#anyway back to the point of suggested tip amounts

[siribaes]

FEELIN’ IT

KOFI SIRIBOE X blackfem!reader

SUGGESTED TUNES 💿: Drank In My Cup by Kirko Bangz, Drunk in Love by Beyoncé, Refill by Elle Varner

WARNING: 18+, SMUT, Henny D*ck from Kofi lol, praise kink, semi-rough s*x, unprotected pinv (wrap it up kids)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: beware of typos & mistakes lol, and this one is for my petite girlies (*cough* self-insert) / GIF CREDIT: @tishrivers

Low rumbles of movement awoke Y/N from her sleep. Y/N stirred for a moment as the movements continued, shifting slight in her spot. She cracked one eye room, immediately welcomed by the pitch blackness of the room except the silver of neon light from a side table clock.

2:16 AM.

He’s home.

Y/N yawned as she sat up from her bed. Stretching her arms and legs she flipped the blanket off her, getting up from the bed. Y/N softly padded out of the bedroom and downstairs to the source of the noise.

She could see a shadow stretch from the kitchen and into the hallway. Smiling slightly to herself, Y/N tip toed her way to the kitchen. Her smile grew wider as she saw the culprit behind the noise.

He stood with the fridge partially open, the light illuminating his beautiful angular features. His brows were furrowed, as his coca-cola brown, yet borderline blood shot red eyes scanned the shelves of the refrigerator. Y/N chuckled softly at his expression while he had spoon held in his mouth. Y/N’s eyes traveled to the island where a large bowl filled with ice cream sat. Immediately she knew what he was searching for.

“Kofi,” Y/N spoke aloud. Immediately Kofi turned to her, taking the spoon out of his mouth. A slow syrupy smile grew from his lips.

“Yeah?”

“Bottom left drawer.”

It took a second for the information to sink in, for Kofi in his buzzed haze. It did though, Kofi’s eyes lit up, his smile grew even wider, as he turned back to the fridge. He bent down opening the drawer and pulling out a brown bottle of chocolate sauce.

“You the G.O.A.T., baby,” he murmured as he closed the fridge.

Y/N walked to the island, watching Kofi pour a generous amount of chocolate sauce onto his ice cream. He took a huge spoonful and shoved into his mouth. A groan erupted from him, a dangerous one that should’ve not sent tingles through Y/N body, but did anyway. He had that effect on her always.

“It’s good?” Y/N asked. She lifted herself up and sat on the island counter next to Kofi. She caught huge whiff of the Hennessey he must've been sipping on from earlier on.

“I fucks with this Vegan ice cream heavy,” Kofi proclaimed, pointing his spoon at the bowl.

He took another spoonful as his gaze dipped towards Y/N’s bare legs, it fully registering her sleep attire, a huge Destiny’s Child band t-shirt and short shorts. His eyes traveled back upwards to Y/N’s gaze, a bit more heated than previously.

“You taste better tho,”

“Kofi, don’t start,” Y/N chuckled, playfully swatting his arm. He jokingly cowered and continued to devour his dessert. “How was the club? Y’all have fun?”

He nodded slowly, setting the spoon to the side, and scratched at his beard.

“Yeah. Good vibes. Good music too...Tre was in better spirits since the split," Kofi mused, his eyes slightly danced as he absentmindedly scratched at his beard. He turned towards Y/N peering down at her. Large, calloused hands found themselves at the soft flesh of her legs, the pads of his thumbs rubbed on the tops of her thighs. A warmth bloomed underneath Y/N's skin, while butterflies flew around in her stomach, and dampness pooled in her panties. "You should've been there with me."

A soft moan threatened to escape Y/N's lips, she choked it back before she spoke.

"M-Me? Be responsible for interrupting boys' night, I dunno about that, baby."

Kofi tipped his head to the side, a sly grin bloomed across his lips. A flicker of mischief appeared in his eyes. He stopped rubbing at Y/N's thighs and instead gave them gentle squeeze. Y/N whimpered slightly, causing Kofi's grin to grow even more.

"Maybe it was a good thing, I was bricked up thinkin' about you, anyway," Y/N's eyes slowly trail down, seeing the large print behind his black jeans. Kofi palmed himself and groaned. "You gon' help me, pretty girl."

Y/N nodded quickly, immediately bringing Kofi down to her, crashing her lips against his. Initially, a kiss that was heated and messy, turned slow, and passionate. Kofi's tongue swirled around in her mouth, she tastes the sweetness of the vanilla ice cream and chocolate, with the slight bitterness from the Hennessey. He kissed her so softly and sweetly, that it put Y/N a daze. It was all mere distraction, as Kofi slid his right hand down her shorts curling two fingers inside of Y/N.

"Kofi," Y/N whimpered as Kofi's fingers began to slowly pump in and out of her. "Fuck, baby!"

Kofi peppered kisses on the side of her face, nibbling on the outer shell of her ear.

"I feel you tightin' up, let me see ya pretty ass cum, baby," Kofi drawled, his LA-New Orleans accent slipping through, spurred Y/N even more.

The pleasure began to pulse through her as she felt herself clenching around Kofi's thick fingers.

"I'm-I'm gonna cum baby, fuck!" Y/N mewled.

"Let go, baby. I gotchu," Kofi rasps.

Her orgasm pooled out of her, flooding Kofi's fingers. He thrusted his fingers a few more times before he pulled his fingers out of her. Y/N slightly pouted at the lost of Kofi's touch. He chuckled softly before he sucked on his two fingers, swirling his pink tongue around them.

"Turn around for me," Y/N happily obliged, she quickly discarded her shorts and panties, flinging them to the side. She turned and faced the counter. Y/N stood on her tippy toes, excitement rushed through her as she heard the sounds of Kofi undoing his pants. Y/N almost crumbled as Kofi's rubbed the head of his dick between her soft, wet folds.

"Don't play, Kofi. I need you," Y/N whined, attempting to draw him further inside of her.

Kofi's hand came crashing down on Y/N's ass, it echoed throughout the kitchen. She yelped, slapping her own hands against the marble counter.

"Relax, Y/N" Kofi groaned has he continued to rub himself in her folds. "So fuckin' hard-headed, gimme a minute baby,"

"Sorry, "Y/N moaned quietly.

After a few more seconds of teasing, Y/N's prayers were answered as Kofi finally plunged into her warmth, completely bottoming out before he began to drill into her.

“You feel too good baby," He's deep inside now, with his large hands gripping at Y/N's waist, Kofi continues to grind his dick into her, with rough, sloppy strokes. "Fuck you so tight, all this shit for me?"

Y/N could feel herself gushing at just the tone of his voice. A sweetness managed to cut through all of the hoarseness and lust. It always drove her crazy when he did shit like that. The familiar thrumming of her orgasm, hurdled towards the surface, she squeezed and tightened around him. Kofi moaned at Y/N gripping him.

"You close?" Kofi asked, already knowing the answer to his question.

"Yes baby, I'm gonna," Y/N's orgasm shot through her before she could finish. She whined and moaned as Kofi continued to fuck her through it.

"You still with me pretty girl?" Kofi rasped in her ear.

“Mhmmm, Kofi, shit!” Y/N babbled, her mind only zeroed in the pleasure between her legs. It was too much trying to keep with Kofi too.

Kofi grabbed a fistful Y/N’s coils bringing her upwards, not all the way, but far enough that she couldn’t use the counter to support herself.

“I said, you still with me pretty girl, hm?”

Y/N nodded. A sharp slap on her ass caused her to whine, a small punishment for not responding. Whether he liked to admit or not, Kofi was a words kinda guy. He loved to hear how he made you feel, even if it was garble of incoherent nonsense, he needed to know that you were there with him, present for it all. Still, the words choked on her tongue. Another slap, harder than the last, had Y/N squirming underneath Kofi. Another slap was soon to follow, but Y/N responded before he could.

“Yessss, baby I’m with you! Fuck meeee!"

"Fuck, I'm about to nut. You gon' take this shit like a good girl, huh?"

"I will baby, fuck, give it to me please!"

Kofi went into overdrive, fucking Y/N wildly. She felt him swell inside of her. His bulbous hammered at her spot, sending her into throws of pleasure, so much so she felt tears prickle in her eyes.

"You so pretty takin' me, fuck I'm cumin'," Kofi groaned as he spilled inside of Y/N. They both shook and moaned together, as Kofi slowly fucked his cum inside of her. He slowly slipped out of her, his breath on Y/N's sweat-slicked skin. Kofi tapped his finger Y/N's waist, signaling her to face him. She turned around only to be greeted by his glistening, cum-dripped, shaft. It was still hard.

"I wanna see that pretty ass face when I cum inside you," He proclaimed, slipping right back inside Y/N, ready for round 2.

[briefalpacashark]

~Cowboys and Men = Part Two~

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“She's her own woman. Who knows not to mess with pretty little cowboys like you,” Jonny stated. He didn't like the cowboy from the moment they meet. Weather that be due to the insult or not was unimportant.

“We’ll see about that,” Arthur smiled, walking away.

“Can we kill him?” Ghost asked.

“Such a pity a civilian was caught in the crossfire,” Jonny shrugged, adding onto Ghost’s statement.

“I volunteer. I'll just say my aim was off,” Gaz offered.

“Easy boys,” Price shut down the idea. But he wasn't necessarily opposed to it.

Tommy was a good rider for his age. He stayed on the back of the beast of a bucker longer than anyone else. Then it was your turn. 

“Fucken hell,” you whispered as you climbed into the pen sitting atop the horse that moved around ready to send you straight to hell. 

“You look nervous,” your head snapped to the side to see Tommy smiling at you.

“He's wild,” you nodded down to the horse.

“You can still back out,” he suggested. That smile he wore, was he being suspicious or just a dick. “Ain't no shame in being a buckle bunny,” he stated. Your face settled into a frown at the insult.

“Lets go!” you announced. Man, that horse rocked you. You lasted an average amount of time. At one point, you lost your hat. You were thrown from the horse in a dramatic fashion tumbling across the ground. The people cheered as you got yourself to your feet. When you recovered from the fall, you looked around for your hat. It had fallen out of the arena. With your body still buzzing with adrenalin, you jogged over to it. As you were about to reach down Arthur had picked it up. 

“Than-” your words trailed off as he took off his own and placed yours upon his head. Your face flushed as you were reminded of the hat rule. He grinned, leaning down over the railing holding his own out to you.

“Ohhhhh looks like she's got an admirer. You two youngins be safe tonight,” the announcer called as wolf whistles sounded front the crowd. You brushed your nose, ducking your head in embarrassment.

“Will she take the hat?” the announcer asked. 

“Take the hat! Take the hat!” the crowd began to chant. God, how did it happen? Spotting Tommy watching from the side, you second guessed your actions. In one of the meeting Price had order you all to blend in. To play the part.

If he thinks you're a buckle bunny you'll play the part of a buckle bunny. You took Arthurs hat and placed it on your head, the crowd going wild. Arthur smiled, tipping the hat to you as you walked off. 

================================================

It was game time. You all convened drawing your hidden guns as you headed for Tommy, only when you arrived at the garage he was gone.

“The fuck?” you questioned. When returning to Arthur he meet the team halfway with a sorry look.

“He left early, right after your run,” Arthur stated in an apologetic tone.

“Let's go. We should still be able to catch him on the road,” Price suggested.

“Hey, come on. He'll be here again tomorrow. You'll have a better chance then anyway,” Arthur held his hands up to slow you all.

“Why's that?” Jonny asked.

“Less people. He stays for drinks after,” he stated. 

“You better not be fucking us around,” Ghost warned, turning fully to tower over Arthur.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” he answered. You all turned to Price ready to act on his decision.

“Fine,” Price stated. The boys walked off, ready to head back to the ranch. You walked up to Arthur with a bashful smile.

“Here,” you said, handing his hat back to him.

“You know the rules, right?” he asked. Wear the hat, ride the cowboy. If you put on a cowboy's hat, it meant one of two things. He was coming home with you or you were going home with them.

“I do. But I was playing a role. To keep Tommy thinking I'm the buckle bunny he suspects,” you said beckoning for your hat. Arthur looked slightly disappointed at your words.

“I see. But I want you to know the offer still stands,” he said, taking your hat of and stepping closer to place it on your head.

“And while I'm flattered, I'm sorry but I have to refuse,” you stated with a small smile.

“It's the Ghost boy isn't it?” he asked. You sputtered a resonance as you chuckled, stepping back.

“Funny,” you said fixing your hat so its brim covered your eyes from his gaze.

“Well, if I was him I'd get a move on,” Arthur stated with a knowing smile before walking off. With a huff you shock your head searching for the boys, unknownst to you one particular one with a skull mask was situated in a shadow watching the whole situation with an uneasy feeling in his belly. 

“If I were you I'd get a move on,” Ghost knew Price had approached him. But his statement still made him jump.

“Don't know what you're talkin bout,” Ghost muttered.

“That cowboy’s working his magic. I’s get in before you regret it,” Price stated with a knowing look. Ghost stared at his Captain a man he trusted with is his life.

“Men like us don't deserve a woman like her Captain, we don't deserve happy endings,” Ghost muttered. Price nodded. A part of him wanted to agree.

“Well she deserves the world. And if she wants you in that world are you going to refuse?” Price asked.

“She deserves better than me John,” Ghost whispered. His hands were dipped in too much blood to ever hold her.

“I don't think so,” Price shrugged.

“Oh yeah, what do you think?” Ghost almost snapped at the man.

“I think you deserve each other,” he whispered, giving Ghost shoulder a firm pat before walking away. He didn't say it with malice. He said it with a kind smile. Trying to tell his solider that he did deserve happiness.

That night you were all sat round a fire with a few of the ranch hands. All drinking and simply enjoying the night. Some shared stories. Jonny made up a few of his own playing the part of the cowboy. One of the ranch hands were plucking a banjo admitting he had just started to learn. After a few seconds he was forced to put the instrument down by the many annoyed ranchers.

“Damn thing sounds like a cat dien,” A rancher called.

“Come on now, the banjos a beautiful instrument,” you called out in defense. You were sat in between Price and Ghost on a log.

“You did hear what we hear right?” Jonny asked, pointing to the embarrassed lad. 

“No offense, but you need to hear it played right. It can be beautiful,” you said.

“Oh yeah prove it,” Gaz dared. With the help of a little alcohol you shrugged, standing up. “Hold that for me, will ya sweetheart?” You asked passing your bottle to Ghost who automatically took it. 

“Not your sweetheart,” he grumbled. You chuckled with a wink before walking over to the lad.

“May I?” you asked. He handed over the instrument and the picks which you slipped onto your fingers. 

“Didn’t want to say anything before, but it probably would help if ya tuned it,” you said plucking a few stings to get the right tune. Arthur stood from his seat, which was semi center allocated and offered it to you. 

“Why thankyou sir,” you tipped your hat as you sat down.

“Now, no one make fun of me. I'm a little rusty,” you whispered.

“There is no way you know how to play that thing,” Jonny muttered. You smirked giving him a wink as you adjusted. 

“This one's called sugar hill,” you muttered before you began. To there surprise, a cohesive and beautifully uplifting melody echoed from your fingertips. Your audience was silent as smiles settled onto their faces. It was peaceful, beautiful. It was a moment you wished you could freeze. Yet when the song ended so did your little fantasy. Everyone cheered and clapped. 

“Oncour!” Arthur called.

“Alright, if the crowd wishes,” you grinned befor diving into another song.

After a while everyone was sort of talking to themselves. You sat by the lad form before giving him a few pointers.

“So Ghost was it. What do you do?” Your head snapped up at the question much like the other boys. Next to Ghost saw a woman, drop dead gorgeous and she knew it type of woman. She sat really close to him. A seductive smile on her lips. 

“I'm on Anna’s team,” he stated simply. “I know that. What's your speciality?” she asked. She was just making conversation. Only it wasn't just a conversation for Ghost. It was an interrogation. One he need to keep his cover though. His mind went blank. All he had to say was something to do with horses, or management. After all you didn't think the boys would be asked anything past that. Laswell certainly didn't so she didn't give the boys specialised jobs in your so called team. In all Ghost’s wisdom he turned to look for help. His eyes mistakenly rested on Jonny.

“He's uh. He's our musician,” You and Price almost smacked your foreheads at the words. Out of all the jobs Jonny could have chosen he chose musician. Ghost eyes narrowed into a glare for a split second before becoming blank.

“Oh my, that's amazing, what do you play?” she asked, moving closer. So close that her chest brushes by his arm. Your frowned at the gnawing feeling that settled in your stomach.

“Guitar,” Ghost answered.

“Oh you're in luck,” the woman dispersed to the back of truck before pulling a guitar out. Great, just great. She trusted the instrument into his hands with an excited smile.

“Will you play something for me? Please,” she flashed her pretty eyelashes. 

“I don't feel like it,” Ghost stated.

“Oh come on. What, you not a real musician then?” she pressed teasingly. Ghost was a good soldier, so he knew he had to do whatever he could to keep his cover. So to all your utter shock he slipped the guitar on. And started playing.

I can't help falling in love with you, by Elvis Presley. 

I can't help fucking falling in love with you by Elvis Fucking Presley. 

His voice was beautiful, deep and steady. Like the beat of an old tribal drum. His eyes focused solely on the guitar as he sang. The team was shocked into slack jawed silence. Simon Riley was singing and play the actual guitar. You never thought you would see the day.

And you found yourself wishing. Wishing that the person he was singing to was you. A stupid dream. You didn't see it, in fact you just missed it. Ghost had looked to you, a slight flicker of his eyes caught by very few. When you looked up at him, his eyes had returned to his guitar. Two gazes so soft, only for it to have been missed by the two they were intended for. It was painful for the boys to watch. When the song finished, everyone cheered yet again. The girl wasn't wearing a hat so when she reached over and took Ghost and placed it on her head with the bite of her lips, almost everyone cheered and whistled. The girl blushed and ducked her head. The hat rule. Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.

They look good together. You thought. His eyes were focused solely on hers as she spoke. 

A sad smile spread across your face as you acknowledged the painful truth. Simon would never be someone like that to you. Sure you were friends, well, you hoped you were friends. But he had never made any clear signs. Every time you would say something sweet he would shoot it down. Just remembering his pervious comment, your throat stung bitterly. You were good at hiding dejection, you could pretend like it didn't affect you at all. But it did. 

Love wasn't in the cards for  you. You supposed you had accepted that fate long ago. Still knowing the fact didn't make it hurt any less. You tried not to think about it as you continued to teach the guy. Still, the mind rarely listens to you. Moments of the past passed through your mind, all the times you had tried to flirt. Tried to lay down a hint. Tired to be sweet. Tried to show him that you liked him. All ended in either being shot down or ignored. It wasn't like he was rude about it. He just didn't leave any room for misinterpretation. Misinterpretation you constantly enacted when you failed to see the expressions his mask hid.

And it didn't help that the only time he was sweet to you, when he held your hand so tenderly in the hospital. When he pressed his lips to your palm and leaned into your touch. Due to the drugs you couldn't remember a single moment of it.

“So what do you think, we proper cowboys now or what?” Jonny asked Arthur.

“Well you ain't proper cowboys till you've played cowboy poker,” Arthur shrugged.

“The fuck is cowboy poker?” Jonny asked. 

“This is the stupidest fucking thing I've ever done,” Jonny looked like he was about to shit himself. At the moment you all were sitting around a shitty plastic table on shitty plastic chairs. You Gaz, Jonny, Price, Ghost Arthur and another lad. In the middle of a coral.

“So we just sit here!?” Gaz asked as he breathed deeply and quickly on the point of hyperventilation. 

“Yes sir,” Arthur sung from beside you as he handed you a bottle of whiskey. You took it downing a good two gulps.

“This is stupid,” Price grumbled.

“And yet you're still sitting here,” you stated, handing the bottle to him.

“Not a word to Laswell. Understood?” he gave you all pointed looks.

“What scared you'll get in trouble from the missus?” you asked.

“The wife?” Arthur asked. You all chuckled as Price shook his head, handing it to Gaz.

“Are we really doing this?” Jonny asked. At first he thought it was just a joke, but as he saw the bull being rounded up he was staring to grasp the situation.

“Whatever you do Jonny, don't get off the seat,” you said.

“This is fucken mad,” he whispered shaking his head and snatching the bottle from Gaz.

“Forget your big boy pants back at the shop Jonny?” Ghost asked.

“Fuck you LT,” he snapped.

“SOMEONE WANNA EXPLAIN THE RULES?” Gaz asked.

“Last one at the table wins the pot,” you said watching as they slipped the bull int he chute that lead to the coral.

“Don't worry the bull always goes for the table first,” Arthur shrugged.

“THIS IS CRAZY!” Gaz screamed.

“Yeah not much smart thinking went into the creation of this. Pretty sure it was just booze and idiocy,” you stated.

“Set em free!” Arthur yelled. The sound of the gate crashing open sounded and the bull was let lose.

“Fuck this,” Gaz was the first to leave taking the bottle of whiskey with him. You all watched as the bull locked in on its target. It cleaved through the table Jonny and Price leaving before it hit. The table was destroyed and Arthur jumped out the way before the bull plowed straight through him. That just left you and Ghost. 

“Scared big guy?” You asked.

“Never,” he stated. Your eyes locked as the bull found the two of you. You were a little way aways from each other, You had sat on opposing seats so that meant the bull was going to choose one of you. It was a stare of between the two of you as you heard the bull fast approaching. 

Were you a little angry at Ghost? sure. You liked him and he didn't like you. A small flicker of childish rage bubbled within you. How dare he not like you? What was wrong with you? Why not you? It was a stupid little thought, but it was still there. So you kept his gaze, both of you refusing to look away. 

And one moment Ghost was there and the next he wasn't, broken plastic chair legs flipping through the air. The bull had slammed into him. 

“Oh shit,” a chuckle left your lips as the bull ran off. “You alive big guy?” you asked, rushing up to him in a bit of worry. Your eyes watching the bull that fought with the piece of chair stuck on his horn. You had to get out of the coral.

“No,” Ghost grunted painfully.

“Come on, don't wanna get hit again do ya?” You asked, pulling the man to his feet. The two of you rushed to the fence of the coral. Ghost found his thoughts not on the worry of the bull hitting him for a second time but focused on your hand. Which held his tightly as you pulled him away. Making it just in time, the bull pulled to a skidding stop as you both flung yourself over the top. You hit the ground beside Simon your hands still clung together. As you gazed up at the stars loud laughter erupted from your chest as you gave his hand a squeeze. Simons eye on the other hand was focused on you.

“That, my fiends is cowboy poker!” Arthur called, holding his hand out to you. You pulled your hand from Ghost’s grip and took the offered helping hand.

Later that night, when everyone was asleep, you snuck out to the field, taking the banjo in hand. You continued to drink as you rested upon a tree plucking the banjo as you tried to sort out your thoughts. Which unfortunately constantly pulled themselves back to a certain activity you though Ghost, and the girl were partaking in. Unbeknownst to you, Ghost had completely ghosted the girl, avoiding her at all costs.

 “The fuck you doing out here?” Ghost voice had you flinching, knocking the bottle of booze all over you.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“Drinking on the job?” he asked with a teasingly disapproving tone as he approached.

“Well, can't always be the model soldier now can I?” you asked, putting the bottle to the side whipping the alcohol the best you could. 

“The boys got worried when they woke up and you weren't there,” Ghost explained. You checked your watch. It was 5 am around the time you all would usually get up. You had not realized that you had sat out there for so long.

“I'm a big girl,” you shrugged.

“True,” he nodded, sitting down on the log closest to you. 

“Didn’t know you could play the guitar. Much less sing like an angle,” you muttered.

“Think I sing pretty?” he asked. You smiled.

“Like a siren Simon,” you said flashing him that smile he loved so much. 

“Didn't picture you as a Elvis fan,” you said.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah, picture you more as a heavy punk. Maybe a little rock,” you shrugged with a teasing smile.

“Well for your information I partake in the enjoyment of the country quite often,” he said.

“Oh, really?’ you asked, a small chuckle leaving your lips involuntarily. A contagious one seeing as Simon's shoulder shook slightly with a chuckle of their own. 

“I wanted to be a cowboy when I was a kid. Dreamt of owning a farm of my own,” he admitted. You paused your plucking. Simon had never talked about his past before. It seemed to serious for him as he quickly changed to a joking tone.

“The guitar original started as a way to impress the ladies,” he stated.

“Well you don't need any help there. That chick seemed smitten with you,” Simon briefly caught onto the slightly bitter bite that came at the end of your sentence. He wanted to believe it, but he also believed it could be his mind playing tricks.

“Just like you are with the cowboy?” Simon didn't know why he said it. Perhaps he wanted you to repute it.

“Who? Arthur?” you asked with a snort.

“What? He's got the horses, money, he's alright looking,” Simon shrugged. You shook your head the whiskey bring out your honesty like it always did.

“Nah. He's uh, he's not the one for me,” you stated simply.

“Who is?” The blatant question caught you off guard. You chuckled nervously, casting your eyes down to the banjo as you plucked it.

“I uh, I don't know,” you muttered. Simon tried not to be dejected at it. “The fucker better hurry up though. I'm getting impatient,” you joked, your eyes flicking up to Simon”s for only a second. It was only a second they needed to be caught in the pools of brown. Simon was studying you, like he did to everyone. Taking in everything about you. But there was something else in his eyes. He seemed like he wanted to say something. Price's words burned in his mind. He wanted to offer himself up as a potential candidate. But as hard as he tried, his tongue simply wouldn't move. You waited a few moments for him to say anything. Then you waited a few more. A sad smile spread across your face. It wasn't possible.

“The girl you end up with is gonna be one lucky bitch Simon,” you whispered turning away from his gaze as you stood. You put the banjo down as you watched the sun rise.

“You think?” finally his mouth wanted to speak. It just didn't say the right thing.

“I know it,” you whispered, patting his shoulder as you walked past him, back to the house. Your hand squeezed his shoulder before slipping off. Simon’s hand reached up, his fingers missing your’s by mere millimeters. 

In a bush nearby, Soap slammed his palm over his eyes, cursing his two teammates under his breath.

Everything was going great. You and the team had a plan. You were seated at a bar area with Tommy not too far away. The second day's events came and went. And now you were just waiting. Waiting for Tommy to peel away from the group so you could nab him. 

A beer was placed down in front of you.

“Sorry I didn't order this,” you spoke up to the bartender.

“He sent it for you sweetheart,” she said, pointing to Tommy. You forced a smile, giving him a cheers motion. He politely dismissed himself from the people he was talking to and made his way over to you.

“Hell of a ride yesterday,” he said.

“It was average,” you shrugged. He smiled as he sat down beside you fairly close. So close in fact that your shoulders were pressed together. 

“Yeah, it sure was,” he stated. Your heart stopped as you heard the click of a safety. A moment later you felt a cool metal pressed through your shit into your side. 

“Well shit,” you muttered, deciding to take a large sip of the beer.

“Shit is right, sweetheart. Now listen close or i'll blow your guts over that lovely girl next to you,” he threatened nodding to the woman who sat beside you. He had a gun pressed against you.

“There's an awful lot of people here,” you stated.

“Good thing my gun has a silencer on it. And if I'm not mistaken, you look a little drunk,” he said his lips twisting into a cocky smirk. 

“Wouldn't be surprised if you passed out, you know. But being the general man I am I’d be sure to take you to a quiet spot,” he suggested. He was right. The music was blaring. Nobody was paying attention to you. And you were alone. You were the lookout. The boys were stationed elsewhere in wait for him. But he didn't know that.

“My boys are watching mate, I wouldn't,” your words got cut off by his boisterous laugh.

“No sweetheart. You see, I know they're waiting for me tucked in little hide holes around the exit. I know you're all alone. Now what you're going to do is tell your little friends that I'm on the move. Heading in a completely different direction than they think I am. Then you and I are gonna slip out the back where I have a car waiting,” he explained it all. 

“And if I don't comply?” your question was answered by the gun being pressed further into your side. Yet your gaze remained unfazed. Unshaken. There was no fear in your eyes. 

“Then I kill him,” he stated, nodding to the bartender. “And her,” he said, nodding to another random person. “And her,” he added, nodding to a little girl who walked by. You stared at Tommy trying to see if he was speaking the truth. To find any lies in his eyes. You couldn't see anything, he was good at hiding his thoughts. And you couldn't risk it.

“How did you know?” you asked. 

“I got a little tip off,” he shrugged.

“From who?” you asked.

“And why would I tell you?” he asked.

“I don't know, cowboy to cowboy?” you suggested. He chuckled again.

“You may be a cowboy kid. But there's things that are a little bit more important than that. Now on with it,” he stated. Rolling your tongue along your inner teeth, you pressed you finger to your ear.

“This is Bingo, Bushy, you there?” you asked. At the other end of the coms, the boys all frowned in utter confusion. 

“What is she on about?” Jonny asked.

“Doc? This is Bravo 6. Repeat your last?” Price asked.

“Bingo has visuals. Target on the move. Casper and Dirt are clear to engage. He's headed for the west car park,” You hoped and prayed that the boys would understand.

“Good girl,” Tommy said, reaching up to rip the earpiece off before you could get a response from them.

“Capser and dirt? What's that supposed to be? Me and Ghost?” Jonny asked. 

“She's not using out code names,” Ghost stated into his comms the realization washing over them like a wave.

“Somethin’s not right,” Price grumbled gruffly.

Tommy had quickly taken you out of the bar area to the secluded back. You were walking to the car, the gun now pressed against your back. Your hands were clasped behind your head per his orders as he had taken your concealed weapons, but he still didn't trust you.

“Isn't this the part where you say I'm not going to get away with this?” he asked.

“Don't need to say something I know is gonna happen,” you shrugged.

“What?” his question was answered by a gun shot. You moved to the side and back, slamming your body against Tommy pinching the arm that held the gun between your arm and side. His pain scream ripped through your ears, a shot having cleaved through his leg. Your hit sent him flying to the ground as you ripped the gun from his grasp falling with him. Pulling your elbow back you stuck him in the face. 

Bullets ripped above you as the boys took out the few enemies that emerged from the car. Flipping Tommy who was wallowing loudly in pain over you slipped some zip ties around his hands. Pulling them taunt you glanced back at the car gun at the ready. Finding all enemies neutralized you stood.

“Doc you alright!?” Price was the first to make it to you.

“Course. Took your time,” you muttered.

“Ghost had to get into position,” he nodded to the shadow that stood on a nearby building sniper on his shoulder. Holding your hand up in thanks, he simply nodded.

“We look like a bunch of rag tag outlaws in these getups,” you stated as you heaved Tommy up along with Price. 

“Price she alright?” Ghost voice pressed into Price comm.

“She's all good,” Price said back.

“Tell em to stop worrying. And remind Jonny he still owes me a photo,” you told Price. When Ghost joined back up with you, you flashed him your usual smile.

“Thanks for having my back Big guy,” you held you hand out for a fist bump. 

“That not your blood is it?” he asked nodding to your pants. You looked down.

“Of course it's not mine. What feel your shootings getting a bit skew?” you asked. As you went to look up your vision was blacked by the brim of a hat. A hand placing it on your head and ruffling your hair with it.

“Quick thinking Doc. Good job,” Ghost hand left your head where he had placed his hat. You tilted it back watching as Ghost loaded Tommy into the back of the truck.

He had put his hat on your head. Through your faint blush, you shock your head. He didn't know about the rule. You told yourself to stop being delusional as you got back to work.

Little did you know Ghost knew all about the rule. Thats why his heart hurt so much to see you willingly taking another man's hat. As you left Price was talking to Arthur. Arthur's eyes scanned over you all as he waved a small goodby. You waved back falling to notice Ghost standing behind you with the smuggest look of victory on his face. After all you were still wearing his hat.

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=Cowboys and Men Part 1 Here=

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=COD Master List here=

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[love-anddeepression]

O my gosh do you think you can do a Miguel x teen reader. Where the reader has been in a depressed mood lately and no one can figure out what's wrong till they reveal that their headphones broke on their last mission and it was the last thing their remaining family member gave to them before they died and they blaime themselves for not being more careful with them.

Headphones-Miguel O’Hara x teen!reader.

As someone who’s emotionally attached to her heradpjones yes I can and will write this. Thank you all so much for the love and support from my last post! I’ll be taking a short break after this and I hope you all like it! Please comment and reblog if you do :D love you<3333

Warnings: Implied Hobie brown x reader; mostly fluff dw, crying.

ART BY THE AMAZING @thattripleabattery

“Is it just me, or is something off about her?” Miles nods towards you who is sitting all alone away from and sipping juice desolately as they all listen to Miguel’s newest monthly goal meeting.

“Something looks off about her, like something’s missing.” Gwen narrows her eyes at your figure.

You just keep nodding at intervals and try to pay attention but all you can think about are the headphones your brother had given you.

You considered them an extension of you, going so far as to even sometimes wear them during light missions while you waited for the threat to show up.

Your last mission had been gruelling, so bad to the point that both Jess and your dad had suggested you take a break from fighting to recuperate.

You were so devastated on the inside, all you did was just nod.

You knew that Miguel knew you were off. It was obvious that you joked less and acted tired. Not to mention the little amount of sleep you got.

It was stupid really, all this drama over a pair of headphones. Yet, they were the last connection you had to your brothers and it felt like you had truly lost your family when they broke into two.

Your mind was literally empty as you nodded at whatever Miguel was saying. You just dipped your juice and kept zoning in and out. It felt wrong that they weren’t there around your neck where they usually were.

Miguel started to notice your constant fidgeting and the way your hands kept rubbing your neck. He had also noticed your dull nature and the way your sweet smile stopped making its way onto your face.

Even to his lamest dad jokes, you’d respond with a huff and small twist of your lips.

As he wrapped up the plan, his eyes flit to yours and he saw you still nodding, your eyes glassy.

He takes a deep breath, “Dismissed, all of you leave. Now.”

The shuffle of chairs fills the room as everyone files out one by one.

He says your name, “Stay back.” And turns around to look at the hologram.

Miles and Gwen look at each other and then at you, who breathes in and nods without a word.

Once everyone has left, he turns back around to find you looking at him with your hands behind your back.

“What happened?” He asks and you sign.

“Nothing.”

“It’s rude to lie.”

“Manners maketh man and all that jazz.” You reply with a roll of your eyes.

“Seriously.” He raises his eyebrow and his hand rests on your shoulder, “You okay?”

“Yeah, god I’m fine! I was just an irresponsible shit and I broke my headphones.”

His eyebrows furrow, “The ones your brother gave you?”

You clench your jaw and nod, eyes smarting as you struggle not to cry at the thought.

He shrugs, “They’re just headphones, kid. You can always get another.”

You just scoffed, “Yeah, I know.”

“I mean, you get it right?”he tips his down to make a point.

“Yeah, yeah whatever.” You smile wryly and turn away so that he can miss the tear forming in your eye, “Cool, I’ll uh catch you later boss man.”

He stares after your retreating figure with remorse, did he say something wrong?

“You dumb idiot.” Lyla pops up.

“What?” He snarls, whirling to look at her.

“She was really attached to those headphones, Miguel.”

“She can always get new ones, Lyla. I’m getting them for her anyway.”

“Miguel it’s as if her brother died all over again.” Lyla replies firmly, “She’s hurting, ans you made her feel worse.”

Miguel hangs his head, “Shit.”

The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, but after years of shutting himself out, he didn’t understand people’s feelings like he used to, and he wanted with every fibre of his being to cheer you up, and he managed to screw it up.

“You need to go apologise and fix this.” Lyla points towards the doorway.

——————-

“It’s okay. Let it all out.” Hobie’s soothing voice is calming as his hand travels up and down your back to soothe you.

You breathe deeply before letting out another broken sob that only makes you more embarrassed, and in front of Hobie of all people. The guy just oozed absolute “don’t care” energy while still simultaneously being one of the most caring people you’d ever met.

Your apologies are hushed and he takes your face between his hands and wipes your tears from your cheeks, “You look pretty even when you cry.”

You roll your eyes, “Shut up.”

You hug him again, “Thank you.”

“I know what it’s like to lose something like that, and I’m sorry. But I know you will get over it and I salute you for being so brave.” He winks, “I’ve gotta run, catch you later.”

He quickly kisses your forehead and dashes off, leaving you stunned. After a few moments, a smile makes its way onto your puffy face.

“I’m going to kill that kid.” Miguel seethes as he watches from the camera.

———-

You were exhausted after a long day of training and you couldn’t wait to just go and fall asleep in your quarters.

The door swung open easily and your eyes flitted to the shabbily wrapped present on your bed. The bed that was unmade in the morning but was miraculously made and cleaned now.

Your eyes narrow as you tear away the wrapping to find a near identical pair of headphones to the ones that broke and your eyes widen in shock as you hold them up in front of you.

There’s a post-it stuck to the wrapping paper and you read the note that is unmistakably written by Miguel. You can recognise his chicken scratch handwriting.

“Im sorry for hurting your feelings this morning. And I hope this makes up for it. Don’t blame yourself, it was an accident and accidents happen. Im proud that you learnt your mistake and that you act so wise for your age, despite the fact that you decide to go to a weird British punk spider for advice, I am still proud of you. No es tu culpa, none of this is your fault.

Love,

Dad.”

—————-

“She seems to be in a much better mood today.” Gwen nudges Miles.

“She’s smiling and trying to get him to laugh.” Miles grins at your antics.

“Wait her headphones! They were missing, they’re back around her neck, that’s probably why she was in a shitty mood!” Pavitr reasons as Gwen nods in agreement.

“Are the three of you paying attention?” Miguel looks pointedly at the three kids and his glare then falls in Hobie who is seated next to you.

“Everyone dismissed!”

As everyone files out he says yet again, “Hobart, stay back.”

[sadhours]

Harringrove x reader. ur left sharing a small tent sleeping. boyfriend billy on the right steve the left. your feeling some sexual tension w billy despite you both agreeing not to do anything with ur friends. but he wakes up noticing u staring at his pretty face. He can’t help it-moving even closer to u and kisses you. Eating you up. It’s so sloppy. So intimate and cosy. It’s so loud that Steve wakes up. Once he sees you and billy kissing he moves closer behind you and 😳 double p-

1st billy- then when Steve’s about to insert himself you feel slightly nervous- and you whisper Billy’s name. He brings your head onto his neck praising you to take steve. Once steves inside you and ur comfortable-that’s it. They’re using you for their release. Hard and fast. You hold onto Billy’s muscular form almost crying with how good it feels.

some Harringrove moments- maybe they feel their cocks rubbing against each other at one point ?

Sorry for such the detail I’m not too sure abt it- I’ll let you cook this up or change it - inspired from ur amazing Harringrove smut. I’ve never ever requested Harringrove x reader and some may say I have had my big amount of ideas 🤠

🤤🤤🤤

absolutely, being sandwiched between the two of them is my fckn dream

It’s almost like a cruel joke— the way Steve ended up in the same tent as you and Billy. You’re sure it’s been done on purpose because you’d off-handedly mentioned to Billy that Steve looked good in his Scoops Ahoy! uniform the other day. You and Billy were getting some ice cream after your shifts at the pool ended, Steve and him had become quick friends recently. You weren’t exactly sure how it had happened but they were hanging out suddenly and Steve gave you guys discounts whenever you stopped by to get ice cream. Anyways, you’d both witnessed Steve getting shot down by a group of girls and Billy had laughed, suggesting that it was the dumb uniform to which you shrugged and said he looked cute in it. Immediately afterwards, you looked at him with wide eyes, expecting Billy to be angry but he actually seemed amused— intrigued even.

When Billy invited Steve along to the little camping trip with your guys’ group you were shocked at first but figured, they’re friends now so it wasn’t weird. Until it was time for bed and Steve followed you and Billy into your tiny, two-man tent. But it was totally fine, it wouldn’t be weird because you and Billy discussed not having sex during the trip for the sake of your friends. You were loud, everyone would know and you didn’t want to subject them to that.

Billy’s keeping up his end of the deal, eyes closed and steady breathing. The moonlight peeking into the tent shines beautifully on his face and you’re most definitely staring. He’s so pretty it makes your stomach do flips, you could stare him all day and in fact, when you have the time, you do. You watch his eyes barely move behind his lids, you’re a little impressed by how quickly he can fall asleep. As your eyes rake over the curve of his nose you can’t help but reach your fingertips up to brush against it. Billy’s face squishes up in reaction, his eyes blinking open to meet yours and a lazy smirk spreads across his lips. He turns on his side, facing you completely and copies your earlier movement, brushing his fingertips from the bridge of your nose to its tip. You giggle softly and something shifts in the mood, Billy grabs onto your jaw and leans down to press his lips to yours. The kiss is hungry, Billy grunts softly into it before biting your lower lip and tugging on it. You gasp softly and he takes the opportunity to lick eagerly into your mouth, hand moving from your jaw to your breast and squeezing it through your thin tank top. It’s so sloppy and you try to focus on Billy and not Steve’s back pressed against your own but you panic a little bit, knowing he’s bound to wake up to your and Billy’s sounds.

Your boyfriend doesn’t seem to care, shoving his hand down the front of your pajama pants and underwear, cupping your pussy in his hand as he sucks on your tongue. There’s no possible way you can stop the little moans erupting from you, especially when Billy slides his fingers between your folds. Your whole body feels on fire and you can’t deny you’re turned on by the fact that Steve’s so close while Billy fingers you. However, you feel Steve turn over and you freeze, pressing your palm to Billy’s chest to push him back an inch.

“Shh,” your boyfriend smiles at you, “It’s okay, right Harrington?”

You feel Steve’s hand snake over your hip and you feel his breath against your ear, “I don’t mind at all.”

Suddenly, you’re sure they’ve planned this and while you think you should be upset, you’re not. You’re incredibly aroused by it, actually. Billy must feel as much as his fingers slip inside your aching hole with ease and he smirks at you.

“Is this okay?” Steve asks you softly, his hand moving up to cup your breast, “If I join?”

You knit your eyebrows together, wanting to say yes immediately but looking to Billy for reassurance.

“It’s up to you, darlin’,” Billy purrs, lowering his lips against yours.

You gasp as Steve squeezes your tit and Billy curls his fingers inside, “Yes, I want it!”

You feel Steve’s lips curl against your neck just as Billy lets out a soft chuckle before he’s licking back into your mouth. It’s already pretty overstimulating but your body tingles all over when you feel Steve licking and kissing your neck. You moan but it’s stifled by Billy’s tongue while he pumps his fingers in and out of you. Billy pulls away, saliva connecting between your lips and he makes a guttural noise as he looks over to where Steve’s sucking bruises into your skin.

He sits up, his fingers still inside you and it’s a team effort between the boys as they awkwardly pull your pajamas and underwear down. Steve grabs a hold of your thigh and pulls your leg over his waist, spreading your legs wide as your boyfriend fingers you relentlessly. Steve’s long fingers find your clit and he rubs circles against it, breathing heavy in your ear.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine, eyebrows raising as your chest heaves with your own labored breathing.

Billy bites his lip, watching as his fingers disappear inside your dripping pussy.

“You’re so wet,” Billy comments, voice low, “Thinking about Steve in his uniform?”

Your face flushes, eyes widening at Billy while Steve scoffs beside you, “Got a thing for sailors?”

Billy chuckles, “She’s got a thing for pretty boys. Don’t ya, sweetheart?”

You can’t even answer, you’re not sure any words would come out so instead you nod, hips writhing against the pair of hands on you. The sounds that do come out of you are euphorically induced, uncontrollable. You’ve always been loud, Billy had to keep his hand over your mouth most times. Out here in the forest, he doesn’t seem to care and you’re too blissed out to even think about it. Everything feels too wonderful. Steve’s kissing your jaw and cheek and Billy reaches his free hand up and turns your face to Steve, groaning when Steve licks into your mouth. It’s different kissing Steve but it’s not bad, he’s not as eager as Billy, he’s slower.

Billy sighs softly and you can’t help but open your eyes and look over at him. He’s got his left hand wrapped around his cock, stroking lazily as he watches you kiss Steve while still thrusting his fingers inside you, but his pace has slowed. It’s fucking hot, seeing Billy so worked up at the sight of you kissing his friend. Steve grinds his hips up and you can feel his erection against the back of your thighs. You feel like you’ve won the fucking lottery or something. Two of the hottest men you’ve ever seen, right here at the same time. You don’t feel so guilty about your crush on Steve anymore.

“Fuck,” Billy exhales, squeezing at the base of his cock. “So hot.”

Steve leans back from the kiss and easily maneuvers you on top of him, your back against his chest. When Billy pulls his fingers out, you stubbornly whine at the loss but Steve’s holding your legs open as Billy positions himself between them. He slaps the head of his cock against your pussy and you moan out, leaning your head back against Steve’s shoulder. Your boyfriend doesn’t tease anymore, prodding his tip against your entrance.

“Pull her legs up, Harrington,” he instructs and Steve obeys, hands smoothing over the backs of your thighs and he holds them up for Billy.

Billy sinks in, groaning lowly as he bottoms out. You cry out, eyes squeezing shut at the sensation of Billy stretching you out.

“Jesus,” Steve comments, “She’s loud.”

“Yeah,” Billy grunts, “Have to fucking gag her half the time.”

The way they’re talking about you and not to you is surprisingly hot, you kind of like feeling like an object to them. You’re totally happy to let them use you however they please.

“Your dick is thick as hell, though,” Steve muses, “Poor thing probably can’t help herself.”

Billy laughs lowly, rolling his hips which pulls another sound from you and Billy tsks, “Feels good, doll? Am I stretching that tight pussy out?”

“Uh-huh,” you whine and you can feel Steve groan, the sound from his chest vibrates against your back.

“Just you wait,” he says beneath you and your eyes widen up at Billy.

He smirks, licking his tongue against his bottom lip and nods, “Oh, yeah, we’re gonna stretch you out nice and good, baby.”

“Billy…” you whine out, reaching up to grab onto his shoulders while he thrusts his cock deeper.

“You ready?” Billy asks and you look up at him with uncertainty. He pouts, stroking your cheek with his thumb, “I think she needs to be warmed up a little more, Harrington.”

“I can help,” Steve props his knee up so he can keep your thigh held up for Billy while he moves his hand around to rub at your clit again.

“Ah, perfect,” Billy drawls, “She’ll be ready after she cums.”

He pistons his hips quicker as Steve works against your clit, it’s all so intoxicating and you already feel like your floating up to the clouds. You keep your eyes open, watching your boyfriends face intently as he fucks you open. Billy looks almost drunk, glassy eyes with his lips parted and his eyebrows knit together. He’s so beautiful it makes you feel dizzy. The head of his cock pounding against your g-spot helps, along with Steve’s firm fingers playing at your clit. The pressure building up in your stomach is working quicker than ever before, you’re not even sure how that’s possible. Billy’s gotten to know your body well, he can make you cum pretty quickly when he wants to but this is entirely new. You can’t even bring your orgasm along this fast by yourself.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” you blubber, “i’m… oh my fucking god!”

The pair of them double down, Billy thrusts even harder and Steve rubs your clit faster. You see white as your orgasm crashes into you, causing your body to seize and then thrash between the men. You’re screaming, you’re sure of it, your throat feels raw when you come to, panting against Billy’s mouth, you can’t even remember when he put his lips against yours. You blink repeatedly as he pulls away, this almost devious look in his eyes.

“Goddamn,” Steve grunts.

Billy pulls out of you and lays down on his back, grabbing you and pulling you on top of him. He kisses you deeply, smoothing his hands over your ass before he slips his cock back inside of you. You whine, feeling like you might actually cry. He wraps his arms around your middle and keeps kissing you through the whimpers you make. Then you feel Steve’s cock poking against you and your eyes widen again, looking to Billy with panic. He rubs his big hands against the small of your back.

“Billy…” you whisper, voice shaky.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he coos, “You can take him too.”

You bite your lip, nodding to your boyfriend as you wait for the stretch of your life. You’re nervous but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t fantasize about this. “Okay,” you breathe, smiling at Billy.

Steve slides in alongside Billy and they both make low, throaty groans and you’re preening at the sounds. It helps the burn, knowing they’re enjoying the feel of their cocks rubbing against each others. You think about the possibilities of this becomes a regular thing with them. You’d really like to kiss the both of them at the same time. You press your forehead against Billy’s shoulder, trying to get adjusted to the feeling of two thick cocks stretching you out.

“Such a good little cock slut,” Billy purrs and Steve’s hips jerk at his words, urging himself deeper inside you which pulls a cry from your chest.

“Fuck, sorry,” Steve apologizes, hands grabbing onto your hips while Billy’s wrap against the back of your neck.

“No… felt good,” you whimper, grabbing onto Billy’s bulging biceps.

They both seem to take that as the go ahead, rolling their hips and your mind goes fuzzy. Their fingers are bruising where each of them holds you, thrusting in sync brutally. The noises they make flood your ears and you might’ve died and gone to heaven. It’s excruciating, how stuffed and satisfying it feels.

“Fuuuuuck,” you moan out, turning your face to catch Billy’s lips in a dazed kiss. Steve’s hand smooths up your back and grabs a fistful of your hair while he thrusts up inside you. He pushes your face down against Billy’s, forcing the kiss deeper.

Billy’s hands move down to your ass and he pulls your cheeks apart, holding you open while the two of them drill into you. It feels almost unreal, but you chase the fact that this is reality, you’ve really got Steve and Billy’s cocks stretching you out.

“Such a good girl,” Billy purrs.

“Mm, doing so well,” Steve supplies just as Billy smacks your ass.

The praise sends you over the moon, your eyes flutter closed. This is beyond your expectations. This is wonderful. This is earth shattering. This is fucking everything and you’re absolutely drunk on it. They’re fucking you raw, so hard and fast and you’re feeling used in the best way possible. You’re hoping and praying this turns into a regular thing.

“Wish you could see her face, Stevie,” Billy growls, “She looks so fucked out.”

Steve kisses against your cheek before pulling your hair to turn your face so he can see it, “Still with us, sweetheart?”

“Unh…” if they thought you were capable of the English language at this point, they’re sorely mistaken. You’re an absolute puddle. Words barely have any meaning, all you know is you’ve never experienced ecstasy like this and you’re fucking loving every second.

They each give a pleased little laugh, both breathless as they try to feign control, like they’re not both so close on the edge. You feel special, so so so deeply special and on top of the fucking world. The sheer stretch of the two of them shoved inside you made your eyes cross, had your whole body shaking, was so irrevocably pleasurable that you weren’t sure you could recover. They’d fuck you dumb, that much was guaranteed. You realize tears are streaming down your face only when Billy’s wiping them away and kissing you softly.

“You’re taking us so well, baby,” he encourages, “you’re doing so good, you’re such a good girl for me.”

“Billy….” You whine out, grateful you remember any words, particularly your boyfriends name. “Billy, billy….” You chant it because it grounds you, keeps you tied to reality.

Their thrusts match in desperation, both making incredibly pretty sounds that make your ears hot. It’s matched by their strong, big hands moving over your body. There’s a pair grabbing onto your tits, they must be Steve’s judging by the angle which means Billy’s are the pair gripping and pulling at your ass. You’re elated, floating practically as they fuck into you relentlessly. It’s brutal, rough in the way you need. Steve pulls you up by your hair, your back flush against his chest and he kisses you deeply. Billy digs his fingers in your hips, eyes scanning up and down your body and then to where you and Steve are sloppily making out. Steve moves his hand down and presses his fingers to your clit.

“Fuck,” you choke out, all the sensations they’re serving you is becoming almost too much. You can’t tell if you want to push them away or pull them closer.

“Baby,” Billy coos, smoothing his hand up over your side, “Sweetheart, you gonna cum for us?”

“Uh-huh…” you whine, “M’so close… feels so good.”

Steve kisses against your ear before whispering, “Come on, babygirl. Give us what we want.”

You’re sent over the edge, your second orgasm ripping through you with a cry and everything goes fuzzy for a few seconds. Then Steve’s pushing you back down, pistons his hips faster while Billy’s rock up to meet his thrusts. Billy captures your lips in a kiss, there’s hands running all over along your body but you can’t tell who’s who. Then Steve makes a strangled groan and you feel his cum filling you up, at least you’re assuming it’s his by the noise he makes. Billy hums against your lips, moving his hips harder into you and then he’s making a similar sound to Steve and you feel more cum filling you up and you whimper, holding onto Billy’s muscular chest for dear life. The feeling of their cum mixing together inside you is unmatched and you make a small whine as they each pull out of you. Steve collapses beside you and you remain clinging to Billy. You fall asleep like that, Billy rubbing soothing circles against your back and whispering softly how good you did and how beautiful you are.

When you wake up, you feel sticky and honestly, dirty. A shower would be greatly appreciated but as you open your eyes you’re reminded that you’ll be in the forest for one more night so a dip in lake is gonna have to do instead. You hear Steve mumbling something incoherent sleepily and feel Billy’s breath against your face and then you realize you’re sandwiched between the two of them, they’re both holding you tightly. It’s a wonderful thing to wake up to. You feel so warm inside.

Billy kisses your cheek and then nudges his nose against yours, “Good morning, darling.”

You hum, “Morning.”

Steve mumbles something again from behind you and tightens his grip on you.

“Can we do that again?” you whisper to Billy, blushing.

He smirks down at you, “What do you think we’re doing tonight, doll?”

[ohnococo]

Helping Hand | Bartender!Geto x Server!Reader

Geto is always so helpful when you’re stressed…

❥ WC: 1.2k // SFW

❥ Notes: a request for Geto with a bit of an oral fixation. This one is set in this restaurant au.

❥ Warnings: SFW, light flirting, asshole customers mentioned, ice chewing (I know some ppl hate it lol), finger sucking, gn!reader

minors / ageless blogs blocked on sight

Margarita, Mai Tai, Long Island Iced Tea - seeing Suguru this often during your work day thanks to the new Happy Hour deal would normally make your life a lot easier. He’s kind, flirty, even takes your drinks out to your tables himself, knowing his personal touch usually increases your tips (which he insists on you never splitting with him, pointing out how quickly his jar at the bar fills up night after night). With the amount of assholes that had come in today, even his smiling face - and Yuki’s not-so-subtle attempts to play wing-woman as she helps him with the 2-for-1 onslaught behind the bar - had been unable to lift your spirits.

There was a tipping point between alcohol making customers more pliant (and open to putting a little extra money on the table at the end of their meal) and alcohol making them irritable and impatient. So far today your section seemed to almost exclusively be diving right into the latter end of drinking.

This particular table had more or less cannonballed right into being assholes. Mad that a special from last year isn’t still on, annoyed that they couldn’t get a specific booth during the busiest time of the week, changing their order once it’s already been sent back to the kitchen, eating most of it before complaining it was incorrect. Now they were parked at the table, ordering more drinks, racking up a bill you already knew you were lucky to get the change in the bottom of their purses as a tip on top of.

Suguru has a keen eye, even when he’s swamped and pouring drink after drink, so he’d been extra careful with every order you’d sent back from them. Filling drinks to the brim, low ice, a little extra on the garnishes, and he’d reminded you every time you came over to grab them that he’d have brought them over personally if only he could get a second to step away from the bar.

Alas, even with Yuki there alongside him, you were just that busy tonight. The offer still gave you butterflies, something you suspected that Suguru knew all too well as he seemed to always manage to break away from whatever he was doing if only for a second to send a smile your way as you pick up drinks.

This visit to the bar rewards you with his smile as usual when you rush over to grab the latest batch of drinks, but this time he lingers a little longer than he had earlier in the night.

“Hey.” It’s said softly, barely audible over the chatter of the packed restaurant and the dissonance of the TVs playing various sports games, but it earns your full attention nonetheless. “Take a breather if you need to, they can wait.”

He nods towards your table, and you follow his gaze, wanting to take his suggestion but not wanting to make your work any harder than it already is. “They’ll complain…”

You look back to him just as he shrugs. “They’re going to complain anyway. I think that’s their main hobby.”

You laugh, happy to let a little of the tension building in your shoulders release, and Suguru notices right away, “There you go, just relax a little. Here, I’ll join you.”

He dips beneath the bar for a second, bringing up his own water he had stashed away beneath, and taking a drink as he leans against the bar. He tilts it back far enough to pour a little ice into his mouth, before an idea hits him for while he’s got you captive for a minute. “Want me to pour you a drink?”

“Suguru…”

“Non-alcoholic, obviously.” He smiles, in a way that tells you the non-alcoholic part may just be in quotes. The flash of his teeth and his lowered lids actually has you considering it for a moment, then considering other ways to relieve your stress as his mouth distracts you.

His jaw tenses as he bites down on the ice, and his eyes stay on yours as he hollows his cheeks and moves the cold fragments around in his mouth. He pushes it to one side with his tongue, brows lifting in a way that exposes just how obvious you are when he draws your attention to his mouth like this. Not that you were ever able to be subtle when he was always chewing on ice, or moving a toothpick around in his mouth, or any of the other things that he surely must know highlight his perfect jaw and soft lips…

“Don’t worry, you’re allowed to say yes.” His voice pulls you from your train of thought, something you’re grateful for as you know you can’t let yourself get too distracted tonight.

“Sorry Suguru, I’m only half way through my shift. Gotta stay sharp.”

He nods, look of disappointment and acceptance battling for prominence on his handsome face, before chewing the last of the ice that hadn’t melted from the heat of his mouth as he slides the drinks closer to you across the bar. “Fair enough, maybe later.”

“Yeah, later sounds nice.”

You take a breath as you pick up the drinks, preparing yourself for whatever complaint your table will come up with next, and turn to face them.

Suddenly, Gojo goes whizzing by, plates counterbalanced perfectly on his tray, though you aren’t quite so lucky with your balance as you jolt back and out of the path he’d already corrected, spilling one of the drinks down your hand as he throws a quick apology over his shoulder on his way over to his own section.

“Shit…” You turn back to the bar to set the drinks down on cocktail napkins, only to find Suguru already reaching over to top up what had spilled, saving you potential hassle from your table.

You take a few extra napkins from the pile and lift your arm to dab at the drops running down it, happy you at least weren’t going to be stuck with the deadly sticky combination of grenadine and orange juice splashed on your top, and shoot Suguru a relieved smile as he wipes the outside of the glass before resettling it’s straw and sliding it back over to you.

“There you go, good as new.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

You reach for the drink, only to be stopped by a gentle hand on your wrist, with a breathy sigh of, “Wait.” coming from Suguru’s perfect mouth.

You expect an extra garnish, another napkin to clean your fingers further, or one of the other million gestures Geto has in his arsenal to make your job a little easier. You expect anything but what he actually does as he pulls your hand to his mouth, eyes still on yours, and quickly sucks any remaining stickiness off of each of your fingers one by one. It’s quick, an action done with a casualness as if it were entirely normal, though the glint in his eyes as he carefully observes you for any signs of discomfort betrays the reality of it all.

He releases your hand and pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, sucking at it as if it would provide any lingering taste of your fingertips. “All clean.”

Then he sends you on your way, because the assholes at table 6 are waiting after all. Though they’re the last thing on your mind as you leave the bar with your head spinning.

Dividers by @//cafekitsune

[inuhalfdemon]

No One Can Know...(8/?)

Word Count: 4,299 Words

Rating: Explicit (SMUT)

Chapter 8

"I'm on the very top floor, room 1334

There's a king size bed but we can do it on the floor

Turn your cellphone off, leave a sign on the door

That says 'Do not disturb'."

- Halestorm

Lucifer stepped out from the portal; the swirling golden ring closing behind with a soft pop.

Materializing into Alastor’s room within the Hazbin Hotel, Lucifer found the demon – hands clasped behind his back – nodding to his shadow. The shadow flitted to a nearby wall, silhouetting itself sharply to give Lucifer a large gaping and toothy grin before skidding off underneath the door and out of sight.

“Where is he headed off to?” Lucifer asked, walking to where Alastor stood waiting. He saw that Alastor’s typical delicate rack of little antlers was branched into several largely curved and jutting points – a pristine buck, if there ever was one. 

“To keep watch, guarding the hotel.” Alastor told him.

“I assume you’ve taken…protective measures?” Lucifer asked, glancing back at the door.

“Yes, of course. All proper warding has been done. I’ve also taken the initiative of suggesting to Charlie that a trip to the cinema may be beneficial to everyone’s frayed nerves. The hotel is essentially ours, for the evening.”

Alastor turned; going to the small dining table that he had placed and set for them just beyond the room and within his own personal bayou.

Lucifer briefly noted that Alastor was without his suit jacket and staff – wearing just his long-sleeved red shirt adorned with the black cross and dress pants instead. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and his tail poked out from behind. Lucifer saw that it was in its normal small and delicate state, but that there also was a very subtle ridge of standing hairs that ran up the fluffy midline – tip to base.

Looking around; Lucifer took in Alastor’s rather….odd, aesthetic. He had anticipated Alastor’s quarters to be very much like any Overlord’s manner of living: something reflecting a visual demonstration to their status and power. Lucifer didn’t make the connection of: soft jazz playing from a radio, the various skeletons and bones of animals, the style of furniture or the general ambiance that he was appreciating, being something directly from what one might have found in early 1900s New Orleans. Not right away, anyway.

“So…what’s the plans for this evening, anyway? We doing doggy-style? Prone boning? 69? What?” Lucifer followed him in.

“Actually, I thought I might treat you to dinner and wine tonight.” Alastor told him, ignoring his lewdness.

“You, uh…what?” Lucifer asked, caught off guard. “Whoa, wait. Is that a pocket dimension?” Fully noticing the bayou now. “These take an incredible amount of power and an incredible amount of skill to manifest…how did you do it?” He poked his head past the seam between realms; assessing the depth of the dimension on both sides – it seemed infinite in both directions, seamless and well placed. 

“Why, of course, I did it by: using an incredible amount of power and an incredible amount of skill.” Alastor answered him; taking a seat at the table.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Must I reveal all of my secrets to you, your grace?” Alastor asked him. “Now, please join me.”

Lucifer came to the table. Alastor had their meal served and ready for them; a bottle of wine chilling in some ice.

“Oh, crumpets.” Lucifer blurted. “I nearly forgot.” Doing an exaggerated whirl of the hand; he produced a large bottle into his hand. “I’ve had a case of this in my possession for quite some time. I have never tried it myself; but knowing you have a taste for Cajun...” Lucifer offered it to Alastor. “I’m told it is rather rare.”

Alastor took the bottle and his eyebrows shot up. “Rare, indeed. I’d have had trouble finding this even while I was alive.”

Snapping his fingers; Alastor sent the wine and ice away, producing two whiskery glasses in its place. “This will pair much better with our meal tonight. A Sazerac rye always goes nicely with a good Jambalaya.”  

Lucifer sat down. “The very same Jambalaya that Charlie has gone on and on about?”

“Yes. My mother’s recipe, bless her soul.” Alastor opened the Sazerac, pouring them each three fingers worth into the glasses. “It does…have a bit of a kick to it.”

Lucifer took his glass; offering a small toast to Alastor before taking a sip. “Well, I should hope so.”

Alastor gestured to their plates; nodding his head – a clear indication that they should dig in. Lucifer nearly dropped his fork after the first bite; the explosion of flavor across his tongue was…indescribable.

“Well, if that look doesn’t stroke my ego.” Alastor chuckled into his glass, sipping at his Sazerac.

“It’s…it’s…” Lucifer was having trouble forming thoughts.

Alastor laughed. “I believe I’ve rendered my King speechless. There is no higher compliment to be given to a chef, truly.” He smirked, lifting his own fork to his lips.

“You may call me, ‘Lucifer’, Al. Or even ‘Luci’.” Lucifer told him. “However…I do dislike the name ‘Luc’…”

“A most unpleasant name, to be sure.” Alastor allowed him. “So, tell me…Lucifer…how are things? You seem less rested since I last saw you.” It was days ago that Alastor had departed the King’s residence. Seven weeks before the next extermination, three weeks before Charlie’s arranged and upcoming meeting with Heaven.

Lucifer shrugged, finishing a bite of the food. “I don’t sleep well. I never have but, with Lilith gone…I hardly get any sleep at all.”

“What…methods have you utilized?” Alastor asked him.

“Everything.” Lucifer sighed. “Honestly…the one thing that always helped was Lili’s songs. You know that she sung? What it did?”

“Doesn’t everyone in Hell know that?” Alastor asked him. “Even if they haven’t had the pleasure of hearing it?”

“I’d like to think so.” Lucifer admitted.

“You know, I always found our Queen’s talents very inspirational. I am sorry that we have had to go so long without such moving music.”

“Me too.” Lucifer said softly, staring at his whiskey glass.

“How is Charlie feeling about the upcoming meeting with Heaven?” Alastor asked him.

“You would know better than I.” Lucifer told him. “I don’t…I don’t really hear from her.”

“Oh?” Alastor knew that to be the case before…but he found it rather odd that Lucifer and Charlie were not currently talking now.  “Have you reached out to her?”

“I…can’t. Not properly, anyway.” Lucifer took a large swallow from his glass. “I can’t discuss anything regarding her plans involving the hotel. It makes conversations that we have seem very…one-sided. Understandably, she becomes frustrated and I’m sure she thinks that I’m being distant or that I just become bored with what she really wants to discuss with me. I’ve tried. I really have but I end up floundering for the words and it all becomes awkward and misunderstood.”

“Why is that exactly?” Alastor asked him. “My deal with you shouldn’t have given you that much grief. The stipulation that I required was that you don’t interfere with my work here. Surely you should be able to carry out a conversation with your daughter.”

“It’s not our deal that causes it.” Lucifer told him. “It’s the deal I made with Lilith.”

“Come again?”

“Lilith essentially invoked a…similar…stipulation. I’m sworn to secrecy – the exception, of course, being you – I can’t interfere with any matters that could detriment Lilith’s plans. That’s why I sent Charlie to the meeting with Adam and it’s why I cannot discuss the hotel or any of Charlie’s plans relating to it specifically. She also required that I do not…interfere…in things.”

“Damn….ok.”

“The last thing I said to Charlie…the last conversation that we had in regard to the hotel, this dream she has, the redemption of sinners…all before I agreed to stand by Lilith; it wasn’t good. I said things to her that I didn’t really mean, tried to steer her away from Heaven’s gaze. Lilith assured me that Charlie is ready for this, that this is the time for her to come into her own – become the Princess of Hell that she was always meant to be… I trust Lilith, I really do but I…I just wish that I could tell Charlie that what I said…it wasn’t true.”

“Yes, well…” Alastor swirled his glass; having very nearly cleared his plate. “You’ve shown your support to her cause now, regardless. At least, as much as you are able. I’m sure Charlie recognizes the value in that.”

“But, I should have been there for her since day one.” Lucifer tells him, narrowing his gaze on Alastor.

“Perhaps.” Alastor merely shrugged, ignoring the venom in Lucifer’s look. “But, how much would it have changed anyway? We’re here now. Charlie is fulfilling her dream; she has the hotel, she has sinners – however few – willing to give this whole redemption idea of hers a shot, she has the meeting with heaven, she has you and Lilith both fighting together for her cause – what more could possibly be done?”

Lucifer had no answer to this, not at present.

“Would it…help,” Alastor set his glass down now, looking directly at Lucifer. “If I were to…suggest to Charlie that she reach out to you? Not to discuss the hotel, the meeting with Heaven or anything of that like but…maybe, to discuss how to carry oneself in the face of intimidation, turmoil, and….upheaval? The girl lacks something in her use of confidence, particularly in establishing some level of authority. Her meeting with Adam did not lend her many favors.”

“I appreciate the suggestion but I’m hardly the one she should turn to. She gets that from me.”

“Lucifer…if I may be so bold: You are the King of Hell. You are the very embodiment of Pride. This wallowing, this…self-loathing is unbecoming to one who should invoke nothing but fear to those who dare to so much as utter your name. What’s more, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Ok…you really want to talk about Pride?” Lucifer leveled his gaze on Alastor. “Tell me, have you managed to cycle out of your rut yet?”

Alastor tilted his head back, tweaking one ear. “You know very well that I haven’t.” He gestured to his intricate crown of antlers. “What the hell does that have to do w –?“

“You never called on me. After leaving. You’re still in rut; we have an agreement in place for such things.”

“It is easily managed now.” Alastor lifted his glass to his lips.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how pleasant you’ve been tonight, how…relaxed. You see, I find that very interesting. When it was you who told me yourself that avoidance would not be the solution to your…problem.”

Alastor’s ears pulled back.

“So, your plan now is what….to just wait things out? I mean, I’d love to keep playing this little game of ‘fuck buddies’ with you forever, but -”

“Don’t call it that…” Alastor hissed, bristling.

“You are so set upon holding onto this illusion of control that you have created for yourself that you’ve made yourself become incredibly short-sighted.”

“Please….do enlighten me.” Alastor’s eyes glowed softly red.

 “Gladly.” Lucifer stood up; leaning over the table now. “You are denying your body and yourself something that is a biological need; something that you – in fact – require…just for the simple fact that…you’d rather not!?”

“I told you…sex holds no interest to me.”

“When you’re not in rut.” Lucifer emphasized. “That’s been established. I can’t say that I’ll be here in the next seven years when you decide to stop playing at abstinence.”

“I never said-“

“You didn’t have to! I already knew!” Lucifer’s voice was rising. “You knew I’m much more experienced than you and you knew that I was familiar with Cervidae demons – was it really so hard to assume that I might know that a rut happens far more frequently than what you were leading me to believe!?”

 “The point, you are trying so hard to convey to me is…?” Alastor asked him, clearly not pleased.

“You think that by denying yourself something this important, putting yourself through this much grief and discomfort; it gives you control.”

Alastor waited; offering no comments.

“But, it makes you weak.”

Alastor tilted his head; eyes glinting. “You want to say that again?” Alastor stood up from the table himself now; glaring down at Lucifer.

“Prove me wrong.” Lucifer challenged him. “Void our deal.”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“You’ve got fucking big ears, you heard me.” Lucifer told him, standing up and walking around the table now. “Void our deal. If you don’t need me anymore, why waste my time? You have so much control over the situation; I’m sure you’ll have no problems in fulfilling your end of things with Lilith so that she can give you whatever the fuck it is you are wanting from all of this.” 

Lucifer stopped and Alastor turned to face him. 

“I’ll even agree to your…stipulation.” Lucifer said, holding out his hand. “No interference from me…whatsoever.”

Alastor hesitated; considering the offer that was being made to him.

“You really want to know what control….true power…is, Alastor?” Lucifer asked him; looking up at him with a steady gaze. “It’s knowing your limits.”

Alastor smirked, looking skeptical.

“I’m being deadly serious about that.” Lucifer told him. “If you know your limits…you know to make the accommodations – to do the things that are required to ensure your success. Be clever. Be calculative. Do what’s required to see this rut finished and be done with it, Al, or…let it consume you.”

Lucifer was still holding out his hand; eyes on Alastor.

Alastor’s eyes were on Lucifer’s hand and then his gaze shifted to the King’s.

“Your choice.” Lucifer told him, waiting.

“I….decline.” Alastor told him; eyes shifting sideways. His ears leant back.

There was a moment between them; neither of them saying anything…then:

“You know…” Lucifer was taking a risk here, knowing that Alastor’s pride may have sustained too much damage tonight already.  “It was very clever of you…” Lucifer pressed in, bringing himself very close to Alastor now, but not quite touching him. “…to use some lovely bit of forethought in ensuring that you and I would be left all alone tonight.”

Alastor’s head tilted, ears standing straight. Lucifer couldn’t see it, but his tail had started moving; quickly swishing back and forth in a betraying wag.

 “It makes one wonder…” Lucifer pressed in even closer now and Alastor felt a light heat flooding into his face. Alastor leant back slightly, feeling the edge of the dining table pressing into his lower back.. “…if it was only dinner you were planning, why bother? Perhaps, you wanted to leave our evening together open to more…possibilities?”

Alastor swallowed.

Gotcha…thought Lucifer.

A tense moment passed. Lucifer was waiting for Alastor to offer up his response.

Then, “I won’t ask you to touch me, if that’s what you are waiting for…and I don’t do begging.” Alastor told him.

“No one ever said that you must – at least – not with me.” Lucifer told him. “There are other ways that for you to tell me exactly what you want, Alastor. For example…”

Lucifer stepped into Alastor now; their bodies making contact with each other’s. Placing a hand on Alastor’s lower abdomen, he slid it low so that just the tips of his fingers were pressed beneath the waistband to Alastor’s dress pants.

Alastor gasped, his body tensing – in a rather lovely way. His face properly reddened at the touch.

“You see, I’m a master of many languages, my friend.” Lucifer was telling him. “One of which being…” Lucifer slid his hand lower and Alastor leant himself further back at the feeling of his arousal. “…the oh-so-honest tongue of body language…”

 Lucifer found Alastor’s member; brushing it with just the tips of his fingers. The appendage was twitching…moving….lifting …

“You always have the option of telling me ‘no’...or that this is not what you want…” Lucifer continued; feeling Alastor shudder against him. “Or, you may command me. Imagine that…the actual King of Hell…fully and completely at your disposal – ready to fulfill whatever dark and twisted fantasy you could ever…envisage.”

Lucifer’s fingers wrapped around Alastor’s twitching penis; taking him fully within hand. Alastor bent back further; his pelvis tilting forward.

“You’re looking at me with such a lovely expression, Alastor…” Lucifer leaned into him; head tilting so that he was starring up at the sinner with glinting eyes.

Lucifer gripped Alastor. Using his free hand; he slid the waistband down and pulled Alastor out. His fingers kneading and stroking into the firming muscle.

Alastor’s lower jaw popped open and his breathing hitched; his face growing redder…

“Tell me to stop…” Lucifer breathed; resting his head against Alastor’s chest and looking up at him.

“Ahhhhhh….” Alastor pelvis jerked; he groaned and Lucifer began slowly pumping.

“Tell me that this is not what you want…” Lucifer hissed; smiling now.

Alastor’s ears fell back, his antlers stretched themselves high overhead. He was gripping the edge to the dining table with such force, he thought that he might actually break it.

Thrusting; he threw back his head – gasping…panting.

Lucifer’s grip tightened; feeling Alastor’s climb about to end. One final thrust and Alastor’s seed was in his hand.

Shivers of pleasure jolting through him; Alastor slumped against the table; he had left gouges in the surface of it where his claws had been. He was breathing heavily; watching Lucifer as the angel stepped away – looking at Alastor with a dark gaze - licking the cum from between his fingers.   

With a growl, Alastor pushed himself off from the table – going for Lucifer.

Lucifer tilted his head up and Alastor embraced him; his mouth pressing hard against his as cool shadows fully engulfed them.

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

Alastor had moved them to the bedroom. Skillfully; he had landed them into the bed…Lucifer pressed beneath him – facing him - into the mattress. He had also done them the honors of disrobing them both.

Well, Al…who knew you could be such a smooth operator…Lucifer thought, as they kissed with uncharacteristic fervor.

Alastor slid his tongue between parted lips and Lucifer groaned at the suggestive movements it made inside his mouth. When it retreated; Lucifer bit down sharply on Alastor’s lower lip – pulling it.

Alastor pulled his face back. Eyes sharpening into a bright red and glowing predatory gaze, he snarled loudly. His body went rigid; ears perfectly straight with standing hair.

But, just as quickly – the ferality was gone.

The glowing crazed look left Alastor’s eyes and his ears dropped. Alastor shifted; going to pull himself away.

“Alastor, it’s fine.” Lucifer gripped him by the arms; keeping him there.

Alastor made to pull himself away from the King’s hold but found that he couldn’t…

 “Really, Al….it’s ok.” Lucifer told him; looking at him. “Do you need to shift form? We could go somewhere else…”

“No, I…” Alastor wasn’t looking at him. “I should be more manageable but, I can’t guarantee that I’ll be….myself.”

Lucifer let go of him then, releasing his arms. He took Alastor’s face between both hands; forcing the demon’s eyes to meet his.

“Whatever you need…I’m here.” His thumb stroked Alastor’s cheek and the sinner melted into his hands – into the touch.

Sighing; Alastor let the tension leave his body – a ripple running up his spine.

Lucifer shifted with him; his long black devil’s tail and horns coming out to play.

Alastor’s change wasn’t dramatic; his antlers were heavier; his teeth were sharper and he was both larger and lankier than what would be considered normal for him…but, he certainly was no eldritch demon this time.

Alastor’s long limbs set him over Lucifer; his frame leaning and wavering over the angel lying beneath him. His face was all teeth as he bore down on Lucifer; a gaping and twisted grin.

Lucifer laughed; sliding to sit himself up so that he might get a better look at this new deer demon form of Alastor’s.

“Well, you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you big boy?” Lucifer told him appreciatively and he saw that Alastor’s tail was quickly flicking back and forth at this. “Just look at those teeth.” Lucifer stuck both thumbs into the corners of Alastor’s mouth; the demon dropped his jaw, exposing his rows of incredibly sharp fangs.

“I suppose you’ll want to use those on me…” Lucifer said softly, his devil’s tail lifting; snaking itself up and across Alastor’s chest.

Alastor’s eyes gleamed, drool seeping from between teeth.

“I might just let you too…after some fun.” Lucifer’s eyes glowed a soft yellow. “Can’t have that cute little lightweight ass of yours ruining our good time, can we?”

Alastor huffed, flicking his head and dislodging Lucifer’s thumbs from his mouth.

Lucifer leant himself back; eyes on Alastor.

“So…what are you going to do to me?”

Placing a large clawed hand across the angel’s chest, Alastor pressed down – pushing him firmly into the mattress. Lucifer smirked at Alastor’s claws – digging into his skin – not quite piercing through the flesh.

Holding him there; Alastor leant in – long tongue lolling from his mouth.

Glowing red eyes on Lucifer; he pressed his smiling face with sharpened teeth close and began to lick him – his tongue taking long and steady strokes all across his chest and abdomen – tasting the angel. In between strokes; Alastor was huffing – moving puffs of warm air across heated and wet skin – causing a very carnal and pleasant sort of sensation. Alastor’s musk drifted off of him; filling the room with his amorous odor.

Lucifer’s face reddened at this; tension building and sending him arching backward.

Fuck…

Alastor’s huffing and licking continued – his face pressing into Lucifer’s neck and nuzzling him. Prickles of pleasure ran through Lucifer; he was fully erect now and he could see that Alastor had plainly recovered himself as well.

Lucifer groaned; lifting a hand to find the base to one of Alastor’s antlers. Alastor was licking, huffing, nuzzling and sucking at the base of his neck now. Lucifer felt an incredibly building heat…his face and chest flushing in a brilliant red.

“What-what are you doing to me?” He arched further backward and Alastor’s low growl was one of approval.  

Alastor’s musk was driving him crazy. Lucifer’s heart was slamming in his chest; his eyes were so dilated that his vision was blurring – he felt like his blood was absolutely boiling and rushing all throughout his body.

“Mmphg…” Lucifer squirmed; pleasure overpowering his senses.

This….this is….

He was losing his train of thought.

Alastor was moving; his clawed hand lifting from Lucifer’s chest. He was lifting and turning Lucifer’s hips; trying to coax him to turn over.

Lucifer obliged and Alastor’s clawed hands carefully guided him into the desired position. Face down, ass up – Lucifer felt confident in knowing where this was headed. Alastor grasped Lucifer’s long, black tail – pulling it softly outward; the flesh of it sliding through his fingers, and then he lifted it upward so that it was limply raised. Lucifer – thoroughly flushed now – pressed his reddened face into the covers of the bed – winding his tail through the branches of Alastor’s antlers.

Doing something unexpected - to Lucifer - Alastor leaned in. Lucifer’s tail stiffened in surprise as Alastor’s face pressed close to his entrance, warm air puffing against him as Alastor continued his huffing breaths. Before Lucifer could fully register the implication of this; Alastor’s tongue – long and twisting - entered him. Lucifer’s back bent at a sharp angle and he garbled out some incoherent noise of surprise and pleasure at feeling Alastor’s gift of sliding and wet warmth moving through him.

Oh, this isn’t just fun we’re having…Lucifer was thinking. This…this is good.

Alastor gave him another growl of approval; the vibrations of it sending ripples of stimulation through and against Lucifer’s heat. Lucifer choked out a gasp; feeling Alastor’s wriggling tongue touching and pressing against sensitive tissue; his claws dug into the bedcovers, and he began to moan with a neediness he couldn’t have guessed that he was capable of. Alastor’s face was pressed tightly to him; growling and grunting as he continued on, performing his dirty work.

Alastor’s musk had become sharper; more concentrated and Lucifer felt incredibly but wonderfully dizzy from the effects it had on him. Pressed how he was, in this position – he could feel his own member – erect and throbbing; absolutely seeping against his own abdomen and threatening to release.

Pulling his tongue back; Alastor was ready to mount.

He shifted position. Clawed fingers dragging softly across Lucifer’s tail; he gently moved it aside. Lucifer coiled it firmly around Alastor’s thigh; bracing himself to be penetrated.  But, when Alastor slid himself in – it was done with such sweet and gentle slowness that Lucifer felt nothing, but a milk-and-honey type of pleasure consume him.   

Alastor moved slowly….purposefully; clawed hands steadying Lucifer’s hips as he bent himself forward. Taking his hands away from the angel’s waist; Alastor laid himself fully over Lucifer’s frame; his hands finding the bed so that his arms could give him a better leverage in his thrusts and support his weight to give them room.

Lucifer anticipated Alastor’s movements to become rougher….faster but, they didn’t. Instead, Alastor moved inside Lucifer with slow and even strokes; his long and curved penis entering and pressing into him in just the perfect way.

Lost in pleasure…Lucifer felt Alastor’s growls turn into purring grunts as the deer demon worked at nuzzling and nipping at Lucifer’s back and his shoulders, crooning to him his immense gratification.

He’s not just fucking me…he’s….breeding me.  Like I’m his little doe…

There was a sharp jut to Alastor’s movement and Lucifer felt him strike gold. Lucifer cried out at the flood of sensual pleasure and Alastor jutted himself into him again. Lucifer was the first to be pushed over the edge; his cum spraying onto himself and into the sheets. Feeling Lucifer growing limp beneath him; Alastor bent himself further forward; thrusting two more times before releasing his own load fully into the King.

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

If anyone catches my little reference that I made here to my previous fanfic : "Dirty Dealings": You deserve the gold-est of stars!!!

Chapter 9

[ilooklikeaburntchickenugget]

INKling

A/N: Okay so a while ago I saw a post made by the__ria on Instagram where she drew Gerard as a tattoo artist with a bunch of tattoos and piercings and it's so INCREDIBLE (the post is from April 2023 on her Instagram page if you wanna see my direct inspo!). So here's a cutesy little story about who I think tattoo artist Gerard would be, and him doing/walking the reader through her first tattoo. Pairing: tattoo!artist!Gerard x F!Reader Warnings: Swearing, needles? (idk if that's one but putting it down) Word count: ~2,900

You were finally doing it.

After over a year of wanting to, lots of thought and contemplation about it, you were finally forcing yourself to overcome the fear of potential pain and just get the tattoo you had wanted. You figured now was not only the perfect time to get some important art with significant value to you on your body but also to face your fear of pain and commitment. Call it killing two birds with one stone, you were calling it a whirlwind of anxiety.

Your favorite co-worker, Lianna, had promptly suggested her tattoo/piercing artist as soon as you told her you were gonna do it. Her face was sparkling with various pieces of metal through her skin, her arms lined with sleeves of small tattoos, and you knew she had some other places too. So why not? She clearly knew what she was doing, and you had no one else to rely on for this.

So this Saturday morning you entered the small parlor tucked in-between a couple of larger shops on the grungey side of town. You preferred it here anyways, where coffee shops and cocktail places were oddly experimental and regular clothing stores were silenced by the absurd amount of thrift stores. “You ready?” She asked with a big smile as you two walked in.

You tightly smiled, “Yeah, but nervous.”

“Don’t worry, Gerard is amazing. He makes everything so comfortable and is such a talented artist. He’ll take great care of you.”

“Did I hear my name?” You heard a male voice shout from a hallway somewhere.

“Yeah Gee, it’s Lianna.”

“Again? Dude, I will always thank you for your business but you were here like three weeks ago-" He stepped around the corner and into the back part of the counter, stopping briefly when he saw you.

“I’m here for her.” She clarified nodding her head in your direction.

Of course Lianna had to bring you to not only a vibey, comfortable tattoo shop, but one where the owner, and soon to be your artist, was extremely hot. You really tried to control your dilating pupils, but then again, no one could do that. There was no hope for you at this point. His lightly shaggy but short black hair that fell just below the tip top of his ear. The piercings that looked like they were made for his face included a septum, angel fangs on the top of his lips, a bridge piercing, and a small one on the center of his bottom lip (you weren't sure what those were called). And the tattoos that surrounded the skin all over him and up his neck just past the cut of the top of his shirt. You wanted to trace your finger over every inch of ink on his body.

“And who is this?” He smirked which you quickly picked up on, going to sit at his computer briefly.

“Um, I’m Y/N.” You said with a small smile, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, sugar.” He looked up at you a bit, “What’re you here for?”

“A tattoo-“

“Her first.” Lianna quickly jumped in.

“Oh? A newbie.” He smiled, “We all gotta start somewhere. It looks like you’re in luck too because I’m free this morning so you won’t have to deal with Frank. He gets a little needle happy and likes the bigger harder stuff, and I’m assuming you wanna start simple.” You nodded, “What’re you thinkin’?”

“I want a sunflower on my forearm,” You said as he lightly nodded.

“Sounds easy enough, got any ideas I can see?” You nodded and pulled up your Pinterest board of ideas you liked while he quickly scanned through them, clearly taking many mental notes. “Perfect, mind if I take a few minutes in the back to draw up some ideas?” You nodded as he shot you a quick smile and went to the back.

“So, what do you think of him?” Lianna turned to you and asked.

“Why did you take me to a hot tattoo artist?” You groaned under your breath and through your teeth, hoping the walls here were thick. “Out of everyone and you chose the one that’s my type, and manages to make every single tattoo and piercing he has look like they were literally made for him.” She shrugged.

“Hey babe, remember I’m into women. Been dating the same one for five years, I don’t notice that shit about men.” You rolled your eyes, “If you really wanna go for it though, Gerard is most definitely single.”

“Yeah because someone who looks like him is gonna go out with me.”

“Judging by how incredibly flirty he was and the amount of times I counted his eyes looking you slowly up and down, I think the feeling is mutual.” You rolled your eyes. “For someone as genuinely beautiful as you are, we need to work on your self-confidence around men. It’s borderline sad how poorly you are at dealing with any man who is into you.”

“Because they’re not into me. They’re being nice.”

“I’ve known Gerard for years. That’s an overly nice, flirty, ‘I want to fuck this women’ Gerard.”

“I’m not looking for just a fuck.” You clarified, though you definitely wouldn’t mind doing that with him.

“Alright, I’m back. Thanks for waiting.” Your trance was broken by Gerard rounding the corner with an iPad in his hands. He walked over to you, standing next to you, and glancing the screen in your direction. It took your brain a few seconds of recalibration to stop focusing on his body heat, proximity, and damn smell that reeked in some sort of addicting way of cigarettes, coffee, and some musky pine situation.

Your eyes zeroed in on the design, realizing it was everything you wanted and more. Your face broke out into a huge smile. “It’s perfect. Like legitimately perfect.” He smiled back down at you.

“I’m glad you like it.” He responded. “Let me run back and print this out real quick, then get you to my station so we can talk placement.”

It only took him two or three minutes to get a variety of his designs printed out, coming back out and leading both you and Lianna to his station.

“You’ve eaten and drank water today, right?” He asked and you nodded.

“I wouldn’t have let he come here without that.” Lianna was quick to speak up.

“Right.” Gerard curtly nodded with a tight smile. “Just double checking. You would be surprised by the number of people that say they do that and then pass out or have issues afterward.” Your eyes went wide in concern. He saw your face and immediately retracted what he had said. “That’s not gonna happen to you. It only happens to people that don’t and just say they did.” He politely smiled. You nodded.

He spent a few minutes working with you on placement before finding the right area, and then carefully positioning it on your arm to make it easier for him to work. Even with his gloves on, your mind wandered with curiosity about how his hands felt, what they could do, and where they could go. It was subconscious, as you internally kicked yourself for thinking such things.

“Alright sweetheart, if you need to take a break or for me to stop because of the pain let me know.” You nodded, biting your bottom lip as you grew even more nervous. Your mind felt like it was spinning a bit, your face heating up at the prospect of the pain. “Do you wanna take another minute?” He asked, clearly sensing your nervousness.

“No, I’m okay.” You replied. “Just rip the band-aid off.” He softly smiled and nodded, grabbing his small tattoo gun.

“If it makes you feel any better,” He mentioned, loading what you assumed to be the ink inside. “Women’s pain tolerances are amazing when it comes to tattoos compared to men. I’ve had way more grown-ass men tap out after a few minutes on easy tattoo spots then I’ve had women after hours on more painful areas.” “Really?” You asked, partially amazed. He nodded with a “mhm”.

“I swear,” He smiled softly. You didn’t even notice until now that he had placed the needle on and began tracing the outline.

It was way better than you had anticipated. If anything, it didn’t even feel fully like a scratch, just like a very very small burning and tingling sensation.

“You doing okay?” He asked, his eyes still zeroed in and focusing on the lines he traced.

“Yeah, actually. This doesn’t really feel like much.”

“See.” You could see his cheeks push up from where his head was tilted in what you assumed to be a smile. “Tattoos are generally not bad, but especially on women.”

He continued on for a few minutes, Lianna filling the air with her random ranting about one thing or another, before Gerard spoke up again.

“Why did you decide on this tattoo, if you don’t mind me asking?” He spoke.

You softly smiled. “It’s for my grandmother. She passed away just over a year ago, loved sunflowers, so I wanted to get it for her.” Gerard hummed in appreciation.

“I’m assuming you were close with her?” He asked next, to which you hummed a quick “mhm”.

“I was very close with my grandmother too.” He smiled to himself, now tracing some the of the leaves. “She was the one who convinced me to continue with art from when I was a kid into my teen years, and then wanted me to go into it professionally.” He said.

“That’s really sweet.” You replied. “Do you have any tattoos for her?”

“I’ve only got one, shockingly.” He chuckled. “I got it right after she passed, five years ago-ish. It’s just her name in her handwriting on my inner forearm.” You glance down to where his arms laid, working on your own, but couldn’t find it.

“What was her name?”

“Helena.” He stated. “I can show it to you after.” You nodded, not even sure if he could see your face, but also not sure how to respond fully. “Are you ready for shading? This is probably gonna hurt a bit more.”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” You replied. He looked up at you for the first time during the session to give you a comforting smile.

“If you need to tap out just say so. No shame in it.”

Shading dis hurt notably more. You closed your eyes for a small portion of it when the pain became a lot, the repetition of the needles over and over again on the same part of your skin. “You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You sighed out, letting your mind take you to other places but the pain on your arm.

“Good girl.” He muttered. That phrase made you tense, and you prayed no one in the room noticed your legs move slightly closer together. Damn praises.

Your eyes opened, working their way up to Lianna who was smirking between the two of you. Had you not been preoccupied with one of your arms being temporarily out of commission, you would’ve hit her.

Less than 20 minutes later he was done. You heard the gun turn off, and his gloves come off.

“You wanna see it?” He asked and you nodded, standing up and letting him guide you to the full body mirror in the shop. As soon as you turned your arm to see it, you gasped out loud not even intending to.

It was more than perfect. You weren’t sure you could have pictured it turning out any better, the way it cascaded up your arm and the perfect detailing.

“It’s literally perfect.” You stated in disbelief and excitement, turning to Gerard who had a huge smile plastered on his face. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course.” He replied, “I’m glad you really like it.”

“More than really like. I absolutely love it.” He nodded in appreciation.

You quickly glanced down to his inner forearm, noticing the delicate cursive tracing of the name "Helena". He quickly noticed, moving his arm up and to his side to allow you better access to see it more fully.

"That's really beautiful. And sentimental." He nodded.

"It keeps me grounded. Reminds me of her and all the principles she gave me." He softly smiled. "Grandma's are pretty damn special, aren't they." You giggled under your breath.

"They sure are."

It didn’t take long for him to ring you up, handing you over the total and waiting for you to pull out your right card.

“Wait-“ You began at the front desk, he stood behind it his head perking up at your confusion. “This is less than it’s supposed to be, right?” He shrugged it off.

“Lianna comes in here so often, I added a friend's discount.”

“Gerard, you really don’t have to do that. You worked really hard and I-“

“It’s okay, really.” He softly smiled. “Just come into me for the rest of your tattoos.” You nodded with a smile.

“Of course.” There was no need to argue and try to say you weren’t sure if you were getting more. As soon as you realized the pain was much less than anticipated, and how much you loved the new piece of art on your arm, you knew deep down you would be back for many more.

“Thank you, again.” You said, giving your signature on the receipt.

“Anytime.” He cheekily smiled at you. “I’ll see you around.”

“For sure-“

“Before we leave,” Lianna spoke up, now standing beside you and leaning on the counter. You assumed she was going to either request an appointment with Gerard or ask a tattoo-related question. “Gerard I’ve known you for four years.” He gave her a quizzical look, clearly just as unsure as you were as to where this conversation was heading. “You’ve never once flirted with a client, until Y/N.” He tried to interject with a quick opening of his mouth as his face turned bright red. “And Y/N is shit at talking to men. So just give her your number so we can all walk out of here happy and knowing the sexual tension over the last hour and a half does exist, and will be dealt with.”

Both you and Gerard stared at her with wide eyes unsure of what to do. For the first time that day, Gerard seemed flustered.

“Oh, um- yeah, sure.” He said, fiddling around the desk and finding a post-it note. He hastily wrote down his number, handing it to you. “No pressure or anything at all.”

“Thanks.” You softly smiled, still too embarrassed by Lianna to muster up anything more. “I’ll uh- I’ll text you.”

“That would be great.” He replied. “You like coffee?” You nodded. “Perfect, we’ll set up a date.” Your eyes went wide with nervousness. You looked like a deer in the headlights. “Again, no pressure.”

“Right.” You said, “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, it was nice meeting you Y/N.”

“You too, Gerard.”

As you walked out of the tattoo shop, you felt your cheeks heating up into a bright red of embarrassment from Lianna. “Why the fuck would you do that?” You asked/yelled at her as soon as you were a solid two blocks away.

“What? The tension between you two was insane.” She explained with a sigh. “And he wasn’t going to ask, because Gerard’s professional and takes pride in that. And you sure as hell weren’t going to ask, because you lose every ounce of your confidence around men.”

“That’s-" You knew she was right but the principle of the matter still made you mad at her.

“It’s the truth. And you should be thanking me! You now have a date with a hot as hell tattoo artist.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t judge men by how they look.” You fired back.

“I am a true and proud lesbian at heart… but you do have a point. I could see his attractiveness from a ‘I’m into guys’ perspective. It took a lot of imagining.” You groaned.

“What if he doesn’t actually wanna go out with me and you just made him feel pressured?”

“Gerard Way doesn’t feel pressured.” She explained with a scoff. “If there’s any man in the world who is confident bordering cocky, but thankfully stays a few steps away from cocky, it’s Gerard. He would have come up with an excuse, or better, told me off if he didn’t want to give you his number.”

“Whatever.” You sighed. “Now I have a date to set up and a new stressor and-"

“Gerard is chill.” She softly smiled at you. “He’s literally just gonna ask you to get coffee with him, he’s gonna pay no doubt, and just chill in the corner of a coffee shop with you and talk.”

“I’m not good at talking to men.”

“You’re great at it when you feel comfortable.” She sighed. “Just- trust me, he’s a great guy. If you’re nervous, tell him and he will completely understand.”

“Okay.” You said in a final defeat. “If this all goes to shit though, I’m blaming you.”

“If it all goes to shit, which it won’t,” She confidently fired back. “I’ll pay for your next tattoo.”

“It won’t be from Gerard if it all goes to shit.”

“Eh, so be it. A revenge tattoo arc would be fun for you!”

[tracersloyalwife]

toothpaste ~ gojo satoru x F!Reader (smut)

cw: unprotected sex, p in v, female bodied reader, head (female&male receiving), cum swallowing , gojo being slightly possessive ig??

enjoy!!!! :3 (this is my first smut so criticism is appreciated!!)

You were in the process of giving him a blowjob when everything went awry. "Fuuuck," he panted, lips parted and head thrown back. His hands were twitching at his sides as he shallowly thrust into your mouth, showing a phenomenal amount of restraint. He thrust just as you were teasing his tip, causing his dick to land in your left cheek. You giggled at the feeling, as if you were brushing your teeth."What?" He pouted, staring at you with a cute pout. Pretty.

"It's like... I dunno. Your dick is moving so it's like… brushing my teeth," you trailed off, cheeks tinting scarlet at the obscene thought. He stopped thrusting at this point, sporting a feral grin before chuckling.

When he opened his eyes, you immediately knew you were fucked- they were clouded and half lidded, and oh god youd be in a wheelchair for a week. "You can't brush your teeth without toothpaste, right?" He stated, burying his fist in your hair before yanking your head down into his cock.

You choked at the sudden movement, tears spring up in your eyes as he face-fucked you. Your gag reflex acted up on you every time your mouth kissed his sack, and you knew he got off on it, the sadist. "Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck-" he moaned, caressing your cheek with his free hand.

"Such a tight throat, so nice and hot, just for me, yeah?" It wasn't like you could answer as you had a mouth full of cock, but you slurred an 'yesh' anyways.

"Not nice to speak with your mouth full, babe," he taunted, before popping his dick out of your mouth. "Open." He commanded, and you did so without a second thought. His member twitched at your immediate obedience, his face the epitome of blissed-out.

"Good girl," he praised, before pumping himself while looking at your face. "So good," he moaned, like a prayer, before cumming on your mouth; the taste of semen coated your tongue, some dripping down past your chin.

"There, now you have toothpaste." He grinned as the implication of what he was about to do dawned on you, and you had no time to do anything but helplessly moan as he fucked your face harder this time, cum swishing around in your mouth along with spit and pre. "Fuck, gonna get your teeth nice and clean, right, pretty?" He growled, and you moaned an affirmative as you took him in your mouth eagerly.

Gojo let his grip on your ruffled-up hair loosen, probably to let you take the reins a little bit. You made sure to go along with his whole 'brushing your teeth' idea, taking him in the corners of your cheeks. "Such a slutty girl," he choked, ruffling your hair and wiping away your tears from earlier. "Toothpaste is good for pimples, right? You should try that."

The bastard suggested, not giving a second to think before he once again popped his dick out of your mouth. You pouted at him, swallowing his baby batter with a frown.

"Satoru~" you whined, pawing at his glistening erection. A trail of spit connected your bottom lip to his shaft, and your panties were soaked at this point. 'Just fuck me already!!!' your eyes practically screamed.

"You said you were having problems with your skincare, right? I can help," he whined, and you scowled at him.

"Prep me already," you moaned, standing up from the kneeling position you were in before. He stroked himself slowly from his position on the edge of the bed, tongue peeking out from the corner of his lip.

"Well, come over here gorgeous," He crooned, and you pushed him flat onto the bed with a glare. Digging your thumbs into the elastic of your panties, you hobbled on one leg as they were hurriedly discarded, hopefully landing somewhere near the laundry basket.

Gojo was still laying on the bed, in the same position as when you'd pushed him a few seconds ago; his cocky smirk faltered as you approached him, making sure to sway your hips seductively. "Time for the main course," you purred. "Toothpaste this, toothpaste that. What about me?" You chirped , angling your hips so your aching cunt was just barely touching satoru's plump lips.

"Bone appetit," he growled, before grabbing your thighs so he could taste you.

"G-Gojo!" You moaned, surprised by the sudden action. Your thighs shook as he drew the infinity symbol around your clit, another way of claiming you as his as the scratches on your back, hickeys, and bruises that came from your sessions didn't already scream 'taken'.

He skilled with his tongue, flattening it and taking long, leisurely licks over your entire cunt, before angling it so it thrusted inside your puffy walls. It didn't take long for you to cum- seriously, he was a certified pussy eater- his hums and moans of satisfaction adding to that.

You could barely keep yourself upright, you were so pent up as you came. "Satoru," you whimpered, hips thrusting up pathetically as his tongue left your dripping hole. You sagged onto the bedding, glaring at him half-heartedly as he licked his lips, staring at you akin to a wolf staring down prey.

"Itadakimasu," he purred as he leaned forward into your ear.

"Are you done yet?" You tried to taunt, looking at him with a grin.

"We've barely started, sweetness," he teased, flipping you so that you were on your back. You instinctively spread your legs, and he gave himself a few pumps before looking at you for consent. "You done yet?" He asked, and you shook your head no, thrusting your hips up to show him you still had some stamina to spare.

"Good," he purred, tracing circles over your clit. "G-Gojo! Ah! Stop- you ass-!" You shrieked as he bullied your clit. You were sensitive from your last orgasm- and you'd come in no time- and the downright mean smirk on his face told you he knew that too.

Gojo Satoru was an asshole, you thought through the horny haze clouding your brain. Satoru's hands traced the outline of your hole, and he shoved two in quickly. You arched into his knuckles-

"Fuck right there! 'Toru-" you moaned, and he scissored his fingers so they touched your g-spot. All you could do was take it as the pleasure and the knot in your stomach started to unravel. You came a second time as his fingers punched into the spongy spot, convulsing as he pinched and tweaked your nipples with his left hand.

Gojo aligned himself with your leaking folds soon after. His body was slick with sweat, his hair ruffled and eyes borderline feral- which was your favorite look on him. He slid his dick on your puffy folds for a bit, before settling the head inside your hole. "You ready?" He questioned, dipping down so his mouth was at your neck.

He sucked a hickey into it as you moaned a 'yes, yes, please-' and he hilted himself inside you perfectly. you were so wet it wasn't really a struggle, all 10" of him stretching you to the brim. Your cunt spasmed around his cock, attempting to milk him dry.

"Ngh- fuck! 'toru!" You wailed, legs closing around his back as he began to thrust wildly, the feeling of your pussy clenching around him so nicely causing him to get lost in his desires.

"Fuck you're... You're so good for me, so good," he babbled, tears in his eyes as he made out with you. The noises of skin against skin and your wetness squelching around his member filled the room. His hands roamed around your body, squeezing and pulling and pinching at soft flesh.

"Such a- ngh- pretty pussy, huh. All for me. All... All mine. So So wet, angel I- hngh!" His hips stuttered, a signal that he was close (you were, too) and then he was slamming into you brutally,He came with a cry, tip rubbing against your g-spot causing you to come as well. Shallow thrusts followed after he pulled out. "So pretty," he crooned, watching his cum leak out of your abused hole.

[heraldeez]

Straight Laced (Tugging Loose)

Viktor x Reader | 1.7K | NSFW

Warnings/Tags: semi-public fondling, teasing, oral, Viktor in a custom corset, and the cruelty of chocolate covered strawberries

The romantic holiday finds you and Viktor out at a restaurant – a rarity for two workaholics – dressed up in finery – also a rarity, for two oil-covered lab rats.

Truly a momentous occasion. And you are insistent on perverting it.

A/N: Okay, so I missed Valentine’s. By a lot. But that’s okay because time is a suggestion, and rules are fake. :^)

And hey! It’s still February! For another whole hour!

Anyway, thanks to @linky-dinks for the corset idea, I really needed someone to point my brain in a direction. And always, thanks @valaruakars for reassuring me that - as stated - time is fake and simping is eternal.

Enjoy! :]

---

Viktor's fork clatters briefly before his hand smacks down to silence it, eyes wide.

Your right shoe sits innocent and abandoned beneath the table, socked foot resting instead against the inner seam of Viktor's thigh. Tracing - back, forth, back - just shy of where might truly get you in trouble.

"Are you alright?" you ask.

Casual as can be, butter wouldn't melt on your tongue. It's fun on occasion, to keep him on his toes. It doesn't help that he's so cute like this, incredulous and aroused despite it.

"What, exactly, are you doing?" Viktor asks under his breath.

"Enjoying my meal." You circle your fork above your plate, lips starting to wobble with the need to laugh, Viktor trying to keep it together despite the flush rapidly overtaking him, right up to the tips of his ears. "You really choose the best places when I can get you out and about, you know?"

You might be referring to the food – or perhaps the fact that this place has low hanging table cloths, perfect for disguising the way your toes slide, delicate and gracefully, up to the beginnings of firmness that's growing between Viktor's legs.

His fist tightens around his fork, drawing in a shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed.

Your voice drops low, leaving pretense behind. "What do you think, Viktor?"

Your foot slides up in alignment, arch curved against the stiff line of his erection, the barest amount of pressure applied to get him right where you want him.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

There's a sharp, predatory edge to his gaze as Viktor slowly drags his eyes open, sizing you up in a way that makes your heart skip a beat and your hips want to squirm in anticipation.

"I think," he rasps, leaning closer over the table, "that you should know better than to tease."

That look? That look indicates you'll be sore long before morning comes.

You scan the surrounding tables briefly, all these people still engrossed in their own conversations, their own little pictures of perfect romance.

The grin you can't quite hold back finally breaks out fully, and you lean over the table, closer than is perhaps polite to your fellow diners.

More polite than the way you flex the ball of your foot against the straining head of Viktor's cock beneath the table, though.

"How can I help myself, when you're so pretty like this?"

You hadn't thought it possible for him to get redder.

Viktor sets his jaw and asks for the check.

You slip your shoe back on, smiling primly across the table.

---

The walk home was short, and the distance to the bedroom even shorter.

Viktor's hips are a pleasant weight atop your chest, legs folded politely to tuck his knees under your arms. He’s placed himself at the perfect distance, just out of reach of your needy mouth, knees sinking into the sheets to keep you right where you are.

Quietly, he reaches for his shirt buttons, slowly thumbing them through each button hole, revealing himself for you.

Only it isn't his usual brace tucked beneath.

"What do you think? Is it pretty?" Viktor's voice takes on a smug upturn on your previous descriptor for him, but you can't even think of a response.

The corset is objectively gorgeous, gold threaded embroidery swirling across rich burgundy panels. It's custom – has to be, with how it fits over his spine for proper support, and you're blown away.

It's perfect. Makes him look deified and glowy, sharp lines from head to toe, decadently adorned in the middle.

"Yes," you sigh, hands raising to trace your thumbs over the threadwork, little starbursts scattered down to where corset meets belt. A belt he’s resting his hands on, and you hope, soon to be undone. “When did you –?”

"A few months back. I wouldn't normally go for something so gaudy -"

Gaudy is the last word you'd use to describe the low toned, immaculately embroidered corset panels, rich and dark against his skin in the candle light

" - but Jayce is always saying that I ought to enjoy the fruits of our labor more."

Viktor glances down at you with eyes lidded in satisfaction, lashes almost kissing the tops of his cheeks, a veil on molten amber.

"Are you enjoying it?"

It's barely more than a whisper, low dulcet coaxing just barely able to be heard, for your ears alone to covet even in an empty room. A question that didn’t even need asked.

Of course you’re enjoying it.

“Yes,” you sigh, word gusting out with only half its strength as your eyes rove over him, drawn back again and again to his still fastened belt.

Viktor thumbs at your bottom lip. “Open.”

Your lips drop open eagerly, treating him to the sight of your waiting tongue, plush pink and slick, just waiting for him to tease open with his fingers, or better yet –

And there it is. The distinctive clinking of metal on metal, Viktor’s capable hands threading the leather of his belt free, unzipping.

You keep your eyes politely on his, even through the thrum of anticipation in your ears.

You’re not sure you’ve ever heard a more beautiful sound, already on the brink of squirming for him. Surely you hadn’t teased him this long? A few moments at the end of dinner didn’t deserve this much restraint, did it?

His thumb slips free from where it had been resting on your chin, holding you open – even though you’d have eagerly sat there drooling for him all day, if he’d asked. You really didn’t have any shame left, when it came to him.

You can’t hold eye contact as you hear the slick sound of his thumb rubbing through the pre gathering at the tip of his cock, and Viktor tuts.

“You’ve been rather impatient tonight. Couldn’t even last through dinner.”

You do your best to look contrite, but it’s hard when faced with the pretty, flushed length of his cock, right before your eyes and yet just out of reach.

Your smile is crooked, struggling to not look like the cat that got the cream when it’s so obvious that he’s about to give you exactly what you’ve been goading him for all evening. “Let me make it up to you?”

Viktor follows your meaningful gaze to the engorged head of his cock, humming thoughtfully.

“You need your mouth filled that badly, miláčku?”

You’re perfectly prepared for him to guide himself to your lips, to smear them with the slick beginnings of come, and take his pleasure. To split your mouth wide around his girth, push in deep, remind you what it means to misbehave. To come down your throat, just like you’ve been itching for since you’d set up the dinner reservation.

Instead, Viktor holds up a strawberry.

The tuft of green atop it is unmistakable, even though the majority of the fruit is coating in a rich layer of shiny chocolate.

Viktor smiles down at you, patient and bemused, as he sets the fruit on your tongue, urging you to bite it off.

“Is it good?” he asks, knowing full well you’ll have to chew.

You swallow hastily, peering up at him, uncertain of this game. “You should try one.”

Viktor hums thoughtfully, eyes leaving you – bereft – to peer at the velvety box sitting on the nightstand. Thin fingers pluck another strawberry out, this one with an even darker layer of chocolate, but drizzled in white icing.

You’d like to be drizzled in white, too.

“Viktor,” you whine, fingers creeping over the soft fabric of his slacks towards the hard swell of his cock, pads just barely tickling against the coarse scrub of pubic hair –

“Hands back where I put them. You know better.”

A heavily put-upon sigh, but your hands drop back to the pillows cradling your head, palms up. Stuck waiting.

You let him feed you the strawberry, pouty around the juicy give of sugar-sweet fruit.

Viktor thumbs the droplet of juice that gathers at the corner of your mouth, threatening to spill down your cheek stickily into your hair. "Did you enjoy watching me squirm, drahý?"

You chew your strawberry, petulant, in lieu of answering.

But your jaw forgets to move as Viktor’s hand comes down to cup his cock, giving a slow, loose stroke. Just for show. The slick bead welling up at the tip is more tempting than any decadent fruit, your mouth watering around the acidic mush of strawberry still sitting on your tongue.

His voice is hardly a whisper, low and teasing. “I know I’m certainly enjoying the sight of you squirming now.”

Your breath comes out shaky, swallowing and yet somehow feeling a bit dry in the throat.

Viktor plucks up another strawberry and brings it to his own lips, leaving you fixated on the crisp noise of the fruit splitting between his teeth, calling to mind more lasciviously slick noises.

Juice swells up and drips over the curve of his bottom lip, and his soft tongue peeks out to lap it up, sliding in a way that pulls a little moan from the depths of your lungs.

You flush as Viktor grins down at you.

“All you have to do is ask politely,” he prods.

“Please? Vik?”

He raises a brow and reaches for a strawberry.

“Let me suck your cock, Viktor, stop teasing –”

He’s laughing at your eagerness, and you have to fight not to pout again.

“Let me suck your cock, Viktor, please,” Viktor corrects. Never has a strawberry looked like such a threat as it does now, sitting in his hand like denial made physical.

You swallow heavily, peering at the head of his cock, the confident hand resting at its base. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and you look back up at him with the most pleading, needy eyes you can muster. “Please fuck my throat, Viktor?”

It’s Viktor’s turn to feel breathless, shuddering exhale as his eyes go dark. Exactly what you’d hoped to achieve, intensifying the reward like that.

The moment of stillness seems to crawl along your skin, waiting –

And he pops the strawberry into his own mouth, leaning forward to bump the head of his cock to your lips.

You open for him eagerly, salt on sweet, and moan as Viktor pushes deep into exactly where he belongs.

[sordidpsychick]

Angel Numbers

2 - Not Entirely Human

Mob finds a ‘missing’ poster, Reigen orders takeout, Dimple discovers a secret, and Angel… forgot pajamas.

Previous | Ao3 | Tip Jar | Next

Content: Reigen/Fem!OC, MDNI, eventual NSFW, I am cringe but I am free, self-indulgent, perv Reigen, human experimentation, OC can see ghosts, chubby OC, short-lived Dimple and Reigen rivalry

5.4k words

“Oh…” Angel peers into the bags back in Reigen’s apartment. She’s crouched on the floor, making sure to avoid putting too much pressure on her wounded leg as she rummages through one bag. “… I forgot pajamas. Well, that’s okay.” 

A ring of the doorbell interrupts her muttering. 

“Hm, I hope that's Mob.” Reigen turned to Angel and whispered. “Just to be safe hide in the bathroom—bring all that new stuff with you,” he whispered to her as an image of whoever worked at that ‘hospital’ entered his mind. What if they had found where she was hidden somehow?

Riegen shouted to the door; “Yeah yeah, hold on,” as he stood and walked down the hall slowly, giving Angel time. Was he being over-paranoid and cautious? Yes. But had that ever steered him wrong? He told himself the answer was ‘no.’

Angel dashed for the bathroom, bags crinkling in arms. She shuts the door behind her with a click. 

When the front door opens, the only face that greets Reigen is the awkwardly expressionless face of his middle school student—and Dimple. “Master, we need to be more careful,” Mob says immediately, digging through his pockets. Soon, he’s got a wrinkled ‘missing’ poster in hand with Angel’s face on it. 

“We found that on the way here,” says Dimple, looking around the apartment from where he floats above Mob’s shoulder. “Where is she, anyway? Don’t tell me you lost her…”

Reigen proudly puffed his chest. Oh yeah, I'm good. “As a matter of fact, Dimple, I had half amount of sense to hide her before opening the door. Come on, get in.” Reigen moved out of the way so the two of them could enter his apartment, quickly shutting the door and locking it. “This is bad. We need a plan.”

“What about hair dye?” Mob suggests as he steps inside and takes off his shoes, leaving them by the doorway. 

“And face masks in public,” adds Dimple. 

Reigen was about to raise a finger in protest to say that those were the stupidest ideas he had ever heard, but instead, “That just might work. Clearly, I have been a good influence on you both. You two couldn’t have possibly come up with ideas like that prior to meeting me.” Reigen smiles and pretends to wipe a proud tear from his eye. 

“Yeah, right.” Dimple rolls his eyes. “So, where is she?” He floats over to Reigen’s bed and peers underneath, then does the same to his computer desk. 

“Ah.” Mob points towards the bathroom, where Angel is peeking through the cracked door.

“It's alright Angel, these are the two I told you about. My student, Mob, and the ghost, Dimple,” Reigen said as he gestured to the two behind him. “I just took her shopping- shit, I hope no one followed us here. We had to get her clothes and some soap from the store.” 

“Angel?” Dimple repeats the name curiously.

“Yeah, Reigen gave me it.” Angel smiles and steps out of the bathroom. 

There’s a flash of green and then Dimple is grabbing Reigen by the collar. “YOU NAMED HER?!” He shakes the man. “And THAT of all things?! I mean, it's a fitting name but still!”

“Hello, Angel.” Mob offers a polite smile and wave. 

“Hi Mob. Reigen told me about you.” Angel smiles back, taking a seat on the couch.

Reigen’s expression only darkened as he went limp in Dimple’s two tiny hands. A slow evil chuckle left his devilish grin as he whispered; “And I got to touch her boobs.” Reigen’s hands raised to his chest, his palms facing the ceiling and his fingers waving about as if casting some evil spell. He knew he had the edge on Dimple now.

Dimple’s face goes dull and he drops Reigen. “You pervert.” He turns around, immediately putting a happy face on to greet Angel. “Hey, Angel. Sorry, we got off on the wrong foot yesterday. Is this guy annoying you?”

Angel smiles at Dimple a little nervously. “Reigen has been really nice to me.” 

Dimple turns to glare at Reigen as Angel continues. 

“And I'm sorry for screaming in your face last night. I didn’t know what you were and I’ve never seen a ghost so small before.”

Dimple looks like he might blow away in the wind. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, that was so rude. I mean, I’ve only seen really scary ghosts so- um,” Angel shuts her mouth, realizing that anything she might add would just make it worse. 

“IS SHE WEARING YOUR CLOTHES?!” Dimple is back to shaking Reigen violently. 

Meanwhile, Mob glances at Angel. “Sorry, they don’t always get along…” 

Reigen lets out another identical laugh as his eyes widen in crazed excitement as he gets shaken once more by Dimple. He looks like some sort of villain from a video game. “Face it, she already likes me more than you! You lost your chance!” Reigen places a hand on Dimple’s small face and tries to pry the green spirit off of him.

“Ugh, yeah yeah, rub it in.” Dimple relents easily and then gets back on track. “Anyway, we need to get her hair dyed ASAP. What color are we thinkin’?” He squints at Angel as if trying to see different colors in substitute of her white hair. 

“It's a shame we have to dye it.” Mob tilts his head. “It's such a unique color.” 

“What’s going on?” Angel looks around at the three of them. “Why do I need to get my hair dyed?” 

Mob looks a Dimple, and Dimple looks at Mob. “I don’t want to freak her out… but I don’t want to lie,” Mob whispers to the spirit. Both of them turn to look at Reigen.

Reigen, for a split moment, actually showed signs of panic before quickly letting out a puff of air. “Well, unfortunately, most people around here don’t have such white hair. We just want to take precautions in case someone does decide to look for you. Your hair will be the first thing to stand out in a crowd,” Reigen explained as he put on a relaxed and cool expression. “Plus, it is strictly against my policy to have white hair while working under me, so if you want that job you will have to dye it some other color,” he said with a simple shrug. He looked to Mob and Dimple and shot them a look and a silent thumbs up.

“Oh, okay,” agrees Angel surprisingly easily, much to both Mob and Dimple’s surprise. 

“So easygoing…” Mob whispers. 

“I’m thinkin’ red,” says the green spirit as he floats in a circle around Angel.

“What about something modest, like black?” Mob tilts his head. 

Angel looks in Reigen’s direction. “What do you think? What kind of color suits your workplace?”

“Yeah, sure, look to him for hair advice.” Dimple grumbles under his breath.

Reigen mumbles, “As sexy as red would be…” Then takes a breath and speaks directly to everyone. “…We need a color that won’t stand out in a crowd. Black might look too artificial. They normally mix purple or blue hues into the dyes to make them darker. If caught in a certain lighting, she could stand out because of it.” Reigen closed his eyes in thought and nodded, holding a finger up next to his eye for flare as he opened his eyelids. “I conclude that brown will be the safest color.”

“Huh, for once I kinda agree.” Dimple tilts his body while observing Angel.

“I had brown hair when I was little!” Angel pipes up. “It’ll be nice to see what I would’ve looked like if it stayed that color.”

“How’d you end up with white hair, anyway?” Dimple raises a brow.

“Dimple…” Mob says under his breath. 

“Right, right… ahem. Whoah, look at the time! It’s nearly dinner. What a shame, let’s go Mob.” Dimple zips over to the front door.

“Hold on, I can call my parents and let them know I won't be home for dinner. How about ordering takeout, Master? Dimple and I can go to the store really quick to get some hair dye,” suggests the middle schooler as he turns to look at Reigen.

Reigen claps his hands together once in front of his chest and smiles. “What a great idea Mob! You get that dye, I'll get on the phone and get us something to eat.” Reigen turns, not sparing a moment as he looks around for his phone before realizing he had never taken it out of his pocket. “How does ramen sound?” He asked. It seemed that when Reigen was paying, it was always ramen.

Angel nods and Mob gives a thumbs-up before heading for the front door with a polite ‘be back in a little bit.’ The door clicks shut behind him and locks—Dimple’s doing.

The silence that follows—now that it’s just Reigen and Angel again—feels loud. “Is there beef flavor?” Angel breaks the quiet, drumming her fingers on her knees. 

Reigen smirked, starting to become more comfortable with the idea of flirtation now that it was beginning to become clear that her presence would not be leaving their group any time soon. “A woman after my own heart?” He tilted his head slightly and took a seat on his bed, kicking his shoes off. “There is; as well as a chicken, pork, and spicy flavor.” He flipped open his phone and scrolled with his thumb on a small arrow of the keypad down an internet browser page until he found the number. He dialed it, the phone ringing in the silence between them.

Angel’s face turns a little red and she twiddles her fingers, folding her legs into a crisscross. “I’ll have the beef,” she says quietly. She watched Reigen out of the corner of her eye, thinking that he must have Mob’s order memorized since it seemed like they’d been working together for a while, based on how they interacted.

“Hi there, yes I will take one bowl of white rice, two beef ramen, a chicken, and a pork. Yes.” He wandered off into the kitchen, mumbling his name and address for the delivery as well as the instructions on how to get it to his apartment. He came back after his phone had clicked shut. “Food is ordered.”

Angel tilts her head, most of her body tilting with it. “I’m excited. It’s been a while since I’ve had ramen. Oh.” She perks up. “Thank you for today, by the way. I know I just met you but…” She looks down at her lap a little shyly. “... I got really lucky when you three found me.”

Reigen sat down across from her and gave the most genuine smile he had since they had met. “I’m glad,” he said gently before taking a breath and smiling smugly. “If it hadn’t been us, who knows what kinda creep would have found you! Seriously though, the three of us will do our best to keep you safe.”

Angel returns his smile. It’s warm and a bit tired… like she’d finally gotten to rest her mind after a very long time.

Soon enough, Mob, Reigen, and Angel are sitting around eating ramen from styrofoam cups while Dimple floats around above. A box of light brown hair dye sits on the bathroom counter. “So, you’re going to start working at Spirits and Such?” Mob asks after swallowing a bite of his ramen.

“Reigen offered me a job as his secretary. I’ve never had a job before and I doubt that I would’ve gotten a job on my own like I am now, so yeah.” Angel nods. “I look forward to working with you, Mob.”

“Yeah, me too!” Mob wears an excited smile. 

Dimple floats down to hover over Reigen’s cup of ramen. “Really? Hiring her as your secretary? Talk about stingy.”

One of Reigen’s eyes twitched at Dimple as he slurped up a large bite of his beef ramen. Though he had ordered four, the fourth one; specifically the pork; was for his lunch tomorrow, not the floating green spirit.

Noodles swallowed, he closed his eyes and spoke confidently. “I think the word you are looking for is ‘practical.’ Plus, her freeing up some of my hours is a great way for her to pay me back for living off me for free.” Reigen set his cup on the table and flashed a sinister grin at Dimple. “What have you ever done for us in return for not exorcising you and keeping you company, huh? Sheesh Dimple, what a freeloader.” Reigen shrugged, picking up his cup and happily getting back to eating.

Dimple grits his teeth and looks like he might start spirit-sweating. “Why, you little—“

“Reigen, should I be coming in to work with you tomorrow?” Angel interrupts Dimple with a tilt of her head. Mob is quick to turn and look at her. 

“W-wait, shouldn’t you rest? That cut on your leg was pretty bad.” He points at the bandage wrapped around her calf. 

“What? That was just a little scratch. It’s all healed up, see?” Angel leans over to set her cup of ramen on the floor and undoes the bandage. The stained cloth unwinds to reveal… a perfectly healed leg with just a bit of scabbing. 

Reigen just about had it with being the only normal person in this group. He tried to hide the look of utter shock that was creeping up on his face as he looked at her wound. “W-well I mean, if you feel eager who am I to stop you,“ he said as he tried to not sound too pushy. “But don’t push yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” says Angel with a smile. Under her breath, she mutters. “It is still kind of itchy.”

“How did it heal so fast…?” Mob leans over on the couch to peer at her healed leg. 

“Yeah… hey, you’re not an esper, are you, lady?” Dimple floats over to her. 

Angel blinks at him. “A what?” 

“An esper is someone who possesses an array of abilities involving their mind. Pyrokinesis, telekinesis, telepathy—just to name a few. Most espers can also naturally see spirits like Dimple here.” Reigen eyes her up slowly as he taps his chin. “Though rare, I have heard of espers who possess healing capabilities. Hah, but I think I would know if a fellow esper was in my house.” He gestured to himself in a glorifying manner and tilted his chin upwards. He sure thought highly of himself.

“Oh, right. You said that you’re a psychic.” Angel tilts her head at Reigen, smiling. There’s a strange narrowing in her eyes, though. “So that must be the kind of ‘mentor’ you are.” 

Mob nods. “That’s right. Master Reigen has been helping me with my powers.” 

Angel hums, leaning over to pick her cup of noodles up and set it in her lap. “Well, I don’t have any powers like that. I guess I just heal fast, that's all.” She lifts a couple of noodles to her lips, mouth opening when— 

“Wait a second.” Dimple leans in close to Angel, squinting. “I didn’t notice it before because it’s so faint but… you’re not entirely human, are you, Angel.” 

Reigen jumps in his seat, screaming in a slight panic. “Whatdoyoumeannotentirelyhuman?!” He looks at Dimple with wide eyes as his face drains of color.

This was the last time he would ever hide a hospital’s experimental patient, no matter how hot they may be. What sort of trouble had they really gotten themselves into here?

Dimple turns to look at Reigen. “What I mean is—“

Broth and noodles phase right through Dimple, splashing directly onto Reigen. Angel’s cup drips empty in her outstretched hand where she stands, trembling and horrified, looking at the two of them like they might hand her in any second. The cup falls to the ground with a ‘pop’ of light styrofoam and Angel’s chopsticks follow suit with a clatter. 

She makes a mad dash for the front door, yanking on the handle — but she can’t seem to figure out how the lock works. She switches gears quickly, disappearing into the bathroom and slamming the door behind her. 

Reigen stands, hair and face dripping with broth and his white button-up covered in noodles. He was speechless, unsure of what to do until Angel had rushed past. He’d stood too slowly, grateful when he saw her slam the bathroom door shut. 

Reigen takes a breath, then politely knocks on the door. “Hey uh, listen, Angel. What you are is not going to change how we treat you, alright?” He said as he started plucking noodles from himself. “I understand if you want to stay in there, but could you at least give me a towel or something?” He let out a small laugh as he tried to keep the mood light. This was totally his only clean button-up though. Now he really had to do his laundry.

Reigen is met with silence. 

Mob shuffles up quietly to hand Reigen some tissues—which only help a little with the dripping broth—but they help enough. “It’s true,” Mob says through the door. “Just like how we accept Dimple—and he’s an evil spirit.” 

There’s shuffling from the other side and then a click. One pale eye stares out from the dark of the bathroom. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “I panicked… I thought maybe…” she trails off, deciding not to say something. Some more rustling and a towel is held out through the cracked door. 

“You thought they’d turn you in if I told them your secret.” Dimple floats over Reigen’s shoulder. “Trust me, you’re hardly the weirdest thing we’ve seen.” 

Reigen nodded as he took the towel and wiped away what the tissues couldn't, patting at wet spots on his shirt. “We have met normal people stranger than you. Don’t worry. You can trust the three of us,” Reigen said as he held the towel down by his side and smiled charmingly.

“Thank you,” says the woman behind the door. “Um… give me a moment.” It clicks shut again. 

“What did you notice anyway, Dimple?” Mob turns to whisper up at the spirit. “It was so faint… I couldn’t even detect it.” 

Dimple glances at Reigen, looking more evil than normal. “I think I’ll let you two figure it out on your own. Hope you don’t have any allergies, Reigen.” With that, Dimple floats back towards the couch. 

“Allergies??” Reigen whispered in surprise. “What, is she a cat or something?” He said with an annoyed look at Dimple. Stubborn evil spirit. What an asshole, making the two of us work for this. I'll have to wait until Mob figures it out I guess.

By the time Angel returned, Reigen had on a spare shirt and the mess from the noodles had been cleaned up by both him and Mob. 

“How about we get to dyeing your hair?” Mob suggests as he carries the empty noodle bowls to the trash. 

“Okay, I’m ready.” Angel nods a little nervously where she stands beside the couch.

“Do any of you even know how to dye hair?” Dimple points at Reigen. “What if you botch it and make her look bad?” He grins evilly. 

“Please,” Reigen said as he waved a dismissive hand outwards to Dimple. “I have watched plenty of videos online.” His hand curled into a fist, thumb sticking out as he dramatically brought it towards his chest to gesture at himself. “I’ve got this.” 

“Yeah, it can’t be that hard.” Mob reappears by the bathroom door, flicking on the light inside and heading in. 

Everyone follows, watching curiously as Mob gets the box open and sets out three bottles, a pamphlet of instructions, and some plastic gloves. “Um…” Mob looks overwhelmed, looking between the countless rows of instructions and numbered bottles. It’s not long before the pamphlet is handed over to Reigen. 

Reigen carelessly tosses the instructions behind him, going right through Dimple’s face. He grabs the thin plastic gloves and slips them on, their one-size-fits-all material going an inch or so past his wrists. He examines each bottle and then pops open the lid to the bottle labeled ‘one.’ He slowly squeezes both other vials into that one and twists the cap back on, picking up the plastic squeeze bottle and shaking it like a well-practiced mixer at a bar might.

“Wow…” Mob watches with sparkling interest, Angel leaning in as well. 

“You seem pretty experienced. You sure it’s just videos you learned from?” Dimple raises a brow, peering at the color of Reigen’s hair. 

“I am sure.” Hah, too easy. Reigen was pulling this out of his ass. As usual, he had never dyed anyone's hair before, not even his own. He might have watched a video or two, but not enough to be as confident as he was playing up to be. That was always the key, it seemed—not with just Mob and Dimple—but with everyone. If he was confident on the outside, everyone else was too.

As he shook the bottle he turned to Mob. “Get her a towel and try to clip it around her shoulders so that the dye can't get on any of her clothes,” he instructed as he switched hands.

“Right.” Mob nods and exits the bathroom to go and find a towel. He returns with a dark one. “I figured using a black one would be best so you can’t see it’s stained.” He unfolds it, coming around to Angel who has to bend down for him. Mob brings it around her shoulders and secures it with a chip clip in the front, careful with her hair as he lays it out over her shoulders once more. 

Angel stands back up to her full height, looking at Reigen in the mirror curiously.

“Perfect.” Reigen sets down the bottle on the bathroom counter and grabs out a cheap black comb. “Sit down on the toilet so it's easier for me to see.” He said as he leaned in and examined the top of her head closely. “Mob, get me some clothes pins from the kitchen. Drawer closest to the front door,” he said as he began to squirt the cold dye onto the topmost roots of Angel’s head.

The middle schooler jogs out of the bathroom to heed orders, Dimple following as he mutters something under his breath. 

Angel squeezes her eyes shut, stifling a shiver and a laugh at the feeling of the cold liquid on the top of her head. “I’m excited. I wonder what I’ll look like.” Her fingers drum on her thighs, toes wiggling on the cool tile floor. 

“Hopefully unrecognizable– and to my company’s policy, of course,” Reigen said with a quick laugh. Right, can’t let her know how serious this makeover really is. He began rubbing the color into her roots, not bothering with the tips of her hair until all of the roots got colored. 

“I got them,” says Mob as he returns with three clothespins in hand. He holds them out to Reigen. “Wow, the color works fast.” He watches Angel’s hair slowly turns from white to brown. 

“Pretty soon you’ll look like a regular ol’ citizen.” Dimple smiles, coming to float just in front of Angel’s face. She blinks her eyes open and smiles in return, seemingly happy to fit in.

Reigen continued to work his charming magic, eventually using the clips so he could get the underside of her head’s roots. When all of her roots had been thoroughly covered, he squeezed globs of the dye directly into his gloved palm and began massaging and working it into the rest of her still-white hair.

Finally, he was finished.

Reigen removed the gloves carefully, tossing them into a trash can kept under the sink. “What do you think, Angel?” He asked gesturing to the mirror.

Angel stands and peers into the mirror, eyes wide. “It’s dark!” It wasn’t really that dark. But compared to white, it was dark. “How long do I have to leave it in?” She turns, looking at Reigen. 

Mob picks up the discarded instructions, glancing through line after line. “It says here—” 

Reigen interrupts. “While most people would think ‘the longer it sits in the better,’ this is actually not true. After about thirty minutes the dye will set as much as it will and any longer than that could cause damage to your hair.” He didn’t know what he was saying. As always, he just hoped they would take it. “So, to answer your question; I would suggest leaving it in for five to seven minutes, since most of that has already been soaking into your roots for some time now, and your hair was light to start with.” He held his pointer finger up to the sky, eyes closed as if he were reading a script from behind his eyes.

“Wow, master, you really know your stuff.” Mob tosses the instructions in the trash, smiling up at his mentor. 

Angel hums and nods in agreement, taking her seat back on the closed toilet.

“Are you gonna miss your white hair?” Dimple asks her as he pokes a strand of stiff dyed hair that’s sticking out at an odd angle. 

“No.” Angel shakes her head. “That color held a lot of bad memories, so I’m thinking… a new hair color might help put all that behind me.” She twitches a little, hopeful expression faltering. “Ugh— I’ve got an itch…” Fingers reach up to scratch at her scalp but she stops herself, scratching the air instead like it might help. 

“Just hold on for a couple more minutes,” Mob says encouragingly, opening his phone to check the time. “Oh, crap. When did it get so late? Master, I’ve got a test coming up and I should probably be home studying for it. Is it alright if I…?”

Reigen sighs. “I wanted to head to the office today but I did not expect that my bathroom would become a salon when I woke up this morning.” Reigen grabbed the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“You can go Mob, just be sure to come by tomorrow after school,” he said as he looked into Mob’s eyes and gave a small, encouraging smile. 

Mob nods and gives a soft ‘thank you’ before he heads for the door, bidding both adults goodbye.

“Bye Mob!” Angel waves, not noticing the way Dimple squints at Reigen on the way out. When the front door shuts, Angel goes back to drumming her fingers, this time rocking back and forth to some unheard tune. “I’m sorry I dumped ramen on you,” she says between the motions of back and forth. Eyes fixate on the tile. “Um… but maybe after I rinse out my hair, you should shower too. You smell like beef.” 

Reigen held a smile, sweating a little. “Seriously…? Apologizing for throwing your ramen on me, then insulting me for smelling like it? That's pretty cruel.” He smirked down at her as he glanced down at a small watch on his wrist. Two more minutes to go. After a moment he let out a sigh. “I’m just teasing, but seriously, please don’t throw your food on me again,” he said as he quickly walked out the hall to lock the front door and walk back.

“I really didn’t mean to.” Angel grimaced. “I meant to throw it on Dimple—uhm—I was panicking. I didn’t account for the fact that he’s a ghost.” She hunches, elbows resting on her knees and her chin in her palms. She’s… pouting? “And it’s not an insult. You smell like beef right now—and I like beef. But I also like how you normally smell better,” Angel says casually while picking at a fingernail. 

 A bell went off in Reigen’s head. No way, did he have a chance here? She likes how I smell normally…? I have never had a girl tell me that before. That means something good, right? Does that mean she likes me? No, too early to get my hopes up. 

He cleared his throat. “Alright, I believe you. Now, go ahead and take that towel off. I'll start up the shower. Do your best to avoid getting the dye on your clothes when you take them off.” He reached into the shower bath and turned the faucet on, reaching further in to open the drain all the way. “Alright, when I leave and you are undressed, just rinse your hair out until the water stops coming out colored. No need to wash it or anything. If any color got on your skin feel free to use the soap we bought you today to get it off.” Reigen brushed off his hands on his thigh, getting the water off as he stood and casually looked at Angel. “Any questions?”

“Mm-mm.” Angel shook her head ‘no.’  “Oh, but,” she says just as Reigen reaches the door. “Could you bring a pair of underwear in for me?” 

“Right, yeah sure.” He walked out of the bathroom to where they had set the bags after Mob and Dimple had come in and rummaged through until he felt the soft cotton fabric of a pack of underwear. He pulled it out, blushing as he selected a gentle, creamy, green pair and walked back into the bathroom to shyly set them on the counter before shutting the door.

Angel shrugged off her clothes once the door was shut, stepping carefully into the steaming shower. She grimaced at the water, tilting her head back and letting it run through her hair. It felt a little stiff in places from the dye but quickly became uncomfortably slick as it all ran down her figure in a stream of dark brown. Like mud. Angel glances at the brown puddle around the drain before going back to massaging her scalp. 

Something catches the corner of her eye. Turning, Angel looked at the bottle of body wash that sat beside her own brand-new one. Curious fingers take ahold of it and pop the lid. She squeezes the sides lightly, sniffing and chuckling lightly when a few bubbles float into the air. 

Yeah, that was definitely what she was smelling back there in the dressing room at the store. This. She scrubs her hair with one hand and sniffs a little more. Smells really good. 

“Done!” Angel pushes open the bathroom door after twenty minutes in the shower. She paces out into the little hallway, sugary, apple-scented steam from her body wash billowing after her. “What do you think?” She twirls a nervous finger around a strand of damp, golden-brown hair that just reaches her shoulders. It’s hard to focus on her hair though… when she’s wearing nothing but Reigen’s tank top and her underwear. 

Reigen had been in the middle of drinking water when she stepped out and his eyes hit her. He swallowed hard and unexpectedly, tears pushing at his eyes as he took in a breath and began to cough. “W-wow-!” He said in a strained voice. “I-I uh, I almost didn’t recognize you! You scared me.” So that's what he was using as his excuse for choking on his water. Reigen might have just started losing his touch. “You look- it looks great,” he corrected as he forced his wandering eyes to stay on anything above her shoulders.

“Thank you, I’m glad,” says Angel with a smile as she comes closer. She realizes something, sheepishly smiling as she covers her lower half with her hands. “Oh, sorry. I plan to sleep in my underwear since I don’t have pajamas yet, aha.” She passes Reigen, plopping onto the couch and unfolding the blanket she’d used last night, which had been laid neatly over the back of the couch. “Oh, and I didn’t know if I should have gotten out a new towel, so I used the one that was hanging on the towel rack. I hope that’s okay… and I’m sorry if was yours.” 

Reigen nodded and stood from his bed. “It's alright, i'll just use the one we used for your hair,” he said as he grabbed out a new pair of boxers and the same white t-shirt from the night before. “If someone knocks on the door, don’t answer. Uh… some of the neighbors are creepy, so just let them leave on their own okay?” He said as he stood in the doorway, flipping on the fan.

“Okay,” said Angel from the couch as she settled in and got comfortable. 

She doesn’t remember falling asleep… but she does remember waking up only halfway to a breeze that passed by and smelled like Reigen’s soap. Covers rustled distantly and, feeling comfortable and safe, she fell back asleep with no problem.

Previous | Next

[bigmammallama5]

mammallama if you have energy how did you find your adhd dr? I know I could use one but I'm trying to fight the inertia of getting a dr because of all the experiences of previous medical professionals not listening to me. thank you for reading!

Hey, I've got a little energy! You get my one level seven spell slot for the day lol

I am very fortunate that I have a primary care doctor that takes my concerns seriously and pointed me in the direction of my current specialist. I also have two very wonderful best friends with ADHD who gently slid my wig back and told me "go get tested, you sound like me". I recognize not everyone is lucky to have doctors that listen to them so this answer will be based off of my limited experience and local healthcare in my state in America, so please keep these as general suggestions! And I know it's hard to advocate for your own health, trust me I get it lol, but please stick with it. It's worth it to get the answers at the very least so you can start adjusting.

So if you have a PCP try asking them for places that are in your insurance network that could help you get tested/write you a referral letter if needed. I would suggest first looking for a behavioral therapist that specializes in diagnosing ADHD (like mine does) and treatment. I can't get actual cognitive behavioral therapy from them but they help me keep track of my ADHD and navigate my medication stuff. The extra special thing about my doctor is she was also diagnosed as an adult, so she truly understands to a certain degree of what I'm dealing with. Looking at her during my first visit was like looking into the future of the person I can be with the right help. Having a doctor that has what you have is incredibly valuable.

If you can't find a specialist, I would suggest looking for a psychiatrist that specializes in diagnosing and treating ADHD. You can also get diagnosed by a psychologist but I don't think they can actually prescribe medications? But either of those professionals will be able to test and diagnose you!

If you have trouble networking, my therapist suggested looking on Facebook (I know I know) for local/state groups that can help you connect with doctors in your area. You'd be surprised at how ready people are to help others find the care providers they need! You may not even have to ask, there may be a list of medical professionals that you can look over.

I will warn you that depending on where you go it's going to probably cost a fair amount. Even with my therapist's office taking my insurance my testing was still over 400 bucks, but in the end it was worth it for me. I will also warn you that some testing can be quite lengthy from what I hear, taking multiple sessions depending on the professional you're seeing. My testing and diagnoses took a little less than three hours and that's why I'd suggest looking for an ADHD behavioral therapist first. They know exactly what they're looking for and know you're there specifically for that test.

Another tip I can give you is frame your reason for testing as simply needing answers to improve your quality of life. Have that in writing. Don't even mention medication other than "I would explore that if you deem it a viable option for treatment." Getting medication right now is difficult if not downright impossible for some of us, so I would frame your needs on getting yourself picked up and put together. That's really what you need first anyways. Answers.

Be warned ADHD may also come with a side of fries (other general disabilities like OCD/OCD tendencies, anxiety, depression, ect ect that are often the result of untreated ADHD).

ADHD is legally considered a developmental disability and protected under the Americans with Disabilities Act. Know your rights!

In the meantime I always suggest taking a look through https://www.additudemag.com/ for information about symptoms and research and all that stuff. This is a trusted source that my therapist's office shares with all of their patients! The articles are kept up to date as new research is made available and is laid out in such a way that it's easy for people with ADHD to read and navigate. It's also a great source for parents that have kiddos with ADHD, so pass that around if you know someone who's struggling!

I do hope that your past experiences with poor doctors won't keep you from seeking testing. I can promise you not all of them are like that, and I hope you can find someone who will listen to you and take your concerns seriously!

[taeraerizz]

soldier lee seunghwan

「seunghwan x gn!reader」

genre: fluff, tiny bit of angst & suggestiveness

warnings: dirty jokes, war mentions, food, basically it. oh yeah not proofread at all honestly

summary: quality time w the love of ur life seunghwan! (kinda)

a/n: im back w… something (definitely not the best) . its not the seunghwan fic i made u guys do a poll abt i ditched that one bc it just didn’t turn out how i wanted. anyways enjoy and pls reblog or like so i dont procrastinate on writing😁

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

Hwanie

Im free nowwww

You

Got ur fav ramen w me hehehe

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

You quickly turned off your phone and headed out of your apartment door. You make your way towards the familiar dance studio down the road that had become a part of your daily routine. Visiting there almost every single day all because of one reason: lee seunghwan.

When seunghwan came back home just after getting eliminated… it was hard, to say the least. If it had been any other time for any other reason, you would’ve been happy about seunghwan being back home. More movies, more dates, more cuddles, more kisses. But this time? Oh it physically pained your heart to see him walk through your front door with drooped shoulders and a torn expression. He trudged in as if he was a traumatised soldier coming back from war. Except you guess it kind of was like that for him. War. Fighting his hardest just to prove himself worthy. But also like war, things don’t always go your way. Sometimes the borders that you had built and the weapons you had prepared go shattering apart and you’re forced to shrink back down to where you started.

And you saw that happening to seunghwan many times. It hurt to see the love of your life in such a state, but you knew how bad it was for him as well. you remember the times he worked multiple jobs just to afford a small dance studio to continue practicing for another survival show. Or every single time a company turned him down for who knows what reasons they had up their little asses. And even all the rants and breakdowns he has almost once every week. You were always there, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Things have changed a little now. He got more popular, and his growth was amazing. Companies had actually started to give him offers and he even held fan meetings! Because of this though, he was feeling a little mixed up. With the amount of support he was getting now, was it really worth it to go enlist so soon? That was a big topic in your conversations lately, the number of times you’d talked about it must be countless. Regardless of the decision he makes though you knew, your arms would be open and ready to welcome him anytime.

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

Knock knock knock

You heard quick shuffling of feet getting closer and the door sprang open almost immediately after your third knock. Not even a second later large sweaty arms indulge you into the broad chest of its owner. “oh oh be careful the ramen might spill,” you reminded the boy in front of you.

“who cares? I don’t. if that spills I could just eat you instead?” he replies with a disgustingly beautiful smirk. You stared blankly at him, “you’re so gross hwan, I would never let you do that to me especially not in the state you’re in right now. I don’t taste that good anyways.”  At this point your hug had been broken apart and you walked past him to put away your food against the mirror across the room. Not giving any attention to the boy behind you and what he was doing. “hey- “ you were cut off by bright eyes staring deep into you, his hunched body making your proximity to him almost as close as it could possibly get. Nose tips pressed against one another, lips slightly brushing together, and breaths mirroring each other. Gosh were you in love with this man. “hwan... what are you doing…” you somehow managed to utter out. He chuckles a little, “I can always double check how you taste anytime you want you know,” he teases.

There were a few seconds of silence and once you processed those words into your brain, you instantly pulled away from the slightly intimate position you were in.

“oh hell no hwan. Get your horny ass out of here, the only thing you’re gonna be doing right now is eating and showering. Now come here before the ramen gets cold.”

An annoyed groan fills the room.

[biconicfinn]

“The only reason I haven’t done that is because they asked me not to.” for rwrb?

anon, i am so sorry this took forever, i swear i had the most cliche ao3 author's note type of life bullshit happen so i'm so sorry this is late but i hope the length makes up for it!

Alex watches as Henry paces his study in their brownstone, his even-spaced steps quick with the same agitation that furrows his brow and forms that pinch in the corner of his mouth. Alex longs to reach over and kiss and touch and hold him until his steps halt and forehead smoothes out, wants to kiss that corner of his boyfriend's mouth until it no longer pinches and even more after to soothe the ache it will leave behind.

However, seeing as how he is currently on a conference call with Philip and the old white men assholes associated with the Crown, he stays where he is, curled up with a napping David in the plush armchair that has quickly become Henry's second favourite reading spot in their home. 

Alex's heart pangs in his chest where he can see the slump of Henry's shoulders as he argues back and forth with everyone trying to get him to attend more pointless events for the Crown–well, the various monarchists of the palace are arguing that actually Henry must absolutely attend whatever gala dinners and fundraiser events have been deemed appropriate for him to attend, and his suggestions to get out of them have been constantly shut down. 

First, he argued that instead of paying whatever insane amount of money to cover costs for gala tickets, security, travel, styling, etc., that sum could just be donated to the charities of choice on top of the initially agreed-upon donation.

It was shot down with claims that the Crown would appear aloof and impersonal; like they were just throwing money at the charities without a thought. Henry argued that they were in fact giving even more by cutting costs and anyway it's not like the actual beneficiaries whom Henry would love to meet would actually be present at these events anyway. However the Crown's image is paramount was a refrain parroted back through the phone speakers in a Received Pronunciation accent so often it would probably feature in Alex's nightmares.

Then Henry brought up how the optics of him constantly flying back and forth over the Atlantic would look like regarding his relationships with both his family and his boyfriend (Alex will never tire of hearing people refer to him as Henry's, especially by the man himself). Alex could not lie and say a little thrill did not run through him at Henry turning the Crown's usual arguments of protecting their reputation on them, grinning at the way Henry's eyes shine with hope and the sliver of a triumphant smile that graces his lips as their eyes meet. Alex clasps his hand over his mouth to prevent himself from bursting out laughing.

Their momentary glee is dashed however when it is brought up that they can simply spin the story as Henry balancing personal with his work and public life–even royals have to strike a balance! The hope and spark and smile drains right out of Henry, and Alex watches as his boyfriend practically deflate with his (their) dashed hopes. There's some snide remarks about how Henry should be residing mainly in London anyway, and then Philip mentions how he can't let his dalliance with The AmericanTM (and yes, Alex can hear the capitalisation and trademark in those voices). At that very remark, which at this point in his life rolls off of Alex's back like water, the lines of Henry's body go rigid and he stands up straight, shoulders back, chin tipped-up in proud defiance and the same bravery that stood up to Queen Mary and won, he takes a breath and Alex settles in with so much fucking fondness and pride and love to see his Henry stand his ground—and for it to be while swooping in to defend his honour? well, Alex has now revised their Wednesday evening date night plans to include a request for Henry to take that Prince Charming royal authority into bed later, or maybe after this call, depending on the outcome of this Philip-induced hell.

"I must be mishearing things over the trans-continental phone call, but I hope Philip that you weren't implying that my relationship with Alex, and yes I would like to remind everyone that he does have a name, is something temporary. We have just moved to the same city together and we are planning on living together soon."

"Now Henry,—"

"I would also like to remind everyone that I am not here in New York on an extended holiday, but am in fact working with Percy to set up the first of our shelters for queer youth. An undertaking that is not only a joint effort on part of both the Henry Foundation and the Okonjo Foundation to provide a much needed service to a terribly disadvantaged community, a community that I myself am part of, but the news of which has dramatically helped to improve the esteem of The Firm in the public eye."

"Well I would like to remind you, Henry, that the previously-lowered esteem of the Crown in the public eye was due in no small part to your own actions."

"My actions? You mean my deeply personal and intimate private correspondence with my partner? The same correspondence which was cruelly and callously leaked for public consumption? To be picked apart and analysed and plastered across the media for everyone and their mothers to read? As if I asked or wanted any of it?"

"Henry—"

"Is it so wrong of me to want to slow down a little? To keep my head down and do my work and live my life with as little of a public presence as I can manage it for now? To want to have some infinitesimal shred of normalcy and calm? And to spend some time away from the awful slander of the tabloids?"

"Well then why don't you just abdicate! You had no qualms about waving that threat about in Buckingham in front of the Queen herself? Why not follow through? Or is it just some empty threat because try as you might to hide it, Henry, you actually can't stand the thought of being separate from us and everything we have given you; everything you have gained from just being the spare! Are you attempting to spare our family's feelings? Or are you simply waiting for that boy of yours to give you the go ahead to petition parliament, hmm? Or perhaps Mother and Beatrice are pulling your strings?"

"Enough! For your information Philip, I have thought about abdicating, considered giving it all up for years now and no one else has ever put that thought in my head. in fact, the only reason I haven’t done that is because they asked me not to!"

Alex gasped softly, rising from his seat to stand next to Henry, gently hovering a hand above his love’s now shaking hands, waiting for Henry to seek his comfort when he’s ready. The sight of Henry’s anger flushed face and trembling hands makes Alex’s own temper rise and he wants more than anything to scream at Phillip, cut the phone off and then drag Henry and David into a cuddle pile in bed until the world forgets them. 

But he can’t risk making the situation worse so he, at Henry’s tiny nod, does what he can and holds his boyfriend’s hand through the storm. 

“The only reason I have not already petitioned parliament and informed the Queen of my intention to abdicate is because of Alex and Bea and Mum, Phillip. They told me to wait a little while to let the dust settle from everything that’s happened and wanted me to just live a little as an out member of the royal family. I wanted to say to hell with everything and let it all go, but they convinced me to stay, to see how things would be, to try and make life work. Alex is the one who told me to not let my emotions from being outed in such a traumatic way and yes trauma is the only word to describe the impact, to let myself process and recover and learn to live with everything before I made such a decision. We agreed to give it a few years and then I would evaluate again and that is what I have been working towards. I have been focusing on healing, on repairing my bond with Mum, on learning to deal with the ridiculous media scrutiny, on learning how to live together with my boyfriend, on setting up the queer youth shelters with Pez, I even wanted to work on repairing my relationship with you Phillip but it seems clear to me now that not only do you not hold any respect for my partner and our relationship nor my wishes to step back from royal duties for a while to adjust to my new life, you clearly do not value or respect our bond as brothers and how before you were Mary Mountchristen-Windsor’s grandson, you were the son of Arthur and Catherine Fox, my older brother, and I was not your subject to lord over but someone who would support and love you in the same measure you showed me. It is clear to me now that whatever rifts have formed between us are not things you wish to bridge. And I will not stand to be treated like this when you are only concerned with the standing and image of the crown and not the happiness and wellbeing of your own family. Only contact me if you have decided to change that but otherwise, goodbye.”

The call is swiftly ended and as Henry angrily jabs at the red button over Phillip’s spluttering and the advisors’ shocked silence, Alex throws himself into Henry’s arms and wraps himself around him, and Henry folds himself tightly over Alex, as the latter drags him over to curl up in the comfy armchair he previously sat in. A long since awoken David settles at their feet, nuzzling into shins and ankles to comfort his dads. 

Alex just hums as he rubs a warm palm over Henry’s back, tender touches of his lips ghosting over Henry’s cheek and temple, waiting for Henry to match his breathing with the movement of his hand, for his heart to stop racing and slow down to the pace of his own, once again in sync. And though the words are clawing at his throat and tongue and teeth to be set free, he chokes them back in favour of humming half remembered songs from his dad’s record collection, fairly certain he’s creating some butchered mashup of Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday. 

They sit together like that for a moment, quiet in the Brooklyn afternoon save for David’s quiet snuffles and Alex’s humming and Henry’s deep breaths. Alex waits, patient in the way he only ever is for Henry, for his love’s breathing to ease for the thudding heartbeat he can feel racing in his chest to slow and steady, for Henry to find the ability to speak the words he gasps in a panic. And with the soothing sound of his boyfriend’s humming, the steady movements of his hand up and down his back, and of course, the warm weight of his beloved dog curled up at his feet, henry calms down slightly, the vice grip of panic easing from around his throat his head his heart. 

“Love, thank–“

“You better not be trying to thank me for being a good fuckin’ boyfriend and helping you come down from the edge of a panic attack, Wales, I swear to fuckin’ God!” cries Alex as he pulls himself away from where he’s wrapped around Henry to look him right in the eyes, dark brown eyes ablaze with love and righteous anger Henry knows isn’t directed at him, not really. 

Henry huffs a laugh against Alex’s forehead where he presses a kiss filled with unspoken gratitude. A kiss that eases the furrows and creases of Alex’s emotions, and Henry bites back a fond snicker as Alex melts a little in his arms at the press of lips to his skin. “Of course not love, I only meant to thank you for being such a wonderful human weighted blanket,” Henry’s tone is light and playful but those blue eyes betray a sincerity that steals Alex’s breath, “but in all seriousness, thank you so much darling, for being there for me through all the bullshit the Crown throws at me, for calming me down when it gets to much, for letting me just…be. I wish it got easier to fight back against their horridness, and I am so very sorry you have had to hear the absolutely ghastly things they say about you, about us,” Alex glares at him, “and yes about me too. It’s usually easier for me to stand up to them, especially after what happened with Gran, but I just, I just lost it when Philip said that you and Bea and Mum were manipulating me to not abdicate, as if you’re some power hungry, social climbing, gold-digger! As if you three weren’t the ones who convinced me after everything calmed down to give staying as an out gay Prince a chance, to see how I felt about living this life I never thought I could have! You three, and of course, Pez, who I suspect would be thrilled if I hung it all up tomorrow, have been so damned supportive, encouraging, and loving that I really wanted to give this a chance, to let myself find my footing a little. And for that, I am endlessly grateful. Endlessly, my love.” 

Alex can’t help but lean forward to kiss Henry at that, attempting to pour every ounce of love and affection and admiration he has for him into the kiss, losing himself in the press of lips that always makes his heart flutter and flip and drives all rational thought from his head. Henry kisses him back with his usual passion and love, like it’s a fucking Olympic sport, and they both let themselves just exist in this for a moment, let arms hold each other close, let fingers tangle into dark curls and blond strands, let bodies press close and limbs tangle. 

As they break apart for air (sadly breathing is necessary for living and one cannot survive on kisses alone), they rest their foreheads together, just letting themselves breath the same oxygen for a minute, not yet ready to part from one another. 

“So what do you need now baby? Still up for our date night out? Or do you just wanna have a night in? I could teach you how to make that mac and cheese you liked the last time I made it, and I mean the real Texas shit, none of this ‘elevated’ crap. Or if you don’t feel up to that we can get take out, your pick. I’m gonna follow your lead on this so you just say the word and that’s the plan for tonight,” Alex holds Henry’s face in his hands and gently rubbing thumbs on his cheeks as he looks Henry straight in the eyes as he talks.

“As tempting as it is to have you teach me some new culinary skills, I have to admit that I’ve missed our date nights out, and I really do want to see you in that new outfit you picked out and have been really poorly hiding from me. I want to dress up nice with you, head to that French bistro we have reservations at and wine and dine you, and just hold your hand and show off to the whole world that we’re together and happy and in love. Maybe we could even go out dancing afterward! So what if we make front page headlines of the tabloids tomorrow morning? Maybe one more viral moment is what it takes to prove to Philip and all those utter arseholes in the Palace that yes I’m serious about you and no, that isn’t changing anytime soon,” Henry resolves, reaching to press a tender and sweet kiss to Alex’s knuckles on one hand, while the other squeezes just a little where it’s wrapped on Alex’s waist. 

“Mmm I do love being part of a plan to spite dusty bigoted white men. And I am not even being a little bit sarcastic! Also, dancing? Is that really my Hen who’s open and ready to head to the club? So if I said we find the biggest loudest gay club in the city and danced the night away you’d be fine with that?” Alex laughs, tone teasing.

“Alright, maybe I got a little excited with the sticking it to the Crown of it all, but truly, one day I would love to go out with you to the clubs properly, I know we usually go with the rest of our friends but I can’t lie that the thought of having you all to myself with your frankly, illegal dance moves isn’t tempting at all,” Henry teases back, raising a playful eyebrow at Alex, who preens in acknowledgement of his superior dance prowess.

“We’ll save that for another night, I have plans for us tonight, because while my outfit may have been spoiled, I think I still have a couple of other tricks up my sleeve that would work,” Alex playfully nips at Henry’s jaw, light enough there’s no marks but with the promise of teeth that sends shivers down his boyfriend’s spine.

“Oh? And would those tricks involve anything from our little chest at the foot of our bed?” Henry counters archly.

Alex snorts with playful derision, “First if all, ain’t nothin’ about that chest little, so jot that down. Second of all, if I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise now would it?”

Henry’s voice drops low in the way that always thrills Alex, never failing to make him putty in his love’s hands, “And if I didn’t want to be at your tender mercies tonight? If I wanted to take the reins as it were?”

“Well then thqt would just mean you and I are thinking along the same lines, Wales,” Alex smirks, fluttering his lashes at Henry ever so slightly to make his breath hitch.

At that, Henry can do nothing else but pull Alex in for another kiss, content to let his hands roam as he gasps out, “Christ love, those eyelashes of yours are as lethal as ever” in between heated kisses and teases of tongue and teeth. As Alex moans into Henry’s mouth and reaches to tug at the hem of his shirt, they’re interrupted by David huffing loudly as he gets up from where he was curled around Henry’s ankles and feet to leave the study, which makes the two tangled-up men on the couch fall into helpless laughter at the sight.

“Nooooo our poor baby David has been scarred for life and now he’s left us!”

“Darling, I think it’s more likely poor Davey is fed up with us and has decided to let us know how unimpressed he is with our behaviour.”

“He’s so judgemental; definitely our son, I’m so proud.”

“Right well, I’m going to go take him out for a bit and maybe give him a little treat to apologise, and you can go finish that memo you wanted to send Zahra before we get ready for dinner.”

“Will you please–“

“Set an alarm so you know when to go get ready in case you hyperfixate? Of course love, don’t worry I’ll make sure to remind you”

“God I love you so much”

“I love you too. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go convince our son that we still love him.”

[buddie-buddie]

we will find a way (through the dark)

9.2k - t - ao3 In which President Evan Buckley is kidnapped and Secret Service Agent Eddie Diaz falls apart.

This whole Wyoming trip was a bad idea. Eddie had said as much when the travel plans first crossed his desk. Buck, to his credit, had agreed. Neither one of them seemed to understand why a speech at an hour-long ceremony warranted a three-day trip, but that ship had apparently long since sailed.

“What’s there to do in Wyoming anyway?” Buck had asked one of his advisors. “Can’t I just fly in for the ceremony and leave as soon as it’s over?” 

Eddie thought that was a brilliant idea. The less time they had to spend away from the White House– the less time they had to spend in Wyoming, of all places– the better. 

Unfortunately, Buck’s team was prepared with an answer, quickly launching into some long-winded explanation full of Washington jargon like strategic and good faith and precedent-setting. It was buzzword salad, as far as Eddie was concerned. 

The way Buck’s eyes seemed to glaze over as they spoke indicated he felt the same. 

Buck going anywhere other than the White House or Camp David is already less than ideal, and heading to some rural area of Wyoming, where there’s bad reception, limited resources, and guns outnumber people 4:1 is pretty much Eddie’s personal hell. 

Now that they’re here, his feelings haven’t exactly changed. His team is incredible, as is the entirety of the Secret Service. They’ve been hard at work clearing buildings, mapping travel routes, surveilling, and filling the gaps left by the less-than ideal amount of local law enforcement support they’ve been provided. 

They’ve been here for a day and a half now, and while Eddie still isn’t feeling great about the trip, he’s no longer walking around with “resting bitch face so severe it might get stuck that way,” as Buck had so lovingly pointed out when Air Force One had first landed. 

Tensions had managed to grow since their arrival, which Eddie knew could be attributed to Buck’s overall frustration with this trip in the first place. A frustration Eddie shared, tenfold. 

Buck was exhausted after a particularly busy week, spread thinner than he had been in recent memory. Thinner than Eddie thought possible. And yet, somehow, even after all these years, Buck still manages to surprise him. 

The night before they were set to leave Washington, Eddie had brought up the idea of postponing the trip. It had been a long, draining week and to add a few days of travel on top of it felt like a cruel and unusual punishment, at least as far as Eddie was concerned. It physically pained him to see Buck so stressed, exhaustion materializing in the bags under his eyes, in the dark circles that cast an unwelcome shadow across his face. 

When Buck didn’t go for that, Eddie suggested shortening it to one day instead of three. He was met with protest, insistence that he’d rather go and be miserable than change his plans and disappoint his constituents. Buck had stopped for a minute, his half-packed suitcase in front of him, and promised that when they got home, he’d stay in bed for a whole day. 

“I’ll allow it,” Eddie had said, wrapping his arms around Buck from behind and dropping a kiss to his temple. 

“I have one condition,” Buck said, relaxing into Eddie’s arms, melting into his touch. 

“Let’s hear it,” Eddie murmured against Buck’s ear.  

“You,” Buck said, pausing and tipping his head back in an attempt to look at Eddie. “Have to stay in bed with me.” 

Eddie grinned. He couldn’t help but squeeze Buck a little tighter, fondness unfurling in his chest. “Deal.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie nodded, turning Buck so they were pressed chest to chest, their foreheads resting against one another. “Yeah,” Eddie murmured, stealing a proper kiss. 

-

The first day of the trip goes according to plan. Buck is exhausted, and Eddie can tell he’s losing steam towards the end of the day, but he still manages to keep a warm smile on his face until they make it back to the hotel room. Eddie follows him inside, locking the door behind them as Buck heaves a sigh and sits on the edge of the bed. 

“You did well today,” Eddie says, toeing off his shoes and shrugging out of his suit jacket before crossing the room towards the bed. 

“I– I feel like you guys are smothering me.” Buck’s reply seems to startle both of them. 

Eddie tries not to take it personally. It’s not his fault there are fewer police officers in the entire state of Wyoming than there were students in his high school! Usually when they travel, local police come in to support the Secret Service. The small police population out here has meant fewer support officers than they’re used to. It left Eddie and his team feeling a little stressed, and they had come to the decision that the best way to fill the gaps and compensate for the change in routine was to increase the presence of Buck’s personal detail. 

Instead of two agents shadowing him, they bumped it to three. Instead of four agents surrounding him in open air, they’ve had six. 

Frankly, Eddie isn’t a huge fan of the change in routine, either. He’s been on edge since the second they got here. But if it means keeping Buck safe, he’ll adopt whatever changes are necessary. He might not like it, might spend all day longing for the status quo, but he’ll do it. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do if it meant keeping Buck safe. Nothing . 

“I’m sorry,” Buck and Eddie say at the same time. 

“No– no, Eddie. I’m sorry,” Buck insists, his eyes wide and searching as he holds Eddie’s gaze. “I– I don’t know where that came from. I just–” 

Eddie sits down beside him. Their knees brush, and the tension in the air dissolves immediately. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for telling me the truth,” Eddie tells him. “I’m sorry that we had to change your detail. I don’t like it any more than you do.”

“There’s nothing here but open air and cows,” Buck grumbles, loosening his tie and pulling it over his head with a sigh. “Can’t we decrease it?” 

Eddie shakes his head. Annoying as it is, it’ll be a cold day in hell when he does anything that could potentially put Buck in danger. “No, baby. I’m sorry.”

Buck makes a noise halfway between a groan and a whine, flopping back onto the mattress. Eddie sighs, taking comfort in knowing that even as tired as he is, Buck hasn’t lost his personality. 

“We just have to get through another day and a half. Not even. First thing Wednesday morning, we’re on the way home,” Eddie reminds him. “And then I believe there’s a deal involving a bed and a locked door that’ll need your attention.” 

-

The following afternoon is Buck’s big speech, the whole reason for the trip in the first place. He spends 15 minutes speaking at a ceremony to honor the 100th birthday of a national park that Eddie isn’t convinced he himself had ever heard of before learning of these travel plans. As Eddie expected, Buck absolutely crushes his speech, complete with a standing ovation before he waves goodbye and heads backstage to meet up with his team. 

“Nice work,” Maddie says, beaming as Buck makes his way down the stairs, trailed by Eddie, Bobby, Chim, and Hen. He strides over to where she’s waiting with a few of his advisors and a flock of additional Secret Service agents. 

Buck lets out a deep breath, relief and gratitude shining in his eyes as he thanks her. “Now what?” he asks, accepting the bottle of water Eddie passes him with a small smile. 

“Now, you have to go get changed into something more appropriate for skeet shooting with the governor,” Maddie tells him. 

She manages to keep the grin off her face, but Chim fails, chuckling as he claps Buck on the back. “Now this, I can’t wait to see.” 

It’s a twenty minute ride in the motorcade to the rifle club, where Buck is ushered into a sitting room and promised that the governor will be with him shortly. He takes a seat in one of the oversized leather chairs, directly beneath a taxidermy buck. 

“It’s Buck-ception,” Chimney muses. Eddie grins, though it may have less to do with Chim’s bad joke and more to do with the horrified look on Buck’s face as he turns his head and sees the deer mounted directly above him.

“I miss Washington,” Buck grumbles. 

Eddie doesn’t blame him. 

Washington has the Oval Office, which is free of dead animals hanging on the walls. Washington has four times more law enforcement officers in its 70 square miles than Wyoming does in its nearly 100,000. Washington has Christopher. Washington has the Residence. Washington has their bed–– God, Eddie misses their bed. 

Washington has their best memories and some of their worst ones too, but it’s home. And while Eddie’s never felt homesick when Buck’s in reach, he finds himself longing for the city just as much as Buck is. 

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because the governor is striding into the sitting room and Buck is rising to his feet to shake the man’s hand. 

“Mr. President.”

“Mr. Governor,” Buck says with a warm smile. Eddie remains in awe of him– how even when he’s somewhere he doesn’t want to be, doing something he doesn’t want to do, Buck still manages to be so friendly, so genuine. He still manages to share the best parts of himself.  “Thanks for having me.”

The governor returns Buck’s smile. “Pleasure’s mine.” He leads Buck down a hallway to a private locker room, Eddie, Bobby, and Chim trailing behind them alongside the Governor’s security. The Governor motions for Buck to use the room on the left before heading into the room on the right himself.

Chim stands to the left of the door while Bobby walks through the room, returning a moment later with a nod to signal that it’s empty and safe for Buck to enter. He steps into position, standing on the right hand side of the door as Eddie moves to follow Buck inside. 

“I think I can handle this by myself, guys.” Buck motions to the bag in his hand. Eddie tries not to take it personally. He knows Buck is feeling overwhelmed. He said as much last night. And yet, there’s still a pang of rejection at Buck’s words. But he shoves it down, nods, and steps to the side, as much as he hates the idea of Buck being out of their sight. 

But it’s only for a minute. They’re in a building that’s crawling with agents, and this is a private room– Eddie remembers as much from when he saw the building’s plans during his briefing this morning. There are no exterior doors, no doors that connect to other rooms. Just a small changing area connected to a private bathroom. And Buck is only getting changed out of his suit and into whatever sort of skeet shooting attire Maddie put into the bag that’s slung across his shoulder. 

He’ll only be a minute. 

The Governor reappears a few minutes later, his own suit traded for a flannel shirt and a dark khaki vest with matching pants tucked into calf-high boots.

Eddie catches the way Chim’s eyes light up, already anticipating Buck’s getup. He shoots him a look, silently begging him to behave. 

They wait for another minute before Eddie starts to get antsy. He has no idea what could possibly be taking Buck so long. He’s pretty efficient when he gets dressed in the morning, only slowing down to swap lazy kisses with Eddie as they move around the walk-in closet at the same time. That and tying his tie. But Eddie’s out here in the hallway and he’s hard pressed to believe Maddie would pack him a necktie for an afternoon at the rifle club. 

Something must be wrong. 

Eddie steps forward, knocking on the door. “Mr. President, all good?” He waits with bated breath for Buck’s answer, only it doesn’t come. 

“Mr. President?” Eddie tries again, more insistent this time. Again, no response. 

He looks between Chim, Bobby, the Governor, and the two state troopers trailing the Governor, concern written across all five of their faces. 

Fuck. 

Eddie doesn’t waste another second. 

The door is unlocked, but there’s something blocking it. He’s able to twist the knob and push it open, but it only goes a few inches before he’s met with resistance. He slams his shoulder into the door, using all of his weight to push it open far enough that he can make it through. 

A leather-trimmed bench has been dragged over from the middle of the changing area, if the dents in the carpet are any indication of where it once sat. It was shoved in front of the door, clearly meant to slow down anyone trying to make their way inside. Buck’s suit jacket is in a pile on the floor, just beside his dress pants and shoes. His bag lays sideways on the floor, a pair of olive green pants hanging out of the opening. 

His white button-down is in the middle of the floor, stained red with what can only be blood. 

There’s a lot of blood. Too much blood. 

A trail of it starting in the middle of the room, leading out through a wide-open window. 

Shit. 

There are bloody footprints on the carpet. Three pairs in the middle of the floor – two made by shoes and one made by bare feet. By the window, there are only two pairs. Both shoes. They dragged him out. 

The realization burns in Eddie’s chest, nearly breaks him. They dragged him out. 

How did they all miss this? How did none of them hear it? Eddie thinks he might be sick.

Behind him, he hears Bobby radioing in a mayday and calling for a total lockdown. He hears boots in the hallway, voices echoing in his earpiece. The Governor’s saying something, the state troopers, too.

But he can’t focus on any of that. Not when Buck is gone. 

No, not gone. 

Taken. 

The worst of it is the tiny black rectangle in the corner of the room. Buck’s panic button. Eddie beelines toward it, dropping down to get a better look. It’s still intact, which has Eddie trying to wrap his head around why Buck didn’t hit it– it must’ve been in his hand at some point if it made it all the way out of his pocket and across the room. Why didn’t he hit it?

He’s careful not to put any fingerprints on it, pulling a pen out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and using it to flip the thing over. He’s not ready for the sight of the bloody fingerprint, just to the left of the button itself. It trails off, as if the device was knocked out of Buck’s hand before he could get his finger onto the button. 

But he tried. 

Something about that makes it even worse.

-

“Talk to me,” Eddie says, walking into the sitting room, which has since become, for all intents and purposes, Secret Service headquarters. 

He just got off the phone with the director, briefing him on what had gone down. It’s been fourteen minutes since Eddie breached the door to the locker room and they discovered Buck had been taken. Closer to eighteen minutes since Buck entered the locker room in the first place. The pit in Eddie’s stomach grows steadily with each passing minute. He’s desperate for an update– a real update. Not just “Yeah, he’s definitely gone,” which had been the latest one a few minutes ago, before Eddie stepped out to call the director and try to tamp down the rage burning within him before it consumed him. 

“We have footage,” Bobby says, looking up at Eddie from behind a laptop screen. He’s sitting in the same oversized leather chair Buck had been in before, the stupid taxidermy buck above his head. 

God, what Eddie would do to go back to that moment. The things he would change. The things he could prevent. 

“Let me see,” Eddie says. Bobby hesitates, one hand on the laptop screen, as if to shield Eddie from view. 

“Eddie,” Bobby begins. “I just watched it. I think–” His voice is gentle and sympathetic in a way that has Eddie feeling absolutely terrified. 

“No,” Eddie insists. He can hear the hysteria starting to creep into his voice. He clears his throat, takes a quick breath. “Let me see.”

Bobby hesitates once more, but Eddie steps up next to him, standing over his shoulder and staring down at the screen. Reluctantly, Bobby hits play. 

It’s from an exterior camera, one that had a perfect view of two men dragging Buck out of the locker room window. Eddie stands there fuming, his blood boiling beneath his skin as he sees Buck, covered in blood, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and a strip of tape across his mouth. 

He kicks and claws, thrashing around as they pull him out of the open window and throw him in the back of a waiting golf cart. It has a miniature flatbed in the back, and one of the men jumps in beside Buck, locking his legs around him and holding a hand over his mouth to keep him still and quiet. 

The other man throws a tarp over the both of them, concealing them from view, before jumping in the driver’s seat and speeding off. 

And then they’re gone. 

Eddie can’t breathe. Buck is gone– taken – on his watch. He’s out there somewhere, barefoot and covered in blood and at the mercy of the two animals who just dragged him through a window right under Eddie’s nose and Eddie can’t fucking breathe. His chest is tight and his head is heavy and everything hurts. He can’t– 

“Eddie,” Bobby’s voice sounds far away, too distant to be coming from the man standing directly beside him. “Eddie, look at me.”

Eddie can’t get the words out. Can’t get the air in. Can’t do anything except stand here as his world falls apart and stammer out a broken,  “They– I– I can’t–”

“I know.” Bobby’s voice is even where Eddie’s wavers, smooth where Eddie’s grates against the lump in his throat. But the fire in his eyes burns just as furiously as the one in Eddie’s. The undercurrent of anger that Eddie can sense coming off of him is just as intense as the one thrumming beneath his own skin. 

And something about that is more comforting than the evenness of his voice ever could be. 

“We’re going to get him back,” Bobby says, matter-of-fact. There’s no room for interpretation, no doubt behind his words. 

“He’s… Bobby, I– I don’t–” 

“He needs you,” Bobby says, his voice low. Quiet enough that it doesn’t draw the attention of the other agents coming in and out of the room, but loud in all the ways that matter. Keep it together , is what Bobby doesn’t say out loud. Keep it together for him. And fall apart later. 

Eddie hears it all the same. 

He nods, managing to get a shaky breath. And then another one. The heat behind his eyes eases up, the pressure in his head and the burn in his chest ebbing away with each additional breath. Not all the way, but it’s enough. 

Bobby places a hand on his shoulder, squeezes reassuringly in a way that has Eddie’s chest aching for an entirely different reason. 

And then Hen is running into the room, waving a sticky note in her hand. “I got a plate.” 

“Let me have it,” Eddie says. Bobby, to his credit, doesn’t protest as Eddie grabs the laptop out from in front of him and pulls up the database. 

Hen reads off the plate number and Eddie types it in. The system shows a match immediately. He pulls up the driver’s ID and his heart skips in his chest. That’s the same guy from the security video, the one driving the cart away. He’s sure of it. 

If the way Bobby stiffens beside him is any indication, he’s sure of it, too. They share a small nod, and Eddie sends a silent prayer of thanks to every God he can think of before keying his radio. “All agents, be advised, we have an ID on one of our suspects. Dixon Allan, age 31. Driving a white Silverado with a busted left tail light. BOLO is going out now.” 

“Last known address on our friend Mr. Allan is 129 Fox Hollow Road,” Bobby says, looking between Eddie, Chim, and Hen. 

“Well, let’s pay him a visit,” Eddie says. 

-

Eddie kills the Suburban’s engine three doors down from the house. The road has a more suburban feel to it than many of the streets Eddie’s seen since they first arrived two days ago. And yet, despite the paved streets and the houses close together, there’s not a single streetlight on the entire block. Though that’ll work in their favor. The sun is quickly setting, leaving them with only a few more minutes’ worth of daylight before the street is completely blanketed in darkness.

Another two cars pull up behind him, all of the agents careful to close their doors quietly and move silently as they head over to Eddie’s car.

Eddie swaps his suit jacket for a kevlar vest, rolling the sleeves of his white button-down up his forearms as Bobby steps up beside him, clad in his own vest. 

“Eddie.” Bobby says, the fear on his face giving way to something softer, more compassionate. “I can go in first.” 

Eddie’s chest squeezes, the onslaught of emotion catching him completely off guard. 

“We have no idea what we’re walking into,” Bobby says, the compassion from his face bleeding into his voice and softening the razor-sharp edge of the truth behind his words. 

“I know,” Eddie says solemnly. He knows Bobby is trying to protect him, offering to be the first one in, the first one to see whatever it is these animals have done with Buck. To Buck. 

But what Bobby must not realize is that this – whatever it is they’re walking into – is what Eddie deserves. He’s the one who let Buck into that locker room alone. He’s the one who waited too long to breach the door and get inside. He’s the one who failed. He failed his country, failed his people. Failed Buck. 

And whatever horror scene they’re about to walk in on, Eddie deserves every second of it. He can’t put that on Bobby. Not when all of this is his fault. 

“I’ll lead,” Eddie says, the words scratching against the lump in his throat. 

He’s saved from having to say anything more about it when his earpiece beeps, signaling an incoming communication. “All agents, be advised. SWAT is eleven minutes out.” 

It’s Eddie’s boss, the director of the Secret Service. The unspoken words there are Wait for them. Which Eddie has no plans of doing. 

Eddie keys his radio. “We’re moving in.”

“Special Agent Diaz––”

“Do you have any idea what can happen in eleven minutes?” Eddie demands. He gives zero regard to the reprimand he’s bound to get for interrupting his boss– and over the team comms for everyone else to hear, no less. “What they could do to him?”

“Stand down and wait for SWAT,” the director says. “That’s an order.”

“I don’t give a damn if it costs me my badge!” Eddie hisses, careful not to raise his voice to the point of giving away their position. “It’ll be on your desk first thing tomorrow if that’s how it has to be. But I’m going in there and getting my President. And I’m not waiting eleven minutes to do it.” 

The comms are silent for a beat before Eddie keys his radio one more time. “Respectfully, Sir.”

“I would never ask any of you to disobey–” Eddie’s voice trails off as he turns to face his team,  only to find them all in their vests, their weapons drawn. They’re ready to go.

“We know,” Hen says. 

Eddie tries again, shoving down the ball of emotion that’s started unfurling in his chest. “No one is under any obligation to–”

Chim cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, yeah. We’re all consenting adults here. Now, let’s go get our President back.”

Eddie nods. “Clip your lights on,” he tells them. “Stay light on your feet and wait for my signal.”

He’s met with a round of nods, each of the agents fastening their flashlights onto the top of their guns. As they’re walking down the sidewalk, approaching the house, his earpiece beeps again. 

“Be advised, SWAT recommends breaching at the alpha side.” 

Eddie knows that’s as close to a “You were right and I was wrong” as they’re ever going to get. He’ll take it. 

At least his badge is safe.

“Copy,” Eddie replies. He directs the agents to different sides of the house, approaching the front door with Bobby, Hen, and Chim on his heels. He glances back at them, and once he sees they’re all ready, he turns to the door and kicks it in.

The lights are off, the entire house swathed in a darkness that feels somewhat fitting for the gravity of the situation. Eddie steps over the threshold gun first, feet second. 

His stomach drops as he looks around. He freezes, the beam from his flashlight locked in place. His breath catches in his throat and from somewhere behind him, he can hear Bobby’s do the same. 

The front door opens up into a small entryway, just large enough for a coat rack and a small table pushed up against the wall, holding nothing but a single set of keys– no doubt belonging to the white Silverado parked out front, the same one they used to flee the scene– and a layer of dust Eddie can see from several feet away. Directly ahead is an open door that leads to what looks like the kitchen. To the left, a hallway. 

There are cobwebs in the corners and dust on the floor. The house is cold– too cold for anyone to be living here comfortably. But that’s not what has Eddie’s blood running cold, alarm bells going off in his head as he fights against the fire in his chest to get a clean breath. 

There, on the hallway wall, set clearly against the white paint, is a bloody handprint. 

Beside it, another one. This one messier than the first, the fingerprints trailing away, down the hallway, as if their owner dragged them across the wall. 

As if their owner was dragged. 

Not without a fight, though, if the fingernail scratches in the wall are any indication.  

“Jesus,” Chimney mutters. His voice is empty, hollow in a way Eddie’s never heard it before. Almost as if he’s shut off his emotions, tamped them down in the way Eddie so desperately wishes he was capable of doing himself. 

“Let’s move,” Eddie says, pushing the words past the fear that’s materialized by way of a lump in his throat.

He heads down the hallway, his heart hammering in his chest as his eyes scan the trail of blood and scratches on the wall. The need to find Buck is the only thing more powerful than the rage burning deep inside him. It’s the only thing keeping him moving forward, keeping him from falling apart.

The intensity of the blood against the wall trails off the further he gets down the hallway, the heavy, robust marks fading into barely-there traces with each step Eddie takes. He tries to take comfort in knowing that it means Buck wasn’t actively bleeding– at least not from his hands– but any shred of relief is lost to the fear and the fury dangerously close to consuming him.   

The trail ends at the second door on the right. Eddie holds up his free hand in a silent signal to his team to freeze. The quiet footsteps behind him come to a halt, and he turns his head to see Bobby beside him. 

The anguish in his eyes has Eddie feeling like he’s looking in a mirror. Bobby has the same clenched jaw, the same creased forehead, the same fire burning behind his eyes that Eddie feels in his own. But there’s something more there. Something softer. At first, Eddie isn’t sure what to make of it. Then, Bobby nods his head towards the door, a silent offer. 

I’ll go first. 

He doesn’t have to say it out loud–– Eddie hears the unspoken words loud and clear. He knows it’s Bobby’s last attempt to protect him. To shield him from whatever might be behind the door.

Later, he’ll let himself feel the gratitude. Later, once Buck is home and Buck is safe. 

Later, he’ll find Bobby and he’ll thank him. He’ll tell him that he’s never had anyone care about him in the way that Bobby does. He’ll tell him how much the seemingly simple gesture meant to him. How he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget it. 

Later, he’ll tell Bobby how even though it meant the world to him– maybe even more– he couldn’t take him up on the offer. He hopes Bobby will understand. No, he knows he will. 

Later, he’ll tell Bobby “I had to do it.” And later, Bobby will smile and clap him on the shoulder and say “No, I know you did.” Later. Once this is all over. 

But now, all Eddie can do is meet Bobby’s eyes and hope the look he gives him is enough to say all the things he can’t right now. 

And then he moves. 

The door is locked. Eddie wastes no time kicking it open. It slams against the wall, the hinges rattling as he barrels into the room, Bobby and Chimney immediately behind him. 

The room is dark, illuminated only by the beams of their flashlights. There’s a startled whimper from the far corner, and it’s a miracle that Eddie hears it over the sound of his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. 

“Buck!” Eddie crosses the room in three strides. Protocol says he needs to clear the room of any potential threats before entering, but he’s long past the point of giving a single damn about protocol. 

Someone behind him shouts out a “Clear!” and he hears Bobby on the radio, updating the other agents on scene. 

None of that matters to him. His sole focus is Buck. 

Buck, who’s sitting in front of him, eyes wide and wet even in the bright light of Eddie’s flashlight. He’s on the floor in the corner of the room, his knees pulled up to his chest. His hands are bound behind his back and there’s tape over his mouth. His captors are nowhere to be seen. He’s alone. 

For reasons Eddie can’t quite name, that makes the knots in his stomach coil even tighter. Buck was alone in here. Buck, who hasn’t been alone– not really, anyway– in years. Buck, who just minutes before being taken had insisted he’d be fine by himself. 

Sure, the alternative is that Buck’s captors could’ve been in here with him, doing god-knows-what to him. And that’s hardly better than Buck being left in here alone. But something about the sight of him all by himself, tucked in the corner of the room and looking smaller than Eddie’s ever seen him, has Eddie’s stomach turning, his chest squeezing beneath the agony of it all. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Eddie promises, easing one corner of the tape up. He’s not sure if that last part is true. Not yet. But it needs to be.

“We’re here, we got you.” That part is true. They have him. 

Finally, finally, they have him. 

“Are you hurt?” Eddie asks. He can barely stand the half-second of wait time between his second and Buck’s reply, which comes by way of a quick head shake. No. 

Eddie’s shoulders sag with relief, just as his radio beeps in his ear. “All agents be advised, we have both suspects in custody.” 

Eddie lets out a sound that’s halfway between a sigh and a sob. The relief is palpable, coursing through him and soothing the frayed edges of what little remains of his sanity.

“We got them,” he tells Buck. “It’s over.” 

Buck nods, eyes still shining in a way that feels like a knife to Eddie’s heart. “Gonna take this off, okay?” Eddie says, working hard to keep his voice calm and even. Buck nods eagerly. Bobby is there too, kneeling down at Buck’s side and starting in on the ropes wrapped around his wrists. 

Eddie brings one hand up to the side of Buck’s face, and his chest squeezes at the way Buck immediately melts into the touch. He pulls the tape off with his other hand, dropping it to the ground as soon as it’s off. 

Bobby gets the rope off at the same time and Buck collapses like a puppet whose strings have just been cut, falling into Eddie’s chest with a strangled noise that Eddie knows he’ll be hearing in his nightmares for years to come. 

“I got you,” Eddie says, fighting off a sob he can feel building in his chest. He swallows it down and brings a hand up to the nape of Buck’s neck, holding him close. “I got you.”

Buck’s chest heaves as he draws in a shaky breath, fingers wound so tightly in Eddie’s suit jacket that his knuckles have gone white. “I got you,” Eddie says again. It’s just as much for Buck as it is for himself. 

He holds Buck as close as he possibly can, buries his face in his hair and finally takes a deep breath for the first time in hours. His hair smells like sweat and blood, but underneath it all there’s still the familiar minty fragrance of Buck’s fancy conditioner. It’s barely recognizable, but Eddie clings to it just as hard as he holds onto Buck.

Bobby backs off, gives them a moment to hold each other, to breathe. To let it sink in that this nightmare is finally over. Eddie’s gratitude knows no bounds.

“I– I’m sorry.” Buck’s voice is ragged, trembling in the same way his hands are. 

Eddie’s heart breaks all over again. 

“Shh,” Eddie shushes him. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I-I told you… I told you not to–” Buck stammers. Eddie eases him back, putting just enough distance between them that he can take Buck’s face in his hands. 

“Buck, please–” It’s all Eddie manages to get out before his voice cracks, hot tears stinging his eyes, threatening to spill over. 

He blinks them back, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Buck’s. “I’m sorry I left you,” he says, his voice wavering. He could apologize every day, every hour, every minute for the rest of his life and it still could never be enough. “I shouldn’t have listened, I should– I should have insisted.”

Buck shakes his head. “This is not your fault.”

“It is,” Eddie insists. “It is, I– I should have…” His sentence trails off when he registers the way Buck is shaking. He’s trembling in Eddie’s arms, his whole body fighting against what Eddie assumes is a combination of an adrenaline crash and the fact that he’s still barely clothed. Eddie lets go of Buck only long enough to stand up. Quick as their lack of contact may be, it’s still met with a sound of protest from Buck. Eddie helps him to his feet, and it’s the first time he gets a proper look at him, and it takes his breath away. There’s dried blood all over him. It’s caked onto his skin, his hair. It’s beneath his fingernails, stuck in the creases of his palms. Sweat-damp curls are plastered against his forehead, and dark circles hang beneath his weary eyes. 

“Come on,” Eddie says gently. He wraps an arm around Buck’s waist, taking on his weight as he leads him towards the door. 

He keys his radio with his free hand. “All agents be advised, I’m bringing POTUS out. Need medical on standby.”

“No medical,” Buck protests. “I– I’m fine. Just need a shower.” 

“Yes, medical,” Eddie shuts that nonsense down immediately. He leads him out the door and towards the waiting ambulance. 

Maddie is the first one to reach them, running over as soon as she sees them cross the threshold. She meets them halfway across the front lawn, pulling Buck into a tight hug. She’s the only person on Earth for whom Eddie would let go of his hold on Buck, and he doesn’t mind stepping back and letting them have a moment together. Eddie can’t make out what she says to Buck, but if the way his shoulders sag is any indication, it’s exactly what he needed to hear.

-

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Eddie asks. Buck is sitting on the back of the ambulance, Eddie directly next to him. Buck’s head is resting on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie finally, finally feels like he’s able to breathe again. Buck is dressed in Secret Service issued sweats, a navy blue crewneck sweatshirt and matching pants. Hen had been quick to bring them over as soon as they made it out of the house, and Eddie’s not sure who was more grateful– him or Buck. 

Eddie was quick to help Buck into them, hoping they’d help to fight against the chill in the night air. He had grabbed a rescue blanket off the back of the ambulance, too, and draped that over Buck’s shoulders in an attempt to get him as warm as possible.

“I– I promise,” Buck says, voice still a little wobbly. “My, uh, my wrists are a little sore. That’s all.” 

“And your head,” Eddie reminds him. 

“And my head,” Buck agrees. 

There’s a small gash on Buck’s forehead, just above the spot where his birthmark kisses his eyebrow. It’s no bigger than an inch wide, and there’s an angry bruise already blooming across the skin behind it. The paramedics already cleaned it and applied a steri-strip, and Eddie was able to find a tiny bit of comfort in the knowledge that it wouldn’t need stitches. 

That tiny bit of comfort was immediately chased away by rage when Buck explained that one of his captors had accidentally smacked his head against the window frame when dragging him out of the locker room, hence the injury. “It’s weird,” Buck had said, both to Eddie and to the paramedics as they tended to the wound. “He apologized. It was like… I– I don’t know. I almost feel like they didn’t want to hurt me.” 

Buck had also said that they dumped him in the room, tied his hands behind his back, and left him alone almost immediately. They didn’t hurt him, didn’t demand information or national secrets. Didn’t make so much as a single threat. Not that they would have had much time to do so– Buck hadn’t even been there an hour by the time the Secret Service arrived.

It all certainly tracked with what Bobby was getting from Dixon, who apparently started talking before the cuffs were even fastened. Bobby had come by a few minutes before and pulled Eddie aside. Maddie was quick to swoop in and sit with Buck while Eddie was briefed. Apparently, the two idiots were hired by someone to whom the governor had an outstanding debt. They were only supposed to rough him up, but upon realizing the man they had jumped from behind was the president, they panicked and took him. How kidnapping the president of the United States was a better decision than aborting the mission and making a run for it, Eddie will never understand. But all that matters is Buck is here. He’s safe. And Eddie isn’t letting him out of his sight any time soon. Possibly ever. 

Not even to deal with Dixon and his partner. Bobby had asked if Eddie wanted to speak with either one of them before PD took them away, to which Eddie had shaken his head. “You’d be wrong to trust me alone with either one of them,” he said. 

Bobby nodded, understanding. “Why do you think I’m over here?”

“It doesn’t hurt, though,” Buck says, pulling Eddie out of his thoughts and back to the present. “My head.”

“There was a lot of blood,” Eddie reminds him. He feels sick at the thought of it, the visuals playing in his mind sending his stomach churning all over again. “It was all over the locker room. And on the walls in the house.”

“Not mine,” Buck says. “It was his. The smaller one. He tried to grab me in the locker room and I– I pushed him off. He hit his head on the corner of a locker. And then he must’ve gotten scraped up on the window, cause his arms were bleeding a lot. He got it all over me.”

Eddie remembers seeing the smaller of the two kidnappers get in the back of the golf cart alongside Buck, the visual of it seared into his mind. That would certainly explain the blood in Buck’s hair, not to mention the streaks of it across his bare body. 

“Okay,” Eddie nods, comforted by the fact that Buck seems to be alright. At least physically. And for now, he’ll let himself take solace in that. For now, that can be enough. 

He tips his head against Buck’s, their temples resting against one another as Eddie takes a shaky breath. Buck’s voice is so quiet, so small, Eddie almost misses it. “I fought back.”

“I know, baby,” he assures him, rubbing reassuring circles into Buck’s back. “I know you did. It’s over now. It’s all over.”  

-

When they get back to the hotel, Buck beelines for the bathroom, eager to shower off the blood and the sweat still caked onto his skin. Eddie fights every instinct telling him to follow Buck inside, to keep himself plastered to Buck’s side. Instead, he tries to give Buck a little bit of space, tries to wait to follow his lead, painful as it may be. He leans against the door frame and watches as Buck turns the shower on and grabs a towel off the rack. 

“Can you–” Buck says quietly, and there’s something uncertain in his voice, something almost a little bit shy, that Eddie hasn’t heard in a long time. He looks between Eddie and the shower, biting on his bottom lip. “I– I don’t… I don’t want…” His voice trails off, his question left unspoken. 

Eddie hears him anyway. Understands him perfectly, in the way he always has. “Of course.” 

He walks the rest of the way into the bathroom, kicking off his shoes and stripping out of his own clothes before helping Buck out of his. Steam fills the room as Eddie guides Buck into the shower and steers him beneath the warm spray. 

Buck closes his eyes, tips his head back against Eddie’s shoulder, his back to Eddie’s chest. Eddie wraps an arm around Buck’s waist, holding him close as the water sprays over them. Eddie can’t bear to look at it, can’t stand the sight of the water running pink as it swirls around the drain. He presses a kiss to the top of Buck’s head and closes his own eyes, taking a deep breath and allowing himself to relax into the feel of Buck pressed up against him.

“Thank you,” Buck’s voice is so small, Eddie barely hears it over the sound of the running water. “I don’t–” 

Eddie’s not sure how Buck was planning to end his sentence before his voice broke off. But it doesn’t change his answer. “It’s okay,” Eddie murmurs. 

“I don’t want to be alone,” Buck admits.

“You don’t have to be.”

He feels the sob tear its way through Buck’s chest before he hears it. Buck crumples against him, falling into Eddie’s arms as the gravity of the day’s events seems to finally hit him. 

“I’ve got you,” Eddie promises, taking on Buck’s weight and easing him onto the floor. He pulls Buck into his lap, holds him against his chest. He ignores the way the tiled floor is digging into the bottom of his thighs, and the way the water is beating on his back on the wrong side of uncomfortable. “I’m here.” 

There’s a certain weight behind his words. They hang heavier in the air between them, as if they’re suspended in the thick cloud of steam. They’re more than just an assurance. 

“I’m here,” Eddie says again. It's a promise. A pledge. And unspoken vow that he’ll never leave again. 

They stay like that for a while, until the sobs wracking Buck’s body fade into sniffles, until the water starts to turn tepid and Eddie gently eases him to his feet just long enough to wash off. He turns the water hotter and work’s Buck’s fancy shampoo into his hair, massaging his scalp and scrubbing behind his ears in the way he knows Buck loves. Eddie’s stomach turns as it rinses out pink, the last of the blood disappearing down the drain. 

He follows it with conditioner, the shower filling with its peppermint fragrance. Buck has been using this stuff for so long, Eddie feels like one of Pavlov’s dogs with the way the smell of peppermint instantly soothes him. It’s immediately grounding, and never more so than tonight, as it covers up the metallic scent of the blood washing down the drain. 

Once they’re done and all of the hot water is gone for good, Eddie detaches himself from Buck just long enough to turn the water off and grab Buck a towel, passing it to him before grabbing one for himself. As they towel off and step out of the shower, Buck’s hand finds Eddie’s wrist, holding onto him as he guides them out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. 

Buck stands over the dresser for a moment before crossing the room and pulling a t-shirt out of Eddie’s duffle bag. It’s the one he wore to bed last night, and as he turns it over in his hands, Eddie can see some of the lingering tension bleed out of his shoulders. He looks up at Eddie, who nods without hesitation. “All yours, baby.”

They make their way into bed, and Eddie relaxes instantly as Buck curls into his side. Eddie shuts the lights off and drops a kiss to the top of Buck’s head.

“Thank you for finding me,” Buck says quietly, the words muffled by Eddie’s t-shirt. But Eddie hears him loud and clear.

It feels like Eddie’s heart is splitting wide open. He wonders, briefly, if Buck is able to hear it do so from where he’s laying with his head atop Eddie’s chest. 

“Thank you for fighting,” Eddie says, running a hand through Buck’s hair. 

“I didn’t do much,” Buck replies. 

Eddie shakes his head. “You did more than you realize. You fought back, you…” he takes a breath, clears his throat as he searches for the right words. “You bought us time. You fought to make it out of there. You… you gave me– you gave us hope. We needed that.”

He shoves all thoughts of what might have happened if Buck hadn’t fought out of his mind and instead tries to focus on this, on being here with Buck. He tries to focus on the feel of Buck curled up against him, tucked into his side like they’re two puzzle pieces slotting into place. Like the two of them were made for each other.

Eddie likes to think they were.

Buck’s eyes are shining as he props himself up on his elbow, looking at Eddie properly. 

Eddie continues. “Even in our worst moments, we still make a pretty good team.” 

Buck smiles for the first time since this whole nightmare began, and the sight of it alone does more to mend Eddie’s battered heart than he ever thought possible. “You think so?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “I know so.”

"You know what could have stopped them even sooner?" Buck asks, a mischievous glint in his eye. He’s looking more and more like himself with every passing moment, something for which Eddie has never been more grateful.

Eddie knows exactly where this is going. "We're still not giving you a gun. Nice try."

Buck lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine,” he concedes. “But what about a really sharp knife?”

"So you can end up with an accidental self-inflicted stab wound?” Eddie asks. “I don't think so." 

"What about…” Buck begins, his voice trailing off as he inches closer to Eddie. “A super smart…” He brushes his nose against Eddie’s. “Absurdly handsome Secret Service agent…” he drops a quick, playful kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “...Who carries both a gun and a really sharp knife?"

Eddie grins, only for Buck to chase it away with a long, lingering kiss. "Deal," he murmurs against Buck’s lips as they part.

"Great,” Buck leans in again, smiling against Eddie’s lips as they kiss again. “I always did like Bobby."

Eddie can feel Buck’s chuckle rumbling in his chest, and despite his best efforts to keep a straight face, he can’t help but laugh alongside him. “You’re ridiculous,” he says fondly. 

“Yeah,” Buck agrees. “But you love me.”

Eddie nods, stealing another kiss. “I do,” he promises. “I really, really do.”

-

Eddie wakes up slowly, a tiny, content sigh falling from his lips as he turns over and reaches for Buck. Only instead of finding his warm boyfriend, all Eddie’s fingers are met with are cold bed sheets. “Baby?” Eddie mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. He props himself up on his elbow and blinks slowly as his eyes adjust slowly to the low light. 

It’s too dark for the bed to be this empty. 

He glances over at the door to the ensuite bathroom, but there’s no light slipping through the crack at the bottom of the door. “Buck?” he calls, a little louder this time. When he doesn’t get an answer, he kicks the duvet off and swings his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up properly. He reaches for the lamp on the nightstand, clicking it onto the dimmest setting. It’s still enough light to have him squinting as his eyes adjust. 

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes before standing up and looking around the room.

No. 

No, no, no . Not again. 

His stomach drops, his heart slamming into his ribcage. There’s a pool of blood on the carpet, just next to Buck’s side of the bed. And a trail of blood across the wall, leading from Buck’s side of the bedroom all the way to the door. Five lines for five fingers, fingernail scratches chasing after the bloody smears before cutting out abruptly at the door jamb. He stumbles, nearly falling over as he scrambles towards the hallway. 

“Buck!” The scream tears its way out of his chest, shredding against his vocal cords as he yanks the door open. “BUCK!”

“Eddie.” 

He blinks his eyes open. Buck is leaning over him, his eyes shining with concern. Moonlight pours in through the open window, dancing across his face as he looks down at Eddie. “It’s okay,” Buck assures him. He runs a thumb over Eddie’s cheek, his touch instantly grounding. “You were dreaming.”

Eddie swallows around the dryness in his throat and tries to catch his breath. His heart hammers in his chest as he looks around, trying to get his bearings. 

They’re in bed, in the Residence. The window is open, just how Buck likes it. Buck is beside him. Buck is here. The walls are perfectly clean. No blood. No fingernail scratches. Nothing but wallpaper. 

And Buck is here. Buck is pulling Eddie into his chest, holding him and murmuring “It’s okay,” and “I got you,” and “You’re safe.” 

Buck is here. 

Eddie’s breathing begins to even out, his heart rate slowing down as he holds onto Buck, his arms wrapped tight around him. “I’m sorry,” Eddie breathes. 

“No need,” Buck says simply, as if Eddie waking him up in the middle of the night plagued with nightmares of something that happened months ago is no big deal. 

Self loathing burns in his gut. He hates that he still thinks about that awful, awful night in Wyoming. He hates that everyone else seems to have moved on, and yet there’s a part of him that’s still right there, still standing in that blood-soaked locker room. Still kicking down that door. Still finding Buck, tied up and covered in blood. 

He hates how vivid the memories are when they come. He hates how he feels like he’ll never be normal again. Like it’ll never stop hurting.

He hates the nightmares. Hates the sick, twisted dreams where he sees that bloody wall again and again and again. Hates the dread that consumes him, the darkness that lives inside him still, even now. 

He hates that it ever happened in the first place. That he ever failed Buck like that. 

Eddie remains in awe at how well Buck is doing since that terrible night. Sure, the two of them both clung to each other for the first few days after their return. And it was weeks before Eddie felt like he could breathe again anytime Buck was out of his sight. But Buck seems to be doing well.

He hasn’t been plagued by nightmares in the same way Eddie has. He doesn’t look like he’s going to throw up every time their schedules don’t line up and they have to spend a few hours apart. Not like Eddie does, anyway.

He’s doing well. 

Eddie is not.  

“Was it Wyoming again?” Buck asks after a beat. 

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat as he nods. Buck passes him a glass of water from the nightstand. It makes something in Eddie’s chest ache. 

Buck is so good to him, so in tune. He always knows exactly what Eddie needs, always before Eddie knows it himself. Eddie could live a million lifetimes and still never find the one in which he’s worthy of being loved by Buck. 

“Y-Yeah,” Eddie says, his throat feeling better after downing half the glass of water. “I woke up and you had been taken again.” 

Buck sighs. “Oh, baby.” 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie is quick to say.

“For what?” Buck asks.

Eddie sighs, setting the glass down. “Everything,” he admits. 

“Eddie,” Buck says gently, placing a hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezing reassuringly. “Stop being sorry for that.”

“But I–”

“You came and got me,” Buck says, cutting him off. “Like you always do.”

“I always will.”

Buck smiles, and still, even after all this time, it’s the most beautiful smile Eddie’s ever known. “I’ve never doubted that.”

[piraticoctopus]

Through a chain of events I discovered Joel’s Super Ghostbusters album the other day at work and I need to talk about it.

My initial impression was that it’s so fucking bad. One of the worst things I’ve ever heard. However, it also made me laugh so hard I legitimately had tears in my eyes, and the suddenly fast and loud part of Gheestobesto (the “nutbusters” one) is what tipped it over the edge, so idk what that says about me. (The MIDI trumpet pulls a lot of the weight for me in the “heehee funny noises” category, because I am a simple woman who will laugh without fail at an unexpected Fart With Reverb. The “lyrics” are already ridiculous, and then you’ve also got this thing honking in the back.)

Upon re-listen, I have looped around into the opinion that Super Ghostbusters is a legitimate piece of art. I’m not sure what category of art, but it transcends the bounds of just music. There’s no more than a second’s rest to process what you’ve just heard between tracks. It is 21 straight minutes of auditory assault. It simultaneously has very little effort and excessive effort put into it, even excluding the actual metal cover (which is clearly high-effort). There are a few places where he laughs before finishing the track and chose to leave it in, or where it was clearly bad improv, but there’s also a good amount of editing done to it, and shit like the sudden text-to-speech milk definition, so there was deliberate choice about what to leave shitty. I do not know how he managed to pull that balance off, and I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anything comparable.

And this is a man who knows how to make legitimate music, which I think is what was making me lose my mind the most. Like he absolutely knows how to use these tools, and this is how he’s choosing to use them. It’s incredible. I don’t really know how to put it into words. The album is an experience unlike any other, 10/10, highly recommended.

That fucking MIDI plays in my head when idle and seeing milk in my fridge now triggers Ghostbatista to start playing.

I personally really like the segment from 09:35 (track 12 - Ghostbatista) through 13:39 (track 15 - Gheistbest). I think it encompasses most of my points pretty well.

But anyways I have destroyed my youtube suggestions and the algorithm doesn’t know what to do for me anymore.

[fluffs-arts]

I've seen you post with art of your characters from a 1-on-1 DnD game you run for your husband. May I ask how you do it? I'd like to try it with my partner. Thank you in advance <3

Theres a few sources I read up on before we started. We technically haven't started this one yet but we've been doing the rp for lore. Rn were running through Lost Mine of Phandelver since hes brand new to dnd.

Best thing I've found is making a sidekick for him. They have special rulings and classes. Ill link the article below. For his sorcerer, I made a warrior sidekick (basically just a tank type). It helps make up where his pc is lacking like a normal party would.

Then you definitely have to scale the encounters down. You can still get really cool encounter that feel like they have an impact. For example in LMoP (spoilers ahead)

The first encounter is a goblin ambush. Originally theres 4 goblins attacking them. 2 sticking back to shoot and 2 melee. Instead I knocked it down to just two; one shooting, one melee. Then I test ran it with his pc and the sidekick. Theres a site ill also link below where you can calculate the difficulty based on amount of party members, the CR of the enemies, and the amount of enemies. Heavillllyy suggest testing it physically and/or testing it with the site. If things end up going sideways then, thats just a part of dnd in my eyes. We figure it out from there lol.

Avoiding combat entirely is also always a great option. Encourage them to think out of the box, maybe sneak around, negotiate, bribery. Having that work around can really help with the tricky combat scaling.

Im pretty scatterbrained with this lol, but another thing is, if you dont have anything planned, the pacings slowing down, or either of your attentions just arent there, you can stop at any point! Theres no obligation to run for the 2-5 hours like a fully party session. You can pick back up whenever you and your partner want!! So if yall derail and you arent planned for it, you can always take a break and pick back up whenever youre both ready. Your partner has a tough decision and needs some time to think it over? They can take a break and pick it back up when yall are ready! Its really nice for us since were both neurospicy and stuff like that happens all the time.

Anyway thats all i can think of right now :) i hope that helped!!!

Links:

Encounter calculator

These guys have a lot of good articles

Sidekick rules

Also a lot of good articles from them

Combat tips