#tommy is the same. goes without saying though

[rcmclachlan]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by the amazing @leashybebes and @buckevantommy. thanks, y'all 😚

here's some more s3 lawsuit arc alt meeting au!

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"You'll be walking away from 6932 Chisholm Ave with a car that isn't remotely street legal." Dana takes a dainty sip of her wine, then tips the glass in Tommy's direction, a small smile pulling at her lips.

Tommy doesn't deny the accusation, just snickers and clinks his beer bottle lightly against her glass.

They don't have the same brand of closeness that Hen and Chim have, nor the bond born of being thrown into insane situations and coming out the other side together that he and Eddie have—had?—but there's something there; quieter, but no less strong. The familiar ease Tommy and Dana have with each other is palpable and time-worn. Maybe they're sleeping together.

Buck's jaw goes heavy and sour out of nowhere. It's probably because of the stupidly expensive bottle of Cantillon Kriek that Tommy'd foisted on him. Belgian beer just isn't his thing, even though he kind of digs the cherry aftertaste.

"Don't be the screen door on the guy's submarine, Dane," Meyers chimes in with a guffaw. "Maybe he wants his Jeep to break the sound barrier."

"You should start a business. 'Come for the autobody repair, stay for the illegal mods' could be the company tagline," Buck adds quickly, before Dana can mount a reply.

Over the rim of the wine glass, her sharp gaze slowly cuts pieces of him away to study under the dim light fixture hanging over the table. The thoughtful purse of her crimson mouth makes her look like she's laid his wings down against a shadowbox but isn't sure where to put the pins.

Buck tosses her a cheeky grin and takes a too-big pull of the Kriek, hoping he doesn't look like the tryhard he absolutely is.

"Getting your car to achieve Mach 2 is just one of the many services offered at Kinard LTD." Tommy says it like he's wearing a name tag affixed to a cheap tie while he's standing in a showroom with every car from the Fast & Furious franchise.

"Y-Yeah? That a guarantee?" Buck asks teasingly, swaying with a laugh when Benowitz lightly shoves him. "Or just fancy marketing?"

Tommy turns his head a little to the right, and since he and Buck are sitting so close it brings their faces mere inches from each other. They're practically breathing the same air.

Buck's fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle of Kriek until the chill of the glass disappears entirely against his palm. He really needs to switch to something lighter. The Kriek is too tart and it's making his throat dry as hell. He doesn't have any saliva in his mouth to ease the way.

With a conspiratorial grin, Tommy says, "Closest to flying you'll ever get without leaving the ground or your money back."

+

tagging leashy and bo right back, plus @geddyqueer, @firehose118, @screamlet, @liminalmemories21, @setmeatopthepyre, @beanarie, @ambernotember, @apollabarnes, and @newtkelly

[normalbrothers]

linda only stands out as a hypocrite in a show full of hypocrites due to her comedic genius

[hairmetal666]

After the Russians, Steve learns three important things about himself:

Robin is the best friend he's ever had; the uncontested other half of his heart. His soulmate, the platonic love of his life, his missing puzzle piece.

He's not in love with Nancy anymore. It's really saying something that hearing those words come out of his mouth is the shock of his life. Once the drugs wear off, though, he realizes they were absolutely true. A surprising win for the Russian truth serum

Her bathroom confession...he sits with it for days. Not--not because she's a lesbian, of course not, but because. Well, Robin knows herself in a way he's never allowed himself to. And he thinks that maybe maybe he likes boys in the same way. That he always has, but never let himself acknowledge it, the way his eyes wanted to catch in the locker room, the drunken, fumbling touches between him and Tommy.

The last one...he's not sure, is the thing. How can he be sure? Like, in his mind, his imagination, he's very into it, but what if it's different in real life? And how can he even find out? He tells, Robin, of course he does, and they go to Indy, right, to a bookstore and she throws a few zines at him and he sneaks some porn (he's definitely into the porn), but that's not--it's not practical experience. And he's not ready to go to one of the bars, for sure, so he doesn't--like what's he supposed to do?

It's around this time in his bisexual spiral that the kids start hanging out with Eddie Munson, that he starts thinking about Eddie Munson. He always noticed the long, dark curls and the bright, brown eyes; the slender cut of his waist; the wry slant of his mouth as he shouted insults at the jocks; the glinting silver of the rings on his fingers--fingers that were long and callused, fingers that could grip around Steve's--

Nope, he's not going there. Even though, a little voice in his head says, he cares for Steve's kids and maybe he's not good at school but he's smart and he's also so pretty, with his pale skin and his big eyes--

No. He doesn't have a crush on Eddie Munson. Absolutely not.

And when he picks up the kids from their little dnd club and sees Munson standing against his van, he doesn't feel an electric zing in his chest, the first stirring of butterflies in his stomach; that would be crazy. They hardly know each other. It goes like this every time, and he's almost able to believe he doesn't care.

Until Eddie trips over the threshold of Family Video, stumbling on an untied bootlace and gangling his way through the front doors. The clatter catches both Robin and Steve's attention.

"Welcome to Family Video," Robin says. Steve stares.

"Uhh." Eddie's eyes flit between them, his face getting redder by the second.

Fuck, he's so cute and Steve's saying--without thinking about it, he's saying--"let me help you find a movie, man."

"Yea--sure, yeah." Eddie's hands are stuffed in the tight pocket of his jeans.

Steve takes a few steps down the closest aisle. "So, what--uh, what are you looking for?"

"Horror? Nothing in particular."

They make their way to the horror section, and it's like some insane, deeply horny demon takes over. He starts grabbing movies off the shelf, no rhyme or reason, doesn't even know what most of them are.

Eddie's staring at him with wide eyes and a raised eyebrow, and Steve just keeps grabbing tapes, is sort of doing a running commentary on titles and tag lines, and he can't stop, why can't he stop? it's like smoke is coming out of his ears. Robin is watching him from the counter with her mouth hanging open, gummy worm dangling down her chin.

"You know," Eddie grabs something from the shelf, "I think I'll just do Friday the 13th again. Can't go wrong."

And he leaves Steve standing there with half the horror section collected in his arms. He stays there while Eddie pays, face burning. It's been--well, a really long time since he's struck out so hard, and he wasn't even really trying.

As Eddie's walking out the door, his sad pile of movies shifts, then tumbles to the floor.

"You have a crush on Eddie Munson." Robin accuses.

"No!" He ducks down to collect the tapes, hoping to hide the crimson of his face.

"You do." She points an accusatory finger in his direction. "I haven't seen you this pathetic since Scoops."

"It's nothing."

"You know," she crouches down with him, "you could just, like. Try to hang out with him."

"After that? Are you kidding? I'm surprised you don't already have a new You Rule/You Suck board going."

"Oh, I do, it's up front." She jumps to her feet. "But still. You should try. And you have an easy in with the kids."

He glares at her in response, starts re-shelving all the dumb movies, and then they get busy, so the topic is dropped. He thinks about it thought. He thinks about it and he--

Instead of waiting in the car for the kids to get done at Hellfire the next time, he goes in.

[lethalchiralium]

Simon is a liar.

Well, it’s not that he lies often, but he does do it and you have no idea unless it’s with the girls. Getting them to sleep by telling them that they’ll get candy in the morning instead of eggs, telling them the tooth fairy has the day off on Fridays, and even telling his toddler that he goes and saves puppies some days instead of the world. He lies, but not without reason.

But as he follows you around as you shop, he feels the need to lie. Tell you that you look good in an ugly color dress just to get you to laugh. Deny that your grip on his hand hurts. Say that he doesn’t want another leather jacket, even though he does. He wants the one you keep showing him - nice detailing, shiny silver zipper, and thick lining to keep him warm. One that wasn’t ripping at the seams, has cigarette burns, or holes that dotted its worn flank.

“Simon, please, I just want to buy something nice for you.” You say, looking at him with those sweet eyes and genuine care.

He hates himself at that moment when he lies.

“I’m alright with what I got.”

The nod of understanding, knowing that pushing will not get you far, distressed him. He knows he shouldn’t be this way, that he should bend at the knees every time you even begin a sentence. But the leather jacket is something he can’t do that for, and he can’t stomach telling you the reason.

You pull out pretty dresses and tops to show him, he always agrees with the ones that make your eyes pop. Your hand squeezes his every time you walk back and forth in this little boutique and he knows quite well that you’re purposefully passing this perfect leather jacket multiple times. Exposure therapy.

He doesn’t like upsetting you. He knows you want him to have nice things instead of the worn down clothes he has, but he cannot allow himself to have better things when the money should be going towards his children and their needs. He can go without a new leather jacket, even if you had saved over the course of a year for it. He’d rather buy Winnie the dollhouse she really wants, buy Mellie the beanbag she always has him look up online, maybe even something for the baby like a new high chair. He could buy you a nice ring with that leather jacket money, even though you’d say no.

In a way, you two are the same.

You finally stop the games and stand next to the jacket, hand squeezing his impossibly tight before loosening. “Do you not like it?”

“It’s nice.”

“Then try it on.”

He shakes his head. “No, ‘m okay with this. We can use the money on you.”

Your shoulders droop, his heart hurts, and you softly murmur, “Why aren’t you letting me do this for you?”

He feels the need to lie, the itch that takes hold of his throat and shakes it. His head dips down, his eyes level with yours. “Because this jacket means a lot to me. Don’t want to start over with a new one.” Another lie, it doesn’t mean a lot, it means everything.

You stare at him for a while, digging in his eye with such a disappointed glare. Stiff, aggravated, but still docile. “What’s so special about holes and torn seams?”

“I first met you with this on.” He confesses. “First met Winnie with this on. Mellie fits in a wrap in it like a glove, and it was Tommy’s.” His hand comes to rest on your bump where the baby kicks lazily, your forehead rests against his.

In the back corner of a shop, he tells the truth. Says a prayer as he kisses you, thanks God when you finally see the ratty jacket for what it truly is - a symbol of loyalty.

Another kiss pressed against his lips before you move away, your hand brushes his hair away from his forehead before cradling his jaw. “That’s all you had to say. No more lies.”

Simon is a liar, it’s sometimes all he knows. A second skin, a way to protect the keloids made from wounds he suffered forever ago. But when he looks in your eyes, cradles your belly that grows his baby with a ring on his hand that matches your own, and lets you in his marred head, he can’t bring himself to lie to you.

“No more lies.”

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Eight

“Uh hu,” Chrissy says into the phone, pacing back and forth across Eddie’s lounge, “so that sounds pretty certain?”

“Who are you talking to?” Eddie asks, Chrissy doesn’t answer.

She smacks Eddie’s legs down off the coffee table so she can make that part of her route. Eddie stares at the muted TV. Mid morning ‘Seinfeld.’ He’s pretty sure ‘Fraser’ will be on right after. Or is it ‘Everybody Loves Raymond.’ ‘Cheers’? maybe.

Eddie flops his head back on the back of the couch. Maybe time is actually cyclical, and he’s living the same shit day over and over again. Or maybe he’s dead, and this is purgatory.

“So can we book Steve for that?” Eddie perks up, looking over the back of the couch, watching.

Book Steve for what? “Book Steve for what?”

Chrissy glares at him, mouthing, ‘shut the fuck up.’

“Uh hu. Uh hu. Okay, send that over to me. No, male Beta is safest, trust me, Eddie’s impulse control is- yeah. Okay, yeah, Tommy, right, I’ll let Eddie know.”

“Hey,” Eddie frowns. Yeah, okay, his impulse control has, maybe, been questionable of late but, fuck. That’s just rude. And who the fuck is Tommy? “Who are you talking-mpfh.”

Chrissy leans over the back of the couch to shove a cushion over Eddie’s face.

Eddie doesn’t fight it. He can kind of breathe, he’s not going to die under here, but ‘Manager murders recovering rock star addict,’ is legitimately a hilarious headline.

“Okay,” the pillow comes off, “they think you’re going to rut again.”

“What? Already?”

“Yeah, basically you fucked with it so much for so long it’s going to take a few goes to settle.”

Eddie flops his head back again, he really doesn’t want to spend another week feeling like a warm gritty turd. “I didn’t fuck with it that much-”

“Eddie, if you weren't suppressing it you were inducing it for a fucking orgy-”

Eddie flaps a hand at her, he doesn’t want to hear it really. He’s fucked a lot of people, and sometimes thinking about the...group activities Eddie has been involved in makes him feel a little dirty. A little sick. Don't get him wrong, he absolutely fucking loved it at the time, then Eddie felt like he was winning at life. He felt like he was peaking. King of the world. Screwing people he didn’t even know the names of. Didn’t care to know their names, even. Now Eddie knows he's so fucking lucky he never caught anything major considering all the risks he took, and no one’s ever come out of the woodwork claiming to have an illegitimate Munson.

Not that there’s anything wrong with it, necessarily, consenting adults and all that jazz but...it’s like finding the best food in the world, and then eating way, way, too much of it.

One day you wake up and just the thought of it is enough to make you throw up.

Eddie’s Alpha bristles at the thought, his stomach turning over. He’d loved it, at the time. Constantly being in a position to dominate everyone around him. His Alpha constantly satisfied. Never being without options for a willing hole to knot, Eddie’s Alpha had been on as much of a rampage as he had. Those times have ended though, and just the thought of it has his Alpha bristling.

Eddie’s Alpha pines for a mate, now. One person, one scent, one nest. Now, the thought of all those mingled scents has him taking shallow breaths trying to clear them. Memories of waking up in damp piles of limbs, covered in the cloying, overwhelming soup of Alpha and Omega scents filling his nose, coating him, suffocating him.

It was fine at the time, but a lot of things were fine at the time.

He briefly flashes on the memory of Steve’s very inoffensive scent. Clean and clear. A sun warmed breeze carrying the scent of something green and alive.

It jogs Eddie back to the present, “is that why you were asking about Steve?”

“Yeah, he can’t do it, you’re having some guy called Tommy.”

“What? Fuck off, no I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head, doing his best to reign in his irritation and have a sensible conversation about this, he knows he stands a better chance of actually getting somewhere with Chris if he talks it through, “I only just got used to Steve, I’m not having another stranger in my house again. Please, Chris...I...me and Steve had a system going by the end there.”

Chris sits neatly on the couch next to him, “I know honey, but Steve can’t so-”

“Then I’ll go it alone-”

“Absolutely not. You need someone here to take care of you-”

Eddie scoffs, “I am not a child-”

“Uh hu, someone needs to be here, and it’s not going to be me. No offense but,” she makes a hand wavy motion.

“No, yeah, I get that. Why can’t Steve make it?”

“I don’t-”

“I want Steve. Steve or no one,” Eddie crosses his arms.

Chrissy sighs, rubbing her forehead, “Eddie, I feel like you’re old enough that I shouldn’t have to explain this, but honey, you can’t always have what you want.”

Eddie huffs and stomps off into his bedroom.

Eddie’s done a bit of a lyric pick and mix, and now his chicken scratch stares back at him, mocking.

He’s pretty sure he has something, he just...can’t...make it. There’s got to be a beat in there somewhere. A stupid tune hiding out. Elusive. Cuntish.

Eddie taps at the counter top with his pencil, immediately reminded of Steve and his stupid cross words and his stupid tapping.

Eddie taps. Mirrors Steve. There’s...something, in Steve’s stupid tapping. Maybe-

“Eddie!”

Eddie startles, jolted from his thoughts, good job he’s already sitting down or he’d be on the fucking floor. “What?!” he snaps back.

“I spoke to them, Steve definitely can’t do it, he has PTO next week and that’s likely to be when your ruts going to happen, or at least overlap. He’s dog sitting.”

Eddie pulls a face, deflating, because honestly that sounds like a big fat lie. Steve’s just avoiding him, “dog sitting? For who?”

“Eddie, I don’t know this mans life, come on-”

“I like dogs. Why can’t he just bring the dog?” Eddie can’t resist but poke at it. Will he just make up another lie? Steve never seemed to be the kind to lie like that. Eddie was pretty sure Steve was on the level.

“I-” Chrissy frowns spectacularly, “since when do you like dogs? You don’t like dogs, I had to stop you from punting Paris Hil-”

“I wasn't actually going to do anything to her dog-”

“You called it a ‘vajazzled rat’-”

Eddie immediately looses it, howling with laughter, he can barely speak, “I don’t- I don’t remember saying-”

Chrissy crosses her arms, looking deeply unimpressed, “because you were fucking cross faded Eddie-”

“Oh come on! That’s funny!”

Chrissy sighs, “it is kind of funny. It wasn’t at the time though,” she slaps his shoulder, trying to hold her smile in.

She hits kind of hard actually, “ow,” Eddie rubs his shoulder.

“Shut up you big baby, I’ll go find out if Steve wants to bring the dog.”

“He’s a golden retriever called Falkor, and he belongs to a good friend who is going on holiday. Steve said, if you really truly don’t mind, he will bring the dog-”

“Yeah okay-”

“But the condition is that you will walk the dog, twice a day, with Steve.”

���Why the fuck do I have-”

“I really don’t care Eddie, that’s the deal. Take it or take Tommy. If you refuse to walk Steve’s going to pack up his shit and trade out with the other guy, Steve was very, very clear about it. One strike and you’re out.”

“That does sound like something Steve would say.”

Sitting in the studio is way better than sitting in Gareth’s garden. There’s stuff to do here, distractions, and it takes the attention off. Or at least, spreads it around a little.

“It’s not much,” Eddie is telling the guys as he sits himself at the drum kit. He can play a little, kind of. He’s proficient enough to get his point across at least. He never lasts long though, the pedal makes his shin hurt after about ten minutes and he’s never bothered to push through.

Building callouses on his fingers to play guitar was painful enough, he doesn’t need to suffer any more for his art. It’s not long before Jeff is nodding along regardless, he understands the assignment pretty quick, grasping the bones of it, Eddie can trust him to make it his own.

The bass line is simple, maybe a little too simple for what Eddie usually produces, but it’s enough background noise for Eddie to tentatively wedge the words where he wants them, his guitar slung at his back, headphones half on and half off.

It’s day three, and progress may be tentative, but it feels alright. Feels like the old days. Kind of like starting again.

Eddie does his absolute best to ignore the building itch under his skin.

Part Ten

[littlespoonevan]

your hand in my pocket to keep us both warm

post 8x08 because i'm SAD in a way that can only be eased with buddie hurt/comfort 💔 title from abstract (psychopomp) by hozier

-

Buck is the one to drive him to the airport because who else would it be?

It feels a lot like deja vu as he approaches the glass doors of Departures but his step only falters for a moment before Eddie’s hand is catching his sleeve at the elbow and leading him through them. It’s further than Abby ever let him get.

Eddie lets him go as far the security line and he almost looks regretful when he turns to face Buck.

Buck would like to think he’s handled this well so far. He’s been supportive, helped Eddie choose his new home, listened to his fears about his parents, reassured him about Christopher, promised to oversee the shipping of the rest of Eddie’s stuff next week. He’s done everything right.

It hasn’t made any of this feel less wrong.

They look at each other now, awkward in a way they never are, until Eddie drops his bag and pulls him into a hug without saying anything.

Maybe because there’s nothing to say. Buck’s heart has been lodged in his throat since he parked the car; he’s not even sure he could say anything if he wanted to.

Eddie’s arms around him are a familiar weight though so Buck allows himself to sink into them. To tuck his chin into the crook of Eddie’s shoulder and to fist his hands in the back of his jacket like if he holds on tight enough he might be able to convince Eddie to stay.

When Eddie does pull back he makes no attempt to leave the circle of Buck’s arms. Instead one of his hands goes to that same spot at the juncture of Buck’s neck – always the same spot – and when his thumb makes contact with the divot in Buck’s throat he seeks out Buck’s gaze.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Buck croaks, the tell-tale burn behind his eyes becoming more pronounced by the second.

“Like I’m Abby,” Eddie sighs. “Or Ali. Or Tommy. I’m not leaving you, Buck.”

Buck tries to laugh but it comes out too hysterical and Eddie’s hand tightens on his neck.

“I’m leaving,” he allows. “But I’m not leaving you.”

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you,” Buck says, the words wobbling in the middle. His hands are still twisted in Eddie’s jacket.

“And you think I do?” Eddie asks with a half-laugh. “Who am I gonna talk to when my folks are driving me crazy? Who am I gonna talk to when I do anything? Besides, you think Chris will accept you not visiting at least once a month?”

Truthfully, Buck has no idea what Chris wants right now but he clings to Eddie’s words anyway.

“Everyone at work is gonna find me insufferable. It was bad enough that last time you weren’t there.”

Eddie laughs again, thumb brushing Buck’s neck seemingly absentmindedly. “No they won’t. And I’ll be on Facetime so much it’ll be like I never left.”

Buck ducks his head but nods anyway, gathering up the courage to say what he wants to say next. “I know you have to go,” he starts, steeling himself as he makes himself meet Eddie’s gaze. “But please don’t go forever.”

Eddie’s expression blanks, his mouth parting over nothing. Buck can only stare back, hoping that just this once it might be different. That he won’t get a, ‘Take care of yourself, Buck,’ and a hand to the cheek before the person in front of him disappears forever.

Eddie doesn’t touch his cheek. Instead he presses their foreheads together hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make Buck’s breath catch and rush out of him on a shaky exhale.

“I won’t. I promise,” Eddie breathes and his hand moves from Buck’s neck to the back of Buck’s head and Buck can’t help wondering for a moment what would happen if he closed the distance between them. If Eddie would kiss him back.

It’s not a thought he’s ever entertained before but he’s thinking it now and it feels…like it makes sense. Like an inevitability.

And what a time to have a realisation like that.

Eddie leans back then and Buck forces himself to unclench his hands, attempting to smooth out the back of Eddie’s jacket with trembling hands.

“You should go,” he says because Eddie won’t.

Eddie nods faintly in agreement and it looks like it takes every ounce of effort for him to take a step back. Buck picks up his bag for him, offers it to him, and tries for a weak smile so Eddie will know it’s okay. That he can go and Buck won’t cause a scene.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get to my parents place.”

Buck nods. “Give Chris a hug for me.”

“I will.”

Eddie starts looking towards the security line again and Buck blurts out, “Tell him I love him.”

Eddie looks back to him, a devastating smile of understanding on his face. “He knows already. But I will.”

Buck nods again and then there’s nothing left to say. Eddie turns to go and Buck does the same because he can’t watch until he’s out of sight. It hurts too much already and he can barely hold his tears back as it is.

He doesn’t need to watch himself get left behind again.

~

He’s just unlocking his car when his phone rings. He doesn’t check who it is as he climbs in, just shoves the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he reaches for his seatbelt.

“Keep me company while I wait for my flight?”

He straightens so quickly the phone almost falls into his lap but he catches it just in time. And he tries to laugh but he thinks it might come out more like a sob. “Keep me company on the drive home?”

“Always,” Eddie says like they’re driving home from work after a long shift.

Buck switches his phone to speaker mode and looks down at the keys in his hand, at the keys to the loft, Maddie’s place and Eddie’s house respectively, considering his options before turning on the ignition.

“So there’s the guy at the gate-“ Eddie starts and Buck lets the sound of his voice wash over him. Allows himself just one singular moment where he closes his eyes and holds his hand to his chest before he pulls himself together and drives out of his space.

Eddie is offering him a play by play of the guy at the gate who’s insisting his luggage is not chirping and Buck gets his breath back enough to make a quip about how that made it through the security scanner.

When he reaches the freeway it takes hardly any thought at all for him to take the exit that’ll get him to the Diaz house fastest.

He’s going home after all.

~

[dyns33]

Family protection

I missed Alfie during Flufftober, I'm not going to lie, even if it was fun

Thomas Shelby was preoccupied.

No, if he was honest, Thomas was just as terrified and furious at that moment, hurt inside, ready to devastate everything in his path, like every time he was told that a member of his family had been targeted.

It had perhaps been a mistake on his part to believe that it was not necessary to monitor Y/N after her marriage. Solomons' men took care of that.

So, when John had called him in a panic, saying that there were rumors about the kidnapping, or even the murder of their sister, he had at first remained frozen at his desk.

Since Polly had brought her back, this little girl from another mother, also abandoned by their fucking so called father, he had loved her. Maybe even more than the others.

The child was adorable. Shy at first, then smiling, with a crystal-clear laugh, asking for cuddles from her brothers, playing with dolls with her sister, and always wanting to be with them.

Normally, boys didn't accept the presence of girls. Poor Ada knew something about that. But strangely, with Y/N, it was different. Neither he, nor John, nor Arthur, could refuse her anything.

She came with them in the streets, in the countryside, in the trees. There were some limits of course, but he had shown her how to climb, jump, run. How to defend herself, if one strange day they weren't there.

Thomas confided things to her and her only when they were alone. The times he slept in the fields, she came to join him. That was often what pushed him to come home, because he didn't want her to catch her death. She stayed there, glued to him without saying anything, respecting his silence like no other member of his family, and for that, he ended up talking to her.

It was a false secret, that Y/N was his favorite. A secret that didn't bother anyone, since she was everyone's favorite.

So Thomas Shelby was preoccupied, because it was said that something had happened to his little sister, without anyone being able to clearly say what.

"She was in a bookstore." Arthur mumbled. "She goes there several times a month, to get books and read to the kids. They like it, she has a beautiful voice. After the session, she often has tea upstairs with the old owner. Men came in, beat up the employees and customers, before going upstairs. Then there was a fire. We don't know anything else."

"And Mr. Solomons ?"

"Haven't managed to reach him. His little assistant says he's… busy."

You'd think the same guys had come to Camden Town to destroy the King's Bakery. Because everything was in a pathetic state, and it was the doing of one man, who shouted orders from his office when he wasn't breaking anything that came his way.

If Thomas was preoccupied, Alfie had lost his mind.

During an important meeting with the Irish, he had let Ollie handle the business, and since the men had to be watched, it was a new kid who answered the phone.

He learned only two hours after his return that a woman had called. Not just any woman, his wife. Who was worried, because there were men in front of the bookstore, whom she didn't know.

She was smart, his wife. His tender Y/N, well raised by the Shelbys. Even if she was normally safe, she remained wary, thinking of looking behind or through the window, knowing all of her husband's employees.

The incompetents who followed her that day had been found with their throats slit in an alley.

Even though his patient was at his limit, Thomas let Alfie finish his tantrum, noting that he had left only the phone and the record player intact, which was playing opera to try to calm him down.

Y/N had disappeared for four hours now. He wouldn't calm down.

"They would have called, huh ? To give their fucking instructions. Or maybe they're scared, they know that my men, the most competent this time, and yours, are all over town, and that as soon as we know who did this, they'll be dead. But… If they don't have her… Tommy, if they don't have her, if she's in that still smoking pile of ashes… I'll burn everything."

"Arthur and John are going to find her."

"Yeah, huh ? You can sense it with your gypsy powers ? Your witch aunt read the cards and saw that my Y/N was healthy ?"

"Not now, Alfie."

Solomons growled, turning his office chair in anger and slamming it against the floor until it was all crumbs. It was only because it was his wife's family that he was acceptinf Thomas' presence.

And for his part, even though he wanted to blow his head off for not protecting his sister properly, Tommy sat there smoking his cigarette, remembering how it had felt to hold Grace in his arms.

When the phone rang, he stared at it for a moment, before looking at Alfie, frozen in the middle of the room, staring at the wall. He wondered if he hadn't heard, before realizing that the wandering Jew was afraid to answer.

It might have been the famous ransom demand, which would teach them that a lot of harm had been done to Y/N, and much more would come if they didn't do what the kidnappers wanted.

It might also have been the coroner, who had finished putting names on the bodies following the fire.

Slowly, Thomas put down his cigarette, before answering.

"… Tommy ?"

"… Y/N ?"

"Give me that !" ordered Alfie who immediately came back to life, snatching the phone from him before finding a softer voice. "Treacle ? Love ? Are you okay ? Where are you ?"

It turned out that despite the lack of practice, taking young Y/N into the woods to teach her how to climb, jump, play tightrope walkers and hide, had been a good thing.

Realizing that something was happening and since her husband was not reachable, she had climbed through the upstairs window on the courtyard side, hoisting herself up onto the roof, until she found a secluded spot to climb down.

Then, not knowing who to trust, she had stayed hidden until nightfall, to go to the closest and safest place from her position, which was her sister's house.

"Faster, Ismael !"

Thomas could have muttered that it would be better to get to Ada's alive, but he only clung to the door handle while the driver obeyed Mr. Solomons without worrying about pedestrians or other cars.

It was also useless to stop Alfie from jumping onto the sidewalk, forgetting his cane in the car to go and bang on the door like a madman until someone opened it.

Calm only returned when he laid eyes on Y/N, settled in the living room and already surrounded by all the other Shelbys who had been called after them.

"Treacle. Forgive me." he sobbed as he threw himself at her knees, his arms around her and his head against her stomach. "I was so worried, love, I thought I was going to die."

"Oh, Alfie. I'm sorry, I wanted to call you before but I didn't have access to a phone."

"I'm the worst husband. I didn't protect you. If my men weren't dead, I'd slit their throats myself."

"Let's try to talk about something happier." Thomas coughed as he approached, placing a hand on his sister's shoulder who smiled at him. "Did you hurt yourself jumping off the roof ?"

"No, I'm fine. Just a little tired."

"Strange clothes."

"Yes, love. You weren't wearing that this morning."

"Oh, I…" Y/N said, visibly embarrassed. "I may have "borrowed" a disguise. And money. And a car."

"She's our lil sis !" Arthur declared proudly, oblivious to the dark looks from his aunt, sister, brothers, and brother-in-law.

Maybe they had also shown young Y/N how to steal, but only once or twice, for fun, telling her that it was wrong, and that she would never need to do that because they would take care of her.

Alfie mumbled in Hebrew, which made her laugh. Probably insults without malice. He only let go of her to allow the others to kiss her before he took her back to their home, returning worse than a leech at the first opportunity.

When he proposed to add some of his men to Solomons' for her next outings, the king of Candem was at first outraged. He didn't bark only because his wife had already experienced a lot of emotions, but he would not let Thomas humiliate him.

However, in the middle of the night, certainly when Y/N was sleeping, Solomons contacted him.

"How many men, and what price ?"

"I'm the one who feels insulted now, Alfie. She's my sister, that will be the necessary number and for nothing at all."

"Hmm… You know, they all have something to say about you, your siblings. All of them, while you take care of them. I know it, I see it, but they are never happy. But not Y/N. No, my treacle has nothing but compliments for her big brothers, and you the first. Tommy this, Tommy that. She adores you."

"I adore her too."

"Hmm. Not as much as me, and so there will be fewer men than mine, but… I accept the offer."

"Glad we almost agree on something, Mr. Solomons."

He did not sleep that night, because Thomas Shelby was a preoccupied man by nature. By business, by his family, by the future and the past.

But as for his favorite little sister, he could have slept peacefully, knowing that her husband was there to ensure her happiness and protection as he had sworn during their marriage.

And if something were to happen, they would join forces, then Thomas would probably kill Alfie to punish him, if the madman didn't kill himself first to join Y/N whom he loved at least as much as her brother loved her.

[strangersteddierthings]

Childhood friends AU Idea

Steve and Eddie are best friends who make plans to learn the elvish alphabet from The Hobbit so that they can pass notes without worrying about other people reading them.

The end of the school year (Eddie in 6th, Steve in 5th) brings a sadness to the two. Eddie's going to middle school and Steve's not yet, but they can hang out on weekends, and they have all summer so no worries. (Also, it gives Steve a little more time to learn elvish, since it'll be a whole year until they're in the same school again.)

Except yes worries because two weeks into summer, Eddie vanishes. When Steve bikes to his house to investigate, the whole house is empty. Packed up and gone. Steve goes to Wayne for answer and all he gets is a smile that doesn't really reassure and words of "his dad got a job opportunity, had to move on short notice. But don't worry, kiddo. I'll get you the number to their new place so you can call."

He learns elvish anyway. It's harder without Eddie to help but he's determined. Eddie might return, or maybe he'll get an address one day. Send a letter to Eddie in full Elvish.

Steve never gets a number or address. Summer ends and sixth grade comes. He doesn't want to forget all the elvish he's learned, just in case. So, he decides to keep a journal. He can write all about everything that's happening and when he sees Eddie, he can give it to him. It's a double win. Eddie will know everything he's missed out on AND it'll help Steve practice elvish.

Sixth grade ends. Eddie doesn't return. Steve did make friends with Carol Perkins though, so he's not as lonely. He hopes Eddie made a new friend, too. But not a new best friend. That's Steve's position, always.

Seventh grade brings Tommy Hagan, but still no Eddie. It brings a growth spurt and sports. Steve likes the easy camaraderie that comes with sports teams. It's like having a lot of friends, which Steve will only admit to needing in his journal. Needing many little connections of friendship to hold together the big hole Eddie left behind.

The summer between seventh and eighth grade brings him a Bruce Springsteen concert. He'd never thought of a boy kissing another boy until he'd witnessed it on stage but he thinks about it a lot after. The end of that summer brings an awaken he refuses to shy away from even if he has to hide it

Eighth grade brings popularity. Steve's good looking, rich, and liked among his peers. It brings the first (and last) time his dad says he's proud of him.

(Steve will spend the rest of his high school career chasing his father's approval.)

Freshman year brings Eddie back, but he's different. His hair is longer and his clothes are darker and he's distant. Defiant and angry. Steve would recognize him anywhere, dressed in anyway.

Eddie doesn't want his friendship anymore. Avoids him in the halls and cafeteria, but Steve is nothing if not persistent. He writes a full letter in elvish to slip into Eddie's locker, but Eddie catches him. Shoves the letter back, unopened, unread, with a harsh whispered, "Don't you get it Harrington? I don't want to be your friend. Fuck off."

Steve doesn't understand why. Not until the table top rants start. Conformity and jocks and brain-dead rich kids who get by on favoritism.

It hurts. Steve feels his heart break the day he finally gets the not-so-subtle messages drilled into his mind. Eddie hates sports, and rich people, and stupid people. Eddie hates all the things that Steve is.

Eddie hates him.

Sophomore year brings Steve a lot of things. It brings the acknowledgment that he was probably in love with Eddie, the way his heart twists the day he sees Eddie flirting with a girl in the hallway, the way he wants the lights out when hooking up with someone so he can imagine a different person pressed against him, the way he gravitates towards brunettes with brown eyes and the flickering hope it might make Eddie jealous. (The way he'd said the wrong name when Brent went down on him, too absorbed in the fantasy of someone else to get it right. Brent hadn't been offended by it, he'd been thinking of someone else, too. Steve finds solidarity for a little bit, until the school year ends and Brent leaves Hawkins.)

Junior year turns Steve's life upside down (pun intended) with monster's coming out of walls. There's probably a lot more he should write about but his journal's pretty empty this year. Too traumatized to document. (Too afraid of what Eddie would say because Steve still writes in his journal like he plans on sending it to Eddie one day. Better to write nothing than sound crazy.)

And halfway through his senior year (don't think about how he's in it with Eddie, about the 4 classes they share, about how Eddie still won't meet his eye) he wants to fade into the background. Nancy and he break up. She's with Jonathan and he hears the whispers of how pathetic he is to be eating lunch with his ex and the guy that 'stole' her. Steve knows that's a lie, Nancy made her choice, and no one can say otherwise, but it hurts to hear. He can't be bothered to try and make new friends. How would he explain the nightmares? The skittishness. The fear of the dark, of pumpkin patches, of his own damn pool now that he's had time to process last year?

Then, the next year brings him Robin. Well. First it brings him an embarrassing uniform and then Russian torture (don't think about it. Don't think about how he'll shorthand the stock list by writing it in Elvish sometimes. Don't think about how the Russian's almost believe they just work for Scoops until they find the stock list in his pocket. Don't think about how they don't believe that the strange script they can't identify isn't proof he's a spy), but in the end he gets Robin. A Platonic Soulmate who understands the hidden side of him. She asked if he was ever in love, and he thinks of the Eddie he used to know, longs to know again, and describes her instead. She rejects him in the softest way possible and then confesses about Tammy, and he confesses about Eddie in turn.

1986 brings Eddie back into his life in the worst way possible. With a bottle to his neck and them both acting like they've never spoken before. It brings twisting guts as Steve lies awake thinking about Eddie alone in a boathouse instead of sharing a bed with him like they used to in elementary school. It brings Steve leading them to Skull Rock (popularized as a make out spot but started as a set of boys' favorite place to play pirates during the summer). Dustin and Eddie make references Steve pretends to not know, despite his own copies of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings and the numerous amounts of notebooks turned journals with elvish scrawled throughout.

There's a trek through the Upside Down. In another universe, Steve imagines he and Eddie talk. In this one, Robin sticks to his side like an extension of him (which she is), and glares at Eddie every time he looks in Steve's direction. Robin knows everything, knows it all, because there are no secrets between them.

They make plans to stop Vecna, once and for all, and Robin confesses she has a fear. That it won't turn out okay this time, but they have to try anyway. Steve clinks his bottle against hers and looks across the field to Eddie and Dustin. The stakes feel so much higher this time.

"I'm going to talk to Eddie if we survive. Make it right," he says.

"No. He's going to make it right because you didn't do anything wrong," Robin says, which is more support than he thought he'd get given the grudge she holds in his favor.

Eddie said make him pay and Steve does. Nancy advances, shotgun shot after shot and Steve's bounding down the stairs. Vecna beats him to the ground floor but not by much.

A hatchet's not the best tool to remove a head with but he manages. When he looks up, Nancy and Robin are looking down, both approving.

They find Dustin sobbing over Eddie and- and-

Steve's certain he's broken several of Eddie's ribs but he's breathing again, Nancy finds his pulse beneath all the blood, and Robin's retrieved the cut sheets to make bandages out of. Nothing is clean in this world, infection could kill him later, he might not save Eddie like he wants, but fucking Christ, at least if death claims him, it'll be on the right side of the world in a hospital.

Dustin, Robin, and Steve are at Eddie's side when Nancy leads Wayne into the room. They knew she went out looking for him (Steve was going to but Nancy had shoved him back in the chair with a look that left no room for argument) but even so they're startled by him.

Wayne has always been stoic and reserved, so it's no surprise to Steve when he just lets out a low whistle and says, "of all the people I might see here, you weren't one of 'em."

Steve swallows thickly and says, "well. I am. Here, I mean."

And Wayne gives him a watery smile and crosses the room. Pulls Steve into a hug that Steve thinks he probably wants to give to Eddie instead, but Eddie's not awake and standing and Steve is. But then Wayne says, "I told Eddie he couldn' chase ya away. That if he just talked to ya, you'd understand. He tried so hard to make ya hate him, and for what? For ya to be at his bedside anyway."

And Steve sobs. Loud and ugly and suddenly Dustin's there, and so are Robin and Nancy, and it's probably the most awkward hug for all the others but it's the best hug Steve's had in years. He doesn't even care that he's crying because how can he? Wayne's all but confirmed that Eddie doesn't hate him, maybe never hated him. That Eddie has an explanation, a reason for it all, and all he wants is Eddie to wake up and tell him.

Steve finally gets his apology two days after Eddie's release. It's the first time they've been alone together since- well, since elementary school. Wayne drove him here then lied about needing to check on something and said he'd be back in an hour or so before abandoned them to the awkward silence in Steve's living room.

"I'm sorry, Steve!" Eddie blurts out loudly, then looks startled by his own yelling.

"I know. I forgive you."

"You shouldn't."

"I know. Still do anyway. Would like to know what happened, though."

And Eddie tells him. How his father's debts came calling and they ran. How his mom got sick real fast, and his father's crime spree and prison sentence following her passing. How Eddie discovered the same thing about himself that Steve did but didn't have the same acceptance of himself. Hated that another thing marked him as Other. Freak.

He tells Steve how he couldn't let Steve back in because he was afraid of losing him again if he ever learned.

"I didn't think you'd be okay being friends with a faggot," Eddie spits the word out, dirty and mean and directed at himself.

Steve makes a decision then. "Follow me." And he helps Eddie up the stairs and into his room. Eddie sits on the bed and watches as Steve digs out notebook after notebook after notebook, until they're a tower on his bed. Then he topples them over in his search for the first.

Eddie takes the offered notebook with confusion on his face, looking from the cover, where 1978 is written on it. The summer Eddie vanished from Steve's life.

"Open it."

Eddie does and gasps. "Steve. Is this-"

"Every single one of these notebooks was written to you. For you. About you. I read The Hobbit for you. The Lord of the Rings. I learned elvish for you. I think I've been a little bit in love with you since the day we met on the playground on my second day of first grade."

"Steve," it comes out breathless and awed.

"Eddie," Steve repeats back to him, just as breathless as Eddie tosses the notebook aside and reaches for Steve instead. Hauls him in to kiss him senseless amongst the proof of Steve's devotion.

[screamlet]

several sentences smemorial day

thank you for the tags @rcmclachlan @firehose118 @ambernotember

from the buck pov "wolf without a foot" sequel i started writing last night because why not look at the devastating grief of 8b from the perspective of the devastating grief of 8a? (it runs parallel to the og story [basically buck's side of the story] and setting up why everyone might have given buck a wide berth in 8b)

---

Still, Buck runs down the street and looks at every car and truck and SUV, he turns the corner and looks as far as he can, then he runs back and does the same in the other direction. Maybe Tommy's idea of a perfect spot was different from Buck's, and it wasn't the one right outside from the door but a little distance away for some stupid reason. Maybe there was still a way that Tommy could be out here, sitting in his truck and not out of Buck's life, not yet.

He stands out there in front of his building for 5 minutes, 10 minutes, 15 minutes, getting more antsy, more feverish, the longer he waits. He doesn't realize how long he's been there, how wild-eyed he looks, until his neighbor Mr. Jenkins stands right in front of him and touches his shoulder.

"You okay, 4B?"

Mr. Jenkins, who refuses to share his first name even though Buck has lived there for years, refuses to call Buck by his first name, too.

"My name's Evan, you know," Buck says. "That's my name. You don't have to call me 4B. You can just call me Evan."

Mr. Jenkins looks at him carefully. "Is that so Evan Buckley, everyone calls me Buck?"

Buck's shaking. "My boyfriend just broke up with me out of nowhere and he was the only one who called me Evan so you know what, maybe everyone should just call me Evan now, maybe my name's not that special anymore and everyone should call me Evan, because what does that even mean, right? What does it even mean?"

Mr. Jenkins looks sad. Really sad. Buck's gonna make the lovable gruff old jerk in their building cry. Or Mr. Jenkins will make Buck cry. There's two-too-many people outside his building almost-crying tonight. It's pity. God, Buck feels sorry for himself. He really hates that this is happening to him.

"You think hearing it from everyone else's mouth will be as good as hearing it from his?"

He's right, but Buck didn't need to hear it yet. He rubs hard at his face and leaves, stabbing the elevator button so hard he hopes it breaks.

It doesn't. The elevator comes down, the elevator goes up, Buck goes into his apartment and there's still no Tommy.

[rcmclachlan]

One of my most persistent headcanons is that the 118 and the 217 work together in secret to try and get Buck and Tommy back together because none of them can take it anymore. They're all sick to death of the moping, the constant checking of phones, the sad, wistful smiles, the baking—oh god, they're so sick of the baking. Hen's ready to throttle Buck because Chimney's A1C levels are through the roof and if he becomes pre-diabetic she won't be responsible for her actions.

Not to mention the sad playlists. Lucy has been forced to listen to "Wasted Time" by the Eagles so often that if she ever sees Don Henley on the street she's gonna beat the ever-loving fuck out of him.

It isn't long before someone from one station reaches out to the other, because enough already, and then the 118 and 217 are meeting every Friday to brainstorm ways to get these idiots in a room together. But, oddly enough, it feels almost like the universe is working against them.

For one thing, their shifts never line up, even though Bobby and Captain Carson coordinate almost daily on making sure Buck's and Tommy's schedules match. They've even roped a few folks over at Dispatch into it to ensure the 217 and the 118 work the same calls. Despite this, there's a slew of emergencies that manage to mess up all their planning, pulling the 118 and the 217 to opposite sides of the city—or, in some cases, keeping one on the ground while the other is called to the sky.

Once it becomes apparent that The Great Reunification™ isn't going to happen on a call, they shift their efforts to group outings. The 217 are regular haunts of The Naughty Pig—they have a designated table and everything, right next to the staircase. So Eddie starts making noise about wanting to check out this one bar in West Hollywood that he hears is really cool and unpretentious, with an excellent selection of beer and cocktails, and after about a week of him dropping the most unsubtle hints in history, they get Buck to leave King Arthur and his flour in peace for a night so they can grab a drink at The Naughty Pig.

Except, when they show up, Tommy's nowhere to be found. While the others distract Buck by trying to get a table, Dana catches Hen's gaze and makes a small, throat-cutting gesture. They meet in the bathroom and Dana says Tommy went home sick earlier with what she suspects is pneumonia. Which means Hen's going to spend the night in this cool bar while Buck gets white girl wasted on Bud Light. By the time he's on his 8th and warbling into the table about Glee for whatever reason, Hen decides to call it a night.

A week or so after that, Eddie goes for broke and disconnects the battery in his car. That same night, Buck comes over to hang out and play video games (and offload a metric fuck ton of muffins), and when they decide to grab pizza, uh oh! Eddie's truck isn't starting.

He makes a big scene of looking under the hood, but he just can't find the problem. Buck's like "That really sucks but we can always take the jeep?" but no, Eddie needs his truck, how can he live and work without his precious Denali? He decides to call a buddy of his to come over and try to fix the issue, so he leaves the room and calls Tommy, who's surprised to hear from Eddie (which makes Eddie feel like a monster, because, yes, he hasn't really been in touch with Tommy since the breakup but he never meant for Tommy to think their friendship was collateral damage).

Tommy agrees to make the drive over, and Eddie walks back into the living, patting himself on the back, only to find Buck putting his shoes on. Maddie had called while Eddie was on the phone: Mrs. Lee was taken to the hospital by ambulance after a bad fall and Chim and Maddie need him to babysit Jee while they go to LA General. So not only does Eddie's plan backfire spectacularly in a way he can't even be mad about, but Tommy gives him shit for a week because Eddie apparently can't plug a loose cable into a battery on his own.

After that, the 118 and the 217 convene at their usual Friday spot and the mood is dour. Nico thinks it might be time to throw in the towel, and despite everyone making noise about it, no one can really argue with him. They'd given it their all, but the house won.

Then Lucy swans in, takes one look at their disappointed faces, and slaps a piece of paper down onto the table. It's a flyer for the Backdraft Ball next month.

Chim looks up at her, expression grave, and asks, "Do you really think this will work?"

"It's either this or I go to jail for murdering every single living member of the Eagles," Lucy says. "Which I might do anyway. I haven't decided."

"Well, we've come this far." Hen lifts her glass and surveys the rest of the table.

"And if it fails," Dana says, the corner of her mouth twitching like she maybe, possibly thinking about smiling within the next decade. "I can't say I haven't enjoyed this. It's been fun hanging out with you weirdos."

Rapping his knuckles on the table top, Eddie cheers, "Hear hear!"

"Your speaking privileges haven't been reinstated," Dana snaps. "Put a sock in it."

"I told you, the mustache was a toxic symbol! You can't still be mad about me shaving it!"

Dana sniffs and takes a dainty sip of her wine. "You look like a mutant four-year old."

"All right," Chim announces, standing. "Operation: Last Ditch Effort is a go."

They clink their glasses to seal the deal. When Dana knocks hers into Eddie's, his stein shatters.

A month passes and everyone's been talking about nothing except the Backdraft Ball, which Buck can't understand. In the eight years he's been a firefighter, they've never once attended.

"Didn't you once call it a pathetic get together for people who had to get their stomachs pumped on prom night?" He asks Hen, who's browsing the Local Eclectic website for earrings to go with her admittedly amazing jumpsuit.

Hen shrugs. "What can I say, Buckaroo? I've grown as a person."

Meanwhile, at the 217, Lucy corners Tommy in the Bell-205 and says, "If you don't go to the Backdraft Ball with me, I'm gonna tell everyone you said Elon Musk is a genius who's going to save the country."

Horrified, he says, "That's a fucking lie! You know I hate him more than my dad!"

Lucy smiles meanly. "I do know that. No one else does, though."

Later, when she's alone, she sends the group chat two emojis: a helicopter and a thumbs up.

Finally, the big night arrives and everyone's dressed to the nines. Even Buck can't help but be a little excited, because he's in a really nicely tailored tux, courtesy of Ravi for some reason, and there's a literal mountain of scallops wrapped in bacon, which he stands next to for most of the night until Maddie, who came as Chimney's date, wanders over and asks why he's not mingling.

"I dunno," he says, shoving his sixty-seventh scallop into his mouth. "I-I always thought... I guess I hoped I'd come to one of these with Tommy, you know? He's such a sucker for the whole all-eyes-on-you thing. He never went to any of his school dances, not even prom, because he wouldn't get to dance with the people he really wanted. I... I wanted to be that for him."

While Buck turns to the scallop mountain—which is more of a foothill now, thanks to his tireless efforts—Maddie looks across the ballroom where Lucy is talking to Tommy. Their gazes lock. Over Tommy's shoulder, Lucy jerks her head toward the dance floor, where they're playing some golden oldies and dozens of ancient captains are dancing with their wives to The Girl From Yesterday.

Maddie nods, then grabs Buck's hand. "C'mon. I want to get at least one dance in before the night's over."

Pulling a scallop off a toothpick, Buck squints. "Where's Chim? Isn't that, like, one of his duties as your husband?"

"Last I saw him, he was trying to convince Chief Simpson to install crazy slides in all the firehouses," Maddie says sunnily. "And honestly? Chief Simpson looked intrigued. So suck it up and take your sister for a spin."

Buck rolls his eyes and pops one more scallop into his mouth for the road, but he goes with her without complaint. Maddie stops at their table and says she's going to text their babysitter. She sends the group chat the green circle emoji. It's go time.

Elsewhere, Lucy slips her phone into her purse, then grabs Tommy's arm and says, "Great news! Dana's gonna make the DJ play something else before I burn the building down, which means we can get a dance in."

Wordlessly, Dana gets out of her seat and heads toward the front of the room.

Lucy drags Tommy into the crowd and makes sure to keep his line of sight away from where Maddie is doing the same to Buck. They've only got one shot at this and the timing has to be perfect.

Her cheek on Buck's chest, Maddie holds Lucy's gaze and gently leads him into a half circle, just as Lucy does the same with Tommy. Lucy gives a sharp nod of her head and, hands on Tommy's arms, spins him around so that when Maddie puts a hand on Buck's chest and shoves him as hard as she can, Tommy's there to break his fall.

"H-Hey, what was th—" Buck looks up with wide, outraged eyes, but the words stick in his throat when he sees who caught him.

Tommy's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Even if he'd been able to find the words, the sweet keys of an old piano would've drowned them out.

Smirking, Lucy shoves Tommy a little closer, just as Nat King Cole croons "Unforgettable... that's what you are."

Lucy makes a note to buy Dana lunch the next time they're on shift, because, damn, good choice.

Almost as if he's helpless to stop himself, Tommy tightens his hold on Buck's waist, wrapping his arm a little tighter around him, and Buck can't prevent a shaky gasp from punching out of him when he gets a whiff of Tommy's cologne. He puts a hand on Tommy's shoulder to steady himself, unerringly stepping closer until they're chest to chest.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't..." He trails off, caught in Tommy's gaze, and he doesn't blink out of fear that this is some mercury-induced hallucination from all the scallops.

Smiling a little, Tommy takes Buck's hand in his. "You're free to say no, but—"

"Yes," Buck says immediately, nodding, tightening his fingers around Tommy's. "Yeah, let's, uh. Yeah."

Catching Maddie's gaze, Lucy jerks her head back toward the refreshment table, where the rest of their group is waiting. Hen's got the biggest shit-eating grin on her face, and Nico is dabbing at the corners of his eyes with a corner of Dana's shawl.

"Nicely done," Lucy says to Maddie, who preens a little.

"If you'd let me in on your little scheme earlier, I could've had them back together in a day."

They accept the back slaps and high-fives they've more than earned, then turn just in time for Buck to rest his cheek against Tommy's as they sway together. Maddie squints a little, but she thinks she sees Tommy murmuring along with Natalie Cole. "No, never before... has someone been more..."

She sniffles a little and happily takes the plate of fruit and cheese that Chimney hands her.

"Save the Studio Ghibli tears for the wedding," he says teasingly, then adopts the weird Brooklyn accent he busts out sometimes. "Ya did good, kid."

"I did good," Dana breaks in. "And if they use this song for their first dance, I take full credit."

She looks over at Nico, who's using a toothpick—with a zucchini and goat cheese rollup still skewered on it—to get something out from beneath his nail, and smacks him upside the head.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I've stopped shaving," Eddie says to her, gesturing toward his face with a can of ginger ale. "Am I allowed to speak again?"

She gives him a deadpan look. "Give it another week, then maybe. Right now you look like you're going through puberty again."

"Better than being four," he says cheerfully.

The group content themselves with watching Buck and Tommy for another minute, but when Buck tilts his head ever so slightly to brush his nose against Tommy's, Lucy makes a face. "I guess this means we don't need to keep meeting up on Fridays, huh?"

"Whoever said that?" Hen grins. "I still haven't managed to beat you at air hockey, Donato. I demand a rematch."

"Plus, my friend Josh has been a little unlucky in love these days and could use a hand," Maddie chimes in, then gestures toward the dance floor. "Our results speak for themselves."

The song has changed, but Buck and Tommy haven't noticed, too busy wrapped up in each other.

Lucy tilts her head and smiles. It looks like Tommy's exhaled for the first time in weeks.

Don Henley gets to live another day.

[hotshotsxyz]

beer & apologies

(buddie) (722 words) (7x04 coda)

It’s late, later than any reasonable person would show up on a friend’s doorstep, but Buck’s got this bright, warm feeling in his chest and all he wants to do is apologize so he can share it. For a split second he thinks about knocking, but that feels a little too much like going backwards. Instead, he lets himself in and hangs his key on the hook.

“Eddie,” he calls quietly into the still house.

“Kitchen.” The reply is soft, easy, like Eddie was expecting him.

Buck steps into the room and holds up the beer he brought.

Eddie looks up at him and grins, soft and warm in the glow of the lamplight. “What’s that for?”

“This is ‘sorry for acting like a teenager and spraining your ankle’ beer,” Buck says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Seriously, I’m sorry.”

Eddie sighs and pushes an empty chair back from the table with his foot, gesturing for Buck to sit. “I’m sorry too,” he says.

“No, no, you don’t—" Buck starts.

“Yeah, I do,” Eddie interrupts with a wry grin. “You should definitely be sorry-er, though, so I’ll take the beer.”

Buck snorts and sits, setting the six pack on the table between them.

“We didn’t—well, I didn’t…”

“I know,” Buck says. “I was just—”

“I know,” Eddie says softly.

A few, quiet moments pass, and it’s comfortable, exactly what Buck was missing the last couple of days.

“Hey,” Eddie says suddenly, sitting up a little straighter, “at least now I know why you always said no to basketball.” He smiles, loose and just a tiny bit mischievous.

Buck splutters. “What? No! I wasn’t that bad,” he protests.

Eddie lifts his injured ankle and raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, well maybe, but—”

“Uh-uh,” Eddie says, “no buts. You haven many talents, Buck, but basketball isn’t one of them.”

Buck ducks his head and grins. “Maybe I’ll get Tommy to teach me, then I can beat you without playing dirty.” Saying Tommy’s name out loud gives birth to a few giddy butterflies in his stomach.

“You two make up?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Buck says. “He uh—texted me.” The butterflies turn to little rocks.

“Good,” Eddie says, “that’s good.” He grabs a beer and twists the top off. “I really think you guys will get along, if you give him a chance.”

“We, um. Yeah. We probably will.” Buck grabs a beer of his own and stares at the label.

He doesn’t—he didn’t mean to lie. It just kind of… came out. Which, it’s Eddie. Buck knows he could tell him exactly what happened, right now, and it’d be fine. It’d be completely fine because it’s Eddie and he knows Eddie would be cool about it, probably even happy for him! But when he goes to open his mouth it just. Doesn’t.

“How’s—uh. How’s Marisol?” he asks instead, tripping over his words.

Eddie shrugs. “She’s fine, same as always. Apparently Christopher got her to play Fortnite, which, according to him, was a disaster.”

Buck laughs, shaking his head. “That kid,” he says softly.

“That kid,” Eddie agrees. He takes another swig of beer and sits back.

“Hey, wait,” Buck says suddenly. He lurches forward and snags the bottle out of Eddie’s hand. “You can’t have this, you’re on pain killers.”

“It’s my apology beer!” Eddie protests.

“Nope, two sips is plenty. I can’t hurt your ankle and your liver on the same day.”

“It’s after midnight, it’s tomorrow,” Eddie pouts. “Give it.” He makes a halfhearted attempt to grab it back, but Buck holds the beer aloft.

“Nuh-uh, absolutely not,” Buck says. “You can drink your apology beer this weekend.”

“My apology beer is going to be flat and stale,” Eddie replies, unimpressed.

Buck rolls his eyes. “I’ll buy you a new apology beer, alright?”

“Promises, promises.”

“I will!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie laughs. “You better. Want to bring it over on Saturday? We can watch the game.”

Buck’s grin falters a little bit, even as that warm feeling bubbles up in his chest all over again. “I uh- can’t, sorry.”

“What, you got a hot date or something?” Eddie asks with a laugh.

Buck takes a long swallow from the beer he stole from Eddie. “Yeah, something,” he says with a hollow laugh.

He feels like a liar.

[lushaletta]

the lamb and her wolf / tom riddle

pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader

content: muggleborn!reader, tom is goin a lil mad

summary: have you fallen into the dark lord’s trap, or has he fallen into yours?

a/n: i wrote this at 4 in the morning so enjoy this stream of consciousness grumpy x sunshine esque tom riddle fanfiction or something.

read the next parts here: two three four

⋆ ࣪.  ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗

Tom is in a frenzy of sorts, he’s concluded.

Perhaps it is the sleepless nights and stressful days that cloud his weeks that are causing the weird feeling in his chest. Insomnia-induced hysteria.

There’s a flurry of thoughts swirling around his head recently. All with a common theme; you. The space in his brain that he typically reserved for Ancient Runes or Arithmancy was now composed of you, you, and only you.

It makes him sick to his stomach.

He’s unfocused. And he can’t be, because he’s supposed to be working on the secret that Salazar Slytherin hid in the deep crevices of Hogwarts some years ago.

His fingers tap on the book that he can’t seem to pay attention to as he tries to make sense of this. The disgusting, awful, pleasant fondness he feels for you. For a Muggleborn girl no less.

The only solution to his problem is to kill you. It wouldn’t be hard, he thinks. You’re small and meek and all too trusting of him. Like a lamb to the slaughter.

You are a symbol of everything he despises. Joy. Innocence. You are of the same kind as his worthless father. So why is it that he can’t bring himself to end you? To end your time together? He’s done it before. He’s done it plenty of times and without a second thought.

“Tom!” your horrible, beautiful voice cheers, snapping him out of his thoughts. Oh, great, he thinks. You plague his mind and now you bedevil his reality.

“Hello,” he says after a beat.

You ignore his bothered expression and smile. “I’ve brought snacks! You do like mince pie, don’t you?” He nods weakly. “Good, because my mam’s had some sent. She’s trying out a new recipe. Secret ingredient or something like that. I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet, with your inane study habits, I mean, do you ever have breaks?” You ramble on and he listens with fascination. How could you be talking to him so casually? So endearingly?

You’re far from done. “It doesn’t matter, though. You’ll have a break now. Go on, put your book away, would you?” He does as told. He’s not sure why. You take a seat at his table, fumbling with the paper bag you’ve brought. “Aha! Mince pie! One for each of us. Tell me if you like it, I’ll have Mam send some more. She’d be delighted.”

It’s at this point, where he’s chewing on warm minced pie and watching you do the same, nodding contentedly, that he wonders which life decisions he’d made led up to this. He’s the Dark Lord. A name that the world will soon fear. If all goes to plan, you’ll be reading in terror of all the vile things he’s done in the paper. You’ll be afraid of him, and he can’t help dread it. He dreads the thought of your heartbroken eyes as you realise what a wicked person you’d extended your kindness to.

It’s the frenzy again. What is he even thinking? He dreaded nothing. He looked at his plans with excitement.

“Tom? Hellooo,” you say, singsongingly. He didn’t even realise you’d been speaking. He glances up at you and imagines what you’d think of him once the truth comes out.

“Yes?”

“What do you think? About the pie, I mean.”

He clears his throat, fingers gripping the armrest of his seat. “Good. It’s good.” That draws another pretty smile out of you and he really hates the way it made him feel. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome! Also, Tommy,” He quirks his brow. The nickname was a slip of the tongue. You’d never used it and it made you nervous, but he didn’t seem to mind so much. “Are you busy later? I need some help with Transfiguration.”

He’s always busy. Well, he should be. He’s been slacking recently, too preoccupied with your freshly baked desserts and strawberry-smelling hair.

“I could make time for that,” he says decidedly.

Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

You’re immediately on your feet, giddy like how he’d imagine a child to be upon receiving candy. “Thank you! Oh, you’re a lifesaver, truly!” you say, and suddenly a kiss is planted on his cheek.

A full stop. His world pauses and spins on its axis. Your lips felt good. Bad.

What an evil, evil wolf he was.

[pascalissmoked]

Hollow Places

previously <- -> next part | series masterlist

Summary: In an AU where joel never met Ellie, he shows up one day to his brother’s town, unannounced, unwanted. Though he keeps to himself, you seem to have caught his attention.

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings: Blood, gunviolence, stalking, creepy!joel, kidnapping, stalker!joel, AU!joel, age gap (reader is in her early 20s and joel in his late 50s)

A/N: Really just messing around with this idea, without working out. But i hope you like it!! P.S. I posted this in french class so enjoy :)

He shouldn’t have shot her.

Christ.

He keeps seeing it. The way her mouth fell open. How her knees folded first, like she forgot how to stand. That flash of red blooming under her jacket, too fast, too much. She looked down at it like it betrayed her. Like he betrayed her.

Which, maybe, he did.

She’s sleeping now. Still breathing. He counted—forty-two times in the last minute. Shallow but steady. That’s good. That’s real good.

The cot creaks when he moves. He sits in the corner of the shed, back pressed against the wall, rifle across his lap. He hasn’t blinked in what feels like hours. Doesn’t trust the dark to stay still. Doesn’t trust his hands not to tremble. One of them is still stained—just a little—with her blood.

Not the way he wanted this.

Not the way it was supposed to go.

He hadn’t planned to hurt her. Hell, he wanted to protect her. She reminded him too much of—

Don’t say her name. Don’t you say it.

He rubs at his temple, skin already raw from doing that too often. Tries to slow his breathing.

It wasn’t supposed to go like that. She was smart. She would’ve understood, eventually. Jackson wasn’t safe. Not for people like them. Not with Tommy poking around, always asking questions, always needing things to be neat, fair, moral.

Tommy didn’t get it. None of them did.

She looked at him like he wasn’t a monster. Not at first. She saw something else. He was sure of it. And when she spoke to him, it was like he was human again.

But then she started pulling back. Asking too many questions. Watching him with that same suspicion he saw in her friends. Like he was gonna snap any minute. Like he didn’t know what he was doing.

And then he heard them. In town.

Dina whispering. Jesse’s voice too close.

“She might talk to Maria.”

“She might go to Tommy.”

“She’s afraid.”

He saw it playing out before it happened. Always does. Like some goddamn filmstrip rolling behind his eyes.

Tommy would drag her in. Maria would pull her aside. Then what? They’d take her from him. Lock him up. Kick him out. Make him leave again.

And he doesn’t do that.

Not anymore.

So he acted. Before they could.

A mistake. A misfire. He meant to scare her. Meant to stop her from leaving.

Instead he nearly—

No.

Doesn’t matter now.

He cleaned the wound. Stitched it. Held her hand through the fever. Even sang a little under his breath that first night, like he used to. She didn’t wake. Didn’t move.

But she stayed.

That’s what matters.

He looks over at her now, curled under the quilt, face pale but calm. Her brow furrows like she’s dreaming something hard. He hopes it’s about him.

Tomorrow, they’ll leave this shed. It’s too close to Jackson. Too close to Tommy.

They’ll hike upriver. Over the ridge. He knows a spot—a cabin, half-rotted but standing. No one goes that way anymore. He’ll fix it up. Make it safe. Cozy, even.

She’ll heal better out there. And in time—well. She’ll understand. She’ll come to see it.

He’ll treat her right. He already has. Cleaned her wounds. Kept her warm. Kept her safe.

That’s what love is, isn’t it?

She just don’t know it yet.

The boys her age wouldn’t know how to keep her alive in a storm, let alone in this world. All soft hands and loud mouths, eyes always looking for the next thing. She needs something real.

Needs him.

Eventually, she’ll come around. He can feel it, deep in his chest like a promise.

You treat a girl right, keep her safe, hold her when the nights get long—what else is there?

She won’t want to leave.

She won’t need anyone else.

And if someone ever comes?

If some man so much as looks at her?

Joel shifts his grip on the rifle.

No one will.

Because he’s gonna take her somewhere they’ll never find.

And this time, he won’t lose her.

Not like her.

Never again.

You wake to the sound of riverwater running nearby.

And birds. Distant, mournful. Like they know something you don’t.

Everything hurts. Your side throbs like a slow drumbeat, and your throat feels scraped out. For a moment, you think you’re still in the woods—that the pain, the blood, the heat in your gut—it was all some nightmare you got lost in.

But then you feel the bandages. Tucked tight. Clean.

You blink hard, and the world comes into focus in thin, brutal slices. Wood beams above you. Rust on nails. A single lantern, flickering in the corner. Dust motes hang like little ghosts in the air. The cot you’re on groans when you shift, and then it hits you—sharp, slicing pain tearing through your middle like something fresh and alive.

You gasp. A half-formed scream chokes in your throat. Your hand flies to your side and lands on fabric—your jacket’s gone. You’re in someone’s shirt. Too big. Smells like oil and old leather.

His.

You sit up too fast. The world swims. Your vision tunnels and goes black at the edges. The pain nearly folds you in half.

“Easy.”

The voice is slow, low.

You look toward the sound—and there he is.

Joel.

Sitting on an overturned crate in the doorway, like he’s been there for hours. Elbows on knees, hands loose between them. Not moving. Not blinking. Like a stone pretending to be a man.

“Where the fuck—” Your voice is hoarse, dry. It burns. “Where the fuck am I?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches. His eyes drift across your face like he’s checking for something, some crack or signal.

You push yourself back against the wall behind the cot, your breath coming short. “You shot me, you sick bastard!”

“I patched you up.” His voice is flat. Like it’s just another fact, like he’s explaining a weather report.

You throw the blanket off—instinct, panic—and immediately regret it. The wound howls. You scream, raw and involuntary, but you’re still trying to get up, to stand, to run if you can, even if it means crawling with broken ribs.

He rises slowly.

“Don’t,” you say, voice splintering. “Don’t come near me. Don’t you fucking touch me.”

Joel stops. Two feet away, maybe less. A shadow, a wall. You feel small and shaking and ruined.

“You need to rest,” he says.

“I need to get the fuck away from you,” You whispered.

You hate how your voice wavers, how weak it sounds. You wish you were stronger, louder, someone else.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look angry. Just quiet. Watching you like a puzzle he’s still working out.

“I couldn’t let you go,” he says after a while, like that explains it. Like that fixes anything.

“You shot me, Joel.”

“I aimed low.”

The tears come fast, hot, stupid. You’re not crying because you’re weak. You’re crying because you’re furious. Because this is hell and he’s standing in the middle of it like he belongs.

“You don’t get to do this,” you whisper. “You don’t get to decide for me. You have to let me go.”

He says nothing. Just studies you with that dead stare that used to pass for concern. You try to read him—to find guilt, regret, anything, but it’s like staring into stone.

You realize then: he feels something. He must. But it’s buried. Twisted. Mangled into a shape that looks nothing like love, but thinks it is.

“I hate you,” you spit. “I hate you more than anything.”

Joel’s jaw twitches. Barely.

Then, calm as ever: “You’ll feel different, soon.”

He turns away. Picks up a tin cup from the table. Pours water.

“You’re gonna eat. Rest. Then we move. You need to heal up first.”

“Move where?” you snap. “What the fuck does that mean?”

But he doesn’t answer.

He just sets the cup down on a crate beside your cot and walks to the doorway again. Sits. Rifle in his lap. Back to watching.

As if that’s all he has to do.

As if this is normal.

As if you're already his.

He never meant to hurt her.

That lie scratches in Joel’s skull like a rusted nail as he feeds dry bark into the wood-burning stove. The flame catches slow, reluctant—then blooms too fast, too hot, like it’s hungry for something it shouldn't have. Like it knows what he’s done. What he’s still doing.

He told you it would be warm here. Safer. A sanctuary, pulled from the bones of an old world rotting beneath the trees.

A lie, too.

The flame flutters. He closes the stove door soft, as if gentleness could erase the wound under your ribs. You’re in the back room now. Sleeping, he hopes.

Though he knows better than to hope.

He checks the bolt on the door again. The steel clicks loud in the hush.

Not to keep you in.

That’s what he tells himself, again and again.

It’s for the wolves. The raiders. The rot of this world.

Not for you.

Not because you’d run if you could.

Because of course you would.

He sits on the porch with his rifle across his knees, watching the trees. The pines loom tall and skeletal in the moonlight, all ribs and shadows and crooked limbs. The river hums a low dirge just out of sight, its voice cracked and endless.

His hands twitch. They were made for building, once. For holding. Now they shake when they’re empty. And all that’s left to hold is memory—and that’s heavier than any steel or stock.

He hears you through the wall.

Crying.

A thin, broken sound. Not loud. Not wild. Just worn. Like something unraveling.

Like something giving up.

He doesn’t go to you. Doesn’t speak. He listens. Soaks it in like penance. Like letting your grief wash over him might baptize what’s left.

I aimed low, he’d told you. Like that absolved him.

Like mercy and madness were just a matter of angle.

When the crying stops, the silence howls.

He waits an hour before going back inside. Long enough for your grief to dry on your face. Long enough for his to settle into bone again.

The lantern’s still lit, trembling against the walls. The lock on the door groans into place with a finality that sounds like coffin-lid. He tells himself it’s precaution.

But the truth hisses in the back of his mind like a wound that won’t clot.

It ain’t the world he doesn’t trust.

It’s you.

You, with your sharp eyes and younger bones and all the chances he never had.

You, with your voice that’s still yours.

And you will stay. You have to.

He glances toward the bed. You’re curled against the wall, thin and pale and stubborn even in sleep. Like something that still believes in doors opening.

Your fingers are tight against the bandage. Like you might reach inside and tear it out yourself.

Joel stares too long.

He hates the blood. Not just yours—his, too. The part he poured into you without meaning to. Like a curse handed down, generation to generation.

He lays down on the couch. Stiff. Cold. Not too close. Never too close.

The fire moans low in its iron cage.

He watches the ceiling. Counts the knots again.

One for every sin. One for every time he blinked and lost someone.

You’ll learn.

He’ll teach you to take, to shoot, to endure. He’ll give you what the world won’t.

One day, maybe, you’ll look at him with something that isn’t hate.

Something like need.

Like love, if there’s still such a thing.

You’ll see what he’s done for you. You’ll thank him.

He has to believe that.

Because if you don’t—if you spit his name like poison, if you look at him the way Sarah did when the light left her eyes—

He’s already halfway dead.

And if you leave, what’s left will follow.

Because you’re breathing in that room. And that’s the only thing keeping him human. The only thing left to burn.

You wake too still.

The air’s close—thick with the scent of smoke, damp wood, and coffee boiled down to tar in an old tin pot. It clings to your skin. Crawls into your lungs. Smells like rot and something older than fire.

You don’t move at first. Just breathe. Slow. Listening.

The river’s still out there, a low murmur past the wall. The stove ticks behind you—metal shrinking back into itself, full from a long night of burn. And under all of it, you hear the sound that unthreads your spine:

Humming.

Low. Tuneless. A man’s voice, just above a whisper. Not cheerful. Not anything like that.

Just steady.

You open your eyes.

The shed is small. Smaller than you remember from the night before. Wood warped from years of rain. One window, nailed halfway shut with rust-bitten hinges. A cot under you. Quilt tucked to your chin like a child’s, and that makes your stomach twist. Someone did that.

He did that.

Your eyes cut sideways to the couch across the room. Blankets there. Rumpled.

He slept right there.

Right by the door. Right by you.

Every part of you tenses. Blood under the bandages surges like it remembers who put it there. You’re aching deep—ribs, shoulder, jaw—but none of it hurts as much as the thought of being watched while you slept.

Your mouth tastes like copper and bile. You swallow it back.

And then you see him again.

Bent over the pan near the stove, sleeves rolled up, one hand steadying the cast iron while the other stirs. There’s something wrong with the sight of it—something warped. A man like that shouldn’t move gently. Shouldn’t cook. Shouldn’t hum.

But he does.

Not soft. No, never soft. Just… deliberate. Every motion carved from stone.

He doesn’t turn when he speaks.

“You're up.”

Flat. Not warm. Not cold. Just there. Like a wall.

You don’t answer.

He doesn’t ask again.

You sit up, slow. Pain lances through your side and back, but you don’t let it show. You don’t let him see it.

He plates the food. Eggs—powdered maybe, or stolen. Half a tomato. A heel of hard bread. Meat you don’t recognize. A lot of it. Too much. All for you. He makes a second plate—smaller. Sparse.

He slides yours across the table, closer. Doesn’t speak.

“Eat.”

That one word hits like a slap.

You don’t move.

He leans against the far wall, arms crossed. Watching you like you’re a wire stretched too tight. Waiting to see where it snaps. His face is carved in quiet judgment. Not cruel. Just worn. Like he’s already seen the worst and is just waiting for you to realize it too.

The plate steams.

Your stomach twists. Not from hunger—something else. Something meaner. More primal. Like defiance. Like grief.

But your hand still reaches for the fork.

Stupid.

It clinks against the tin plate.

Joel doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just watches.

And for one flicker of a second—just one—his face shifts. Not a smile. Not a frown. Something in between. Something lonely.

Then it’s gone again.

Like it never happened.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading and stay tuned for more x

[johanna-swann]

Not enough (for me) to write a whole fic about it, but a cute thought I had:

Tommy wanting to reach out after the funeral, but not wanting to make things more complicated for Buck. He has enough on his plate already. Tommy remembering he took some food home from the reception and he still has Buck's tupperware - the perfect excuse to drop by in person and check in without it becoming awkward (it is supposed to be just a short visit).

Tommy going over there and only Eddie and Christopher are there because Buck ran out to do some shopping. They chat a little bit and (despite Tommy's foolproof plan) it gets a bit awkward. He didn't really talk to Eddie much at the funeral and the man did ghost him for half a year. Buck arrives soon after though and Christopher and Eddie leave to visit Pepa.

They talk a little about this and that. Tommy helps put the groceries away because even though it's a different kitchen, he remembers Buck's system. They get around to talking a bit about Bobby and going back to work after the lab incident, if only superficially (it is supposed to be just a short visit). Buck offers Tommy something to drink and because there's still coffee in the coffe maker anyway (Tommy wouldn't want to cause Buck any inconvenience and it is supposed to be just a short visit, but the coffee is already there) and Buck hands him a cup just how he likes it.

Tommy leans back against the kitchen island. Buck sits on the counter opposite him. The evening sun is shining warmly through the window. It is supposed to be just a short visit, but they go from talking about going back to work to talking about weird calls they had recently to talking about Chimney going on paternity leave soon to talking about Tommy's accountant cousin who's about to become a dad as well. They don't even think about getting more comfortable and sitting down at the table or on the couch, it is supposed to be just a short visit, but the hours pass and the sun goes down and they're still talking and Buck is telling Tommy about a bionics based aviation exhibit he heard about when Eddie and Christopher come back. Chris goes straight to his room to get ready for bed, but Eddie comes to join them in the kitchen.

"You're back already?", Buck asks surprised and Eddie reminds him they were gone for hours, why are Buck and Tommy still standing in the kitchen the same way he left them? (It was supposed to be just a short visit.) "Time flies I suppose", Tommy says: "Apropos flying - what were you saying about hummingbirds?" And Buck goes back to talking about the exhibit and how he has been thinking Tommy would like it too. "It sounds fun", Tommy agrees and looks at Buck: "You haven't seen it yet?" Buck answers no, he only read the description online and things have been so hectic lately - would've felt weird to take an afternoon to go to the museum instead.

"Well", Tommy says and smiles a little: "You've got me intrigued now." Buck grins triumphantly: "See, I knew you would say that." Tommy hums and continues: "Maybe I should check it out." He watches Buck's face carefully for a moment. "Maybe this weekend, I'm off shift", he says then pauses again. Buck tilts his head, carefully holding back a smile as if he knows what Tommy will say next. Maybe he does, it is tradition after all. "What are you doing Saturday?"

For a second Tommy swears the sun comes back up the way Buck smiles at him. It was supposed to be only a short visit to bring back some tupperware, but Tommy leaves with a date and the feeling that maybe things will work out this time.

[A few extra lines because maybe I am a bit petty after all:

"You think this is a good idea?", Eddie asks Buck after Tommy leaves: "He dumped you, you were really hurt and didn't get over it for months."

"Well, you and I had a really bad fight only last week and we're still friends. Should I reconsider that decision as well? Besides, we already almost got back together a couple of weeks after you moved to Texas. Things got a little delayed due to- well. Everything. But this was already sort of happening. Neither of us really "got over" the break up in the first place and we're only going to the museum, not a Vegas chapel. So maybe you should try being happy for me for once instead of constantly doubting my ability make sensible, adult choices. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to research the flight pattern of geese."]

[kittysdumpblog]

Tom Kaulitz x female reader

Hcs friends to relationship

(Like how he would act as a friend while liking her and then how he would be in the relationship)

Oooh my first request! This is gonna be exciting!

TW: mentions of making out and sex, making out(briefly?), uhhhh, some cursing, ummmm, Tom being an oblivious idiot for years(?), for any and all German that is in this fic is google translated, not proof read(😭).

Wc: 2,457 words

An: this is my first fanfic ever so it’ll be very poopie. Fead back is very appreciated! (The start I feel like is very crappy, but once Reader and Tom get together the fic gets better)

{~——————————~-——————————~}

The first time you meet Bill and Tom is when you move their home town, when their mom comes over with cookies, because apparently the new neighbors have a daughter that’s six. Exactly the same age as Tom and Bill.

When you, Bill, and Tom go to play while your moms talk you be come attached. Especially to Tom who returns how attached he is to you in the same amount. Soon enough you and Tom are basically living together because of how attached you are to one another(it gets so bad Tom throw a tantrum if he can’t be with you💀)

By the time you’ve gotten a bit more older Tom becomes more protective . He hates seeing you get hurt or sad. Like, “why are you holding those sharp scissors? They could cut you.” “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the dark. Nothing can hurt you while I’m here!”

You learn guitar along side Tom, and it makes him happy because now you can spend more time together and have a new thing to talk about!(it also helps you start to tell Bill and Tom from one another..)

Before you get big you’ll go to venues and such with the band to play for people you and Tom somehow always sneak some of the food(you and him are such foodies. You’re always munching on something. Tom definitely shares his food with only you and you alone. Any one else tries they’re getting hunted down😋).You and him are always up to something.

On the topic of food, if you have watermelon, he will be snatching some of that(if he has some he’ll give you some. Though it’s mostly when you got into an argument or smt and he feels bad. It’s his way of making up<3)

His nickname “Tommy” comes from you. And when you call him that he looooves it, because in his most precious memories with you, you always call him that(if a stranger or someone he just met calls him Tommy he gives them the most nastiest stink eye ever known to man kind)

When you do finally get famous and older you each make a reputation for yourself, especially Tom. He’s the womanizer. He’s always with some new girl everywhere he goes. It creates a small..rift, between you. You’ve liked Tom from day one, so seeing him with all those girls, girls who are super models and superstars and what not, is hard. And not only that but you can’t be around him anymore without your face heating, or stumbling around your words. Fuck, why couldn’t you just get over your dumb silly little crush?

Soon enough, Tom notices. You’ve always been close, doing everything together. But you’re laying off, spending less time with him. At first Tom brushes it off, maybe you’re just tired, or sick. But it continue. And then it’s all Tom can think about. You’ve plagued his mind. He’s always thinking about you. Did he do something wrong? Say something? After a while, the girls he’s around seem less… appealing.

The distance becomes noticeable. The others start to give each other glances when you sit beside Gustav in an interview instead of Tom. You always sit by Tom during interviews. Or when leave the room when Tom enters.

So, they make a plan(Bill’s really just annoyed from hearing Tom talk about what he did for hours on end. Though he really does want to fix whatever’s going on between you two) and the plan works. Usually you’re the smart one. But not this time.

You’re at the twins house relaxing when Bill comes racing into the living room. You turn from the tv to him, eyebrows frowned as a question to what he was doing. He spoke fastly, “I need your help!” He waved his arm, signaling for you to hurry. “Uhm, okay?” “Now! Now, now, now! Come ooonn!” What could even be so important? “Okay! I’m coming, jezz.” You run after him as he thunders through the house “Dude what’s wrong?” You ask. “Over here!” Bill shouts from down the hall. As you got closer you saw Bill stand in front of a door waiting for you. Wait. Where was Georg and Gustav? And why were you in front Tom’s door. “Bill-” you spoke up, confusion in your voice, when Bill flung open the door. Inside showed a shocked Tom. “What’s going on?” Tom’s faced was the definition of confusion. Then you felt hands on your back. “Wha- HEY!” You yelled as they pushed you inside laughing. The door slammed shut. Then you heard the lock click. “HEY LET ME OUT!” You yell at them through the door. “WE AREN’T LETTING YOU OUT UNTILL YOU TALK OUT WHATEVER’S BEEN GOING ON BETWEEN YOU TWO!” Bill yells back. “WHAT!?” Both you and Tom yell. “WE’RE GOING TO OUT BYE!” Gustav yells as him, Bill, and Georg leave snickering and giggling like middle school girls seeing their crush. Screw this damn house for being so fucking old.

“Uhm, so..” you slowly turn to Tom. Looking anywhere but him. “Well?” Tom asked as he crossed his arms. “What?” “Well, are you going to tell me you’ve been distant?” You sigh, “Tom it- it’s complicated.” “Then explain it so I can understand!” He said as he put on a shirt. You groan as you lean your head against the door. “Tom, I- I don’t know how to tell you.” You look down, arms hugging yourself. “Will you at least look at me, mein Leben?” How couldn’t you? How couldn’t you when his voice was so soft, his eyes undoubtedly turned into puppy dog eyes. And you do. You look up at him. He’s closer now. Though there’s till a noticeable gap. “Please. Please tell me what’s wrong. I miss you” he takes another hesitation step. “If I do I’m scared that it’ll break us apart and ruin the band.” You look into his eyes, those oh, so beautiful baby browns. “It won’t.” “Yes it will.” He’s creeping his way closer. “You don’t know that.” Your nails start to dig into your arms. “Yes it will.” “There’s nothing that you could do or say that would make me hate you, let alone hate you so much it’d ruin the band, mein Leben.” His fingers ghost over your arms hugging yourself now. You take in a shaky breath as you contemplate whether or not you should tell him. Whether you should or shouldn’t tell him that you’ve been in love with him ever since you met him. Silence fills the room as the words get stuck in your throat. “Mein Leben, please, just tell me. If you don’t I’m going to go insane! Because for the last three weeks you’ve been all that I’ve been able to think about! A-about how you’re avoiding me! Did I do something?” He’s been thinking about you? “Say something!” His voice breaks, freeing you of your trance. Your eyes unblurred to see tears starting to form in Tom’s eyes. “Oh, Tom.” His grip is tighter now. “Tom. I- I don’t.” You swallow heavily, your mind racing a thousand miles per hour, thinking about the endless possibilities of how you could tell him. Yet you can’t. You can’t because there’s something in your throat stopping the words from coming out.

So you kiss him. The silence is to loud. It’s so thick that a butter knife could cut through it like nothing. Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfcukfuck! He’s not saying anything! I messed up didn’t? Fuck he’s gonna tell Bill and the bands gonna disband because things will be to weird and- your thoughts get stopped by Tom- by Tom kissing you? Tom’s kissing you! Your body relaxes from being unconsciously tensed. You tentatively put your hands on his shoulders, deepening the kiss as you lean in. Finally Tommy pulls back, just enough for your noses to brush against one another. You breath heavily as Tommy licks his lips, “Is that strawberry? That’s definitely strawberry right? You’re wearing strawberry chapstick right?” Tommy asks, half speaking to himself. You let out a curt laugh.

“What?” Tommy asks again. “Your wondering whether or not I’m wearing strawberry chapstick, while I just confessed my feelings to you by kissing you, which has made me overthink so many things because I didn’t want it to go wrong and then for the band to stop performing and disband, because of the major crush I have on you. And you’re talking about the flavor of a chapstick I’m wearing?!” The shock is clear on your face as you speak, your eyes semi-wide and brows frowned. Tommy speaks again, “But it is strawberry right?” You heave a heavy sigh. “Yes Tommy, I am wearing strawberry flavored chapstick. Now will you please say something about what just happened?” Tommy’s infamous smirk appears on his face, “you’re a good kisser you know.” You rise your eyebrows, clearly not impressed. “Okay, okay, you want a real answer Leben?” You let out a breathy ‘yes’, “I like you too. A lot.”

Now that you and Tom are together, he’s all over you. He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that you’re together when the others come back and unlock his bedroom door. He’s all smiley holding your hand.

This man is the most clingiest person ever. He will not let you go once he has his hands on you. You’re in an interview and you reach to grab his hand? His head is resting on your body by the end of it. Oh, you’re watching a movie? Immediately in his lap or in between his legs.

The funny things is, no one suspects a single thing because you’ve always been close and touchy with one another.

Besides physical touch, Tom’s other love languages is giving gifts. At the start of your relationship communication for him is a bit hard. He’s so used to have ‘true love for one night’(his own words), so communicating is a bit hard in the start. So whenever something sour happens between the two of you, he’ll buy the jewelry that he say you eyeing in the mall, or a big bouquet of your favorite flowers.

Baby you say you like anything, it’s in your room the next day. Doesn’t matter the price, where it’s from, what it is, he’s going to buy it to show how much he loves you because he can’t fully say it yet. But when he does, he’s saying it all the time. Because it true. He’s absolutely and completely fascinated with you. It wouldn’t matter if you put on an old and moldy trash bag and smeared dog shit on yourself, he’d still love you no endlessly beyond time.

Will literally jump over the damn car because god forbid you open and close your own car door. Not on his watch.(he once sprained his ankle when he did it…)

——————————NSFW———————————

This man is a freak in bed(definitely lives up to the rumors. Especially about his size;)

100% a tits man so missionary and cow girl is his fav positions.

If he could, he’d spend hours upon hours buried in your cunt. Face or dick, doesn’t matter, this man is a whore for pussy. Don’t matter where or when, he’ll go down on you anytime, anywhere.

Loooves to leave hickeys and bite marks. He loves to leave them because it shows that you’re his(even though no one will see them b/c you cover them up. But don’t worry he’ll just make more!😋). There was one time when Georg had forgotten his phone in your hotel room when everyone was hanging out there, so he walked in with the spare key card(for emergencies only originally but now you all just used them as you pleased. Of course knocking was essential), he caught you starting to cover them. His eyes went wide like plates from the amount of them(he told Bill and Gustav and said it looked like you had gotten beaten..)

When the public finds out. . . Lord have mercy. People go nuts. Because they’d somehow never imagined the only girl and the player of the group getting together(which is reasonable as Tom had been with so many people). And how they find out? By paparazzi having taken pictures of you and Tom making out on the way to your hotel room that you shared.

Now that the public knew about you and Tom, he could be a lot more affectionate with you in public like kisses. In an interview? You’re on his lap now, his head resting on your shoulder, if you’re in separate seats, his hand is griping your thigh as a monsoon is going to sweep you away from him.

Will make out with you on stage between songs. And when you’re wearing on of his shirts he goes feral though has to contain it until you’re back in your hotel room(there’s going to be several complaints about ‘noises’).

When you and him have finished your ‘fun’ he likes to trace whatever moles, freckles, or scars you have on your body along with hickeys.

————————end of NSWF——————————

Though there was also a lot of hate from some fans, like calling you a ‘no good slut’ or, “she’s just some whore who managed to learn to play the guitar just so she could get close to Tom. I bet you she’ll break up with him and then moved on to the others’ though no matter what they say about Tom will always reassure you that you aren’t that and that your so much more then those no good, self-loathing jealous losers who whisked they could be ass beautiful as you.

Whenever he sees you down, and especially because of people trash talking about you and your relationship, he’ll always make some sort of face or noise that he knows will instantly make you laugh, and if it doesn’t, he’ll say that you want to laugh again and again until you actually do. Him seeing no you cry is like destroying all his guitars in front of him.

He’ll scratch your name on the side of every guitar he owns because whenever he looks down at them he sees your name and is reminded you.

One of his guilty pleasures is that he secretly loves head scratches. You want him to do something that you know he wouldn’t normally do? You wait until your in bed and start to slowly scratch his scalp making him so sleepy until the point he’ll just agree with whatever you say or ask for because all his brain can think about are the nice manicured nails that are racking across his head.

Though in the end Tom will always love you forever knowing that you feel the same<3

[graveyard-stray]

Tommy Shelby - NSFW alphabet

(This whole thing is for Tommy in a serious relationship with Fem!reader. I’m sure Tommy with just a hookup would be very different!)

Word count: 1351

A/N: You asked and you shall receive! You guys have gone crazy for my Tommy stuff and I really appreciate it! Thank you for all the support!

Reminder my inbox is open so if you have any requests for Tommy or for other characters- let me know! (A link to who I write for can be found in my master list)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Tommy is gonna lay down, pull you into his side, and lay there with you while he smokes. He wants to hold you of course but he also gotta feed his horrible habit. You guys might chat a bit but really he just wants to feel you against him (because he loves you) and relax.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He is a bit self conscious about his own body because it’s gone through so much, he would never admit it but he really hates seeing his scars that are all over- they just remind him of the war.

For you, he’s a big tits guy. Big or small he doesn’t care he just loves your boobs. He will kiss them, suck them, bite them, grab them, he doesn’t care.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He likes to cum inside, there is something so intimate to him about getting to fill you up and it really turns him on, know that your all his.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

When he’s not with you he literally can’t cum. He has tried to jerk off when your not around but it just isn’t the same without you. He would never admit it though because it makes him seem soft.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s pretty experienced, he’s been with a handful of prostitutes and he has had other girlfriends before- plus he is a pretty sexual person so he’s definitely pretty skilled.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary. He likes being able to see your face when you cum and he’s a simple guy. Although he also likes doggy cause he can grab your hair or your hips real easily.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s a very serious man. Especially in bed, like sure he can be soft and intimate but definitely not goofy. his mind is focused on pleasing you (and himself) no time for jokes. Plus does he even know how to joke? Not really.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s pretty groomed. He keeps most of his body clean shaven as he doesn’t like being super hairy. But the parts he doesn’t shave (like his pubes) he keeps groomed short and neatly. He’s gotta stay classy especially for you <3

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

It depends, if he is in a bad mood it’s gonna be less intimate and more rough and intense. And if it’s a special day or he’s in a particularly good mood it will be intimate, he will praise you and tell you how he loves you while he finishes.

On the regular though it can be pretty average intimacy wise, a bit rough with some praise here and there.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He used to get off an average amount but ever since meeting you he literally can’t. He’s gotten so used to your hands or your mouth or your pussy he literally can’t get off without you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding kink for sure.

Definitely hair pulling, and marking. He loves to see the marks he leaves on you specifically in places no one else sees- the sight is only for him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He is a pretty classy dude a lot of the time (or atleast he tries to be) so a lot of the time it’s just in your home in private. But a few times he will fuck you in the private room at the garrison, when it’s just you and him before or after a meeting.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He loves seeing you all dolled up to go to events with him. Something about you looking so beautiful and being his arm candy is so domestic and it really gets him going- expect to have a bit of a late night after those formal events.

He also just has a pretty high natural sex drive so really just seeing you makes him wanna fuck.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He will not be submissive, he just honestly can’t be. And I can’t see him wanting to do any butt stuff.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He is a big fan of receiving. He loves feeling you gag around his cock and he will rest his hands in your hair and push you down further. Something about feeling your throat tighten around him drives him WILD.

He also likes giving though, he thinks you taste delicious and will eat you out like he’s a man who hasn’t eaten in years.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He definitely prefers it fast and rough, but when he is feeling quite lovey and emotional it will be more slow and intimate.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He is a fan of a quickie. When he has to go to some meeting or deal with business but just can’t resist you, he will quickly take you on the couch and then leave as fast as he can (of course after you also cum. He has class)

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He is down to experiment a bit but if it doesn’t SOUND enjoyable to him then he won’t be open to try it. He isn’t too risky except maybe trying out being mean to you in bed when he is in an angry mood.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He has decent stamina and can go about 3-4 rounds depending on what you are doing, but of course that smoking has caught up to him so eventually he will get tired and need to catch his breathe. When he is actually fucking you he lasts pretty long and is able to please you and make sure you finish, usually before he does.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t own toys, sees no reason to. You only need him and he only needs you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He loves when you tease him, with your short dresses and see through panties underneath, or when you grab his thigh, right by his crotch, under the dinner table.

He also likes to tease you here and there, especially if your being a brat.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He will let out some softer groans and moans during it, when he cums he will get a bit louder with more groans and either some praise or degradation (depending on the mood)

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

It takes him a bit but eventually he gets comfortable enough to let you be on top a bit, letting you ride him and maybe be a bit more commanding. It’s not his favorite thing but he does think it’s hot when your being bossy.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s got a pretty good dick honestly. Not giant but good. About a 6 or 7 inch (hard) which is a bit above average.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He’s got a pretty high sex drive but he also is fine if he’s horny and not having any sex, he’s mature and doesn’t need sex but he wants it pretty often.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn’t sleep a lot as is so I can’t imagine he would quickly fall asleep after sex. He would probably lay awake for a while just holding you or watching you as you slept.