#can i just stop having fires to put out. for five fucking minutes. or just like- i put one out and not have

[ssentimentals]

seventeen members as love tropes: xu minghao

enemies to lovers

'you're not mine but wouldn't you want to be?'

minghao tries is hardest to stay calm but all these higher ups are making it really hard. he turns to look at you and the sight of your hunched back and bitten raw lips makes him boil. are you two friends? no, far from it. minghao is very aware of the whole 'enemies' agenda that is happening between you both, but does he want to see you like this? nervous, agitated, scared? no. fucking hell, no. he wants to see you burning with passion, wants to see that fire in your eyes whenever you two argue - minghao feels like he's been punched in the chest when he realizes that he's ready to kill just for you to not look this scared.

'can we wrap this up?' he voices out loud, not bothering to hide his annoyance. 'i don't see any point in this.'

'it'd be wise for you to be more polite and remember who you are talking to, xu minghao.'

he sees how you cringe at this, how your hands ball up into fists at the way that man spoke to him. understanding that you are angered on his behalf warms minghao up; it feels incredibly nice to know that you care. he keeps his mouth shut, lets managers drag on about the issue and takes two step in your direction, stopping when your shoulders brush. you tense up at first, sending him a questioning glance but he only stays put to which you reply with a rejected sigh. they lecture him and then start lecturing you and minghao can't just stand still when you're obviously fuming. they are being rude to you and the words are out of his mouth before he can think them through: 'don't talk to her like that.' your sharp intake of breath kind of wakes him up and he stares ahead at all the managers, who all look shell shocked.

'you have no right to talk to her like that.' minghao pushes in a clipped tone. 'she did her best and so did i, our timing got fucked up but it's not our fault. don't speak to her in that tone.'

shortly after you get pulled away by other people and minghao is in for another 30 minutes of lecturing. by the time he finally gets out of that stuffy room, he feels like he wasted ten years of his life on nothing. he sighs, stretches and is about to turn when soft steps stop him. he knows it's you even before you call out his name.

'why did you do that?' you ask, squinting at him. 'why the sudden hero act?'

'it wasn't an act,' he says, rolling his eyes. god, he's so tired. 'but you're welcome.'

'i haven't asked for it,' you spit out, obviously angered. 'i don't need your pity.'

minghao turns around, raising his eyebrow. 'i have never pitied you,' he says strongly, feeling himself getting worked up again as some stupid side effect on you being close. 'can't you just say 'thank you' and move on?'

'i don't need your help!' you hiss. 'i haven't asked for it!'

and - only you can make minghao want to both bang his head on the wall from frustration and laugh like a maniac. he sometimes wants to step closer, pull you into his arms and... he doesn't know. part of him wants to strangle you for being so damn difficult all the fucking time, but another part wants to smash your mouths together so you can finally shut up. minghao is aware of how unhealthy it is just as he is aware of how often your gaze falls on his lips or his biceps. it's good to know he's not the only one who's gone mad. they say it's a fine line between hatred and love and for minghao right now this line is so thin that he barely see it anymore. is it the same for you? he wants to ask, but instead he says: 'why you didn't stop me then? you always could just interrupt me over there but you didn't say a thing. if you don't need my help why i was the one who you turned to when authorities came? you didn't say anything but you searched for me with your eyes, don't even try to deny it.'

five steps. that's the distance that separates you two and minghao thinks it's fitting. he can take two and then you can take two and then maybe you'll play game of chicken on that last step. but you surprise him with taking all those five steps yourself, storming onto him with fire in your eyes that he loves so much. 'you're not the one to talk, minghao. you think i don't know that it was you who asked everyone to wait up for me? who brought medicine to my team when i fell sick?' you try to push him on his chest but minghao easily catches you wrist in his, not letting you move. 'let me go.'

'that's not what you want.' he says in a calm tone that doesn't show all the hurricane which's happening inside of him.

reality of how close you two are standing dawns on you. jerkily, you try to step back but his hold on you is too strong. 'let me go,' you whisper, voice wavering. 'hao, let me go.'

hao. 'that's not what you want,' minghao whispers and lets his other hand wrap around your waist, pulling you even closer to his chest. 'tell me what you really want, angel.' he sees how you shudder at the petname and smiles, leaning in. he lets go of your wrist, locking his arms around you instead. 'you can go if you want.' he leans in, brushing your noses together. 'or you can stay. and i can never, ever let you go. which i think is what you actually want.'

it's brave. it's bold, it's brazen and - it works. your body sags in his arms and you hide your face in his neck, hugging him back. 'prick,' you mutter into his neck, raising goosebumps where your lips touch his skin. 'self absorbed asshole.'

'yeah,' minghao easily agrees, hugging you tighter. 'prick, self absorbed asshole that i will never, ever let you go.'

a/n: this one is a bit vague but i couldn't figure out how to write this for the live of me. i hope this was okay? let me know! - nini

my seventeen works are here

my formula 1 works are here

[winterrose42]

Five minutes. Just five. Minutes not even hours or days. Five fuck minutes. Where things are not happening. 2024 has been like ten years so far and we're barely into April.

A dont look at me

[ohimsummer]

GIRL, I NEED A TASTE ft. PUPPYBOY! SATORU

— minors dni, needy + lovesick + puppyboy! satoru x fem! reader, tít sucking, subby! satoru, humping (dryhumping??), breeding + creampie mentions

⭑ ࣪ ˖ sum’z notes.ᐟ i went a little overboard writing this <//3 strongest ‘puppy-dog eyes’ user everyone

wc 1.4k

you give puppyboy! satoru an inch, and he will take several miles.

he’s ready to pounce on you 24/7: when you wake up, when you return home, when you’re fresh out of the shower, when you come back from a 5 minute bathroom break during movie night. it’s insane the way, if it were up to him, your pussy would never know peace.

in satoru’s “defense”, he can’t help wanting to stuff you full of himself all the time. he loves you, he’s in love with you and, in his eyes, what better way to show it than the overwhelming amounts of euphoria he could put you both through? satoru loves to give, give, give to you; his heart, his attention, his affections, and his cum at the end of it all.

you suppose his reasoning is understandable, more so from satoru’s point of view, but fucking every minute of every day isn’t sustainable—it’s only fair you tell him ‘no’ sometimes. and that’s when satoru brings out the theatrics: whining, crying, whimpering and complaining about how he’s “sooo harddd” and he’ll “be super quick”. fluttering snowy white lashes to beg with those woeful, blue, puppy-dog eyes, glistening with tears that he seems to be able to summon on a dime.

satoru flashes you the cutest pout as he presses himself up against you, grinding his bulge against your ass as he nuzzles and nips at your cheek. slow, impatient sways of a fluffy tail, the perk of those twitching, adorable ears whenever you cast him even a glance. satoru whispers a hopeful “pretty pretty please…just once?” as he licks at the shell of your ear, raising goosebumps from your neck to spine.

it doesn’t matter, really. he can do it all for as long as his heart desires, because in the end…

…it’ll get satoru exactly what he wants every time.

the movie you put on isn’t nearly as immersive as you’d hoped. and even if it was, satoru keeps pulling your attention away with every nip and lick to your thighs.

“toru.”, you deadpan, and he instantly weaponizes those wide, doe-like eyes of his. paired with a slight wag of his tail, a friendly gesture which he aims to placate with, and satoru has easily dodged your annoyance once more.

you brush off his bad habit with a sigh before your attention returns to the screen in front of you. and then, not even five minutes later, the sharp poke of his fangs sinks back into the fat of your thigh. it’s always steady and deliberate; satoru wants to see just how much you’ll allow before jabbing an irritated finger to his forehead in disdain. meanwhile, once he’s satisfied with the depth of his teeth, he sucks harshly at the skin, glancing between you and the newfound hickey now blooming. then he goes in again, quicker but that’s only because he’s expecting a sure-fire dose of your wrath this time.

“satoru—“

“look!” he interrupts, tail wagging eagerly. “bit ya in the shape of a heart, because i love you.” technically not a lie, but not the full truth, either.

and you’re so distracted with looking at satoru’s little sign of affection, which is indeed adorably heart-shaped, you forget altogether your reasoning for addressing him in the first place: to chide him again on biting you so hard—which is all part of his plan.

it takes no time before satoru has squeezed way more out of you than you meant to give. when you stopped warning him about the biting, he readjusted to “cuddle” you. his head is on your chest like always, hands on your hips, but they quickly dip underneath the hem of your shirt to knead at your waist. and then they’re slithering up further, grazing at your underboob before finally squeezing one of your breasts.

“satoru.” he cowers under the angry heat of your stare. “if i have to tell you one more time…”

his tongue darts out to lap at your exposed neck, causing you to wriggle at the needy gesture. “ ‘m sorry, they’re like my little stress balls. can I touch, please?”

and you shouldn’t have relented and said yes. of course you shouldn’t have, you knew that. if you agree to this, he knows now that you’ll agree to pretty much anything. but satoru stares at you with those dreamy eyes, gleaming with stars to whisk you away to a bad decision. it takes a single, pleading blink as he gives you a small squeeze, and you have fallen victim to his spell once again.

your shirt is pushed up hastily to expose your tits, leaving them subject to satoru’s merciless greed. he pinches, pulls, and tugs with both hands and mouth, sinking fangs into every inch of your breasts since he cannot stand to not see signs of himself on them. because he thinks you’re pretty, duh, but he thinks you’re prettier when your body is spotted up with the marks he loves to leave.

not long after, he’s shed you of your pants, tossed somewhere over the edge of the bed. what started off as a slow grind has turned to satoru’s bare cock humping your thigh, searing and sticky as he leaks a mess of precum all over your skin. just the sensation of it sends an aching rhythm of throbs to your core, your painfully empty hole sporadically fluttering around nothing.

in your mind—buried beneath thoughts of this dreadful movie and the excruciating desire to have satoru’s cock battering your insides—are the very last remnants of willpower you cling to. you can visualize clearly the smug look sure to grace his face if you whine a single plea about satoru fucking you. after all, you’re the one who was all ‘no sex right now, ‘toru’. if you can’t keep your word for even one night, you might be just as sex-crazed as he is.

there is a nonstop background noise of his tail thumping and sweeping against the bed. satoru’s wags haven’t let up since you gave your first yes, and only grow stronger with each new whimpered plea you yield to. they pick up with the pace of his thrusts, a beat to harmonize with the sinful song of his desperate whimpers right before gojo reaches another high—he lets loose a muffled cry into your chest, still pathetically humping your leg like a lovesick mutt as he gushes yet another pool of cum to coat your thighs and panties. after that, his wags ease up to a slow, easygoing thud, now overpowered by the raspy heaves of air he sucks into his lungs.

and it’s the same song and dance every time. satoru takes a few minutes to catch his breath, and then he’s ready for another round. from the corner of your eye, you notice those teary blues have locked on to you. he tests the waters, gradually rutting against you again, mouthing at your breasts to see if you’ll tell him ‘that’s enough, ‘toru’. he is pleased when the words never come, and his actions only grow bolder the longer you let it go on; he licks at your jawline, down your neck before placing a few nips here and there. tweaks your sore nipples between his thumb and index, plunging his dick harder and faster along your thigh for another repeat of the last few hours.

with each daring action over the course of the night, satoru has dragged you a little closer towards the edge with him. first it was pushing your top up, next, it was taking off your shorts. then, it was a bold move of pawing at your clothed pussy, which almost turned into his hand in your panties if you hadn’t pinched his ear and told him no. though, he could just as easily get you to let him anyway if he asks in that very sweet voice of his, the one he always uses when he longs for something from you.

“can I take off your panties?”, satoru finally asks, tilting his head to stare you right in the face.

you won’t meet his eye, and he knows you won’t. because both of you know if you do, he will quickly shred that last bit of self-control at the tips of your fingers. a single bat of his lashes and you’ll be nodding your head, raising your hips so he can tear away your underwear. and then it will only be a matter of time before satoru’s pinning you down to stuff his cock in your walls as deep as you can take. it’s all he wants, all he craves. but as long as you avoid looking into his alluring eyes, you may hold off satoru and his contagious desires for just a little longer.

tagz: @blkkizzat @teddybeartoji @lxnarphase @hellkaiserinphoenix @cinnamoneve @satoruxsc @rosso-seta @sapphireandange @starlightanyaaa @manyno @sugu-love @leilalilox @sataraxia @apatauaia @luvvforliaa @purplegemadventures @v0ctin @kissesfrombelle @babytoshiii @biscuitsngravie @neptuneblue @staryukis ( HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN LOGANNNNNN😼😼‼️‼️💚🩵💛💚🩵💛💚🩵💛💚🩵)

[gay-dorito-dust]

I saw you asked for some Gravity falls Stanford or Bill stuff SO I HAVE A REQUEST (you don't have to do it it's up to you!) a Stanford x reader where the reader went into the portal with him?

Ford thought he was alone at first until he had realised that you had tried to rope him back from being sucked into the portal, but it was hopeless attempt as the portal ended up pulling you into the multiverse with him in the end.

So when he found himself seemingly without you, he decided that his revenge on bill would have to wait until he had found you first and foremost, which he did after while when he arrived at a dimension where everyone spoke in rhymes. ‘Someone like you fell from the sky, born with a twinkle in their eye, so pleasant and sweet we cannot say goodbye.’

So when Ford is finally reunited with you his first instinct was to grab you by the shoulder and say, ‘I appreciate you trying to pull me out but now look at what you’ve gotten yourself in by being selfless, trapped in the Multiverse with me.’ He was glad that you were okay and seemingly unscathed but still he didn’t like the fact that you had gotten dragged into this mess with him, and now you were both left to wonder if returning him was even possible. Though one thing you were both certain on was that the portal back home would be most likely out of power and lacking the requirements it needed to make it work again, and that would take some time as it took Ford a while to perfect.

so by proxy, you and Ford assumed that it would probably take Stan twice as long to get it up and running again. Which also meant that until that day the portal opens back up, you and Ford were on your own with the arduous task of surviving until that fateful day comes. And it was the hardest thirty years of your life wasted as you and Ford spent most of it escaping one dimension for crimes you’ve committed, only to run away from the dimension you sought shelter in because you just had to ask the locals when they’ll lead a rebellion against their tyrannical leaders.

‘I had to ask!’ You screamed to Ford over the sound of blaster fire heading your way.

‘Stop trying to insight rebellion in every dimension we come across just because you didn’t like the look of their governmental leaders!’ Ford screamed back as he pulled you both into a nearby cave, keeping you close just until the government gave up momentarily in trying to find you.

‘They’re old, balding men! What’s there to like!?’ You replied as Ford could only hope that the next dimension didn’t elicit the same reaction out of you like the past five dimensions did. Which thankfully it didn’t as the next dimension you visited was filled with cute little fluffy creatures.

‘Ford! They’re so fucking cute and fluffy!’ You exclaimed as you bundled a few of the cute critters in your arms and held them tightly again your face. ‘You can leave me here if you want I don’t care I’m in heaven.’ You added with a dreamy sigh.

‘No, we must keep moving, so put them down and leave them be.’ Ford said but while he couldn’t deny how adorable the critters with the big eyes looked, it was how relaxed and at peace you were that made him stop and stare. While your face might be littered in scars and dirt from the fighting and escaping you’ve done together, but it didn’t hinder the fact that Ford hadn’t seen you this happy in a long, long time. ‘Fine,’ he sighed as he sat himself down next to you, allowing some of the critters to clamber on his lap and start to purr, ‘five more minutes then we have to leave.’

‘Yay! It seems as though you aren’t immune to cuteness either are you Ford.’ You teasingly nudged him as you nuzzled your face against the soft fur of the locals of this dimension, unaware of the soft look Ford gave you while you did so. He didn’t do it because of the creatures, he did it because you deserved a rest snd he wasn’t about to take that away from you.

You both ended up staying there for fifteen minutes before having to leave because some bounty hunters had followed your trail, though not before you nodded the cute critters a sad farewell that Ford has to grab you by the hand and drag you himself.

‘I’ll come back for you!’ You screamed back at the fluffy critters.

‘No we won’t.’ Ford then said, mentally promising to find you a plushie that was similar to the creatures if you ever get back home, but for now? You needed to survive if you wanted to see that plushy.

You had multiple heart to heart moments while cosying up near a fire throughout your adventures in the multiverse, staring up at the stars with hope (you) and cynicism (Ford)

‘Do you think we’ll ever get home?’ You asked Ford once, voice barely above a whisper. ‘Or are we going to spend the rest of our days running from everything, and don’t try to tell me something I want to hear because I think I’ll cry if you do.’

Ford stayed silent as he thought about how he should use his words but decided to forgo it and just say it instead of overthinking it for the sake of protecting you from a harsher reality that you both already face daily. ‘I’ve lost hope on going home the moment I got pulled into that portal,’ he begins, ‘if running is the life I have left I’ll live it but I’ll find you a nice dimension to settle in the day you want to call quits on all this, I promise.’ Ford added as he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder but yet his smile didn’t reach his eyes and that’s when you knew that Ford was lying, to you or himself you weren’t quite sure, but decided to stay silent for now.

‘And who’ll look after you stupid?’ You asked playfully as you nudged him in the side. You didn’t like the thought of leaving Ford alone, you both entered the multiverse together and you’ll leave it together too, however that maybe. That and you didn’t like being alone without your smart partner in multiversal crime.

‘I can look after myself.’ Ford said, a little insulted but you made a noise of disagreement.

‘That blaster shot you took and hide from me back in dimension 2 for weeks on end says otherwise.’ You reminded him, that day scared you to your core, seeing Ford almost lifeless that morning, lying in his own blood made you scream bloody murder as you tried everything you could to patch up his wound through teary vision. Even now you feared that you’d wake up and find him dead in his own blood or taken from you in the night.

‘I didn’t want to worry you.’ Ford muttered under his breath as he felt his cheeks flustered.

‘Well I did worry about you then, I still do worry about you now.’ You told him as you reached out to grasp his hand in yours, smiling at him and you weren’t lying when you said this, you could see the dark bags form under his eyes and the fatigue seething in his face that made him look older then he did. You knew you wouldn’t stop worrying about Ford and you like to think that Ford was smart enough to know this too.

‘I know.’ Ford replied softly as he looked at you, place his other hand on top of yours. ‘You did a poor job hiding that you care.’

‘Is that such a bad thing?’ You asked and Ford only chuckled. ‘No, it’s not I just don’t feel as though I’m deserving of your worry half of the time.’ He admits as he gazed into the fire as though it’ll give him the answers he sought.

You then shuffled closer to Ford until your shoulders touched and you rested your head against his shoulder, staring into the fire yourself. ‘You do deserve my worry Ford, don’t ever think you don’t because I don’t want to leave this place without you, I need my smart buddy with me when we leave, you then intertwined your fingers with his, ‘together.’

Ford squeezes your hand in return as he looked at you with a soft smile. ‘Okay, then worry over me all you like.’ He had as he then rested his head atop of yours.

The multiverse was unpredictable as it was dangerous but as long as you had each other, you could get through anything it threw at you.

[am-i-interrupting]

Reaction to You Doming

(Part one— the gals)

Alastor

An eyebrow raise and a widen of his smile.

Alastor doesn’t participate in sex where he’s touched or stimulated often but even so, the idea is something he finds amusing.

You really think you can take the Radio Demon? Hilarious.

He’ll indulge you.

You’ve got to fight for it though because he is going to struggle.

Pining him down, tying him up, even if he can easily get out of it if he so wishes, he’s surprised to find himself enjoying it.

Whips, chains, knives, biting, he finds himself enjoying the things he normally uses on you.

He will get bratty if you try to edge him though. That he’s not used to.

When he gets hard, he normally deals with it quickly after being touched.

He’s able to ignore any hard on he gets for a while if he doesn’t touch it or stimulated it but as soon as he does, he normally comes within five minutes.

You edging him and teasing him, barely dragging the tip of your fingers along his dick, giving his tip kitten licks, sucking his balls instead of his cock. It’s all torture. He loves it.

He’d be a fan of urethral sounding.

The feel of a stretch, a full was where it’s not supposed to be, stopping him from being able to come. Once again, he hates it but he loves it.

You’d surprise him when you’re able to tame him and he’d enjoy every second of it.

When he’s done though, he’s done and probably won’t let you do it for several weeks if not months.

Husk

Husk is not opposed. No, he’s not opposed at all.

He’s not exactly the most sexually active. He’s got a low to normal libido and it takes a bit of build up to get him in the right mood.

Slow, sloppy make out sessions, preening his wings, cuddling on the couch while playing with his tail.

The most sure fire way though would be a massage.

He has a lot of tension and getting it pushed and rubbed out of him is something that slowly builds up his arousal as he feels more and more safe.

He’s purring putty in your hands.

At that point, you can prop him up and get him off.

If you’re behind him, he’s hiding his head in the crook of your neck and you can feel his purrs against your skin.

If you’re in front of him, he’s cupping your face gently with his paws, tangling his claws in your hair, running a hand over your skin, just desperate to touch you.

Or you could tell him to suck and he will. It won’t be precise but it will be earnest and warm and you’ll be teased with the vibration of his vocal cords.

If you pet him or brush him, his purrs will get even louder.

He won’t ever get desperate or beg. He might do a bit of whining if you stall his release but he feels warm and safe with you.

He knows you’ll take care of him eventually. He’s not too worried about how long it’ll take.

He’ll look at you with eyes completely overtaken by his dilated pupils the entire time.

Lucifer

Lucifer is immediately on board. Sort of like a “I’m glad you asked before I had to.”

The only thing that stopped him from begging for you to dominate him was the pure embarrassment opening the conversation would give him.

He’s the sun of pride, not lust. He put his pride just a bit before it. Although, he was about to turn to Ozzie for advice on how to start the conversation without turning completely red in the face.

He is such a good boy for you.

He sinks into the sub-space so quickly.

He will do absolutely anything you ask.

He’s got a praise kink.

He loves and hates being tied up. He loves being a pretty play thing for you but hates that he can’t touch you.

Mouth open, ready for you to ride his tongue without even having to ask.

One of his favorite things is to suck on you, your clit/dick, your nipples, your fingers, your skin, whatever. He doesn’t care. He has an oral fixation.

Loves to be filled.

Fuck him into the mattress until he can’t speak, please.

Vox

He has an image to upkeep. It’s hard for him to let go of the idea that people are constantly watching him.

When he does though, he’s either a brat or the perfect little boy, no in between.

He likes to feel small.

If you’ll just squeeze his neck or put pressure on his dick, he’ll be in the sub-space so quickly.

He loves and adores you showing him you have power over him.

Edge him. Make him wear a cock cage. He’ll be so bratty but so whiny when he comes.

He likes being driven to tears.

Overwhelm him.

Embarrass him.

Praise him.

If you put him in any form of bondage, he’s trying to get out of it. He’s got to touch you. He needs to.

His favorite feeling is your mouth and fingers on his dick teasing him with ghost touches.

He will come untouched from words and anal stimulation alone.

If you tease him with the tip of your dick/strap on and then slowly inch inside him, he’s tearing up the sheets as he whines and writhes.

[ohtobeleah]

Roughing It // JS x BB x Reader

Summary: Jake Seresin begged you, his best friend to go camping with him and Bradley Bradshaw—but not for the innocent reasons you might think. A simple camping trip turns into something much more unholy. Callsign— Giggles

Warnings: Jake Seresin x F!Reader. Bradley Bradshaw x F!Reader. Unprotected sex. Male receiving oral. Choking. MxMxF Threesome. Creampie. Obvious power dynamics.

Word Count: 5.7k

Author Note: Happy Sunday—AKA, the Lords day. This is Roughing It’s 3rd rewrite & by far my favourite re-write & fandom. Enjoy Sluts.

In the quiet of the warm afternoon light that cascaded across Jake Seresin's living room—you found a spot in the warm orange hume to curl up on the lounge. You settled on your comfort movie—TopGun, Maverick. Your clammy hand caressed the TV remote as you pressed play, the opening sequence still and always would send chills through your body as you watched the carrier out to sea appear on the large crisp screen like you’d watched a million times before and would probably watch a million times more. 

“High— way to the danger zone—“ You mumbled along as you settled in a little deeper, trying to will the inappropriate thoughts away. To say you were nervous was an understatement, neither you and Jake or you and Bradley had spoken about the events that had transpired a week ago and either of the two men who you’d had some of the roughest sex of your life with, no pun intended, had looked at you the same since. 

“Just come over and hang out, Gigs?” You could hear Jake's voice in your head as you sat and tried to focus on the movie playing in front of you. “You’ve been avoiding me like the damn plague.” 

There was a reason for that—

You couldn’t tell if Jake and Bradley were looking at you in disgust and regret at the thought of what the three of you had done or if they were just looking for an opportunity to have their way with you again. From fleeting glances in the halls or eyes that burned into the back of your head in the change rooms. Either way, it made you crave the two naval aviators more than you cared to admit. 

It all happened so fast, you couldn’t remember exactly how it started but the one thing you knew for sure was that Jake was the one who imitated it. He’d been thinking about it for a hell of a long time before he put his plan into action too. 

***~***~***~***

“For crying out loud Giggles! you complain more than Bradshaw does.” Jake huffed as he stood and turned away from where the two of you had been sitting on the camp log. “My god you’re driving me insane!” He groaned out as you turned your head to follow his trajectory. You could physically hear the frustration laced in Jake's tone of voice. “Just cut it out for like five minutes will ya?” Jake tried to level with you the best he could as he went around and grabbed a stray stick, he poked at the fire with it as he watched the bright orange embers fly into the night sky. You scoffed, cleaning the bowls from the delightful dinner of canned chicken soup and roasted vegetables. 

“Bite my fucking ass, Seresin, maybe if you didn’t try to feed me cold inedible canned soup for dinner I wouldn’t be in such a pissy mood!” Jake Seresin had proven himself time and time again—he was a shocking cook. “You barely even followed the instructions! How hard is it to heat up a can of soup!” 

“You haven’t stopped the entire day!” Jake felt his emotions running rampant after an exhausting day or setting up for the trip the three of you had been planning for weeks. You, Jake and Bradley had all aligned your work commitments to spend a few days in the wilderness together, off the grid, no phones and away from prying eyes. It was a much needed break from the world—the navy, F-18’s, commitments and Fanboys latest obsession with the new star wars movie. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, Jake couldn’t help but to raise his voice at you, he poked and prodded with the fire for a few moments more before he let his inhibitions get the better of him. Before Jake really knew what he was doing, his feet were taking him on a mission of their own, marching him over to where you were washing the used pots and pans out 

“I’ve got a headache from your incessant complaining.” Seething, Jake towered over you from behind. His muscular build that rivals Adonis himself blocked the soft light of the moon. Watching as you shrugged him off with a simple eye roll–Jake didn't take well to being shrugged off so nonchalantly like your attitude wasn't a massive pain in his arse. He’d known you for the better half of ten years and you’d always been on his ‘fuck it’ list. 

“Then fucking leave me alone then!? God, it’s like you didn’t beg me to come with you guys even though you damn well know I hate everything associated with camping.” You let Jake have it as you placed the dirty pot you were working on into the soaping lukewarm later before you turned to face Jake completely. “You have a problem with my complaining, but you complaining about my complaining is worse than any complaining I've done.” Jake scoffed as you pushed your index finger into his chest– the action alone made him bite his tongue. He was as hard as a rock and felt like he could snap at any second. He wanted you, so bad. He needed to feel you. 

“Come on Hangman, just let me get this shit done and we can go to bed.” You tried to soften the mood, you could see very clearly in Jake's emerald green eyes that he was ready to fight. His chest was puffed, his feet were firm and his jar was sharp–clenched tight to keep himself from speaking thoughts he only ever thought about when he was alone and jerking himself off into existence. “Go to bed–I'll be right behind you.” You smiled softly before you patted Jake's chest three times with a gently open palm before you turned back to where you had been working away at the dishes. “You know, you’re kinda acting like you want me to bitch and moan your ear off? You shoul–”  Before you could finish your sentence, Jake's large and slightly calloused hand wrapped around your jaw. He covered your mouth as he pressed his chest against your back and held you securely against him by bringing his other arm around your waist. breathing heavily through your nose your eyes widened when you felt Jakes hard on press against the small of your back, you couldn’t process what was happening fast enough. 

Jake had seen his opportunity and taken it. The two of you had always had sexual tension but you refused to do anything about it for the sake of your own image. He was a great friend, a questionable wingman at times, but Jake Seresin had never been a guy on your roster. Until now when your sexual tension reached new peaks and Jake finally cracked under the pressure. 

All it took was an off grid camping trip 

“Maybe I needed an excuse to finally fuck that pretty mouth of yours.” Jake groaned as he felt you shudder under his touch. “I always find myself jerking off to the thought of your lips around me.” His warm breath fanned across the supple skin of your neck before he softly pressed his lips to the juncture of your neck–leaving a gentle kiss against your collarbone that sent instant goosebumps over you like a shock tsunami. “The thought of what your lips would feel like wrapped around me Gigs really makes me question my sanity.” A soft whimper escaped your mouth and vibrated against  the palm of Jake's hand. “But you already know that, you always have, haven't you?” 

“Hey Guys?” Bradley called out from inside the tent to where he knew you and Jake were. All Jake did was press himself further into your back and hold his hand against your mouth a little tighter, willing you to keep quiet as he responded to Rooster.

“What's up Bradshaw, I thought you went to bed ages ago?” 

“Well I tried but your bickering back and forth was kinda hard to ignore–” Neither you nor Jake could contest that statement. “Just try not to kill each other out there, please? And shut the fuck up!” 

“We’re good, aren't we Y/n?” Jake replied as he reluctantly pulled his hand away from your mouth. This was your chance to tell Jake to rack off. This was your chance to tell him you didn't want any of this, that he’d read you wrong and it had all been innocent fun. But he hadn’t read you wrong, you wanted Jake just as badly as he wanted him. You were just too afraid to admit it. 

“Yeah, we’re good.” You added to Jake's surprise. It was all the confirmation he needed. “Night Rooster!” It didn't take long for Jake to spring into action, he was desperate and needed to get you out of his system before you had a chance to fully infect his entire being. If the two of you fucked and got it out of your system, then he could still walk away unscathed. There were feelings bubbling under the surface but Jake Seresin didn't do feelings. 

“Why’d you bring me out here?” You asked as you turned around to face Jake. “You could’ve just asked me to suck you off in the comfort of your own bed?” There wasnt an awful lot of space left between the two of you as you stood shrouded in the soft glow of the moonlight. You made your move and wrapped your arms up and around Jake's shoulders, he followed suit and mirrored your actions by closing the gap, your lips now ghosted his as Jake smiled against you. “I'm sure if you had asked me to, I would have played into your dirty little fantasies.” You could feel Jake trying to kiss you, but much to his display and desperate attempts to feel your lips on his you kept your playful smirk smeared across your face and pulled further away. “I can assure you that whatever fantasy you've concocted that gets you off at night, the real things ten times better.” 

“Just” Jake paused, his hands gripped at your waist to pull you flush against him. He couldn't risk you getting away from him. Not now. “Just didn’t wanna risk the neighbours putting in a noise complaint.” Giggling, you made the move to connect your lips against Jake’s. A heated, passion filled kiss had you both gripping at different parts of each other’s bodies as you walked back closer towards the tent, specifically the fallen tree in front of it.

You pushed Jake down by guiding him with a gentle hand on his shoulder–there was not a single part of his being that objected to your dominance. He felt his dick twitch inside his sweats at the action. You stood before him for a second with a wicked smirk across your face. Jake knew you were into this just as much as he was. 

“Are you just gonna stand there Giggles or are you gonna get to work?” Jake teased you as he trailed a hand up between your legs. “I'm dying here.” You waisted not a second longer as you dropped gracefully to your knees before him. You played with the elastic of Jake's sweats as he helped you wiggled them down his toned and oh so muscular legs–pulling them down towards his ankles until there was nowhere left for them to go except discharged and forgotten about. With a slight chuckle, you gripped his hardened length in your right hand, barely moving your palm up and down his shaft just to watch him swim under your warm touch. 

“Fuck–” Jake sighed in relief as you slowly moved your palm. It was barely nothing, the pad of your thumb swiped across his leaking tip to collect some of his pre cum. The essence of Sersin. “Fucking christ–”  

“Going commando, something you do regularly, Hungman?” You made sure to tease the man putty in your hands before taking his tip in your mouth, you rolled your tongue gently over his flushed tip. Pink and bright and oh so sensitive. The colour of his lips. Sensitive and begging for your unconditional attention. 

“Nah, just somethin’--” Jake couldn't think straight, he couldn’t formulate a full sentence as you worked your hand over him, jerking him off slowly but perfectly. “Oh my god–” Jake moaned, too caught up in the pleasure you were giving him as you took him deeper down your throat, inch by inch, so far down your tiny throat, his manscaped pubic hair tickled the tip of your nose. “Gifs—fuckin’ Christ, where did you learn how to do that?” His voice was raspy and heavy as he tried to control his breathing. His hand made a makeshift ponytail with your hair as you bobbed up and down, gagging softly around Jake's cock as it twitched and leaked pre-cum onto your tongue. With your watery eyes, so lust filled and dowy peering up at him, Jake thought for sure he’d entered the gates of  heaven. 

“Sounds like someone’s a little bit jealous of those who got to cum before you Seresin.” You took Jake's saliva coated cock from your mouth and pumped him with your hand, he watched through hooded eyes as you took both his balls in your mouth softly as you began to glide your tongue gently over the sensitive skin. “Taste so good Jake—“ 

“Fuck—“ This was everything Jake Seresin had fantasised about. “Yess—Y/n, oh my god.'' Jake wasn’t being discreet at all, his moans filled the campground and echoed off the mountains as you jerked his thick throbbing cock and sucked so delicately on his balls. In hindsight, it wasn’t the smartest idea to give Jake head right in front of the tent you both planned on sharing with Bradley Bradshaw. It was needless to say—you’d fucked up. 

As you went back to take Jake entire cock down your throat, you closed your eyes as they watered. Never stopping for a moment to see the familiar silhouette of Bradley standing just behind Jake, watching on as his best friend gave some of the sloppiest head to his other best friend he’d ever seen. He didn’t know how to truly feel about the sight unfolding before him, but Rooster surely felt the strain of his sweats becoming a little more noticeable with every passing second. 

The second Jake saw Bradley, he tried shooing him off, mouthing a soft “fuck off” as he tried to hold his orgasm back. He looked sucked out as all hell and you’d only given him head. He didn’t think he was prepared for how you’d feel fluttering around his length. 

“Uhh! Fuck Giggles, keep doin�� that and I’m going to cum down that pretty fucking throat of yours.” Jake confessed, his hand helped to guide your head down his shaft as you gagged and hummed around him. Bradley’s eyes widened as he made himself scarce, shocked at the sight he just saw. He couldn’t see you like that, he wasn’t Jake. He couldn’t take advantage of you. He couldn’t ruin you like he’d always wanted to. 

“That’s the point Jake, don’t hold back, flood my throat.” You looked up through your lashes, looked up to see Jake's flushed face as his mouth fell open into an O shape, his eyes trained on you as you went back to furiously sucking his cock, hard and fast. Your other hand continued fondling his balls, squeezing them slightly as his orgasm approached. 

“Fuck! Shit, ahhh- Y/n m’cumming, fuck, fuck ohhhh—!” Jake's orgasm washed over him. He could feel the pool at the base of his shaft beginning to overflow, ready to explode. When he did he shot deep down your throat in hot spirits as his cock twitched in your mouth. Jake's entire body stilled as he fell victim to his orgasm, the intense wave of pleasure took over his entire being as he let out a prolonged moan. All consuming. 

“Holy fuck.” Jake sighed heavily as he tried to catch his breath after coming down from his high. He watched as you swallowed his entire load, licking the tip of his swollen length,  making sure nothing was left behind, that nothing was wasted.

“Did that live up to all those naughty thoughts?” You questioned as you sat back on your heels, watching as Jake pulled his sweatpants back up his toned legs—missing the sight of him the second he was covered. 

“Oh” Jake exclaimed, a smile appeared wide and wild on his crimson flushed face as his free hand worked to push back his slightly damp hair. “That exceeded everything I ever thought it would be like.” You nodded, proud of your efforts as you rose to your feet, standing between Jake's legs as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. His hands immediately helped your hips still so you couldn’t move. 

He wasn’t done with you yet. 

“Hope it doesn’t change anything between us?” You asked softly, leaning over to plant your lips against his, the slight taste of his cum still evident and present on your swollen lips. Tasting himself for the first time, Jake didn’t quite mind. It made his heart pump with lust and adrenaline as anticipation for what was to come lingered in the air. 

“That won’t change anything.” He whispered into your open mouth, his forehead rested against yours as you maneuvered yourself down to straddle his waist. “But once I watch you suck Rooster off while I fuck that tight cunt I know you’ve got, might be a different story.” Before you could answer, you heard what sounded like Bradleys metal water bottle falling to the ground from inside the tent.

“What!?” Bradley shouted as you did the same, only softer yet just as confused. Jake didn’t just say that—did he? 

“C’mon Gigs,” Jake smirked as he placed some of your freely flowing hair behind your ear. “Bradley saw what you just did and I know he has the same twisted thoughts as me, s’not fair now is it?”

You didn’t respond right away as Jake moved your jumper to the side and kissed at your collarbone—the moonlight danced across his tones shoulders as you mulled over his proposal. To be completely objectifying, Bradley Bradshaw was incredibly attractive. You couldn’t deny you’d thought about him from time to time when you found yourself alone and in need of a release. You just thought it was completely out of the realm of possibility. 

Turns out with Jake's help, it wasn’t. 

“I guess not.” You answered meekly before kissing Jake once more, your tongue dancing with his gracefully, like you were searching for his soul and he yours. Jake waisted not a second more as he picked you up and had you straddle his waist. He walked you over to the small two-man that was inevitably going to be a three man tent and dropped you to your feet at the door. 

“Bradshaw, you have a total of five seconds to open this door before I change my mind on sharing.” As Jake spoke through the tent door, you began taking your jumper off, exposing your bare chest to him, his jaw hanging open when he noticed your perky tits. Kissed by the chill of the cool night. 

“Oh fuck.” His voice was unrecognisably low and full of lust. “Maybe I shouldn’t be so keen on sharing you.” His hand came out to grip your right nipple between his index finger and thumb as Bradley opened the door, already naked and hard as ever. A slight wince left your lips from the sudden pinch Jake gave your nipple as he rolled it between the pads of his index finger and thumb. 

“I uh—“ Bradley stuttered, rubbed at the back of his head like a school boy who’d been caught writing crude and inappropriate comments on his desk. “I was already jerking off after I saw you take Jake balls deep in your throat.” Bradleys cock twitched against his lower abdomen as he sat back awkwardly. He’d only reached up to unzip the tent door. 

Jake pulled hard against your nipple, making you walk closer to him before shoving you gently into the tent, a sinful smile grew upon your face as Bradley lost his positioning and fell back, welcoming you into the tiny room as he reached out to stop you from falling on top of his. He looked all kinds of nervous, worried even. 

“S’okay Rooster.” You cooed innocently enough for him to let his guard down slightly. “I promise I won't bite unless you want me to.” You teased, dropping to your knees before him while Bradley worked quickly to lay down on his back, hands resting behind his head. 

“I can't believe we’re fucking doing this? This is crazy we shouldn’t I mean, c’mon Jake it's Y/n for fuck sake, she’s our bes–” Bradley couldnt finish his sentence, the second your lips were taking the tip of his throbbing length inside your warm mouth he lost all sense of insecurity about the situation. Nothing else mattered expert for your excerpt touch. The sensation of euphoria you bought him. “Oh holy shit” Your hand wrapped tightly around the base of this shaft as your tongue ran up the thick vein that ran up his entire shaft. Your lips felt heavenly around his sensitive and exposed, pre-cum covered tip and before Rooster could even wrap his mind around what it truly was extracurricular activities he was about to engage in–you had sunk lower and lower, taking every inch of his thick cock in your mouth. 

Without hesitation. 

Bradley tip was slightly darker than Jakes, you didn’t need much time at all for your throat to adjust to the foreign object making its presence known in the back of your throat over and over again due to you just having just finished sucking the life from Jake. You were prepped and ready to be whatever they needed you to be under the stars and away from the hullabaloo of Miramar. Tonight you weren't Lieutenant Y/n Giggles Y/L/N–you were Hangman and Roosters little fuck toy. 

You got to work in no time, gagging and roughly sucking up and down Bradley’s entire shaft, watching through hooded eyes as Bradley moaned and groaned uncontrollably from the pleasure he was receiving. You were between his legs as he reached out for your head, guiding you down his length. You felt Jake's hands come to the waistband of your sweatpants, he pulled them down as your mouth continued to bob up and down on Bradley’s cock. 

“Huh?'' Jake scoffed as he bit hard on his bottom lip. “Going commando, something you do regularly, Giggles?” He teased as his large slightly calloused hands slid up and over your peachy ass as it stuck up in the air, ready for his length to slide in your drenched cunt. Smiling around Bradley’s cock you gaged slightly. Pumping Bradley’s shaft with your hand as you went to answer Jake. You could very much feel his tip gliding over your dripping lips from behind. You were ready and oh so needy for him to fill your needy little pussy. 

“Nah, just something—“ You began to mimic what Hangman had told you before, but you didn't have enough time to give him attitude before you felt Jake push himself between your slick folds. He trusted his thick cock inside you, slowly, he stretched your tight pussy out so much so it almost stung. But it felt good, oh so fucking good.  “Ahhh fuck!” You cried around Bradley’s cock now balls deep down your throat. It was a position you never thought you’d find yourself in. Sucking Bradley’s cock while Jake took you from behind, taking both your best friends at the same time.

“You like this Y/n? like how we both fuck you?“ Jake asked as he bottomed out inside your tight cunt, he could feel you clench around the bottom of his cock, tip pressed against your cervix. Bradley roughly pulled you up by your hair, watching as spit trailed from your bottom lip to his swollen tip. With a needy gasp, you looked up at him wickedly, begging him to use you just with a lustful look. 

“Answer the question Y/n, do you like the way we both fuck you?” Bradley’s voice had turned into a low deep growl, his eyes had darkened from the dust brown you were familiar with to a near black mirage, full of lust unlike moments ago when he almost backed out–unsure of the decision he made to fuck his best friend. As Jake's hands gripped your hips and began to thrust faster in and out of you, you moaned in response. 

“Uh huh, l love the way you both feel ohh—god Jake you’re so big, fuck me–” Hearing you moan how big his cock was sent Jake into the stratasphere with his ego in toe, with your encouragement he began to fuck you harder, with more force. Bradley forced your head back down onto his cock, both his hands guiding your head up and down using your hair. Like you were his personal flesh light. 

“You weren’t fucking wrong man, her mouths so damn good.” Bradley’s hips beginning to lift off the ground as he fucked your mouth. Stopping every few minutes to pull you off him just so he could look at how pretty your fucked face looked. Your tears were so beautiful, all because of him. 

“Wait till you feel her tight cunt, fuck so tight its almost hard to move.” Jake was relentlessly pounding into you, the sound of his balls smacking against the curve of your ass could be heard in the silence that lingered between grunts and unapologetically loud moans of pure ecstasy. 

“Jake! Please, I'm gonna cum!” You cried, the coil within your core had begun to tighten every time Jakes tip pressed against your cervix. Bradley sat up, his hand came flying to your mouth as he shoved three of his digits inside your mouth, opening your jaw wide before leaning in close to you.

“That’s it Y/n, cum around Hangman’s cock so I can fuck you harder, fuck you till you black out, fuck you till your begging for me to stop.” Bradleys words had you nearly ascending as he coaxed you towards your high with just his words. “I wanna feel how tight your cunt is.”

“Rooster, choke her when she cums–” Jake ordered, Bradley waisted not a second as he wrapped his hand around throat and pressed his fingers into the side of your supple neck. He reached between your legs to softly rub small circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves, an instantaneous quiver left your throat as his finger made contact, Bradley never for a second took his eyes off yours. He wanted to see you come undone like this, all for him and Jake. Just for him and Jake. 

“Ahh! F-fuck, m’cumming!” You whimpered as Braldey tightened his hold on your throat, he could see the small veins appearing in your forehead from the lack of oxygen but knew by the look in your eyes alone that you were loving this just as much as he was. Your pussy clenching so tightly around Jake's slicked up cock he almost stilled from the grip. 

“Ahh fuck! Rooster, holy fuck she’s like a vice!” Jake groaned as he fucked you hard through your high. “She’s creaming around my dick, fuck—” This had been Jake Seresin greatest idea, to fuck his best friends.

Bradley began to fuck your face with the same fingers he’d teased your clit with, he made you gag on them as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, trembling as you came hard around Jakes cock. Once he saw you coming down from your high, Bradle tentatively removed his hand from around your throat, watching with wide eyes as you gasped heavily for air, welcoming the new wave of oxygen that you’d been deprived of into your lungs. Tears streamed down your fucked out face. 

“Jake let me fuck her—“ Bradley whimpered out desperately as he pumped his cock fast. He waited for Jake to pull out and share, but he was ready to explode. He gripped your chin with a wicked glare as he squashed your lips together. “You don't know what you're in for, baby.”  It was a warning but you quivered with excitement nevertheless before Rooster stuck the pad of his thumb between your lips and spat into your mouth, rubbing your bottom lip with his thumb. “You’re gonna ride my dick.” Bradley told you with no hesitation evident in his tone as you nodded with eagerness. Jake pulled out of you with a hard slap to your right ass cheek, causing you to let out a whine.  

“Ah!” You hissed as the sting lingered well after Jakes had left your ass, you immediately crawled closer to Bradley and straddled his waist, you manoeuvred his length to line up with your creaming entrance. Jake wasted no time in coming to stand above Bradley, his cock throbbing, ready to explode yet again as he moved your sweat covered hair to one side.

“Uhh fuck!” You whined as you sunk onto Bradley’s slightly thicker cock, his hands roamed your naked body as Jake pulled your mouth back onto his cock, needy for your mouth yet again.

“Holy fuck! Ah fuck, fuck, fuck, god you're so tight! So fuckin’ tight Y/n ride my dick just like that, yes—!” Bradley mumbled, continuously biting his bottom lip as he felt you bounce on his cock. He was in heaven, you were the best pussy he’d ever had. 

“Told you.” Jake moaned from above, his hands held onto both sides of your face as he bucked his hips softly into your throat, letting you do most of the work as he focused on chasing his second high of the night. “Slap her ass.” And so Bradley did, he slapped your ass over and over, harder every time you came down on his cock, the sting was so deep you knew you’d have a reminder of the night the come morning.

“Fuck can I cum inside you? fuck please say yes?” Bradley whimpered as you rode him, Jake took his cock from your mouth before slapping it against your open and awaiting tongue.

“Answer him!” He hissed, so close to his second orgasm it was making his eyes water and his knees weak. 

“Y-yes fuck, Rosoter! flood my fucking pussy, please!” You cried out into the secluded tent, completely exhausted and fucked out. Bradley gripped at your hips before bending his knees, fucking up into you so hard and fast you fell forward onto Jakes cock, deep throating him unexpectedly and bringing him to that sweet sweet orgasm he’d been chasing. 

“Oh fuck fuck fuck!” Jake groaned, pulling his cock from your mouth and pulling your hair back, exposing your entire face in front of him as he pumped his throbbing cock in his hand, hot spurts of cum were quick to come flying all over your fucked-out face. “Arrgghhh yes baby that's it, look so pretty covered in my cum.” 

Jakes cum completely covered your face, a facial so thick it dripped down your chin and neck as it slowly made its way to your perky tits. 

“Oh god you look so fucking hot like that.” Jake confessed, running this thumb over your bottom lip to collect some of his cum before making you suck it off. Bradley wasn’t far behind, never slowing his thrust for a second while Jake unloaded all over your face.

“M’cummingRoo! Fuck don’t stop!” You gasped aloud, your voice broke as you reached between Bradley and yourself to rub your throbbing sensitive bud. “Aaah- fuck yes!” You moaned a heavenly near pornographic groan as you came hard around Bradley Bradshaw, squirting unexpectedly all over him in the process.

“Yes! Yes! Oh fuck I’m uhhh—“ Bradley spilled his entire load into your tight cunt, creating a mixture of your cum and his as Jakes dripped from your face down your chest.

“What— what fuck just happened?” You all asked each other as both Jake and Bradley cleaned you off, completely taken aback at the events that had just passed now that your need and lust had begun to fade. 

***~***~***~***

You didn’t know at what part of the movie you fell deep into thought, reminiscing about the camping trip you took a week ago with your best friends but it was the sound of Jake’s voice that brought you out of it, only to realise you had been rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves the entire time, right there on his lounge. Hand sunk low into your sweats. 

“And what do you think you’re doing?” He questioned, leaning against the wall casually before he began sauntering over to you with a devilish smirk upon his face.  

“I uh, I uh don’t” You stuttered, fumbling around as you sat up. You knew you had been caught, but you still tried your best to act like you had no idea what he was talking about. “How long were you just standing there watching me for like some weirdo?” Jake ignored your question. He was on a mission. 

“Were you thinking about our camping trip?” Jake asked as he slowly walked over, unbuckling his belt as you noticed the hard girth showing through his dress pants, having just come back from a meeting. He was so hard it looked painful. It was painful. You looked down at Jake's crotch for a little too long, then up, down then back up, Jake’s eyes had been locked on you the entire time. Working to stand before you—his belt slipping around your neck as he tightened the loop. His hand guided yours over his clothes cock—begging for your touch. 

“Or was it just me?”

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

How To Adapt To Fire (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.6k

WARNINGS: Fire(s), intended harm, death/gore, murder, crime, corruption, arsonist mystery plot, pining, protective!Johnny, flirting, intense banter, fade-to-black, nudity, suggestive descriptions, dirty jokes, etc.

A/N: Taglist is full.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Johnny watches you slap another news clipping to the board he’d bought you for thirty-two dollars and twenty-three cents, tired eyes blinking slowly. Standing in his apartment’s living room in his boxers and an oversized shirt, he’d woken up to the sound of muttering, and it had been just that for the last week. 

When he’d allowed you to live in his spare room until you could find a new apartment building to call your own, he didn’t expect you there to be so much grumbling. Like a little bug in his ear—not that he minded all that much. At least, if you were that bug.

“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” you groan, running a hand down your face. “How did he find me? How did he know I already knew so much about the case?”

He, the arsonist.

Your entire building had been a total loss—and, sure enough, the lock had been busted off of your apartment door just like the scene of the fires that resulted in casualties. You had been targeted, and it wasn’t just an accident. There was intent there; a threat. 

Stay away from me, or else. 

Johnny had sighed long when he read that in the report he’d gotten his hands on—there was no way in hell anything was stopping you except…well, except yourself.

While he had envisioned one day potentially asking you to move in with him, he hadn’t expected that to happen so soon. Certainly not before the first fucking date. He hadn’t even gained the courage to ask you out yet, and here you were—pajama pants polling at your ankles and Johnny’s baggy sweatshirt loose around your shoulders. The Scot stands with the heat of sleep and attraction on his skin. 

He tried not to stare, really he did, but the way you looked in his clothes was too much of a distraction for his own good. 

The man clears his throat, face burning. 

“I’m beggin’ you to give it a rest, Dearie. At least five minutes.” Johnny sighs. “It’s not healthy.”

He doesn’t think he’s seen you shed a tear over your apartment—about your belongings. In reality, he was taken aback by it. Soap wouldn’t have blamed you at all…but you just seemed angry. It worried him, but the emotion was well within your right to hold. Just as it was within his right to try and keep you from rushing into danger.

“Not now,” you grumble. “Not until I know how he found out my room number.” 

“You aren’t exactly unknown.” The fireman walks closer to your standing form, hand moving up to scratch at his back as he gunts. “Mostly everyone who would care to look into your career knows about you. It wouldn’t be hard.” 

Johnny moves his vision over the board, pausing before he licks his lips.

“...They’ll be needing me in today, Hen,” he breathes. 

Your lips tighten, and you glance over quickly to find blue eyes already looking. Snapping your attention back to the board, you push back against the burn of your face.

“It’s your job, I’m not going to tell you not to go in.”

“If you need me here, then I can—”

“John,” you interrupt, shaking your head with a heavy frown and turning his way. “No way. Go in.”

Johnny’s serious face doesn’t lessen, and you’re struck with how often those lines on his face are becoming commonplace.

You wouldn’t say that you were taking this well. 

Forcing yourself to work; making your mind push back at the deep pit that seemed to be growing. Everything you’d worked for—everything you’d had. Gone. Up in smoke.

Two people had died in that inferno, and you can’t help but put that on yourself. 

Fingers going up to tap at your chin, your attention goes back to the board, the heavy weight of bags under your eyes from lack of sleep. You’d tried to re-write what you had in your notes as well as you were able, but there had been a reason for making a physical board in the first place. 

Johnny watches you, his brows tight and his fingers twitching. Sighing, he fixes his feet and lightly places a hand on the back of your spine, blinking quickly your eyes dart over before the tension begins to bleed from your muscles. 

Your gaze begins to soften, but your voice is still a light firmness. “Stop that.”

The man blinks. “Stop what?”

“Stop being all…” You huff, sagging into his hand. “You.” 

Johnny pushes a chuckle, shifting to stare at you fully and letting the smirk move over his lips. His fingers move along your back, rubbing tiny circles as the room goes airy—how quick it was that you could fall into this sense of attachment. To anyone outside of the apartment, it would seem the two of you were in a strange relationship, and that would be true to some extent. 

Your face heats up, and Johnny’s large palm flattens. He moves and presses his nose into your hair.  

“Now what’s that supposed to mean, then?” He grunts, and you can feel his flickering smirk as clear as day. 

Leaning over into him, you sigh, glaring at the board as your heart patters. 

“It means you’re distracting me.”

Johnny hums, thumb moving up and down over the knob of your spine.  “Talk to me,” he mutters. “Let me help, aye?” He blinks slowly, face hot and his lungs palpitating in his chest. The man cared about you so much—his heart ached for what you’d been put through. Losing a home like that. 

Your lashes flutter, a near purr emitting from your throat at the hypnotic movements of Johnny’s grip. Like a damn harpy, he was digging his claws into you; it had been happening for months. Of course, you’d let him touch you—how could you not? Even his sense of courage and justice was something that let you know his character, his honor. 

This case was just as important to him as it was to you. 

“Go,” you mutter, shifting your head so that you can stare at him. Johnny’s visage pulls back, his stubble moving with the worried angle of his lips; his skull tilts, almost like a dog cocking its snout. “We can figure something out later—if I get you fired I’d finally gain a conscious.” 

Johnny sighs, looking you up and down. “...I’ll be making dinner tonight. Just,” he breathes, and as his hand leaves you, your body fights the instinct to shiver. “Wait for me, Bonnie.” 

You take in the closeness between the two of you—how your bodies melt into one another as if on instinct. Something was startling about how easy it was to live in the same apartment as Johnny. It had almost been too easy. Sharing food, blankets, and looks.

Your eyes follow after Soap as he brushes your cheek with the back of his hand before turning and walking back to his room, bare feet padding over the floor. His legs move, small burns and scars all over before your vision travels up the broadness of his back; the stretch of his arms as he brings them up with a groan to itch at his head.

Licking your lips, the sight is enough to quiet your mind. Seeing how, like water, his clothes morph into the swell of his thighs and the…your face bursts into fire, and your head snaps away. 

Clearing your throat, you blink quickly and try to re-focus on your board of suspects.

—

Johnny tightens the belt over his waist, huffing softly as he walks into the fire department’s bay door—passing the red trucks and patting the dogs as they come up to mob him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, the clicking of little claws tapping over the concrete floors and the panting of hot breath. “Good to see you too, little rascals.” 

The fireman looks around the area, seeing some of the boys mulling about doing repairs or fixing up the slight mess. Johnny motions a hand when he’s greeted, and before long he’s entering the main hub of where he wants to go—the kitchen. 

Grabbing a cup, the Scot’s intention is to get some water before settling into his desk and diving into something that can take his mind off the woman living in his apartment. Licking his lips, Johnny gets momentarily lost in the remembrance of your skin—your determination. 

He’s angry. Angry that someone’s done this to you; had disrupted your life so violently. A question was stuck swirling in his head as he began hearing the murmuring from the walk-in pantry. 

What would have happened if you hadn’t been with him that morning? 

“What do you mean ‘that was you?’” Johnny’s fingers freeze around the rim of a glass, blinking into his own smaller reflection. Brows furrowing, the Scot’s head swivels to the kitchen pantry and the barely cracked open door and the voice that emanates from it.

For some reason, the stagnant air after that sentence makes Johnny’s spine straighten. Blue eyes stare blankly, and fingers twitch as the same voice starts again.

“I thought you said it was over?! That the last one was,” a strangled word, a fast inhale. “We had a fucking deal.” 

Heart slow in his chest, Soap stares the longer this seemingly one-sided conversation goes on. There was something off—the words seemed hurried; panicked, even. It wasn’t the usual emotions you had when having a talk with someone. 

Taking a steady step back, the Scot remembered how fast your pulse had run when he had you at his chest a week ago—the fast slam and the whites of your eyes on full display. Even if you didn’t confess it to him, Johnny knew you’d been afraid of the fire. Fearful. He knew you weren’t sleeping. 

Maybe the fireman was being paranoid, but anything that he didn’t understand made his hackles rise like a feral dog—certainly with you, technically, under his watch now. Everyone was a potential threat. Face stiff, Johnny begins walking over to the pantry with nearly silent feet, boots softly flattening to the tile floor.

Stopping outside of the door, his ears hone in. 

“This isn’t right! There’s a difference between what you do and what I do! We stuck together, but this is it. I’ve covered for you—I’ve tried to smooth everything out, but this isn’t something that I can look past anymore. She wasn’t even involved yet!”

Johnny’s lips tighten, his eyes burning through the barrier until he lifts his hand and settles it loosely on the doorknob, not pushing even as the thin material shifts minutely. The alarms in his head were going off, and he didn’t like that. 

Muscles tight, the Scot moves a bit closer, shoulder just beginning to touch the wood before—

Kurt Matthews, one of the rookie firefighters, shoves himself through. 

Johnny strangles a gasp as the two men nearly collide with one another, only shoving out, what he hopes to be, a casual call of, “Hell’s bells. Careful there, Kid.”

The man’s wild eyes lock on him, stumbling back before Soap’s hands move to grasp his arm, a dark phone held lightly in Kurt’s hand. Johnny looks at it silently before he forces a blank chuckle. “Sorry, then. Was going to get some bread—you know how it is, eh?” Kurt looks frazzled, a sheen of sweat over his face; eyes tiny. “The boys never fill up the bread box after they finish a loaf.”

“What?” Matthews quickly mutters, before shaking his head and waving a hand. “Yeah, right, whatever.”

He swiftly moves past the Scot, brushing shoulders. The mohawked man’s nose pulls in, and blue eyes watch the disappearing individual. 

Johnny’s throat swallows down saliva. 

Kurt Matthews smells like gasoline.

—

You hear the sound of the TV and sniffle, pushing the heels of your hands into your stinging eyes. 

It wasn’t a question as to why you had waited until Johnny left to let yourself feel the hopelessness that was sinking into your chest—you were surprised you lasted that long, though. Tiny tears dribble out over your cheeks, but you fight them with a growl. 

“Keep it together,” you sigh harshly. “C’mon, keep it together.” 

Your heart jerks when the front door of the apartment opens, and you’re quick to stand up from the couch where you had been sitting, clearing your throat as Johnny’s call echoes. 

“Just me!” 

You divulge immediately into your hurried sentences, waving a hand. The shake in your voice is obvious. “I have some of the names I remember writing down—it isn’t much but I—”

“What happened?” Johnny’s hands capture your face in a swift second; he isn’t even out of his work clothes before he’s over and touching you. It’s like he teleported over at the slightest hint of distress, not even a moment of hesitation. “Whoa, hey, hey,” he breathes a bit slower, softer. “What’s this then, Bonnie?” 

Delicate movements of his fingers scrape your flesh, thumb running as blue eyes come into focus. Your lungs tighten up again at the sight of tense worry—Johnny’s face all hard with the lines of his forehead and the narrowing of his eyelids.

“Let me see,” he utters, tilting your head up so the brightness of your eyes is visible to him; the wetness of your flesh. “Hey, now.” 

The man’s attention goes up and down on the off chance this is physical pain instead of the internal kind. But he knows better than that. So, Johnny stuffs down the hunch he had about the man in his own ranks and places all of his concern on you and your bitter tears. 

Even when you try to grumble his worry away.

“It’s just stupid tears, MacTavish,” your voice cracks as he drags you to him, curling his arm behind the stretch of your shoulder blades in an addictive display that leaves your nose sniffling again. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Quit it,” the Scot pleads. “Jesus, Pencils,” he sighs, arms trapping you in just like before. “Just let me hold you, yeah? I swear, you’ll make my heart burst ‘fore I get you to admit you’re feeling something.”

Your glossy eyes flinch into a weak glare. “I’m not that emotionally constipated, jackass.” 

Johnny’s breath moves over your scalp.

“You sure about that?” Your face goes to an annoyed sheen, and from the soft rest of Johnny’s chest, you look over at him. He’s trying a light smirk, but his eyes are still serious. 

Letting yourself melt into him, you take in his scent and the heat he offers you, surrounded by the remnants of his life and future—this apartment that offers you a reprieve. 

You close your eyes and let your hands shift up to grab at Johnny’s shirt slowly, your heart gradually easing. Unaware of the soft gaze watching every second; his own grip tightening.

“...You’re like a dog,” you whisper, tears drying. “Always running over.” Your pause lays out a beautiful scene. “I like it.”

Johnny’s cheeks flare to a bright red. He clears his throat, glancing away from your face. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not.”

“Hm,” you hum, shrugging and nuzzling your nose into his pulse. You hear it racing. “Up to you, I suppose.” 

The man laughs, chest jerking. 

The silence that falls after is like a blanket—settling thickly over the space as the last of your sniffles finally halt. You didn’t like crying; not in front of others. It was easier to just push through it, but Johnny’s presence made you soft, at the same time you can’t tell if that’s good or bad. But it did make your fear lessen, and maybe that was something you couldn’t overlook. 

You tighten your hold on his waist, and he grunts, glancing down at you as his gut swirls. The man’s half-lidded eyes flutter, fingers flinching along your clothes. The room gets warmer, or maybe it’s just him. 

“I guess,” you begin under your breath, voice muffled by his skin. “I could use your help. Officially.”  

“Ooo,” the Scot whispers. “‘Officially’—look at that.”

You huff, lips pulling up. 

“Well,” the man mutters, chin resting on top of your head as the sun outside begins to dip lower. “‘Officially’ I have some information that my Bonnie little boss might like to hear.”

Your smirk grows wider, your heart hammering faster as your pulse moves with fire. 

“Oh?” Your nails drag his sides, and you feel Johnny’s breath hitch, a low purr emanating from his chest. 

“Oh, aye,” a hand grips your chin, dragging you back until you’re once more blinking into his gaze head-on. His finger pets your flesh, your breath puffing out as he stares down at you. He swallows down the nervousness in the back of his throat, the urgency that instinct pushes away in this moment of anticipation as he watches your face. “But I’m having a moment, it seems—can’t think straight.”

“Why’s that?” You lick your lips and see cobalt blue follow them.

“Because this Hen in front of me has been a damn tease since I’ve met ‘er.” 

Any snappy reply is cut short before it even can fully register in your head, and all thoughts halt the second his firm mouth is on your own. 

You gasp, but there isn’t an ounce of yourself that pulls back, not when Johnny’s fingers play at your shirt-hem, or even when your own slide under his clothes. You don’t pull back when they hit the floor—don’t pull back when your bodies follow suit. 

A dance of fire and ice moves with the writhing of flesh and the passing of heavy kisses; panting breath. Grunts and groans as if every pass of lips and teeth is a knife into supple skin. Tense legs and flexing arms—dragging fingertips digging into every latchable dip even as the dead of night grows longer. 

It’s only after every desire has been satiated that you finally utter about the finer details of this mess. 

Johnny’s hands move down your bare back, slipping to grip your waist and drag you into him as you sigh. Your thigh lifts to rest over his hip, leg hanging uselessly over as it brushes the ruffled sheets as lips find your neck, tiny nips and passes of skin mixing as your eyes flutter. 

The fireman makes a noise of satisfaction in the back of his throat, hand sliding to hook under your kneecap, caressing. 

“So attentive,” you murmur, and your fingers run through his hair, itching at his mohawk as the longer strands slip through. Johnny burrows closer, nose pushing your head upwards as he kisses the space where your neck connects to the underside of your chin. 

He chuckles smoothly, stubble scraping along as you shiver at the sensation. The hard press of his pecs shove into you, and you lightly breathe; fingers twitching.

“How are we feeling?” Johnny grunts in between his worship.

“Energized,” you grin, half-closed eyes shimmering. 

The man smiles widely, grip sliding downward slowly as he chuckles. “Yeah?”

“Not like that,” you groan, shoving his hand away as he laughs, rolling onto his back and folding his arm over his eyes. 

“Ah,” Johnny’s chest jumps with his amusement, itching at his bare abdomen for a moment. “Worth a try, then.”

“Dog,” you roll your eyes. “You’ve had enough of a fill.”

“That’s all up to opinion, Dearie.” He smirks, peeking at you as your face heats up.

Shoving at his shoulder, he laughs again and pushes up, hands melting into the mattress beside your head as he looms above you as a large wall. 

“I’ll never have enough of a fill when it comes to you and your wet c-”

You snap a hand to his mouth, covering it as you glare openly, sneering. “Finish that sentence and you’ll never have me in this bed again.”

Johnny’s glinting eyes stare from above your hand, and you feel his smile as clear as day as his face stays stuck close to yours. 

A teasing kiss is leveled on your palm and you roll your eyes, pulling away to lightly push at his forehead. The Scot lets you shove at him, and you sit up fully as he grunts and rests his back on the headboard. 

Shifting your body, you straddle his lap and grasp his chin.

“A few hours ago,” Johnny’s eyes are blown, and you feel his touch on your hips. He hums in question, barely listening above the squeeze of your legs. “You were going to tell me something—a lead.”

“Was I?” The fireman breathes, licking at your finger as it goes to rest on his bottom lip. 

You cock your head with seriousness and a level of amusement in your gaze. “You were. Tell me.”

“You need to work on your pillow talk, Pencils.” Johnny sets a sloppy kiss on your collarbone and sighs. 

There’s a moment where you both stare into one another, and the gravity of this begins to set in once more. Carnal desire and feelings aside, there was always an edge to the both of you—this need to be seen through whether for some sense of justice or care. 

“Kurt Matthews—rookie fireman,” Johnny grunts, looking away for a quick moment. “Heard him speaking on the phone, got a bad feeling ‘bout it that I can’t place. Might be nothing, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t tell you.” 

��Kurt,” you breathe, brows pulling in. There’s a long pause. “Kurt Matthews…that sounds familiar.” 

Hopping off Johnny, the man groans softly, a slightly needy look following after as your bare body slips away. He knocks his skull against the headboard, side-eyeing your backside as you hurry off to your board. A light smirk makes itself known before your voice snaps him out of his memories. “Stop looking at my ass, MacTavish!”

His face goes beet red as he grunts, quickly snapping his eyes away. 

You wrap yourself into one of the blankets that was on the couch, letting it hang off of your shoulders as you snatch one of the papers on your mess of information. 

“A fireman,” you mutter to yourself, finger running down names and brief descriptions. “An inside job? No, that would be…” Your eyes spark to life as Soap shuffles in, running through his hair. “That would be one hell of a story.” 

Attention locked in, your eyes instantly stop on your own chicken scratch—the name at the bottom of the page. 

Kurt Matthews. Witness to fire on the fifth; one dead. 

“Off duty? Or not hired yet?” You ask, lips tightening. “Why was he at the scene? Johnny,” your curious voice calls to him, and he slips up behind you, flattening his front to your back. You lean into him, showing him the paper. “When did he get taken on into the department?”

“Month ago,” Johnny’s face pulls, frowning. A name catches his attention, and he tilts his head. “Why’s Duncan on there?”

Your attention moves to the scribbled title. Johnny continues as you read, your stomach sinking. 

Duncan Ballard. Employee of Warren Electrical. No involvement.

You wave a hand. “He has nothing to do with this case. That was back when I was looking into the money laundering—”

“They’re cousins.” 

Your body twists, face confused. “What…?”

Johnny blinks, glancing at you and then back to the paper, he vaguely gestures to the two names. “Duncan and Kurt—they’re cousins. Met him at one of the department cookouts. Strange bloke, but I never thought much about it. Just thought he liked the profession a bit because Kurt was getting involved.” 

You stare at him, a million thoughts dashing from behind your eyes. “Duncan was the man I interviewed about the Warren Electrical case. He was cleared by the police,” you stutter, looking to the side. “He was the only employee of the company that didn’t confess or implicate someone else. There was no evidence to…”

You trail off before your spine tightens. Your body pushes itself out of Johnny’s hold, rushing to his computer and opening it like a bat out of hell. 

“Give me the name of one of the fire victims.”

The Scot watches after, hurriedly forcing out, “Mike Lane.”

An article pops up—one that you hadn’t written but that another journalist had. Warren Electrical Employee Exposes All. 

“Another,” you breathe, eyes stuck on the screen.

“Kit Cannon.”

Warren Electrical Employee—

“Johnny, one more.”

“Hadden Taylor.”

Warren Electrical Employee—

Your throat closes for a moment before you force out in the middle of Soap easing out another name, still not sure where you’re going with this. “He’s trying to kill off anyone who snitched.”

Johnny pauses, coming over to look as he thinks—as he looks over the articles you show him with a grim face, he tilts his head.

“Even then, why were you a target? All you did was interview him. And why now?” 

“He knows I have all of the resources,” you begin. “If anyone can catch him, it would be me—I interviewed him when he was in temporary custody. It would have seemed like he didn’t have a choice unless he wanted to keep his appearance of innocence.” 

Your mind struggles through the potential answers. “But you’re right—why now? Is it because of the trial coming up? And how does this connect with Kurt?”

“He smelled like Gasoline when he walked past me,” Johnny adds, rubbing at his chin; itching at his scar. He spares you a look, mulling over the words that he’d heard in the pantry. “...I think he’s trying to cover his cousin’s crimes with his own. Make it seem like they’re all a part of one damn scheme.” 

“He’s the one going for the abandoned buildings,” you agree, nodding a few times, looking over into Johnny’s eyes. “Kurt Matthews and Duncan Ballard. Okay. We have our leads.”

Before the Scot can speak on it, you’re rushing past, grabbing clothes from the floor and shoving them on. His face moves in, confusion overtaking his building shock. 

“What are you doing?” You shove into your pants, not sparing a look before you button them. 

“Get dressed, we’re going out.”

Johnny’s left in the middle of the room, naked, watching after you with a slack-jawed expression of disbelief. 

“...What?”

—

You hang up your phone with one of the many people you know in the city, dropping it to your side as you and the fireman stand in front of your car. You have an address for Kurt’s home—not one for Duncan, but that can happen later. With what Johnny had said not moments before, Matthews was expressing hesitation. Go for the weaker link first. 

The streets are lit up. It’s still night out but the long hours are beginning to thin into morning; it can’t be later than three AM. Vehicles rush past, and, occasionally, people walk to wherever they are off to. The city never sleeps, just as you don’t. 

“Woah,” Johnny grabs onto you before your hand can latch onto the driver’s seat door. He waves his other hand and stares at you heavily. “We can’t just go into this with our dicks in our hands, Bonnie.”

“Thankfully, I don’t have one of those,” you huff. “That’s why I keep you around.”

“That isn’t,” Johnny sighs aggressively, shaking his head. “I’ll not have you in danger. We need to pass this along the chain.”

“The chain,” you grumble, “hates me. We’re the best bet right now.” Raising a brow you point a finger under his nose. “If I recall, you asked to be involved.”

Johnny frowns heavily, looking unimpressed until he takes a deep breath. He rasps out, “You’re lucky you’re damn near a goddess—”

His phone goes off in his pocket, and not a second later, he’s answering as you mess with your satchel. Taking out a piece of paper, you try not to show how much his little comment made you want to float into the air, giddy, nearly, as you write down Kurt’s address sloppily. 

“MacTavish,” Johnny grunts out, turning slightly away. 

You open your car door, but a hand moves out and keeps it closed enough to a point where you can’t slip inside, you pout and Johnny raises a brow as he listens. Your eyes notice how his jaw clenches, and he lets off an aggressive sigh like a boar when he registers the words being said from over the line. 

Your heart drops when you watch his shoulders sag, hips moving as they situate themselves.

“Right. I’ll be over.” Cobalt eyes snap to yours when the call ends, deathly serious. “One of the boys had to run out tonight during his twenty-four-hour—family emergency. I was on call for him.” 

You open your mouth to speak. 

“No,” Johnny points at you, digging out his own keys from his pants as he backs up. He shakes his head. “No—you’re not going alone. Don’t even ask it, Pencils.”

Your loud scoff echoes. “I didn’t even mention it!”

“You fucking thought it,” he grunts, glaring. “Get your pretty arse back inside the apartment and we do this together tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes,” you wave a hand, stepping back onto the sidewalk as the Scot moves to his vehicle only two cars down, sarcastically monologuing. “All naked and waiting to be ravished by your brutish body. Whatever will I do without you, my brave firefighter?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Soap mutters to himself, and just as he unlocks his car and opens the door, you’re there at his side. A light kiss is pressed into his flesh, and he freezes. 

“Be safe,” you mutter, and he melts—tension loosening. He smirks and glances over, carefully grabbing your face before connecting his lips to yours with a low groan.

“Maybe you should be naked and waiting for me—”

“Go!”

Johnny chuckles against your lips. “Keep your head on for me, Pencils. I’ll be back soon, and we can find the fucker that did this, eh?”

As he gets into his car and drives away, you watch after him and bite at your lips. And then as he turns the street corner, you jog over to your car and slip inside.

—

The home was run down.

It wasn’t a place where you would want to raise a family, and neither was the neighborhood. In fact, barely anyone seemed to live on this street, and even if there were entire rows of houses, there weren’t even any lights on—nothing illuminated the streets except the lamps, and you were parked under one with your satchel in your lap. 

Experience didn’t mean you never get nervous.

You feel the clamminess of your palms as you flex them, replaying Johnny’s words in your head over and over. You knew the house was here, so, you could always just…come back later. There was no harm in it. 

Yet, your eyes narrow, and your rage builds. 

This fucker was related to the man that burned down your apartment building—was potentially covering for him so you wouldn’t break the case on Duncan killing off the snitches for Warren Electrical’s schemes. But all because of an interview with him? All you’d done was sit down with the guy; why did he feel the need to track you down? Breaking into someone's house and lighting it up with matches was personal—incredibly personal. 

Duncan had given you a warning to keep away, and you hated warnings with a fiery passion. If anything, it had just set you on his ass more. 

“Okay,” you huff, and reach inside of your satchel, flicking on the recorder you stuffed inside and stating your name, age, and important information. 

And then you open the car door and exit. 

Speed walking to the door, you look down the dark streets and hunch into yourself, the calls of crows and the wind moving the overgrown grass. Cracked concrete hits the ground as you kick pieces away, and at the two steps leading to the front door, you think that perhaps this might be a bad idea.

Bad ideas are what make good articles.

You hum, face innocent. “Johnny’s gonna fucking kill me.”

Knuckles raising, you send three firm knocks into the paint-speckled wood, and wait. And wait.

And wait. 

Your face tightens, your legs shifting minutely as the seconds draw long. A part of you is somewhat relieved until you hear a small creak just when you’re about to walk away. You freeze, and your eyes move slowly to the glass of the side window in a gradual glance. 

Your eyes lock onto a face staring back. 

Gasping, your foot takes a rapid step backward, but before you can rush away, Kurt rips open the door and pleads in a tiny voice as he grabs your arm. You flinch, raising up a heavy fist. But his words stop you from sending it forward.

“No! No, you can’t be here!” Your eyes blink rapidly, stuttering through your initial panic.

“What?”

“Leave!” Kurt snaps, eyes wild. “While he’s still asleep—he can’t see you here or he’ll—” There’s a splash of liquid and you shout. Kurt lets go of you quickly as he looks down at himself as his clothes get flooded from behind. 

The sharp smell hits you before your ears twitch to the sound of a lighting match. 

Kurt screams, snapping around as you fall backward off the steps, slamming into the ground with a panicked flinching in your lungs. A large shadow stands in the doorway. “I didn’t say anything—I didn’t—!”

Kurt Matthews goes up in flames, and in the fire and the rabid screams of sizzling flesh, you’re left shouting in pure fear. Duncan’s familiar face was illuminated by an orange and red inferno and he watches you blankly with a box of matches in his right hand.

You run off so fast, your heels get kicked off in a flurry of a chase.

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[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 21

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD Violence and Gore; Sexual content; Animal death (hunting - not descriptive); Mild description of vomit; a little sad angsty moment; Non-con sedation

You had to admit that holy shit, it was nice to be out in the fresh air. It was cold as fuck, but you were bundled up in the coat that had been brought to you all those weeks ago. It sucked to keep it situated for easy gun and knife access but it was enough. Your feet were warm in your boots, two pairs of socks since they were a little big to accommodate any swelling of your feet as the pregnancy progressed but that only meant that your toes were nice and toasty. Leggings under maternity jeans were a hindrance when the baby decided to drop kick your bladder, but otherwise, necessary to ensure you didn’t get frostbite in very inconvenient areas, as well as your legs. 

You had been walking through the snow for about an hour before coming across any walkers. There were two, both women. One a little older than Beth and one about your own age. They moved slower in the cold, you had noticed. After putting them down, you became aware that their skin appeared to be freezing solid. 

“Walker popsicles. Huh.” You muttered, storing that information to share. Another fifteen minutes went by and you had still seen no game, so you decided to stop and rest. You weren’t necessarily out of shape but you were growing a human inside of you. That tended to take a bit out of the energy department. You had swiped a canteen and some of the jerky, partaking of both to make sure you could carry out what you came to do. 

“Alright, Thumper. Let’s see if we can figure out daddy’s weapon of choice. Can’t be that hard, right?” You promptly came very close to shooting a bolt into your own foot. You blinked at it and looked around as if there had been anyone else to see the incident before putting a hand to your belly. Thumper rolled as if just as shocked. “Let’s just keep that between us, okay?”

It was the operation that hindered you. Once you figured out the mechanics,—with about forty-five minutes of tinkering—aiming and firing were things that came naturally to you. Daryl was going to murder you when he had to fix everything you had fucked with in your exploration of the weapon. Collecting the bolts you had used for practice, you froze, eyes narrowed on the small indentations in the snow. Rabbits.

Small game was your specialty. You always hunted rabbits and squirrels when it was just you and father. There was nowhere to keep an abundance of meat in your small home. No smokehouse. It had been different when the family would come over, your aunt and uncles. They loved their venison and you never had to be concerned with wasting anything. 

The smile that lifted the corners of your mouth was one born of bittersweet longing. You wished your father could be there to meet his grandchild, but you were—at the same time—thankful that he wasn’t around to see what had truly become of the world, that it would never go back to how it used to be.

Still, you chuckled as you wiped away a tear. Your father would have had one hell of a time getting used to the idea of Daryl being the father, but in the end, he would have been the first to see through that rough exterior to the man hidden underneath. And he would not have wasted a single second before calling the archer out on it.

“If you’re a boy, I could name you after your grandad. Maybe after your uncle, if your daddy wants.” Daryl still hadn’t revealed much about his family. Maybe once he was better, you could sit with him and just talk, quid pro quo. You ask a question about him, and then him about you. He seemed to be okay with that sorta thing. He never liked being the center of attention.

He also appeared interested in learning about you in every way he could. It hadn’t taken you long to notice the way he picked up on things and filed them away. He knew how you liked your meat cooked when it was being eaten outside of a stew. He would take it from Carol and do it himself, usually. He knew how things touching the front of your throat made you feel uncomfortable, like scarves or the top buttons of a flannel, stopping Maggie from wrapping a rather pretty knit fabric around your neck one bitterly cold morning. 

Daryl also knew just how to touch you, how to curl his fingers inside of you and how much pressure you needed when his thumb would graze over your clit. He excelled in making you shiver by wetting his digits with your own arousal before dragging the tips over your skin to stimulate your nipples. He did all this while pressing soft kisses just behind your ear or over your pulse, everyone sleeping around you being none the wiser. It was always so incredibly erotic to be brought over the edge knowing that any of them could simply open their eyes and see that he was working you over. 

Maybe you could show him what you knew he liked while he recovered. You knew for a fact that he would groan if you lapped and nibbled at a specific area just above his collarbone. He would never admit it but you had noticed the way touching his nipples made his hips jerk when he was inside of you. The first time you’d gone down on him back in the woods, you had kitten-licked at his tip and pressed your thumb against the vein that ran underneath, dragging the digit up his length. He had clawed at the tree behind him so hard that you were certain he’d be picking splinters from beneath his nails afterward. 

It took a soft thump to the cranium, snow falling from a branch overhead, to bring you from your pleasant thoughts. With an ache between your thighs and the prospect of maybe getting some alone time with your boyfriend—you still needed to clarify what you could call him, if anything—while he wasn’t trying to evict his lungs from within his chest, you whined quietly. You kinda wished you had stayed there and were curled up in bed with him. Was he okay? Were the meds helping? Was Carol whacking him over the head with the bedpost to keep him from chasing you?

You had nearly convinced yourself to turn back when you saw the first rabbit, a decent sized cane cutter that would make a nice stew to last a couple of days. It hadn’t seen you and taking it down was easy since you had not yet shouldered the crossbow.

“One down, Thumper!” You took one step and then paused. “It’s kinda insensitive to call you Thumper when I’m hunting rabbits, isn’t it?”

You had two rabbits by the time at least three and a half hours had passed, a little disappointing but it was freezing and you did have to make periodic stops to put down walking corpses and even more stops to pee. You were feeling a little nauseous as well, so it was likely beyond time to head back. Maybe Daryl would rest just as well the next day and you could come back out since this excursion would show everyone you could handle yourself out there.

Wiping your knife across your thigh after yet another slow moving walker, you had barely secured it into the sheath before you noticed the tracks. 

Deer. 

A single deer, young but more than a year. Based on the depth of the tracks, you could likely manage to haul it back on your own if you could take it down. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you glanced at the way back to the house; back to Daryl. 

This was all for him, after all. The more food you could secure, the longer he could rest and recover. The decision was simple after that. Ensuring a bolt was loaded, you set out to do what you once did best. 

You were still her. 

The only differences were the people in your family were no longer an aunt and two uncles, the main man in your life was no longer your father, and you were 11 or so weeks away from having your own baby. You had never needed to be provided for, always the provider. There was no reason you and Daryl couldn’t share that responsibility. When the baby came, you’d adjust and adapt, providing differently and that was okay. The longer you could nurse Thumper, the easier it would make things. You’d step back then, let Daryl take over. It would be even more important to him then, the need to provide. You’d be a team, each caring for the baby in your own way. 

The prospect was equal parts exciting and terrifying. New parents in a dystopian world. It wasn’t impossible. It was just dangerous. Daryl had done so well, thinking ahead when he had cleared that Wal-Mart. So much that would be needed already secured, ready to carry with your group when moving from place to place. With a small, tender smile, you glanced at the bracelet for morning sickness you still wore. It likely no longer worked, but you couldn't really bear to part with it.

You wanted to search out a baby store eventually, or make a request for a run. Cloth diapers would be a lifesaver once the disposable ones had been used. Infant and children’s medications needed to be stocked. 

Thumper gave your ribs a jab, earning a hiss in response. “Okay, okay. I’m focused. Jeez, kid, can you be any more like your father?” 

The tracks were getting closer together in clusters, the deer stopping to check out areas in search of food. You were catching up, the falling snow not yet filling in the prints. In the back of your mind, you maintained an active regard for the time you’d been gone, one eye on the sun to ensure you’d make it back before dark. You would be late and you’d steered off course but you were confident.  You’d need to circle around and place yourself downwind soon if you wanted to stand a chance. This is what you knew. 

You’d meet up with the search party at the very least on your journey back. That is if Carol hadn’t grown anxious and sent them earlier. Or Daryl—dear god, if Daryl hadn’t somehow managed to drag himself out of that house. No, they wouldn’t let him. You had to believe that. It would be Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog. Maybe Maggie. They’d likely be sore at needing to come find you but if you were hauling a deer, that disgruntlement would likely be forgotten quickly. You just needed to ensure you succeeded and that you stayed safe. 

Just as you continued to track, you muttered a curse at a slow shuffling walker. One bolt needed to remain untainted for hunting and, so far, your knife had been sufficient but you were closing in on your target. Using the crossbow would be ideal for the dead at that juncture. Nearly silent kills. The crossbow was level with your eyes when you saw it.

The doe’s head perked up just beyond some snow-covered shrubbery, ears twitching. “Fuck.” You whispered. You had to take the deer first or risk it running from the walker. It had already spotted the threat, getting ready to move. There was no time to think. The deer went down easily, your muttered apologies and gratitude for what it would provide for your group were unheard as you dropped the bow and sprinted for the corpse. 

Loading another bolt would take too much time, the deer would be lost to the walker. You were already cutting it close this way, the snow and the off-centered weight of your belly slowing you down. Just as the dead man began to fall on top of your kill for the unearned feast, you tackled him. There was a jolt of pain in your midsection but your knife was already sinking into an eye socket, the deed done. 

“Ow,” you muttered. Scanning the area for threats as you unzipped and moved clothing, raising your sweater to look at the deep red mark on the side of your belly, just below your right rib cage. “Fuck.” A knee or elbow must have been angled just right to jab you on impact. “You okay in there?” Your sweater still rolled up, you laid your knife on your thigh and caressed the taut skin with both hands. “Come on, Thumps, need you to move.” A foot or hand pressed firmly into the injured side. “Okay, okay! Point taken! No more tackling walkers. Ouch, you little gremlin.” With a huff, you adjusted your clothing. You’d have Hershel look you over and check on the baby when you returned. 

Wiping your knife on your jeans, you secured it on the sheath and crawled over to the deer. It remained unsullied and perfect to feed your family. It was a clean, quick kill and it didn’t suffer. You were always thankful for those. 

“Alright, let’s get this back—” No time to register what was happening before you tilted over to retch violently. “Shit.” You panted, looking away from the mess of bile, water, and undigested jerky. Of course this couldn’t just go smoothly. Once again, the world had decided to fuck you. “At least Daryl beat it to getting me pregnant.” You laughed at your lame joke and laid back against the belly of the deer to catch your breath. 

“Fucker.” You growled, angling your leg to kick the man's corpse. The baby moved as you laid there, the slightly ripple showing beneath your coat and sweater. “Oh, hey. I could see that.” You smiled, rubbing your very upset stomach. “Your father is gonna skin me right along with this deer.” You nodded to yourself. Closing your eyes, you took deep, calculated breaths in an attempt to gain control over the nausea. 

But when they opened again, it was dark, the sun having fled and the moon bright in the star-filled sky. You groaned as you sat up, checking yourself and the area around you for any signs of walker activity. No bites. Your deer was frozen but whole. Shaking off the snow that had gathered on you, you rubbed your hands together, digging through the pockets of your coat with numb fingers in search of your gloves. 

“You good in there, Thumps?”

Nothing. 

You had just finished pulling on the second glove before stilling to stare at your round stomach hidden beneath your coat. “Thumper?” You had grown so accustomed to the baby reacting when you spoke that to feel such stillness made your chest tighten. “Baby?” Swallowing hard, you adjusted your clothing again, shivering when the chill of the night air struck your belly. “Come on, baby, can you move for mama?”

What if the baby had died inside you? Does the virus affect a fetus? What if you carried the baby only for them to be born a walker? 

Then there was movement, gentle ripples below the skin. Some that you could see, some that you couldn’t. But the thought remained, a very real terror that your baby could already be dead and just trying to get out. 

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. You could only jerk your eyes back and forth at the sound of footsteps getting closer. 

“Whatcha sittin’ in the snow for, Peanut?”

Now you definitely couldn’t breathe. There, bathed in moonlight, standing on two very there, very functioning legs, was your father. “Dad—daddy?”

“Hey, there.” You sat stock still, sweater still rolled up, eyes still frozen on him as he approached and crouched in front of you. “Let’s get you all fixed up here.” Gentle hands fixed your clothing, zipped your coat, and ruffled your hair.

“Am I dreaming?” You asked with the slightest wobble to your voice. 

“‘Fraid so, Peanut-butter.” When the sound that punched out of you was like a painful sob, he was ducking to find your eyes. “Hey, hey. None of that.”

“I miss you.” You sniffled, letting him pull you close with his chin on your head. “There’s so much—”

“I know, baby girl. I’ve been watching.” He pulled back, thumbing away your tears. “Gonna be a grandpa, I see. Daddy wouldn’t have been my first choice but he surprised me.”

“You like him?” You smiled, lopsided and silly, giggling when he rolled his eyes. 

“No father thinks any man is good enough for his little girl, but this one? Well, he keeps surprising me.” He offered you a hand, pulling you up with him as he stood. “He needs you. He’s always needed you just as much as you’ve needed him. So you need to get you and my grandbaby back to him before he loses his mind.”

“But the baby—”

“Is fine.” He chortled, gently stroking your cheek. “You’ll be an amazing mama, Peanut.” He was starting to fade right before your eyes. “You’ll see.”

“Don’t go.” You pleaded, hands passing through his shoulders when you tried to pull him back. 

“I’m so proud of you.” His voice was echoing, distant even when you could still see his face. “You’ll be fine, all three of you. But now you need to wake up.”

A tear was frozen to your temple, pulling at your skin there when your eyes opened. Snow peppered down from the dark sky, the moon barely visible beyond the clouds. You felt no panic, breaths coming calmly and the baby kicking periodically, even if it did smart when the little extremities connected with the sensitive injury. 

You winced pulling yourself away from the deer you knew would be at least partially frozen. The meat would keep, at least. You’d let the men handle the thawing and prepping anyway. The area was dark, no signs of flashlights or sounds of voices. They had either passed you by or never came at all. 

It wouldn’t matter in the end. 

Because you were going back to them.

Getting to your feet, you gathered your things and prepared to drag the deer. It would likely be about 115 pounds so carrying it was unlikely. You wouldn’t risk leaving it for later retrieval, not when 45 to 50 pounds of meat was likely from that single kill. Hell no. 

You had once dragged Daryl while he was soak and wet and he had at least 60 pounds on that deer. This was doable. You just needed to think. Eyes darting around, you let your fingers drum on your tummy while you pondered. With a deep breath, you started to believe you’d just be dragging the damn thing by hand but then you noticed the walker you had put down. Grabbing your knife, you grinned like a damn fool and set to work.

Lori was pacing in front of the door, watching the men prepare to leave. “You should have already been out there hours ago! Before dark, Rick!” When the deputy stood with a sigh, she didn’t back down. “Do you remember when the decision was made to leave Daryl out when he didn’t come back? Who went to get him? What shape he was in when she brought him back?”

“Yes, I remember, okay! I was just trying to give her the benefit of the doubt! She seemed like she had something she wanted to prove.”

“She said four hours. Carol came to you before that because we were about to lose Daryl on a crazy quest to find her.” Maggie was looking at Glenn but then sent a pointed glance to each of them.

“He’s gonna have a lot to say when he finds out you waited, especially after what we had Hershel do.” Carol said from her spot on the top of the stairs. 

“What did Hershel do?” All eyes turned to you in the doorway, dropping the straps you had made from the walker’s overalls. It was Lori that made it to you first, her arms winding around you awkwardly with two different sized bumps barring the way.

“Carol told us you had left to hunt and all I could think about were the things I said upstairs.” The other woman’s eyes were wet and sincere. With a smile, you pulled off one of your gloves and wiped a thumb below her eye. You didn’t say anything because what could you say? She had been incredibly insulting to Daryl and you wouldn’t speak for him. Maybe she would get the hint and talk to him eventually. Maybe not. 

You looked past Lori toward Rick, T-Dog, and Glenn. "Got a deer and two rabbits." Then your next smile, wry as it was, aimed up the stairs. “What did Hershel do, Carol?” Carl and Beth came thumping out of the kitchen, throwing their arms around you. You hugged them close while your eyes flitted over to the old veterinarian himself walking along the banister from Daryl’s room. You were gentle when pulling away from the kids, tossing a kills are on the porch, have fun at the men while you began your ascent. 

Carol fell in step with you. 

“Before anything else,” you started, unzipping your coat, “I had a literal run-in with a walker. Hershel, can you—?” You rolled up your sweater, the skin already bruising. 

“Has the baby been active?” He asked immediately, probing the area with tenderness while the other hand struggled to place his stethoscope in his ears.

“It’s Nascar in there, I promise.” You felt the baby squirm slightly before they settled again, your eyes on the old man’s face, watching for any concern. You found none and let out a breath when he straightened.

“Seems like all is well. Heartbeat is just fine and it is indeed the Indy 500. You were lucky.” There was a bit of a reprimand in that last statement, one you couldn’t say was unwarranted. Nodding in agreement, you made up your mind that as long as the meat could last until Daryl was on his feet, you wouldn’t venture out alone again.

You then turned to Carol. You had told her to do whatever it took to keep him there, even knock him out. If Hershel was involved, you assumed the knocking out was of a medicational nature. He wasn’t dead, they would have been smart enough to tell you that around people that could restrain you. “Okay, what’s the damage?” You asked from just beside the doorway, afraid to look inside just yet. “Is he tied down?” Carol shook her head.

“He was determined, Y/N. He pulled out the IV, only made it to the stairs before collapsing. They couldn’t get him back into the room, weak as he was, he fought all three of those grown men.” Hershel sighed. “I gave him a very small dose of morphine. It was enough to sedate him without compromising his respiration.” 

You groaned. That man was going to verbally rip you a new asshole, but you’d take it with grace because it was going to keep him safe and give him more time to recover. As long as the meat was prepared and rationed correctly, it could last a while. Maybe that would give you a chance to get back on his good side. 

He needs you. He’s always needed you just as much as you’ve needed him. 

“Okay, so what do I need to do?” You asked, finally rolling your back against the wall to place you inside the room. Daryl was out. You had never seen the man so unconscious, and you’d seen him nearly die. That was a frightening thought. The plus side was that his color was so much better and the rattle in his chest couldn’t be heard until you were much closer. He didn’t stir in the slightest when you sat down next to his left hip, all the way around toward the wall, avoiding the arm with the replaced IV. 

“You won’t need to do much of anything. Monitor his breathing and fetch me if it gets too slow. It shouldn’t with the dose I gave him but his body has been fighting a horrific illness, so we can’t be too careful. It’s been a couple of hours so it will likely start wearing off soon, regardless. When he wakes up, make sure he drinks and encourage him to cough. Coughing and keeping the lungs free of mucus and liquid is crucial.”

You were nodding almost robotically, your fingertips just brushing his hair back and forth with no particular rhyme or reason. Just touching him. 

“His fever has yet to break but it’s lowered dramat—is she even listening to me?” Hershel finally asked Carol, who chuckled and leaned across Daryl to clasp your shoulder until you looked at her.

“Watch how he breathes, don’t let it get too slow. Only for an hour or so. Get him to cough and drink when he wakes up. Fever has come down but hasn’t broken. I’ll come tell you when to give him more tylenol. Okay?” 

You smiled, both embarrassed and grateful. “Okay.” With a nod to Hershel and an eye roll at Carol’s wink, you watched them shut the door. 

Your hand on his cheek had to be freezing. They had just said his fever was down but he felt like a furnace to you. Shit. You were still in the clothes you had been wearing out in the snow. Coat, boots, jeans, and one pair of socks were quickly shed, you were in your sweater and leggings with your thicker socks still covering your feet. You’d been gone long enough and couldn’t seem to wait another second to crawl onto the bed with him. He shivered once but settled, his head turning toward you. You thought for a moment he might wake but he remained still. 

With a deep breath, you settled yourself against his shoulder so that you could look up at his face. “I know you’re going to be mad as fuck at me, and I get it. You have a right to be and I won’t tell you otherwise. I was careful, I promise.” Your palm settled on his chest, feeling his heart lazily thump against it. “I have a—well, it’s just a bruise. Hershel looked at it. Thumper’s okay. I’m okay.” Why were you even talking? He was sound asleep. “I didn’t like being away from you while you were so sick. I don’t think I would have liked it even if you weren’t sick.” 

Your hand left his chest for your fingers to dance along his jaw while you admired just how peaceful he looked. No lines of worry or pain. Just resting, fully relaxed. Seeing him like that just made your own exhaustion compound into something nearly unavoidable. With a large yawn, you snuggled closer and placed your hand back on his chest, counting his breaths like sheep. You knew you were losing the battle to stay awake, a tinge of worry sparking to life in your chest until you felt him move, nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head. He wasn’t so sedated that he couldn’t move. 

Sighing, you smiled and finally let your eyes drift closed. “I love you.” You whispered, too far gone to react when the hand sporting the IV came to rest on top of yours.

“Me too, crazy girl.”

[eatmyass-x]

“What do you mean you didn’t bring the fob?” The bubble of Wei Ying’s bright pink bubblegum pops as he speaks.

“I mean I didn’t bring the fob,” Nie Huaisang shrugs.

“So then how did we get back in?” It’s three o’clock in the morning and they’re standing in the foyer of Jiang Cheng’s fancy apartment building, in front of an elevator that cannot be operated without a security fob. Their arms are laden with snacks and Wei Ying is chewing five different flavours of bubblegum together. It’s an interesting combination.

“The door was open.”

Wei Ying turns back to look at the main entrance. It was open when they stepped out of the building to go hunt for the unhealthiest, ungodliest snacks the local 24-hour convenience store could provide, and had remained open this whole time, right until the two of them stepped back inside.

“We'll just have to use the stairs then.”

“Jiang Cheng lives on the fourteenth floor,” Nie Huaisang screeches in alarm.

“Exactly.” Wei Ying pops his gum again. “Easy peasy!” But when he tries the door that leads to the stairwell, the door does not open. So he tries again. And again. But the door refuses to budge. “Don’t tell me we need a fob to use the stairs too.”

Beside him Nie Huaisang taps on a sign with a well manicured fingernail and reads, “The stairs cannot be accessed without a fob.”

“Fuck.” Wei Ying squints at the empty security desk. “Jiang Cheng will have to come down to let us in.”

“He’s going to be so pissed off,” Nie Huaisang says, but takes out his phone to message Jiang Cheng anyway.

Several minutes pass as they wait for Jiang Cheng to respond. Wei Ying watches as Nie Huaisang taps irriatedly at his phone, his frown getting deeper and deeper. “What is it?”

“He hasn’t read any of my messages, but they’re all going through so I know his phone is on.”

“Maybe he’s in the shower or taking a shit, or something.” Although Wei Ying remembers Jiang Cheng complaining about the time of night and how much he wanted to sleep. “Try ringing him instead.”

Nie Huaisang nods and puts his phone to his ear. Wei Ying leans against the wall and waits.

And waits.

Eventually it becomes more than clear that Jiang Cheng is not going to pick up. “He’s probably fallen asleep,” Wei Ying groans and slides down the wall to slump onto the ground, nearly choking on his bubblegum. He spits the now discoloured lump out into a tissue with a grimace.

Nie Huaisang follows him down and buries his head in his knees. “What do we do now?”

“Break in?” Wei Ying suggests, and gets a disparaging look from Nie Huaisang in response. “What? I could totally break in! Remember when—”

“Yes, I remember,” Nie Huaisang cuts him off. “I know for certain that you’d be able to break in. But I’m really not in the mood to get arrested tonight, Wei Ying. Please.”

“Well, what else can we do?” He’s already eyeing the security system, thinking up ways he might be able to bypass it. A packet of gummies hits him square in the head. “Hey!” Wei Ying scowls at Nie Huaisang and tears into the packet. “If only Jiang Cheng had a girlfriend so we could call her to come let us in instead,” he says around a mouthful of gummy mush.

“Yeah, if only pigs could fly,” Nie Huaisang scoffs.

Wei Ying gasps, “I’m going to tell him you said that!”

“Right now I wouldn’t care if you told him I fucked his mom. As long as he wakes up and lets us in!”

“I’m going to tell her you said that,” Wei Ying tells him with a grimace, unable to stop images of Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng’s mom getting it on popping into his head.

“She’ll fuck us both up, and you know it.”

“That’s if we ever make it out of here alive. This whole building is a death trap!” Wei Ying gestures aggressively around the place. “What if there was a fire? Or the emergency services needed to get in? Or an axe murderer was chasing us? What would we do then?” He puts on an overly saccharine voice and bats his eyelashes, “Oh sorry, Mr Murderer. Please give me a moment while I go and fetch my fob.”

Nie Huaisang grabs the packet of gummies from him. “Rich people don’t give a fuck about safety regulations,” he shrugs. “The building has a gym, pool and a sauna.”

“A sauna?” Wei Ying perks up. “Why didn’t Jiang Cheng tell me?”

“Because he's a hater.”

“That he is.” Wei Ying fluffs up the large family pack of chips they’d bought and places it on the ground to use as a pillow. The marble floor is cold and hard beneath his outstretched body, but otherwise the building is mostly warm. He closes his eyes and settles in. He’s slept in much worse places than this.

“Are you really going to sleep here?” Nie Huaisang sounds appalled.

Wei Ying cracks one eye open. “You won’t let me break in, so what other choice do I have?”

After staring at him morosely for several long moments, Nie Huaisang sighs and balls his jacket up to make a pillow for himself. “Well, at least we’re not trapped in your apartment building. The rats would have eaten us alive.”

“They’d be better company than you,” Wei Ying huffs.

Instead of responding, Nie Huaisang sits back up and punches his balled up jacket several times. “This pillow is shit.”

Wei Ying’s own makeshift pillow crunches loudly under his head. “Should we sixty-nine instead?”

“What?!” Nie Huaisang shrieks, his face rapidly draining of all colour.

“As in, you sleep on my ass and I sleep on yours. Although I’m not quite sure how it’ll work.” He uses his hands to try and figure out the positions they would need to be in. “And my ass is way juicier—”

Nie Huaisang interrupts him with a gasp. “Brilliant idea!”

“What, sixty-nineing?”

“No.” He gives Wei Ying a disgusted look. “Using grindr.”

“What?!” Now it’s Wei Ying’s turn to shriek. “This is not the time nor the place for hookups!” He looks around at the confined space of the foyer in distress. “Are you planning to have sex in front of me?”

“No, you idiot,” Nie Huaisang says, pulling his phone out once again. “I’m gonna try and use it to find someone who lives in this building so that they can let us in.”

“That’s a great idea!” Wei Ying crawls over and makes grabby hands at him. “Huaisang, I could kiss you on the mouth!”

Nie Huaisang pushes him away. “You’re not my type, Wei Ying. How many times do I have to tell you?”

Wei Ying laughs, “Fuck off, I’m everyone’s type.” But his laughter quickly fizzles out when he sees the look on Nie Huaisang’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“My phone just died.” He flips it around to show Wei Ying his phone screen; completely dark and unresponsive.

Wei Ying takes Nie Huaisang’s jacket, wraps it around his own neck and says, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t end it all right now.”

“Oh, don’t be overdramatic.” He waves a hand dismissively at Wei Ying. “We can just use your phone instead.”

The jacket falls limply out of Wei Ying’s hands. “But I’m not gay!”

“I’m not asking you to suck dick, just download the app.” When he makes no move to comply, Nie Huaisang snatches Wei Ying’s phone out of his hand and downloads the app for him. Wei Ying watches with terror as the unfamiliar black and yellow icon appears on his homescreen. It takes just a few clicks before he’s got a profile up and running for Wei Ying to use. “Here.”

Wei Ying takes his phone back from him with a visibly shaky hand. “What if they want sex?”

“Then you give them sex,” Nie Huaisang shrugs.

“What!”

“I’m just kidding.” He huddles close so that they can both go through the app together.

Wei Ying has no idea how grindr even works so he lets Nie Huaisang take the reins. But that doesn’t save him from having to see a throbbing hard penis in high definition right off the bat. He yells in fright and nearly tosses his phone into the wall.

“Don’t be a baby,” Nie Huaisang laughs. “It’s just a dick!”

“Yeah, well—” Wei Ying splutters. “Find someone less… aroused!”

Nie Huaisang snickers at him and then disparagingly narrates his way through a few profiles until he comes to a stop. “Oh, this guy looks normal. Message him.”

“Why should I—” he begins, but the rest of the words immediately die in his throat when he lays eyes on the profile. Fuck. The man on his phone screen is beautiful. Face of a movie star and built like an underwear model. Wei Ying can’t make himself look away from his golden eyes, or the terribly low-slung waistband of his sweatpants.

“Earth to Wei Ying!” Nie Huaisang punches him in the arm. “Message the guy. I’m pretty sure he lives somewhere in this building. He might be able to let us in.”

Wei Ying almost tells Nie Huaisang to message him himself and then realises that he doesn’t want that. For some strange, inexplicable reason, he wants to talk to the guy himself. Wei Ying swallows to wet his dry throat and croaks, “He’s too… He’s probably a catfish.”

“Who cares? It’s not like you’re looking to marry him,” Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes.

Wei Ying’s cheeks turn embarrassingly red. “What if he’s an axe murderer?” But he’s already typing out a message.

WY (03:55): Heyyy

“That’d be kinda hot, if you ask me,” Nie Huaisang says, biting his lip. Wei Ying gives him a disgusted look, but when he sees the guy’s picture again he can’t help but imagine him wielding an axe and covered in blood and woah. Wei Ying feels a bit dizzy.

Nie Huaisang reads the message he’s sent and nudges him. “Why are you messaging him like you do want dick after all? Tell him straight up that we’re trapped and need help.”

Wei Ying scowls at him but does as told.

WY (03:55): Do you live in lotus apartments?

WY (03:56): This might be a bit weird but my friend and I are trapped in the foyer on the ground floor cos we forgot to bring a fob

WY (03:56): Pls can u help us 🥺

Several long minutes pass but they don’t get a response from the guy, even though he’s definitely seen the messages. Wei Ying can’t help the pang of disappointment he feels.

“Maybe he thinks you’re lying to get into the building, or something. Just try someone else,” Nie Huaisang suggests.

But Wei Ying doesn’t want to do that, so instead he snaps a picture of himself looking pleadingly up into the camera, eyes wide and lips pouted, the same look that always convinces Jiang Yanli to give him an extra helping of dessert. Then he takes a quick picture of Nie Huaisang where he’s once again slumped across the floor with his jacket over his face, the foyer easily recognisable in the background.

WY (04:06): I promise I’m not lying look

WY (04:06): [2 images attached.]

WY (04:06): PLEASE 🥹

WY (04:07): We’ve literally been stuck here for over an hour

He’s still typing when a blue reply bubble pops up on screen.

LZ (04:07): Coming.

WY (04:07): What?

WY (04:07): To help me?

WY (04:08): TO HELP ME RIGHT????

Wei Ying’s momentary relief quickly turns into panic when he doesn’t get any further replies from the guy. He stands and starts to pace around, ignoring Nie Huaisang’s huffing. When the light above the elevator lights up, indicating that someone is on their way down, he knows he should feel relieved that the guy is coming to help him, and not anything else. But instead he feels jittery all over. He’s not sure what would be worse, if the guy really is a catfish and looks nothing at all like his pictures, or if he looks exactly like them. The elevator pings. Wei Ying wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and turns to face the metal doors as they slide open.

The man that steps out of the elevator is the farthest thing from a catfish. Six-foot-something tall and bathed in the warm glow of the foyer lights, he’s somehow even more attractive in person than he was in his pictures.

Wei Ying feels his breath catch in his throat. “Wow. Fuck.” The words spill out of his lips unbidden and Wei Ying has to slap his hands over his mouth to keep it shut.

The man slowly looks him up and down, amused. “Likewise.” His voice is deep and gravelly.

Wei Ying’s whole body heats up. “I mean— You’re not a catfish. You’re…” Beautiful. Breathtaking. A dream. Every single word that comes to mind cannot be voiced out loud.

“Lan Zhan,” the man offers.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying repeats the name. It makes itself at home on his tongue. He licks his lips and sticks his hand out. “Wei Ying.”

Lan Zhan looks even more amused as he takes Wei Ying’s proffered hand. On anyone else the look might come across as cocky, over confident, but on him it just looks good. Instead of shaking Wei Ying’s hand he gives it a light squeeze, thumb stroking over the back of Wei Ying’s hand, and makes no move to let go. Wei Ying does not want him to.

“Ahem!” Nie Huaisang coughs loudly from behind.

Wei Ying reluctantly turns to look at him, still not letting go of Lan Zhan’s hand. Nie Huaisang has gathered all their snacks from the ground and is tapping his foot impatiently. He’s almost invisible behind all the junk food in his arms but he still manages to look irritated. Wei Ying rolls his eyes. “Thank you so much for coming to help us, Lan Zhan. We would’ve had to spend the whole night down here if it wasn’t for you.” His palm is so warm and large against Wei Ying’s. “You’re a saviour!”

“There is no need to thank me.” He tilts his head towards the elevator. “Which floor do you need?”

“Fourteen. My brother—” The word feels much lighter, easier than it used to, “—lives here. He’s probably fast asleep in his room right now with his phone on fucking silent. Me and Huaisang went out to get snacks and forgot to bring the spare fob with us.” He follows Lan Zhan into the elevator when the doors reopen, Nie Huaisang trailing along behind them. “What would we have done without you, Lan Zhan?” He bats his eyelashes. Just a little.

“Oh, I know you,” Nie Huaisang chimes.

Wei Ying doesn’t like the sound of that at all. Does he mean he’s come across Lan Zhan on grindr before and hooked up with him? He whips around to frown at Nie Huaisang and surreptitiously makes a very rude gesture to inquire whether the two of them have had relations before. A dick sucking gesture.

And then he looks up and realises that all four walls of the elevator have mirrors on them, and Lan Zhan has just seen him make that exact gesture. Wei Ying wants to die.

“No,” Nie Huaisang shakes his head. “We’ve just bumped into each other a couple of times when I’ve come to visit Jiang Cheng.”

“Oh.” Wei Ying turns back to face Lan Zhan with a sheepish smile, running his hand through his hair. “I see.”

Lan Zhan’s pretty eyes track the movement of his hand. “I have not seen you around before.”

“Yeah, um.” Wei Ying eyes the phone in Lan Zhan’s hand. He figures he has to explain himself now. “I’m not, I’m not really—” But the rest of his sentence feels stuck in his throat. It had been perfectly easy to yell, ‘I’m not gay!’ at Nie Huaisang but now Wei Ying struggles. “I’m not on grindr,” he says instead. “I only downloaded it to find someone who could let us into the building. I don’t—” and this bit feels important for some reason. “I don’t do hookups.”

“Mn.” The intensity of Lan Zhan’s gaze does not waver. “But I meant that I have not seen you around in the building before.”

“Oh!” Wei Ying wants to punch himself in the head. “Of course. Yes, I— My brother. Jiang Cheng. We’re good now, but we fell out a few years back. So this is my first time visiting his place.”

“That explains it,” Lan Zhan nods. “I would have remembered a face like yours.”

Wei Ying’s heart does something funny in his chest.

“Can someone please hit the button?” Nie Huaisang groans.

Wei Ying nearly jumps out of his skin. He’d forgotten there was someone else in the elevator with them. It’s impossible to look away from Lan Zhan, despite Nie Huaisang’s huffing and moaning. Like there’s a magnet beneath the surface of his skin, somewhere inside his ribcage, pulling him towards the man.

The elevator hardly even jolts as it begins its ascent upwards, but Wei Ying stumbles anyway, a step and a half closer to Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan steadies him with a hand around his waist, warm through the thin, threadbare cotton of his two sizes too small t-shirt. Wei Ying looks up at him through his eyelashes, his own hand coming to rest on Lan Zhan’s chest, sturdy and firm under his tentative fingers.

“Which floor do you live on, Lan Zhan?” he asks. His voice comes out low, murmured in the air between them.

“Thirteen.” Lan Zhan’s hand slowly travels further along his waist, slipping just slightly underneath his shirt.

“Right below us!” Wei Ying gasps. The gasp is less to do with Lan Zhan’s words and more to do with the touch of his hand. “Lan Zhan…” he breathes, watching Lan Zhan watch him chew at his bottom lip. “Do you think it’s fate?”

“Maybe.” There is laughter in Lan Zhan’s eyes, but it doesn’t feel mocking. It feels indulgent, good enough to drown in.

“Yo, what the fuck…” Somewhere far away Nie Huaisang sounds like he’s drowning in disbelief. Wei Ying has never found it easier to ignore him.

The elevator pings as it comes to a stop, breaking Wei Ying out of his reverie. Lan Zhan follows them out onto Jiang Cheng’s floor to let them through the final set of doors with his fob. Nie Huaisang is quick to push past them and make his way into Jiang Cheng’s unlocked apartment, muttering something distinctly homophobic under his breath and slamming the door shut behind him.

Wei Ying on the other hand, loiters in the hallway, unwilling to part ways with Lan Zhan. He doesn’t know how to draw this out any further without saying anything, but for the first time in his whole life words are evading him entirely. When he looks up at Lan Zhan, he finds him already looking back at Wei Ying, still as indulgent, still as beautiful.

“It’s not my apartment or I would invite you inside…” he finally says, mustering up as much courage as he can. His intention could not be any clearer. He can feel as his face heats up with a vivid blush.

“It is late—”

“Of course.” Wei Ying’s heart sinks. “Yes, of course. Sorry…” he laughs awkwardly. Lan Zhan had only come to help them and here was Wei Ying, practically throwing himself at the man. “Thank you so much for helping us, Lan Zhan. I won’t keep you any longer.” He thinks about getting Lan Zhan a box of chocolates or something of the sort tomorrow to thank him properly for his help. At least it’ll give him a reason to see him again. He really hopes it won’t come across as too desperate. “Thank—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan interrupts his awkward rambling. “What I mean to say is that nothing will be open at this time of night. Will you let me take you out tomorrow?”

“Out?” Wei Ying’s mind screeches to a halt.

“For lunch,” Lan Zhan says. “Or dinner, if you’d prefer.”

“Oh. You…” Wei Ying blinks. Hope bubbles all through his body and pours out of his big, stupid mouth, “So you’re not going to just hit it and quit it?”

“No. Not unless that is what you’re looking for?” Lan Zhan quirks a brow up in question.

“No,” Wei Ying is quick to correct. “No, no. A date.” And it is with no small amount of astonishment that Wei Ying realises he is feeling shy. Something he has never, ever felt before. “A date, right?” he asks hesitantly.

“A date,” Lan Zhan confirms with a smile.

[thecatghost111]

idk have some incorrect quotes I’m bored and writing random stuff lol-

also I was gonna put colors on here-

swearing on the first quote btw!

Orange: What the fuck is wrong with you??

Yellow: What? No good morning?

Orange: Good morning, what the fuck is wrong with you??

Yellow: My goal is not to be the best, but to inspire someone enough to one day surpass me.

Green: YOU CAN'T JUST SAY THAT EVERY TIME YOU BEAT ME AT CONNECT FOUR!

Green: Hey guys, today Red pushed me, so I'm starting a kickstarter to put them down.

Green: The benefits of killing them are that I would get pushed way less.

Dark: Don't worry, I've got a few knives up my sleeve.

Second: I think you mean cards.

Chosen: They did not.

Dark, pulling out knives: I did not.

After the PVP episode:

Green: What’s up? I’m back.

Second: I literally saw you die. You died. You were dead

Green: Death is a social construct.

Blue: Yellow is choking, I need to call 911 but the 9 button isn’t working!

Red: Turn it upside down and use the 6!!!

Blue: Genius!

Yellow: *stops choking momentarily* What the heck

Mango: Purple, what have I told you about comparing Navy to the Devil?

Purple:... that it’s offensive to the devil????

Orange: Hey guys, I’m making french toast sticks in the oven. I’m gonna take a quick nap, so wake me up in 5 minutes to flip them over.

*5 minutes later*

Blue: Orange,it’s been 5 minutes, time to flip your sticks.

Orange: snnnzzzz...

Blue: ORANGE, YOUR STICKS!

Chosen: Second, you’re in charge!

Dark: Second, can we start a fire?

Red: So I can either do something dumb that could very well get me injured or I can listen to Blue and not do the thing,

Red: Well there’s a clear right answer here.

Red: *proceeds to throw five packs of mentos into a barrel full of diet coke*

[intixlover]

The morning chores

BEEP BEEP BEEP. I turned off my alarm clock. It said 6.00 a.m. I felt groggy and nausiated, and had no idea why it rang so early. I noticed I had a message on my phone. 

"Good morning Sweatie! I hope you slept well and feel great today! Make Mommy proud and take three large swigs from the Absolute you put next to your bed. You know I just want you to feel good! After you had your refreshment, I want you to write me and tell me how much my big boy drank, and then I want you to get back to sleep again. Okay Sweetie? Xxxooxxx"

I couldn't remember putting a bottle next to my bed. Truth be told, I couldn't remember getting to bed at all. But I checked, and of course Mommy was right. There was a bottle of Vodka with 2/3rds left. Mechanically I picked it up and screw of the lid with clumsy finger. Three swigs. It didn't even burn a lot on the first. But I felt a fimilar warmth in my crouch. I wanted so bad to make Mommy proud. On the third swig, I tried to drink as much as possible, but my stomach upproared and I had to stop. I lay there, helplessly gulping air and tried not to throw up, like a fish on dry land. Finally I was able to write. 

"Go mornin momy. I tried to drink you prou og me but almost got sick. Sory" 

After that, I must have passed out. 

BEEP BEEP BEEP. My alarm again. I dropped my phone and fumbled before managing to turn the sound off. My vision swam and I felt desorientated. 7.00 a.m. I had a message on my phone. 

"Oh hello there little one! You began drinking at six already? Your such a little rascal. thirsty today? Are you still in bed, and do you have more supplies next to you? If so, I want you to have three large swigs. You know I just want you to feel good! Write afterwards, and take a little nap. Love, Mommy xxxooxxx"

It was something with the message that gave me a bit paus, but I couldn't understand what it was. Had I been drinking? But she was right, it was a bottle on my night stand. Less than half of it's content was left. I reached for it and almost tripped it over. Damn, I wasn't steady. I tried again and secured the bottle. Fuck it felt SO GOOD everywhere. My body was a warm numb blob. I felt so horny, and wanted to be the best pup for Mommy. With one hand jerking my little cock, I drank. I wasn't hard, but the little worm was warm and touching myself was more than a habit, it was just what I did. The liqour went down so easy. I was utterly surprised when the bottle was suddenly empty. I was unsure how much it had been in there, but I had probably drunk quite a lot. My belly began hurting and it felt like it was on fire. I collapsed on my side, suddenly covered in sweat. I didn't know how long I was lying there gasping before I felt steady enough to write on my phone: 

"I hadd there st off drink haha i love y me cocl is so small bhu bfeel good almist puke ilo veyo"

I blacked out. 

BEEP BEEP BEEP. It took me a long time to come to, and even longer to turn off the bloody alarm. I had no idea what was going on, and whan I tried to sit up, my head lolled and it the world twisted and turned around me.  I crashed back into the sweaty damp bed. I had a message on my phone. It took me quite some time to read it. 

"Haha, oh Sweetie! Dead drunk seven in the morning! So, let me get this straight. Drunk as you were yesterday, you still managed to bring a bottle to bed. I know you opened it and drank from it before sleeping at 2 a.m. Now it is five hours later, and you have finished it? You must feel SO GOOD now, you might as well get up and get your day started! I want you to go to the bathroom and do your morning toilet, and while you do, I want you to delete this conversation without reading back anything. You know I don't mind it when you binge, but I don't want there to be a paper trail of my support. Can you do that for Mommy? I call you in 15 minutes so I can see your beet read face, your growing body and your little wee wee, and set you off for the day! Xxxooxxx"

I felt my dicklet get warm again. I loved it when Mommy saw me in a drunken state. I fumbled with my phone to delete the conversation. When I finally suceeded I tried to get out of the bed, but crashed violently into the nightstand and fell into the wall with my head first, and slid down on the floor. Drool dropped down on the floor from my slack jaw. I felt complete. This would be a fantastic day.

[icallhimjoey]

ARE WE GONNA GET FIRED? Fuckwe are so screwed we are so gonna get fired. If we get fired can we please blame Joe? And can he make it up to us? Because we're cute? 🥺🥺🥺 Thank yooooou!

oh we ARE screwed, but you're right, we are also very cute 🥰 Wordcount: 3.9K

---

Mistaken, Not Stirred

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Thin ice. 

You remembered Martin saying you were on thin ice, that one morning. And you'd understood. Agreed, even. You just thought that maybe the ice would've thickened up enough by now. 

It had nearly been three weeks. It should've thickened up plenty.

It hadn't.

But instead, you'd fallen through. Hadn't even heard it crack, no real warning signs alerting you that maybe you ought to be extra careful still.   

You left the bar in a weird defeated state, tears of frustration streaming down because you were an idiot. The biggest one you knew.

You hadn't for one moment thought that looking Joe in the eye when he walked in as you walked out would've lead to what it eventually did. 

"Hey, are you– what's going on?" 

It startled you enough to stop walking, and you looked at the wall next to you, jaw working and eyes blinking, hoping you could somehow make it stop. Make this stop, because you knew what Joe was going to do. You had gotten to know him well enough to know what he was going to suggest and offer and just... do. Even if you told him not to.

Fired. 

You'd gotten big-girl-fired. 

You were back in the same spot you'd found yourself in months earlier, where you'd had all of these same worries. How were you going to tell people you'd lost your job again? Would your landlord have the patience to give you a few extra days if you needed them? Would your dad look at you like that again when you'd eventually ask for some money that you'd swear you'd pay back the minute you'd make some?

You'd gotten fired.

Should've probably gotten fired after you and Joe left the bar in a right state.

Hadn't then, for whatever reason. Benefit of the doubt, maybe. Being cute had been enough then, maybe.

Thin ice, was all that Martin had said.

Joe looked at you now, stood in the long hallway in between the bar and the stairs that lead up towards the exit, and you couldn't look him in the eye. Couldn't even say why you were crying without hatred bubbling up inside your chest, all of it directly aimed at yourself.

God, you were so fucking stupid. 

Tears spilled, and Joe pulled you to the side by an elbow.

"Do you want me to go talk to–" 

You shook your head. Didn't want him to interfere. Not again.

"Because I will, you know? It's no trouble. I will–" 

"No, please don't, it's–" you hiccuped. "It was inevitable, wasn't it? It's fine, it's–" your throat closed and you shook your head. Looked away down the hallway as you blinked rapidly, eyelashes fluttering.

"Go have fun, it's nice inside tonight, there's–" you stuttered on an inhale and felt how Joe squeezed the elbow he was still holding. "There's live music and Martin's probably already mixing you something, he's making– he made a ramos gin fizz earlier, it's really good, you should get him to–" 

"Hey," Joe stopped you from rambling. Said your name and you finally managed to look up and meet his gaze.

"I'll talk to him." 

"No," you forced a sigh. Forced your shoulders to drop and relax. "You don't have to, you–"

"I will."

"I fucked up the drinks again, and I–" 

"Give me your phone." 

You looked at him a moment, then flicked your eyes down at the hand he held out to you. After another moment of hesitation, you fished it from your pocket and handed it over.

Joe took a look and gave it right back.

You had to unlock it first.

Joe put his number in, then called himself. It gave you a moment to peer back inside, and you saw Martin mix a drink whilst Chloé was stood next to him. Talking. Probably telling him about what else you'd done wrong. About how she thought he'd made the right choice by telling you to wrap up and not needing you to come back in again.

"It'll be fine." Joe said, twisting your phone in his hands, giving it back to you. "You'll be all right." 

And you didn't know what that meant.

You'd just been fired.

For something you didn't even fully understand, but you knew you were on thin ice, had listened to Martin tell you that you were on thin ice three weeks ago, and if you added up all the bullshit, then, yea, of course you were fired. It made total sense. But that didn't make it sting less, and you'd immediately bursted into tears when Martin pulled you into the back and said that this was it.

You cost him more than you made him.

"And I'm not just talking about money."

Took more than you gave, and somehow that was the worst of it.

If you really thought about it, the fact that you managed to hold onto your position for three more weeks after that one morning was quite the miracle in and of itself. That day where you woke up with warm heavy limbs in your bed that belonged to someone else. That took up most of your mattress. That hogged most of your duvet. That tried to pull you in for cuddles and snuggles after your phone call with Martin, who had just told you to come into work to fix whatever fucking mess you left the night before. 

You'd almost punched him then. 

Elbowed him in the soft of his stomach instead and wrestled yourself free.

Panicked.

Your boss was angry with you and Joe was in your bed.

Joe from the bar.

Shit.

Your job.

Your boss.

His friend.

Mistake.

One plus one became two inside your head, brain all scrambled, and Joe became part of the guilt and, fuck off, your boss was upset because you'd fucked his friend? That couldn't be right. Felt right, though.

Ten minutes.

You had ten minutes to get to work.

There was no time to brush your teeth, or your hair. You just quickly pushed legs into jeans and feet into shoes and with a cloudy mind you told Joe to do the same. To get out. Six minutes later, you were rushing down the street with Joe on your heels. 

"Let me come, I can help–" Joe was in all of his clothes, but none of it seemed done up. He'd only just managed to close his jeans before you pushed him out the door.

"Go home, Joe."

Hurried footsteps carried you through the drizzling rain, down the wet pavement. The bar was close, just a couple of streets away, but you knew you'd be drenched in no time.

Guilt.

Embarrassment. 

Shame. 

You kind of deserved to get drenched a little bit. It was still dark out, far too early for your own liking, everything wet and cold.

The dread of an angry supervisor hanging over you.

The potential loss of a job.

This was a bad morning.

There was no time to think of Joe and his undone shoelaces. His grey scarf that was about to slide from his neck. His coat collar that stuck up on his left and was folded over on his right. His messy soft curls and pillow creases across his cheek.

It had only just gone 8AM.

You had no idea Martin would already be at the bar at eight.  

Why was he already at the bar at eight?  

"Come on, there's mess I made, it's only fair if I clean that up myself, you don't–"

"I said, go home, Joe." You were adamant.

"At least let me talk to Martin, I'll explain, I'll–"

"No." 

There was nothing left of the teasing, and smirks, and the playful push and pull between the two of you. You were angry, mostly at yourself, and it put fire in your legs. Joe desperately tried to keep up as he followed you and he slowed you down in the process. 

His mistake. 

"No." you’d said and abruptly stopped, making Joe nearly crash into you.

You turned to see Joe squint, trying to keep the rain from getting him in the eyes as he tried to fix his scarf.

"Do you know what it'll look like if I walk in with you? I can't imagine what he must think if he sees…" you sighed, eyes closed and nostrils flared. "No. You can, I don't know, you can come in when the bar's actually open and talk to Martin then if you want."

"But–" 

“You're not listening!” it was too early to deal with some guy's hero complex. You'd fucked and fucked up and you were going to walk into work where you knew someone was angry and upset and, oh no, actually disappointed in you, and there was no breakfast in your system, no coffee, no carbs, no nothing, and you still smelled of vermouth and salty olive brine, had sticky fingers still from God knows which juices– it was all wrong.

Joe had to understand.

And then, he did.

"Okay." Joe said, nodding. "Okay. Just…"

You were running late and were about to get yelled at.  

You didn't have time for bullshit.  

"I'm sorry." His hand reached out, hovered near your arm, not touching because you didn’t really seem like you wanted to be touched right now.

Which was difficult.

Joe really wanted to touch you right now.

His apology fixed nothing in the moment. You'd probably be glad for it later, but now, it meant zero to you. It was mostly inconvenient, because it had taken up precious time you didn't have to spare.

It didn't help that Joe looked like someone you wanted to be hugged by until all the bad things had gone away.

Life didn't work like that, though.

Unfortunately.

"Yea, okay, thanks. I'll see you later." You grumbled, turned around and left, jogged the first few steps, and were glad Joe didn't follow you when you glanced over your shoulder. 

Your pace slowed down when you reached the matte black door, and you reluctantly went inside. You were immediately confronted with your wrongdoings and picked up Frank's stool that Joe knocked over the night before.

Shit.

You were so screwed.

If you'd have been Martin, you would have fired yourself over the phone.

You made your way down and winced at how sticky the floor was. 

Yea, you were absolutely going to get fired.

"Good morning," you carefully spoke into the bar when you laid eyes on Martin.

He was sat in one of the leather armchairs with his laptop.

"Good?" he asked, seemingly surprised at your choice of words, and you recoiled. 

Of course this wasn't a good morning.

"I'm sorry, I'll..." you lowered your head and took your coat off.

"You will...?" Martin waited for you to finish your sentence.  

"I don't know, I have no excuses. I'll– I'll get to work."

You pushed your sleeves up and avoided eye-contact as jittery legs carried you over to behind the bar. Said nothing, cheeks red with embarrassment, and silently started with the shards of glass you'd left there. 

It took you nearly an hour to get the bar looking like it should've looked when you clocked out last night, and it was stupid how often you caught yourself glancing at the spot where Joe always sat. Made you realise you probably did that all the time. Give a quick glance that way. Should stop doing that, probably.

Martin seemed to warm up to you the further along you got, and when you were finally finished, he said, "Make yourself a coffee and come sit with me a second."

You prepared for a scolding, and got one. 

Deserved it too. You understood. Agreed.

You listened to all the action-reactions, to all the cause-and-effects. To the boundaries-and-limitations. To the lines you'd very clearly crossed, and you waited for him to tell you that he was going to have to let you go.

But then Martin said James and Chloé shouldn't have left you to do the work yourself. It wasn't just you he was unhappy with.

Your instinct was to take full blame and to argue him on it.

You wanted to tell him that they didn't leave you all alone, because Frank was still there when they left, and then you told Frank to go home. That was your mistake. Your fault. But Martin wouldn't let you speak. 

"You're not completely off the hook yet," he warned, eyes scanning across the bar that looked fine now, but his eyes seemed softer.

"Thin ice." 

You nodded. Fully understood. Repeated, "Thin ice." and accepted that you brought more trouble into this place than anything else, but were really fucking pleased you were allowed to keep the job. 

"All right. See you in a few hours." Martin dismissed you.

Getting back into your wet coat, your stomach grumbled with hunger, but the self-loathing would have to do for breakfast today. You hoped that with every step up the stairs, you'd lose some of the dread you felt at having to come back later and face the music once more. 

Thin ice. 

When you stepped through the door into the light of day, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath of fresh air as you acclimated for a second. It was no longer raining, and the cold air stung your lungs, but it was nice. Made everything feel a little calmer than it had all felt inside.

"How did it go?"

You jumped clear out of your skin, heart immediately in your throat, adrenaline surging right into your toes.

"Jesus!"

"Sorry, I didn't meant to startle you,"

"What the fuck are you..." you frowned, caught your breath and tried to come to terms with why the hell Joe was there still. Had he waited around outside this whole time for you?

The urge to hurt him was still there, but you only pretended you were going to slap him. Just wanted to make him flinch, which worked. Lurched forward with a raised arm that never swung. Scared him before it made him laugh, and then you failed miserably at hiding a smile of your own.

"Was everything okay?"

"Yea... yea, it's, it's fine. I didn't get fired, I'll..." you sighed, seemed exhausted. "I'm going to go home, I'll see you later." 

You waited for Joe to say something before you would turn around to leave, but Joe didn't say anything for a second. Just looked at you a moment, and you could see how his eyebrows quirked up a little with empathy.

He shouldn't have done that.

He shouldn't have made himself look so soft for you.

It made you abandon rational thought.

Made your eyes flick down to his mouth

Made you step a little closer, and then Joe was already leaning down when you got a hold of a wet coat collar to pull him in for a kiss.

A slow kiss.

Too slow for the time of day.

Too slow and too soft for what all of it, all of this, whatever that even was, had been the night before.

You pulled yourself away when you started to feel yourself lose it a little, and then poked him in the stomach for good measure. To set the record straight. To remind Joe of what this was.

It caught him by surprise, and Joe recoiled, stomach muscles tensed as he bent into you and showed the hurt in his face.

"Hmm," you smirked. "Good thing I'm cute."

And with that you turned on your heel.

Left him there.

Joe watched you walk away and did an awful job at hiding his grin.

When you disappeared around the corner, Joe glanced at the door and, he just couldn't help himself. Told himself he shouldn't go in. You didn't want him to go in. But then he went inside anyway and talked to Martin who wasn't surprised to see him at all. That should've maybe given something away then.

"Not your responsibility, Joe. She works here, not you."

"I know, but she made me the perfect martini last night and I just thought–"

Martin raised a hand in a bid to shut Joe up. It half-worked. Joe backed off a little. Held up two hands and took a step back, and then said, "Almost liked it better than yours." before disappearing into the hallway and shouting, "I'll see you tonight!" over his shoulder.

Joe'd be back over that evening. Would see Martin then. Would see you then, and couldn't fucking wait.

At 9PM that evening Joe'd walked in, had sauntered over to his usual seat and sat down. Smiled and nodded, mouthed hi at all staff as he took his coat off and didn't like how you ignored him. How you didn't greet him at all.

But he got it.

This was a bit awkward, probably.

But fine.

He could make it not awkward.

Joe looked at Martin who seemed busy with a tray of drinks, clearly working on a larger order, and caught his attention.

"Interested in trying a poinsettia?"

"Actually, I'd love a dirty martini," Joe said, pretended to be all casual and it made Martin narrow his eyes slightly before he turned to find you. Eyes scanned around the bar, and there you were, talking to some guests, made them smile as you handed them their drinks, no spills this time.

"Give her a second, she'll be right with you."

When you made it back to the bar, Martin put you to work and with shaky hands, under the watchful eyes of both Martin and Joe, you mixed the drink just like you'd done the night before.

Gave it to Joe and turned to clear the workspace of bottles and jars. Heard him say, "Perfect." after a sip and you snuck a look to see Martin smile.

Good.

Everything was fine.

You and Joe had had a weird one time thing, and now he was here, and he was trying to make sure everything was normal still, and it was all fine.

And everything remained fine when Chloé gave you an order and you managed to do it without any issues. There was one hard collision between the two of you, but Chloé just grabbed you by the shoulders to ensure neither of you fell over and then laughed. You swore she was about to tell you sorry, but caught herself just in time and then instead just laughed as she stepped around you.

It was fine.

No more mistakes.

Well.

No more life-altering ones, at least.

You were lucky you were cute.

Joe slipped right back into his annoying-guest slot, and it took a couple more digs from him for you to realise he'd been flirting this whole time.

Flirting.

Joe was lucky he was cute, because had he not been, it would've never fucking worked.

Martin got his goodhearted smile back when a few shifts later he saw Joe sneaking up on you as you were cleaning a table on the other side of the piano. He was the only guest left and decided to make you jump by abruptly using both hands to press down on some of the keys.

You'd nearly cried at the shock, and a weird chase followed where you tried to get Joe in the face with the wet dishcloth you'd been holding. Martin had to stop the running by talking to the both of you like a stern teacher would.

"Oi! No running in my bar!"

It was fine.

And Frank looked on and fondly shook his head with a smile when you'd been sent to go and fix the tinsel that adorned the door outside. The wind and rain had messed with it and it was no use trying to fix what was still up, so you pulled all of it down and decided to start over. Do it properly, and try to make sure it would last until Christmas.

Joe had just walked up, had to finish a cigarette before going in, and decided he didn't mind this view all that much. He stood to the side, next to Frank, and both men watched on as you balanced up high on your knees on one of the barstools as you struggled with staples and tie-wraps.

Tinsel fell down and Joe decided to be kind and saved you climbing off and back onto the stool. He helped by picking up what had dropped, but instead of simply handing it over, he draped it across your neck and held onto it for just a lingering second too long.

Couple of lingering seconds too long.

You felt how he pulled and you kind of had to bend down a bit because if you didn't the tinsel would snap. Couldn't have that. Couldn't have the tinsel snapping.

You'd gotten close enough for it to be weird with Frank there, especially since you were both sporting stupid dopey smiles that did an awful job at hiding how you felt about each other.

Frank had to clear his throat loudly to break you apart.

But everything was fine.

It was fine and remained fine as you grew more confident, the night of mess sort of already forgotten, and after a night of bickering with Joe over payment and tips, you decided that the bar needed an actual tip jar.

"I know you think I get half my drinks for free here, but I'd bet good money that I actually end up paying more than–"

You were already rolling your eyes.

"No, I do! I always tip well, don't I– Martin! Do I not always leave big tips?"

Martin grinned whilst he worked, gave a small nod before picking up a full tray of drinks and bringing it over to a larger table by the piano. It was busy. Martin didn't have time to be entertained by your play fight.

"Well, I kind of need to see it to believe it."

And you'd found an empty jar that you rinsed and stuck a note to. You wrote "Just put the TIP in... see how it feels" in black sharpie and smirked to yourself when you placed it down in front of Joe.

And Joe read it, sighed the deepest of sighs and took the glass jar in hand, pretended to undo his trousers underneath the bar and you shrieked for him to stop it.

Got immediately told of by Martin for fucking around.

"Hey, keep it the fuck down, will you? You. Toilets. They need more loo roll."

Joe apologised, said it was his fault, said he shouldn't have made you scream like that, but Martin kept stern eyes on you for the rest of the night until you got rid of the tip jar.

It was fine. Ups and downs, but nothing insane.

Three weeks passed, and you'd forgotten you were on thin ice still. Christmas was getting closer, and you thought maybe if you made it 'til Christmas, you'd be good to stick around for a good while, you know?

Martin kept giving you shifts, kept giving you tasks that you proved you were able to do right and when one night, you got to close all by yourself once more, you did all of it correctly.

Didn't mix Joe any drinks. Didn't drink whatever he spat out. Didn't kiss him behind the bar, and didn't desert the place because you had to take him home so desperately.

You'd wanted to do all of those things again, but you hadn't.

But you had been on thin ice still, and one big fuck up was enough for Martin to pull you aside and tell you that actually, you wouldn't even make it 'til Christmas.

Fired.

"It'll be fine." Joe'd said. "You'll be all right." and when you hesitated to accept that, Joe used both arms to pull you into him by the shoulders and hugged you tight.

And you wanted to leave. To get out. But you also wanted Joe to squeeze you until all the bad went away, so this felt good.

This felt nice.

You felt how Joe pressed his lips into your hair before he spoke closely to your ear.

"I'll text you, okay? Don't worry, it'll be fine. I'll text you."

---

The Taglisted

@adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @chrissymjstan, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 13: "Just Wanted To Hear Your Voice"

Timezones apart, Mountain and Aether share a late night/early morning phonecall.

Thank you very much to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together, and to @ghuleh-recs for the divider. <3

(this could also be for the long distance extra prompt but i digress, enjoy the fic)

Aether wakes not to his work alarm, but to the drum fill in Respite, his phone buzzing on the nightstand. He shoots up, scrambling for it in a half awake haze. He fumbles to accept the call, pressing the phone to his ear.

"Mount?" He slurs, tongue not fully cooperating yet. His mind struggles with the timezone conversion, the rest of his pack, minus Sunny, halfway across the world. "'S gotta be late over there, what's goin' on?"

There's a deep sigh on the other end, made tinny through the speakers. "Hey, Aeth. There's no emergency. Sorry if I woke you."

"Don't apologize," Aether says, tension easing from his frame as he settles back in bed, phone pinned to his ear by his shoulder as he adjusts a blanket. He doesn't have to be to the infirmary until two hours from now. There's time. And if there wasn't, he'd find a way to make time. Anything for them. "I'm awake, sweet thing. How was the Ritual?"

Another sigh, edging on a groan. "Really fucking long. I don't even want to think about how many more of these we have left. I haven't had a chance to be outside for more than five minutes in a month, nova."

Aether hisses through his teeth in sympathy. He knows second hand what being cut off from one's element feels like, a phantom pain you can't quite shake. Quintessence is everywhere, so Aether's never experienced the loss of it himself.

It's easy for the rest of them to recharge; air a constant, water everywhere on Earth, fire easy to sate with heat. Dew's preferred method of recharging is near-boiling showers, taking advantage of hotels and venues and running their hot water bills sky high. It eases both his fire and what remains of his water.

Earth is a different story, especially when the pack is moving from city to city with barely room to breathe. It's always taken a toll on Mountain, but he takes it like a champ. Though Aether will always, always, always let him vent, knows how satisfying it is to let off steam.

"I'm sorry, Mount," he hums, clearing the sleep from his eyes. He'd been dreaming, something too realistic, almost able to trick his mind that he hadn't been asleep at all, that his mattress had been warm with three ghouls' worth of body heat instead of one.

"Why'd you think it's your fault?" Mountain chuckles halfheartedly. "You in charge of scheduling or somethin'?"

Aether hums. "Maybe. You don't know," he teases. "It's late over there, Mount. You want to hang up and get some sle-?"

"No!" Mountain cuts him off suddenly, distress sharp in his tone. "No, Aeth, please, don't make me hang up."

Aether can't see him, can barely sense their bond, stretched thin with distance. He can imagine it though, the way his shoulders slump, eyes pressing shut. "Not going to make you do anything. Talk to me, sweet thing. Anything you want, just let me hear you."

Mountain sighs, and he can just barely pick up the sound of a hand dragging down his face, scraping against his stubble. Mountain normally likes a clean shave, itchy, regrowing stubble an easy way to send him into a sensory overload. But being on tour makes it difficult to keep up with the upkeep. He wonders when their next hotel day is.

"Cue's halfway through her third blanket," Mountain says slowly. Aether doesn't need to feel the bond to feel the exhaustion seeping into his voice. "We made a stop at a craft store a few days back, she came out with a literal armful of yarn. Every color under the sun. I think she cleared out an entire color's worth of baby blanket yarn. She said something about making one for Aurora."

Aether hums considerately, reaching with one hand to the purple and navy blanket that had been pushed aside in his sleep. Still as soft as the day she had shyly handed it to him, the second one she had ever made, only a few months' summoned. She's come out of her shell since, but Aether rubs the yarn between his thumb and forefinger and remembers anyways. "Aeon's gotten theirs?"

There's silence for a second, and a quiet spew of Ghoulish cursing. "Just fucking nodded like you could see me," Mountain laughs, exhausted. "The second one she made was Aeon's."

"They like it?" Aether asks, biting back a yawn, tail going ramrod straight as he stretches his back. There's the sound of a privacy curtain being pulled back, and Mountain groans softly before the curtain is pulled again.

"Had to make sure they were still out there," he explains. "They're currently burritoed up in it on the couch with Swiss."

"Don't get up and do it now," Aether says, chuffing at the mental image of the new quintessence ghoul all cozy. "But in the morning, if they're still wrapped up, send me a picture, will you, sweet thing?"

A soft chuckle. "Of course, nova. Thank you."

"What for?" Aether says.

"I dunno. Just wanted to hear your voice."

Aether chuffs, reaching for his glasses. It's almost time for him to get up out of bed. "Thank you, too, then," he says, sliding his glasses on one handed. "I miss you all terribly."

There's a long sigh, which changes halfway through into a yawn. "I don't want to hang up, Aeth." His voice is as small as Aether's heard it in years, not since the last time the pack was thrown into upheaval.

"I know, Mount. I know. But you still need to sleep, sweet thing. Call me in the morning?" Aether offers, knowing that he'll probably be on his break by the time Mountain wakes, ever the early riser.

"I'll call you in the morning," Mountain says, still a little hesitant. "I love you, nova."

Aether smiles. "Love you too. I'll talk to you soon."

[lesbianrobin]

em what would YOU vote for on ur buck horrors poll - chefbuck

HI ANGEL @chefbuck THANK YOU FOR ASKING!!

ok so personally i voted anthrax i just think it would be fun to stick him in a plastic decontamination tent and hose him down until he's sopping wet and pathetic while eddie gazes at him with big sad eyes. and i voted it bc i feared nobody else would vote anthrax and i Needed anthrax to have Some votes. but i Actually want captured by a serial killer à la criminal minds So bad.

take my hand come along with me share my vision.

"but em," you cry, "they already did that with hen and chimney!" first of all they have already done almost everything okay we can have a few repeats. bobby's home burnt down literally twice. second of all i don't want something connected to the 118 alright i don't even want athena on the case. this is not an angel of death this is some classic good old-fashioned california rando serial killing.

episode one: buzzkill. i want everything to be normal like no hints to a serial killer at all besides MAYBE a tv news report in the background. there's some other shit happening like they're dealing with the beemergencies and we the audience think ok That is the big plot happening rn. and then toward the end of the episode buck goes for a jog. and like the beautiful young woman in any given criminal minds episode he happens to jog past a man with an injured dog or a flat tire and buck stops to help because he's buck. of Course he stops to help. and the guy blitzes him and the screen goes black and BAM end of the episode.

and then in the next episode we open on some other character doing totally unrelated shit maybe the henren/mara/madney plot? and we get like five-ten minutes in to the episode before anybody references buck. maybe he's late to work or maybe he's not answering his phone. that's weird but OOPS the alarm is going off no time to check in on him right now! gerrard is unfortunately captain so they can't even like convince him to let them swing by buck's loft even when they drive right down his street on their way back from a call. so the 118 is running all over los angeles dealing with nonstop calls while they Also try to call buck and don't get any response. so eventually they ask somebody (bobby, maddie, whoever's not Busy) to go by the loft and see if he's alright.

and i want the 118 to respond to a fire in an abandoned building as their buck correspondent is on their way to the apartment. when they put out the fire athena is there and reveals that they think this fire was set by a killer to try and destroy evidence because they found a body inside and this fits a pattern that's been developing lately. BAM they get the call that buck's apartment is empty.

i will stop giving the play-by-play now but i just think it would be so fucking sick if they Refused to show us buck for almost the entire episode... perhaps athena tells us that this killer has a Type that sounds familiar... and i want the 118 + maddie absolutely spiraling telling themselves ok there's gotta be Some other explanation this would be insane it would be Insane. maybe this causes some tension in the group (eddie is Going Fucking Insane). and then they can get a lead near the end of the episode and we see buck very briefly like tied up or in a saw trap or whatever the hell i'm not picky we just need to see him suffering perhaps with a brief villain monologue from his captor. and THEN in episode three: no place like home they can rescue him and then he's dealing with that trauma throughout 8a. i think that could be fun and also serve as both motivation for canon buddie And like some sort of obstacle for them to deal with together that doesn't involve eddie in the same old torment nexus.

so yeah <3 thank u for asking <3

[sabbathbloodysabbeth]

A repost of something that I wrote, and put on my second account before here :)

Eddie was crouched on the curb of the building when one of the back doors to the mall suddenly flung open. He was behind the mall near the dumpsters, so it wasn’t uncommon for people to slam the door with their legs while their hands were full of garbage bags. What was not normal, however, were the tiny shorts on this guy's ass.

There were no shorts that needed to be that short. Though it was the eighties, crop tops, and short shorts on men were a trend. That didn’t mean Eddie had to enjoy it. If anything, he enjoyed it so much that it did a full one-eighty into a bad case of loathing.

But this sailor, in his short blue shorts, maybe one in a million because Eddie's enjoyment was doing a full three-sixty on repeat. He’s pretty sure his eyes were doing that silly animated thing too, where they continuously popped in and out of his skull.

As he kept watching this fine-looking sailor, he noticed the other man struggling to carry three garbage bags in his two hands. His arms were visibly straining from the weight. The man was also purposely stumbling to the dumpster to avoid one of the leaking bags, leaving a trail of melted ice cream behind him. He was a walking disaster just waiting to happen and Eddie found himself slightly more into that than he had previously thought.

What can Eddie say? He has a thing for dumb men and nice asses. And this gorgeous, gorgeous fool in front of him was the epitome of dumbassery.

Eddie was so distracted by this man that his cigarette burned to the nub, and he wasn’t paying attention to the heat slowly beginning to reach his fingers. Not until it was too late did he notice the tiny lit flame against his skin. Some of the ash landed on his pants, hands, and even his favorite ‘Ride the Lightning’ tee.

“Fuck,” he yelps as he hops up and purposely drops the nub under his show to put it out. His right hand, which got burnt, was doing a dramatic jazz hand skit, while his left made a feeble attempt to brush off the ash. He then looks back up to see the sailor, who had been two-thirds of the way to the dumpster before Eddie did his small fire dance, was now looking at him.

From where he stood, Eddie could hear the other chuckling at him. Embarrassment washed over him before it slowly turned to anger when he finally comprehended who he was looking at.

Standing almost ten feet away from him was Steve Harrington, the same Harrington who was a complete douchebag in high school. Now, said douchebag was holding back soft laughter. The asshole even opened his mouth, probably to give Eddie shit, when the bag that had been leaking the entire way to the dumpster finally broke.

Ice cream and trash go everywhere, most landing on Steve's shoes and hairy legs.

Eddie doesn’t hold back the laughter that catches him by surprise, his anger leaving him before he can say anything too stupid. However, he quickly stops when the other boy's gaze falls back on him.

He’s afraid he’ll have to run away from a trash-covered king, but that fear quickly dissolves when he hears Steve's laughter slowly join his.

“I suppose that's what I get for being an asshole.” Steve comments, scrunching his nose in disgust as he steps out of the puddle of sour milk at his feet.

He looks back up, about to say something to Eddie, but the door he exited less than five minutes ago flings open. This time, a disgruntled girl with a slight bob and matching sailor suit emerges.

“Hey, asshole-” She stops mid-sentence, her expression morphing into disgust as she processes the mess surrounding Steve.

Eddie glances back at Steve who is now frantically moving much faster than before. He throws the garbage over the dumpster and quickly begins to pick up what he can, which isn’t much before he runs back to the girl at the door.

“Sorry, I didn’t see the bag was ripped until I was like five feet away from the exit, and I was hoping to get it all mopped up before you noticed, but the bag broke and–” Steve’s words were flying a mile per minute, each hitting his coworker in the face all at once.

Once again, Eddie is surprised by the boy's behavior and so is Robin, whose name tag he had managed to catch when she takes a step back from Steve. Who now reeked of garbage and seemed oblivious to this fact along with what personal space was.

“Ok, ok, I get it, dingus.” Robins's hand moves up in a stop motion. Both she and Eddie watch as Steve’s anxiety train slows down to a halt before it goes too far off the rails.

“We can get a janitor to clean it up or something, but I need you to get back in there before I piss myself. I’m having one of your kids watch the booth while we are away and I don’t think we have enough time to piss and get you cleaned up before they start robbing us clean.” Robin rambles out.

Eddie can’t help but think that the two were perfect for each other because they sure did ramble a lot.

Eddie’s existence is again ignored as the two sailors head back in. Before Steve is completely gone though, he sends a small finger wave Eddie's way.

And at that moment, Eddie decided he was going to loathe that boy's ass forever.

[daechwitatamic]

Shut Up! || A KNJ Drabble

(banner by @itaeewon - thank you jen, especially for the super fast turn-around!!)

Title: Shut Up!

Summary: Once Namjoon’s on a roll about something, there’s really only one sure-fire way to shut him up. Ironically, it isn’t his mouth that needs to be full.

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (no gender mentioned) Genre: NSFW - minors begone!!!!, pwp (who tf am i omg), married!au WC: 1.4k Warnings: language, kissing, oral (m. receiving), maybe a lil dumbification im not actually sure, bodily fluids very present, i guess reader is a bit dom? 

A/N: I DON’T KNOW WHO WROTE THIS, I WAS POSSESSED, THERE IS NO JO HERE. 🙈 

Also, this is ENTIRELY @here2bbtstrash’s fault, or at least this anon’s fault!!!!

Thank you @kookstempo for the beta job!!!!! 🦃 💕💕💕💕

“Oh my god,” you lament, throwing your head back into the plush couch behind it, eyes rolling back, breath escaping you in one short huff. And not even for the good reasons. 

Though… there’s an idea.

“What?” Your husband looks at you innocently, eyes a little wide at your uncharacteristic outburst. “What’s wrong?”

“I love you,” you say, fighting back a smile. His eyebrows raise a little; you’ve been together long enough that he knows this must be coming first to soften a blow. “I love hearing your thoughts. I love that we can share our thoughts with each other.”

“But?” he chimes in intuitively, chin starting to jut, anticipating defensiveness.

You gesture at the tv a little wildly. “But we paused the episode because you had something to say about it forty-two minutes ago. I timed it!”

He blinks at you, like this cannot possibly be true. 

“Okay,” he says slowly, “but the thing is–”

“No!” you cry, tossing the remote onto the coffee table and sitting up to look at him. You have officially hit your breaking point. “Namjoon, no! Please - let me put the show back on.”

“Okay,” he repeats, “but -”

“No!” you shriek, and then you scramble up his tree of a body and press your nose to his, bumping his glasses so they’re slightly askew. Against his lips, you whisper, “Shut up, shut up, for the love of God, shut up.”

His hands come and rest low on your hips, practically on your ass, and he gives your nose a little nudge with his own, his lips pressing to yours - not so much a kiss as a fumble. 

“It’s just that -” he mumbles against your mouth, and you know - you know - he’s fucking with you on purpose, now. He’s hard beneath you already; he knows as well as you do what you’re planning.

“Shut up,” you tell him again, kissing him in earnest this time, your fingers going for the hem of his t-shirt. He takes off his glasses and tosses them blindly towards the coffee table, then lifts his arms so you can pull the fabric around his head. 

You go for his joggers next, and he lifts up eagerly as you slide them and his boxers down in one go. He kicks the black material free from his ankles and spreads his legs a little without you even telling him to, knowing exactly what’s coming.

Five years of marriage will do that; he knows the steps of this dance well, just like you know that the second your mouth is around him, you’re only getting one syllable words out of him until it’s done. It’s the only truly effective way to shut this man up.

You slide your hands up the insides of his thighs, pressing your nails in just a bit as you do. Namjoon hisses, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. You reach for the base of him, purposely brushing your fingertips along his balls on their way by, just lightly enough to leave a tingle, to make him shiver. 

You pump him once, twice, as you settle on your stomach between his legs, and glance up to see how he’s doing. He’s looking down at you, those eyes dark and glinting sharply, and he brushes one hand over the top of your head as he exhales, waiting. 

He doesn’t say a word. What a good boy. 

You lick thick stripes from the base, stopping before the head each time - just to tease him. Just to build it up. He grunts each time you stop short, but when you pump him again - now slicked with spit - he sighs in relief, letting out a wispy, “God, yeah,” on a breath.

You reward him by wrapping your lips around his tip, tonguing his slit for the barest second before sliding further down his shaft, your hand working the part you haven’t reached just yet. 

In all honesty, sloppy blowjobs aren’t usually your thing. You love to go down on Namjoon, love to hear what sounds you can pull from him, love to watch his eyebrows furrow and his adam’s apple bob. But messy, not usually. Special occasions only. 

Tonight feels special. Tonight you have a goal. You want to render this genius man absolutely stupid. You want him to be devoid of any words that aren’t your own name.

You work both hand and mouth over him, the glide smooth as you let spit past your lips on each pass. 

“Fuck,” Namjoon gasps as you tongue the underside of his cock on a downward pass.

You hum happily, setting a steady rhythm, hollowing your cheeks and swallowing him down just a bit more each time. When your lips’ seal around him breaks, releasing a wet, sloppy slurping noise through the otherwise quiet room, Namjoon groans above you. 

“God,” he utters again, his voice so low you feel it in your toes, and you lift your eyes to take him in. His chest is flushed dark, heaving. The fingers of one hand twist in the throw blanket on the arm of the couch behind him, the other hovers near you, like he wants to touch but doesn’t want to break the spell. 

You relax your jaw and take him down as far as you can, using both hands to hold his trembling thighs in place as you bring your nose closer and closer to his stomach. Once you’ve taken him as far as you’re able, you hold him there, your throat spasming around him. He whines, which almost makes you laugh, so you release him with a messy pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Shit, shit,” he gasps, the muscles in his stomach rippling beautifully. You take him in your hand again as you catch your breath, let your throat recover for a second. 

You smile deviously, and purr, “Not so much to say now, hmm?”

His eyes fly open, disbelieving, his mouth falling open to gasp his next breath. His eyes flutter closed again as you continue to glide your hand from base to tip and back, and he shakes his head weakly, voice broken as he manages, “N-no. Fuck.”

You take him in your mouth again, hand keeping a steady but lazy rhythm at the base, reveling in the noises that drip from his mouth - desperate pants punctuated sharply by deep grunts as he fights to control himself, the curses he mumbles, barely audible, sharp consonants tripping out of his mouth as his abs flex in time with your movements.

You know he’s close when he starts bucking minutely into the heat of your mouth, staccato grunts morphing into long, legato groans. This is one of your favorite iterations of your husband - fucked out, eyes squeezed shut, sweat rolling from his brow into his dampened hairline, his brain finally silenced as he chases the feeling, chases his high. 

His hand comes to your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he moans wordlessly. You take the warning seriously, popping off his tip and speeding up your hand as his feet press into the couch desperately, hips bucking just a little. You’re sure he’d rather come in your mouth, but you’re feeling selfish tonight. You want to see what he gives you.

His moan warbles, volume increasing as his hand tightens in your hair, and then he’s releasing rope after rope of cum; most of it lands on the flat of his stomach, but the last bit dribbles down the side of his softening cock, running over your fingers. Your slow your hand, watching his face carefully, until you can tell he’s spent. 

You give a self-satisfied hum, sitting back on your haunches to admire your handiwork. He opens one eye blearily, a smile coming over his face. 

“Okay,” he breathes, laughing a little. “I’m done talking now.”

eeeeeeep!!!! hope you enjoyed thank you for reading!!!!!