#who flys by the seat of his pants and still manages to come out on top

[thecollectter]

Ooooh yesss. Such as I love Danny bringing the Chaos that is his life to Gotham, I love the idea of Tim having vague memories of a brother he shouldn't have and finally finding proof of said Brother. Danny on the other hand? I doubt he remembers that the Fentons aren't his Parents. So he'd never even go looking for a lost Brother. Besides he's to busy keeping a lid on Amity parks Chaos to go anywhere else.

So Tim finds Evidence of him actually having a brother who either was given up for adoption by parents who only "needed one child" or mysterious vanished(wow clockwork) and the parents covered up the fact they ever had a second child because the media attention would be "bad" for that.

If it's the first, Tim simply tracks Danny's adoption records to Madeline and Jack Fenton. The couple drops off the map shortly after the adoption(moved to amity) but with some dedicated research he'd find their college research and such, learn their belief in ghosts, and more research would lead to a town called amity Park that's rumored to be very haunted. But he can't find it on the map(suspicious) but he does know it's general location of where it's SUPPOSED to be so he takes it upon himself to find the missing town that may or may not house his missing brother.

OR for the route of Danny vanished via Clockworks intervention, clockwork would totally leave a hint for Tim to follow. I'd bet a simple article about a purple-backed gorilla would be interesting to him. This way, he doesn't know anything about Ghosts, just a town called amity Park that's he can't find anywhere else, where someone that looks exactly like him lives. So he goes in not having an inkling about Ghosts at all. Just that "This town exists but I can't find anything about it so SOMETHING suspicious must be happening. Any my brother might be involved." Cue him running off on his own to find his brother and this town that supposedly exists somewhere in Illonois near and Elmertom city.

Mind you, he's not going to tell anyone about this until he FINDS said brother. Or he'd leave a message letting Bruce know his discoveries but only after he's already left to find Amity Park. Information that includes his missing brother, suspicious government coverups (cause how else would a town simply cease to exist?), crazy? Ghost hunting parents.(depending on the route taken). Or maybe he wouldn't leave anything. I could totally see both happening with tim.

And then of course the chaos of him FINDING amity and all the crazy things is that happen there. No idea how meeting Danny goes, but I'd bet you Danny would be SHOCKED to find that not only is he adopted, but he has a twin, his birth family is filthy rich, his twin was adopted but BRUCE WAYNE, and his twin is Red Robin, AND the Justice League hasn't been ignoring them for years. Mind. Blown. He may or may not take it well. Maybe ignore the whole family thing and deal with the Justice league side of things cause MAN, Danny would LOVE some help with these ghosts and the GIW agents who want him on a direction table. And maybe his parents but he elects to ignore that bit

Do with this what you will, I'm just brainstorming here. Probably won't actually write a story for this. I'd love to see what others build off of it though! Cool idea @hyperfixatinator

I have a DP x DC AU brainworm about Danny and Tim being long lost siblings (twins or otherwise).

Because both of them have faced evil future versions of themselves who've almost ended the world in some way through altering time. If Clockwork had been watching Danny's world-ending timelines, then who's to say he wouldn't keep tabs on Tim's as well?

Imagine that the brothers had to be temporarily separated at a young age to ensure a peaceful future. Danny had to be in Amity Park to gain his ghost powers and become the new Ghost King. Meanwhile, Tim had to stay in Gothem to become the new Robin, something he'd have been less likely to do if Danny stayed in his life.

However, their separation was only supposed to be temporary. What if both Dan and Future Tim were from futures where they never reunited as teens? Heck, what if both of them were from the SAME future?

The Nasty Burger explosion happened, Danny killed Vlad and absorbed his soul, and became Dan. Dan grew too powerful for the GIW to handle anymore, so the government tried reaching out to the Justice League. But oops! Future Tim already killed off and tore down that whole organization, meaning the world no longer had it's protectors to stop this new foe.

Though they were strangers, the future brothers unwittingly collaborated in sealing the world's fate.

Back to the present, the Observants wanted Clockwork to get rid of Danny and also Tim before that timeline came to pass. What they didn't understand was Clockwork's plan.

See, the Infinite Realms needed a new monarch to replace Pariah Dark, but not just anyone would do. In timelines outside of Dan's future, the U.S government would've started a war with the Infinite Realms anyway. One that would guarantee Earth's destruction and offset the balance of other realms near it.

The war is set to start in Amity Park, but the information blackout is preventing it's citizens from getting outside help. Mid-to-late teen Danny can't bring down the Anti Ecto Acts alone. He'd be struggling to keep the Realms beings from invading his home as it is. And the government's iron grip on the city makes it nearly impossible for news to get out to the masses.

Danny being the brother of a vigilante detective across the country is another story.

Batman's mentorship would give Tim the training needed to eventually track down his lost sibling. And through Red Robin's connections to the Justice League, Danny could get help overturning the Anti Ecto Acts while he keeps declarations of war at bay on his end. Danny and Tim's combined efforts could be what's keeping the world at peace instead of ending it.

Long story short: Clockwork kills two birds with one stone by uniting a pair of long lost brothers through the prevention of an interdimensional war.

[youwerethedefeated]

Been seeing a lot of interesting conversations over on Twitter about how class difference is portrayed in Haikyuu, and in contrast, it made me think about those shit ass "hinata would have grown more in another school" tik tok takes and why they make me so mad.

Like no shit, Sherlock, ANYONE would be able to thrive more in a richer school, with a properly funded volleyball club and everthying that comes with it. Schools like Shiratorizawa, Fukurodani, Inarizaki and etc. that are regulars at Nationals.

And that's the whole point of the story. I'm Hinata Shouyou from the concrete. Karasuno is literally portrayed as a garbage dump. Before Takeda takes over and convinces Ukai to coach the team, the vb club was literally in shambles

(And even before, during the glory days of Old Ukai, it seems like the school still didn't make a heavy investment in the club)

Anyway, Karasuno isn't a rich, renowned school. It isn't the best school. It doesn't have the best coaches or a bus or a whole ass cheer squad. And yet it's exactly the school Hinata wanted. He was willing to bike half an hour over a mountain, back and forth, every single day just to be able to attend it.

THE WHOLE POINT is that he still managed to climb his way up to the top despite not having a strong base and not being able to attend one of the best schools in the country. He who would climb the ladder must begin at the bottom. The whole point is that Karasuno- the team as a whole- managed to claw their way to Nationals despite everything.

(Also, I've seen people call Ukai a bad coach, and let me just say: WASH YOUR MOUTH. Ukai is an overworked likely underpaid 20 something dude who probably doesn't have a degree in any sort of teaching position. He agrees to coach the vb team despite having a store to run and helping out at his family's farm. This man is flying by the seat of his pants, working solely with his intuition and the knowledge he gained from watching his grandfather coach - which was almost TEN YEARS ago. The fact that he managed to take the boys to Nationals and get them as far as he did despite being inexperienced actually says a lot about Ukai's intelligence and potential.)

[middlingmay]

Clegan Road Head anyone?

I tried to come up with some kind of semi-reasonable name for this fic, but there is none. I'll accept your best pun, please, but until then, Road Head it is. And yes, I am saying that like "Road House" in that Family Guy episode.

Set in the That Ol' Devil Called Love universe, a bit in the future. The Buckies have been together for a wee while by now.

I think this may be the filthiest thing I've ever written. Really, not for any young'uns lurking out there...

Enjoy!

-

Driving, fast and reckless and hard. Swooping round wide curves. Flying over ridges and the jolting hit back down to earth. The grunts and growlings vibrating underneath as he pushed and pushed and pushed for everything he could get.

It always sent blood down and down, tightening the already limited give of his jeans.

He wasn’t the only one. Most fellas when they stepped out their low riding cars had to take a second to adjust things. The Pinks and other dames on the tracks liked to laugh at ‘em, but he’d seen that wiggle they did, covertly trying to rub their thighs together. Celebrations down on the air strip usually saw more than a few couples sneaking off to let the hot blood boil over.

“Jesus, Gale.” John’s breath caught in his throat and his body jerked in the driver’s seat.

The way Gale’s head bobbed in his lap wasn’t helping him get his breath back none, neither.

A menace of a passenger, was his Buck. A bossy, side-seat driver who issued commands and expected them to be obeyed. An unrepentant enabler of John’s hedonistic driving, rewarding him with petting and touches while he tried to concentrate on the road.

It might have taken them a hell of a time to figure it out, but John had to hand it to Buck: once they decided they were in this together, that pastor’s boy hadn’t held an ounce of himself back. John was discovering his Buck was just as wild, just as hungry for life and feeling as the rest of them.

Tonight was the first time in days they’d managed to find any time together. Between Buck’s tutoring and studying for finals and things being as hectic as ever at the shop, they hadn’t had much time for anything more than a quick peck on the cheek as they passed each other in the garage, or basking in the contented tiredness when he drove a yawning Gale home.

When John’d had enough, he’d driven up on Marge and Gale in the street and slowed down just enough to yell out, “Tonight. Ten-thirty!”, before he hauled ass to pick up parts Crank had secured for them.

Within two seconds of them driving out of town, Gale’s hands started to wander. He shuffled as close to John as he could get and peeled back the lapel of his leather. He warmed the cooling skin with his kisses instead. The thick, mallowy purse of Gale’s lips scattered a soft necklace of irrepressible need and affection.

The scrape of his teeth and their gentle tug on the tendon of John’s neck said, I miss you.

The hand sliding over his thigh and boldly, unreservedly, cupping the burgeoning bulge in his pants said, I want you.

John’s legs flexed and tensed and Baby shot forward. As soon as Gale felt the force of her pushing him back into his seat, he bit down and palmed a hard handful of John's denim-clad groin.

Against the pulse jerking in John's neck, Gale grinned. "Go faster."

Like he was the one in control of the wheel. John loved it, and Gale knew it, but still.

“Yeah? What you gonna give me?”

John foresaw another night of fidgeting against an uncomfortable mess between his legs until he could get home and clean up. Not that he gave much of a damn. Not that he didn’t get some kind of secret kick out of seeing proof of Gale’s lust for him.

What he didn’t foresee was Gale popping his jean buttons with a well-earned deftness, pulling him out into the open air, and swallowing John down in one go. Mouth open and throat lax, Gale Cleven was not in a teasing mood.

There on the straight of the old highway, John threw his head back and Baby flew across the roads like they were air.

John wished, oh how he wished, he could see the pillows of Gale’s lips cradling his shaft. He wished he could see that gorgeous, delectable pout all ruddied from riding up and down his length. He wished he could see those high and rounded cheeks full of Gale’s feeding. He wished he could see those long lashes fluttering in pleasure as he got off on the speed, the risk, and the exposure of it all, riding with Baby’s top down.

John shouldn’t even have been staring at the golden, undulating crown of Gale’s head.

He snapped his eyes back to the road. He’d never let anything happen to Buck whilst it was under his power. Gale knew that, and trusted it.

“Mmh, sweetheart.” John rolled his head along the line of his shoulders. He dropped a hand from the shifter to curl around the hidden profile of Gale’s jaw. “What’d I do to deserve this?”

Gale pulled off him, slow and slurping like the reluctant relinquishing of an ice pop on a hot day. The wind whipped across John’s exposed skin, sharpened by the copious wetness Gale left behind.

“Ah.” John’s hips kicked up at the arctic sensation and Gale kissed his crown in apology. He kissed there, then kissed his way up to John’s ear. Over the roar of the engine and the blood in John’s ears, he rumbled,

“I missed you.” The zing it sent down John’s neck, his spine and straight to his crotch had John spurring Baby on faster. Gale grabbed him in a firm fist and drew up, slowly. He thumbed the head and smeared over a spurt of pre. Humming with pleasure, Gale popped the sticky pad into his own mouth to collect the taste.

“Oh, fuck, Gale.” It coiled hot and desperate inside John.

Over John’s shirt, Gale pinched a nipple between his finger and thumb. Hard, and held it.

John bit his teeth around a grinding scream, raw and frustrated and sharp in his throat. His cock kicked against his belly and left a sticky, shiny patch on his shirt.

Gale was a quick study on what got John going.

“Eyes on the road. See if you can’t make it across the river before you come.”

John was going to bite through his lip. By Christ, he was. “And what’ll that get me?”

Gale, who’d started shimmying back down, raised an elegant, perfectly arched brow.

And oh boy, did John mean it when he said Gale knew exactly what made him tick.

Pressing a soft kiss, sweet as sugar, on John’s dimpled chin, Gale said, “It’ll make me happy. You like pleasin’ me, don’t you Bucky? Like giving me what I want?”

Lord save him, but yes he did.

“If you make it in fifteen, you can come. If you can’t do it in less than twenty, you’ll have to wait until we’re back at the apartment.”

It was a half hour drive to the other side of the river. With a smirk that promised both sin and rapture, Gale descended. Mouth full of him again, Gale gave a happy tingling hum of a sound which trembled over John’s sensitive skin; a vibration that was no less devastating for its delicacy.

John had never been ashamed of his performance, but Gale Cleven had proven a critical blow to his longevity. How was he supposed to last fifteen whole minutes?

The trees were a deep green blur. John was deaf to the blaring horns of the few late-night drivers still on the roads as they screamed past the last junction back into town. The swirls and thick wet prods of Gale’s eager tongue, and the hot suction of his mouth was too much. John grabbed a fistful of Gale’s hair and the mistake was near fatal. Gale threw himself down with even greater vigour and the snarling pleasure he spilled down John’s length nearly wrote his end in thick ropes across Gale’s tongue.

That whimpering half-squeal and the shaking of his knee spelled out just how far he teetered over that precipice. John felt the heat boil and froth no matter how frantically he tried to stop it or how hard he begged it to stay at bay.

“Oh fuh—please, no. Not yet. Not yet. Uh. God. Fuck. Gale, fuck.” It spilled over his lips like a fanatical prayer. An incessant, fruitless, babble.

Gale came up to heave in lungfuls of gasping breath. John felt the rise and fall of his chest all the way through his back where John rested his hand.

“How long?” Gale’s already low voice rasped and John shivered to hear him sounding as wrecked as he felt.

“Half—about half way, I think.” Jesus, they could be in Poland for all he knew right now.

Gale tutted. He turned to look up at John and shook his head. Those peach soft cheeks lined with the barest fuzz of stubble teased against his cockhead, leaving a loving streak behind. John wanted to lick it off in one fat stripe

“You can do better than that. Keep it together.”

John bit the knuckle of the hand not clenched around the wheel. Gale granted him a small mercy and settled for little kisses and kitten licks all over the length of him. A reprieve: space to regain a semblance of self-control, like that hadn’t been shot all to hell since Gale had barrelled into his life.

John was revelling in the pleasant contrast of his wind-stung ears and a warm cock when it came.

The flash and blip-blip of a police siren behind them.

Gale froze. John pushed his head down into the soft, fleshy muscle of his lap so Gale wouldn’t be seen. If any word of this got back to the pastor…

He maintained speed and the siren blared again. John squinted at the wingmirror to read the plate.

“I think it’s Kidd.”

It was definitely Kidd’s cruiser, at least.

Jack Kidd didn’t harbour the same outright hatred of him as Sherriff Huglin. He was mostly annoyed, usually vexed, which was fairly standard. But John was sure Kidd was at least 10% amused by some of his antics, too.

But more importantly, he was near certain he wouldn’t shop Gale if John let them get caught.

But. Kidd could. And it might not even be Kidd; just some pig driving his cruiser.

“You think?” It was impressive, how Gale glared at him so fiercely whilst pressed up against John’s naked dick.

“You wanna risk it?”

Gale licked his lips. “Can you out run him?”

John mustered up an offended glare of his own. “Again? Sure.”

Gale got a wicked glint in his eye. “Alright. New plan. Once you lose him? You can come.”

John’s own relationship with God was complicated. But he could be almost devout in moments like this, where it seemed like Gale had been made just for him by a divine power. He swore he fell a little more in love every time Gale revealed those layers that were as snarled and wild as John’s own.

There were no kitten licks this time. No sweet kisses. Gale sucked him back inside and fed himself down John’s hardness inch by inch. John white-knuckled the steering wheel and fought all his nerve-endings screaming at him to gaze upon Gale and never look away.

“Fuck baby, you don’t play fair.” John whined and Gale stopped half-way down and clamped his hand tight around the base of John’s cock. John hissed but petted Gale’s head in thanks.

God it wasn’t a moment too soon. Seeing John had no intentions of slowing down, Kidd sounded his full blues and twos and picked up speed. That hot, heady thrill of the chase melted into the ecstasy from Gale, and John was only a man. Gale must have gotten a good, thick taste of his excitement; he moaned and pushed himself further down on John’s cock. The noises it forced out of Gale’s throat were needy—like when you couldn’t stop slurping down water, not even for air, you had to slake your thirst so bad.

“Christ.” John’s hips bucked off his seat but Gale quickly pinned him down. He clamped tighter around the base of him. Without it, John would have come. God, he would have come.

John took a sharp turn and Gale sighed as it jolted John down even deeper. They drove through a red light and Gale tongued the ridge under John’s head. He pushed Our Baby until she shuddered, and Gale teased him with the barest scrape of teeth.

John had lost all control of what came out of his mouth. He lost all control of the thrusting of his hips and when Gale gave a particularly hard suckle, they bucked double-time to Kidd’s siren.

“God, just like that. You’re so good, doll. Fuckin’—can’t beli-eve you’re my guy. Oh Christ. Don’t stop. Fuck. Tighter—tighter! Oh—”

Gale let him go. A thick, slick string broke off from his glistening lips. He looked up, blue eyes darkened to a shade much more like John’s own. “I said lose him.”

John tossed a glance behind them. They’d gained some distance, but Kidd wasn’t giving up.

Gale tossed him his final order. “Give it all she’s got.”

John and Gale both gave it their everything. Whilst John tore down straights and threw them around turns and ignore every stop sign, crossing or light change on almost empty roads, Gale worked him with a dedication and fervour the church’s most faithful could never get near. Both hands clutched John between them like a prayer.

Finally John caught a break. He’d gained enough ground on Kidd, and when he rounded a corner straight into a junction, he was able to tear up the road to the left before Kidd came back into view.

It took them up a dark road lined with fields. Not a single streetlight. The paltry light of Baby’s headlights was the only visibility on offer.

John turned into an opening in a field, likely for tractors. He hit the brakes and killed the engine.

Baby plunged them into total darkness.

Gale, who’d turned his face into John’s stomach, pulled him down to hunch over him and hide out of sight.

“Did we lose him?” Gale hardly whispered, buried underneath.

John’s heart hammered in his chest. He could barely hear a thing over it but strained for the sharp sound of two-toned sirens.

Nothing.

“I think so.”

Gale tentatively pushed up and John let him. Barely daring to breathe, they searched for the lights of the cruiser.

In the dark, bereft of flashes of blue and red, they looked at each other. Gale’s hair stood up in all directions, the pomade still valiantly trying to hold it where John’s hands had scattered it. His lips looked swollen, even in the dark.

John was so goddamn gone for him.

“You said.” He hadn’t meant for it to sound so begging and plaintive. But Gale clicked his tongue in sympathy and pressed their foreheads together.

“I did. You did good, sweetheart. Just what I asked.” He dropped down to capture John’s mouth in a burning kiss. Like he wanted to swallow John’s tongue just like he did his cock. The kind of kiss you could do nothing against; just had to sit there and take it as it got so deep and full you couldn’t breathe.

As Gale took up all of John’s air, the last of it was choked out over Gale’s tongue as he palmed over John’s cock.

“I’m as good as my word, darlin’,” Gale said against his lips. “I got you. Come on, now. Give it me.”

He delved down and took John in his mouth, all eagerness and hunger. John wished he could savour it, now they had a little time. But he was so keyed up already between Gale’s attention and the chase, he had no hope. Like his body knew it was finally allowed to sink in and surrender to the pleasure that had been burning up his spine and all his nerves. All it took was a few pumps of Gale trying to fuck his throat on John; of watching those long dextrous fingers scramble at Gale’s own belt as he slipped his hand inside and squeezed at his own hardness, sobbing at the sheer relief.

And John was lost.

“Fuck, fuck. Gale.” It punched out of him. Rolled his eyes into the back of his head. Each buck of his hips and lashing pulse of his come was accompanied by pitiful, ah, ah, ah’s.

Gale swallowed every bit of him down. Even as John jerked at the sensitivity, he still gave tiny helpless thrusts, like his body just couldn’t let it end.

Finally, Gale relinquished him and crawled into John’s lap. John licked the taste of himself from Gale’s mouth: his tongue, his teeth, the seams of his lips—even the spongey trap between the back of his cheeks and his jaw.

When he was done, Gale dropped his head to John’s shoulder. John held him tight, one hand smoothing over his back and the other cradling the back of his head.

“You’re perfect, you know that?”

Gale scoffed and demurred. “John.”

“For me. You’re perfect for me.” He nosed at Gale’s cheek to get him to lift his head. “Let me show you?”

His hands crept towards Gale’s belt, but deft fingers caught his wrists.

Gale blinked at him all soft-eyed blueness and long lashes.

“How about,” he said low and teasing. “I drive back. You can show me just how perfect you think I am on the way.”

[hrefna-the-raven]

Drunken minds speak sober hearts

Masterlist - BG3 masterlist

Part 2 - Hope in hell

Words: 1258

Warnings: drunkenness, drunk confessions

Summary: It shocked you to see the usually eloquent and reserved devil in such a state, you would almost think that he's...."Is he...drunk?", you asked....

You swiftly positioned the objects on the hastily sketched summoning circle, your drowsy eyes still longing for sleep. It was the dead of night, and you had been immersed in blissful dreams before they were abruptly interrupted by the arrival of a certain incubus. Usually I'd tease you just for my amusement but you need to come to House of Hope. Now. It's about the master. Hurry up little mouse. Haarlep's words echoed relentlessly in your thoughts. He lacked his usual playfulness which worried you. What was happening with Raphael and why in the nine hells would the incubus reach out to you for help? Placing the final object onto the circle, you stepped into the radiant glow that materialised before you.

You ran through the corridors of the House of Hope, rushing towards the boudoir, the only room where the incubus always lingered. Just as you passed around the last corner, you witnessed a bottle flying out of the doorway of the boudoir, crashing onto the ground and shattering into countless pieces, accompanied by an angry, slurred, yet familiar, voice. Cautiously you entered the room and gasped at the scene unfolding before you. Haarlep was casually leaning against the wall, a self-satisfied grin playing on his lips. Further inside, Raphael was seated on the floor, dressed in only a pair of thin black pants, his back resting against a nearby pillar next to a small pool. His hair was dishevelled, his fiery orange eyes clouded, and his hand moved erratically through the air as he mumbled something unintelligible to you.

"What happened?", you looked at Haarlep who was still smirking.

"Well I think it would better if my esteemed master tells you everything himself, little mouse", he chuckled, proceeding towards the devil with you following close behind..

The moment Raphael laid eyes on you, his hazy expression turned into one of shock. He attempted to get up, but his hands slipped clumsily from the pillars he was using as support. His tall cambion body then slumped back onto the ground, and a pained groan escaped his lips.

"How issit possible you can look like 'er?!", the devil slurred loudly, "'s'only...it's...you contemptuous creature!", he snarled, struggling to lift himself from the ground once again, "h-how did you? You have slept with her! My li-little pr-precious mouse!"

Haarlep chuckled at Raphael's second attempt to stand up, then lifted his master's stumbling form onto his shoulders and began walking towards the back of the room. It shocked you to see the usually eloquent and reserved devil in such a state, you would almost think that he's....

"Is he...drunk?", you asked the incubus, prompting a hearty laugh from him.

"Well of course, little mouse", Haarlep responded with a hint of amusement, "I added a little something to his drinks tonight so, for once in his miserable life, he'd be rather unrestrained and truthful instead of his usual insufferable self."

"But why?", you exclaimed, the question bursting out of you, "and why summon me here?"

Raphael's eyes snapped up at the sound of your voice. He raised his head and his hand gently cupped your cheek. 

"You look and sound so so so real", he slurred, his words interrupted by a hiccup, "I wish she was here, I-I mmmiss her."

Raphael's hand slipped away from your face as Haarlep continued walking. He tossed the devil onto the bed and turned to face you, gripping your chin and tilting your face upward.

"We used to delve into the depths of carnal pleasure, admittedly only onesided pleasure but still...and then you came along and he won't shut up about you. I can't fathom how you managed to capture the attention and affection of this self-centered devil, but here we are. Now, my dear, seize this opportunity while I go and find genuine pleasure elsewhere", he tapped your head gently, "oh and by the way, you're welcome."

The incubus gave you a sly wink before disappearing into thin air, leaving you alone, in hell, with an utterly shitfaced Raphael.

You felt a clawed hand tug at you and when you turned around you saw Raphael sitting up on the bed, his expression carried an unusual gentleness that caught you off guard. In a gasp, you found yourself being pulled closer to him, your bodies pressed together as he allowed himself to fall back onto the bed, with your delicate form resting on top of his. Your heart raced, threatening to burst out of your chest and you almost released a soft moan at the sensation of his warm, exposed skin against yours, coupled with the intoxicating aroma of cherries, sulfure, and an indescribably sweet scent that was unfamiliar to you, which, you concluded, must have been the result of whatever Haarlep had given him to drink. The devil wrapped his wings around you and tilted your head, forcing you to look at him, his lips parted to say something but you spoke before he could even utter a word.

"I'm not Haarlep."

Raphael chuckled and you felt blush spreading across your cheeks as his warm sweet breath fanned across your skin.

"I know, little mouse."

His hand found its way to your head, his fingers tenderly curling around the back of your neck as he leaned in closer. His lips collided with yours in a sloppy kiss, both of you moaning into the embrace. His tongue pushed past your lips, deepening the kiss as the hot taste of sickly sweet liquor filled your mouth. You were the one to break the kiss first, gasping for air and desperately trying to ignore the pleasure pulsating between your thighs.

"You know", Raphael whispered, making a conscious effort to sound as sober as possible, "I've ground rather fond of you, in my own way."

You cupped his cheek, unable to pull your gaze away from his the orange flames dancing in his eyes, grinning slightly as he furrowed his brows, a failing attempt to concentrate in his drunken state.

"I l-l-looove you", he slurred in a half moan, eye closing at the gentleness of your touch, his head falling back, "stay with me."

"If I've learning anything from our encounters", you spoke softly, " then that you'll hate me and yourself tomorrow morning when you realise what happened."

A sudden wave of melancholy swept over your thoughts. You found yourself uncertain about how to handle this very strange and particular situation. From the moment you laid eyes on the charismatic devil from the first moment he appeared, even though you were aware that his charm and polite demeanour were merely tools to deceive you into a pact. And yet here you were, lying on top of said devil, his dishevelled appearance and drunken state revealing a vulnerable side as he clumsily professed his love to you, unfiltered and genuine words of truth finally finding their way into your heart. His arms enveloped you tightly in a warm embrace.

"Stay here, little mouse", he murmured softly as his breathing slowed and a gentle snore escaped his lips.

You couldn't help but smile as you rested your head upon his chest. Thoughts of what the morning would bring, when Raphael would awaken sober and potentially irritable to find you sleeping on him, briefly crossed your mind. However, you decided to leave that worry for another day. In this moment, all you wanted was to revel in the happiness and solace that your devil provided. With a contented sigh, your eyes grew heavy, and you peacefully drifted off into a tranquil slumber.

Notes:

I'm tempted to do a second part and play with the thought of how a sober Raphael would probably react to this and what will become of Haarlep...if Haarlep ever comes back^^

Tags:

@dark-and-kawaii I thought you might wanna be tagged on this 😊

[caesium-55]

—everything is orange. [ iv ]

pairing: lando norris x kpop idol! reader

summary: a racecar driver who needed a fake girlfriend to dispel rumors and a kpop idol who needed publicity for her song. somewhere in between orange cars and orange sunsets, stands something they're afraid of naming.

note: omg im so sorry for not being online lately. i got a writing part time job now so... i may not be as active as before. hope yall are having a great day! not edited. not beta read.

masterlist.

Everything inside your studio is gray. The walls, the couch, the floor, the instruments. It's the kind of room that will make a sad beige mom over the moon.

But when you open the door and the sight of one Lando Norris greets you, looking devilishly handsome in his dark blue button up shirt and black pants and Nike sneakers with his curls concealed underneath his dark blue bucket hat, the studio suddenly doesn't feel as gray as it usually is.

“Lando?” Your brows rise towards your hairline. Truthfully, he’s one of the last people you expected to see inside HAN Ent’s building, much less outside your studio.

“Hi,” he smiles charmingly at the shock in your voice, showing all teeth and smile lines. “Do you mind if I come in?”

You stammer, still not over your shock, “S-Sure.”

You step aside to grant him space and allow him to enter your magic shop. Lando’s eyes curiously roam around the studio and you close the door behind him, nudging the houseplant further to the wall using your foot to avoid getting tripped on it in the future.

“Take a seat. Please,” you invite, gesturing towards the couch. Lando takes the invitation and sits down. He looks too big on the couch, you note. He has long legs and an athletic build. Perhaps, it’s time to buy a bigger one.

“Nice place,” he compliments.

You want to snort out loud but refrain yourself from doing so.

Lando is saying things out of politeness.

Your studio is shit.

You know that.

It used to be a stock room that was converted into a studio when Yoon PD-nim offered you that deal, that's why the room is graciously small. They soundproofed the walls, painted everything gray, shoved in a few pieces of recording equipment and called it a day.

It's still quite nice of Lando to compliment the place though. You might hate this place but this is your wizard’s tower, your witch’s hut, your magic shop, and you feel pride swell in your chest when someone thinks your little corner is cool, even if you think he’s lying.

“Thanks,” you say sincerely. “How did you know I was…”

“I asked Jinnie,” he says simply.

“Ah,” your tone falls flat.

A moment's pause.

“So this is where you’ve been working?”

You nod. Suddenly, you feel conscious.

Your studio isn't really in the best state right now. When you work in a creative fever, you tend to make a mess. Being messy enhances your creativity. The sprawled papers with lyrics, the empty styro cups of coffee lying around, numerous pens and pencils (you don't even know why you feel the need to bring a lot of them) and rubber erasers, and your snacks. There's a mountain of crumpled paper in your trash can.

“Sorry, the place isn't really….” you trail off, making vague gestures with your hand. “I didn't know you were coming.”

“It's okay,” he chuckles. “I called, you know. And texted. You didn’t return any of it.”

“Oh, my phone’s charging,” you say, beginning to feel bad that you accidentally ignored him. “And my notifs are silent.”

“That explains it.”

“Shouldn't you be resting?” you asked. “You have a flight tomorrow.”

It's currently the 19th. Lando is set to leave for Japan on the 20th. His team wants him in Suzuka by September 20 and not later than that. They already had a field day when Lando announced that he's flying with you. At first, he wanted it to be just you and him. His team wouldn't let him because he can be a PR nightmare if given enough freedom so they let his manager, Kyla, tag along.

You’ve mistaken Kyla as a member of the PR team. Turns out she’s his manager.

“Is it a sin to want to spend a few hours with my girlfriend before I go?” he flutters his eyes innocently. You snorted.

“Fake but okay.”

“I’m being sincere here, girlfriend,” he pushes his lips into a pout. “Did you eat already?”

“No,” you answer.

“Should we grab something together?”

“Should we?” you humor his suggestion. It's been a few hours since you’ve eaten. You’ve skipped both breakfast and lunch.

“I think I can call a restaurant and make a reservation.”

“It's near midnight,” you point out, glancing down at the Rolex decorating his wrist. Isn't he aware of how late it is?

“So?”

“Restaurants are closed by now,” you state.

Lando shrugs.

“I can make the effort of finding those seafood pasta you like.”

Your brows furrow.

“What do you mean like? I never said I like those.”

“But I thought…” Lando blinks. “I’ve read it somewhere…”

“Huh?”

“You're from Jeju, right? You grew up eating seafood so you like seafood and you once said you have a palate for Italian food. I tried…liking the pasta with seafood. I hated it but I ate it anyway.”

Your jaw hangs open at the revelation.

This is single-handedly the sweetest thing someone has ever done to you.

You don't know whether to be touched about the sincerity or to cry because of his idiocy. You can definitely do both but you refuse to do both. You have an image to maintain.

“Didn't I tell you that the company manipulated my public information?” you ask incredulously. “Yes, I was from Jeju but I didn’t eat seafood much. I have a mild allergy—”

“In seafood?” you see his eyes widen into saucers. Oops, you shouldn't have said that. “Wait, you had an allergy attack, didn't you? On those lunch dates we had? Why didn't you tell me so early on?”

“I thought you liked it!” your voice raises slightly, panicked. You're caught. He isn't supposed to know about this.

“I didn't?! I loathe seafood but I ate a few bites because I thought you liked it!”

You blink at him. That is the sweetest while simultaneously the most stupid thing someone has ever done for you. You drag a hand across your face, a groan escaping your mouth and yet you’re smiling. You shake your head at him.

Points for Lando Norris for making you capable of feeling frustrated and another feeling you cannot name.

“We’re idiots.”

There is a stretch of silence before Lando speaks up.

“What do you want to eat? And please tell me the real one.”

You began listing the first three things that appeared inside your brain, “I like…. ramyeon, natto, and tteokbokki.”

You have a palate for convenience store food. Food that you can find in busy night markets. Food that is sold by street vendors. The kind of food that tastes like absolute shit if cold but tastes like home if microwaved into the right amount of temperature. If you venture in your imagination hard enough, you can taste your mother’s cooking after a few bites. But you don't tell Lando that.

“We can eat that.”

You raise a brow.

“The ramen, the chicken, and the tteokdokdok.”

“Tteokbokki,” you correct him gently.

“Tteoktokki,” he repeats.

“Tteok.”

“Tteok.”

“Bokki.”

“Bokki.”

“Tteokbokki.”

“Tteokdokki.”

You shake your head, “Tteok-Bo-Kki.”

“Tteok-Bo-Kki.”

You snap your fingers, nodding in approval, “Better.”

“I literally said the same thing.”

“You didn't.”

“Where will we eat this tteokbokki?” He says the tteokbokki slowly, careful with his pronunciation.

“There are night markets nearby,” you tell him. “It’s crowded though. I know a good convenience store that’s a good drive away. It’s usually empty. Do you go to convenience stores?”

You suddenly feel stupid for asking.

Do multi-millionaires like Lando Norris go to convenience stores? It’ll make much more sense if he books restaurants or employs a private chef to cook for him at home. Do they even have a palate for instant food? What do rich people snack on? You don't know. You're not rich. Even after becoming famous, you’re still not rich enough to live the life of luxury.

This just highlights the difference of the worlds you and Lando live in.

“I do. Just not frequently,” he shrugs. “We can go to the convenience store if you want. I don't mind.”

“No, it’s fine. We can eat anywhere you want. Jinnie might have a few hotel restaurants in mind.”

“But do you want to eat in hotel restaurants?”

His question makes you pause and Lando immediately takes your hesitation as a no.

“We can eat anything you want to eat. This is your place anyway. Show me around.”

You bite your lower lip as you contemplate. Should you or should you not? That is the question.

When your eyes drag themselves back to Lando’s face, you see that he’s already looking at you intently as he awaits your answer patiently. You want to shrink back at the intensity of his gaze.

“Well then, do you want to go on a convenience store date with me, boyfriend?”

Despite the hesitation he’s displayed earlier, Lando grins at your offer.

You take Lando to your favorite place in all of South Korea. Google Maps says it's a three hour drive away. You arrive there in two hours and a half.

Maybe it's a sign to change careers.

You used your Jeep Wrangler. Lando offered to drive but you shook your head and hopped on the driver’s seat, him taking the passenger seat.

You won't allow anyone to drive your car. It's a rule of yours.

The last time you allowed someone to drive your car, your Hyundai jumped over a sewage canal. Lando might be a professional race car driver and that alone spoke multitudes of his driving skills, but you're so traumatized with the incident with your Hyundai that you physically can't allow anyone, professional driver or not, to handle the steering wheel of any other cars you own.

Cars are expensive. You can't buy another car. You’ll bawl when you see the money departing your bank account.

You palm the steering-wheel with your right hand. Your left hand lays flat on the back of the passenger seat, behind Lando’s head. Your upper body is rotated towards the back, full focus activated as you reverse the car in expert ease. Lando is observing you, you can tell. You can feel his eyes burning holes in your side profile.

“You okay?” You ask Lando. The man has gone uncharacteristically silent when you’ve started reversing the car. You hear Lando let out a breath. Almost shakily. You cannot tell for sure.

“Yeah,” his voice breaks like a boy undergoing puberty and you have to thin your lips into a line to prevent yourself from laughing. “Nice parking skills.”

“Thanks,” you say nonchalantly. “You sure you're okay though?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” you see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he rubs his throat. “I think the seatbelt’s a little too tight.”

Once the car’s perfectly parked, you kill the engine and exit the car. Lando follows suit.

“I don't know why you have to drive for almost three hours just to visit this place,” Lando gestures to the surroundings. “There's nothing here.”

“Exactly,” you say. “Come on, boyfriend.”

You pat his shoulder and lead the way. A bell chimes loudly as you push the door open. You step inside, the British racer only a few steps behind you. You tug down your mask.

“What's this place?” Lando questions.

“24-hour convenience store,” you answer. “But no staff.”

“No staff?” he asks. “So self service?”

“Ah yes, that’s the word. Self service,” You say. “Quite nice, right? We have complete privacy and good food. Two best things in the world.”

“Careful. Your introvert is showing.”

You snort, “First time coming to a place like this?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “No staff? Does nobody attempt to steal things?”

You shrug, “Probably not. Ramen is not worth going to jail for.”

“This shop will make a million dollar loss in an hour if it's in another country,” Lando says, his nose wrinkling. “Like in the UK or US or something.”

You beckon Lando to follow you through the aisles, “This way.”

“You even memorize the places of things,” he comments. “You come here often?”

You hum a yes. You stop in front of the freezer and open it, pulling out two plastic cups.

Lando’s forehead creases, “Just ice?”

“This is an ice cup,” you explain.

“Are we going to wait for the ice to melt before drinking it or….”

You stare at him incredulously before promptly bursting out in laughter.

“What's funny?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“Nothing, sorry,” you clear your throat. You don't know why you find that funny. Your humor is broken. “They sell pouches of juice or coffee and you pour it into the cup.”

Lando’s head tilts. He looks like a confused baby owl.

“Here, I’ll show you,” you walk up to a nearby shelf and grab a Kuromi pouch. It's peach-flavored. “This. You pour it here.”

You gesture to the ice cup. Lando’s mouth forms a circle in realization.

“Cool.”

“There are a lot of flavors,” you add, gesturing to the shelf. “Peach, apple, mango, strawberry, orange…”

You read out the flavors for Lando because you know he can't read Hangul. Lando wordlessly picks a grapefruit-flavored pouch. You nod.

“Good choice. Oh wait, we forgot to get a basket. Can you?”

Lando nods and leaves. When he comes back, now with a yellow basket, the two of you continue to browse down the entire store. You explain each of the food. He said no to most of them. Lando is a picky eater, you learn.

The two of you fill the basket near to the brim. You pay for each item, even though Lando insisted that he do it, and you occupy the table that faces that floor-to-ceiling glass window, overlooking the darkness of the night outside.

“Here,” you hand him a plastic fork. Lando accepts it, his brows furrowed. “You were struggling with the chopsticks.”

A shy smile makes its way to his face, “Sorry.”

You wave your hand as if to say it's no problem and plop down on the chair beside him. Lando digs in with his Buldak Samyang carbonara while you stir your Yoppoki Tteokbokki with yours before taking your first bite. You immediately let out a moan of pleasure.

“Is it delicious?” he asked.

“Very.”

You eat until your cheeks fill, chewing slowly.

“Oh wait, you should post something.”

“Now?”

“You took pictures of me earlier, right?” you know he did. He tried to be slick about it but you’d know if someone is taking a picture of you. “Put it on your story.”

“And delete it?”

“No. The world already knows we're dating anyway. Well, fake dating.”

Lando pulls out his phone and shows you the pictures in his gallery. There are aare a total of four pictures. Three are blurry. The other one is blocked by his finger.

“That one is good.”

“What do you mean good? It's blurry.”

“Blurry is an aesthetic.”

Lando shakes his head but opens his Instagram and begins to edit the photo you’ve chosen, “Help me with the caption?”

“I’m not good with them.”

“Me neither.”

“Your first caption was pretty good.”

“You think so?” he sounds hopeful.

You shrug your shoulders.

“Just say something like ‘her’ then put a period.”

That's the limit of your creative powers for the day.

Lando nods and begins typing. He’s typing quite long for a word with three letters and a single punctuation mark. He shows you the caption.

Your brows furrow.

He laughs, “I’m funny.”

“You’re really not,” you shake your head. “Put it in your drafts.”

“So I’m not posting it now?”

“You post it after we leave the place,” you say. “So we’ll be gone by the time the fans see it and decide they’ll come here.”

“That's very smart.”

“That's not being smart. That’s just common sense,” you state flatly.

“You know, I always thought you'd be a cold person.”

You raise a brow, not entirely sure if you're understanding him correctly. Cold is an adjective. It's used to describe temperature. You're uncertain if it can be applied to use as an adjective to describe a person.

Lando must have sensed your confusion that he adds, “Ice queen.”

Oh.

Yeah.

Okay. You understand it now.

“You used to look so cold and cool,” Lando says. “Ice queen. But also an IDGAF attitude. Very intimidating.”

You have no idea what IDGAF means but you nod your head and act like you understand him anyway. You make a mental note to search it up on the internet later.

“But you’re not.”

“I’m not,” you echo.

“You’re actually pretty sweet,” he adds.

“I’m trying to be kind.”

“You don't have to try. You already are.”

“The companies make us act sometimes.”

“What?”

“Like, before debut,” you begin. “There are companies that assign certain images to their idols. They give them parts to play like directors do to actors in movies. Like, oh, you look like this kind of person so you have to act like this kind of person. They take a look at your visuals and decide what role you’ll have. They took one look at my face and told me that I have to be a strict and serious person who is scary and cold and unbothered. I didn't want to do it because I tend to smile really easily before and I just wanted to have a lot of friends, you know?”

You shrug your shoulders.

“When you’re intimidating, you tend to not have a lot of them. Despite that, I followed the role. Many praised me for it and others just….well, they didn't like it. The company was happy, though. They told me I was good at acting. But it's just…sad that the person I am on the screen is not real.”

“Yeah, that's honestly sad. I can't imagine doing that for my team. I’ll suck at it. Imagine me cold and serious,” Lando makes a serious face but he ends up doing a The Rock Smoulder. You have to stop yourself from laughing out loud by thinning your lips and twisting it.

“You're doing it, though. For the team. This whole fake dating thing,” you gesture to yourselves.

Lando mutters something under his breath while stroking his chin. You don't catch it.

“Hm?”

“Nothing. I think your eyes are pretty.”

He's changing the subject. He does it so swiftly, too.

“I know, I thank my mother every day for it,” you joke and Lando chuckles softly. “But don't be jealous, you have pretty eyes yourself.”

He turns into a lovely shade of pink. You can see it. You don't speak of it.

“It changes colors sometimes,” you continue, pointing at your eyes. “Like, it’s kind of gray in the dark. But if the sun shines on it, it has three colors.”

“You stare at my eyes a lot, do you?”

“Well, if a certain thing is pretty, you can't help but stare, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess that's why I stare at you a lot, too.”

You laugh, the sound airy, shaking your head. What a flirt. The cute kind.

“I’m quite the head turner, aren't I?”

“You are,” he agrees seriously.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

He smirks, confident.

“Careful, you might fall for me, fake girlfriend,” he says cheekily. You have the desire to shatter his ego so you did.

“You're handsome but you're not my type.”

His smirk falters. You give a chortle.

“What's your type then?” he asks, leaning slightly forward. His eyes reflect anticipation.

You fall into a momentary thoughtful silence, “For starters, attractive men who can drive very fast cars. With a racing license this time. Not like me.”

Lando smiles at your light attempt at a joke. Good to know that he finds the dark humor surrounding your career-ending scandal funny.

“I am an attractive man,” he gestures to his face. “With a priceless face and I drive a very fast car. Formula one or sports cars. Oh and would you look at that? I have a racing license and a regular driving license.”

“You are an attractive man,” you agree. “But again, not my type.”

Lando dramatically puts his hand against his chest, right above where his heart lies and acts like you just shot him dead on the spot.

“Hmm, what else? Ah, plays golf,” you list another trait of your ideal man.

“I play golf,” he crosses his arms, leans back against the back of his seat, and lifts his hips a little as he adjusts his sitting position on the chair, manspreading a little. This is one of the subtle things men do that women cannot help but find attractive. You’re also a woman. Of course, you find that attractive.

You roll your eyes, feigning annoyance. Lando laughs at you.

“A few years older than me.”

When Lando opens his mouth, you cut him off, holding up a finger, “I’m older than you.”

By months only but still.

“In the standards of your fake birthday, I am older than you.”

You huff, shaking your head. He is right, to some degree. The world thinks he is older than you because HAN Entertainment decided to lie about your birthday.

“Looks good in red.”

“You know, orange is a mixture of red and yellow. Technically, it's still red. So I look good in red. One plus one equals two. I am connecting shit.”

He raises two index fingers in the air and connects them together to put further emphasis on the words he imparted in a sage-like manner.

“You're not connecting anything.”

“Hell yeah, I am. I am so smart, I should just be McLaren’s chief strategist. Maybe then I can finally get my first win.”

You cannot help but raise an amused brow.

“Fine, if you're so smart Mr. Strategist, what's plan A to your victory?”

His answer comes immediately, no hesitation and he utters it with so much confidence in his chest: “Sneak into Red Bull and steal their car.”

You abruptly burst out laughing, the sound filling up the entire convenience store. You cannot hold it in anymore. You have to slap a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself down.

You don't laugh pretty. You're very much aware of that. You sound like a dolphin when you do. But Lando is so funny that you forget to feel conscious of the weird sound that leaves your mouth for a whole five seconds before you remember to compose yourself and stop.

“You don't have to cover your mouth when you laugh, you know?” he says. “Or try to stop yourself from laughing. Just laugh if you want.”

You give him a look. Why is he turning serious all of a sudden?

“Wait, red?” Lando does a double take once you’ve composed yourself. “Don’t tell me your ideal type is….”

His forehead creases. You nod.

He says, “Carlos?!” the same time you say, “It’s Kim Mingyu.” How did he even come to that conclusion?

Oh wait. Red. Older than you. Drives fast cars. Racing license. Makes sense.

You blink at each other.

“Who the hell is Kim Mingyu?”

“You don't know Kim Mingyu?” you pull out your phone, open Google Photos, and search for the folder named: 민규❤️❤️❤️. The folder contains 7659 photos of Kim Mingyu.

“Fake boyfriend, let me introduce you to my boyfriend, Kim Mingyu,” you show your favorite Mingyu photo.

The one where he’s wearing a black fitted shirt, his cheek against the back of his hand, and the veins in his arms bulging. He’s serving major boyfriend vibes.

Lando rolls his eyes.

“He doesn’t look that good.”

“No, Lando, you are not seeing it,” you hold the phone closer to his face.

“I am seeing it and I am saying he’s not good looking.”

“Lies.”

“I'm not lying.”

“It's Kim Mingyu.”

“And?”

You pull a face, retracting your phone. “Come on, he’s quite good looking. And tall. Very tall.”

You once have to stand beside him in an ending ceremony in Inkigayo. You barely even come up to his chest.

“I’m tall.”

“You’re shorter than him.”

“You're killing me here.”

You chuckle. You pat his shoulder in faux sympathy.

“There, there. That's okay. You're my boyfriend anyway. Don't be jealous.”

“Damn right, I am.”

You snort.

“But you have to stan Seventeen though. After your race in Suzuka, we’ll try to binge GoSe.”

When you’re too full to finish the rest of your tteokbokki, you drag Lando outside the convenience store.

“Sand?” he questions.

“Sand,” you state.

“There's sand in my shoes,” Lando complains.

“Take it off and like,” you make the motion of flipping your shoes upside down to remove the sand inside. He does as you’ve told him but he seems to be not fully satisfied with it. There is still sand inside his shoe.

“This won't do,” he says. “I should have brought flip flops.”

“Let's go barefoot,” you kick off your shoes and neatly place them on the foot of a nearby coconut tree. You motion for Lando to do the same, but you’re met with hesitance.

“What if someone steals them?”

It's a valid concern to have, you suppose. You look around you. Darkness is all that can be perceived.

“Who’d steal them? Cheonyeogwisin?”

“I don't even know what that is.”

“Just leave the shoes here, Lando.”

The sand feels good underneath your feet. A bit ticklish. A little too familiar. You turn on the flashlight of your phone and jog up to the shore.

“Wait for me!” you hear Lando scream from behind you.

“Palli!” you yell back, voice almost drowning in the wind.

“I am palli-ing!”

You roll your pants up to your knees and soak your feet in the cold waves, shivering. You turn around just as Lando body slams you and the two of you fall into the ice-cold waves. Your jaw comes slack, eyes wide. The two of you are now drenched from head to toe.

Lando bashfully smiles, “Sorry.”

“Lando!” you splash him in his face.

Lively shrieks fill the silent night sky. The stars twinkle with mirth at the two of you, the line between fake and real blurring.

Lando flies out just four hours after you arrive in Seoul proper. You feel bad for bringing him somewhere far and not giving him enough hours to rest. Then, he tells you: "It's one of the best nights I've ever had."

He sounds so sincere that you have to stop yourself from blushing red.

In the schedule Jinnie gave you, you are only required to make an appearance in the race proper on the 24th. You have the 20th, 21st, and 22nd to work on your single before having to fly out on the 23rd. Regardless, you fly to Japan on the 21st with Jinnie in tow, two days earlier than your original schedule.

Jinnie doesn't question nor protest against your obvious disobedience on the appointed schedule. You're glad she didn't.

"Lando?" you question after seeing the man standing behind your hotel door. It's nearly twelve and you've just checked in the hotel with Jinnie. "What are you..."

"Just checking in," he smiles. "Do you mind if I come in?"

"Don't you have a race tomorrow?" Despite your question, you sidestep to let him inside your hotel room. "You should be resting."

"That's okay. I'm well rested. Are you going to watch the FP1 tomorrow?"

You shake your head, "I'm going to work on my song."

"Oh," his face falls. "Why'd you fly in early then?"

You shrug.

Honestly, you don't know either.

It's an act based purely on impulse. Not your finest moments.

"Maybe I can watch?" you say. "I'm not really sure."

You don't want to get mobbed again.

ORACLE has a rather large fanbase in Japan. You know there will be curious fans who'll await your appearance in the race. And while you're glad that your PR relationship with Lando is receiving the right type of attention from the public, you still hate having this much attention on you.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Lando says.

"I'll go," you decide with finality. "I mean this is why we're doing this in the first place, right? Make people believe that we're real."

Lando's lips form a line.

"I suppose."

"Then, I'll be there."

The song making can wait.

Once again, Jinnie takes charge in deciding your clothing. You’ve long since given up on protesting or even suggesting your ideas. You have to get used to it again. Wearing whatever is given to you like a doll. After all, you are to return to the stage of KPop again.

Today’s WAG OOTD is a Miu Miu black dress, a black leather jacket, and Gianvito Rossi strappy sandals. Nothing too impressive. It's just the free practice sessions after all.

Jinnie hands you the McLaren ball cap and you grimace.

“How's the song coming up?”

“I’ve been trying to combine my demos and see how it sounds,” you reply. “But I have a concept in mind and I jotted down a few phrases for the lyrics.”

“I got an email from Yoon PD-nim today. He’s strongly suggesting you use a racing concept for your single.”

Strongly suggesting.

Translation: commanding.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Fuck it.

He’s really going to use the scandal and hope it’ll make you rise from the ashes like a phoenix reborn. The problem is that you're far from a phoenix. You’re human. As disappointing that may be but that is the cold truth. You're uncertain how people will react if you use a racing concept. You cannot afford to risk this over something like this.

You have one chance. And if KNetz reacts badly on your song and your MV, you’re never going to have another chance to go back on stage, to go back home.

Yoon PD-nim is too thoughtless at times. You want to shake him.

Jinnie drives you to the paddock and drops you to the parking lot. You expect that you’ll have to find your way to the garage again alone. Your knees are trembling as you step out of the car.

To your surprise, a staff member of the McLaren team—you assume he works for the team because of the orange polo shirt—approaches you as you exit the car.

“[Name]?”

“Hi,” you offer a polite smile.

“I’m Rick, I’m one of Lando’s mechanics, pleasure to meet you,” he introduces.

“Pleasure is all mine, Sir,” you say, dipping your chin into a small bow.

“Come this way,” he beckons. You follow him.

“Did Lando ask you to pick me up?”

“Well, he insisted on picking you up but the race was about to start so we had to force him to stay put in the livery and he wouldn't stay put until we said we’ll pick you up. Said people might flock over you and you don't like it when it happens.”

Your heart warms.

“That's very thoughtful of him. And sweet.”

“That's Lando Norris for you,” he says. “He’s always treating all the people he’s working with kindly. He only has to be polite but he even exerts effort in helping and making our work easier.”

“That's true,” you agree. “I can attest to that, as his fake girlfriend. He only has to treat me well when there's a camera but he’s even going as far as offering friendship.”

The rest of the walk to McLaren was peaceful. Or at least as peaceful as you hope it can be.

[henwilsonmd]

post 6x18: some out-of-order vignettes | ao3

4251 words

“Buck,” said Eddie, trying to school his face into something less fond and amused. “That’s my couch.”

Buck turned from where he’d been happily showing off the new piece of furniture he’d gotten with Natalia the day prior. “What?”

“The couch,” Eddie repeated, with a quirk of his eyebrow. “You bought my exact couch.”

“No,” Buck replied with a shake of his head. “No, it’s definitely different.”

read on ao3

Eddie looked at it—a three-seater in dark blue, velvet-y fabric with square corners and deep seats to accommodate his long legs. They’d picked out some nice white decorative pillows for it, and it’s certainly brand-new looking, but—

“It’s totally the same.” Eddie gave up on hiding his smile.

Buck looked back to the couch, tilting his head to scrutinize it. After a moment, he sighed, planting his hands on his hips. “Ah, fuck. It’s totally the same.”

Eddie groaned, letting his head thump back onto the edge of the cot behind him. “The pain meds are definitely kicking in.”

“Well, good,” snarked Buck from a chair next to him, attention half-focused on his phone in his hands. “That’s what they’re supposed to do.”

Eddie sighed, long-suffering. “You too?”

“Yes, Eddie, me too.” Buck replied, thumbs flying as he tapped out something on the screen in his hands. Probably to Maddie. Probably about Chim. Who was probably okay. “Your ribs are fucking broken.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, staring at the ceiling. “And I know what they feel like. I’m fine, there was—other stuff going on.” He thought about that paramedic from the 133 shining a penlight into Hen’s eyes, frowning like he didn’t like the results and going back in to do it again. He thought about the constant jitter of Buck’s leg next to him, the constant worry for Bobby and Chimney who’d taken the other two ambulances before the three of them had managed to squeeze into another cab. “Besides,” Eddie pulled himself back on track. “Did you even get checked out?” He leveled Buck with a look that he hoped had more energy behind it than he had left.

Buck shrugged, powering off his phone with a click. “I’m fine.”

“There’s blood all over your face,” Eddie pointed out.

“Hen cleaned most of it up already.”

“There was more?”

“That’s—Eddie, I’m fine,” Buck said, turning towards him. “I scraped up my cheek and bit my tongue when I fell, and, sure, I’ll be a little bruised, but I’m fine.”

“You lost consciousness,” Eddie pointed out, and he swallowed around a dry throat.

“How… how did you know that?” Buck stuttered in reply.

Eddie gave his own shrug, picking at the edge of the right kneepad on his turnout pants. “I didn’t pass out. I radioed right after I’d gotten my bearings, but no one answered. Then, like, thirty seconds later you must have woken up.”

Buck, for a moment, held Eddie’s gaze with something so unbelievably devastated, and guilty—like the thought of not being able to answer Eddie’s call was the worst possible thing that had happened that day. Then he flicked his eyes down to the floor. “Okay, s-so, like, thirty seconds. I’m fine, Eddie. Really.”

Eddie frowned, thinking about those thirty seconds—an unbearable weight on his back, a growing pain in his chest, and the clawing panic as he listened to the silence stretching out on the other side of the radio and fought the mounting urge to plead, I’m still alive, please, I’m still alive down here.

And then how he’d breathed a hugely painful sigh of relief when Buck finally asked for a headcount, how he’d fumbled into his pocket for his St. Christopher medal and prayed—something he hadn’t done since that awful week of the coma. Prayed that he’d come home safe to his son, but also that Buck would be careful—that he wouldn’t do something stupid and destructive and reckless to save any of them.

That heady rush of gratitude when Buck had sawed the doors open, taking off his safety goggles and assessing Eddie’s situation with a calculating, heavy gaze.

Next to him, Buck cleared his throat, shifting in the chair. “Anyway, you broke three ribs, man. Let the meds do their job.”

Eddie huffed a laugh, leaning back into the pillows behind him. “Trust me, they are.”

Eddie sipped his Diet Coke, beer off-limits because he was still taking the Tylenol threes. “So, you finally got a new couch.”

“I had a couch before,” Buck pointed out, a matching soda in his hand for solidarity. “Kameron just—y’know, gave birth all over it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, snorting a soft laugh. “That must have been wild.”

Buck chuckled. “The baby didn’t want to wait, I guess.”

“Impatient little guy,” Eddie said. “Must be those Buckley genes.”

“Hey,” Buck protested, pointing a finger. “I can be plenty patient.”

“Sure,” Eddie agreed placatingly, but be noticed how there seemed to be something more behind the mirth in Buck’s eyes—the plastic pieces at the edges of his smile. He fought the urge to say I told you so—mostly because it would have been childish, but also because Buck hadn’t asked for his opinion at any step of the way, and Eddie hadn’t offered.

Eddie decided to wait him out—usually the best course of action when it came to Buck. Eddie understood intimately how much time it could take to parse through a mess of feelings in your brain and formulate them into words that would make sense to another person. Usually, Eddie would sit quietly and sip his beer while watching Buck’s feelings play out on his unguarded face, and after a minute or two Buck would haltingly begin to explain what had been going on with him.

Eddie had tried to explain that to Maddie when they’d both been nearly sick with worry over Buck’s post-coma mental state. “He’ll come to you when he’s ready,” Eddie had said over the phone. “You can’t force him to talk about it.”

“Eddie, you don’t know him like I do,” Maddie had protested. “He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

And Eddie had opened his mouth to say no, actually, I know him better than you, I know him better than anyone, but—that’s not true, is it? Why would Eddie know Buck better than his own sister, who’s spent the entire thirty years of his life caring for him, when Eddie’s only had him for—what, five years? Then subtract all the things they didn’t talk to each other about and all the issues they’ve had, and—yeah, who is Eddie to say what’s best for Buck?

And then Buck had knocked on his door and passed out on his couch and Eddie had felt righteously vindicated in a way that he almost wanted to rub in Maddie’s face, which was kind of bitchy of him to think.

So, Buck sipped his soda next to Eddie on his new couch, a storm of emotions clear on his face, and Eddie waited him out because that’s what he does.

Buck let out a sigh, and Eddie thought, here it is, he’ll let me in, and then— “Want to watch the Dodgers game?”

Eddie blinked. “Um, sure.”

And Buck turned on the TV.

Doubt roiled in Eddie’s gut.

“What about Hen?” Eddie asked, Buck’s hand tight on his arm as he helped him into the passenger seat of the Jeep.

“Karen already took her home, she’s fine,” Buck replied easily, before he shut the door and rounded the front of the car.

He’d left when Eddie had been taken back for x-rays, taking an Uber back to the station to pick up his car so he could come back to get Eddie and drive them both home. Eddie absently wondered when he would get a chance to get his truck from the station parking lot.

Buck hopped into the driver’s seat, fitting his keys in the ignition but pausing before turning the engine. He fixed Eddie with a gentle, reassuring look. “Seriously, man, everyone’s fine. Athena’s with Bobby, Maddie’s with Chim, let’s go home.”

Eddie swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought about just how close literally every single one of them except Ravi had come to something far more serious than some hospital bills and time off work.

His gaze slid to Buck, who flashed him that small, soft, close-mouthed smile that Eddie rarely saw—the one that made his chest feel warm and gooey.

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

The Dodgers were losing, and Buck wasn’t talking about it. Eddie tried not to either of those things get to him.

During a commercial break, Buck got up to throw their empty pizza boxes away, waving Eddie off as he moved to help.

When he came back into the living room, he paused under the overhang of the loft, just staring at Eddie.

“What?” he asked, a bit self-conscious.

Buck huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I bought your couch.”

Eddie snorted. “Don’t worry about it, man. It’s flattering. You think I have good taste.”

Buck raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if that’s it. Half the furniture in your house is from Target.”

Eddie sputtered. “I—what’s wrong with Target furniture?”

Buck, lowering himself back onto the cushions next to Eddie, raised his hands in a show of innocence. “Nothing, man. I just—I don’t know if I would call it good taste.”

Having no comeback, Eddie just whacked him in the shoulder.

Buck laughed, playfully pushing his hand away. “Hey, c’mon, don’t start shit when I can’t retaliate.”

Eddie smirked. “Why? ‘Cause you know you can’t take me?”

“No,” Buck denied. “’Cause your ribs are still fucking broken.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Buck.”

“Well.” Buck crossed his arms, turning back to the TV as the next inning started. “Forgive me for wanting to be careful.”

For a moment, Eddie considered saying hey, maybe we should talk about how I could’ve almost died again? But Buck clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk about the big things, and Eddie didn’t really want to think about that yet either, so he settled for bumping their shoulders together.

Buck leaned right back into him, and neither of them moved apart—the comforting warmth of the contact buzzing in Eddie’s brain like the alcohol he wasn’t drinking.

Eddie smiled down at his hands. “You like my couch,” he teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” Buck groused, slouching into the cushions as they watched a batter swing and miss yet again. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Are you sure you’re both alright?” Carla asked, a worried hand hovering over his elbow. “I caught some of the collapse on the news.”

Eddie flashed her a smile before turning to pour two glasses of water—one for him and one for Buck, who was off in Christopher’s room. “We’re okay,” he said. “A little banged up, but the doctors said I should be back to work in six weeks or less.”

Carla narrowed her eyes. “You better take that full six weeks.”

Eddie set the Brita down and met her gaze. “I’m fine, Carla. Really.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “I just—I worry about you, Eddie. Okay? I know you’d rather I didn’t, but I can’t help it.”

Eddie ducked his head and smiled, a bit, filled with that familiar half-disbelief that people really do care about him. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but—I was lucky today. That nothing worse happened, that—that Buck was there to pull me out.”

Carla scoffed. “Of course he was. I don’t think luck had anything to do with that one.”

Eddie tried to fight the blush off his cheeks—he didn’t know what to do with that. Carla’s surety that Buck would save him come hell or high water. His own surety that Buck would be ripping open the doors of that camper van any second now.

When she realized he wasn’t going to say anything, Carla cleared her throat. “I should go. You up for a hug?”

“From you?” Eddie responded easily. “Always.”

Carla pulled him into a gentle-but-still-desperate embrace. “Okay, I’ll get out of your hair.” With a frown, she brought a hand up to ruffle the wilting mess on Eddie’s head. “Your dusty-ass hair. Take a shower, alright?”

Eddie laughed. “Alright, alright.”

“It’s a little early for a welcome back party, don’t you think?” Eddie said as Athena hugged him in greeting, Christopher heading off in search of the other kids.

“You and Bobby are headed back tomorrow,” Athena pointed out.

“Yeah, and Chimney’s not back for another two weeks.”

“And you best believe I’ll throw another party for him.”

Eddie laughed, before venturing further into the house to greet everyone else. His ribs had healed perfectly, barely a twinge when he’d thrown himself onto the couch in triumph yesterday. Which—speaking of, Eddie’s phone was burning a hole in his pocket and he was doing a very good job of ignoring that.

Or, he was, until a lull in conversation found him standing alone in the kitchen and pulling it out of his jeans. No texts. Which—of course, they’d agreed to go for coffee after his shift on Friday, why would she text him before that—but, still. Eddie was nervous. Sue him.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment while he debates if it’s too much of a desperate move to text Marisol before they even go on a date. Christopher would know.

“Who are you texting?” asked a voice, and Eddie fumbled to turn off his phone and shove it in his pocket before someone could see… what?

He looked up to see Buck smiling at his antics, a beer in hand.

“Oh, it’s you,” Eddie sighed, leaning against the counter.

Buck sidled over to join him, staring out the windows at the backyard where the party was in full swing. “Just me. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie replied, for some reason hoping desperately that Buck wouldn’t ask him about—

“So,” Buck nudged an elbow into his arm. “Who were you texting?”

—fuck. Eddie wasn’t sure why this felt like something he didn’t want to tell Buck, to whom he tells everything, but… they don’t really talk about their girlfriends? It was always, always awkward, and it always left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

But, Eddie’s excited about this. Marisol probably won’t be the one, or whatever, but—still. Eddie was excited that his brain was finally in a place where he could think about opening up his life to someone and it wouldn’t send him into a panic attack that landed him in the ER.

And Buck asked.

And Eddie’s not in the habit of saying no to him.

“Um,” he started. “Do you remember Marisol? From the—”

“—yeah, yeah!” Buck cut him off. “So, you were texting her?” He raised his eyebrows, a knowing glint in his gaze.

Eddie blushed. “Yeah, uh… we’re going on a date?” he said quietly, a pit of dread or something similar opening in his gut.

Buck was quiet for a moment, and Eddie risked a glance at his face. He just caught the edge of something shocked and maybe fearful in his expression before it cleared and was replaced by one of those huge, sunny smiles.

“Eddie!” Buck exclaimed. “That’s great! Oh my god, man, this is awesome,” he enthused, slinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and squeezing him close.

“Yeah,” Eddie chuckled, still unsure why part of him felt sick with guilt.

“Hey, ever notice how we always start dating at the same time?”

“No, do we?” Eddie lied, thinking about how he’d agonized over making the call and kept telling himself Buck’s with Natalia now, you should do this.

Buck laughed again, before he jolted with surprise and turned to Eddie, excitedly slapping him on the arm. “Dude! We can go on double dates now!”

Eddie frowned. “We didn’t last time.”

Buck shrugged. “Well, you didn’t like Taylor, so I figured—”

“I liked Taylor,” Eddie protested.

Buck snorted. “Uh, no, you didn’t.”

Eddie tilted his head in a you-got-me face. “I kind of didn’t. I thought you didn’t notice.”

Buck dropped his arm around Eddie’s shoulders again, making Eddie huff out a breath. “Oh, Edmundo, I always notice.”

No you don’t, Eddie thought, and then he ignored that.

“But,” Buck continued, a hesitation in his voice. “You—you like Natalia, right?”

Eddie didn’t really know her at all, except for how excited she’d been about Buck’s death-that-didn’t-stick and how angry that had made him. “Yeah,” Eddie lied again. “She’s good for you. And she has good taste in couches.”

Buck laughed, relieved. “Good. So—we’ll do a double date, yeah? Me, you, Natalia, Marisol.”

Fuck, no. Eddie thought. That sounds awful.

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie said instead. “That sounds great.”

Eddie was in the kitchen, pre-heating the oven to heat up some frozen chicken tenders because he didn’t have the energy to cook anything else when he felt little arms wrap gently around his midsection. It hurt his ribs, but Eddie didn’t have the heart to dislodge his son—not when these hugs were becoming rarer and rarer each day.

“Hey, kid,” Eddie said, turning in the hold and dropping a hand onto Christopher’s head. “What’s up?”

Eddie had already seen him, when he popped his head into Christopher’s room to find him sitting with Buck, a careful hand brushing the wounds on the man’s cheek. The sight had made something massive and unknowable bloom inside Eddie’s broken chest, threatening to choke him. He’d tamped it down and hugged Chris hello before heading off to shower, but apparently that hadn’t been enough.

Chris looked up, propping his chin on Eddie’s sternum. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, a tightness in his voice betraying him.

Eddie smiled. “Me too.” Even though it sparked the ache in his side into a bona-fide pain, Eddie leaned over to drop a kiss onto Christopher’s head—something he barely tolerates anymore. “Hey, the doctors said I’d be good as new in six weeks. Think you can deal with having me around all the time for that long?”

Chris laughed, bright and happy, and Eddie’s heart sang. “I’ll try,” he joked, and then something clouded passed over his face. “Buck’s okay, too, right? His face is bloody.”

“Oh, buddy,” Eddie sighed. Usually, he would kneel down to meet Christopher’s gaze, but he settled for easing himself into a chair and ignoring the concerned look Chris was giving him. “Buck’s totally fine, he just got scraped up a little bit. And today was pretty—pretty scary. For both of us.” He swallowed down the urge to berate himself for telling his kid he was scared, and it seemed to be the right move, because Chris nodded along with wide, careful eyes.

Eddie sighed again, settling his hands on his son’s shoulders. “But—tell you what. Buck’s gonna stay with us tonight, and he’s pretty bad at taking care of himself, right?” Chris giggled at that, and Eddie smiled in response. “So you and I are gonna have to be sneaky about taking care of him tonight, okay?”

Eddie expected Chris to give another sweet smile, and maybe to offer some comfort so earnest and childlike in its innocence that it made everything in the world feel right again, so he wasn’t quite sure to do when Chris burst out into loud, raucous laughter.

“Okay, what’s so funny?” he said, playing at being annoyed.

“It’s just,” Chris managed through his massive smile. “That’s exactly what Buck said. About you!”

Eddie just blinked in response, and Chris fell into peals of laughter again. “Okay,” Eddie said with mock-offense. “Okay, I see how it is. Gang up on the injured guy, why don’t you.”

“Da-ad,” Chris whined, fixing him with a very grown-up look. “We just care about you.”

Eddie pursed his lips, that unknown emotion threatening to drown him again. “Yeah,” he said, more choked-up than he would like. “I know.”

A small hand covered his, and Eddie flipped his own over to give it a squeeze. “Why don’t you go put on the next episode of María, okay? We’ll translate for Buck.”

Chris smirked. “You mean you’ll translate for Buck.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, kid,” Eddie offered as Chris disappeared into the living room.

And later, when they were all piled on the couch, Christopher giggling at Eddie’s half-assed translations and Buck protesting that he understands more Spanish than you think, guys, the newest dose of pain meds forced upon him by Buck making his head more than a bit fuzzy, Eddie thought to himself: I wish it could be like this forever.

Buck shouted in exaggerated outrage to make Chris laugh, gesturing at some ridiculous plot point playing out on the screen, and Eddie let that huge wave of feeling bowl him over—that world-ending, all-consuming love.

Just this. Forever.

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Hen said, a hand raised to keep Eddie quiet. “He has this whole thing about his girlfriends being couches, and the couch he finally bought is your couch?”

Feeling somehow embarrassed, Eddie just nodded. Hen shared a smirk with Chimney, sitting on the lawn chair that Maddie hadn’t let him move from for the entire party.

“That’s like—almost romantic,” Chimney snorted.

“What?” Eddie said.

“He’s been looking for the perfect couch, but it was yours all along!” Chim crowed, and Hen dissolved into giggles. She was definitely more than a little drunk.

“It’s so sweet, Eddie, come on,” she needled.

“Well, sure, but—” Eddie sputtered. “—romantic? Come on, guys.”

“No, you—you come on.” Hen said around a hiccup. “You guys are—Buck and Eddie! Eddie and Buck!”

“Yeah,” Eddie replied with a frown. “And you guys are Hen and Chim.”

“Nah, no, no, no,” Chim said with a wagging finger. “It’s not the same.”

“How is it not the same?” Eddie threw his hands in the air, one hampered by the half-full bottle in his hand. “You guys are partners, just like us.”

“Yeah, but,” Hen said. “You guys are partners,” she explained, trying for some hand gesture that must have gotten lost in the all the alcohol and rush of the party because she just ended up clasping her hands together awkwardly.

“You guys are crazy,” Eddie said with a long-suffering shake of his head.

“And you’re crazy about Buck,” Hen said in an it’s-so-obvious whisper.

Eddie drew back. “What?”

“Hen—” Chimney started, a hand on her arm.

She shook him off. “No, I gotta—Eddie, you and Buck are like, perfect for each other. You love him, right?” Her eyes were wide and earnest behind her glasses.

“Of course I do,” Eddie said automatically.

Hen gestured emphatically, whacking Chim on the shoulder like this proved her point.

“Hen,” Eddie said gently. “Did you forget that I’m straight?”

Hen scowled, like she did not want to be reminded of this fact. “Okay, but like—if Buck was a girl, you would have asked him out by now. You’d be like—fucking married by now.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, but found his mind stuck on Hen’s words. If Buck was a girl. Him and Buck, married. Eddie felt far drunker than he should be off just one and a half beers.

“Eddie, ignore her,” Chim cut in.

Hen frowned. “I’m going to find Karen,” she declared.

Eddie watched her retreating form, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “He’s my best friend,” he said belatedly.

“Eddie.” Chimney kicked his leg. “Ignore her, okay? She’s drunk.”

“Yeah, but—” Eddie started.

“Look,” Chim sighed. “We joke about you and Buck sometimes, okay?”

“You do?” Eddie asked.

“Little stuff,” Chimney assured. “Just, like, you’re each other’s favorite person and you’re missing what’s right in front of you, or whatever.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, to refute—what?—but Chim continued.

“But they’re just jokes, okay? We know you’re both straight. I mean, it’d be great if you weren’t, or whatever, but that’s not the world we live in.”

Eddie’s jaw closed with a click. He sipped his beer.

“He’s your best friend.” Eddie looked back to Chimney. “And that’s—” He seemed to search Eddie’s face for a moment. “That’s enough, right?”

Eddie swallows. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Exactly,” Chim agreed with an easy smile. “So, don’t worry about it, okay? She’s just drunk and forgot that we don’t make those jokes in front of you guys.”

Eddie nodded. “Right. Besides, Buck has a girlfriend, and—I have a date on Friday, so…”

“You have a date on Friday?” Chimney exclaimed. “That’s great!”

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, voice flat.

Chimney clapped him on the forearm, unable to reach his shoulder from his sitting position. “Look, man, you’ll find that perfect girl-version of Buck out there, okay? I believe.”

Eddie chuckled. “Sure.”

He looked out to the party—his eyes immediately found Buck, head thrown back in laughter at something Athena had said. The string lights of the backyard made his styled curls shine with a honey-colored fire, his fingers curled carelessly around the neck of a beer bottle made Eddie’s mouth feel suddenly dry.

Just this. Just you, Eddie thought.

“You’re right,” he said to Chimney with a hollow smile. “I’ll find someone.”

[brainddeadd]

Thanksgiving

im australian.. i have 0 clue how thanksgiving works.. enjoy whatever this is

Thanksgiving with the New Jersey Devils was supposed to be a laid-back gathering—a few players, some food, and a chance to unwind mid-season. Of course, with Jack Hughes, Luke Hughes, Nico Hischier, and Dawson Mercer involved, it’s anything but peaceful. You knew chaos was inevitable the second Jack declared that he would “personally oversee” cooking the turkey.

“This thing is still frozen,” Jack grumbles, staring at the 20-pound bird sitting in the sink.

“You were supposed to take it out yesterday,” Nico points out, already exasperated despite it being only 11 AM. He’s peeling potatoes like a man possessed, determined to keep everything on schedule. His dedication to holiday traditions is impressive—and mildly concerning.

“What do we do now?” Luke asks, poking the turkey like it might come to life. He’s wearing an apron that says Kiss the Cook, but you doubt it’s been used for anything other than looking ridiculous.

You roll your eyes. “We should’ve just ordered pizza.”

Jack gasps like you’ve committed treason. “Y/N, this is Thanksgiving. We need turkey.”

Somehow, Jack convinces Dawson to try thawing the turkey in the bathtub, which immediately turns into a disaster when Dawson slips on the bathroom floor and soaks himself—and half the room—in cold water.

“This isn’t working,” Dawson groans, standing in the doorway with his drenched werewolf pajama pants sticking to his legs. “Who thought putting it in the tub was a good idea?”

“You did,” Luke points out, deadpan.

Dawson glares at him. “Details.”

Meanwhile, Jack’s trying to “speed up the process” by blasting the hair dryer at the turkey. You pinch the bridge of your nose, already regretting every life choice that led you here.

Nico, ever the responsible one, finally steps in. “Everyone out of the kitchen. I’ll handle the turkey before we end up with food poisoning.”

“I was doing a good job!” Jack protests, holding the hair dryer like a weapon.

Nico doesn’t even blink. “You were about to electrocute yourself.”

Jack sulks, but retreats to the living room, dragging you along with him.

“Come on, Y/N. We’re banned from kitchen duty.” He plops onto the couch dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Nico’s no fun.”

“Nico just saved your life,” you remind him, taking a seat next to him. “Be grateful.”

Jack peeks out from under his arm, grinning. “I’m grateful for you.”

In the living room, Dawson finds the football game on TV, Luke brings out snacks (mostly chips and questionable dip), and Jack makes it his mission to steal the best spot on the couch—right next to you, of course.

“This is way better than cooking,” Luke declares, stretching his legs across the coffee table.

You raise an eyebrow. “You literally didn’t cook anything.”

“Exactly,” Luke says with a smug grin. “See? Way better.”

About an hour later, the smell of roasting turkey fills the apartment, and the chaos shifts to the dining table. Nico finally manages to pull everything together—turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, and a questionable green bean casserole that no one admits to making.

Jack grabs the carving knife, looking far too excited. “I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life.”

Nico groans. “Please don’t hurt yourself—or anyone else.”

Jack winks. “No promises.”

He saws away at the turkey with way too much enthusiasm, sending chunks of meat flying in every direction. One lands in Dawson’s lap, and the room erupts into laughter.

“Food fight?” Dawson suggests, raising an eyebrow mischievously.

“No,” you, Nico, and Luke say in unison.

Jack pouts. “You guys are no fun.”

Dinner itself is a whirlwind of bad jokes, bickering over who gets the drumsticks, and Jack trying (and failing) to convince you that cranberry sauce counts as a vegetable.

Nico, being the unofficial dad of the group, makes everyone go around the table and say what they’re thankful for.

“I’m thankful for this team,” Luke says earnestly, making everyone “awww” in unison.

“I’m thankful for Y/N,” Jack says next, nudging you with his shoulder. “She’s the best little sister-slash-teammate ever.”

You grin. “Right back at you, Spider-Man.”

Dawson, not to be outdone, declares, “I’m thankful I didn’t drown in the bathtub today.”

Nico shakes his head but can’t help smiling. “I’m just thankful no one set the apartment on fire.”

As the night winds down, you all settle back into the living room, stuffed to the brim with turkey and pie. Jack is sprawled across the couch, half-asleep with his head resting on your shoulder. Luke and Dawson are locked in an intense battle over the TV remote, trying to find the perfect post-dinner movie.

Nico leans back in his chair, watching the chaos unfold with a small, satisfied smile.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Y/N,” he says quietly, catching your eye.

You smile back, feeling warm and grateful despite the madness. “Happy Thanksgiving, Nico.”

And as Jack snores softly beside you, and Luke and Dawson continue their ridiculous argument over what to watch, you realize that this chaotic, goofy, wonderful group is your family. And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[bleach-your-panties]

Hello again 😊 I wanted to make a separate alphabet request for I,M,N,&U for Bakugo and iida? (Why am I giggling like a child at my ask letters?? 😂)

Because you knew what the hell you were doing when you put those letters together 😂

dividers by @/hitobaby. pro-hero characters.

❥Katsuki Bakugou:

❥⋱I - I Love You: When did he first say ‘I love you?’

It was during your third year at UA, let's say a month before graduation. The two of you had dated off and on since your first year. Katsuki had had a hard time deciphering his feelings for you; he knew he loved you aa a friend and wanted to protect you, but he couldn't shake the nagging feeling of wanting more.

His pride often held him back from expressing himself - not wanting to be seen as 'weak' or allowing anyone to have anything to hold over his head or tease him about.

It's a wonder what time will do though, because as the year drew to a close, Katsuki saw himself fighting a losing battle with his heart. His heart wanted you. You and him together.

"Y/N."

You stop as the buffed-up blonde calls out your name as you leave the training grounds after practice.

He strolls up to you and grabs hold of your waist, pulling your plush body flush against his hard, muscled one. His large arms are on display in a black muscle tank and his UA training pants sag below his waistline, revealing a sinful little peek of his V-line.

"I love you." He said simply, those devil-red eyes scouring your face for any hint of disapproval.

In turn, your eyes crinkle and you laugh at him.

"I know, Katsuki."

"HAHH?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU KNOW?!" Bakugou booms out a retort, about to fly into a mini rampage when you bring your hands up to rest on his biceps.

"You make it so painfully obvious with your actions, but it's okay. I know you suck at expressing yourself. I love you, too."

His cheeks flush red - whether from frustration or embarassment, who knows - but they only darken further when you lean up to press a sweet kiss to his nose.

❥⋱M - Marry: How does he feel about marriage?

Bakugou absolutely wants to get married. This man grew up in a two-parent household and got a front row seat to how a man is supposed to treat his wife (Although his mama might be a lil cray cray. Papa Bakugou, blink twice if you need help.)

The entire hero and civillian worlds are going to know when he proposes, because it’s going to be broadcast on every major news station, at his request. 

This man is possessive; he wants all those Extras out there to know that you’re his woman and that they have no chance in hell at getting you to look their way.

Especially when he slips that big ass ruby ring on your finger.

He’ll grab your hand and wave it in the camera saying,

“You see this?! Try to fuck with her now and see don’t I blow your damn heads off!”

I know his PR team be stressed the hell out dealing with his shenanigans.

❥⋱N - Naughty: One thing he’d like to try in the bedroom.

He’s another one that has likely tried just about everything in the bedroom, but yet he still somehow manages to come up with some shit you’ve never heard of for the two of you to try.

“Katsuki, what the hell is Katoptronophilia??"

You looked over the screen of his phone that he'd shoved in your face and up into his vermillion-colored eyes.

"Sex in front of the mirror, baby. I think that's one that we really haven't explored to its fullest potential yet."

And by fullest potential, he means he hasn't fucked you with you staring up at the mirror above your bed yet.

"Fuck, princess, that looks so fucking good, doesn't it? Look at how my cock just stretches your tiny hole open so well. You can't look away, can you?"

He's jackhammering you from below while holding you underneath your armpits in a firm grip. Your smaller body bounces on top of his, tits swaying, and you're so embarrassed at the completely fucked-out look on your face.

He removes one arm and reaches down to circle a finger over your clit.

"Neither can I."

❥⋱U - Underwear: Does what you have under your clothes turn him on?

Bakugou is a connoisseur of sexy underwear and lingerie. He always buys you the prettiest sets and they’re usually in one of these three colors - black, green, or orange. If they ever put out a lingerie collection based on Pro Heroes, he would opt to design the Dynamight set himself LMAO. With you serving as his model and inspiration of course. 

❥Tenya Iida:

❥⋱I - I Love You: When did he first say ‘I love you?’

It likely came at a time when he was questioning if he was really cut out to become a hero or not.

Despite his outward displays of leadership and confidence, he has his moments of insecurity just like anyone else.

"Why do you think that you won't make a great hero, Tenya? You exude all of the qualities that are desirable in a hero: intelligence, courage, and selflessness. You're an amazing man and you will become an amazing hero!"

His dark eyes widened behind his glasses and a rosy tint stretched across the bridge of his nose.

The two of you have been dating for about six months now, just enjoying being together and letting things happen naturally.

Taking your tiny hand into his, he entwines your fingers together and presses his forehead to your cheek. His soft, dark hair falls across your skin, making you let out a hum of pleasure.

"Thank you, Y/N. I-I love you. I won't hold back my true feelings any longer. I love you and I need you to stay by my side."

❥⋱M - Marry: How does he feel about marriage?

Iida would want to get married as well. He too came from a close knit family and after dealing with his brother’s hospitalization, he definitely wants to grow and cultivate his own legacy one day to continue to pass down the family’s hero heritage. Tenya is not the type of man to play games or wait around, either, leaving you guessing about where your relationship is headed.

He is going to propose and do it properly. He will ask for your parent's blessing before going out to buy you the biggest rock he can find and afford.

He’s less…outgoing than Bakugou and would rather settle to make the big announcement over a private dinner with only his family and close friends in attendance.

❥⋱N - Naughty: One thing he’d like to try in the bedroom.

For Iida, he's pretty vanilla when it comes to sex. He's not the type to try any super wild or outlandish kinks in the bedroom, but that doesn't mean he's a boring lover.

Positions vary, but his favorites are the ones where he can hold you close and stare down into your face. He loves to encage you with his much larger body, so he definitely has a size kink.

Iida is apprehensive about bringing this up to you, but he'd really like to do some dom/sub roleplay in the bedroom. He knows that his natural personality can be a bit overbearing, thus making this dynamic seem undesirable, but he can't help the blush that forms on his cheeks when he thinks of you kneeling in front of him or bent over with your ass presented for him to spank with his belt.

❥⋱U - Underwear: Does what you have under your clothes turn him on?

Iida is more of a simple, traditional man when it comes to underclothes/bedroom wear. He likes it when you wear those floor-length, silk nightgowns to bed. The ones with the high slits that reveal your soft, smooth thighs and the waistband of your panties.

Not very picky is he; he likes just about anything that you wear to bed, but those are absolutely his favorite. He likes the feeling of the soft material on his hands as he caresses you before undressing you while you lay beneath him.

----

valentine a-z ©bleach-your-panties 2024. do not steal, repost, or upload my shit to tiktok! comments appreciated. reblogs always welcome.

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

hi there! im wondering if you have any fics recs for an au where peter doesnt get blipped? or also any OP/insanely strong peter fics you enjoy? i’m fairly new to reading spiderman fics and would love any recs! thanks!! 💖

Hi!! Sorry it took so long to respond. It's been a busy couple of weeks!! But I totally have a few BAMF Peter Parker fics in my bookmarks! And one very good fic where neither Tony nor Peter blipped.

🕸 to fear and to fly by idyllic_dae Rated T

“You’ll come to learn that there’s only one thing worse than having nothing.” Trying to hold onto his fight, Peter shoots back, “Yeah? And what’s that?” “To have nothing, after being able to believe you could have everything.”

The streets are dirty, crowded, and the jagged bumps in the asphalt are hardly comfortable to sleep on. They’re home, though.

Peter is just about finished with New York City. It’s gotten impossibly harder to find even a scrap of food, and what little belongings he does have are unlikely to keep him alive through the winter. And the memories. God, the painful memories here.

So he saves up. Makes a plan to get out of there.

Then, somehow, he accidentally saves Tony fucking Stark from a gang of eight mercenaries, and the majestic plan disintegrates into ash.

The worst part about it, he knows, isn’t even that he met Tony. It’s that Tony met him.

^^ This one is incomplete still but it is SO VERY GOOD.

🕸 Trojan Teenager by Sara (ctrsara) @ctrsara Rated T

Tony, Peter, Happy, and Daren make a trip to California during Peter's Spring Break, both to get some business done at SI-Malibu, and to look into another hotspot for the human trafficking ring they've been trying to break down. As it often does when self-sacrificial Spider-kids are involved, things go a little off the rails.

^^ This one is part of a series but can be read alone. However, I highly recommend the whole series! It's crazy creative and super well-written.

🕸 turn back the clock (and I'll try again in the morning) by madasthesea @madasthesea Rated T

Peter gets stuck in a time loop. In it, he lives through some of his worst nightmares, only to wake up that morning and have no one remember. He needs Tony to help him get through.

And if that isn't bad enough, his identity is revealed over and over, every day.

^^ This fic has me on the edge of my seat every time I read it, I swear

🕸 The Worst Field Trip by mak5258 Rated G

Peter's kidnapping (Before You Go, chapter 40) from other POVs.

^^ This is part of a much larger series but can be read alone. It's sooo good! If you're looking for a longer read, it's parent fic, Before You Go , is also great.

🕸Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spider by Bergen Rated T

“Tony fucking Stark,” Clint says, and he points at the black smoke. “Did you blow up that base, you piece of shit?” “Absolutely not. I almost got blown up with it.” Clint is not alone. A few yards behind him, a scrawny figure halts and squints at Tony from underneath a frayed baseball cap. Sunken eyes. Dressed in a black undershirt and cargo pants. Can’t be older than eighteen. “What are you doing here?” Clint jerks his head at the boy behind him. “SHIELD mission. Extracting a hostage.” Tony glances back at the teenager, whose face has now morphed into something entirely impassive. “He seems thrilled about his rescue.” — Tony is roped into a mission to transport a teenager to safety. But when things go south, it soon becomes more and more puzzling who the teenager is and what ‘safety’ means for him.

^^ Oh my goodness. This one has a super strong stoic Peter, who also manages to (eventually) be so super soft. I love everything by the writer, honestly.

🕸 Peter Protection Protocol by JAWorley Rated T

"The hell?" Knife guy breathes. He looks at Tony, and then back at the suit. Ned can hear the wheels spinning in his mind. If I have Iron Man, then who is in the suit?

There’s silence for a second, then another. Everyone waits with baited breath until Peter’s tinny voice comes out of the suit. “Give me back my Tony.”

OR

Peter’s class barely makes it in the door to Stark Industries for their field trip when they find themselves in a hostage situation. Peter and Ned know exactly what they have to do to save Mr. Stark from the bad guys. A short fic that’s supposed to be fun and easy to read. Not crack, just fun. Minor angst near the end.

^^ This author has SO MANY super fun and amazing fics, but this one definitely fits the BAMF Peter Parker bill.

Insane Mistakes Everybody Makes by Fluencca Rated T

The Avengers' kids are kidnapped for leverage and ransom. Tony tries to find them, while Peter--who somehow is part of this mess--tries to keep the kids safe.

^^ Love this one so much. It has all the amazing BAMF Peter.

🕸 Survivor's Guide to The Galaxy by fanfic1892 Rated T

Space rock crunched under Peter’s armor-clad feet and he dropped his hand from his eyes, turning to Tony. "Mister Stark," he said softly. "What do we do now?”

The question was entirely reasonable, Tony supposed, but being the one expected to answer it was like an infinity gauntlet punch to the gut. (Now there was a unit of measurement he could submit to the CGPM.)

Or: In a billion-to-one cosmic fluke, Tony and Peter both survive the snap and are left alone on Titan with an alien spaceship and no plan in sight. Peter’s presence brings Tony to make a tough call: diverting their course away from Earth in search of food and fuel. With the galaxy in shambles and no clear route home, the two survivors must carve out a path of their own somewhere in the great infinity.

^^ This is one of my favorite fics of all time.

As usual, I could go on for days with fics I love and would love to share with others. But we'll stop here for now. lol. And look! I didn't even self-promote this time! Thank you so much for asking. Don't forget to leave kudos and comments!!

[pedrostylez]

How The Crow Flies - pt. 6

Javier Peña x fem!reader x Frankie Morales crossover

Word count: 3k

Chapter Summary: The Triple Frontier crew gets the information they need to raid the house; you ignore Javier's calls

Chapter Warnings and Disclaimers: 18+ only. I am not responsible for what you read on the internet. You have been warned! Locations and descriptions of places may be inaccurate in comparison to each story (Narcos and Triple Frontier). Timelines are obviously different between the two stories, so we are going to meet in the middle and say we are in the early 2000s. These are not necessarily canon characters in regard to how they act, how they treat people, and their current relationships. DUBCON, Mentions of SA, SMUT!!!! oral f receiving, dirty talk, Frankie is struggling with addiction and you're it, baby

A/N: I realize that this is a very Frankie-heavy few chapters; do not worry, Javi makes a return eventually. You're not ready for the next chapter okay I'm just saying

Taglist: @thevoiceinyourheadx @suzdin @survivingandenduring @bariskaplans @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi @paleidiot @darkheartgatita @missladym1981

Sweat sticks in between your shoulder blades, walking down the now familiar path to the back of Lorea’s home. A smile comes to your lips, unable to hold it back as you recall that just moments ago he was in the car passing yours. His window rolled down during the checkpoint to let you through, and he nodded as he drove by. 

He nodded. 

He has no idea who you are. 

It gave you confidence to know that you were at least tricking the highest man of authority in this part of the jungle. Your ears perked at the sound of the otherwise still jungle rustling with movement. 

It reminded you that you couldn’t trick the man lurking in the trees, smirking at you when you made direct eye contact before entering the home. His brown eyes somehow shining in the darkness, the flutter of his eyelashes hitting his cheek as he winked at you.

He hadn’t done more than say he knew you weren’t a whore, but what else he knew was still a mystery. You had to remain careful, quiet and unassuming. 

Beat him at his own game. 

“Come here, bonita.” One of the guards calls, reclined in one of the living room seats with his friends surrounding him, laughing. You’re shaken out of your thoughts, turning to him with a sly little smile that you have perfected during your time here. “I’ll give you a stack of American money this time around if you do a good job.”

The term “American money” peaks your interest, the distinction between that and what you had been paid previously. Was this the money that everyone was talking about? You sink to your knees in front of him, tilting your head and giving him the biggest smile you can manage. “What do you mean?”

His breathing has picked up, chest rising and falling in anticipation as his fingers are trying to undo his pants as quickly as possible. “I’ll get you a stack from the safe.”

Bingo. 

You nod, lowering your eyes to the bulge in his jeans, thinking over how you will follow him to the safe itself. “Only if you’re allowed?” You ask quietly, trying to remain as innocent looking as possible. You don’t want him to get in trouble, afterall; he’s your most frequent customer. You can’t for the life of you remember his name. 

He nods so quickly and aggressively you think that his head will fly off his neck. “Boss won’t mind.”

Frankie feels much calmer than usual, watching you walk into the house this time. A silent understanding that what you’re doing won’t affect him, and if anything you’ll be giving him information too. At least, that’s the impression he is under after you sucked him off again in the shower the other day. 

He thinks it is sound reasoning. 

He sits back against the tree, listening to Santiago over his ear piece. “Was worried she wasn’t going to last.” He grumbles, clicking off the microphone after a sigh. 

It’s silent for another moment before he hears Redfly question, “Got scared of the security guards?”

“Not sure…was told she ditched early a few weeks ago, but she seems to have figured it out.” Frankie can hear Santiago’s shrug through the ear piece. He thinks of Yovanna whispering in Santiago’s ear most nights, likely in his bed or hers, and he rolls his eyes. 

Then, Benny’s voice. “‘Saw she had a bloody lip the first week. I would have left early too.”

Frankie’s stomach clenches, remembering the first couple days that you had stumbled out of the back of the house with that fresh cut. He remembers how he saw it and didn’t say anything, because at the time it didn’t seem worth it to mention. Not worth bringing attention to something that wouldn’t matter in the long run. But now, suddenly–

“Fish, you got eyes on her?” Santiago rings in his ear again, snapping Frankie out of his thoughts. He looks to the door, your figure shadowed but prominent near the back entry. 

“She’s still inside.” He says quietly, squinting to try and see better when you twirl and your laughter reaches his ears. “Talking them up.”

“I’m gettin’ real tired of waiting. When are we raidin’ this place?” Will chimes in. 

“When we have some actual information.” Santiago spits.

You step out of the house, your purse over your shoulder and a large smile on your face. You’re holding a paper bag with both of your hands, looking in the trees briefly before stepping into the path. 

“Boys, she’s got a bag.” Frankie whispers, hoping you don’t call for him before he can send the information out. “Paper–can’t see in it.” You step down the path out of Frankie’s sight. You’re not stopping for him today, disappointment roiling through his blood. He shakes his head at himself, thinking he should have known better than to get too attached. “Anyone got eyes on her?”

“Yeah I’ve got–” Will says quietly through the ear piece, cut off before he rushes. “She tripped, paper bag is full of money boys. Hundred dollar bills.”

“She trafficking?” Redfly whispers. 

Frankie rolls his eyes again; Redfly always assumes the worst. Understandably, of course, but not with the context that Frankie has, and with the knowledge that Yovanna is the one in charge of the money, he shouldn’t think that. He goes to correct him, but Benny beats him to it. “She must have given them a show. Proves the money is there, boys.”

“Meeting tonight. All done for the day.” Santiago says, clicking off without another word. 

Frankie sighs, wondering what it was that you did for the money. His chest tightens at the thought, pushing it away in the hopes that you would be at his door when he returned. 

The steam off your coffee rolls up to your face, watching the motel quietly in the corner of the cafe. Calculations in your head tell you that you have 52 hours until you have to return to your post back with Javi. He’s been calling you nonstop, not leaving messages or text but calling twice a day. 

You roll your eyes when you feel the tell tale vibrations coming from your pocket. The idea that he would be calling you more now was almost laughable, but after the last conversation you had with him, you're not surprised. Begrudgingly, you pull out your phone, surprised to see Yovanna’s name on the caller ID. You scan the road in front of you, pressing the receiver to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey!” She chirps over the speaker. 

Your eyes remain on the building in front of you, watching the cars. “Hey Yovanna, what’s going on?”

“Just wanted to tell you that you are absolutely loved by the guys. Andres can’t get enough of you.” She sounds happy, suggestive in how she uses the man’s name. That must be who you sucked off this morning. 

She prattles on, saying they are going to give you an advance of money in the hopes that you will stay for a few more days. “Oh, I can’t stay, I have to go back for a little while. But I’ll be back in a week or so?” You say calmly, continuing to survey the road in front of you. 

It goes silent on the phone, and your focus comes back to the phone in your hand. Yovanna takes a deep breath, “The uh…the lease is up at the end of this week and...you won’t need to come back next week.”

You frown, confusion racing through your brain and how to ask what exactly is going on. “The lease? I would stay an extra day if I could–”

“It’s not you!” She says quickly, a faux laugh reaching your ears. “Just, I’m not going to be around next week, with the lease ending. I don’t want you here if I’m not here…I’ll have to find a new place for you to stay!”

You watch a car filled with men-Frankie in the passenger seat-pull into the parking lot across the street and you shake your head. “You don’t have to find a place for me, you gave me the job.” Something feels off in the pit of your stomach. “Why didn’t you tell me the lease was going to be done so soon?” 

Through the speaker you hear a car door slam just as Santiago gets out of the car. You freeze, straining to listen. “Just don’t come back, okay?” She says quickly, waiting for your quiet reply of of course, sorry Yovanna before she says “Don’t apologize. Thank you…for all your help.” and hangs up the phone. 

As you hang up and watch the men pile out of the vehicle, each nodding to each other and glancing at their watches as if they have agreed on a time, the gears in your head begin to turn, and you look down to your phone again to call Javi. 

“Tonight, Fish. No staying in and avoiding us.” Benny calls from his door, looking through the openings of the metal stairs up to Frankie. 

Frankie grunts in acknowledgement, ignoring any other comments being thrown at him and unlocking his room door to slide inside. He glances around briefly, all items still where they were left the night before, taking off his hat and setting it on the coffee table. 

He’s conflicted, desperately wanting to see you again before the inevitable raid and fleeing they will be doing. He also doesn’t want to disappoint himself, knowing that nothing can continue with whatever is happening between the two of you. 

Lying, fucking, pretending; all things he’s experiencing with you. Craves with you. 

He could just leave you to whatever it was that you were doing–he didn’t actually have to know, did he? You dropping that bag of money in front of his team proves that what you’re doing doesn’t affect them. 

Lost in his thoughts, he’s letting his boots slide off and a sigh leave his lips, before he hears a soft knock at his door. He’s too quick to open it, holding his breath when he sees you in front of him. He inhales as subtly as he possibly can when you slip past him into the room, shutting the door behind him. 

“‘You have a habit of falling?” He asks, watching as you take off your own shoes like you plan on getting comfortable–plan on staying. 

“Nice trick, wasn’t it?” You giggle, batting your eyelashes at him. “I figured someone would be watching.”

“How did you get paid that much?” He grinds out, trying to hold himself back. He doesn’t want to focus on this nagging thing in his chest, something he could potentially identify as jealousy. No–he wants to focus on the mission he was sent here for. 

You smirk, shrugging. “I have my ways. Don’t tell me you’re jealous?” You call him out, tilting your head as he runs his hands through his hair, huffing out a heavy breath. 

“Where was he keeping it?” Frankie presses, fingers tapping anxiously against his scalp. Maybe if he focuses on the facts, on the mission, he can stop this feeling in his stomach bubbling up into whatever he was afraid of it being. 

You watch him, curious. “What do I get if I tell you?”

He freezes, watching for a second longer before a switch flips. Frankie can’t help himself–like his body is working with a separate mind, watching himself from overhead as he kneels in front of you. His knees crack, thudding on to the carpet and looking up at your body. He hears your gasp, watches how your eyes widen and darken, watching him before you. 

Frankie licks his lips, feeling his cock twitch in his pants. “My mouth. My hands–whatever you want.”

You stand silent, mouth slightly opened as you breathe deeply. 

His hands reach forward, pulling you by the hips closer to him. His mouth waters, at eye level with your belly button and he swears he can smell you. The want that is in his own pants, reflected in yours. “If I feel you right now, will you be wet?”

When he looks up again you’re already staring back at him, nodding silently. He moves the skirt of your dress out of the way-changed from what you wore into the jungle, and moves the palm of his hand over the front of your panties. 

Warm and humid under his fingers, sliding down to where the fabric thins and becomes wet, he smiles. “Where was the money, hermosa?”

You swallow roughly, hands on his shoulders and digging your nails in. “A-A safe.” You close your eyes as his fingers move your underwear to the side. He notices how you shuffle your legs apart as slowly as possible, as if to not scare him away. 

He lightly runs his first and second finger over your slit, exposing your clit and letting the wetness he had gathered on his fingers to circle around you. “Where was the safe?” He doesn’t recognize his own voice, feels like he is looking at himself from the ceiling instead of being in front of you. An out of body experience that he can relive over and over again.

The bite of your fingers at his shoulders has him suddenly back in his body, listening to your moan. “The master bedroom.” You close your eyes, throwing your head back to expose the column of your throat to him. He wants to plant a kiss there, bite down on your collarbone, but he remains on his knees. “There’s a cabinet in the way. I-It was like a secret door.”

Frankie hums happily, letting his other hand wrap around the back of your thighs and squeeze to maneuver that leg over his shoulder. “What a good girl, telling me that.” He growls out, leaning his mouth forward and suctioning around your clit. 

It’s quick, how you wrap his hair around your fingers and tug. How you sigh happily and do your best to not lose your balance, but have to reach behind you to hold yourself up against the back of the couch. 

Frankie devours you; he feels dizzy with how hard he is pushing his face into your heat and consuming your scent and taste. He closes his eyes, blissfully letting himself get lost in the addiction of you.

The only thing that may be better is that now he is convinced he will have a full bank account when he leaves Colombia. 

When you come, Frankie doesn’t even realize you had been warning him. Your calls of “Frankie, honey–” And “Oh fuck–” hadn’t penetrated his concentration, his dedication to tasting you. 

When he pulls away, looking up to your heaving chest and half glazed over eyes, he realized why he had devoted the time to you. Looking up at you he’s not sure he can go without you. He stands, still close to you but rests his hands on either side of the couch behind you. “When can I see you again?”

You huff, blinking until your eyes go wide and you laugh. “I am only here for a couple more days–”

Frankie shakes his head, knowing Santiago. The next two days will be full recon work, not just observing but notating down times that the family leaves. “Let me see you in three days.” 

You pause, pushing the skirt of your dress down and frowning. “I have to get back to–”

“Please.” He breathes, bringing his lips close to yours. He knows you can smell yourself on him, but you don’t seem to care as your bottom lip brushes against yours. Frankie thinks he will never see you again. 

He takes the chance, pressing himself against you and letting his mouth engulf your own. His tongue peeks out, dancing with yours briefly before he groans. 

You pull away quickly, confusion threading through your features. You shake your head, putting a hand on his chest to push him away. He wants to push back against you, but he obliges, taking a step back. 

Frankie thinks he’s fucked up now, sure that you’re going to leave without saying another word. But you don’t move, looking at the ground and thinking through something. You finally nod, stepping around him to the notepad that sits on the bedside table. 

You write an address, setting it down gently and looking back at him. “I’ll only be there for a couple more days.”

Frankie shakes his head. “I’m telling you the truth, I can only be there on the third day. Santiago will–” He stops himself, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. He smells you again and feels himself twitch in his pants. “I have to tie up loose ends. I want to see you again.”

You watch him, eyes wide and unmoving. “I don’t know that I can stay that long.”

Frankie feels like he might have to get on his knees again. He doesn’t reach for you, holding his hands wide, pleading. “Just one more time.”

You swallow, furrowing your brow and looking away. He can see how your eyes get glassy, confusion clear in your expression. When you shake your head, it's like you’ve cleared your thoughts and put up a wall. “You can come by and see if I am still there.”

Frankie nods, heat rushing to his cheeks in embarrassment. The fact that he begged you, makes him question if he should even bother showing up. 

But when you head for the door and he follows to open it, you turn around and lunge yourself at him, kissing him and pulling him by the shirt closer to you. His arm wraps around your back, keeping you close to him. 

His lips pull from yours, a smirk unable to stay down as his other hand reaches up to rub softly at your cheekbone. No words are further exchanged, you slipping out the room and across the street while he holds the door open to watch you. 

Frankie glances to the stairs, the metal holes making it easy to see to Benny’s door. It too is wide open, watching him with a knowing smile on his face. 

[amethysttribble]

AU of my own AU, inspired by this post: the Seven Sons of Feanor and their father are reborn much closer together, but not in nearly so advantageous a position. The year is 259 AC.

@blue-ink-pearls

Celegorm jerked awake, coughing and hacking. His tongue felt frozen in his mouth and there was blackness swirling in his eyes. The darkness, the cold, seeping ever closer, it clung to his sweaty skin. There were heaps of blankets on top of him and, despite the cold, he kicked them off.

Trapped, I can’t be trapped, he thought, panicky, I must fly.

But the evil thing in his dreams had ripped out his wings and he felt the wounds on his back like they were real. He felt grief for them. A sob crawled up his throat even as he heaved for breath, oh, it was was hard to breathe.

Celegorm was so cold and he had no wings. He needed fire, heat; he needed to fly! The evil thing was coming, he must-

“Cel?”

He was shaking as he looked over at little Curufin, seated next to him on the cot he, Celegorm, and Caranthir called a bed, which they shared.

“Finny,” he gasped out. He didn’t want- He couldn’t scare his baby brother. “Where- what time is it?”

Curufin had in his hands what looked like a quarter of an apple, and he was licking the juice off his fingers as he said, “Hm, morning. The bells rang for first service a while ago. But you’ve been in the fever sleep for two whole days! Mae and Maggie and even ‘Ran have been really worried, though they try to pretend they’re not.”

Two days. Celegorm should be hungry, but all he felt was a pit of nausea in his stomach. He put his head between his legs.

“Then there’s little hope old Mycah will let me keep my job.”

Maedhros had gone to a lot of trouble to get Celegorm work down at the docks; good work, too, because he was tall for his age and strong. But that job had come with strict times and rules to follow from the dock warden, Mycah, a salt old cur, who never really liked Celegorm to begin with. It was just a favor for Maedhros.

No, he wasn’t likely to be lenient.

The anger and frustration had such a clawing grip on him, Celegorm didn’t even look up when he felt a little hand touch his arm.

“It’s okay,” Curufin said, “Maggie’s been making good money, staying out all night.”

And now Maglor was walking the streets all night, singing from dusk til dawn, to make up for Celegorm’s stupid bullshit.

“Fuck,” he muttered, standing up suddenly. He threw his gross, soiled shirt and pants off and went hunting for better clothes.

With seven brothers, there was scarcely a stitch of cloth to share between them, but he managed to scrounge up some old items of Maedhros’s that were too big for Maglor; they were waiting for Celegorm to grow into them and repair them then, which was probably still a few years off, but they would do for now. Too long and wide and riddled with holes, but Celegorm really didn’t care.

Not right now.

“‘Suppose they’re both still at work,” he snapped as he tied a piece of rope around his waist like a belt.

“Aye,” Curufin’s tiny voice piped up, much meeker than before. Celegorm looked down at him as the boy- just seven- came closer.

He was looking at his feet when he said, “You’re better now. Right?”

The cold was still wrapped around his bones, but Celegorm said, “‘Course. Where ‘Ran and the little’uns?”

Curufin looked skeptical, but did perk up a little as he said, “Watchin’ the twins. I’m supposed to watch you!”

Celegorm ruffled his hair.

“You did a good job. Come on. Let’s you and I get some air. This room is foul.”

Forcefully, Celegorm grabbed one of Finny’s sticky hands. He was met with no resistance as he dragged his little brother out the bedroom all seven of them shared and into the rest of the house. As reported, Caranthir was seated at the table with Amrod and Amras, trying to play cards with them. How did you play cards with three year olds?

“You’re awake!” Caranthir squeaked when he saw them, grin massive. Amrod and Amras gave happy cries as well, but Celegorm didn’t stop to really greet them. He was too filled with shame and anger to let his brothers be kind.

“We’re going to the Sept,” he said, walking right past them, “be home soon.”

“Ah, but, Cel-“

He was gone before Caranthir could finish his protest. He didn’t feel too bad about abandoning Caranthir with the twins, not like he used to when he first started working all day. Caranthir had just turned ten then, forced to look after the two year old twins and six year old Curufin, but without Father, there really hadn’t been any other options.

Oh, Father… he would have been able to help Celegorm understand the dreams.

But Father was gone, and so was the life they used to live on the Street of Steel. They were in Flea Bottom now, the place the people who killed Father- if you can’t prove that, you best not be repeating it, Mae would always say, but Maggie would say, be smarter and more patient- said they belonged, Feanor’s gaggle of whore’s sons.

Gathered from six different mothers, all different brothels, if a woman asked him, ‘please take my son’, he did. No questions were asked about the real father. Their Father was very kind, and perhaps overly confident.

Seven sons just meant seven orphans, now. Maedhros did his best, but…

Make their lives easier, Celegorm thought, eyeing a burning pit that someone was cooking over, throw yourself on the flames.

He tightened his grip on Curufin’s hand and kept walking.

Their journey up Visenya’s hill was silent and felt tense enough to snap Celegorm in half. But his breathing eased once the Great Sept of Baelor came into view. The bells had just started ringing for noon service.

“Do we have to pray?” Curufin whined.

“Yes.”

The went inside and the smell of incense finally warmed Celegorm up somewhat. Started to melt the ice of his bones. The beautiful rainbow lights chased away the darkness. Here, he did not need to be scared that he couldn’t fly. The Seven would protect him.

Celegorm let Curufin go finally as he took a second to stand in the middle of the Sept and just breathe. His brother wandered off to the statue of the Smith, as he always did. Celegorm wasn’t nearly so partial to one aspect of the Seven but today…

Today he knelt in front of the Maiden.

He clasped his hands together and dug his nails into his skin and squeezed his eyes shut so hard that tears sprung to the corners of them.

Please, he thought, please protect my little brothers. Please tell me you’re looking. You see, right? It’s coming. I don’t know when it’s coming, they might not be children anymore, but please. Please keep this summer lush for a while longer. Please take care of us when the bad thing comes. Please cure of me whatever’s wrong with me. Please, please, please-

Eventually, he had no more words to beg with and started to recite every prayer he knew.

When he came up for air, much later, his knees ached and he was glad of it. Celegorm felt that if he hurt, the Maiden might see him more clearly. His words might be louder.

He kissed the statues robes before backing away.

Curufin was no longer praying to the Smith, but that was to be expected. He hadn’t gone far, though, no, he was talking to the septon who was equally partial to the Smith and thus always kind to eager Finny.

“An, young Celegorm,” the Brother said as he approached them, smiling, “Curufin was just telling me you have been ill and that is why we have not seen you recently. Is there anything we can do to help?”

The idea of admiting his horrid fever dreams to the blessed septon made Celegorm choke up with fear and revulsion and shame, so he shook his head.

He just held out his hand for Curufin to take, which his brother dutifully did.

“No, Septon, but thank you. I’m much better now. But, ah, if you hear anyone praying for a new worker who is strong…?”

“Ah,” the Septon said with a slight laugh, “yes, I see. Well, I’m sure the Seven will guide some soul here to receive precisely that sort of help.”

He winked, and it made Celegorm smile slightly.

He said his thanks again and made Curufin say his, then they bid their farewells. They started to walk home, and as they went, Curufin swung their joined hands.

Once they reached the bottom of the hill, Curufin said, “Happy Nameday, by the way.”

“What?”

“Your nameday, it was yesterday. You’re four and ten, now.”

“Oh,” Celegorm muttered. He didn’t feel four and teen. He felt like, whenever he dreamed, he lived decades in seconds. Thousands of years of waiting as the darkness and cold crawled closer, breathless with dread, helpless to stop it as his wings were ripped out time and time again. “Is that why you had an apple?”

Curufin grinned at him guiltily.

“Mae bought it for you, but he said ‘Ran, the babies, and I could share before it went bad.”

“Mae is smart,” Celegorm sighed.

“I thought you’d be mad,” Curufin said.

“I’m not mad.”

“I wish you were. The fever sleeps are making you too sad. You used to get mad.”

He did, didn’t he? But that was then and this was now. The night those jealous murderers burned the forge they called their home down changed a lot of things.

That was the first night he had one of his dreams.

“Yeah, well,” Celegorm muttered, “maybe I’m just more mature now, being four and ten.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nuh-uh!”

Celegorm laughed. He squeezed Curufin’s hand and laughed through the exhaustion, thankful to the Maiden that at least he had such a silly little brother to lighten his spirits.

“Sure whatever you say,” he said, sticking his tongue out. “Do you know where Maggie is singing today? We can go bother him.”

With a wicked grin, Curufin pulled his hand from Celegorm’s and took off running. He ran after him.

Elsewhere, Summerhall burned.

[the-umiran-amulet]

They were all but kicked out of the king’s coach upon crossing the border into Octan. Cary stood scowling after it as it made its way down the road. Benny was leaning against him, awake now but still weak. “Thought you guys were supposed to be friends,” the mage muttered. “What the hell was that about?”

“I’m not so sure about that anymore,” Cary grumbled in response. “That inn shouldn’t be too far away though. You up for a walk?”

“How far is it?”

“A couple miles, I think.”

“Oof.” Benny winced. “I might manage half a mile under my own power, but my legs are still kind of feeling like jelly.”

Cary heaved a sigh. “Nothing for it, I suppose. Well, let’s get moving. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can rest.” They began to walk.

Just as Benny had predicted, his legs had enough after about half a mile of walking, and nearly dropped him on his rear end. “Sorry guys,” Benny panted.

Cary slid off his backpack. “Here,” he said, handing it over. Benny gave him a questioning look.

“What’s this for?”

“We need you to hold it for us, if we’re going to be carrying you.”

Benny’s eyebrows nearly shot into his hairline. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m perfectly serious. Come on, put it on.” Benny relented with a sigh and accepted the pack, pulling its straps over his shoulders. “Can you stand?”

“I might need some help with that.” Cary offered a hand without hesitation. Benny took it, letting Cary pull him back to his feet. Cary’s palm was as calloused as Benny expected, rough and worn from years of fighting and hard labor, but his grip was gentle as he effortlessly lifted the mage off the ground and then hefted him onto his back. “Are you sure I don’t weigh too much?”

Cary snorted in response. “Of course you don’t. We’ve carried packs easily as heavy as you and marched for a lot more than just two miles. This is nothing.”

Benny snickered. “Okay then.” He draped his arms over their shoulders, hanging on as Cary started to walk again. He rested his head against Cary’s shoulder as the soldier made his way down the dirt road, watching as the scenery passed by. They were moving a lot more quickly now, he noticed. Had Cary purposely kept a slower pace so Benny could keep up? That was thoughtful of him.

They reached the inn a couple hours later. “I think I can manage on my own now, at least for a bit,” Benny told him. Cary nodded and set Benny back on his feet, and opened the door to let them in.

The innkeeper seemed surprised to see them back already. His joke about seeing them again so soon died on his tongue as he watched Benny wearily make his way toward a table before plopping himself down in a chair, then turned his attention to Cary, who approached the counter with a serious look on his face. “One room,” he said, dropping a few gold coins on the counter top. “Preferably no windows. One bed will be fine.” The innkeeper lifted an eyebrow. “He’s the one who needs the rest. We’re keeping watch.”

The innkeeper looked them both over again as the soldier’s words and tone sank in. They did seem rumpled and haggard and on high alert, now that he took a closer look. “...What happened?”

“I’m sure you’ll hear about it soon enough,” Cary rumbled. “The treaty was a ruse. The other guests were slaughtered.”

The innkeeper paled, one hand flying up to cover his gaping mouth as he stared in growing horror. “And the king?”

“Escaped with us. He’s on his way back to Bricksburg now.”

The tension in the innkeeper’s short frame eased, if only slightly. “Things are about to get very rough around here again, aren’t they.”

“I can’t say for sure, but I would be prepared for it, just in case,” Cary warned. He placed a pair of silver coins on the counter top. “We’ll have two plates of whatever’s ready.”

“Of course. Have a seat.” Cary nodded and walked over to sit next to Benny.

“They probably shouldn’t stay here,” the mage murmured. “You know as well as I do the chances of us going right back to war, and they’ll be prime targets, this close to the border.”

“We’ll be all right for tonight,” Cary said. “We’ll tell them to go when we leave. It’s not like anyone else will be following us and staying here.” Benny sighed.

“I wish we could have done something...”

“We still can.” Benny gave him a skeptical look. “Look, circumstances being what they were, there was nothing more we could have possibly done to prevent that sacrifice from happening. But we saved our king, he’s now aware of the truth and has irrefutable evidence of it, and we can still put an end to whatever it is that Undar is planning. It will just take some time, is all. And some help.”

“That’s not exactly something we can advertise though,” Benny pointed out. “The ritual the high priest mentioned in that letter—I could sense a little bit of it as it was being cast. I’m pretty sure the sacrifice was meant to feed its power. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what happened at Southlake, too...”

“I’m pretty sure they didn’t cast that spell at the battle, though, the one that froze everyone. We would have never known what hit us, if they had, but instead we had the ‘privilege’ of watching that thing slaughter our men as it was happening.”

Benny nodded. “Maybe they didn’t cast the ritual there. Those sorts of things do tend to take a lot of time to prepare and set up, and somebody would have noticed that for sure. But it’s possible the thing was still feeding on the life force of your soldiers.” Cary growled.

“Why the ritual then, if it can just... feed on people, like it did at that battle? There weren’t nearly as many people at that ball.”

“Who’s to say it hasn’t been at any of the other battles since your last? But rituals can increase absorption of energy tenfold. There didn’t need to be as many people at the ball. And I’m sure they had a plan for taking out most of Octan’s nobility, but I can’t make heads or tails of it yet... Either way, we can’t risk bringing Undar down on our heads yet. Can we expect support from His Majesty?”

“I don’t think so,” Cary murmured, shaking his head. “Something’s going on with him too. But I have an idea.”

Benny leaned closer, eager to hear it. “Lay it on me.” Cary chuckled.

They were briefly interrupted by the innkeeper bringing them their meals—some sort of egg pie with roasted root vegetables, with a steaming mug of coffee for Cary and some herbal tea for Benny. “A recipe I was given by some traders passing through a while back,” he explained when Benny gave him a questioning look. “Thought it might help.”

“Oh hey, thanks,” Benny said, and took a sip. It had a flowery flavor, with a bit of honey stirred in to sweeten it a bit. “Not bad,” he murmured. The innkeeper nodded and went back to his cleaning. “So? Idea?”

“Right,” Cary said. “We need to find the wizard Vitruvius.”

Benny’s eyes widened. “The Vitruvius? The one known for his gifts of prophecy and clairvoyance??”

“The very same,” Cary confirmed.

“But how are we going to find him? The last I heard, he vanished some months ago. There’s been a lot of speculation that he got killed by a wild animal.”

Cary snorted. “The day Vitruvius is done in by something as mundane as an animal will be the day Hell freezes over.” Benny fell back in his chair laughing.

“Okay yeah, you’ve got a point,” the mage giggled. “But if he’s been missing for so long already, what makes you think we even can find him?”

“I don’t have a guarantee that we can,” Cary admitted. “But we have to at least try. If there hasn’t been any word of him popping up out of nowhere after this long, he probably needs some help too. The last we can remember hearing anything about him, he was in Studsboro. We can try to pick up the trail there.”

“Your hometown?” Benny asked in surprise. “Bit of an odd coincidence.”

“Maybe,” Cary agreed. “But before we head there, we need to go back home and get our traveling equipment. This suit wasn’t exactly made for that kind of wear and tear, and we’ve only got one change of clothes with us right now.”

Benny snickered. “I daresay not. That’s a good idea though—mine’s not going to be comfortable for too much longer either. And my feet are already sore from these shoes.”

“I'll bet they are,” Cary drawled. Benny nudged him with his elbow in retaliation.

Conversation petered out after that. Benny slowed in his eating as well, and every time the soldier glanced over at him, his eyelids were lower and lower. Eventually the mage nodded off, chin against his chest. “What was in that tea?” Cary asked as he carefully hauled a snoring Benny out of his chair.

The innkeeper chuckled. “Nothing dangerous, I promise. It’s meant to help a person sleep more restfully, and more quickly recover magicka. I use it myself when I have a difficult time getting to sleep. Your room is over here,” he said, opening the door for them. Cary thanked the man before nudging the door closed with his foot, and laid Benny down on the bed. He settled himself into a nearby chair, ready to spend the next few hours watching the door like a hawk and listening for any strange sounds in the common room. And to the innkeeper’s credit, Benny did seem to be actually sleeping peacefully rather than merely spending time unconscious, like he had in the coach.

His thoughts turned back to the king. Those hours spent in the king’s carriage had been some of the strangest Cary could recall. Cary had tried several times over the course of the night to talk to him about the demon and how to handle Undar, but Sirius hadn’t seemed too keen on getting involved in any of those conversations. It struck both of the twins as being somewhat odd. It was his duty to protect his people from such a threat, how could he not want to try to come up with a plan? The Sirius they knew would have been all over that, ready for revenge.

No, they definitely could not depend on him for any sort of aid. Cary wasn’t even sure they could trust him with their plan. They would be completely on their own.

He really hoped Vitruvius was still alive.

[thebunnyslibrary]

MATCH GAME

summary | Just a slice of life drabble with my favorite game show from the 70s

warnings | None!

word count | 1300

pairings | Lee Bodecker x Reader

A/N | First official post on the new writing blog!! If you have not seen the original match game, I HIGHLY advise checking it out. There are some jokes that obviously don't hold up today; but it had some of the best stars on it, including Betty White! It also had two amazing queer celebrities; Charles Nelson Reilly and Fannie Flagg! You can watch it here!

  “Come on Lee!” You called from the living room. “It’s starting!”

                “I’m coming, baby. Just had to get a few pieces of candy.” He came into the living room dressed in lounge pants and light grey t-shirt that hugged his belly. Though it was only the first week of September, a chill hung in the air. You were in a mid-length night dress.  The two of you were settling in for your Friday night; which meant a new episode of Match Game.

The two of you loved to snuggle in and watch some of the best stars of the day try to match some of the silliest answers. Lee’d picked up your favorites from the diner on the way home for supper, and it was the perfect start to a long weekend together.  He’d managed to fenagle Monday off and you were going to start teaching on Tuesday.

                “C’mere baby.” Lee sat in his recliner but opened his arms. You smiled and moved from your seat on the couch and onto his lap. His warm hug felt so cozy, he always seemed to be the perfect temperature to cuddle.

                “Nipsey Russell…Brett Somers… Charles Nelson Reilly…Betty White…Richard Dawson… and Fannie Flagg!” the announcer’s voice introduced the celebrity panelists.

                “Oh, Fannie’s my favorite!” You turned to Lee. “You know one of those gossipy newspapers at the supermarket said she started living with that writer Rita Mae Brown. The one who writes the poetry book I like.”

Lee chuckled. “That don’t surprise me too much. You remember the sweater she wore with the eggs over her chest? Woman is something special. Much like someone else I know.” He gave you a little kiss to your cheek.

                As the two of you kept watching, Lee did as he usually did when you two cuddled. Drove you mad with his teasing touches and kisses. His favorite was just to slightly scratch on your exposed thigh. Making you wiggle just enough you could feel his hard cock. Not to mention the occasional kisses. You tried to stay focused on the show but he made it almost impossible.

                On the screen, the host of the show, Gene Rayburn, opened the card to read the fill in the blank scenario to the two contestants.

                “Mary’s Venus fly trap got so big….it ate her blank.”

                “Dog!” Lee answered.

                “Husband!” You said, then covered your mouth as Lee looked at you in fake shock.

                “Husband? Well, I see how it is.” He scoffed, but still smiled.

                “Don’t worry, Lee. Dog is a good answer too.” You said, patting his chest

                Back on the screen, the contestant was trying her best to match. She had also answered ‘husband.’ But none of the celebrities had answered husband OR dog. Until it came to Richard Dawson.

                “Ladies and gentleman, the correct answer is in fact ‘Husband’.” He said, revealing his card.

                “Ha! Richard Dawson always has the best answers.” You said, smiling proudly at having matched the Lee’s favorite. He liked Richard’s bravado. Lee especially liked him as the new host of Family Feud. (He’d been making half-jokes about having 3 kids so you could be on the show).

The contestant on screen celebrated the match as the camera panned to Fannie Flagg.

                “Well, I said it ate her dog…” Fannie seemed to sheepishly admit, revealing her card.

                “Well look at that. I guess your favorite and I are a good match.” He teased and you stuck your tongue out at him. Lee chuckled and said. 

                “You keep pushing that tongue out of your mouth, I’ll have to push it back in with something.” And you bit the inside of your cheek. You gave a fleeting thought to saying ‘heck with it’ and begging him to take you, but he rubbed your thigh and purred

                “Watch the tv baby. Gunna teach you a little patience tonight. But I got a special surprise for you at the end of the show.”  On the tv, the host had moved on to the next contestant and was reading the prompt.

“Chester the clown woke up so flat he could slide right under the door. That’s because the night before, he slept with blank.”

                “Fat lady.” You replied instantly. Lee gave you a quick pinch, making you yelp.

                “Who you calling fat, huh?” He teased.

                “You’re not fat, baby. Just well fed.” You gave him a kiss and he smiled.

“Well, I guess I have you to thank for that.” He winked.

“Steam roller.” The contestant and both you and Lee and groaned.

“Really? I hate when they have dumb contestants.” You complained.

“I know. They miss some obvious answers.” Lee agreed. All of the celebrities revealed their answers, and all of them had written “Fat lady,” meaning the first contestant had won and would move to the next round. In this second round, the show would poll a recent studio audience, and the three most popular answers had different tiers of rewards. Matching the 3rd place answer would win $100, the 2nd place 250, and 1st place was $500.

                The winning contestant a very nice-looking black girl with a big beautiful afro. She said she was a school teacher from Boston. She fidgeted slightly as the host read her prompt.

                “Jazz blank.” She was allowed to choose 3 celebrities to try and match the answers. She chose Richard Dawson, Brett Sommers, and Charles Nelson Reilly. Richard answered “Jazz singer,” Brett answered “Jazz Age,” and Charles answered “Jazz it up” (in his most flamboyant way).

                “Hmm…I like Jazz Age.” Lee said.

                “Yeah that’s a good one. That’s kind of a hard question. Maybe Jazz Band?” You replied.

On the show, the contestant had gone with Jazz Age. Then, the host revealed the answers one by one. Jazz Musician was the $100 answer. No one had thought of that. Jazz Singer was the $250 answer. That was the one Brett had suggested. Before the $500 answer was revealed, everyone else was trying to guess what it is.

“Jazz baby!” said one celebrity.

“Jazz hands!” said another.

“Well, what do you all think?” the host asked the audience, who responded “Jazz band!” You and Lee both laughed. Sometimes the audience was a celebrity themselves.

The $500 dollar answer was Jazz Band.

“Well, aren’t you all so clever… for once.” The host mocked. You and Lee laughed but he was proud of how smart you are.

Now the contestant had a chance to win $2500 by matching one of the celebrities. She had chosen Richard Dawson.

“Blank sponge.” The host read. You and Lee both paused for a minute, looking at each other.

“That sure is an odd one.” Lee said.

“Agreed. Maybe wet sponge?” You offered.

“Not bad. You know a bit more about sponges than I do baby. I’ll go with dry sponge, just to keep things interesting.”

“Wet sponge.” The contestant said.

“Not a bad choice.” The host commented. “I would’ve drawn a blank. How about you, Richard?”

“I’m all Wet.” Richard said, before revealing his card that indeed said “wet” in loopy cursive writing.

“Well look at that baby, you just won us $2,500.” Lee teased.

At the end of the episode, the announcer read a message on the screen. “Think you have what it takes to match the stars? Send a post card with your name and phone number to PO BOX 4568 in Burbank, California!”

“Oh Lee! You think I should??”

“Absolutely baby. Bet you’d win us a whole fortune. Just don’t forget me when you’re famous.” Lee winked and kissed you.

“Oh hush... probably wouldn’t even pick me.”

“Sure, they will. then some producer will wanna put your beautiful face on every movie screen in America.” Lee kept kissing along your neck and peppering small ones on your face. “In fact, maybe they’ll pick you when they call the house at 2 in the afternoon while you’re taking a little kitten nap.” Lee said and you froze.

                “Sheriff Lee Bodecker, you did not!” You exclaimed, turning in his lap to fully face him.

                “I absolutely did darling. I know you love this show so much. You fly to Hollywood in 2 weeks to start your life of fame and fortune.” He teased, leaning closer to you. You were smiling so hard your cheeks started to hurt.

“Lee….” You started to squeal, but it turned into a whine as Lee started to kiss down your neck. You squirmed on his lap more until he wrapped his arms around you, pinning you close to him.,

“Now lemme take my little movie star to bed.” Lee growled, turning off the tv.

[rosemelon82]

Exit (2019) - KR - whump list

Synopsis:

Yong-Nam (Cho Jung-Seok) graduated from a university several years ago, but he is still looking for a decent job. His hobby is rock climbing, which he was an active participant in his university days. Meanwhile, Yong-Nam's mother Hyun-Ok (Ko Du-Shim) is set to turn 70-years-old and she will have a birthday celebration at a convention hall. At his mother's birthday celebration, Yong-Nam sees Ui-Joo (Lim Yoon-A). She works as an assistant manager at the convention hall. Back in their university days, Yong-Nam and Ui-Joo were members of the rock climbing club. Yong-Nam confessed his feelings for her back then, but Ui-Joo rejected him. To this day, Yong-Nam still holds feelings for Ui-Joo. Suddenly, a lethal gas spreads throughout the area. (copied from AsianWiki)

Genre: action, comedy, disaster

Whumpee:

Yong-Nam played by Cho Jung-Seok

Fair warning, it is a movie based on an emergency situation so there will be a lot of panicking and running.

25:47 - gas canister crashed through window, broken glass flying everywhere, crouched down, in a panic, running, runs to go save his sister who is covered in burns and is having trouble breathing, carries her inside, panicking, calling 119 (korean emergency number)

36:02 - throws trophies at window, avoiding the ricocheting ones, almost hit

39:28 - jumps from window with rope tied, lands with a lot of force, barely hanging on to railing, falls, barely hanging onto roof edge, pulled by rope, climbs up, breathing hard

41:55 - jumps from roof with pole, falls multiple times, barely hanging onto ledge, everyone worried and panicking, breathing hard, scaling the building, sweating, breathing hard, (where tf is all this rope coming from? we all know he did not have this much rope), testing out grip spot, climing thin ledges, sweating, rope pulls taut, unclips the rope and is yelled at, panting, jumps, struggles to pull himself up, loses grip, almost falls, tumbles onto roof, panting, sweating, hit by cousin, scolded, shaky, trembling

1:01:01 - in a makeshift hazmat suit, climbing through tunnels/air ducts?, makes it to the rooftop

1:11:24 - tries to climb across makeshift rope line to another rooftop, forced to go back due to lack of support for his weight, climbs the line with mask on through the rising gas

1:14:09 - seen to have rope burns on his hands, water poured over it, stings, groans in pain

1:31:39 - jumps off a roof again, tries to use his makeshift zipline, makes it halfway, hanging on, straining himself, rope is cut, swinging, slips, falls, fate unknown for a short time, family grieving, seen climbing the tower crane

1:36:00 - exiting the helicopter lift thing, looking like an absolute disaster (validly), grimy, dirty, traumatized, worried about his sister, hugging his family, scolded, lwk crying

Review of movie:

This movie has been an absolute favorite for a longgg time. I've watched it like four times, this being the fourth time. I think there was a list for this at some point made by someone else but I couldn't find it so I figured I'd make a new one. If I manage to find it in my reblogs (why did I reblog so many posts??), I will make sure to tag and link to that post. I love the casual comedy thrown into this movie and the desperation of the characters really feels weirdly refreshing since they are trying so hard and aren't giving up at any point in the movie. I definitely recommend if you're looking for something chill that still keeps you on the edge of your seat throughout the movie. Even if you aren't looking for that, 1000000/10 I recommend. I love this movie so much, if you can't tell lol. Thanks for sticking around till the end and I hope that you enjoy the drama. Stay tuned for more whump lists!

[gaiaseyes451]

🤡 🛒 🦅 for the writer emoji ask game?

(Also of you do outline your ff I'd love to hear how you do it/have some tips 👀)

🤡 What’s a line, scene, or exchange you’ve written that made you laugh?

I don’t tend to write humorous things, in my opinion. But, I did write a chapter for Coming Home - Choose Your Own Adventure that I thought was funny because the argument was just so absurd (and I managed to slip a discworld reference in there, too!):

“No. No no, go ahead, Aziraphale.” Crowley throws himself back in the chair incredulously, it would have toppled over from the force of it if he did not, absolutely and completely, expect the chair to stay right where he bloody well put it. “Tell me what other words are off limits here.”

“You said you were ok with taking it slow-”

“It’s been 6000 years! If you went any slower you’d rival the Great A’Tuin!”

Aziraphale stands abruptly and stalks away from the table. “Oh, really now, that’s absurd-”

“So what other words are off limits? Is it just adverbs that I need to be wary of or are there nouns, too? Nightingales? Ducks? Heavenly?”

“Heavenly is an adverb…”

“I don’t give a shite about parts of speech!” Crowley levers himself out of his chair and follows Aziraphale across the kitchen, gesticulating wildly.

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

I have a thing for the memory loss trope and playing with how memories define who each character is, but also how what they do (or don’t) remember impacts the people around them. I use descriptions of light a lot to get at color and temperature. I’m a sucker for religious imagery or mimicking phrasing from prayers or Mass. I skew heavily toward melancholy, apparently, even when I think I’m writing fluff, haha.

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

Even in short fics (<15k) I usually know where I’m going or have an anchor scene that I’m writing to and then after. If it’s short, I will write the parts as they come to me and then spend a lot of time moving sentences and paragraphs around until the flow feels right (Ostinato and Return to Eden were written this way). Long fics (like A Little Life and my current WIP collab Bitter Things) I have to actually outline. It helps me to have something that I can move scenes around with because I don’t usually write a story in order. For BT, KJ and I have a Trello board with a card for each scene with a summary/anchor text and we’re moving these around constantly as we write. I never really know if my outline works until I’m writing to connect the plot points. The characters still surprise me and I have to reorder or add or remove a scene. I like having room to let things evolve naturally, but if I need the roadmap to get started.

[penpaperandbooks]

Rani - A Desi Sapphic Story (Pt. 1)

Flashing lights and slow music were Anika's abode, the only place where she thrived, where she belonged. Of course, with it came the unsavoury bits of the job -- greasy old men throwing themselves at her -- but it was something she was willing to withstand if it meant she could sing her heart out.

It was the same as usual, one in the night was when she usually started her show. She had come to the club earlier than usual, still having half an hour to spare before she had to start.

Seating herself beside a table in the far corner of the room, hidden even from people who came there to find partners for the night.

She turned to the performance, watching the girls jump and swirl, their dresses flying up just enough to give the customers a view of their thighs, so close yet so far.

Loud cheers erupted every few seconds, drowning out the music. The frequent clinking of coins onto the stage interspersed with the performers' sounds and the music proved to be too much for Anika.

Checking her watch, she picked up her drink and purse and made her way towards the green room. Inside, it was sweltering, filled with chattering voices and the sweat of the performers.

Anika fanned herself with the end of her dupatta, weaving her way through the crowd of glittery costumes and wigs. Reaching an empty table, she set down her purse and threw the empty drink can in the trash before opening the closet to put on her dress.

"Anika!" came a cry of recognition just as Anika sat down to do her makeup. Turning, she saw Gowri, one of the performers before her. She had joined a few weeks after Anika and had taken quite a liking to her.

"Hi, Gowri!" Anika smiled, waiting until she came next to her to start on her makeup again. Heat rolled off Gowri in waves -- it was evident she had just changed after finishing her performance.

Gowri dragged a stool next to Anika and took a seat next to her. "So..." she started, a faint pink blush colouring her bare face. "Do you want to come home tonight?" she asked, looking down at her interlaced fingers.

"Hmm..." Anika hummed, looking intently at Gowri. "I don't know..." she hummed, placing her hand on her chin and rubbing it as though she were thinking hard.

Gowri's crestfallen face made her feel bad, so she hurried to remedy her little prank. "Of course, I will!" she cried, placing a hand on Gowri's hands. "Pick me up?" she asked, using her 'cutesy' voice that always made her sick to use with customers.

"Of course!" Gowri cried, clutching Anika's hand in hers. "Wait for me, okay?" she said, getting up.

Anika nodded and saw Gowri tell her byes to everyone. The manager came in and the same old routine began once more, but this time Anika was excited -- Gowri would be there, in the corner, watching her in her tight, curve-fitting sequined dress, watching her sing and watching her squirm under her gaze.

She sang a different song today, one she knew Gowri liked, taking extra care to make sure the musicians were playing properly. Her performance ended, and she bowed, waving goodbye to the people who hooted and cheered.

Walking down the steps to the green room, she allowed herself to blush fiercely. She could still remember Gowri's gaze on her, burning hot as she followed her every movement, every curve and groove in her body.

The green room was almost empty, three people excluding her preparing for their performances. Stripping quickly and cleaning her face, she slipped on her kurti, pants and dupatta, almost unrecognizable from her on-stage, glittery persona.

She opened the door and walked out, adjusting her bag. A cold hand gripped her wrist, and she jumped, clutching her bag. Out of the dim lights, she could make out the face of a drunk man, his breath carrying the scent of heavy liquor.

"Want me to take care of you, my darling?" he slurred, gripping tighter as Anika squirmed to get away.

"No! Get away!" she cried. The man stepped closer, his other hand moving to grab Anika. She stomped hard on his foot with her heel, making him release her as he crouched down in pain.

"You bitch!" he growled, looking up at her with rage. She turned, but before she could take another step, he grabbed her ankle, tripping her. Her heart thumped furiously, images of what was going to happen next flashing in her head. The song was too loud for anyone to hear her screams and any customers would simply ignore her cries for help.

Turning around she took her perfume bottle out, ready to spray it into his eyes and hope it would deter him long enough for her to run away. She turned, finger on the spray, only to see him wrestling with one of the waiters, his hand still firm on her ankle. She stood stupefied for a second, but shaking herself out of it, brought her other foot down with force, not caring if she lost her balance.

The man cried out, leaving her and blinded by the pain he stopped fighting with the boy long enough for him to catch his arms and restrain him.

"Are you okay, didi?" the boy asked, his face sweaty and flushed. Anika nodded, shaken from the ordeal. A warm hand clasped her shoulder and she whirled around, her nerves on edge. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Gowri's face, her sharp jawline and black eyes.

"You okay?" Gowri asked, running her eyes worriedly over Anika's face and body. Anika nodded, holding Gowri's hand. Reassured, Gowri turned her attention towards the waiter, now having called for assistance, dragging the man up to his feet.

"God, how I wish I could--" she started, clenching her jaw and balling her fist. Anika kept quiet, she didn't have the mental strength to reason with Gowri now.

Taking a few deep breaths, she steadied herself and turned Gowri's face towards her. "I'm fine," she said, gazing deep into her eyes. "Forget about him, let's go."

Gowri stayed silent, torn between making sure the man would never come back and following Anika home. "Give me a minute," she said, asking one of the waiters to keep an eye on her as she ran towards the green room.

Moments later, she came out, a satisfied look on her face. Anika's questioning look elicited a response, "Made sure he would never come back," she said, beaming proudly.

Anika smiled, but she knew such situations were unavoidable in her line of work, as did Gowri but they kept that to themselves. Clasping Gowri's hand, Anika sent her a loving look, "Want to go home today or...?"

"Today!" Gowri exclaimed, bringing their clasped hands up. The two went out together, hearts beating quickly and trying their hardest not to look like two girls up to no good.

They got into a rickshaw together as they went to Gowri's house. The ride was silent, but comforting nonetheless with her hand constantly caressing Anika's hand.

The rickety door opened, the hallway lights illuminating the hallway. Anika removed her shoes as Gowri waited behind in the narrow hallway. Placing her bag on the single chair in the only room in the house which served as both the bedroom, office room, study room and in this case...

Anika blushed, hiding her face in her hands. Just then, Gowri entered, and seeing Anika with her face in her hands, she got worried. But seeing the furious blush on Anika's face, she relaxed, before tensing up for a different reason.

Her heart thumped loudly as she lifted Anika's chin ever-so-slightly, looking at her beet-red face. A low chuckle evicted itself from her mouth as she teased, "What a dirty girl you are,"

Anika blushed harder but she wasn't one to accept tease so easily. Leaning forward until their lips touched for a brief, yet lengthy second, she drew back and smirked, "So what?"

Gowri, taken aback, stood silent for a second, before chuckling to herself. Connecting their lips once more, she coaxed Anika's mouth open, gently leading her towards the bed. She felt Anika relax against the hand on her back, her warmth seeping into her, warming her from the inside. Seating her down, she drew back and wiped her mouth.

"Nothing at all, my rani, nothing at all," and with that the two collided their mouths once more, their sounds filling the room as the rest of the world moved above them.