#totally not losing my mind every time I see a glimpse of him

[anccaku]

I like Illumi a normal amount.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Here, have a casual glimpse into my thought patterns and creative process:

*just scrolling about Tumblr and vibing to "Too Much Wine" by The Fratellis*

Too much wine?

Mihawk?

Mihawk drunk??

Wait wait wait WAIT what are they all like drunk?

GASP s h i n y h e a d c a n o n s

BLANK DOCUMENT HERE I FCKEN COME—

So anyway here's some headcanons about drinking too much (insert adult beverage of choice) with the OPLA boyos.

Implied that Reader is already in a relationship with each character in question.

I shall call it.......

HAMMERED

OPLA!Zoro, Sanji, Shanks, Mihawk, Buggy X AFAB!Reader

NSFW Headcanons

Kinda Kinktober I guess? Borderline shitpost, I had way too much fun with this.

♫♬♫ Too Much Wine - The Fratellis ♫♬♫

I'll take the mead from the table

Talk straight while I'm able

Until I'm nothin' less than a crime

Zoro

"Y'know, I actually have four swords, but we're gonna have to go somewhere more private if you wanna see the other one."

Rum, sake, beer, wine, whatever you're down for drinking so is he.

Zoro's got incredibly high endurance and stamina—it's going to take a while for him to show that it's affecting him at all, but once it does, he goes from zero to one hundred faster than you can say "onigiri."

Literally no in between, no tipsy or buzzed. Just sober and then stumbling over his own feet and swearing he absolutely is not drunk the whole time.

All those repressed emotions that he hides behind a mask of dry sarcasm on a day to day basis are coming out in full effect.

That means you're getting one of two Zoros—goofy Zoro or sad Zoro.

Goofy Zoro's going to have his arm around your shoulders, laughing his ass off about that time he caught that idiot Marine brat swinging his sword around bare-ass naked so he chopped off half his hair.

He's likely to get pretty flirty in this state, even downright playful, especially if you initiate it, and it's almost definitely going to end in him dragging you somewhere private to fuck your brains out, because his restraint is totally out the window at this point.

If you end up with sad Zoro, he'll be laying his head in your lap and slurringly asking whether or not you think he's ever really going to be the best swordsman in the world, probably still beating himself up over losing to Mihawk.

Just comb your fingers through his hair and do your best to reassure him that you love him and genuinely believe in him. Whether it works or not, he's going ti end up falling asleep in your lap, so be prepared to be stuck there for a while.

"But like...you really think, like, I can beat that bird-eyed bastard? I mean he fucked me up with a goddamn butterknife."

Sanji

"There we are—a beautiful drink for a beautiful woman."

Turbo Flirt Mode: activated.

Sanji is all for pairing wine with food, but if you're looking to get a little sideways, he's going to want to show off his mixology skills to impress you—and he's going to be making some dangerous concoctions, the kind that taste like there's not a drop of booze in them.

The more lit he gets, the less subtle the flirting. If you thought he was clingy sober, you are in for a surprise, because that's just the tip of the iceberg.

Head on your shoulder, puppy dog eyes, telling you how pretty you are and how much he adores you every thirty seconds, with a big silly grin like you're the most amazing thing he's ever seen.

Brushing his lips along your neck and murmuring all the things he's going to do to you once the two of you are behind closed doors later—and he means every one of them, because you're utterly irresistible to him in this state.

He wants you giggling and blushing just as much as he wants you moaning and trembling under his touch.

Super playful once you are alone, even moreso than usual. He's definitely going to suggest doing body shots, he will beg if he has to, but honestly who in their right mind is going to turn him down?

"You're just...just so—so beautiful—honestly, it should be illegal."

Shanks

"Hold—hold my rum—no, no, just for a moment, I wanna see if I can do a backflip off the railing—"

Spoiler alert: he can't. Now he's lying on the quarterdeck alternating between hysterical laughter and "Oh God that hurt—"

Probably the most fun drunk in the world, but he can be a hazard to his own health as his judgement begins to lapse so someone's going to have to keep an eye on him.

If you're at a tavern or otherwise public location, do not under any circumstances let the man out of your sight for more than two seconds. He turns into a straight-up child, he can and will wander off, and you'll find him a mile away on top of a building, likely half-naked and singing sea shanties at the top of his lungs, with no clue as to how he got up there...or how to get back down.

He's developed quite a high tolerance over the years and tends mostly toward dark rum, though he won't turn down a stein of ale or beer.

Total life of the party energy—telling jokes and stories, he just wants to see everyone laughing and having the absolute best time.

Super, super flirty, he may as well have written the book on pick-up lines; and he doesn't care that you're already together, he's going to drop every single one of them on you just to see how much he can make you giggle or roll your eyes.

He's very likely to pull you onto his lap at some point and make out with you like no one's watching—he already doesn't really care who sees when you're both sober, but he really doesn't care after a little too much rum, so it's probably best to coax him to bed at this point.

He's perfectly happy with cuddling up, laying his head on your chest and draping his arm over you, just humming in contentment and falling asleep together...but if you want more, don't expect to get much sleep, because he wants you lasciviously.

To taste every inch of you, to suffocate between your thighs until you're screaming, to pull you onto his cock and watch you ride him until you're both too breathless and exhausted to do anything but tangle yourselves together in the sheets and drift off to sleep between slow, sensual kisses.

"Oh, princess, just when I catch my breath, you make me lose it all over again."

Mihawk

"If you insist on being such a brat about this, you're going to get what's coming to you."

Mihawk has a strong drive to be in total control of himself and everything happening around him at all times, which means he doesn't tend toward getting drunk.

But...he also has this wee little problem with his ego being larger than the entire volume of every combined ocean in the world. If you imply that you could drink him under the table...he's probably going to sneer and tell you to quit being a brat, but he's also going to be quite driven to prove you wrong.

He does love his wine, but it's generally only a glass or two to wind down and relax—he's definitely got a nice bottle of aged bourbon or eau de vie tucked away somewhere that's going to be coming out, because he's got something to prove now.

Unfortunately for him, due to the fact that he so rarely drinks heavily...he's a bit of a lightweight. Which he won't admit even to himself.

But it barely takes a single lowball of harder liquor to get that pale complexion of his a little flushed.

Perhaps just over three for him to start blinking a bit harder than normal in a futile attempt to get his vision to focus, to start speaking a bit slower to attempt to hide the slight slur in his words as you taunt him about it—which honestly only makes it more pronounced, and more amusing.

You had best enjoy it, because it's probably the only time you're going to hear the words, "Fine, you win," come out of his mouth—as well as perhaps the only time he won't be miffed about conceding. The alcohol in his system has him loosened up just enough that he can't pretend he doesn't find your boldness and sass at least a bit endearing...and even more alluring.

That being said, you're still getting punished for it, teased within an inch of your sanity, and he's going to enjoy every single second of it.

Setting his glass aside, plucking yours from your hand, pinning your hands above your head with a devilish smirk and slowly undressing you, his eyes on yours the entire time.

Trailing his fingertips across your bare skin, drawing closer and closer but never quite giving you want you want, his lips barely brushing against your neck, reminding you in an amused murmur in your ear that he could easily do this all night.

You did have the audacity to challenge him, after all—he has no choice but to remind you who's in charge.

"What is it, my little bird? Did you think you were going to get a consolation prize? You're still going to have to beg."

Buggy

"Bet you two thousand Berries I can shotgun two beers at once, watch this—"

And he basically ends up halfway drowning himself, but hey, you're two thousand Berries richer!

Honestly, there's no party like a Buggy party, because a Buggy party doesn't stop until someone loses a limb—probably him.

No, really. Don't let him use his devil fruit abilities. Keep a bucket of sea water on hand if you have to, because he may literally misplace one of his limbs and you're going to have to go on a Chop Chop Scavenger Hunt to help him find it while you're both completely smashed.

If Buggy's drinking, everybody's drinking, and everybody is getting completely fucked up. This is non-negotiable, he thrives on chaos and that's what he's intent on creating.

Anybody who passes out before him is getting something obscene drawn on their face in permanent ink. He can definitely hold his liquor, so if you can keep up with him then you can expect to be the last two living souls left conscious on the whole ship.

That being said, he doesn't care who's awake—things are going to get kinky, and he's really not bothered about anybody watching. Or joining in, for that matter. This whole operation very well may devolve into a drunken orgy if he has any say in the matter.

Then again, it may also devolve into him flopping dramatically across your lap and divulging absolutely all of his trauma in an emotionally-charged alcohol-induced rant. He won't remember it in the morning, so please do him a favor and don't remind him.

"Hey, uhh...I los—I lost my foot again. .....Sor—*hiccup* sorry."

[harrysfolklore]

Can you write a blurb where y/n is pregnant and she and harry are at a family party or something and everyone keeps touching her bump and she’s very uncomfortable, and harry comforts her? Xx

as usual, i hated the ending for this but i hope you guys like it 🥲 let me know your thoughts and thanks for the request <33

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

GIF BY @whatsthereinthename

The world was going crazy over Harry Styles becoming a dad.

And the fact that the picture he posted on his Instagram to announce it gathered over 30m likes, making it the 10th most liked picture on the platform’s history proved it.

However, his millions of fans all over the world weren’t the only ones feeling absolutely ecstatic over his wife being pregnant with his first child, his family was also losing their minds over the news.

The Styles family loved YN to pieces, and not only Harry’s nuclear family consisting of his mom and sister, his extended family including aunts, uncles, cousins and even family friends had grown to love the girl over the years. So when Anne called up to invite them over for one of her famous get togethers, they were over the moon because they knew the couple would be there and they would catch a glimpse of a pregnant YN for the first time.

“You ready, love?” Harry said as he entered their shared bathroom where his wife was applying the finishing touches to her makeup.

“I am, just need to spray on some perfume and I’m good to go.” She said as she turned around to face her husband, and when Harry got a proper look at her his breath almost hitched in his throat.

She looked absolutely breathtaking with her navy blue sundress and the brand new bump that adorned her body.

Harry swore that he had never seen someone more beautiful.

“Look at you, darling.” Harry simply said, putting a hand on his chin, looking at her almost in disbelief.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” YN joked for a moment, battling her eyelashes at him.

“No, you’re just the most gorgeous woman on this earth.”

“And you’re a total sap, let’s go, I don’t want us to be late.”

The car ride to Anne’s house was nice, their favorite soft tunes and small talk filled the air until they got there, and before getting off the car, Harry took a moment to reassurance his wife about the evening.

“If you feel uncomfortable or want to rest let me know immediately, okay? I don’t want you or baby to be overwhelmed.”

She pecked his lips softly before speaking, “We’ll be good, don’t worry.”

They got off the car and we’re instantly met with Anne waiting for them by the door, a fond smile on her face at the sight of two of her favorite people.

“I’m so happy you made it,” she said as he hugged Harry first, “Darling! You’re absolutely glowing!” she hugged her daughter-in-law, gently caressing her bump.

“Thank you, Anne. It’s so good to see you.”

The three of them headed to the backyard where the rest of the guests were mingling, and once YN stepped foot all eyes were on her, complimenting how beautiful her bump looked.

“YN darling! Long time no see!” one of Harry’s aunts approached her, hugging her before placing a hand on her bump.

At this, she immediately tensed, not used to anyone aside from Harry touching her bump.

Harry noticed it and he placed a hand on her back protectively before speaking, “We’re going to sit down for a bit, the missus is a bit tired from the drive here.”

Once they were seated next to Gemma and her boyfriend Michal, YN squeezed Harry’s leg gently and gave him a soft smile, as a way to thank him for his previous action.

The evening went on smoothly, they ate Anne’s delicious food and engaged with family they haven’t seen in a while.

However, every time someone came close to YN, trying to touch her bump or just invade her personal space, she grew more and more uncomfortable.

“Your bump is getting so big!”

“Is the baby kicking yet?”

“I miss having a baby bump.”

Were some of the comments YN had heard all day long, and by the time another of Harry’s aunts tried to approach her, she had enough and quickly exited the backyard before she could reach her.

“Love? Are you okay? Saw you running away back there.”

Harry’s voice made its way to her ears, she was leaning on the kitchen counter, her back facing him.

“I’m okay, just needed a breather.” She said, her eyes closed and still not facing him.

“Hey,” Harry slowly approached her, standing next to her but not touching her, “Can you look at me please?”

YN slowly turned around, and once Harry saw her watery eyes with tears threatening to come out, he pulled her to his chest.

“What’s going on, love? What made you upset?”

YN took a few breaths before speaking, “I just, I’m not used to anyone but you touching my bump and being close to me, and your aunts have been all over me all evening and I guess I got overwhelmed,” she sniffed before continuing, “I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude to your family but these hormones are acting up.”

“It’s okay love, nothing to apologize for,” he pecked her forehead softly, “Do you want to get out of here, we can leave now.”

“No, we don’t have to leave,” YN interrupted him, “Can you just, stay next to me when we go out there? I feel safer when you’re close.”

Harry almost melted at her words, and she grabbed her chin and kissed her lips softly.

“Of course, my love. I’ll always make sure you and baby feel safe and comfortable.”

And with a final shared kiss, they headed out again, Harry staying by YN’s side the entire time, making sure she and his baby were always safe.

taglist: @lightsoutstyles @willowpains @straightontilmornin @sleutherclaw @gimsaysay @hazzassmirk @platinumbarbie143 @musicforcinemas @celesteblack08 @scntfrhs @eleanordaisy @lomlolivia @iceebabies @iloveshawn @be-with-me-so-happily @watermelonsugacry @rayisthehoe @drewrry

[strwbnnie]

For awhile my favorite pair of sweatpants had a hole in the crotch and after a long day of work I didn’t want to wear underwear and have them chafing my ass so I would just be very careful how I sat and shit but imagine how Katsuki would react if he found out you were walking around with no underwear on in pants that had a hole exposing ur pussy if u moved wrong. (My thighs are so big they mostly hid it lmao) I just imagine him being so mean about it.

Next time say hi 😭 buttt this was a great hc so I turned it into something lol

Pairing: K. Bakugo x Chubby Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI

fingering, degradation (use of slut, whore, etc), aged up characters, y’all are both adults

❀

🌸Listen, Katsuki would totally be a mean little shit about this. But in his defense, It’s his first time dating a thick bitch so he probably doesn’t even know what chafing is 😭

🌸So of course he thinks you’re being a lil slut— thinks you’re a lazy little whore who probably cut the hole for easier access to play with your pussy.

🌸Or maybe you’re just being a dumb brat, trying to tease and tempt him, being selfish with your pretty pussy like it already doesn’t belong to him.

🌸He didn’t even know why you loved wearing those dumb ass pants anyway. He loved seeing your thick thighs and juicy ass in nothing but those cheeky pink panties with the heart design on the ass.

🌸So when he teleports himself from across the room to sitting beside you, he’s just that damn fast, he’s fucking floored when he catches a glimpse of your bare pussy through that hole.

🌸He looks at you with an unreadable face, but one thing you can tell, he’s fucking annoyed. Most of all he’s fucking offended.

🌸He’s got a face to ride and all this dick for you to sit on, yet you’ve resorted to rubbing your pussy through your pants like a horny loser in college.

🌸Next thing you know he’s slapping your laptop closed and tossing it aside like it’s not a thousand dollar piece of machinery.

🌸Then he’s on you, spreading your thick thighs and tossing your left leg over his shoulder. Your body goes rigid when you feel it—he’s rubbing your clit right through that hole.

🌸He just knows you cut it to fuck with him. But he doesn’t expect you to be as shocked as you are. You’re looking at him with those big dumb eyes and that stupidly cute face, makes him lose his damn mind every time.

🌸“What? This what ya wanted, right?” He’s taunting you heavily and on top of that you lose the feeling of his fingers rubbing those slow circles. Your whimpers of protest are pathetic, trying to be innocent when you’re really just a whore. His whore.

🌸“Wan’ me to stop?” He’s pressing his forehead up against yours, almost like he’s studying you. It’s so intimate but also intimidating, which is why you’re focusing your eyes down and away from his.

🌸“Do you want me to stop, dumbass?” His voice has more bass this time, a little scary but so fucking hot. The shaking of your head has him grinning evilly. “N-no.”

🌸Good cause after a light pinch to your clit, he’s flipping his hand palm up and stuffing two thick fingers into your cunt.

🌸You’re already wet and squelching around his fingers. He’s relentless, squeezing and kneading your thigh like a damn stressball as he fucks those fingers into you so hard and fast.

🌸You’re on the verge of tears with how good his fingers are making you feel. Especially when he begins to curl and flick them up and down, bumping that gummy area at the roof of your cunt and forcing a broken moan of his name for you lips. “Uhhuh, needy bitch.”

🌸He’s staring at your fucked out face, eyes fluttering open every so often, mouth open in a wide ‘o’. “Fuckin’ pathetic. Got a man but ya’ still gotta rub one out huh?”

🌸His taunting fell on deaf ears as he fucked you with his fingers. You’re too fucked out on a cloud of euphoria to even respond anything intelligent.

🌸Your sweaty palm is slipping against the smooth leather of the couch so you dig your nails into his forearms, having no where else to grab. Of course he doesn’t mind, he didn’t fight crime everyday to be afraid of a little scratches.

🌸You’re cooing and keening, several curses of ‘oh fuck’ and ‘right fucking there’ spilling from your lips. “Shut the fuck up, like I don’t know how to work your needy cunt.”

🌸Your eyes widen at his harsh words, cunt clenching simultaneously. “Kats, you’re b-being mean.” He doesn’t say anything, but he presses a kiss to your lips. Quick though, cause he’s still upset in love with you.

🌸As soon as he feels your pussy clenching around his fingers he’s pulling them out. Then he sits up, pulling you down and prying your legs wider, one pressed against your chest and the other strewn over the back of the couch.

🌸You might as well kiss those sweatpants goodbye babes cause as soon as he hooks his fingers inside that hole, the meanest smirk on his face, you hear the dreading sound of fabric ripping.

🌸You’d look down in absolute horror to see a gaping hole right at your crotch and his dick now freed, pushing right up against your sopping cunt.

🌸You saw all 8.5 inches of that slightly curved cock with his pretty pink tip kissing right up against your entrance, teasing with every shallow thrust he gave. “Relax baby, just givin’ you what you wanted..”

❀

[1d1195]

Neighbors Extra III

Not much. But something. I have a few more things in mind for these cuties. This one is definitely all over the place but also a semi-requested kind of blurb.

You can read the rest here: Neighbors

~2.2 k words

“How come everyone stares at you?” He asked.

Harry smirked. “Some people think I sound funny,” he winked at his little best friend in the mirror. “Can y’believe that?” He chuckled. Rory, the seven-going-on-seventeen-year-old, rolled his eyes expertly having heard the story of one of the first sentences he spoke to Harry.

“Is it because you’re not really my dad?”

You’re sure you don’t mind? My sister is close enough but will still be later than you would be...

Course not, love :)

Okay...I’ll call the school and let them know...you’re totally sure and not too busy?

Just call the school, baby. Please :)

Harry smirked at the messages and rolled his eyes letting his client know that he would have to move their appointment to another day. Slipping on his trainers, he headed out the door to his car and drove to the school. He had been several times with the lovely girl that had stolen every bit of his heart. This would be the first time he would be getting Rory on his own. There was a big traffic jam—an accident that Harry was very grateful for was not her because the panic set in almost the moment she called—and she would be stuck for a lot longer. Getting Rory on time would be a challenge for her if it weren’t for Harry happily agreeing to get him.

Harry parked and exited the car heading to the playground where the kids were all milling about and where pickup was designated. He could see all the mums in Rory’s class started to whisper about his presence. Even a few of the teachers began questioning who Harry belonged to from a distance. Typically, he stayed in the car to prevent the chatter. But of course, today was different.

“Hi, m’here to pick up Rory. M’girlfriend called t’let everyone know; M’Harry. Harry Styles,” he explained with a sweet smile. The teacher in front of him had to be as old as his mum at least but she looked rattled to see Harry before her. There was something about the startling green eyes, the British accent, and those deadly dimples that could make any woman weak in the knees. You are too handsome, it’s unfair and leaves people speechless. I only pretend I’m not an absolute mess about you. She had explained to Harry before. He thought it was adorable she felt that way. Of course, he thought it was silly and unnecessary but he couldn’t help the change of his own heartbeat when he caught a glimpse of her doing the most mundane of any tasks.

“Hi Harry!” Rory cheered running up to him and throwing himself at his legs. Harry chuckled ruffling his hair.

“Hey, lad. Y’have a nice day?”

“Can I play a few more minutes?” He asked.

“Actually, I haven’t gotten confirmation just yet. I would...prefer it that way...if it’s all the same to you,” she admitted sheepishly. “We’re waiting on your license,” she explained holding her phone out to Harry so he could read the email chain between the staff and his pretty angel.

Harry’s phone was silent and so he missed the several calls from the poor girl who was probably losing her mind in traffic. Fortunately, Rory was pretty easy going. He even giggled at Harry’s misfortune. “Mumma’s gonna be all worried,” he said.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Ror,” he sighed pressing his phone to his ear. “Hi, kitten,” Harry murmured. “M’at the school. I know I gotta send m’license t’you. I had m’phone on silent.”

“They’re making it very difficult. I’m so sorry,” she sounded so remorseful. The sigh in her voice was heavy.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmured. “Rory’s right here, he’s gonna play some more while we get this squared away...how’s the traffic?”

“Terrible,” she sighed. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “They just have my sister on file...” she explained. “I should have updated it.”

“S’nothing, m’love,” he promised. “One second,” he pulled his wallet out and retrieved his ID. He snapped a picture of it and sent it to her so she could email it to the school. Such bureaucratic stuff. But Harry was grateful the school took safety so seriously.

While Harry chatted with his mom, Rory was pointing at the tall man that had a funny voice and his friend looked at him curiously. “That’s Harry,” Rory explained.

“You call your dad Harry?” Aiden asked.

Rory shrugged. “Yeah,” he nodded. “He’s really cool. He plays dinosaurs with me and builds really good forts,” he told him knowingly.

Harry waved at the pair of boys while he chatted quietly with the teacher explaining the whole mess of traffic and the predicament of picking him up in the first place. She said she would send a digital copy of the paperwork for them to fill out so Harry could officially be on file.

It’s all set, I think.

“M’told we’re all good t’go,” Harry smirked at the message. Eyes on the road, kitten. See you soon! Xx “Rory!” He called. “S’time t’go. Gotta grab dinner!”

Rory came hustling toward him again, his friends watching in awe as he followed Harry toward the car. Rory buckled himself into his booster seat and settled in as he looked in the rear-view catching Harry’s eyes. “Is Mumma okay?” He frowned. “She always gets me a popsicle after school on Tuesday.”

“She’s just in traffic, lad. She’ll be late. I think I can manage a popsicle,” he smirked.

Rory nodded and looked back toward the playground. “How come everyone stares at you?” He asked.

Harry smirked. “Some people think I sound funny,” he winked at his little best friend in the mirror. “Can y’believe that?” He chuckled. Rory, the seven-going-on-seventeen-year-old, rolled his eyes expertly having heard the story of one of the first sentences he spoke to Harry.

“Is it because you’re not really my dad?”

Harry frowned. Rory asked it so casually and it stabbed Harry right through the heart. He was sad Rory thought about that in any capacity. Harry wished with everything in him that he could just...be his dad. But then Rory wouldn’t be Rory. Harry would hate that. “Maybe... but...s’none of anyone’s business. But I do love you, Rory. More than anyone could love you,” he promised seriously. “You know that right?”

He nodded. “I don’t think you love me more than Mumma loves me, though,” he snickered.

Harry liked the fact that he wasn’t upset about it. The way Harry talked so highly of his mother made Harry’s heart burst with adoration for the pair. They were inseparable and perfect. “Mm...I’ll maybe let that slide. But s’close. I promise.”

*

“Hey, cutie patootie,” she sighed with a tired smile as she walked in the house. Harry gave her a wave from the kitchen and Rory came bolting from the kitchen where he was helping Harry with setting the table and threw himself into her embrace. “How was school?”

“Harry picked me up!” He said excitedly.

“Yeah?” She kissed the top of his head, and she swore was crawling taller up the length of her with every passing minute. Her little baby. She tried not to think about it too much in fear she would simply begin crying and never stop. “Was that a nice surprise?”

Harry smiled as he finished putting dinner on the table. Rory left her to get the take-home folder that he handed off to her every day. While he did, Harry wrapped his arms around her and kissed the side of her head. “Hi beautiful,” he hummed pressing his lips to her earlobe making an involuntary shiver run through her body. It seemed ridiculous that someone as perfect as Harry would call her beautiful after she worked all day and then sat in traffic for way too long.

“Hmm,” she hummed into his shirt. This felt like heaven. Being in his arms. Dinner behind him. Rory loved Harry as much as she did. (Maybe even more due to the proportionality of his little big heart.)

“Mumma, can Daddy come to career day?” He asked holding all the papers that were in his folder in his arms haphazardly leaving a trail behind them. Harry thought his heart stopped. She blinked in surprise at his simple, easy use of the name for Harry. She pulled away from his embrace where he remained stock still, completely speechless, and in disbelief.

“S-sure, love bug,” she murmured awkwardly picking up the slew of papers he left behind to show her. Sure enough, the flyer for career day was right in front of the two of them. Harry was trying (and pretty much failing) to keep his composure. Neither of them wanted to make a big deal of him using the parental term. “What happened to your folder?” She asked, trying to give Harry a moment to process the name.

“I get to introduce you and tell them what your job is...what is it again?” Rory asked, excitement laced in his voice as he looked up at Harry as if he hadn’t just completely flipped Harry’s world upside down with a little name.

After a pause, Harry was still staring in awe of the little seven-year-old that had totally boggled his mind and captured his heart in his little hands. She was crouched beside the papers, so she gently bumped her arm into his shin to garner his attention. “Harry, baby,” she murmured gently, knowing he was completely blindsided and utterly confused.

“Y-yeah, lad. M’called a psychologist. I help people when they’re nervous or scared,” he explained without any emotion in his voice.

Rory looked at Harry curiously. “Like when Mumma was scared at the hospital...or at the car wash?”

He nodded mutely. Unable to fully process how monumental this was and still maintain the conversation as if it didn’t happen at all. “Yes, baby,” she answered instead. “Can you get your folder?”

The second Rory returned to find the folder in his backpack folded over and misshapen due to shoving all his papers in without purpose, she was on her feet throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his skin as if her life depended on it.

“I love you, so much. So, so much,” she whispered.

He wrapped his arms around her just as tightly her toes brushing against the floor, and he smiled into her hair. “God, I love you so much,” he mumbled.

*

She was lying beside Rory in his little bed, and they stared up at the fake stars that made his ceiling glow. “Do you know you called Harry ‘Daddy,’ today?” She asked. The man in question was downstairs cleaning up from dinner and tending to the emergency call he got from a client.

“Am I allowed to?” He asked.

“Of course...just...that was kind of a big deal for Harry and I,” she explained. “Like taking your training wheels off,” she used as a reference of importance.

“Whoa,” he whispered.

“Whoa,” she nodded in agreement.

“Harry’s...not leaving...right?”

“No... no, he’s here to stay love bug,” she said firmly.

“So... he’s my dad now, right?”

She felt her throat tighten with so many emotions she could hardly contain it. “Yeah, baby. He is,” she whispered quietly. For so many years she tried to be every person Rory needed. A mom, a dad, a friend, a teacher, a coach, and so many other people rolled into one. Now, she could be one less person. One less role she needed to worry about.

“I like having a mom and dad,” he yawned sleepily.

“Me too, cutie pie,” she sighed, stroking his soft little face and brushing his hair behind his ear.

* Rory was bouncing with excitement of how cool it was that Harry brought Starbursts to Career Day. He introduced Harry—his dad—to his class and he told them all about emotions and how it’s cool to help people who struggle with it. He brought in a set of figurines of the emotions from Inside Out and made it accessible to the little ones.

“Think I made a few people want t’be a psychologist,” he winked at her from across the table while she went through Rory’s bag. Rory was taking a shower playing with his water toys.

“You make me want to be a psychologist,” she smirked going through the take-home folder again. Harry was working on the crossword, and he bit the inside of his lip.

“S’that because m’so hypnotizing in bed?” He winked.

She blushed and it felt like Harry had won the lottery. She ignored his comment, but Harry thought it was adorable when she was flustered. He returned to seven down, when she gasped. “Oh,” she covered her mouth and handed the paper to Harry.

Inside the box on the page showed a little figure person, dressed in black pants, a blue shirt, and a tie. The person held a messenger bag, papers and a computer spilling out of it. There were little figurines from Inside Out beside the person.

When I grow up, I want to be... was written at the top.

In Rory’s messy, seven-year-old script it read: like my dad.

Harry was certain at that moment he loved Rory more than she ever could.

But it was damn close.

--

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If you like this, check out my masterlist for more of my writing.

[ceilidho]

I am once again absolutely infatuated with your work - landscape with honey was incredible!! I’m frothing at the mouth. It’s the only thing my rat brain has been able to think about for the past 48 hours.

I was wondering what Price in his true form would be like with reader, and how he would react? We saw a glimpse of it, but I can’t tell if he’d be reluctant to shift or be super pliant for reader… like imagine if he were super sweet and let her cuddle him in his bear form!! Boop his nose perhaps!!!

You can totally ignore this but I simply had to share. 🩷🩷

hi!!! thank you so much, im glad you liked landscape with honey!!

i kind of hinted at it in the fic, but i see Price's bear as a more animalistic mind. it's distinct from him, but still Price at its core.

there's a part in the fic where i wrote "Hardly ever in his bear form, conscious of not totally giving over to the animal, but occasionally he can’t help slipping into like tumbling down a snowbank, just losing his footing for a moment and sliding, sliding, sliding until hours have passed and he finally hears his own chuffs and feels branches crack under the weight of his paws." to point to the way his bear is its own entity but also part of him (i.e. he's still conscious of his own breathing and body as a bear)

i imagine on some level his bear would recognize her. this isn't like a werewolf verse where the beast is a wholly different entity from the human pilot/host. Price is a born shifter, not turned, so i think even though he goes into a more primitive mind when he shifts, there's still a base level of consciousness there.

i don't think he'd be reluctant to shift in front of her! apart from not wanting to freak her out. i don't know how often he'd shift in front of her, because they can't very well do it in the middle of town and she has a job, so it's not like she can be in the woods with him all the time, but he probably does it every so often :)

[freesia-writes]

If you're okay with taking requests at this time, could you write something hurt/comfort with a fem!reader x Wrecker? Maybe they are on a mission and the reader gets hurt pretty bad and Wrecker has to get her to safety and treat her injuries. (I haven't seen many fics where Wrecker is the one having to save and provide aid for the reader....which is confusing bc I'd assume he would have had the same training that the rest of them did and Tech probably would have taught him some extra stuff too!) I really loved your most recent chapter of the Hunter x Vel fic and it's got me wanting some more hurt/comfort/medical stuff from you!

Hiiiii! First of all... (to all of you out there)... Thank you for being so patient and gracious with asks! I've been so much busier and also in a total writing funk, so I didn't want to force it and give you any less than my best! That being said... there are some really sweet and fun asks in there, and I'm excited to get to them! <3

SO... for this sweet Wrecker piece... I wanted to give you a lil somethin extra (I may have a few more of these up my sleeve for future works)... You'll see some words that are *hyperlinked*. Go ahead and click it if you want to hear Wrecker actually say them! :D

Wrecker x GN!Reader Word Count: 1.4k Content Warnings: wartime violence, reader injury, pain described, not too graphic (shot in the leg and hurting ribs).

Wrecker’s heart was pounding as he saw you fall. You disappeared down the side of the hill, tumbling through brush and ferns. They would have been a beautiful addition to the lush mountainside the team had been forced into, but now they were obstacles that were only increasing your injuries as you crashed through them. A feral roar escaped him as he charged after you, going into BAMF mode as his blaster fired ceaselessly. A few tactically-tossed grenades disabled the closest tank, which he then pushed into the one next to it, crushing both of them against the rocky mountain wall. The rest of the team was closing in, working seamlessly and effectively as always. But this time, he was flushed with more than just the thrill of battle. 

You finally came to a halt at the base of a large tree, lying flat on your back with one hip slightly tilted up where it had met the tree trunk that stopped your descent. The pain radiating throughout your chest was suffocating, and every shaky breath you took caused a stabbing sensation throughout your ribcage. The blaster bolt that took you down had hit your thigh hard enough to make you lose your balance, and in the split second before you hit the ground, you cursed yourself for your momentary distraction. And then you were falling. Part of you wished you were still falling, because in your stationary position, it was hard to focus on anything other than your injuries. You tried to pick your head up, immediately feeling dizzy, and flopped it back on the ground, seeing white spots begin to creep in at the edges of your vision.

The clouds were beautiful, at least. Bright orange and yellow against a hazy purple sky. It would have been an enjoyable place to rest and daydream… In fact, that was precisely what you wanted to do. You felt so heavy, and despite the waves of jaw-clenching pain coursing through you, there was an irresistible pull to surrender to the sleepiness that was overtaking you. The last thing you remembered was the sky slowly fading to white, then darkness.

“Where are you… Come on….” Wrecker grumbled, slipping and sliding down the hill with reckless abandon. He ran from tree to tree, using each one to stop himself and allow for a quick scan of the ground. A panic was rising within as he kept moving, convinced that he should have seen you by now. Perhaps he missed you on the way down? No, he had been careful. He just needed to keep a straight mind. He took a deep breath, pulse still racing, and then he caught a glimpse of your robe.

The bushes separating you from him were trampled to smithereens as he came to your side, dropping to his knees with a loud thud. You weren’t… you couldn’t be… He reached for you, pressing two large fingers delicately into the side of your neck. There it was – a pulse. His arms twitched; he was yearning to pull you into his lap, but hesitated, cautious of internal injuries that may not be apparent to the untrained eye. The blossoming red patch on the thigh of your dark green pants caused his eyes to grow round for a split second, and then he was moving. He didn’t have all of Tech’s pouches, and he found himself choking on his own taunts that he’d always flung at his brother as he wished he had more on him at the moment. 

The hem of your robe caught his eye, and he muttered a brief apology before carefully pulling out from under you and tearing off the entire bottom of it. He fashioned the thick fabric into a makeshift compress to stop the bleeding and stabilize your leg, then moved up to your face, cupping the side of your cheek with utter tenderness. Your eyes fluttered open, sending a thrill through his chest as he willed with all his might for you to be okay. 

“You’re awake,” he said, more of a wish than an observation. Your bleary vision was nothing but shapes and shadows for a moment, then he slowly came into focus. 

“Wreck…” you breathed, wincing at the way the sound rattled inside your own head. “I’m–”

“You’re okay. I’m here. Gonna get you back to the ship.” His voice was loud, or maybe it just sounded that way to you, but it definitely had an undeniable alarm to it, beneath his attempted facade of calm focus. 

You reached an arm out and tried to sit up again, but the immediate spasm took your breath away. You froze in place, unable to move without wishing you were unconscious. “I can’t…the ribs…” you said through gritted teeth and shallow breaths. 

“We’ll figure it out. Take it easy,” Wrecker reassured, wrapping one strong arm around your shoulders so you didn’t have to hold yourself up anymore. He tapped the side of his helmet with the fingers on the other hand, touching base with the rest of the team. They’d finished “cleaning up the mess”, as Crosshair put it, and were en route to the Marauder. Wrecker looked back to you, considering the options in his mind. “Listen… I need to carry you back to the ship…” 

Your eyes were tightly shut, tears squeezing out the corners. “It hurts too much,” you whimpered, dizziness threatening to rob you of consciousness again. “Leave me,” you said, not meaning a single word but losing your coherent thoughts by the moment.

"Hey! Hey... Look at me... You're gonna be alright. You hear me? I’ve got you. It’s okay." His words were sharp and urgent, the fear inside him crowding out the softness and affection he felt for you. You gave a small nod, fully expecting to pass out from the pain. Moving with a rapt awareness of your fragility, he slid his other arm beneath your knees, lifting you as he stood up with every attempt to keep your body in the same position. You cried out, the sound of your pain piercing him to the core. He apologized profusely, heading back to the ship as quickly as possible. It felt like hours. The agony washed over you again and again, and by the time he got you onto a bunk on the ship, you were almost delirious. Tech was quick to take off, lurching into hyperspace within minutes. 

Wrecker ripped his helmet off with one hand, kneeling on the floor next to your bunk. He was furiously rummaging through the medpack next to him, gathering precisely what he needed with shaky hands. You just wanted it to be over, but his sudden closeness brought a warm feeling that temporarily bloomed throughout your abdomen as he leaned over you with a stimpack, pressing it against your arm. It dispensed with a loud hiss, and after a few seconds, a sweet relief began to spread throughout your limbs. 

“Thank you.” Your breathy gratitude softened the intensity in his eyes, and he stroked a large hand down the side of your hair before pressing his forehead to yours with feather-light touch. The cocktail of bacta, painkillers, and anesthesia slowly reached your head, and as you drifted off into sleep again, his whisper soothed away the last vestiges of pain. “I’m gonna take care of you.” 

* * * 

You woke up a few hours later, discovering as you tried to peek at the clean dressing on your leg that you were immobilized around your middle. You took a tentative breath in, slowly expanding your ribs against the dull ache. The sudden appearance of a round head peering over the edge of the bunk above you made you gasp in surprise, followed by an immediate wince at the discomfort it caused. 

“Shoot, sorry,” he muttered, clambering off the bunk to the ground beside you. He took one of your hands in his, resting his elbow on the edge of the mattress. “How do you feel?”

“Like garbage,” you said with a smile, rolling your head to the side to take in the tender affection on his expressive face.

“Well you’re beautiful garbage,” Wrecker chuckled, stroking the back of your hand with a thumb. “I got ya all patched up… For now,” he admitted with a sheepish tone, although you couldn’t discern why. 

“You’re amazing,” you said quietly, giving his hand a feeble squeeze. “That’s twice now…”

“Ah, who’s countin?” he murmured, leaning in to kiss your cheek and flushing you with tingles.

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Click here to join or leave the tag list. <3

[quinloki]

I’m hoping the stuff I give you makes you and whoever sees it think, that’s half the fun.

You’ve certainly done a whole lot so I’m tryina give you something that’s not repetitive (I do fall into it a couple times 😅)

I put lots of thought into an ask before asking anyone when I’m talking ab an idea I like :)

And so

The government letting doffy/croc have marine reader due to them being a warlord and having power and influence the government doesn’t want loose

OH

OH MY GOD

Fucking Blackbeard asking for marine reader and due to them not being that strong they give in and assign them to him to keep the new warlord satisfied and after the betrayal they are kept under lock and key

Ooooh I like this, I see what we can do with this. I know the WG is corrupt, but the idea that they're basically tossing marines at warlords to keep them "happy" is pretty wild. The more I chew on it though, the more I think I could see it.

It's not even that you're really being requested, you're just being assigned. And hey, maybe a request did happen somewhere if they already managed to catch a glimpse of you and have that yandere desire snap to attention.

I love the Blackbeard idea, I do, but what really slithers into my brain is Crocodile.

Crocodile who got assigned you on a whim, and you've been a fantastic liaison. You're actually competent, and a little challenging to deceive. Crocodile's actually pretty sure you know every time he's been giving you total bs, but you can't prove it and he's so beloved by the Alabasta populace that you can't really do anything anyway.

You're just not going to get the support you need for a proper investigation.

It's a shame Princess Vivi never meets you.

But anyway, Crocodile loses, you're reassigned, and time goes by. The world changes as the young man who turned Alabasta on its head goes about and continues to do so. You're with Smoker and Tashigi - you've seen this kid up close and you knew Crocodile was doing shady shit.

You are, effectively, Team Luffy XD (Quietly, of course, you need that marine paycheck, you got BILLS).

Marineford and Crocodile's busted free, and the Revelry means the warlord system is disbanded, and you don't think anything of it really - above your pay grade, and you'll never have to worry about being assigned to another pirate.

But one pirate's got you on his mind.

Has for months. Hasn't stopped thinking about you. What a delight you are, how he misses the sound of your voice, how he misses seeing that knowing scowl. How you didn't fear him.

You you admitted he was handsome, and charming, but that didn't matter - him being a warlord and you a marine, you had a job to do. Him and his ego could just rot.

But he didn't rot.

He got free.

And as the sands surround you, you remember the words he said to you once before. A statement of his character, he warned, a particularly strong detail about crocodiles that he himself did share with them.

He doesn't let useful things go.

[the-hole-in-terzos-shoe]

Let's Get These Heels Off...

Burlesque!Terzo x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, MDNI!, Lingerie, basically smut with a little tiny bit of plot 🤷‍♀️

Word count: 3.4k

ANYWAY, I'M BACK HI HELLO!!!!! I really did not mean to take a hiatus, but I am in grad school and that just needed my attention these past weeks. I have been writing the whole time, this just happens to be the first thing to get finished!

But! I am sooooo excited about this! @angellayercake and I have been squealing and giggling and losing our minds over burlesque Terzo for months now and she requested this special 🥰 it was an honor to write this for you, my dearest Cake, and I hope you love it as much as I love Pastimes for a Retired Papa and Banchetto!!! Enjoy 😘

Photo credit to @theshamelessghoul @vitadevoid on Instagram 🩷 please go follow both of her accounts, she's an absolutely beautiful artist.

After stalking his Instagram page every night for a week, you knew you had to see him perform in person. Not to mention that Vegas isn't too far a drive from your place. You 𝘩𝘢𝘥 to see him, you just had to.

And that's how you found yourself at the door of this club, paying the high cover charge. The venue was well worth it though, beautiful dark decor, mirrors and dim lighting making the place feel large, but intimate. You'd made it a point to dress appropriately, wanting to look fine and feel your best, but not outshine the performers. So you went with a tight black leather dress that displays your bust nicely, black lace long sleeve crop top layered over, and of course black stiletto heels to match.

Glad you came by yourself to fulfill this silly little fantasy, you take a seat in a quaint cushioned arm chair, noticing the array of vintage mismatched furniture, and order a drink. There was already a set going on, dancers gracefully moving across the stage, with the lighting offering glimpses of the room while keeping most of the viewers concealed in the shadows. You were grateful for that.

You'd never been to a place like this before and you just wanted to view the art from a distance.

Just in time too, as the one you'd been longing for took the stage, his presence larger than life, seemingly squeezing all the air from the room... And he hadn't even shown any skin yet.

His gig was definitely out of the ordinary, but there was something so alluring about watching this Anti-Pope, Papa Emeritus the Third, sashay across the stage. His dance style is slow and sensual, teasingly revealing a fishnet clad leg here or a lace covered hip there as he slowly works his way out of his papal vestments.

He certainly has the bedroom eyes down to a science as you find yourself unable to look away. Another thing that's hard to look away from is that beautifully plump ass, showcased so artfully with leather straps cupping his cheeks.

The Anti-Pope was well practiced at making his way across the floor, legs spread sinfully and hands groping various body parts. Lastly, he unhooks his corset to reveal tassels on his nipples, and he wasn't left in much more than those and a pair of panties. A few more twirls around the stage and the last few notes of the song ring out, while the lights go totally dark, leaving it pitch black in the room. The click of his heels returning backstage are the only sound until the lights slowly come back up.

Hell, he really knew how to leave a crowd wanting more. Or maybe it was just you--either way, you were happy to have seen him perform in person. It had been worth the drive and every penny.

You were pleasantly surprised to find him in the kickline of a few other performances that night, for the performers that needed back up dancers. Although you did think it was unfair for the boss to put him in the back like that, because he always stole the stage from whoever was supposed to be leading.

After the night had simmered down, a few of the dancers creeped out into the audience, mingling with the crowd to keep them happy and earn the waiters some higher tips. There were still a few performances happening, but they hardly held your attention as you felt a shift in the vibe. Papa had come out from backstage and was taking his time greeting the guests, many of them wanting to kiss his hands or cheeks.

He's so charismatic that people are drawn to him like a magnet. You feel the pull too, but you're perfectly content to watch from afar... It's not like he would know you anyway.

That is, until it seems like he's coming your way. Is he? No. Surely he's looking for someone behind you.

Tensing your fingers around the arms of the chair, you try to straighten up as best you can as he saunters right over, leaning forward and placing his hands on top of yours, effectively pinning you to the spot. His nose is only inches from yours as he looks you over, "Didn't your Mama teach you it's impolite to stare?"

"D-don't mind me... I'm just enjoying the view, um, Papa." You knew you didn't stand a chance of sounding confident in front of him, so you just did your best not to fumble your words.

He smirks, letting you know he enjoys the flattery, "Please, tesoro, call me Terzo. Papa is simply my stage name." He winks and offers his hand up to your lips.

Carefully, you take his hand in yours, appreciating his short black nails, before softly placing a kiss to his knuckles. "Terzo," you whisper, mostly to yourself.

While his hand is still in yours, he snakes his hand around your wrist before bringing it to his lips. "And you? Who are you this evening, dolce mia?"

"Just a starstruck fan," you supply before giving your name.

Still kissing his way up your arm, he tries your name on his tongue before nipping at your earlobe, earning a heavy breath from you.

"Would you like to take this somewhere a bit more private, bella?"

You stutter, "I-I didn't... I didn't think that was allowed here."

"Sì, sì, you are right, 'no stripping here on The Strip', eh?" he chuckles. He stands up and stares you down, looking you directly in the eyes, "I guess I'll be getting off all by myself tonight then." He fakes a pout before flashing a playful look at you.

Suddenly he's walking away, as if he'd forgotten about you all together.

"Hey, wait!"

He keeps walking, heading up the spiral staircase behind the stage. You hesitate momentarily before chasing him up the stairs. You had come all this way; why not take the fantasy as far as he would let you?

Upstairs, he sits at his vanity, illuminated beautifully by the soft light. Yet again, you stare as he fixes up his makeup. When he sees you behind him, he makes a comment about you being in his mirror.

But then he stands up and you're drawn to one another. He turns and within a second, his hands are on your jaw and yours on his waist, making out.

At some point, you were spun around and the next thing you know, you're being backed into another vanity, stumbling into it as lip glosses and tubes of mascara roll onto the floor. Grabbing roughly at your ass, Terzo lifts you onto the vanity, mouth never leaving yours. In fact, he uses it as leverage to gain access to your tongue.

Your fingers tremble in an attempt to untie the silk robe he'd covered his lingerie with, while he's working your black lace top off. As it drifts slowly to the floor, you start to hear a rumbling noise across the room.

Terzo pulls away from you, and before you can ask what the noise is, he's pulling you off the vanity. "Come with me, cara mia," he whispers, dragging you behind one of the various curtains back stage. Suddenly the room fills with chatter, and you realize the noise had been many, many sets of high heels coming up the stairs. The night must be over downstairs and the club getting ready to close.

Wrapped in a shroud of darkness behind the heavy velvet curtain, you feel Terzo's hands return to your waist and his lips at your ear, "Quiet, dolcezza, we wouldn't want to get caught, would we?"

"No," you reply, trying not to giggle. His mouth is curled into a big smile as it makes contact with your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and nips along your exposed skin. Silently you let out a shaky breath, fighting off a whimper.

"Ugh! Whose shirt is this?! They knocked over all my shit!" one of the dancers yells, receiving a low chuckle from Terzo.

Hands sliding up his body, you finally slip that robe from his shoulders, exposing more skin, but your hands are much more interested in diving into that luscious black hair, which draws another low noise from the man. "Shhhh," you breathe out.

His hot mouth is now lapping at your cleavage, until his thumb finds the scandalously placed zipper on the front of your tight leather dress. Inching the pull tab down, his nose dips down to the space between your breasts where he places a soft kiss.

Gently you hold him against you, one hand tangled in his hair, the other on his cheek. Undoubtedly, you have his face paint all over you, but Terzo is simply alluring in everything that he does. From the way he performs on stage, grasping everyone's attention in the palm of his hand to the dangerous way he romances you, kissing you like he loves you... you know you'll never get enough.

Finally, the dressing room starts to quiet down. Girls chatter about where they're going to grab dinner or who's going home with who. And eventually, you're left alone with your lover for the night.

Peaking his head out from behind the curtain, Terzo nods that the coast is clear, taking your hand and smirking, "Per favore, bella mia, follow me. I know the perfect place to have my way with you."

Cocky in an endearing way, that's how you'd describe him. A stranger who somehow knows exactly what you need... It's maddening, but comforting.

However, upon reaching some kind of office door, you are given some pause, "Hey, woah, where are we going?"

"Just through here, amore," he tugs your hand.

"I mean, is that someone's office? Are we supposed to be in here?" You question him, but the idea of getting caught has certainly done something to you.

"Sì, the owner's. Won't it be fun, dolce?"

Looking between his hand still holding yours and his playful duochromatic eyes, you can't deny him. "Yes," you grin, biting your lip as he pulls you through the doorway, nearly slamming it behind you.

Despite him not being the largest man, he has full control of your body, making quick work of shoving everything off the desk and laying you back on it. "Bellissima, cara mia, your beauty is unmatched," he mumbles, admiring your disheveled form spread out before him.

You huff, "Please... Have you seen yourself?" It was true. He looks like pure debauchery in that moment, leaning over you in nothing but heels, fishnets, and a black lace thong.

He smiles in a way that almost looks shy, "Sì, but tonight is all about you, no?" He leans over you on the desk, placing a kiss to your jaw.

"Who said that?" you sigh at his contact.

"You did, signora, with your actions," his lips start their decent down your body, again on your cleavage, your sternum, your belly, as he slowly unzips your dress and continues his explanation, "you drive all the way out here, from wherever you come from; you dress up; you spend your evening with us... I have never seen you before."

By now he's made his way to the waistband of your panties, kissing the skin just above the lace.

"Oh, and you know everyone who comes in here?" you chuckle and your hand comes up to massage his scalp.

"Mmm, sì, amore," he slides the zipper down to where it ends at your knees, allowing the dress to fall open, and he lifts one of your legs off the desk to nip at your inner thigh, "and if I do not know someone... I make it a point to introduce myself." His devious eyes flicker up to yours.

"So you do this with everyone you meet?" you sit up and raise your eyebrows, shaking the dress straps from your shoulders.

"Are you implying something about me, tesoro? Besides..." He ducks his head down, rubbing his nose perfectly across your clit, "It's not lady-like to kiss and tell."

Feeling his hot breath even through your underwear, you're met with those smoldering bedroom eyes he had on stage. When you let out an involuntary whimper, you have to stop yourself from urging his face towards your core.

Like a mind-reader though, he's pulling off your panties, "You must've been wet from the moment you saw me on stage." He grins proudly, but before you can chide him, Terzo's mouth is already on you, instead stealing the air from your lungs as his tongue circles around your sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Ah! Oh, Terzo..." you gasp as your fingers curl in his soft hair. If your eyes hadn't been screwed shut in pleasure, you would've seen the enjoyment written on your lover's face as he works his magic.

His hands grip your thighs roughly, pulling you to the edge of the desk to be able to dip his tongue between your folds, teasing your entrance. Your needy whines egg him on as he fucks you with his tongue, that perfect nose smashed up against your oh-so-sensitive clit. It's so overwhelming you actually try to push his face away, but Terzo digs his heels in, holding you firmly in place. Surely you'll have bruises where his fingertips clutch at your skin.

In an embarrassing amount of time, that familiar tension builds in your abdomen. Looking down at the man through your lashes, you feel an urge to beg for permission, but your mouth is unable to form the words. He senses it though, and gives you a gentle nod without disrupting his ministrations. Thighs squeezing against his ears and a high heel digging into his back, you cum for him, convulsing as he carries you through it.

Carefully, he stands up between your legs, allowing you to lean on him with your arms wrapped around his neck as you both catch your breath. Propping your chin up on his chest, you look up at Terzo. His face paint is totally wrecked, but you like seeing what's beneath it as well.

"Bene?" He whispers softly, "Was it good for you?"

"Yes," you let out a breathy laugh at the absurdity of that question. Eyes trailing down, you notice his painfully hard cock barely concealed by his thong. Looking up at him, you slowly reach for it, and you're met with a pleased hum when you palm at the head.

His lips find yours once again as he gently bucks into your hand, feeling just as needy for you as you'd been for him. "Per favore..." he rasps, "please."

"Please, what, baby?" you ask him.

"Fottimi," he says it so quietly you hardly hear him.

"Hm?" you look up, cupping his chin in your fingers, other hand still working his throbbing desire.

Squeezing his eyes closed, a beautiful blush blooms across his cheeks, "Fuck me. Please, fuck me..."

Seeing this once-confident performer enter such a space, you feel even more of a need to please him; it lights a fire like you hadn't experienced before. "Why don't you go lay on the couch for me then, hm?"

It's not lost on you how earlier you'd been worried to even come in the office, and now you're telling your lover to use the furniture.

He nods and takes a couple steps across the small room, heels clicking on the old hardwood floor. Pausing in front of the small piece of furniture like he has to think about it, he slowly bends at the hips, placing his hands on the soft cushion first, then following with his knees.

You follow him over, unable to resist his plump backside. Palming and squeezing at it, you chide him, "Putting your cute little ass on display for me? Just like you did on stage," you trail off. 𝘛𝘩𝘸𝘢𝘱! You earn an involuntary moan from Terzo as you spank him. He turns to look over his shoulder at you, where you then lean down and press a soft kiss to the hand mark you left on him, "I think I asked you to lay down."

He gives you that devilish grin before flopping back on the sofa, stretching and arching his back, feigning innocence.

Something about him acting this way emboldens you, so settling between his spread legs, you reach down and harshly tear open the front of his fishnet stockings, "If you want to act like a little whore, then I'm going to treat you like one!"

He reaches down to grab your wrist, placing it on his crotch and rutting against your hand again, "Sì, amore, please..."

Snatching your wrist away, you swat your fingers at his erection, making him jerk in a way that you're pretty sure means he liked it. "You're lucky you're so goddamn pretty."

"Hmm," he grins again, "Or what?"

"Or..." Roughly, you grab the waistband of his offending little panties and rip them down enough to expose him, the pretty pink tip dripping with precum. Taking his length in your hand, you stroke up and down, before continuing, "Or I wouldn't touch you like this..."

He whines at the way you handle him; he's so perfect, you know you can't resist him any longer.

Moving to straddle his hips, you grind your sex on his. This allows you to lean down and kiss him again, which he pulls you into hungrily. When you break away, you gaze into those lust blown mismatched eyes, "Or I wouldn't fuck you."

It's your turn to grin as you line him up with your entrance, and he becomes a writhing mess beneath you. Seconds later, however, the room is filled with gasps, sighs, moans as you finally become one.

With Terzo fully seated inside, you waste no time working your hips, easing you both into the motions of lovemaking. And what a picture you are: a tangle of limbs, lingerie, and stilettos.

His needy hands reach out to squeeze at your breasts, urging your bra straps off of your shoulders. Finally, you reach behind to unclasp the article of clothing and discard it. In an instant, your lover's hands return, cupping, massaging, and teasing your chest. The way his fingers roll your nipples already has them budding, but his mouth closing around one of them really does the trick.

With one hand cradling the back of his head and the other on his shoulder for support, you ride him at an energetic pace, gasping each time his teeth nibble at your sensitive skin.

"That's it..." he starts to whisper between love bites, "sì, principessa, oh, pl- per favore, take your pleasure from me."

Kissing the top of his head, you sigh into his ear, "Touch me... Touch me, please, Terzo!"

"Sì, signora," he obliges, his middle finger finding your clit easily, "Sei bella, così bella. Veini per me, cum on me, tesoro."

"I'm gonna..." You bite your lip, "Ahh, cum with me, baby."

Your second orgasm hits you like a wave, and it has you seeing stars. Feeling you clench around his cock, Terzo, blissed out, bites down on your collarbone as he follows you over the edge, spilling into your perfect velvety walls. Pain mixed with pleasure somehow heightens the sensation futher for you; it's nothing short of a miracle you were able to ride you both through your climaxes.

Terzo collapses straight back and you right on top of him, exhausted. His arms come up to wrap around you, gently tracing shapes into your back. When you give a tired groan, he offers, "Dai, we should get you upstairs, you stay the night with me."

"Upstairs? You live here?" you mumble into the crook of his neck.

"Sì, ragazza stupida," he chuckles, "I own this place."

"Hey!" you sit up and see him pointing at something... the name plate from the desk, thrown across the floor reading 'Terzo Emeritus.' Glaring back down at him, you argue, "Well, I'm not stupid, or whatever you said."

He smiles up at you, softly. "It means 'silly,' amore mio."

"Oh... Well still..." you lower your voice to a near whisper, "I would like to spend the night with you."

He reaches up to stroke your cheek, "Okie dokie, then. Let's get these heels off."

[altocat]

No I totally agree with you there. Sephiroth’s downfall is so heartbreaking precisely because he seemed like such a nice person. Pretty much every time you see him out of combat he’s sort of awkward, standing around by himself but still being super polite and sweet to anyone he interacts with (his whole thing with Tifa pre-Nibelheim and guiding her back to town even though it would be a major inconvenience for him will never not make my heart twist a bit) so to see him go from that to… whatever the hell he is now is definitely depressing.

And about how he was talking to Rufus as Glenn, I was also wondering about that. I audibly gasped when he started tearing into him and saying he was- if I remember correctly- “a pathetic, pigheaded, daddy hating child” I was like damn enough, he’s down 😂 It definitely did sound personal. But then you also have to wonder if that’s because he assimilated into the lifestream and just got a glimpse into Rufus’ greatest insecurities and used them against him, or if he perhaps started hating on him more after he found out about Glenn and then suddenly everything Rufus did annoyed the hell out of him. The Kendrick Lamar Drake diss comes to mind here (“I hate the way that you talk, I hate the way that you walk…”)

I really do hope first soldier goes into more detail with them though, because they have such an interesting dynamic going on and it brings so many questions. I’ve also always found pre-insanity Sephiroth so much more interesting than the crazy version. He just kind of loses complexity after he snaps and becomes sort of boring to analyze 🫤

I love Post Nibelheim Sephiroth to pieces. He's a great villain and is extremely entertaining to watch. But yeah, he does lose a lot of his complexity. Sane!Seph sorta feels like a completely different person, complete with a full character arc and eventual descent. Sephiroth as he is now sorta feels like a character that's already reached his final conclusion, just short of a final death.

I really hope First Soldier shows a lots of lore, especially for Rufus, Glenn, and anyone else important in Sephiroth's life. I was so worried about them handling a previously mysterious segment of Sephiroth's life. But after Episode 1, I'm very confident about where it's all going. So I can't wait!

[koraesrambles]

Reasons I'm enjoying gotham war: a thought exercise.

I wanted to do a deeper analysis but am sitting in a restaurant waiting for my family to get here so might as well dive into it and I can do a more scholarly deep dive later.

I want to talk about Gotham Wars, why I'm liking it, what I think about it, and what I think they're doing well. I'm new to comics (tell me, at what point does your brain start to explode when you try to read the entire DC batfam canon in 2 months. Asking for a friend) but I'm not new to storytelling, so here we go!

K, so im a huge angst fan. It's a disease, not everyone is here for the angst but I most certainly am. The batfamily is so incredibly messed up, which is just right up my alley. I love WFA but let's be real, if they're not crying I'm not as invested. So this run where they are absolutely beating the shit out of my favorite character (Jason Todd)? Mwah. Beautiful. 10/10 will read 100 times.

I read stories for the connections between the characters, not so much the plot. Which is a personal preference thing. So the obvious plot holes and issues with the various characters points of view just don't really bother me. I can suspend my disbelief to think that heroes are running around in spandex beating people up, I can suspend it to think catwoman training an army of thieves to eat (I mean steal from) the rich is a viable idea. I don't care about the logistics, I care about how those things effect the characters.

And MAN do they effect the characters. Honestly I've loved Selina throughout this run. She could get a post all on her own. I love that she's refused to slander Bruce, I love how protective she is over her kids (step kids? Exs kids?) And I love every single interaction she's had with Jason. Honestly the moment that hit me hardest with her was when she's looking for Jason and thinks that if she loses him Bruce will never forgive her.

Obviously, Jason is a worthwhile human that has value outside of Bruce, but I think it really gives us a glimpse into Selina's mind right now. She loves Jason, she's grateful for his support and cares for him, but at the end of the day, he's the love of her life's baby boy, and it is that identifier that will pop up during times of stress.

I LOVE everything about Jason's involvement with this. I like that the tie ins are showing how he disagrees and the main storyline has him already convinced. I love that it explores both sides of his character, I love how it shows how important he is. And he is SO. IMPORTANT.

Bruce has obviously lost his ever loving mind (rip) and vacillates wildly between thinking his children were a mistake and wanting to protect them from everything. Up to this point, though plenty of the bat kids are sympathetic toward Selina, they aren't actively helping her, except of course for our boy Jason Todd.

Jason is actively working against Bruce (shocking right?) And I LOVE that Jason even tells Bruce that it's not just to spite him (though I'm sure that's a plus) it's because he believes in what Selina is doing. And Bruce cannot handle it.

Like I said before, Jason is Bruce's baby boy. The one he can't lose again. The one he needs to protect. But also he has to stop him from murdering people. And above ALL ELSE he cannot stand to see Jason in cahoots with someone else. Bruce doesn't share well under normal circumstances, let alone when he has totally lost his mind.

This vacillation has a lot of people irritated because they think that Bruce is being written inconsistently. I disagree, I think my man has lost his ever loving mind and he wants to both protect his children and STOP them. Him telling Jason he loves him not once, but TWICE within the span of a few panels while simultaneously ruining his life and leaving him completely defenseless is just... dude. My man. My psycho baby. Stop that.

Jason has always been fiercely independent and now that independence has been stripped from him. He literally can't protect himself. He's going to need to rely on other people to help him and heaven knows he doesn't have a good track record of people helping him out when he needs them.

Luckily, Dick knows about the drugging now and is super pissed off (GOOD!) Cannot wait to see where that goes next.

So tldr: why am I enjoying gotham wars? Mostly because so far everyone is obsessed with Jason Todd, which is highly relatable. Also because these relationships are being torn to shreds and looked at from a very interesting lens. Bruce is gone gone gone. Cannot wait to see his horror when he realizes what he's done.

[laurfilijames]

What is your favorite Pete Dunham moment and why? Also, please could you rank your GSE member favorites in order.

Look at you just strutting into my ask box with the two most difficult questions!!

As you're well aware, every Pete Dunham moment is my favourite moment...

But if I HAVE to choose, it has to be at the beginning when he shows up to Steve and Shannon's and meets Matt for the first time. He's drunk, cocky, and being a total prick but in a loving way, and it makes me smile every damn time.

"Jesus, Shannon, you look rough...."

Then singing to his nephew Ben 🥹 and when he explains how he's meant to be going to the match but lost his wallet and his keys...

And then of course the "Fineeee thanksss" in his mocking American accent that makes me grin so hard my cheeks hurt.

I really like how this scene set you up to think that he is a complete irresponsible hooligan, only to realize later that's not at all the case. Fooled me the first time I watched it!

Ugh. Everything about him makes me lose my mind.

AS FOR THE LADS.

I already told you this was like picking a favourite kid and I feel a bit guilty for it, but here we go.

Swill just like Pete, if I have a shit day, the minute I see this lunatic beating the piss out of someone with a rubbish bin and screaming c*nt- I'm fixed. He is just too funny. He also cares so much about his mates (see: him checking on Ike when he gets that bad cut on his head) and also was incredibly welcoming to Matt. He's clearly passionate about anything he's involved in from fighting to discussions about the people portrayed in films getting rightfully credited 🤣 and I don't think there would ever be a dull moment being around him.

Ned I don't know what it is about this one, but he makes me go 🥰🥰🥰🥰 he's hilariously cocky and has a bit of that "I'm small but tough" personality, and when he realizes that Matt never mentioned him in his journal he is GUTTED 💔 it's okay, Ned, I'll give you a hug.

Dave Ahh the Pilot. Forever responsible and caring, and has the warmest aura about him. To me, he feels like the "Big Brother" of the group. He always buys the rounds, and ALWAYS has Pete's back even when some of the others begin to falter. The fact that he will get into a scrap and then go fly a commercial jet with bruises on his face and vice versa with landing his plane and getting his pilots uniform all bloody is BDE, and I'm sure you'll be happy to tell me more about that 😉

Ike He seems to me as a very ordinary lad. Not one to stand out. Kind of hangs in the middle of the group. He's neutral, Switzerland. I see some of myself in that. Not interested in confrontation, and is always there for his mates to share pints or take down the next firm. I like that he's married, but I gotta admit he needs a new hair do.

Bovver Ohhhh Bov. I have complicated feelings about this one. He majorly fucked up. His jealously toward Matt was not at all warranted, and despite Pete trying to ease his ill-will toward him, he chose not to trust his best mate which inevitably lead to The Thing™️ we do not talk about. I do think that despite that mistake, Bov is loyal (to a fault) and would do anything for his mates (see: the end before the part we do not talk about when he shows up to help Pete and saves Shannon) I like to think that he would quickly redeem himself and would easily be forgiven by his mates, which is what I have chosen to go with in my fic where The Thing™️ does not happen and they all realize that life is too short for such pettiness.

Keith I feel bad putting him last on the list but, we really don't have much to go on with Keith other than his dodgy hair cut (do him and Ike have the same deranged barber??) Just like some of the other ones though, I like that we got a glimpse of him in a normal working environment that contrasts to the insanity of the hobby they participate in their free time. He never had many lines in the film, but I do love his "so he's a Yank and an undercover journo... looks like we'll have to give the boy two funerals." when him, Ned and Bov are being all gangster in his car to confront the situation.

In conclusion, I love them all dearly, and want to hug them and give them a forehead smooch.

Also, I think it's a given that Pete is my number one forever and always which is why I didn't include him in the ranking...

Thank you for sending me this when I've been poorly and needing something to make me smile and for giving me another excuse to go on about them more than I already do 💗💗

[coachtfd]

Oh maaaan please lemme tell you: I’ve been a United fan more than 20 years and been through thick and thin with the club and it will always be like this. I will always support United and no one else. But at the same time I genuinely DO NOT enjoy watching United for a VERY long time. It’s not the lack of trophies for me personally but the fact that our football is so fucking ugly it physically hurts to watch. We are so poor at footballing activities it boggles the mind! Even against dead last Southampton we were poor as fuck but I wasn’t even surprised because that’s been our standard for a while. Our football is outright unwatchable and if I was a little kid right now I sure as hell would not fall in love with this sorry excuse of a football club. I had huge hopes for Ten Hag but I’m so fed up with him now I can’t stand to look at him nor listen to his bullshit interviews anymore. He has been here for 2 years and he’s done fuck all in my book. And I swear to god I didn’t expect him to win the fucking prem in his first 3 years but I very much HOPED to see good fucking football and he couldn’t deliver! In 2 years we had like 5 good games when I thought this is it! This is how Manchester United football club should play! The rest? Abysmal performances one after another. One season going down the drain like dirty bath water after another.

Oh and not to mention the moral decay the club is in.. they almost brought Greenw**d back no problem! Like my beloved club that I have been supporting with my heart and soul and my money was on the cusp of reintegrating that pos and only changed plans in the last second when they saw that the reaction to that possibility was far from kind and understanding. Then we have another scandal involving Antony who’s still here and playing despite the allegations against him. Should be out the fucking door ffs but the club didn’t even try to get rid of him. Fuck that!

I’m massively disappointed in this club for several reasons so no I can’t even celebrate a win at this point. Win or lose I just acknowledge it and move on. I think in the last 10 years they managed to kill my love and passion I used to have for football itself. I used to miss events and outings just to catch the famous Man United play but now? Sometimes I even forget to check when we play and if I miss a game I just don’t care. Am I plastic now? Am I fake? Guess I’m just disillusioned and bitter. Oh well.

Ah fuck, this got extremely long, feel free to delete it’s whatever x

There it is, that’s what I wanted to get to. I feel you on all of this, I totally get it. And I don’t blame you for thinking or feeling this way, United has put all of us through the wringer. Some of us way more than others because it’s more than just a sports team to them. It is for me.

I remember when glimpses of United was all I could hope for because they didn’t start showing full games on the regular in the US until I was out of high school. My dad would literally interrupt whatever I was doing if he found out that a game was on. We weren’t very close and didn’t get along very well as I got older, but we had football in common, we had United. I don’t take it for granted that a team named United pulled us together when it felt like just about everything else pushed us apart. He loved their resilience, their never quit attitude. As a West Indian, he loved Dwight York and Andy Cole. So I get your passion, and I understand your anger.

I made a promise to the United fans on here that when I truly felt better times were ahead I would let them know, and I’m doing that now for a reason. I was right when I predicted this dark time we’ve been in and I believe I’m right about it coming to an end. It won’t be this season or the next, but it’s coming. I encourage you to keep hoping and to try to rekindle your love for this incredible club. I once said that every United fan is a winner and winners love supporting each other. You’re a winner, and if our club is going to win the league again it needs your support right now. It’s honestly not about me at all, we’re Manchester United, winning is our way. You can’t keep a winner down forever. 🙂

My inbox is always open. If you ever need to vent about United or life, or just need a shot of encouragement, please feel free to write me…that goes for all of my followers. ❤️ #ggmu

[waitingtobelit]

Title: All I Need Darling Characters/Pairings: Evan Buckley/Tommy Kinard Rating: Teen for language and making out. Gerrard is mentioned briefly. Genre: Speculative post season 7, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort. Summary: “So,” Tommy says as he approaches, “I thought we might have our own little picnic in the bed of my truck.” He briefly gestures to the bed of his truck, where Buck catches a brief glimpse of a red plaid blanket spread out along with a couple of blue pillows. He smiles so wide at the sight, his face aches. --- Buck meets Tommy for ice cream after a long shift. Ice cream and feelings are spilled.

Notes:

This was meant to be a drabble but my feelings got away from me, oops! Title comes from Mitski's "Strawberry Blond," which inspired the fic as a whole as it turns out. It's been years since I've wanted to write fic and I'm feeling inspired.

This is mostly shameless fluff but there is mention of Gerrard and some angst. This fic is unbetaed, so any and all mistakes are my own. Feedback is welcome, including constructive criticism!

Today’s shift, like every shift since Gerrard took over as captain, stretches on like the worst kind of LA traffic; unending and relentless. Every call, even the ones with the happy endings, leaves a rancid aftertaste in the back of Buck’s mouth, compounded by Gerrard’s attitude and snide remarks even before they leave each scene.

By the time his shift ends, Buck bolts out of Station 118 like his own ass is on fire, all but jumping head first into his Jeep. Part of him is tempted to just jump right into the Pacific, street clothes and all, until the salt water washes away the utter crappiness of this day and he can lose himself in swimming away all the worst moments of this particular shift. He grits his teeth and bangs his head against his overly hot steering wheel instead, feeling unmoored and ready to crawl out of his own skin. He leans back in his seat, rubbing his hands across his face. Each pointed remark Gerrard threw his way this shift lingers as thick as the sweat dripping down his back.

No, he thinks, sitting up straighter. Fuck this, actually. He is not going to let Gerrard invade his actual free time. He pulls out his phone, unlocking it, and makes his way to his text messages, planning on inviting Tommy out to grab a much-needed beer. Tommy beats him to the punch, as it turns out, having sent him a text asking him if he wants to grab ice cream before heading over to Tommy’s place tonight. He must have been too distracted to have noticed the text notification earlier, he thinks. Just the sight of that text has Buck smiling like he’s won the lottery. Which, well, in a way? He totally has. Tommy Kinard is his million dollar ticket.

Great minds, he texts. I was just about to ask you out myself.

Tommy replies back almost instantaneously.

What can I say? My Evan senses were tingling. ;)  

Buck feels his heart leap into his throat just reading the phrase ‘Evan senses.’ (And yeah, okay, maybe he’s still thinking about their last movie night where Tommy introduced him to the Raimi Spider-Man movies and how hot it would be if they could recreate that famous upside down in the rain kiss for themselves. Sue him. He’s only human. Also Tommy would look amazing in spandex.)

He sways in his seat, feeling the way his flush lights up his cheeks pink.

Your Evan senses were right! God I can’t wait to see you. See you soon!

  Drive safe!

  You too!

 LA traffic is LA traffic, but Buck manages to avoid tempting fate by not speeding. Much. He pulls into the parking lot of the ice cream place, brightening even further when he catches sight of Tommy’s truck and the empty space next to it. He pulls in and puts his car in park, all but jumping out of the vehicle at the same time as Tommy starts walking over to him.

“So,” Tommy says as he approaches, “I thought we might have our own little picnic in the bed of my truck.” He briefly gestures to the bed of his truck, where Buck catches a brief glimpse of a red plaid blanket spread out along with a couple of blue pillows. He smiles so wide at the sight, his face aches.

Tommy pulls Buck in close as Buck moves in closer, their lips meeting for a brief yet fierce kiss that steals some of the weight cloistered tightly in Buck’s thoughts. Already, today is starting to feel like not a total waste, just within a few moments of being in Tommy’s presence.

“That sounds amazing,” Buck says, leaning his forehead against Tommy’s. “And exactly what I need right now.” Ice cream and hanging out with Tommy in the back of his truck? He can’t think of anything better right now.

Tommy pulls back a little, eyeing Buck for a moment. “That bad huh?”

Buck huffs out a laugh. “I guess it’s written all over my face but uh. Yeah. Yeah, exactly that bad.”

“You want to talk about it?” Tommy asks, blue eyes as warm as the summer sun and full of understanding. He won’t make Buck talk about it if he doesn’t want to but he is there as a shoulder to lean on if he needs it. God, Buck is so far gone on this man.

“Maybe later,” he admits, and he leans in to steal another kiss just because he can. “After our ice cream picnic? I think I just need to…picnic and chill.” And maybe he winks as he makes that terrible pun, just because he can.

Tommy groans good naturedly but the twitching corners of his lips gives him away, as does the way his nose and entire face scrunches as he watches Buck fondly. Buck beams, always proud to be the one to make Tommy’s face scrunch. He counts that as an essential life skill, one he’s happy to keep perfecting.

“You think you’re so cute,” he says, squeezing his arms around Buck’s waist. Buck drapes his arms around Tommy’s shoulders and hugs him right back.

“I know I’m so cute,” Buck replies, and this time, he leans in to kiss Tommy’s nose.

Tommy kisses him again, this time on the mouth, sweet but lingering. Buck sighs, feeling himself unwind in Tommy’s arms. He could live here, right here, in this space between Tommy’s arms, for eternity.

“Well I can’t argue with someone who is, in fact, that cute,” Tommy says, smiling softly. “And I can’t not treat someone so cute to ice cream. So how about you go get settled in the bed of the truck and I’ll grab the ice cream?”

Buck wants to insist on paying for half; he doesn’t want to burden Tommy. But he’s also learning to accept when Tommy wants to treat him, and he tries to reciprocate where and when he can in his turn. So Buck nods without making a fuss. He’s too drained for any kind of attempt to argue otherwise anyway.

“I think that sounds like a solid plan,” he says. He tilts his head as he tries to figure out what he wants for ice cream. He internally debates with himself for a few moments before he decides on a flavor. Tommy waits patiently, thumbs rubbing circles in the small of Buck’s back all the while.

“Black raspberry with whipped cream and like, extra cherries on top,” Buck says. “Also chocolate sauce, and chocolate sprinkles, in a sugar cone. That’s at least five different food groups right there, for balance.” His face is starting to hurt from how long he’s been smiling but Buck doesn’t care.

Tommy laughs. “For balance, he says,” he shakes his head before leaning into steal another kiss. “God, you’re adorable Evan.”

Tommy’s words warm him like the August sun; he basks in the comfort he finds in the fondness with which Tommy speaks them.

“Well I assume I have to make up for whatever healthy option you’re getting,” Buck teases, sticking his tongue out slightly.

“If by healthy you mean french vanilla, then yeah, you’re not wrong,” Tommy says, chuckling. He leans in to kiss Buck again, and Buck kisses him back a little more teasingly this time.

“I feel like it’s my duty to try and lure you to the dark side of enjoying different flavors of ice cream,” Buck says.

“And how do you suppose you’re going to lure me?” Tommy asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Guess you’ll have to wait and find out,” Buck promises, waggling his eyebrows. He kisses Tommy, slow and deep, before pulling back. The sight of Tommy with kiss swollen lips and his bright blue eyes shimmering with promise makes him shiver; Tommy feeds that shiver further by squeezing his hips, beautiful lips curving into a slight smirk.

“I look forward to finding out,” Tommy says, leaning in to steal another kiss. This time, he’s the one who deepens the kiss even further, leaving Buck breathless when they part. He smirks as his gaze lingers on Buck’s lips, which feel as kiss swollen as Tommy’s look. He squeezes Buck’s hips again quickly before backing up and turning to make his way over to get the ice cream. Buck trips over his own feet as he makes his way towards the truck.

Buck climbs into the back of Tommy’s truck and realizes, upon settling down and getting comfortable against the pillows and blanket, that the blanket is the same one from their last movie night together; Buck grew cold and Tommy wrapped both of them up in this same plaid blanket like a burrito. His fingers graze across the softness of the blanket as the memory washes over him like a bubble bath. I love him. Realization catches in his throat.

Buck blinks, startled by the appearance of those words in his thoughts for a moment before the solid truth of them anchors him. I love Tommy.

He brings the hand drifting across the blanket up to his face, pressing it against his own mouth as he huffs out a breath and laughter both. He loves Tommy; that knowledge unfurls in his chest like sunflowers opening themselves up for the sun.

He’s lost deep enough in his own thoughts that he doesn’t hear Tommy approach until Tommy is settling in right next to him, their shoulders brushing against one another and sending more warmth through Buck like campfire embers. He turns his head to find Tommy watching him curiously, two ice cream cones in hand.

“Everything okay?” Tommy asks, checking in because he always checks in with Buck, ever since they first met. Buck can’t keep from staring at him like he hung the damn moon because, as far as Buck’s concerned, Tommy is absolutely the one who slotted the moon perfectly into place.

“I love you,” Buck blurts out before he has the chance to second guess himself. He feels himself almost boil from the heat of what he just said out loud; his eyes feel as though they’ve gone as wide as a deer’s.

And Tommy? Well, Tommy stares at Buck with such wonder and awe; the fondness in his gaze makes Buck feel as bright as starlight. Tommy’s entire face could power its own solar system with how he glows as he meets Buck’s gaze.

“Evan,” he breathes out more than speaks, like Buck’s name is a beloved verse of poetry. Buck will never tire of the way Tommy says his name; the way his name comes alive on Tommy’s tongue. He loves this man so damn much.

Tommy leans in and kisses him, slow and deep; hungry, like he doesn’t have ice cream cones in his hand and requires Buck’s lips to live. Buck sighs, reaching out to grasp at the edges of Tommy’s shirt as Tommy pulls back, those blue eyes shining like the Pacific ocean in June. “I love you too.”

Buck laughs as tears lurk in the corners of his eyes. His heart pounds against his chest so loud, he’s certain everyone in the parking lot can hear it. He doesn’t care. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” Tommy says, those two words sounding more like a different pair of words. Buck sways forward into Tommy’s orbit again, leaning in for another kiss.

A sudden, wet coldness lands on his neck as he moves in, and he yelps, like a startled Great Dane. “Oh,” he says, blushing and glancing at the side of his neck where some of the ice cream Tommy still holds has melted into his skin. “Guess I forgot about the ice cream.”

“You and me both,” Tommy admits with a sheepish grin, which turns teasing a moment later. Tommy leans in and licks the drop of ice cream off of Buck’s skin. Buck shivers and laughs.

“You know,” he says, “I could get used to this method of eating ice cream.” He waggles his eyebrows for effect, delighted when Tommy throws his head back and laughs, exposing his beautiful neck that Buck has especially come to appreciate. Tommy looks especially handsome like this, head thrown back in laughter sitting right next to Buck in the back of his truck, enjoying what is turning out to be one of the best summer days Buck’s ever experienced, in spite of the crappy start. As far as Buck’s concerned, today didn’t actually start until just now, when he pulled into the parking lot to meet Tommy for ice cream.

“It would probably help if I gave you your cone,” Tommy says, handing Buck his cone with black raspberry ice cream, whipped cream, chocolate sauce, chocolate sprinkles, and extra cherries. Buck happily accepts his ice cream, starting to eat it before it fully melts. It’s only after his first few bites that he really notices Tommy’s ice cream cone which is not, in fact, french vanilla.

“Look at you, branching out!” Buck says around a mouthful of ice cream. “Is that mint chocolate chip?”

“Mint chocolate chip, whipped cream, and extra cherries on top, thank you very much,” Tommy says. He shrugs. “Maybe a certain someone is starting to rub off on me.”

Buck preens. “I’m so proud!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tommy waves him off, the corners of his mouth twitching. He breaks out into a full smile a second later, unable to help himself.

Buck leans into Tommy, bumping their shoulders together. “We should have a toast,” he murmurs as Tommy leans in to nuzzle against the side of his head. “An ice cream toast!”

“What are we toasting?” Tommy asks, moving to hold out his ice cream cone towards Buck.

Buck scrunches his own face as he considers what exactly he wants to toast. “To being in love and the road ahead,” he decides after a few moments, turning to smile right at Tommy while holding out his cone in turn.

“To being in love and the road ahead,” Tommy repeats with a smile, bumping their cones together. “May the road ahead be long and winding.”

Of course, Buck has to lean in and kiss Tommy for that. So he does.

[ofallthingsnasty]

oh but nasty, pray for the poor, sweet thing evan finds after losing the reader to bill. he made a mistake the first time, he knows better now. sweet girl won't even see it coming :)

YOU!!!! COME OVER HERE, I SWEAR I JUST WANT TO KISS YOU TALK

Oh my god, your whole entire mind. I need to write something with this, it's too fucking good. Just give me a little, this is just- so- ughhhh 🤧💕

tags: yandere, kidnapping, implied mutilation

Just the thought of Evan - not even 30 - spiraling, leaving his pack, moving somewhere far, far away, starting to drink because he can't bear to see the one woman he loved with someone else. Barely able to keep his new job, his green eyes absolutely, totally, dreadfully dead. He used to charm the old ladies at his old place of work, was just a big old sunshine, adored by everyone - now he looks years older than he really is and doesn't have it in him to take care of himself. He loses weight. Loses muscle. Lets his hair grow out. Would let a beard grow if it wasn't required to be shaved because of food safety. Lives in the same two outfits. Drinks at the same dive bar every night. Doesn't talk to anyone outside of work. He's done with his life, doesn't know what stops him from simply ending it - but something does and so he continues to exist. Breathe. Drink. Suffer. He starts seeing her at every corner, always just out of reach, taunting him, reminding him of what he has lost. He knows it's just something his tired brain conjures up to either soothe itself or keep the hope up and tries to tell himself that those little glimpses aren't real - until you stroll into his shitty little dive bar one evening, looking just like her and are very much there. He has to look twice - only then does notice the differences - your smile is different, your sense of fashion isn't quite the same and you're a little fuller, a little more grab-able. Still, he's speechless. Feels like he's about to have panic attack with the way his emotions rush into him. He doesn't even need to talk to you, he just knows he has to have you. The rest can follow later. And when you wake up in some dingy basement a few days later, head heavy as a hundredweight and legs unable to move, he'll be there - full of life again, green eyes sparkling with nothing but love and adoration and desperation and possessiveness, explaining how you've saved his life, how you're his angel, how he'll never let you go again.

[mrssimply]

16th: Silence

There are many drawings of catboy!Johnny on twitter, and no I think it's very fitting because Johnny is totally a stray cat. It's a metaphor I've used many times before, so maybe it was time I embraced it fully. On my list of ideas, this one was supposed to be... so much more than that. But every time I thought about writing yet another silverdyne long fic, I would lose steam 'cause I think the last one, To the Day I die, was like a purge and I couldn't find energy to write another one.

But it was still in my head still demanding to be known so here it is, just a glimpse of what I had in mind.

Oh, and despite being about cat!persons, there is no concept of heat (not at this moment in the story I had in mind), and it's neither funny nor sexy because well... I love complicated things ;) It's T-rated.

You can find the prompt list here.

Every fic will be posted on my AO3 Account here.

There is someone slumped against Milt’s door. Kerry thinks it’s a man, maybe a few years older than him. He’s pale, and way too thin, like he hasn’t had a good meal in ages. His skin is covered in bruises, some old, some new, and Kerry recognizes the kind: he’s been beaten up. He is naked except for a pair of ratty jeans, and Kerry would bet he lost the rest of his clothes in the fights that got him those many bruises. There is blood at the corner of his mouth, and tickling out of his right ear. Kerry is fascinated by the ear, because it’s not a human ear, it’s a cat ear. Covered in fur black as the stranger’s hair, Kerry would have missed it, if not for the blood. It twitches weakly as rain falls on it, a sluggish reflex. There are other particular features on the stranger, like his tail, limp and lifeless between his legs. The boy is sagged sideways, allowing Kerry to see where the boy’s skin slowly transforms into fur as it forms the tail. Last notable thing is his left arm: it’s a heavy piece of cyberware, military grade, crudely sewn into his flesh. The chrome flashes with the neon’s sign flickering above them that says there is a ripper’s clinic here.

Kerry lives in the building above the clinic with two of his older sisters, and the boy is literally on his way to access the back entrance, which he prefers to use. Crouching in front of the young man, Kerry extends an arm to brush the tip of the fur-covered ear. It twitches again, evading his intrusive touch. 

Biting his lower lip, Kerry makes a decision. 

Five minutes later, Kerry is back with Milt, the ripperdoc. 

“Damn”, the man whispers and it doesn’t reassure Kerry. 

“Is he gonna be alright?”

“I dunno. Help me get him inside.”

-

The boy is heavier than he looks, so it’s panting and heaving that they push him on the medbed. Diagnostics start to run as soon as Milt turns on the scanner. Kerry looks at the monitor and the cat person intermittently. 

Milt mutters about dehydration and undernourishment, about broken ribs and concussions. He straps an IV to the stranger and injects a cocktail of meds and stim to go with the fluids.

Then, the doc starts looking at the arm.

“Arasaka,” he says, more to himself than to Kerry. Hanging around his neck are dog tags, or well — cat tags, Kerry supposes.

“RJL-20.103”,” the doc reads. 

“Is that a code or something?" Kerry asks.

"Designation. Company and platoon, probably,” he explains while pointing to the two numbers separated by a dot, “and then his personal ID.”

“No name?”

“Don’t think they give them names...”

Kerry lowers his eyes. Cat people were first engineered by the army, to combine human intelligence with the agility, strength and endurance of big cats. Later, when the war was “won”, they sold the patent to interested private corps, which birthed them for commercial purposes, mostly for the pleasure business.

The boy is obviously military oriented, the tags are a clue if the arm wasn’t sufficient, and if he’s here alone, then that means he escaped.

“Deserted” would have been the term for any normal soldier, but cats are not citizens, they are property of the army, or the Corp which birthed them. They don’t get the same rights, their purpose is to live and die on the battlefield. There is an entire army corp with just cats, and they get deployed in the most dangerous zones. They are used as cannon fodder, and stay simple soldiers all their short lives since the officers' positions are given to humans.

Kerry watches as Milt tenderly moves a lock of hair away from the boy’s cheek, and remembers the doc’s son enlisted some years ago, and that Milt has had no news ever since. Kerry doesn’t remember how the conversation went, but he knows Milt and his son, Cody, parted in anger. People that enlist nowaday are guaranteed a good position, the field work is mostly done by cat people, so ambitious young folk try their chance at war, thinking themselves safe from harm in command tents. The doc was opposed to his son enlisting, but Cody felt the army would give him better, and easier prospects than staying here to learn his father’s practice.

Milt sighs, says they now have to wait and see, and goes to fetch a blanket. Kerry watches over the stray. He is filthy, but Kerry can tell he would be real pretty usually. They almost always are, with genes handpicked for their purpose. That one got long dark lashes, the echoes of a smirk on his thin lips, and the beginning of a beard. He can’t be over twenty.

Kerry brushes his fingers behind the cat’s ear, stroking the soft fur, fascinated by the creature resting on the bed.

-

Kerry fell asleep on the couch, lured by the warmth and the regular beeps of the medical equipment of the clinic. He came back after dinner to see if their rescue was awake, but was informed by Milt there had been no change. He practiced on his guitar for a while, and then the tiredness of the day caught up with him. Since he turned eighteen, his sisters have asked Kerry to help them with the rent, saying he’s now a man and has to do his share: he can’t lay around all day just playing guitar, since that doesn’t pay for food. Yet. Kerry has big dreams.

Dreams that are violently interrupted by an aborted shout, followed by a growl. He opens his eyes in time to see the catboy jump/fall from the med bed, tearing up at the tube Milt linked into him and kicking the equipment around in his wild thrashing.

“Hey, wow, calm down!” Kerry speaks while getting up. Intense dark eyes zero on him before the young catboy crouches, ears flattening on his skull. He stills, body brimming with tension except for his tail which is swishing slowly behind him. Kerry raises his hands in the air.

“It’s ok, you’re safe here. You’re in a ripperdoc clinic.”

The catboy’s head wipes around, maybe searching for the doc, or just finally realizing where he is. It doesn’t relax him in the slightest, but he looks less ready to jump at Kerry.

Milt appears in the doorframe, probably alerted by the ruckus. When the stray sees him, he finally relaxes and rises slowly to his feet. His ears perk up, although one stays bent toward Kerry, as if keeping him in check while his attention is focused on the doc.

“You’re awake, good.”

Milt comes forward, outwardly relaxed. The catboy follows him with his eyes.

“I can remove this,” the doc indicates, pointing to the tube and cable he linked to his patient for diagnosis. 

After a moment of hesitation, the young soldier leans against the med med and extends his arms. Milt removes the IV, and the wire connecting to the chrome arm. 

“How do you feel?” he asks, but gets no reply. 

The catboy is looking at Milt very intently and Kerry even catches him taking a sniff. He swallows, glances at Kerry and nods to himself like he’s reached a conclusion.

He hops on the bed and takes off his left boot. Kerry sees him manipulate the heel until a small compartment opens. He tips the boot and something falls into his waiting palm. Too curious, Kerry approaches and the cat’s gaze pins him for a second before deeming him as no threat. The experience is still jarring, but Kerry is no chicken so he comes closer anyway.

It’s another set of dog tags, and these ones are more classical, displaying the soldier’s last name, the initials of his name, blood type, the acronym “USMC” and a religious preference (which indicates “none”).

The catboy hands it to Milt, who looks at the tags with shock. Kerry takes a better look and feels his stomach fall, because the last name reads Nauman. The doc takes the little metal plates with trembling fingers and reads the rest of the data. His mouth parts around a silent sob, and it’s all the confirmation Kerry needs. 

Cody was about five years older than Kerry, and he dated one of his sisters for a while, so the young man remembers him fondly. He had no musical sense, but he could talk about the history of music for ages. He was one of the coolest guys Kerry ever knew and his death feels strange. Like an impossibility.

On the bed, the catboy looks sad. His head is bowed, eyes hidden from view but his ears and tail telegraph his emotion clearly. Beside the obvious grief, there is something else on the stranger's face. Regrets, anger, guilt…  A mix of all three. It distracts Kerry from his own emotions until he hears Milt’s harsh breathing.

Both young men catch the tears on the doc’s face, silently running as he continues to look at the tags, and they tense, unprepared to deal with such display of emotion. The soldier in particular looks absolutely terrified, eyes widening and panicking as he finds himself caught in the grief of a father.

“Thank you,” Milt breathes, barely hiding the sob in his voice. “Thank you for bringing me this I… How…” He stops, closes his eyes and turns away. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, before practically running out of the room.

Kerry and the catboy look at him go, helpless to help. Kerry feels tears stinging at the back of his eyes and blinks furiously. The news hasn’t really sunk yet, but it feels like a gaping hole opened inside his chest. 

He is pulled out of his grief by the stray putting his shoe back on. Kerry looks at him doing it with empty eyes, and it’s only when the young man jumps on his feet that he reacts.

“You’re going?”

The other nods warily, looking at him with suspicion.

“You can’t go yet, Milt… Milt will want to talk to you, you… What happened? How did it happen?”

The cat looks distinctly uncomfortable, his face is closed off but his ears are back to being flat against his skull and his tail is rigid between his legs. He eyes the door and tension fills his body gradually, like he is seriously thinking about bolting out.

Kerry catches his wrist tightly, making the catboy twist toward him with a snarl. Startled, the other boy released him with a gasp.

“Sorry,” he mutters as fresh tears rise to his waterline. He lowers his head to hide them, chest feeling tight, like the rejection is breaking something inside of him.

The cat sighs and fidgets before circling back to the med bed, hovering uncertainly. The strange feeling inside Kerry settles, and he looks back to where Milt disappeared. He lives upstairs with his wife, and Kerry supposes he will need time alone with her to process the news.

The two young men look at each other in awkward silence, when suddenly, the catboy’s stomach grumbles loudly. Kerry smiles faintly and turns to take his guitar back.

“We should find you something to eat, c’mon.”

He gestures for the other boy to follow, and after a moment of hesitation, he steps behind Kerry. 

-

The catboy took a tour of the flat while Kerry reheated the pasta his sister Emma made earlier. She works the night shift as a dispatcher for the trauma team’s med center, so she cooked before going to work. Kerry ate with his oldest sister Malika while the stray was still sleeping, eager to get back to watching him. The moment the leftovers are served on a plate and put in front of the stranger, he seems to forget all about his wariness and digs into the plate with abandon. It’s a bit obscene to watch, but Kerry can’t tear his eyes away; he really must have been starved. After a few bites, he slows down and Kerry can tell it’s at the price of a great effort but he seems to know that eating too fast will just make him sick. He frequently glances at his host, and during such instances, Kerry gets a better look at his eyes. They are of a rich dark brown, but the pupil is slit like one of a pet cat, and the young guitarist feels a bit like a mouse when that gaze stares at him intensely.

Kerry drinks his Nicola in silence, and can’t help but note that the catboy won’t touch his, but he drinks the tap water from the jug next to the can eagerly. In silence, Kerry observes his various bruises and wounds. Some look really gross, still an angry red, even though they can’t be that recent. Those around the arms are the most impressive: the skin there looks tender and sensitive, but not in a good way. He is also really dirty, with stripes of dry sweat visible on his torso, and he smells really bad too.

“What about a shower?” Kerry offers once the plate has been mostly cleared. The catboy tenses, looks around, seems to weigh his options before nodding with a displeased expression. Obviously, he’s not super keen on the idea, but he’s also pragmatic: he doesn’t know when the opportunity will present itself again.

-

Kerry shows him the bathroom before going to his room to fetch clothes: a sweatpant and an oversized shirt. Even if the cat is really underweight, his frame speaks of military training and his shoulders are wider than the average male of his age. When Kerry reappears in the bathroom, the other boy hasn't moved an iota, struck looking at his reflection and touching his jaw length black hair like he doesn’t recognise it. 

“Here, that should suit you. C’mon, I’ll show you how the shower works.”

He gets the water on slightly hotter than he prefers, and steps back when he thinks everything is set. Turning around, he loses what he wanted to say, looking at the catboy standing naked under the shitty light. He is fucking hung!

Kerry’s mouth opens in surprise and he can’t tear his eyes from the tableau; they really make them perfect. The stray smiles slyly when he catches him looking and his expression deepens when Kerry blushes and averts his gaze promptly. 

“Ok, I’ll leave you to it,” the host declares, passing by his guest, only to be yanked back and pushed into the shower. He stammers, winces when his head collides with the tiles, and sputters when the hot stream hits him in the face. 

When he finds his bearings enough to open his eyes and takes stock of the situation, the catboy is still holding him fast against the wall of the shower, and he growls when Kerry tries to disentangle himself.

The sound prompts a shiver to run down Kerry’s spine, and he forces himself to relax, hands going lax on his sides. They look at each other for a moment before the catboy relaxes somewhat, but he still holds Kerry firmly against the wall.

“Ok,” the young man breathes, “ok I’m staying,” he says and the other nods like he’s happy he made himself clear. Kerry doesn’t really understand what happened, but sure, he can stay here, it’s just super uncomfortable in his wet jeans. 

Meanwhile, the boy is back to looking at the door, like he expects to be attacked any minute and Kerry finally understands: he’s here to watch the stranger’s back while he is in a vulnerable position. 

“Can I just get rid of my clothes?” he asks and after a glance and a moment of hesitation, the cat steps back.

Kerry keeps his boxers on like they are a last barrier against the strangeness of the situation, and pours shampoo in his hands before slowly raising them to his guest’s hair, stopping with a questioning gaze.

Again, there is a moment of hesitation before the young ex-soldier lowers his head a fraction and Kerry starts massaging his scalp. He keeps an eye on the door for a while, but before long, Kerry sees his shoulders drop in relaxation. Huffing out a small laugh, Kerry continues his massage and even chances to rub the boy’s nape. 

It takes a small minute, but Kerry suddenly realizes there is a soft vibration under his fingers and he stills. With the shower running, he can’t hear it but he is pretty sure the boy is purring. He starts his massage again, trying to act like nothing happened, persuaded that remarking on it would make the cat stop.

Slowly, the boy raises his head and lets the water wash the shampoo away, allowing Kerry to wash the rest of his upper body. His gaze looks hazy, a far cry from the  previous tension, even if he jumps a bit everytime fingers brush against his scars. 

Shyly, Kerry stops when he reaches his guest’s waist, and the other boy seems to get out of his trance. He smirks and raises a challenging eyebrow at Kerry, who colors even more with a mix of embarrassment and anger. He accepts the challenge and wash the rest of his guest’s body with jerkier movements than before. He takes mean pleasure in grabbing his cock a bit too tight and even stroking it once under the pretense of cleaning it. The catboy’s expression is smug, even if he blink and jerks forward when Kerry gets to his cock. 

“There, all clean,” the host declares with a glare, taking the shower head to rinse him, and making sure to direct the stream right in his face. The ex-soldier sputters and growls, but Kerry can tell he’s not really angry. They get out of the shower and dry themselves in silence.

With a head movement, Kerry brings the catboy to his room.

“This is my sisters’ room. They’re not here. Emma is working and Malika is out with her boyfriend,” he explains as they pass the door in the corridor.

At the mention of Malika’s name, the boy perks up.

“Yeah,” Kerry says sadly, “she and Cody were together for a while. He told you about her?”

The catboy nods and continues looking at the door with something of a sad expression.

“You liked him?”

A shrug, but Kerry can tell they were close, maybe a bit like what Cody used to have with Kerry. The thought brings a fresh wave of grief to Kerry, who swallows thickly and continues to his room. He will deal with the emotions later, he doesn't want to right now.

-

In Kerry’s small bedroom, the two guitars he owns have a prime position. The one he had downstairs is his most recent acquisition. His sisters think he bought it thanks to doing more hours at Caliente, but in truth Kerry klepped it. His sisters understand nothing about music, so they didn’t recognise the quality of the instrument. The other one belonged to his father, also a good brand, though that one is really vintage. Both are electric, and there is an amp waiting in between. 

The cat immediately takes an interest now that he is not in survival mode, and Kerry wonders if he can play. He sits on his bed and pats the spot next to him before grabbing his father’s axe.

The boy sits gingerly next to him, still taking in the rest of the room, but his attention zeroes on Kerry when he starts playing. The first notes of Depeche Mode’s Enjoy The Silence float in the quiet of the flat, and despite the amp being set to medium, it sounds really loud. 

The boy listens intently, ears perking and tail tense as he looks at Kerry’s fingers on the guitar’s neck. 

“You know how to play?” Kerry asks, never stopping to play. 

A swish of tail, and then a tiny nod.

“You know that one?”

Both ears twitch back, like he is hesitating again. 

“Take the other one if you wanna,” Kerry offers and that seems to decide his guest. He grabs the axe and takes his time admiring the quality of the work. Kerry can tell he is impressed and he grins, recognising someone who knows his guitars.

When he starts playing, it’s obvious the cat is skilled: his technique is good, the rhythm is perfect, and he even adds some personal style to it. Kerry is mesmerized, and he’s clearly not prepared for what happens next.

The boy starts to sing.

His voice is low and rough, like he hasn’t spoken in a month or two, and it waivers as he tries to find the right pitch. It’s unequal, and the process looks painful but he plows through it and it’s the most beautiful thing Kerry has ever heard.

As the chorus nears, Kerry snaps out of it and starts playing again, even joining him in the singing. When they finish the song, they both linger on the last notes and Kerry can’t help but grin.

“You can speak.”

The catboy smiles smugly and winks.

“I’m Kerry,” the host says, realizing they never exchanged names.

“I know. Cody said you were like a little brother to him.”

Kerry looks down and bites his lip.

“Yeah, he really was the big brother I never had.”

His voice is rough again, sorrow making the words difficult to get out. The cat shifts on the bed, uncomfortable. When Kerry glances at him, he seems lost in thought, sorrow threatening to take him under, too.

“He was my captain. Only decent officer ‘round. He really cared about us.”

His voice is but a whisper, and when he finishes, his tail swish back and forth nervously, like he’s said too much.

“Do you have a name?” Kerry asks next, trying to bury the sadness.

The boy shrugs.

“RJL, that’s how they referred to me. But Cody called me Johnny.”

“Johnny,” Kerry repeats and the other young man stares at him intensely, a small smile lifting his mouth. The host’s expression rises to match, and the smiles transform into grins, reflecting the elation they both feel for reasons they can’t yet explain.

The moment is interrupted by the doorbell chiming. It’s Milt, asking to speak to Johnny. Taking a deep breath, the catboy accepts, ears low and tail curled around his leg. Two hours later, Johnny climbs the fire escape to knock on Kerry’s window, tells him Milt wants him to stay with him for now, until they can make him papers by taking advantage of Night City liberal regulations about cat persons. For lack of a better option, Johnny said yes, he would stay, but just for a while. 

-

Kerry was already in bed, tossing and turning, so he scoots back to give some space to his new friend, and ignores his heart when it races as the other boy lies down next to him. They talk until the wee hours of morning, avoiding the painful subjects and concentrating on music, until Johnny falls asleep under Kerry’s attentive gaze.

In hindsight, Kerry will know this is the moment he fell in love. But right now, he knows nothing about the pain and trials they’re gonna face, together and alone. He knows nothing about what Johnny will accomplish for cat people and the world, and how extreme he will get to achieve his goals. He knows nothing about the depth of the emotions he will experience for Johnny, and the destructive devotion he will endure for him. He knows nothing about how the intensity of his love will be matched, though nearly never acknowledged by his friend. He knows nothing about how dark some days will get, but that in the end, it will be worth it. For now, Kerry just watches Johnny sleep, watches his ears twitch as he dreams, his tail curled around his friend’s waist possessively.

Wows are spoken To be broken Feelings are intense Words are trivial Pleasures remain So does the pain Words are meaningless And forgettable 

All I ever wanted All I ever needed Is here in my arms Words are very  Unnecessary They can only do harm