last couple days since you discovered it’s existence. During that time, you’ve found it’s less been a long read, and more a tough read. You’re trying your best to wrap your head around the idea before you even begin to attempt it. Because you only really get one chance. One chance to get rid of your Mark. And if you fail? Well, then you can kiss kicking Mark’s ass out of this reality goodbye. 

The entire late afternoon, you spend it in your reading nook, repeating over and over what you have to do to open a portal to a different reality. 

When seven o’ clock strikes, you hear the familiar click of the front door. And before you could even lift your face to see, you’re met face-to-face with Mark. 

He sees the book you’re reading, “I see you’re making good use of your time.” He kisses your cheek, “I’ll take a quick shower and meet you downstairs. I won’t take too long.” You suppose the last part was meant to be a threat. 

***

At the dinner table, you twirl your fork around the spaghetti, then push the spikes of it into a meatball, before putting it in your mouth. As you chew, you hum pleasantly. 

He watches your expression with a keen eye, a grin on his lips at his triumph. “See? I told you it wouldn’t be cold. You just like to complain.” 

You swallow. “It’s a little cold.” You don’t want him to think he did an amazing job and get too full himself. 

He throws his hands up and furrows his eyebrows at you, “No! It isn’t!” You just shrug. 

The rest of the dinner continues to be a series of cutlery clinking with each other as you silently eat. Per usual, Mark’s face is screwed up into a frown.

“So,” He tries to start, “How’s the book you were reading going along?” You look at him with an eyebrow raised, and he groans, “The one with the angsty guy.” 

You sigh and correct him, “Angstrom.” You take a sip of wine, it’s painfully good. “And I already told you, I can’t open a portal. It’s impossible. You have to be born with it.” 

You fall into yet another uncomfortable silence. And the cycle continues with Mark trying to speak up, “Well, what about those other books you were reading? The one with the dragons and princesses and whatever.” 

Each time, you respond as curtly as physically possible, and the dinner ends with you throwing the dishes in the garbage. Because who does dishes at the end of the world, anyway? 

Without needing to be told, you hop on the marble counter and let Mark slip between your legs. He holds your hips as gently as possible (for him, anyway) as he kisses your lips. But as the kisses become more heated, his grip on you tightens, and you repress an annoyed sigh. He’s such a goddamned brute it’s almost aggravating. 

He picks you up by the back of your thigh without cutting off the kiss, a show of his strength. You wrap your arms around his neck and let him kiss you on the table where you were eating at. You let him suck at your lips against the living room couch, and you let him mark your neck against the stairs, before finally carrying you up into the bedroom. 

Along the way, there is a mess of a trail of clothes. He throws you onto the bed and takes his underwear and pants down in one go. He kicks them away and crawls to you, planting kisses down your neck. 

“You’re so fucking…” He grabs your waist tightly, “bitchy without even trying.” He bites the column of your neck harshly, then again on the other side. You yelp both times. “You know how goddamn annoying you are?” 

He’s taking his frustrations out on dinner, and every dinner, on you. And you won’t have that. You slap his back, he shudders, “Either do it right or get off of me.” You grit. 

He just groans, “God, I hope that leaves a mark.” He kisses down your body. Starting from the middle of your chest, to your stomach, all the way down to your pelvis. With how impatient he is, it doesn’t take long before he plants a wet kiss directly on your folds. Your thighs instinctively cage his head. He snickers. 

“Oh…” He chuckles breathily against your cunt, making your spine shiver. “Missed this fucking cunt.” 

You don’t, or rather can’t, comment on how it’s only been two days since the two of you last had sex, because he decides to put his face directly into your pussy, licking at it. His mouth finds your clit, and latches on it, sucking. 

You immediately grip his dark hair, moaning. Your breath turns ragged as he leaves your clit a sensitive, puffy mess. “D-Don’t tease.” You grumble, but it sounds more like a whimper. 

He licks a stripe along your folds in response, “Baby, I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, ‘cause this is my pussy. You fucking got that?” He licks along your folds insistently, making you squirm. 

When you don’t reply, he slaps your hip, “You got that?” and you nod immediately, amusing him. As a reward, he slips a finger inside your wet core, and your breath is caught in your throat. 

Without bothering to let you get used to the feeling, he starts to slip it in and out. The lewd squelching sounds please him, and he returns his attention back to your clit. 

“M-Mark–” You barely say, your leg jerking, “Wait–” 

He takes that as an invitation to slip a second finger inside of you, making you gasp. He crooks them, trying to find your most sensitive spot, and he catches it when you scream. 

Determined to make you cum, each thrust of his fingers lands on your g-spot. Your head thrashed against the pillow, and your body jerks, trying to get away from him. But you’re pretty sure you’d cry if he did. 

He takes turns sucking on your clit, and marking your inner thighs. Every movement and jerk makes you flex, and he grips your thigh, “Stay fucking still, yeah?” 

You try, but it’s asking the impossible. Mark goes down on you again, eating at your pussy with renewed fervor. Curse viltrumite stamina. Or bless it. 

You feel the feeling in your stomach boil over, and you barely have time to warn him before he makes you come with a scream. You cry, and your cum lands on his mouth, making a mess, and he eagerly laps up your release. You breathe quickly, your thighs squeezing around him so hard his skull might bash in if he wasn’t superhuman.  

Eventually, you come down. Though your breath still comes in sharp inhales as you try to calm yourself. You realize it’s impossible with Mark still in between your legs. You try to push him off you as he licks at your inner thigh, “Mark—” You whine, “Enough. Stop. It hurts.” 

With one last lick, he finally gets up from between your legs. His tongue darts from his lips to clean them of your release. He crawls on top of you and kisses beneath your jaw, his hands going to feel your body up and down.

“Well it’s about to hurt a lot more. Because you’re such a sweetheart, and you’ll let me finish inside of you.” He squeezes your waist, “Won’t you?” 

Your cunt automatically pulses like a sleeper agent, and you feel the waves of arousal come back to you in an instant. Yes, the fuck. You are a goddamned sweetheart. The sweetest, even. 

You can’t help yourself from wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him, which he responds to with a pleasant moan. He grabs the side of your head and sucks at your lips, like he’s trying to eat them. But you don’t care. You want to have him. And you want him right now. 

His tongue slips between your kiss-bitten lips, and you feel his hardness push against your inner thigh. So close, yet so completely far away. 

“Mark.” You moan, “Mhm?” he says back, and you take a second to lay back down, looking up at his sickly sweet puppy eyes. Pretty eyes that are clouded over with lust. 

You let out a sound that’s like a whine. “Please? Now?” He chases after you like a puppy, immediately connects your lips again. 

“Yea, mmm, fuck. Yeah, okay.” 

He rubs his cock against your inner thigh, and it barely grazes your core, making you whine. You’ll die if you don’t get to have him inside of you right now. You wrap your legs around the small of his back, letting him know. 

He continues to kiss you like he’s starved, practically trying to melt your lips into each other as he humps your inner thigh. 

You feel sweat cling to your skin and Mark’s breathing becomes more frequent. 

He sits up on his haunches and strokes the underside of his cock, his eyes rolling back atthe pleasure. You swallow, enraptured by his display as he pumps his dick right in front of you. “You want this?” 

You look into his eyes with as much desperation as you’re trying to convey: yes. Oh my god, yes. 

He looks down at you with half-lidded eyes, and he brings your thighs around his hips. You help him without hesitation. Your body racks with nerves and anticipation as you eye his dick. Excitement bubbles up in your core. 

Just as you think he’s about to slam into you as roughly as he always does, he’s suddenly snapped out of his lusty haze, his face becoming more alert as he glances around the room. He quickly turns his head up to look at the window. Wordlessly, he jumps out of bed with speed and peels back the curtains. 

You know better than to even call out his name, so you lift the covers up to your chest and try to see what he’s seeing, sitting up. 

From the exact opposite side of the room, there’s a crackle, and an otherworldly sound fills the room as a bright green portal opens up. Instantly, it casts the room in its unrealistic, brilliant green. 

It continues to swirl in on itself, as it had done that fateful night. 

Mark looks at you, as if you’d done that, and you snort, “Yeah cause i’d have enough concentration to warp reality while we have sex.” 

He groans, not at all pleased with the turn of events. “Well, if you’re soo concentrated, close it back up again.” 

“And what the hell makes you think I can do that?” 

While the two of you bicker, a figure emerges from the portal, and your eyes flit to it on instinct. Meanwhile, Invincible’s instinct is to pull back his fist, ready to kill. 

Your jaw falls open as what emerges from the portal is not like anything you’ve seen. It’s a man, with a large, gross-looking head. He wears an inelaborate suit with a dramatic red cape. You turn your head and frown in distaste. 

You’ve always associated Mark with being some kind of freak accident, but this guy clearly takes the cake for being a mutant abnormality. 

“Invincible.” He declares, and in your opinion, ridiculously. “I have a proposal.” 

So it seems that’s what mutants say instead of ‘Hello.’ these days. 

You squint your eyes at the man. He seems familiar, but at the same time not at all so. 

“Angstrom?” You say, before Invincible almost punches through his guts with a yell. 

Instead, he catches himself and merely shoves him to the wall opposite, creating a crater. He looks back at you, “This guy?” He asks incredulously. You can only nod. 

“Thank you for your hospitality, I'm sure you’re known for it.” Angstrom groans after being struck. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask against your better judgement.

“Well, I wanted to give you guys some privacy so you can finish up.” He looks to Invincible, “But I don’t have all day for you to get off, too. And it’s as they say, ladies first, anyway.” 

You could not believe what your ears had just heard and what information your brain just relayed to you. You’re pretty sure your vagina just shriveled up and died right there. 

It’s only then that you notice Mark stands with his dick hanging. Just like that. Just…like… that. 

Perhaps it is just a way of life that you will never understand men.

Angstrom relays to invincible the deal that had slipped out of your mouth the night of your fight. To no one’s surprise, he instantly agrees. And faster than you can blink, he changes into his black and yellow suit. 

The man with brains for a head goes through the portal without further delay, confident Invincible will follow anyway. 

Invincible floats in front of the portal, looking back at you with his usual, cocky grin. You must look like a fish out of water. 

“This probably won’t take longer than a few days, you know?” 

You nod, not sure what to say. 

“And it’s what we want, to expand the empire.” 

You nod again, wordlessly. 

Satisfied, he flies through the portal, and it closes up behind him without delay. Instantly, the room is free of the portal’s glimmering green glow, and it’s shrouded in the complete darkness it was in.

Seems that mutants don’t say hello, or goodbye. 

You get off the bed sluggishly and put on your underwear and your shirt. You go to your small reading nook that was only made recently. The book Angstrom had given you is still laid on top of your thin blanket. You take it, and drop it into the trash can. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: sorry to edge, next part will have p in v, yay.

Tagged: @onlybatsyy

[fedoraspooky]

I Only Have E̢̡y͓͜e̞͖̦ for You

Wrote a story starring these two dingdongs! (my Felix and Steamboat Willie ttrpg expies for the folks just tuning in XD)

Summary: While trying to get some shuteye, Frank's sleep is interrupted by a mysterious dripping noise...

Contains cosmic horror, mentions of smoking and drinking (these guys are 1920's-era toons and this is a noir 1940s Roger Rabbit kinda setting so, yeah comes with the territory), and two guys that may smooch eventually in the future but at this point in time are kinda woefully oblivious. Enjoy!

***

Sheesh... 

What a day. 

Didn't start off too bad for ol' Frank, all things considered; he and Ollie had just wrapped up solving one of their biggest capers they'd had in a while, in which the Mad Mechanic had stolen important mechanical parts from various labs to build an army of... "vampire robots". 

To be honest, Frank still couldn't quite wrap his head around how that was supposed to work- did they drink oil or blood? Were they supposed to only attack other robots? Who knows! They certainly didn't take well to quaffin' ink, that's for sure. They took even WORSE to the garlic crust pizzas Ollie had brought them under the guise of a pizza delivery guy. One bite, and they exploded on the spot. All the two had to do after that was scoop up the stolen parts from the floor, dump 'em off back where they belonged, and bam- Problem solved! 

Despite Frank being a little woozy at the time from getting bit to hell and back, the Mad Mechanic himself wasn't much of a fighter on his own, so Frank was still able to make short work of him. Tied that fella up in a nice little bow of his own body for the police to swing by and pick up, and the two were on their way, ignoring the angry villainous monologue about revenge and whatnot being hurled at them. To be honest, Frank wasn't really paying attention... Because at that point, he discovered he'd had seven whole dollars in his coat pocket the whole time! Hot dog! 

Needless to say, he ended up doing what he usually did when he discovered the writers of the current episode were kind enough to give him any amount of cash: blew it right away on a celebratory night of booze and good eats! Ollie couldn’t come with, but… eh, whatever, more for him! After all, what's the point of saving what you probably weren't going to have in the next episode anyways? 

— 

…‘Probably shoulda saved at least SOME of it to call a cab’, Frank thought miserably as he trudged along the drenched sidewalk later that night. It was raining like nobody's business out here, and the occasional gust of cold wind kept threatening to turn his umbrella inside-out. On the bright side, at least he hadn't drank himself completely silly to the point of fist-fighting lamp posts, thinking they were sea serpents... He did NOT want Ollie to find him like that, not ever again. As things stood now, he was a little buzzed, but to his credit he still had most of his wits about him. Enough to still be able to walk home, anyway. He only stumbled a coupla times! No big deal. 

Frank stopped in his tracks, grimacing as a car blew past and sent a tidal wave of cold, filthy puddle over him. With an annoyed growl, he grabbed his whole torso up in his hands and twisted, wringing the excess water from himself, before letting go and spinning back into place. He then smacked the side of his head a few times to get any remaining water out of his ears, until a live, wriggling tuna fish fell out of one, landing with a wet slap on the concrete. He paused, eyebrows raised as he watched it flop around. He then glanced to the side.

...Would it be weird if he ate that?

Making sure no one was looking, he whistled nonchalantly as he picked it up and slipped it into his hammerspace for later.

It took a fair bit more walking before Frank stopped, something in his gut telling him this was where he was supposed to be right now. Well... 'supposed to' was probably a strong way to put it. In all truthfulness, his continuity was a hot mess, but by this point in his life he was very well used to just rolling with it. Seemed like the only thing directly involving himself that ever stayed consistent throughout the years was, well... himself. The real him, anyway. 

Yes sir, just him and his baggage. Match made in heaven... 

Turning to face the building, he looked up at the mismatched brick walls, the dingy windows, and crooked rain spout that just seemed to be hanging on by a thread. Real charmin' place. And of course, as he resignedly reached into his pocket and felt his fingers wrap around a room key, he knew with a sinking feeling that this dump was where he lived... for this episode, anyway. Not permanently. 

Never permanently. 

"Guess this's good a place as any to park my carcass," he grumbled.

Not wanting to stand out here in the dark and the on-again, off-again rain any longer, he made his way inside, closing his umbrella and shaking off the excess rainwater before it turned back into his tail. It slithered over his arm like a snake on a tree branch, returning to its rightful place on his rear as he ascended the stairs and made his way to... whichever room felt right to him. The key fit.

Turning on the light, he half expected to see a sea of roaches scattering, but thankfully there were no bugs to be found. Actually, looking at it... It wasn't too bad! Despite this technically being the first time he ever walked in here, it appeared pretty lived in, and it did indeed contain several belongings that he recognized as his own. The place had its issues too, but thankfully on inspection, he could conclude that bed bugs were NOT one of them. Damn good thing, too, because he was exhausted. 

And going through the whole rigamarole of getting ready for bed would be even MORE exhausting! If only he had some kind of handy magical artifact of sorts that could do it all for him…

…But he didn't!

So instead, he just turned the lights off, unzipped the front of his outfit and stepped out of it like it was a costume, before crashing unceremoniously into bed in just his undershirt and a pair of boxers. He could deal with whatever he needed to in the morning, if it didn't fix itself already while he was out. 

... 

Drip. 

...As a toon, sleeping went one of two ways. Most likely, one would sleep like a brick through the night with little fuss, if any... However, there was also the possibility that it could end up being a night where everything in the world would seemingly conspire to keep a poor sap awake for the sake of comedy. 

Drip. 

... 

Drip. 

As Frank was roused from his sleep by what sounded like the drip of a faucet, his tired mind knew right away that it would be the latter. Groaning, he shoved his head under the pillow, but it was no use. He then tried shoving the pillow into one ear until it popped out the other, but…

Drip.

Nope. He could still hear it, and probably would until he actually DID something about it. Tossing the pillow down in frustration, he scowled in the direction of the sound and rolled out of bed to go look. 

In his tired stupor he'd grabbed up a sock off the ground on the way out of the bedroom, fully prepared to plug up the faucet with it if need be. Sure, it would probably explode the plumbing and cause a flood from too much water buildup or what have you, but he didn't care as long as he could get a few more minutes of shuteye before it did... 

However, when he got to the kitchen, he found the sink was bone dry. No leaks here. 

... 

Drip. 

Frank bolted upright from inspecting the kitchen faucet, his tail bristling into an exclamation point before tapping him on the shoulder and pointing towards the hallway like it was a hand motioning with a thumb. Oh duh, right! 

The bathroom! 

He hurried over and almost tore the door off its hinges from how quickly he flung it open, only to find the sink here... wasn't... leaking, either. 

Huh... 

Somethin' smelled off about all this. 

No, literally, there was a strange smell in the air, kinda... Ozone-y? Criminy, where was that coming from? Did an old television set crawl in here and die? Only thing he could tell with any certainty was that it wasn't a gas leak. No, those smelled different…

"This is really startin' ta give me a headache," he growled under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to fend off the growing sense of pressure in his temples that he knew would develop into an ache soon. No @#$!in' way he was starting to veer into hangover territory this soon, he didn't even have that much to drink! ...Or did he...? He had been a little bummed out that he was celebrating alone… But there’s no way he’d let himself go overboard because he was feelin’ a little blue, right? He struggled to recall exactly how much he had through the forming headache, but swiftly shrugged it off. Bah! Doesn't matter, he could still think just fine! He's fine.

Nothin’ a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix!

Drip.

Just as he was about to turn around and look elsewhere, he remembered that the sink wasn't the only faucet in a bathroom. Turning to the shower curtain, he reached out to pull it back, but... Then he hesitated, his hand stopping just inches from the plastic. 

It was faint, but he could hear what sounded like rushing water, and a genre-savvy part of him half expected for just a moment that if he yanked the curtain back, someone would inexplicably be showering behind it, only to scream and whack him with a scrub brush for peepin'.

However, as soon as he had that thought, he shook his head and let out a half-chuckle, feeling ridiculous about the whole thing. Sheesh, he really MUST be sleep-deprived if that sounded reasonable. Something like that might’ve happened in one of his older cartoons, but this current setting he was in was at least a little more down to earth than his earlier outings. Really hard to shake those old instincts sometimes, heh… Shower's not even running, stupid! That shhhh sound was probably just water goin' through the plumbing. 

Sure enough, he pulled back the curtain and no one was showering in his tub. In fact, the... faucet here wasn't... dripping, either. None of 'em were. 

…

Drip. 

-SO WHERE IN THE HECK WAS THAT SOUND COMING FROM?? 

Frustrated, Frank whirled on the spot, but just as he was about to storm out of the room, he felt it. 

A small drop of something cold and wet hit his back, and... Maybe it was something about the viscosity of it, or the way it sent an odd shock down his spine that gave him the heebie-jeebies, but something told him this wasn't water. 

And of course, his luck being what it was, in an effort to get out of the way of further drips, he stepped in a damn puddle of the stuff. Naturally. 

"YEEOWCH!" 

Not only was it searingly cold enough to send a shock of pain up his leg, but it immediately made his foot go numb, followed by a godawful sensation of pins and needles.

Frank reflexively pulled away and backed up so fast that he very nearly tripped over the toilet, but caught himself on the sink before he could hit the ground. He had to get whatever the hell this stuff was off his foot pronto, so in an act of desperation he jammed it into the toilet bowl and flushed.

And wouldn't ya know it, by some stupid miracle, it worked! The tingling dissipated, and as feeling returned to his limb, he could see faint trails of something washing down the drain... 

Couldn't get a good look at it before it was gone, but that didn't matter, because just a quick glance to the side was the puddle, and it- No. 

No way, it couldn't- 

He grimaced and slapped a hand over his eyes, not wanting to look.

Swallowing the lump of fear in his throat (or perhaps his heart trying for a clever escape route?), his fingers slowly parted and his good eye poked its way out between them to see if... If it was what he thought it was. 

Oh boy. 

Yeah. It was. 

He’d seen this before, but only once. It... hurt to look at. Clinging to the ceiling like some kind of incomprehensible octopus with far too many constantly-shifting limbs was a mass of rapidly cycling textures and patterns, colors blurring in and out of each other- some that he recognized from traveling outside of his cartoons, and others he could not even begin to describe- but ALL of which should not have been able to display themselves at all in this monochrome setting. Between that and the rapidly flashing patterns and shapes, trying to figure out even the silhouette of what he was looking at, or if it was even moving or not, was like trying to make out images in television static. 

And it wasn't just loud visually, oh no- being in the presence of this thing was a bombardment of ALL the senses! That smell of ozone was downright pungent now, that sound he originally thought was rushing water had turned into a roaring electrical hiss, and the air was abuzz with a distinctly uncomfortable energy that made his skin itch. 

...Oh, and he had a pounding headache too, but he wasn't sure if that one was due to witnessing this mess of a thing above him, or the drinks he had earlier. His vision was swimming a bit around the edges too, so really, could be either one.

He stood there transfixed for a good few seconds before a coherent thought finally broke through the cacophony: He had to get the $%@! outta here! 

Which was now kinda difficult, considering he had pressed himself up against the back of the bathroom, and this drippy nightmare being was now situated firmly on the ceiling (and increasingly on the floor with each drip) between him and the only way out, but... Ugh, here goes nothin'. Maybe if he was lucky, he could slip out without being attacked if he moved slowly enough... Maybe if he was REALLY lucky, this was just another bad dream about this thing and before too much longer he’d wake up having rolled face-down onto the floor or something. Still, better to work with what he knew for right now, so… He pressed himself against the wall as flat as he could get, which... wasn't very, thanks to his gut. Frowning, he sucked it in as best he could and held his breath as he began to sidle along the wall. 

…

Okay… 

…

So far, so good... 

He was about halfway there when the visual snow that his brain sometimes created to substitute for the complete lack of vision in his bad eye started... Changing. Forming vague, but noticeable shapes. He closed his remaining eye since the conflicting images were messing with him, and he kept inching along, the feeling of solid wall against his back a cold comfort. Unfortunately, without his normal vision distracting him, he realized something. It was hazy and difficult to make out at first, but... 

It- ... 

It was himself he was looking at. 

From above. In the half of his vision he shouldn't even be seeing out of. 

Startled, his eye shot open and he looked up. There, from the middle of the flashing patterns and colors, his own eye stared right back down at him.

He watched, partially through vision that used to be his, as the black ink and gray paint drained from his fur and clothes, leaving him a stark white on trembling lineart. 

It blinked.

He wanted to scream. In fact, he started to, but he slapped a hand over his mouth, forcing himself to stop. He did his best to collect himself, squeezing his eye shut again to try and fight off the disorientation that came with seeing two different things at once. Holding his head in his hand, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. As he steeled himself, the fear and nausea slowly started to subside, increasingly replaced by another feeling… 

Anger. 

This $&@! thing took his eye, and now it’s mocking him with it!

The ink and paint that had sloughed off of him moments ago popped back up into his shape before diving back into him. He growled, opening his eye to glare up at this %*#@in’ eye thief, and in what was probably one of the most bizarre moments of his life, he pointed and wagged his finger towards his own stolen eye.

"Ohhh, no. Nuh-uh. Nope! Dat's bait," he said, starting to sidle along the wall again. "Whaddya think I'm gonna do, huh? Reach inta all dat mess? And for what, so you can take my hand too? My whole arm? Pssh! I don't think so, pal!" 

The eye followed him as he moved, but aside from continuing to be painful and confusing to look at, the thing on his ceiling did nothing else. Feeling perhaps a bit stupidly emboldened by its lack of action, his scolding turned into taunting as he got closer to the door, escape finally within his reach…

"Yeah, dat's right, buddy... Stay put. And ya know what? You're probably not even real! How about DAT? How do I know ya ain't just some kinda stress nightmare? Or some kinda drunk halluci… uh, lucin… -Or I’m just seein’ things, huh?! Why, I bet ya couldn't even hurt me if ya wanted to. Go on! Try, it'll be funny-!" 

It had been watching him relatively calmly (or so it seemed anyway, it was REALLY hard to get a read on this thing), riiiight up until he said that last word- at which the mass almost seemed to grow... Excited? Agitated? Either way, the thing’s colors shifted more rapidly than before, its patterns now rapidly swapping between X’s and O’s as it burbled and bubbled, the air practically crackling with a strange energy. It then dropped down from the ceiling startlingly fast, taking on a different, less amorphous shape as it rose from the gooey puddle it made. His stolen eye was now positioned on a head-like lump and two arms burst forward, reaching and grasping wildly like it didn’t quite know how to work them yet as the whole thing made a lunge for him.

In a panic, Frank reached into his hammerspace for anything, and-

SLAP!

He’d whacked it with the tuna. 

Bits of color and noise flew from the impact and splattered the bathroom wall, sizzling with static. It seemed he’d actually managed to stun the thing, since it had stopped dead in its tracks, the flailing fish now embedded in its head where the rest of its face should have been- just beneath the eye. The goopy arms lowered a little in apparent confusion, and the eye swiveled unnaturally to look down at the fish. Then, four triangular shapes started forming- two above, and two below- like fangs closing over it. As the struggling fish started to sink away into the newly-formed mouth, the eye swiveled back towards Frank with a renewed intensity, just in time to see a bottlebrushed tail disappearing through the door.

Frank was NOT sticking around to see what happened next. Taking the opportunity for escape, he darted out of the bathroom and fled on all fours from the apartment, his fur standing on end in fright. He didn’t know if it was chasing him, and didn’t even dare a look over his shoulder to see. A blur of ink, he flew down the street fast as a rocket into the dark of the night.

—

Ollie was a morning person.

Maybe not a particularly bouncy and cheerful one like he used to be, but years of sailing had accustomed him to waking up at the crack of dawn. There was just something nice about it. Nowhere he had to be right away, no phones ringing off the hook, no one to entertain… no pressure at all. For a few hours, he could pretend he didn’t have a massive studio empire hanging over him like a sword of Damocles... Just some coffee, a cigarette, and a beautiful sunrise to watch. There was peace in being the only one awake while everyone else around slept.

Couldn’t help but wonder if Frank had similar reasons for being such a night owl… They were both animals that were typically nocturnal, but Frank definitely lived up to it the most. The big guy’d often come plodding into their office sometime around 10 AM, tousled fur and rumpled clothes, yawning and blinking like he’d just surfaced from a coal mine. Then, without fail, he’d make a beeline for the coffee maker and wouldn't say a single non-grumbly word until he’d had a few sips. Sometimes after a big enough yawn, his tongue would still poke out a little between his fangs in a way that was actually kind of endearing… -Just an observation, though.

Some mornings, however, Frank would actually be there first… His continuity being what it was, sometimes it left the guy without a place to stay, so he’d sleep on the old, lumpy couch they had in there. It never seemed to bother Frank all that much, but… then he’d get up and carry himself in a way that indicated a sore back. Maybe it was time to see if a new couch could fit in the budget…? Maybe one that pulled out into a bed… 

Ollie got somewhat lost in his thoughts as he made his way up to their rented office space, the morning newspaper tucked under his arm. He whistled a little tune to himself as he ascended the stairs, but he slowed a bit when he got to their floor and saw the potted plants in the hallway were knocked over on their sides, all pointing the same direction as if they'd been toppled by a strong gust of some kind…

Towards their door.

“Huh,” he said quietly, brow furrowed and mouth drawn in a straight line. “Okay…” He started whistling again, albeit more slowly and quietly, as he stepped over a toppled pot that had rolled over into the middle of the hall. Nudging it back upright with his foot, he continued to the door and pulled out a comically large ring of keys from his pocket. 

“Really oughtta organize these,” he muttered to himself as he went through them one by one. The irony wasn’t lost on him that it’d probably be faster to use a lockpick. Finally he got the door open, but only an inch or so before it was halted by a door chain. Okay yeah, Frank was here already.

“Frank?” He called in, “Hey, it’s me, open the door! And I swear ta god I hope you’re decent.” Instead of being greeted with the usual snore, however, he heard the rattling of window blinds, the sound of grawlix being uttered in a hushed, yet urgent tone, and then a few moments later- a loud crash.

Okay, something was definitely up. Not waiting for Frank to get the door, Ollie threaded his tail through the inch of space and, with a bit of trial and error, managed to unlatch the door chain with it. “Hang on pal, I’m comin’!”

“No, wait-!”

Ollie opened the door to find Frank on the floor in just his boxers and undershirt, leg successfully down one pant leg but the other tangled up. He’d apparently tripped over himself in a hurry to put on some pants. The cat froze, save for an anxiously twitching tail, and stared wide-eyed back at him for a few moments. Then, with a surprising burst of speed for a toon his size, he leapt up onto the couch, landing perfectly in what the author could only describe as the ‘Alone On A Friday Night?’ pose. On his side, propping himself up on one arm, the other on his hip, he grinned with a hint of nervousness despite his attempt to play it casual. 

“Oh heyyy, buddy! Didn't see ya come in!” He said with a small chuckle, now trying to slide his other leg into the pants as discreetly as possible. 

Ollie did feel a little relieved that his partner seemed to be okay, but at the same time… This was weird. Not Frank sleeping in his undies, that was normal- but something else… He sighed and shook his head.

“Coulda told me you were just gettin’ dressed,” Ollie said, looking away to give the guy some privacy. He went over to the desk and had a seat, unfurling the newspaper and busying himself with a quick skim of the headlines.

“Well hey, could be worse,” Frank said, now fully dressed when Ollie lowered the paper to look at him, but still in the same pose. “I used ta only wear a bow.”

“Things were a little different then,” Ollie started, but then he paused in thought, looking vaguely up towards the ceiling. “-Actually, no, pretty much everyone else I knew still wore some kinda clothes…”

Frank sat up, looking absolutely wounded as he held his hands out defensively. “C’mooon, it’s how I was designed! Besides, I came first,” he said, puffing out his chest with a big grin and proudly jabbing his thumb towards it, “so if anyone set the bar for what’s normal for cartoon animals, it’s me!”

Ollie put the newspaper down. “...Frank. Buddy. Ya can't possibly be implyin’ I’m the weird one for wearin’ pants,” he said in a flat tone.

…That got him. Frank couldn't keep a straight face. He managed for maybe a good two seconds before he busted up laughing, which devolved into a smoky wheeze.

Ollie smiled. A genuine smile from him was kind of a rare sight these days, but something about the way this big lug laughed himself silly just tickled him. The morning was almost starting to feel normal again, but… he still wanted to get to the bottom of this.

“No, but seriously, what’re ya even doin’ up this early? Also… didn't ya say ya had somewhere ta stay last night?” He said, hiding his smile and giving Frank a bit of a side-eye. 

“Oh, heh… guess I was wrong! It happens,” Frank replied with a small shrug, looking back towards the window as he slid his hand over the nape of his neck. “...And I couldn't sleep. What else is there ta say?” 

Ollie looked skeptical. “...I’m askin’ because usually when ya drink enough ta smell like you got trampled by a circus fulla pink elephants, it’d take the world endin’ ta wake you up.”

Frank just shrugged again, though he could feel himself starting to sweat. “Oh please, it wasn't dat much…” he muttered, before plastering a smile back on. “Anywho, I’m fine! So I’m up early, big whoop!”

“Ya ain't in any kinda trouble?”

“Nope!”

“Nothin’ that’d, say, cause you ta knock over everything in a mad dash ta get here?”

Frank paused. “...No?”

“...You absolutely certain?”

“Cross my heart!”

They stared each other down, Ollie stone-faced and Frank trying (and failing) to maintain an air of nonchalance. He usually kept his shirt collar pretty open, not liking the feeling of anything around his neck, but a finger slipped under to tug at it a little regardless. 

“...Okay, okay! If ya really wanna know, I had a bad dream. Spooked me real good. Dat’s all,” Frank said, crossing his arms.

Ollie let up a little. If Frank was in some kind of real danger, he wanted to know about it, but if not… It probably wasn't his place to pry. “Okay,” he said simply. “Ya wanna talk about it?”

“Eh, it's nothin’ I can't handle.”

“I wasn't askin’ if you could handle it or not.”

“...It’s nothin’ important.”

“Wasn’t askin’ that either.”

“-Nor urgent.” 

“Do I gotta repeat the question?”

“...” Frank breathed out a heavy sigh and his mouth dropped into a frown, the look in his eye briefly betraying just how tired he really felt. “No, I do not want to talk about it.”

“Alright, then. Offer still stands if ya change your mind.” Ollie’s words were punctuated by a flutter of newspaper as he picked it back up. 

“Mhm.”

Frank fished a cigar out of his shirt pocket, using the end of his tail like a Zippo to light it. Truth be told, a part of him really did wanna talk about it... It wasn’t for some macho meathead reason that he couldn’t, either… He wasn’t afraid to admit he was scared! Certainly not to his best pal. That… wasn’t the problem. 

“Thinkin’ of gettin’ a new couch,” Ollie said, helpfully changing the subject.

“Mm? What’s wrong with dis one?” 

“The fact it makes your spine sound like breakin’ celery… Also I dunno if our clients fully appreciate the big perfectly Frank-shaped indent in the cushion.”

“Pssh… Gives it character!”

“...Ya really don’t have to keep sleepin’ on that old thing, ya know that right? I have a guest room.”

“I know.”

Frank had never told Ollie what happened to his eye. Nor anyone else. Whenever pressed about it, he just simply shrugged and said he ‘lost it’, and that was that. @#$!, he wasn’t entirely sure what happened himself… He had no words for it. It’d happened so quick… All it took was one unlucky night. Stumbling home drunk off his gourd, winding up in the wrong place, at the wrong time… And encountering… that. Now he was left with chronic pain, one less eye, and the distinct feeling he’d seen something he shouldn’t have. 

And he’d do whatever it takes to make sure Ollie never has to see it either.

[just-null]

are you oka- oh.

[readwritealldayallnight]

The men working on his crew today are too loud, too boisterous, too young, too content to stand around blabbering, taking the piss instead of doing their actual jobs

Getting into construction work following retirement from the SAS wasn’t exactly the idyllic image of sipping a daiquiri on the beach that his thick stack of discharge papers had painted in his head

But it kept his hands occupied and his mind busy, his daily stressors having shifted from cleaning blood out of his gear and patching broken bones every other day, to instead complaining about the rising price of lumber and pulling splinters out on occasion

Trading in his AR for a nail gun, swapping his tac vest for a tool belt, even turning in his skull mask for a hard hat, was surprisingly an easier adjustment than he’d predicted, the long hours and physical work meant he was too exhausted by the time he got home to spend much time doing anything other than preparing for the next day, a never ending cycle that kept him from being still for too long

It might have been some time since Simon Riley was on a battlefield, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still play the hero every once in a while

He’s stood at the top of a ladder, wiping the sweat off his brow as his other hand pats agains this tool belt, searching for the one tool he’s certain he forgot to bring up with him

“Pass me the claw head hammer will y-” Simon cuts himself off from asking the lad stood below him, when he notices he’s only talking to himself. Squinting through the glare of the afternoon sun shining in his eyes, he glances around the job site until he spots most of his crew gathered near the front gates

He rolls his eyes to himself as he begins making his way back down to solid ground, having spotted what had the men so distracted : a pretty bird stood on the other side of the fence

Simon can admit to himself, even he likes to partake in the occasional bird watching, he is just a man at the end of the day, but not when there’s work to be done, and they’re already more than a week behind on this job

“Alright you tossers, back to it!” He shouts to be heard over the group of men, a chorus of groans and grumbles echoing out before they’re slowly dispersing

“Ach, we were jus’ helpin ‘er out, sir!” A man who sounds like he’s been smoking all his life croaks out as he walks by

“Here, miss. He’s the one that might be able to give you an answer.” One of the younger men on the crew says, pointing a gloved hand in Simon’s direction

He follows the younger man’s gaze, expecting to find another curious bystander peeking at the work, perhaps a nosy neighbour who wants to know why such a mess is being made, hell maybe even one of the hens from the nearby college stopping by for a quick flirt

He’s prepared to offer a professional nod, maybe even a begrudging ‘Alright?’ if it appeases them, before he’ll be excusing himself back to the job, uninterested in getting home any later tonight than he already has to just to entertain some stranger

But of course, he doesn’t end up doing so, does he? Not when his hand comes up to block out the sun, his gaze peering through the chain link fence, and it’s you that his eyes land on

You, with your wide eyes fighting to appear confident, though the controlled panic running through them is clear to see from where Simon stands a few feet away from you

Your body tense as you push a small pram in place back and forth, back and forth, your attention jumping between the men and whoever must be tucked up under a pile of blankets in the stroller, presumably also the reason for your enticingly large cleavage, he allows himself think for a split second before averting his gaze

Simon sends the younger man away with a quick jut of his chin, before he’s taking a careful step towards you

“Wha’ can I help you with?” He tries in vain to mask the usual harshness in his tone, but with such a quick switch in his emotions it doesn’t come out sounding quite how he’d hoped, yet you don’t flinch away from him either

“I know-” you let out a frustrated breath, readjusting your grip on the pram’s handle as you steady yourself, locking eyes with his once again with a new vigour behind them this time around. “I know this is so silly of me, and I’m sure you’ve had lots of people botherin’ you, so uh, sorry for bein’ one of ‘em, but here I am.”

You let out a small chuckle to yourself, more self deprecating than anything else, but Simon finds himself offering the slightest bit of a smile in return, if only to ease your nerves

“Anyways, I can imagine you’re probably not allowed to tell but, uh, people have been saying this might be a daycare you’re building here.”

He knew what your question was going to be long before you’d opened your pretty mouth- everyone and their mother had been asking about the project

Limited childcare in the area meant that as soon as the first whispers of a new daycare being built had started to spread, parents and even parents to be had been poking their noses before shovels had even hit the ground

Opening his mouth to give you the same answer he’d given everyone before you, Simon finds the words dying on his tongue as the unmistakable sound of an upset baby comes from the pram, and a very small baby at that

“Shh, shh darling. It’s okay, baby. You’re alright, shh.” He can’t find it in himself not to step closer until he’s practically got his nose poking through the fence to get nearer to you both, eyes glued to the way your lips formed the sweet soothing words, peering towards the increasingly squirming bundle tucked away in the pram

“Tha’s a tiny one.” Simon practically whispers to himself, though he knows you’ve heard him when your eyes glance up to meet his. “Can’t be very old.” He remembers how small his nephew had been when he’d been born, and recognized that distinct newborn cry instantly.

“Just turned eight weeks.” You answer with a ghost of a proud smile dancing across your lips quickly as you gaze at your bundle of joy, a tidbit of information you would expect a new parent would be all too happy to talk about, though the elation quickly disappears from your face. “Unfortunately my job is uh, I have to go back to work soon, I’ve just really been needing to find a spot for her somewhere.”

“Have you told your boss to sod off?” He asks, biceps bulging as he crosses his arms and leans a shoulder against the fence. He doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like the idea of a pretty little bird being all worked up and stressed about finding her new little baby bird somewhere to stay because her job is trying to force her to come back so soon

He also recognizes the fact that he doesn’t know you, that you’ve been a stranger to him up until about 60 seconds ago, and that he shouldn’t go involving himself in things that don’t regard him, but there’s something about this, something about you, that has him asking more questions that he should

Simon hardly realizes the corners of his mouth trying to smile along when you let out a small chuckle at his question, before your answer has him set back into his usual scowl. “No, I wish it were that simple.” you try to laugh again, though the sound doesn’t quite reach your eyes as you push some hair out of your eyes, Simon’s fingers twitching at his side

“No, they’re not forcing me to come back, it’s more of a- I need to work again. Money doesn’t exactly make itself, and it’s just me and her so…” you trail off, offering a meek shrug before you avert your gaze from his and go to fiddle with the baby blankets. “There- there just aren’t any daycare spots anywhere, and the waiting lists are months if not years long. And she and I just don’t pass through this neighbourhood often, so I’m worried that once that sign goes up announcing this is a daycare, that the spots are going to be taken up before I even have a chance to-”

“S’alrigh, s’alright.” Simon interrupts your rambling, a hand raised slightly in the air as though you were a spooked animal he hoped to calm. having heard everything he needed to hear. You look up at him with such sincerity in your eyes, he can tell you would do anything for that baby, that you likely aren’t above begging and pleading at this point, alone with a baby and short on options, he knows what he’ll do. Had pretty much made up his mind soon as he saw you, but now he’s decided.

“Just you and her, you said?” He asks quietly, absentmindedly nodding along with you when you confirm his question. “Well, I mean, I can tell ye that yes, this is meant to be a daycare ‘ere.” He speaks hesitantly, watching as the hope builds in your eyes at his words. He brings a sweaty palm up to rub the back of his neck as he breaks the news to you.

“But I couldn’t tell ye anythin’ about who we’re buildin’ for, love.” He continues, the term of endearment slipping past his lips unconsciously. “They just give us the blueprints and we do our part. Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout what or who’s takin ownership.” He watches that same sliver of hope that had started to grow quickly be snuffed out as you take in what he means.

“Oh. Well, I guess it makes sense.” You reply, evidently disappointed but too kind to push, too used to the recent defeats to expect anything else. “Thank you anyways, really. I appreciate you-”

“I’ll find out.” Simon says quickly, preventing you from bidding him whatever goodbye you were about to give him, keeping you here just a little longer.

“W-what?”

“I’ll find out. Who we’re building for. I’ll find you a name.”

“I- I- I don’t even- you really don’t have to do that!”

“Doesn’t matter what I have to do. I want to. So I will.”

He watches your face carefully now, seeing how you glance up at him with a different sort of apprehension in your gaze, almost like you’re truly taking him in for the first time, discovering something you weren’t expecting to find in him.

“Well, thank you. Truly.” You tell him, a smile so genuine gracing your lips that Simon finds himself choosing to smile back at you. The moment doesn’t last long however, when the baby starts to fuss again, your attention being drawn back to her. “I know baby, I know. I’ve got to feed you soon.”

Simon can’t help the deep blush that creeps up his neck and across his cheeks, unsure if it’s the way he enjoyed hearing you say ‘I know baby, I know’ a little too much or the idea of his own lips helping to ease that heavy ache in your swollen breasts that has him momentarily flustered.

“Maybe I could-” he clears his throat, pointedly avoiding looking at your chest and maintaining eye contact instead. “Maybe I could get your number or email or somethin’, to get back to you that is.”

“Oh! Yes of course! Here,” you say, digging through your pockets until you fish out a wadded up receipt. Simon pulls the pencil that’d been resting over his ear down and gently slips it through the fence over to you, watching with rapt attention as you bring the tip to the paper and write down what might be the most important numbers Simon ever learns. “There’s my number.”

He takes the pencil back from you and carefully accepts the paper you hand him, looking down at the name and smiley face you’ve left as well, whispering your name to himself before meeting your eyes once more. Before he can change his mind, Simon is tearing off the end of the receipt that’s still blank, and begins writing down his own name and number on it.

“If I don’t get back to you by the end of the week, you use tha’ to knock some sense into me, alrigh’?” He asks, slipping you the paper. He knows there isn’t a chance in hell he would forget about reaching out to you, about following through on this, but again, there’s something about you he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Thank you, Simon.” You answer, reading the name off the note he’s just given you, a small chill running down his spine at the sound of his name leaving your lips, the way you say it like it’s a name worth knowing. “Seriously, I can’t even tell you wha-”

The both of you can’t help but chuckle together when the baby’s cries cut you off again, you offering a sheepish smile in apology along with a small shrug of ‘what can you do?’.

“I’ll let you go, someone needs you more.”

“Well, we’re both very grateful to you, Simon.”

He stands there longer than he really should, watching the two of you walk off until you’re out of sight. The note you slipped him though? Well, that he holds onto until he’s clocking out, and maybe on the drive home as well, and maybe it’s the first thing to ever be hung up on his fridge in his flat, that little smiley face reminding him why a little bird watching isn’t so bad after all

I dunno ladies is this something???