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ginnsbaker · 22 hours

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fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (12/?)

Part Summary: You know Leigh well enough to recognize that she never acts without intention. She must have agonized about this too—about that kiss, about you. And she's making it difficult for you to guess just what conclusions she had come to in the time you were apart.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.500+ | Warnings: Smut | Author's note: I honestly don't know what else to write in the summary without giving too much away, so without further ado… P.S. No cliffhangers this time ;)

A week after Thanksgiving, as the icy Maine wind whips across the tarmac at Rockland Airport, you find yourself holding a container of lobster cakes—your mother's way of sending a piece of home back with you. Despite her protests about you cutting your visit short, she spent last night in the kitchen, crafting your favorite dish, the smell of butter and ocean filling the house. “Eat these when you miss home,” she had said, pressing the container into your hands with a sad smile. The decision to leave early was anything but easy.

You initially planned to stay five more days in Camden, but Leigh's radio silence prompted you to book a direct flight to Los Angeles. It was eating you up inside; you had to go back. The familiar dark screen of your phone kept you on edge; you hadn't expected Leigh to strictly follow through on her promise not to contact you. She had a way of doing the unexpected. Or maybe you've been so wrapped up in your thoughts that you underestimated how deeply she wanted you that night. And perhaps you've overestimated your own anger, believing it would even slightly lessen your feelings for her.

Sitting in the window seat with the whole row to yourself, you stare at your phone as the flight attendant's voice crackles over the intercom, signaling it's time to switch to airplane mode. Impulsively, you tap out a text to her.

Belated Happy Thanksgiving, Leigh. If you’re free tomorrow evening, maybe we could talk? Perhaps over dinner?

It’s straightforward, maybe too much so, but it’s sent before you can overthink it.

The flight attendant's voice fills the cabin once more, reminding everyone to switch their devices as the plane is about to take off. You comply, toggling the setting and sealing off any immediate replies. The engines roar to life, and as the plane ascends, you try to push away the knot of apprehension tightening in your stomach.

As you wait to fall asleep, you think about Leigh—whether she’s seen your message and what she might be feeling. You wonder about the time apart, recalling the old saying that distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Or does it make it forget instead?

You touch down in L.A. just as the date ticks over to December 1st, the clock a little past midnight. The moment the plane reaches the gate, you grab your phone and switch off airplane mode. There's a message from your mom, checking in to see if you've landed safely, and you text her back to let her know you did. Suzie has also texted, saying Foreman called in sick and asking if you can cover at the clinic later. You shoot back a quick reply, saying you just landed, you'll catch some sleep, and might be in late in the morning.

But there’s nothing from Leigh. No text, no missed call, nothing to indicate she received your message or is interested in meeting.

You sigh and, without thinking, tap her name on the screen. The call goes through, and the phone rings as you make your way through the late-night crowd at LAX. It continues ringing, unanswered, until it finally clicks over to voicemail. You mutter a soft curse under your breath. Of course, she's not going to pick up—it's 12:30 in the morning. You consider sending a quick apology text but then reconsider, figuring you've already pushed enough boundaries by calling her this late.

Instead, you slide your phone back into your pocket and head toward baggage claim. You weave through the half-awake travelers and the sterile glow of the airport lights, finally spotting your suitcase trundling along the carousel. You heft it off and make your way through the automatic doors. You glance one more time at your phone, half hoping for a notification, but it's blank. With a sigh, you head for the exit, feeling the exhaustion settle in.

You check your inbox first thing in the morning, but there's still nothing from Leigh. You don't have time to overanalyze this again because you're already running late for work.

The whole day is swamped, with emergencies piling up alongside a packed schedule of immunizations and follow-ups. Suzie mistakenly booked an entire week's worth of scheduled vaccines for today, a Saturday. She explains that the clients requested to move their appointments to the weekend, adding, “We're closed on Sundays, so I thought today would work.”

You try to hide your frustration, not wanting to lay the blame on her. Your nerves are already frayed, and every hour that passes without a word from Leigh has you feeling more on edge. As you tend to your patients and give instructions to the staff, you feel the pressure building, a headache beginning to throb behind your eyes. The never-ending stream of clients leaves you with no time to catch your breath. Between each appointment, you plaster on a polite smile, but inside, you're counting down the minutes until you can check out of, well, everything.

As the clock hits seven, you can't take another minute. The clinic has been a madhouse since the doors opened. You barely glance at Suzie as you callously tell her, “Close early. I'm tired.” Without waiting for her response, you trudge straight to your office and slump into your chair, eyes closed against the harsh fluorescent lights. Resting your head back, you exhale slowly, letting the tension drain from your shoulders. The fatigue wraps itself around you like a fog, and for a moment, everything falls away.

A few minutes later, you hear a gentle knock. It's Suzie, standing in the doorway with a paper in her hand. Without opening your eyes, you mutter, “What is it?” Your irritation seeps through, but you’re too drained to rein it in.

Suzie hesitates before stepping into your office, her expression unreadable. She extends the paper towards you. “It's my resignation letter,” she says quietly.

Your eyes snap open, and the paper feels heavier than it should as you take it from her hands. You’ve been nothing short of awful to her all day, snapping at every turn.

“Is this about today?” you ask.

She gives you a small, weary smile and points to the date on the letter. “I wrote this last week, right after you left for Maine.”

You glance down at the letter and see that it’s dated exactly a week ago. “Why didn’t you give it to me sooner?”

“I didn’t want to ruin your vacation,” she says softly. “I know how much you needed that break. And honestly, you’ve got enough on your plate right now without me adding to it.”

You can feel the burn of frustration and shame behind your eyes. “You’ve been a rock here, Suzie. I don’t want you to go. Please reconsider.”

She shakes her head gently. “I’ve thought this through. It’s time. I care about this place, and about you, but I need to move on.”

You let out a long breath. “I see. Still, I'm sorry today was so rough,” you say, looking up at her wistfully. You try working your puppy eyes, and for a moment it seems effective as her expression softens into a frown.

But then she says, “It’s not the clinic or the work I do here. I got an offer for a research position; it's something I've always wanted to try.”

That makes you smile. If that’s the case, then you’re truly happy for her.

“I understand. I wish you hadn't felt the need to keep this to yourself, especially with everything else happening today,” you say, still clutching the paper tightly in your hand, crumpling it slightly.

Suzie shrugs. “I didn't want to add to your stress. Don’t worry, I’ll count the 30 days' notice from today, not the date on my resignation, so you have time to find someone to replace me.”

From that, you know her mind’s already made up. As you read her letter again, your eyes start to sting. You glance back up at her, your vision blurring. “Suzie, thank you,” you mumble thickly.

“Hey, it's okay,” she says gently. “I'm not leaving town. We can still grab lunch whenever. I know how glued to your desk you get, so I'll drag you out for a bite now and then.” You let out a shaky chuckle, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

“It's just—I’m going to miss you, and I don’t know how I'll replace you,” you say with a sniffle.

“Missing me is a given,” she says, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “Actually, I might know someone interested in my job.”

Your ears perk up at that. Good help is hard to find these days, especially with more demands from applicants and a tight job market. “Who?” you ask, curious.

Suzie turns around as if she's going to leave without answering, but then she glances over her shoulder, her smirk widening. “Sara.”

A little while later, you catch Suzie just as she's finishing up in the lobby.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll lock up. You’ve done enough today,” you say, sending her home. She gives you a grateful smile, slings her bag over her shoulder, and wishes you a good night before heading out.

Finally alone, you take a moment to decompress. Clasping your hands behind your back, you stretch, trying to release the day's tension. A dull ache climbs up your spine, reminding you how tight your muscles are. Unable to hold the position for more than a few seconds, you relax, the discomfort too much to bear. It's hard to tell whether it's from the long-haul flight yesterday, your age creeping up on you, poor posture, or all of the above.

On a whim, you book a late-night yoga session at the Beautiful Beast, hoping to relieve the tightness in your back. It’s been a while since your last visit.

Afterward, you head to the small bathroom in your office to get ready. It's basic, not meant for much more than washing hands and changing scrubs, but it’s all you've got. Stripping off your day's clothes, you step into the shower, letting the hot water beat down on your back. The steam fills the tiny space, and the heat melts a bit of the stiffness away. After a quick rinse, you towel off and slip into your yoga gear. The stretchy fabric feels liberating after being in stiff work clothes all day. You roll up your yoga mat, tucked behind the office door, and switch off the bathroom light.

As you're about to head out of the clinic, you check your phone, hoping to see something from Leigh. There's nothing—she hasn’t even read your last message. The stonewalling feels all too familiar, and you're tired of it.

You slide into your car, letting out a weary sigh. As you start the engine, thoughts of Suzie's suggestion to hire Sara sneak back into your mind. You can't help but chortle at the idea—it’s so unexpected, almost comical, considering how you know Sara and her standing friends-with-benefits proposition. It feels far-fetched, and knowing Suzie, she was likely just teasing.

The drive to the fitness studio is as mechanical as it gets. You're hardly aware of the turns you take until you park in front of the building. You step out, mind still elsewhere, and open your car door—right into someone walking by.

“Ow!”

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” you start to say, cutting yourself off when you see who it is.

Leigh, of all people, is rubbing her elbow, wincing. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a plain white shirt under a jacket, paired with simple black tights.

“See me? Lovely excuse,” she quips, her eyes fixed on her arm rather than you. Her expression is primed to unleash more frustration when she finally turns to meet the source of the blunder.

“I—” Leigh stops, visibly surprised to see you. Quickly, her face smooths into something more neutral. “Y/N. You…you really should watch it.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck. “Are you alright?”

She rubs her elbow once more, then nods slowly. “Just startled me a bit, but I’m fine.”

Once you both regain your bearings, you unconsciously begin rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, hesitating despite the things you’ve rehearsed in your head all week. Your text message inviting her to meet tonight lingers at the forefront of your mind. But before you can bring it up, Leigh catches you by surprise.

“So, you’re heading in for a class?” she asks casually, as if the last time you saw each other didn’t end with a kiss and a confrontation that put the aforementioned kiss on hold.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I am,” you reply. Then you remember Leigh doesn't work here anymore, but with her mother owning the place, it's no surprise to see her around occasionally.

Still, you ask, “How about you?”

“You mind if we walk while we talk?” Leigh suggests.

You nod, a little thrown off but managing to say, “Sure, just let me grab my stuff.”

She waits a few seconds as you gather your belongings, and then you both start walking toward the building. Leigh sets a brisk pace, always a step ahead, and you find yourself almost hurrying to keep up with her.

“I just got back to working here again,” she says after a beat.

Surprised, you ask, “Oh, how did that happen?”

“Long story,” she replies with a slight shrug, her eyes focused ahead.

Unsatisfied with her vague answer, your eyes drift to her lips. Memories of that last kiss flood back—their soft, velvety feel and that distinct taste that’s all hers, like fresh water after a long, grueling hike. It's a taste that's unmistakably Leigh, nothing else like it. As you walk together, you struggle to stay present. This isn’t at all how you pictured your reunion with her would go. Not by a long shot.

“Leigh,” you call out, stopping abruptly. Your voice comes out higher than intended, quivering a bit. You clear your throat and try again, “D-Did you get my text yesterday?”

Leigh glances back over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “No.”

The bluntness leaves you momentarily stunned. You wait for her to follow up, to ask about the text, but she doesn’t. As you both step into the Beautiful Beast studio, you start to ask if you can talk later, but Leigh gets there first.

“We can pick this up later, Y/N. We should really get to class,” she says, heading into the room full of waiting students without waiting for your answer.

You're left more stumped than ever. Last time, she was almost on her knees, begging for forgiveness. Now, she's acting like nothing happened. How did everything change so much in just a week? With a head full of questions and doubts, you roll out your yoga mat and try to focus on the practice ahead. You can't help but wonder if the kiss you shared with Leigh really happened or if it was just a mirage of your desires.

You struggle through some of the poses, wobbling and nearly toppling over more than once. Leigh, however, doesn't chide or correct you as she used to; she mostly leaves you alone, focusing instead on helping others who are struggling more than you. It makes you feel strangely isolated, even though you know she's just fulfilling her role as an instructor and there are plenty of beginners in tonight’s session.

As the hour winds down, Leigh's soft “Namaste” signals the end of the class. She bows gracefully to the students, and you don't waste a moment, rising immediately to make your way to her as she rolls up her mat.

“Leigh.”

“Hey,” she responds breathlessly, not looking up. Other students pass by, thanking her, and she responds with smiles and cheerful “see you next times.” You stand there, feeling awkward as you wait for a turn.

When the last person leaves, Leigh finally looks up at you. “What's up?” she asks.

You find yourself stuttering, still fixated on the text message. Feeling a bit pathetic about how much it’s affecting you, but you shake it off, remembering why you cut your visit to Camden short. It was because of this—because of her.

“Leigh, can we talk? About... you know, how we left things that night?”

Her face remains jarringly impartial as she wipes down her mat. “Talk? Here? Right now?”

You quickly shake your head. “No, I don't mean right this second,” you clarify, watching her closely to gauge her reaction. Are you the only one feeling like you're on a tightrope?

“You haven't had dinner yet, right?” You try to sound nonchalant too, but it's a struggle.

She looks around the emptying studio as if she needs a moment to consider. After a few beats, she nods. “Sure, why not? I’ll just change and meet you out front.”

You can't help but smile, mainly out of relief that she said yes. “Great, see you in a minute,” you say, realizing you need to change into drier clothes too.

Fifteen minutes later, Leigh steps out, looking refreshed as if she didn't just burn through a few hundred calories leading a rigorous yoga session. She's wearing a cozy gray sweater and cargo pants, a much more laid-back look compared to your jeans and cardigan.

As she draws near, she tilts her head slightly and says, “I actually brought a car. Have you thought of where we're going to get dinner?”

You scramble to think of a suitable place. In-N-Out pops into your head—quick, easy, but completely wrong for the kind of talk you need to have. You can't imagine hashing out your feelings under the harsh lights of a fast food place, over burgers and fries.

“Um,” you stammer, looking around like inspiration might hit you in the face.

“How about we head to your apartment?” Leigh suggests out of nowhere. “It's closer, and we could grab some drive-thru on the way.”

You blink at her suggestion, surprised she'd even consider it after everything that went down last time at your place.

“There's only one parking spot,” you say blankly. “And the street has no parking after 10 p.m.”

Leigh seems unfazed, offering a quick solution. “Then we’ll just take your car. I can leave mine here.”

Your nerves flare at the thought of having her back in your apartment. Your tongue feels heavy, and you can't think of a single reason to tell her why it’s a bad idea.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Let's do that.”

You head to your car together, fumbling with the keys as you unlock it. Leigh slips into the passenger seat, and you take a deep breath before starting the engine. You pull into a drive-thru of In-N-Out and Leigh scrolls through her phone, picking out what to order.

You know Leigh well enough to recognize that she never acts without intention. She must have agonized about this too—about that kiss, about you. And she's making it difficult for you to guess just what conclusions she had come to in the time you were apart.

The takeout is spread across your dining table, a small feast that Leigh ordered for the two of you. Boxes of fries, nuggets, and burgers crowd the surface, enough to feed a group. You barely nibble on a fry while Leigh is already finishing her cheeseburger, wiping her fingers with a napkin and eyeing the remaining food.

“You weren’t hungry, huh?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Guess not,” you reply, wiping away the residual salt from your fingers.

Leigh takes a sip of her drink, washing down the last bite before looking at you with purpose. “Mind if I go first?” she asks.

You narrow your eyes. So, she's eager to dive right in. “Sure, go ahead,” you say. You observe Leigh closely for the first time in what feels like ages. Concealer cakes beneath her eyes, settling into the natural wrinkles there. She’s still undeniably beautiful, but there's a tiredness to her now that’s hard to miss. Her cheeks, usually lifted by her prominent cheekbones, seem hollowed out more than usual.

“I guess I want to start by saying that I'm…” Leigh trails off, her eyes darting around as if the right words might be hidden among the packets of ketchup and silverware. “...a horrible person.”

You open your mouth to protest, but she cuts you off smoothly.

“No, listen. You were right. I ignore you out of nowhere. I take advantage of your kindness. And it’s not just you—I’ve been doing this with everyone around me for a while now. I haven't cared about what others think or feel because I was focused on being true to myself, always playing the ‘dead husband’ card. I’ve taken everyone's patience and understanding for granted, and I’m really, really sorry.”

You sit back, stunned. The whole evening, you'd braced for a different kind of conversation. You expected Leigh to say the kiss was a mistake—just a result of nerves or a lapse in judgment driven by jealousy. You had been so sure she'd shut you down, just like all the other times.

“You're sorry?” The words slip out unbidden, tinged with surprise and skepticism.

“Yeah,” she says, looking you square in the eye. “I know it's hard to believe, but I really am sorry for how I've treated you.”

It’s going well—too well. Your mind struggles to accept it, but your heart?

“I thought you were going to say that night was a mistake. That the kiss meant nothing,” you whisper so faintly, almost as if you don't want her to hear.

“It kept me up for nights,” Leigh replies just as softly, “and that doesn’t usually happen to me over a simple kiss.”

Your heart soars.

She doesn’t regret it. She’s sorry. This is all going too well.

“It was on my mind the whole time, even when I was all the way across the country,” you whisper wantonly.

The corners of Leigh’s lips twitch upward, and you can't tell if it's a good sign. Her saying she’s just as affected blinds you to any other cues that might suggest otherwise.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Leigh says darkly, leaning back into her chair with a weary slump. “Because I’m done living in half-truths and half-realities. I can’t handle any more surprises.”

You feel a flash of confusion, trying to stitch together what Leigh might say next. She knows about your cheesy alter-ego on her advice column, the details of your past with Matt. But half-truths? What does she mean by that?

Leigh meets your gaze, and there’s something about her stare that tells you she’s coming apart, yet she's clenching every muscle to keep herself intact. You want to reach across the table, to offer a touch that might steady her, but her hands are hidden, clenched in her lap beneath the table. Her shoulders hunch, making her seem smaller, as if she's trying to fold into herself.

“Leigh, just tell me,” you urge, though not impatiently.

She exhales slowly, the breath you hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I broke up with Danny,” she finally says, and for a brief, absurd moment, relief washes over you.

That's…it?

Your smile starts to form, naive in its inception, but it’s quickly stifled as Leigh’s voice drops lower, and her next words cut through the nascent joy.

“And then he said something I didn't think could drive the dagger Matt left in my heart any deeper,” she says slowly, like she’s having a hard time dragging every syllable.

Leigh takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling deliberately. “He told me he was pretty involved when you and Matt got together. That you first knew him as Nick, and he helped Matt reach out to you.”

Your heart sinks. You had almost forgotten that night with Danny when you discovered his real identity and how he fit into everything. He'd begged you to keep quiet, and in his desperation, you agreed—not because he pleaded, but because you believed Leigh was happy with him. It wasn’t your secret to reveal, not then.

You've known this all along and never said a word. Your throat tightens as panic sets in, your heart racing with the implications of having kept this from Leigh. Guilt pricks at you, cold and sharp.

“I…” Your voice falters, and you swallow hard, thinking, This is it, this is how I lose her.

“I didn’t think it was my place to say anything,” you say. “I thought you were happy with him. I didn’t want to be the one to—”

“Y/N,” Leigh interjects softly. Her tone stops you cold—it's not angry, just… defeated. Which, somehow, feels worse. She looks down, twisting a napkin between her fingers. “I’m telling you this because I’m finding out that secrets can be just as hard to handle as loss.”

You nod absentmindedly, still processing, and move to clear the table in a daze. Wrapping up the leftover food, you tuck it into the fridge. The mundane task doesn't ease the tightness in your chest, but it gives your hands something to do.

“You’re not upset I didn’t tell you?” you ask, like you can’t believe you’ll come out of this conversation unscathed.

Leigh takes her time to answer. With your focus on tidying up, you miss the way her hands ball into fists. When she finally speaks, her voice has a steely edge for the first time this evening.

“At first, I was livid, of course. But Danny bore the brunt of it. He claimed he wanted me, but he was never on my side. If he were, he would’ve never helped Matt cheat on me.”

You finish tucking the last container into the fridge and lean back against the counter, your eyes on Leigh. She's staring out the window. How is it that she’s telling you these things, yet it still feels like she’s not revealing anything at all?

“I should’ve told you sooner,” you say softly. “I’m sorry.”

Leigh gets up and walks toward you. She stops so close that your breath catches. You remember the last time she was this near, how the world blurred, and how hard it was to think clearly. You can see the way her jaw tightens as she takes a breath.

“It wasn’t your secret to tell,” she says.

“But—” you start to say, though the thought fizzles out as she steps even closer.

“You're okay in that regard,” she murmurs, her voice low.

In that regard?

You want to ask what she means, but Leigh shuffles nearer still, her eyes searching your face. She's so close now that you can see the faint reflection of the kitchen light in her eyes, specs of yellow in darkened green. It’s nothing short of dazzling.

“Do you forgive me for last time?” she asks quietly.

A lump forms in your throat, and all you can think about is how desperately you don't want to mess this up. You had forgiven her long before stepping onto a plane back to Maine. It happened as soon as you let her walk away that night, but you just couldn't accept how easy it was.

You nod, unable to trust your ability to speak.

Leigh's eyes soften as she watches you. Her fingertips brush against your jaw, her touch feather-light.

“Is it okay if I kiss you, then?” she asks, both careful and seductive.

Your resounding yes comes in the form of you closing the gap, your lips meeting hers like an arrow striking its target. Leigh’s arms wrap around your shoulders instinctively, her fingers brushing the back of your neck, and you pull her in even tighter, deepening the kiss. Her breath mingles with yours as she sighs softly against your mouth, and it’s only then that when you feel all of her that Los Angeles starts to feel like a second home.

There are still questions, an unending list that always surfaces around Leigh, but they evaporate one by one when her tongue flicks out, seeking entrance. You surrender, lips parting, allowing her to taste you. The kiss grows with a messy urgency in seconds. Her hands roam down your back, gripping tightly as she presses in, as if trying to melt into you. You draw her nearer, your chests flush together as the kiss becomes wet and breathless.

Your apartment is silent except for your soft pants and the slick sounds of your lips meeting. Doubts about your ability to please a woman creep in after such a long hiatus. But before these thoughts can take hold, Leigh takes charge. She grabs your hips and gently guides you backward toward the bedroom, cutting off any chance for you to slow things down.

She breaks the kiss just long enough to slip your cardigan off your shoulders and whisper, her breath warm against your lips, “Should we take this somewhere more comfortable?”

It seems almost unfair for her to pose that question while simultaneously moving to your neck, drawing a soft groan from you. Her teeth gently graze a sensitive spot just below your clavicle, applying pressure that promises to leave a mark, then soothing it with her tongue.

Leigh smirks when she feels you struggle for breath, much less for words. Your knees buckle slightly, but she holds you up with a firm grip, guiding you back until you bump against the edge of the bed.

You know you're on the verge of something that might change everything, but right now, you're entirely Leigh's. There's no space to consider the implications, to remember that she was Matt's grieving widow just months ago. Right now, she's just the girl who holds your attention completely, the one who couldn't get rid of you even if she tried.

Leigh tumbles with you onto the bed, her thighs straddling your hips. With practiced ease, she removes her shirt and bra all at once, leaving her bare above you. The sight strips you of any last coherent thought. She isn’t the image of perfection peddled in glossy and well-curated social feeds; her body is beautifully real. Her tits look heavy and asymmetrical, round as grapefruit; her nipples pinkish-brown, pebbled and inviting. There’s a soft fold in her belly, and an overwhelming desire washes over you to kiss it. You think you might die just from looking at her.

You look up at Leigh and tell her, reverently, “You’re so devastatingly beautiful.”

Leigh's cheeks flush as she tries to hide her smile behind her hair. “You don't have to tell me that,” she whispers. “You already got me into your bed.”

You chuckle, nerves still humming under the surface. “You were just as beautiful when devouring a cheeseburger.” Both of you laugh, the sound light and easy, allowing some of the thick sexual energy to dissipate slightly.

You find yourself relaxing just enough to admit, “I'm not sure how to touch you right, but I want to make you feel good.”

“Just do whatever feels good for you,” she suggests, her expression softening further.

You scrunch your face a little at her, letting out a small chuckle. “That’s the thing—I haven't been getting much action myself.”

Leigh’s smile spreads wider into something mischievous and you swallow dryly at the sight. She shifts off your lap and settles at your side, propping herself up on one arm to look down at you. “Let me help you with that,” she murmurs, her voice low.

You're no longer smiling, feeling your face flush as you ask, “What do you have in mind?”

Instead of answering, Leigh’s fingers trace down to the button of your pants, deftly unfastening it. She gently scratches the skin beneath with her fingernail before sliding the zipper down. You watch as she bites her lip at the sight of the wet patch on your underwear before glancing back up at you. Her pupils are wide, the deep green of her irises barely visible in the surrounding darkness.

“Take them off,” she instructs softly.

You swallow heavily and do as she says, trying not to cover yourself despite feeling incredibly vulnerable. You haven't been naked in front of anyone in so long, and you're embarrassed by how exposed and wet you are right now.

Leigh watches you closely, and you can see the desire burning in her gaze. With her free hand, she reaches for you, her touch gentle, coaxing your thighs open as she trails her fingers up your inner thigh. You draw a sharp breath and close your eyes, expecting her fingers to graze your wetness next.

But Leigh surprises you—and herself—by guiding your right hand just below your navel, her fingers warm and sure on your wrist. Her times with Danny were about dominating and taking, but with you, she wants to give, to watch, to soak up every moan, every breathy reaction, every shiver. She wants to see you take pleasure for yourself, deriving her own pleasure from it.

“Start there,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear. “Tease yourself.”

Your hand hovers there, and she gives a slight nod of encouragement. As her touch slips away, you begin to explore the softness of your own skin, tracing light circles below your belly button. You utter a soft, “Fuck,” when your fingertips graze your slick, discovering just how turned on you really are. The filthy noises it creates make you whimper.

Leigh watches you hungrily. “You should be doing this more often,” she murmurs, eyes tracing the movement of your fingers now glistening with your own arousal. “You're so fucking hot. It's such a shame.”

The sound of her voice makes you arch your back further, hips bucking as you start a wide circular motion against your clit. Exerting every ounce of control not to come right away, you focus on the sensation of Leigh's eyes on you and the stimulation from your own fingers. You want to hold out, to let her watch you teeter on the edge. Your teeth dig into your lower lip, trying to curb the wave of pleasure building inside you.

Leigh's voice is a soothing command, whispering, “That's it, be patient. Don't rush it.”

“Fuck, Leigh, I’m—” Your words die in your throat as she lifts your shirt slowly, exposing your nipple to the cool air for a brief moment before her mouth engulfs it. The sensation of her sucking, then laving your nipple with her tongue, circling it, mimicking the motion you're doing on your clit, sends a jolt through you. Little flicks of her tongue to the tip of your nipple drive you crazy, and you gasp, your body responding eagerly to her touch.

Your rhythm stutters as she discards her pants and panties in one swift motion, leaving her gloriously bare. The sight of her naked body ignites a strong wave of desire to touch her instead, but Leigh pins you with a warning glare, silently telling you not to stop.

She straddles one of your legs, and you gasp when you feel her warm, wet pussy against your knee as she starts rocking against it. You position your leg to give her better leverage, and she starts sliding against you, her tits bouncing with each motion. Leigh's sucking on your nipple becomes sloppier, more frantic, until she can no longer concentrate and releases it with a wet pop.

“Oh, fuck, Y/N—”

Leigh’s face contorts in pleasure as her drenched folds meet your thigh over and over, sweat dripping down between her breasts from the strain of holding herself up above you. The sight of her fucking herself against your leg is nothing short of mesmerizing. You increase the movements of your fingers, rubbing harshly at your clit as you watch Leigh, her breath coming in short gasps. Her eyes flutter closed, and a soft moan escapes her lips. The sound drives you wild, and you curve your spine, lifting your hips to meet your own hand.

Sex with anyone else has never felt this good before, and she hasn’t even properly touched you yet. It’s intoxicating, the way she takes her pleasure and gives it to you all at once. You’re lost in the haze of it all: the smell of Leigh’s arousal, her sweat-soaked skin, the sight of her tits bouncing and her face flushed with desire.

With your free hand, you grab the back of Leigh's head, guiding her down towards you. “C-Come here,” you manage to say, your voice breaking with need.

Leigh obeys, her mouth meeting yours in a frenzied kiss. You swallow each other's moans, the taste of her lips sending a fresh wave of desire coursing through you. It's this simple, sweet connection of lips that utterly dissolves all your defenses.

A keening moan escapes you as Leigh slides a finger inside you, pushing deep to the third knuckle, causing your head to tip back and break the kiss as the tightness in your belly becomes too much. “Leigh, can I—” Your voice is a mere whisper, your body trembling with the effort to hold back.

Leigh's eyes meet yours, and she nods vigorously, her breath coming in short gasps. “Yes, come. Come with me.”

It's too much—the sight, the sounds, the feel of her—it’s all too much. With a final, shuddering whine, you let go, your orgasm crashing over you. Your body convulses, muscles clenching and releasing as you ride out the intense pleasure. Moments later, Leigh follows, her body shaking as she comes, her moans mingling with yours. Leigh’s face is a picture of bliss, her eyes half-closed, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. You try to memorize it before she collapses on top of you, a sweaty mess of tangled limbs and satisfied sighs.

Blindly, you stare up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath, feeling Leigh's hot puffs of air tickle your neck as she catches hers. Slowly, you circle your arms around her waist, keeping her on top of you, acutely aware of every point where your skin meets hers, the warmth spreading between you.

You bury your nose in her hair and breathe in deeply. This act feels more intimate than anything you had done moments ago. The simple closeness, the quiet afterglow, the way you can actually feel her heart beating steadily against your chest.

Minutes pass in comfortable silence, your thumb tracing lazy patterns on her back. Her breathing gradually evens out, each exhale growing softer and deeper. Realizing she's fallen asleep, a contented smile spreads across your face. You press a gentle kiss to her temple, letting your lips linger there for a moment. Carefully, you reach for the covers and draw them over both of you. You hold her close until your own eyelids grow heavy, and you drift off to sleep as well.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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limonnitsa · 3 days

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Seb's falling & Omi's having fun

guess who's an idiot sandwich that read it wrong and realized only now faints

Prompt: Ominis looking flushed as Sebastian touches or holds him by the hips/ waist

Thanks @trappezoider and @waywardprintmaker for organizing this event! 🌸

#sebinisartevent24 #I am dyslexic idiot I really read the prompt wrong #that evening he was processing a lot of things #not me thinking Sebastian is bisexual disaster #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #sebinis #may I consider it as a deleted scene of The Disturbance???LOL

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unboundprompts · 3 days

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im not sure if you've done this already or not, but prompts for hot pink/magenta-ish eyes?

Different Ways to Describe Pink/Magenta Eyes

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

He had eyes like cupid's arrows, pricked with hearts and the intention to make you fall in love.

Her eyes were a sunset, when the sun was low in the sky and the clouds were washed in pinks and purples.

Their eyes were the same color as the growing blush that stretched across their cheeks, matched by their pink lips and genuine smile.

His eyes were a bright pink, like she was staring into a mirror and the only color she saw reflected back at her was that of love.

Her eyes were the same color as the bubble gum she chewed. They watched her blow a bright pink bubble that burst over her lips.

They had eyes like the strawberry ice cream he loved so much.

His eyes were two large, sweet grapefruits.

She had eyes the same shade as the coral dress she wore.

Their eyes made her think of the sky at dawn, clouds of pink and orange stretching across the lavender sky.

She had noticed that his eyes were an unusual pink color, but she was more aware that he had been glancing at her lips as they spoke.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

#writing prompts #dialogue prompt #otp prompts #soft prompts #prompt list #rp prompts #writing prompt #romance prompts #dialogue ideas #writing ideas #love prompts #character description #pink eyes

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sprout-gt · 2 days

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here are some angsty g/t prompts to feed the brainworms

(come get y'alls juice.)

recently shrunken/borrower friend who has had to lower all defenses around someone so utterly terrifying to be around simply because of how much them there is. learning how to develop a relationship with someone capable of any amount of destruction with minimal effort. the truth that, for some things, they are completely dependant on the giant. over the course of days/weeks/months fragile trust is slowly cultivated as they both learn how to adjust to each other's presence, only for it to be shattered in a moment due to a giant's carelessness. a voice raised too loud, a hand slammed a little too close, a grab just too tight. and ultimately, no amount of guilt or remorse will fix the damage done.

the utter helplessness of size shifting. like, i know size shifting is a popular concept for g/t scenarios, but if you think about it- it's legitimately body horror. consider it, a signifigant aspect of your physical body robbed from you over the course of a few moments. the rushing feeling of anxiety crashed with the abject panic knowing that the world around you is going to transform, that you are going to change. overwhelming vertigo as the ceiling begins to stretch above you, as your surroundings change from a neutral space to an immense and overwhelming enclosure. even the most banal and mundane items are now obtacles, if not actively dangerous. shifting somewhere you can't leave, shifting somewhere you shouldn't leave. shifting somewhere where you can't reach someone you trust.

tinies discovered by someone curious and stolen away from their trusted giants in a moment. the tiny has to endure this new giant that is over ten times their size and unconcerned with their wellbeing like their friend/partner, while the giant spirals into panic searching for their vulnerable friend/partner who trusted them- blaming themselves all the way.

tinies stuck in thunderstorms. the sky roars with claps of deafening thunder as they scramble to find cover against the frigid, heavy raindrops that pound against them. their vision is nonexistant as they stumble through the soft earth, unsure of where they are running towards but just hoping its somewhere away.

the prompts below are a little more intense/whumpy fyi!!

borrowers caught in traps intended for pests. maybe they were being careless or overconfident - maybe they just weren't paying attention... until the metal bar of a mousetrap snaps over their ankle or they find themselves stuck in a glue trap, pinned in place and in the open. they can't cry out in pain in fear of being discovered, while also knowing it's inevitable. injured and growing more panicked by the minute, they hear the resounding sounds of a giant approaching them.

tinies locked in things. bird cages, jars, drawers, lockboxes- take your pick. bonus points if it's claustrophobic. bonus bonus points if its pitch black. bonus bonus bonus points if the tiny has no idea how long till they get out and can breathe again.

g/t fearplay lightning round: giants that love to see how little they need to do in order to panic a tiny, tinies being tossed around like keys, rubber bands used as restraints, shock collars, tinies held out over tall heights, the works

it's ok though because in all of these scenarios they end up being taken care of by a gentle and caring giant because i'll be damned if this hurt isn't eventually going to have comfort.

#g/t #g/t community #giant/tiny #g/t prompts #g/t writing #g/t angst #g/t scenario #g/t fearplay #borrowers #sprout speaks #can you TELL what the brainworms enjoy #really exposing myself with this one #(i know what you are.)

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idleoblivion · 3 days

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"Yes, Professor" Crewel x GN Reader

Synopsis: The allowance Crowley gives you just isn’t enough. Maybe you can convince your alchemy professor to assist you somehow…

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: Literally the first smut I've ever written so I'm so nervous to post this, I don't know what possessed me to write this but here we are lol.

Warnings: Teacher/student relationship, gn reader, shy/nervous reader, semi-public sex, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, unprotected sex, overuse of the word 'puppy'

You knock on the door to his office three times and hear shuffling for a moment on the other side.

“Come in.”

You open it and take a few steps in before spotting him at his desk. Divus Crewel, your alchemy professor, as he sorts through a stack of what you assume are the lab reports you turned in earlier that day. He stops what he’s doing and motions you to a chair in front of his desk.

“You said you wanted to speak to me, yes? I hope you weren’t lying about it being important.”

You swallowed and tried to straighten your posture as you sat down. “No, I wasn’t. Thank you for meeting with me.”

He looks you over and you feel your resolve weakening. Maybe this really wasn’t a good idea after all.

Crewel meets your eyes expectantly. “Well, what is it then?”

You can barely continue to make eye contact with how tight your chest feels with anxiety. You play with your hands anxiously in your lap. After a few seconds of silence, he continues.

“I don’t have all evening, pup. Tell me what you’re here for, quickly.” His tone became more sharp, prompting you to nervously begin.

“So you know, about my…. um, living situation and uh, money… I, uh, I don’t really have a lot and m-my clothes and uniform are a wreck, and…. and my friends talk about seeing movies and going out but I-“

“Puppy,” he interrupts you, “I am aware of your circumstances. However, I am also aware that the headmaster does supply you a small allowance for food and clothes, even if they may be….” He stops himself from finishing his sentence as he looks at your uniform on you. “Never mind. I won’t lie and say I feel no sympathy for you, but if you’re about to ask me to start funding you as well, the answer is no. I could not allow myself to freely spoil every puppy who is less fortunate in my class.”

“I…well, I-“ you stutter, but will yourself to continue, “I didn’t say it would be for free.” The last part barely comes out as a whisper, but the look on his face tells you he heard it well. You shift in your seat at his change in expression.

“Oh? Well, it still wouldn’t be considered appropriate of me to take bribes or favors from students, but…” he trails off for a moment, and you notice an increasing intensity in his gaze, “I suppose I can hear you out.”

If you were anxious before, you were almost panicky now. You hadn’t expected to actually get this far, for him to actually consider your offer and not just scold or report you, but you couldn’t deny the building excitement inside you either.

“If… if you help me, I’ll, um… well, uh, what would you want me to do?” Struggling to find the confidence yourself, you try to make him spell it out, but he must realize what you’re doing as his smirk only grows.

“I think you had something in mind to offer me, puppy, and if you really want my help you’re going to have to say it.” He stands up and removes his oversized fur coat and lays it on his chair behind him. “That’s an order, from your master. Tell me what you’ll do for me.”

He leans over his desk, looking at you smugly. Part of you wonders if he knew this is where your conversation would head, but you quickly disperse that thought and stand up yourself.

“…Anything. Anything you want, I’ll do it.” You hesitantly step towards his desk and lean in.

He laughs lightly under his breath, then looks back at you.

“We’re just going in circles, aren’t we? Alright, puppy, I’ll be generous today and help you. Come here.”

You walk around the desk to stand in front of him directly. His gloved hand comes up to your face and holds your jaw gently. He leans down some, and speaks to you in a low voice.

“You know, there’s that Al-Asim boy and Kingscholar, among others, who have plenty of wealth to throw around at this school. So, what brought you to my office and not their dorms, puppy? If you can say that, I’ll give you a reward.”

His hand on your face forces you to keep looking at him. You take one more deep breath before quietly answering.

“I…I want you. Not them. You.”

He smiles at that and gives you a quick peck on the forehead. “Good puppy. Now sit on my desk.”

You lift yourself onto his desk and he walks forward, caging you in with his arms. He leans down and kisses you gently at first. Just his lips on yours has your body burning up as you wrap your arms around him. You let him slip his tongue in and he groans into your heated kiss.

“You know,” he pauses and takes a step back, “I think I’ve still let you get your way too easily.” He pulls his desk chair back up and sits down while removing his gloves. “So, be a good puppy and get rid of these.” He grabs and tugs on the pants of your uniform.

You feel your face get even hotter but comply, taking them off with your underwear and tossing them to the floor. You instinctively try and keep your legs shut, but he tsks at you and pries them open.

He bites his lip as he looks at you, then meets your eyes with a predatory look. “Touch yourself for me.”

You begin slowly, nervous and self-conscious under his stare, but the bulge straining against his pants tells you you have no reason to be. You try to look away from him but he calls your attention back immediately.

“Eyes on me. That’s an order.”

You hesitantly obey and fix your gaze back on him. He undoes his belt and frees his cock from his pants. Your hands slow as you watch him intently.

“I didn’t tell you to stop, puppy. Keep going.”

You’re both touching yourselves now, his eyes following every desperate movement of your fingers as you get more and more aroused. Watching him stroke himself to the sight of you adds to your embarrassment and pleasure. You bite your lip to stifle your voice.

“Puppy, you want to me to fuck you?”

You’re ashamed of the whimper you let you out when he says it, but nod vigorously anyway.

“Say it.”

“Yes professor, please fuck me.”

“Stop then. Hold your legs open for me.”

You obey and he walks back over to you. He kisses you again, deep and passionate while he undoes the tie of your uniform and opens your shirt. He gently pulls it off of you before his hands come up to grope your chest.

He pulls your hips closer to the edge, and you can feel him start teasing you with the head of his cock. You bury your face in his shoulder as he starts inching himself into you. You moan feeling yourself stretch for him. He grunted as he bottomed out in you, then held still for a moment.

He pulls you back away from his shoulder to look at you, and smirks at your lustful, blissed out face. He gives you no further warning before he starts moving, feeling you clutch onto him as he thrusts.

You can no longer stop yourself from moaning loudly, with how deep he feels inside you and him nipping at your neck while his hips never slow or stop, he fucks you steady and hard.

“Look at you, getting so loud. Is it good, puppy? You like it?”

“Ah- yes, yes professor, so good I-“

You nearly squeal as a particular thrust leaves you reeling, and he moans as he feels you tighten around him. He sped up, fucking you faster and harder until you felt tears welling up in your eyes.

“Crying for me, puppy?” He smiled and licked a tear that had fallen down your cheek. The pressure building inside you was getting to be too much.

“Professor, p-professor I’m-“ you gasped as he bit you on the shoulder and grabbed your hips roughly.

“Cum for me, puppy. You can do it, be good for me.”

With a wail, your orgasm hit you hard, making you keel over and grab onto Crewel for support. Your body was on fire and he didn’t stop for a moment, he just kept holding your hips with a tight grip you while he pounded into you harshly. He cursed under his breath, praising you in your ear as he chased his own release.

“Fuck puppy I’m close, take it, fuck-“

He finally releases and you feel his cock twitch as he cums inside you. The warm feeling has you softly moan again, despite how absolutely exhausted your body was.

You both took a few moments to finish coming down from your highs. He makes you look at him again, and smirks at how fucked out you look.

“So, we’ll get you some new clothes this weekend, puppy? That sound good?”

You tiredly nod, and he kisses you again.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst smut #twisted wonderland smut #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #divus crewel #twst crewel #twst x gn reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst divus

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mammonsrockstargf · 3 days

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The demon brothers x Ghibli movies

What Ghibli movie reminds me of each of the brothers.

Lucifer ⭑ Princess Mononoke

“This is what hatred looks like! This is what it does when it catches hold of you! It’s eating me alive and very soon it will kill me.”

I considered that this movie fits well with Belphegor also, but ultimately I decided to go with Lucifer because I think there’s a big theme of pride and how it corrupts the forest and the humans. I love this movie and the relationship between Ashitaka and Mononoke also reminds me of MC and Lucifer where there’s initially a lot of distrust but it eventually turns into love.

Mammon ⭑ Castle in the Sky

“He who turns and runs away can steal the treasure another day!”

There are sky pirates and treasure hunting. Also, Pazu kind of takes a protecting role of Sheeta and helps her get where she needs to be, much like Mammon with MC! (At least he tries to.) Despite that, I think if Mammon was in this movie he’d be a part of the pirate squad. Do y’all see the vision?

Leviathan ⭑ Ponyo

“I love Ponyo whether she’s a fish, a human, or something in between.”

Firstly, there’s the whole fish thing, Ponyo is a fish and Levi has fish-like qualities, his best friend Henry is a fish but I also think there's a parallel between Ponyo desperately wanting to be human and Sosuke helping her and Levi desperately wanting to be accepted by his brothers and MC helping him. (More with realizing he already is accepted, but alas.)

Satan ⭑ Whisper of the Heart

“You know, you read too many books”

This movie was what originally prompted me to make this post because it is just so Satan coded. A girl begins to notice a boy has always read the books before her at the library so she tracks him down only to find out the reason he reads all of these books is because he wanted to get her attention. What a nerd, I love it. Also, there are a lot of cats in this one as well as big themes of identity and finding yourself.

Asmodeus ⭑ Howl’s Moving Castle

“I give up. I see no point in living if I can’t be beautiful.”

Obviously, there’s the whole factor that Howl is vain as fuck and eventually learns that beauty isn’t everything to life, but I also think that Calficer and Howl sort of remind me of Asmo and Solomon? They both made a pact when they were young and didn’t really know what they were getting into and now they’re just kind of stuck with each other but they don’t mind. (I might have a WIP about this, wink wonk. >:D)

Beelzebub ⭑ My Neighbor Totoro

“Try laughing. Then whatever scares you will go away.”

This is a little silly but Totoro kind of reminds me of Beel. They both have that gentle giant thing going on for them. Besides that, the movie has some underlying themes and subtext about grief and loss which especially season 1 of OM has as well with Beelzebub feeling responsible for Lillith and Belphie.

Belphegor ⭑ Spirited Away

“I’ve gotta get out of this place. Someday I’m getting on that train.”

Spirited Away is a coming-of-age movie about big changes in your life and likewise, Belphie deals with a lot of changes throughout the game. He goes from being a bitter little shit to being, well… less bitter but still a little shit. (I say this affectionately.)

#perse fics #perse headcanons #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me swd #obey me brothers #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie

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thalialunacy · 2 days

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[for the @calaisreno May Prompts Tour, which affords me the opportunity to be supremely self-indulgent]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) 13: laugh

Is this still the number for John Watson?

John pauses, thumb hovering. Before he can choose a response, another message flashes in.

It's Harry

He nearly drops the phone. Or maybe he nearly throws it against the wall. Hard to say.

His reflex to caretake wars with his lingering resentment of her absence. But he knows he would regret ignoring an olive branch… or whatever this is.

Everything okay?

No small talk, got it

Yes I'm fine, good in fact

and no I'm not going to ask you for money

He breathes in deeply.

I'm glad things are going well for you

And he is, at least in the abstract.

Thanks

I know this is the part where I'm supposed to ask how you are

But you know I'm pants at texting

Can we just have coffee or something?

John taps his phone to his lip absently and considers his options. A public reunion seems like it could be a volatile mistake, not to mention it's 7pm on a weekday. Sherlock is at the lab, Rosie is having her after-supper blanket time, and John is catching up on charting.

And to be honest, he's pretty bored.

Come to mine for tea?

Harry's three dots wibble for a while, which John supposes is fair.

Right now?

With my schedule, I have to take opportunities where I can

Okay, yeah, I'm free

He sends her the address, feeling both pleased and annoyed. One would think that hitting his own rock bottom would make him more sympathetic towards his sister. But really, it just piles helpless anger on top of guilt on top of anger, ad nauseum.

He's not even sure she knows he's a father, for Christ's sake.

Turns out, she doesn't. She walks through the door he holds open for her, and stops abruptly when she sees Rosie. 'Oh my God,' she breathes, staring. 'Oh my God. You--' She turns to John, eyes wide. 'She-- Johnny. She's yours?'

He nods, and despite everything, he feels his face curve into a proud smile. 'Her name's Rosie.'

'Can I--' Harry indicates the blanket with a sharp movement. 'Can I say hello to her?'

'Yeah, course.' He follows her, and folds himself down behind Rosie. 'Sweetheart, this is your Aunt Harry.'

Harry makes a bit of a squawking noise, probably at the 'aunt' bit, but tamps it down. 'Hi, Rosie,' she manages, her voice rough but determined. 'It's lovely to meet you. What are you playing with?'

'Avocados,' Rosie mostly manages to say, then holds one up for Harry without hesitation. Harry takes it with a giggle, and before long they're thick as thieves with a pile of emoting avocados between them.

Harry glances up at him when there's a lull. 'So. The dad life is treating you well, yeah?'

He hesitates, then nods. 'It is now.'

She eyes him, but doesn't ask about what came before now. Instead, she says, 'I'm just going to ask, alright -- who's the other parent?'

He raises an eyebrow. 'Why d'you say there is one?'

Her eyes twinkle. 'Because you do not have the fashion sense to have bought her this outfit. Your bird rich, then?'

He coughs. 'Well. No.'

She waits, though he can see she's trying not to be annoyed by his reticence. She's never understood people wanting to keep things private. 'No?'

'My… flatmate. He's able to buy her things I don't give a toss about, yeah.'

She blinks. 'You have a gay flatmate?'

John feels his ears heat up. 'I do, yeah.'

She seems weirdly impressed. 'You've come a long way from being a rugby lad, haven't you?'

He snorts. 'I'm learning how to do plaits, if you'll believe it.'

'She's not got enough hair for that yet.'

'Sherlock--the flatmate--insists it's a useful skill, though I've no idea why.'

She doesn't reply, and he looks up from where he's helping Rosie with her current avocado. 'What?' he asks, though he knows it's useless. Harry is no Sherlock but honestly, she doesn't have to be, because his emotions have always been written all over his face. It's a curse and a blessing.

'Oh holy shit,' she breathes out.

'Language,' he admonishes reflexively.

'Sorry, I mean-- Holy noses, Johnny.'

'Don't be smug.'

'Oh, I take no credit for this, I always knew the overcompensating locker room talk was hiding something.'

He rolls his eyes, but his lips are twitching. 'Yeah, insecurity about willy size.'

'Okay, ew, first of all. Second of all-- What the--' He gives her a warning look. 'Ever-loving heck.'

'Short version?' She nods quickly. He decides to also give her the slightly-less-mad-sounding version. 'Got married, got pregnant, had baby, wife passed away, realised I had feelings for my flatmate. Who is a man. And who is effectively fathering my child.'

She claps her hand over her mouth, and for a moment he fears she's going to cry, but then realises she's laughing.

'Oi, that's just not on,' he protests.

'But it's ridiculous!' She holds out a hand to him placatingly, speaking through continued laughter. 'It's lovely and sad and all that, but you have to admit--'

There are tears escaping the corners of her eyes, and he feels it begin to bubble up in his chest, too. Her laugh has always been a thing of beauty, of loud, annoying, contagious, unforgettable beauty, and he can't help it.

And she's right, really. It is kind of ridiculous.

He lets out his own laugh, finally, and reaches for her hand.

[❤️]

#it's gonna be MAY 2024 #May Prompts 2024 #MayPrompts2024 #BBC Sherlock #Parentlock

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often-daydreaming · 3 days

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This prompt is kind of a joke prompt but here you go anyway.

I've read countless prompts and fics talking about how the Anti-Ecto Acts affect Danny, Dani, Dan, the heroes, etc, but what if it was just a random bunch of people coming up with a work around in order to finally get rid of a lot the supervillains that were protected by the law.

Like Ben (I don't know why I came up with Ben for this) and a couple of his friends start talking about how certain supervillains can get away with just about anything only to get a few months in prison when one of them brings up the Fentons who are one step away from being mad scientists. Anybody who ever went to school with them is bound to bring them up at least once but they get brought up and eventually everyone ends up joking about how many heroes have 'come back from the dead' since the everyday civilian would probably think they were on a vacation or doing some sort of undercover work whenever they aren't seen out in public for a while. Ben adds on to the idea by bringing up how many supervillains have come back from the dead and it kind of snowballs from there until it finally gets to the dumbest idea any of them have ever had.

How would you kill a ghost, zombie, whatever?

What would someone like the Joker even be considered since he's apparently died on a number of different occasions and is somehow so insane nobody can give him the death penalty. Wait... What was that about the Fentons... Their research... Huh??? Let me see that for a second... That could work... It could actually work. We just have to word it the right way, maybe make up a couple of things to make it sound scary but it could work.

It doesn't even have to be about the Joker. With the number of enemies Luthor has you can't tell me there isn't at least one rich person willing to jump on the chance of legally having a way to get rid of him for good. Cause he's faked his death before, been dying only to transfer his consciousness into a clone body and probably pulled off even more crazy things I don't know about and this insane idea might be just the thing they'd need to finally get rid of him since he'd no longer have any rights if the Anti-Ecto Acts pass.

But then they start hearing about a supposed ghost kid and what's this about a hunter in a mech suit and a biker with a sentient shadow. Obviously he's just a meta. The mech suit guy simply had way too much time on his hands and the biker has to be magic. Just look at the baby hero and his rogue gallery roughing each other up but the Fentons are screaming about ghosts again, they're even on the local news now so we have to double down on everything if we want this to work. Quick, grab a couple of guys and go act like Team Rocket until we've handled things over here. You're O, that's Q. He can be Z if he wants. I don't really care who does what just shove the alien squid whatever back into the portal before a Green Lantern shows up complaining about some sort of space law we've probably broke then go around telling everyone you destroyed it or something. They can't prove we didn't.

Remember, we're supposed to be the 'bad guys' people.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc prompt

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dailynoodlezz24 · 2 days

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Ok, i had the thought (since i love werewolves and vampire stuff, liches, all that-- I blame Skyrim and its unhealthy amount of beautiful mods-- and Dungeon Meshi just seems so perfect about it with its races and stuff) what if Marcille's a dhampir, basically a human vampire crossbreed, who seeks to become fully vampiric in order to be able to sire in lieu of the dungeon lord/universal longevity plot. (Spoilers: she still doesn't get it in the end lmao) Falin is a longtime friend of hers through a backstory I still haven't made up yet, and Marcille's introduced as a new addition to the main cast, who are a party of hikers (or for some sort of venturing activity). Month in, Falin's gone and had herself eaten by some weird dog described in only folklore, which Laios would later excitedly incite as a "lycanthrope". (They tried to call emergencies for a missing person, but they came up with nothing. Everyone thinks Laios is going insane when he concludes that the sight they saw after Falin became officially missing, blood trails and offly wolfish tracks fading off to somewhere, was the work of a wolfman, or a werewolf, and suggested going to search for Falin themselves. Namari and Toshiro leave promptly) Chillchuck and Marcille stay with him, one determined with his navigational skills and the other fully believing in this supernatural theory. They decide it's best they start camping in the forest, deeper and closer to the wilderness, prompting them the idea: hunt for their share. Which may or may not be illegal :shrug They meet Senshi, one hell of a wildchef man. (Marcille's total disgust with the idea of eating out in the wild stems from the fact she doesn't want to survive off of squirrels again. But this food is pretty good, and she's eating other animals than small rodents this time. Chillchuck just doesn't want to hear about the weird ass facts about how skinwalkers might be related to humans and their horrific hunting tendencies while eating.) The deeper they go, the more strange and bizarre this forest becomes. First normal, unassuming, then the ravens start speaking and the rabbits have horns. And if you peer into it close enough, your eyes might just find company in where the campfire doesn't reach. So on and so on, they find Falin's bones in the corpse of the creature, and suddenly there's a little guy with white hair and crazed, purple eyes(thistle), who beats them all off with a stick(not actually lmao). Last they see is Falin's remains being reanimated with the dripping blood of the stranger. (Marcille had tried in desperate attempt to revive Falin with her own blood/bite, but to no avail, revealing herself in the process. The only thing she can note is the awful taste of something doglike, aka the lycanthrope disease circulating in Falin's bones-- since they were chomped before she died RIP.) Now they're against a highly aggressive abomination under the servitude of someone out to get them. And the opps are on them(canaries) Now I'm just thinking abt whether or not to make Marcille also a werepyre? Considering it would make sense for her to also get her human-half infected into something "full-fledged" in the way she hadn't intended, and still come up without the ability to sire(she wants to make a cauldron for company, a cauldron being like a vampire made family, due to the same motives of keeping her loved ones). Thank you for reading my ramblings, I am brimming with ideas for this AU.

#dungeon meshi #werewolf #vampire #werepyre #ramblings #marcille donato #falin touden #laios touden #bats

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mappingthesky · 8 hours

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not a prompt necessarily but I’m always down for planymphia angst 🙏🙏🙏

in response to multiple asks i’ve received for planymphia angst… here is this <3

i know baby, no attachment

None of this had been in the plan.

It was the first thing they’d talked about that first night in Jane’s apartment; Neither of them were looking for anything serious. They were both unavailable, incapable of making any promises. Not now. Not yet. It would be clean, simple, no strings attached. Just two people using each other. Innocently, admittedly using each other, but using each other nonetheless.

They’d been on the couch in Jane’s dimly lit apartment. Jane was an obvious sort of gorgeous. It was the first thing Nymphia had noticed about her, what drew her in on that first night they’d met: she’d been wearing something meant to lure you in, hypnotized by the clinging of her clothes to her body, the wave of her hair, her eyes tightlined and sharpened like knives. Jane was almost lethal to look at, all done up and primed to kill; the most magnetic friend-of-a-friend Nymphia had ever been introduced to. She was somehow even more gorgeous now, sitting on the couch in her casual clothes, her face aglow in the light of the television, her auburn hair pulled up into a messy top knot. She was painfully, effortlessly attractive, and, much to Nymphia’s surprise, only so much of a smooth talker. She came off suave at first, all punchlines and quick remarks, but after a while Nymphia could start to see her thinking. Jane would be in the middle of a sentence, flying through it, hurtling towards some revelation, and then she’d catch herself. She’d pause, freeze on a word and scoff at it, like she was considering whether whatever she was about to say would be worth the sentiment. And then she’d go a bit shy, averting her eyes and playing with the pilling on the upholstery, giving away just how carefully considered she was. And just when Nymphia was starting to think that Jane was completely nervous to her core, that Nymphia might actually have the upper hand in this situation, Jane would bring it back. She’d pick her head up and let the words go, say something so stunningly direct and devastating. It left Nymphia a little breathless, a little too endeared, a little too eager to kiss her.

They could have guessed at the chemistry, but it didn’t come close to the real thing.

What happened when Jane’s skin hit Nymphia was the sort of collision that produced suns and planets and supernovas, flinging particles off into space with enough pressure to form entire worlds. Nymphia could practically see the stars behind her eyes, fluttering shut when Jane was hovering above her, hand between her legs, finding some undiscovered place that Nymphia didn’t know had been there all along, waiting to be found. Jane turned Nymphia’s body into something more than it was before, transforming her irrevocably. Jane was a comet crashing through her atmosphere, and Nymphia was awe-struck, staring at the sky and watching the sparks shower. You can’t be prepared for such life-altering things, it's what makes them so devastating.

What neither of them could have predicted was the ease of what came after - the lying in bed, talking about it. The debrief. Nymphia was a bit too happily fucked, and unwilling to share the extent of her satisfaction. She was worried she would come off easy, inexperienced somehow. Jane, however, was endlessly attentive. She wanted Nymphia’s experience of the encounter, all the details - what she liked, what satisfied her the most, what she wanted more of. Her sheer desire to please was enough to pull the details out of Nymphia. She was rewarded when Jane allowed her to relive it, this time through Jane’s eyes. Jane’s gaze was far off with remembering, a smile playing at her lips as she recounted her experience of Nymphia in such erotic detail, every telling arch and shudder, and the whole thing was so overwhelmingly flattering that it sort of made Nymphia want to do it all over again.

Nymphia had known better than to pack an overnight bag. She thought she had, anyway.

Her eyes were closed and she was nearly asleep when she’d mumbled, ‘I should be going soon.”

Jane just chuckled. “You’re half asleep already.” Her fingers trailed up the curve of Nymphia’s thigh. “Just spend the night. If you want to.”

Nymphia's eyes were suddenly open, “Yeah?” Jane traced stars onto her hip.

“Mhm,” Jane hummed, eyes flickering up, then back to the curve of Nymphia’s waist.

Nymphia closed her eyes, savored in the feeling of Jane on her skin. A long moment passed.

“D’you cuddle? Or is that against the rules.”

Jane’s hum was an amused look at you asking so soon. She was already pulling Nymphia to her chest.

That first night turned into a three-day sleepover, because of course it did. Nymphia and Jane stretched themselves over the long arc of the weekend, sharing the sort of welcome, unexpected ease that you can’t put down, the kind that you’ll happily destroy your routine over and resign yourself to picking up the pieces after the fact. One weekend became another, and then occasional nights at Nymphia’s apartment with the door shut and her duvet crumpled at the end of the bed. And then they added the weekday rendezvous: Nymphia meeting Jane at her place after work on Thursday evenings, promising not to keep her up late and failing miserably, leaning her head on Jane’s shoulder in the morning as she locked the door on her way out. And then Nymphia was bleeding into Jane’s week, her Tuesdays and Wednesdays, her breakfasts and dinners, her late-night ice cream cravings and subsequent walks to 7-11. And then it was all too regular: Nymphia and Jane, Jane and Nymphia.

It's been a few months now, and there are so many things Nymphia loves about Jane.

She loves how Jane drives with one hand on her thigh, or with her fingers in her mouth. How she looks over to the passenger seat with that special look that's reserved just for Nymphia, and makes her feel like the only person she's ever wanted. She loves how she listens to her music loud, sings along when she’s drunk and tossing her hair, or when it's Sunday morning and she’s at the stove and there’s a record spinning in the living room. Nymphia loves how unabashed Jane is, how bold. How she never hesitates when it comes to the people in her life, how to be loved by Jane is to be fiercely defended by her. Nymphia loves how Jane kisses her in the middle of her sentences, especially when she's talking too much. She loves that Jane is so rough. How she can fuck her like she hates her. She loves how Jane can be so tender. How she can fuck her soft and slow, as reverent as religion. How Jane can make a mess of her, then put her back together again.

There are so many things Nymphia hates.

She hates that Jane is so impulsive, how she strikes so thoughtlessly, how she has to return to the wounds later to draw the venom out of them. How Jane is so stubborn, so set in her ways, so inflexible. How there’s two Janes - the one she’s with now, the one she is around her friends. The one who doesn’t kiss her, hardly touches her aside from a possessive arm around her shoulder or a tap on her knee. How the real Jane, Nymphia’s Jane, emerges as soon as they’re alone together, the one who will see her downturned gaze on the way home and coo what can I do, princess? Hmm? What can I do to see that pretty smile? Nymphia hates that she forgives Jane so easily, that she crumbles every time, that she loves Jane completely and entirely and beyond any measure of hurt that she could unknowingly inflict upon her.

She hates that she’s still sitting at this party, long after Jane promised they’d leave. She hates that Jane’s friends clearly like her; they laugh at Nymphia’s jokes, compliment her shoes, send knowing glances and winks across the room every time Jane so much as mentions her name. She hates how, when they ask what they are, Jane is all too quick to brush them off.

It's obvious that Nymphia’s upset by the way she pounds up the stairs, by the way she wordlessly digs through her purse for her keys, by the way the anger and the hurt and the disappointment emanate from her like poison.

“I just can’t believe they asked that,” Jane scoffs. Nymphia says nothing, gritting her teeth as she turns the key in the lock.

It should be obvious, but Jane is a bit too self-absorbed to notice.

“Like, we don’t even know what we are,” Jane says, and Nymphia feels sick, because she thought she did. “Why would she put me on the spot like that? In front of everyone?”

Nymphia pushes into the apartment, beelining for the kitchen.

“I mean, it was weird, right?” Jane continues, relentless. “Why do they need to know so bad?”

“Yeah,” Nymphia’s voice is hard, laced with venom. She chucks her keys onto the counter with a little too much force. “Why would they?”

“Right,” Jane doesn’t notice. “It would be nice if they could just let us-“

“I don’t know why they could possibly be so confused.” Nymphia interrupts, working off her thigh-highs.

Jane misses a beat. “Wait. Are you-“

“I can’t fucking imagine why they’d think that we’re together.” Nymphia lets her boots drop to the floor, one gut-wrenching smack after the other.

Jane blinks, brows knit together. Nymphia straightens up, fumbles with things on the counter that don’t need to be fumbled with. “Are you upset about this?”

“Why would I be upset?” Nymphia picks up a stray mug, sets it down again. “You just told all of your friends that we’re nothing serious. Why would I ever be upset about that, Jane?”

“I didn’t say that, Nymph,” Jane starts, already on the defense. “I said that we’re something.”

“Oh, right. My bad.” Nymphia scoffs. “We’re something. Let me know when you’re ready to illuminate me on whatever the fuck that means, Jane.”

Jane recoils at Nymphia’s profanity, unfamiliar with her frustration. She’s never seen her like this- so hurt, so ready to retaliate.

It's not funny. Jane shouldn’t laugh. She really shouldn’t, but she’s viscerally uncomfortable and horrifically unprepared for this situation, so she does anyways. “Are you really angry about this?”

The whole thing is white hot and embarrassing, and Nymphia has tears in her eyes when she turns and whips her purse to the floor.

Jane jumps. “What the fuck?” She’s wide-eyed, both hands held up in shock. “Nymphia. Are you serious right now?”

“I don’t know Jane,” Nymphia bites. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

“I kinda thought you might be,” Nymphia steps over her bag. “Y’know, because you cut me a key to your fucking apartment. I thought maybe that constituted we were more than,” she curls her fingers in the air, “something”.

Jane shakes her head, jaw tight and temple pulsing. When she speaks, it's in a lower voice, almost ashamed. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“You never want to talk about it!” Nymphia’s voice cracks, a desperate wail. Jane’s mouth opens, already halfway towards defending herself until she looks at Nymphia and sees her bottom lip quivering, the spilling over of her tears. Jane looked back with a concerned, almost panicked expression, lips frozen and slightly parted.

“Do you love me, Jane? Do you even fucking like me?”

Nymphia surprises herself with the question. She’s so amped up, so high on adrenaline that she lets it all out- the culmination of weeks of words she’d bitten back, suddenly pouring forth from where they’d been collecting in a lump in her throat.

“No, seriously, do you? Because I can’t fucking tell. I think you do, because- because you say all these beautiful things, and you spend so much time with me, and you take such good fucking care of me. So you must fucking love me, right? But when your friends ask, I have to sit there and listen to you tell them that we’re something. Like it’s so fucking confusing to you. Like it's a goddamn secret. Do you know what that feels like?”

Nymphia is fully pacing now, walking the length of the kitchen over and over again. Jane follows her with wincing, pained eyes.

What Nymphia hates, more than anything, is that she doesn’t hate Jane at all. Not for any of it.

“I’m fucking in love with you, Jane, alright?” Nymphia whines, hands whipping through the air with frustration. “I’m so in love with you, and everybody fucking knows it. Your friends, my friends, my mom, everyone! But no one seems to have any goddamn clue if you love me too. And you know what? I’m not sure if I do, either.”

When she finally expels the last of the words from the hole in her heart, Nymphia looks up through her tears. She can barely stomach the sight of Jane, lips parted and wordless, unsure of what to do with the outpouring of Nymphia’s heart. She stares at her, eyes twisted in pain, then looks to the ground, like Nymphia’s words have slid off her and collected in a puddle at her feet. Nymphia just cries, a pained and exhausted whimper on her lips as she pushes past Jane and into the living room. She collapses on one end of the couch, pulling her knees to her chest and hiding her face behind one hand, hot tears sliding down her cheeks and into her mouth.

Jane stands in the center of the room with her back turned, still facing the phantom of Nymphia’s words that may very well haunt her kitchen forever. Her head is spinning, because how the fuck did this happen. Nymphia is openly sobbing behind her, and the sound is so gut-wrenching that Jane is nauseated.

Nymphia makes a horrible, shuddering gasp for air and Jane finally breaks, crossing the room and dropping to her knees on the floor where Nymphia sits. She doesn’t even look at her, just sobs, and Jane can physically feel her heart fucking breaking.

“Nymphia,” she says, placing her palm on Nymphia’s knee. “Nymph. Hey.”

Nymphia shakes her head, face contorted with tears. She flinches at Jane’s hand like it fucking hurts, and Jane winces as the guilt slices through her. She exhales a sharp puff of defeat and drops her head in hurt.

Nymphia just cries and cries, and the reality of the situation sinks in Jane’s stomach with every sob. She’s sick to her stomach with concern, worried that Nymphia might actually fucking hyperventilate, and then she’s gently begging the girl to breathe. She goes to reach for Nymphia again and pauses, scared to reach out, scared to hurt Nymphia, scared that she’ll recoil from her again. It’s then that Jane knows, for the first time in all of her life, what she wants. She knows, right as it threatens to slip out of her hands.

“I’ve never done this before.”

Jane hears her own voice. Her words hang in the air for a moment, floating like smoke between Nymphia’s shaky, shattered breaths. Jane looks up.

“This,” she says, a tentative hand on Nymphia’s knee. “What you and I have. I’ve never-”

The words are hard for Jane to stomach. They don’t pour out like Nymphia’s do. They catch in her throat, feel wrong in her mouth. She’s not sure they’ll be enough.

“I’ve never had this with anyone,” she says. “I’ve never wanted to. Not until now.”

Nymphia wipes at her eyes, shudders a bit as her breathing quiets.

“I, um,” Jane glances down, scared to look. “I don’t know how.”

Nymphia finally looks at Jane, so small and nervous and crumbling at her feet. She wants to take her hand, to show her, to be endlessly patient even if it kills her. The desire is so enormous, even now. She almost hates herself for it.

“I know I’m fucking it up,” Jane says to the floor, her voice tiny and wavering. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.”

“I just need to know,” Nymphia whispers.

Nymphia swallows hard, and then Jane looks up and its so fucking harrowing, so moving, because Nymphia can see the guilt in her eyes, the desire, the glimmer of words she can’t figure out how to say. She watches as she considers, catches herself, lets it go.

“I do.” Jane says. Nymphia’s heart plummets, because she knows what she means.

“I don’t want to say it now,” Jane says. “I don’t want it to be an apology. I want you to know I mean it. Is that okay?”

Nymphia nods and Jane mutters over and over I do, I do, you know I do.

It's beautiful and tragic and overwhelming, and Nymphia wants to crash into Jane, to merge together and surpass the need for words entirely. It's too soon to know yet if it's for better or for worse, only that she does it - that she reaches out and takes Jane’s hand.

“I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it.” There’s a hint of a smile on her lips, a bit of Jane laughing at herself. “But I want to try.”

Nymphia just nods and feels more tears streaming down her cheeks, and Jane’s crying too, and then they’re crashing into each other. Nymphia is leaning down and throwing her arms around Jane, who is sitting forward and clinging to her like she’s scared to let her go. Like she caught a shooting star in her bare fucking hands.

It's a whisper against her hair, but Nymphia hears it. “Can I try again?”

Nymphia could hate herself for it for all of forever. She’s prepared to. Jane doesn’t know what she’s doing, and she doesn't either. Nymphia nods anyway.

It's a new world, one of their own making. It's unexplored, uncharted, and they’re venturing into it together, hand in shaking hand. It's dangerous. She’s doing it anyway. She might hate herself for it. It might be the bravest thing she’s ever done.

#take a shot every time jane says something 3 times in a row in one of my fics #also. too many commas. AND WHAT ABOUT IT #i just want you to know i’ve had this one in mind for literal weeks #and i had it in my drafts on AO3 AND I FUCKING LET IT EXPIRE #AND THE WAY I HAD TO WRITE THIS FROM MEMORY…#i love u guys. u better be grateful <3 #WOOOO ANGSTY #with a hopeful ending #because i am sooooo nice ::)#prompt #she writes #planymphia #chappell roan inspired OFC #shoutout 2 my muse also. u inspire me #but not with angst. just with ur brilliance #OK BYE

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do-androids-dream-ao3acc · 18 hours

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Well here are two for you.

Transfer thoughts and feelings when Buck considers joining the 217.

Anchor - for dating a pilot, Buck, never seen or dated someone so ground and stable as his boyfriend.

Hellloooooo sorry for being slow, this is finally my filling of another BuckTommy prompt! Nonny, I worked with your second one here and I'm afraid that the first one is probably not gonna happen, my muse is not striking there at all. Sorry about that! 3 more prompts are gonna come, no worries.

TLDR: Another BuckTommy, this time another approach on S07e07.

Exceptional

–– I won't deny the lies and deception I've sought, I've learned, I've grown ––

"Eddie's acting weird lately," Buck says.

"Do we have to talk about Eddie now?" asks Tommy, and the question is justified.

Buck's couch is just big enough for him to lie stretched out on it, his head in Tommy's lap. They just had an excellent meal, and satiety, contentment plus a good helping of wine lulled them both into a very pleasant mood. The kind of vibe that will make more of Tommy's gentle kneading of Buck's shoulders in no time – though talking about another guy is a bit of a mood killer in the process.

However, turns out that conversations about Eddie are unavoidable if you’re with Buck. And maybe there's something to it, because he adds, "I think he lied to me."

Something in his voice seems to catch Tommy's attention, he bends over to look at Buck. Those blue eyes are mesmerizing, and Buck would be willing to forget about it, to make Eddie a problem for another day. But Tommy... he's just too observant. He knows that Buck's trust is almost boundless, and that he’s fragile, should it be shaken.

"Why would Eddie lie to you?"

Another valid question.

"Something doesn't add up," Buck begins, and because he starts gesticulating wildly, Tommy captures his hands gently and holds them tight. "Christopher says Eddie bought a scented candle. What does he need that for?"

"Maybe he likes the scent, Evan."

"He's also been really nervous lately."

"Stressful job?" offers Tommy, definitely the voice of reason.

Although the subject is effectively over – for this evening – because Buck can't resist those blue eyes or those talented hands, he can't get the matter out of his head. Tommy thinks he should just ask Eddie, but how on earth is he supposed to do that? Buck realizes that his evidence for "Eddie's been weird lately" is very thin, and buying scented candles or acting suspicious is not a crime.

But the pieces of the puzzle are adding up, albeit very slowly. Christoper says, Eddie washes his clothes every night, yet he used to hate even his weekly washing day. Athena casually remarks that she saw Eddie's doppelganger in Silver Lake. Because it couldn't have been Eddie, he thinks Silver Lake is overly hip and expensive, and he prefers completely different restaurants than the one where Athena saw someone who looked very similar to him. Strangely similar, that's for sure. Hen says that she collided with Eddie while reloading the firetruck, and he reacted weirdly when she asked him about a key ring he accidentally dropped and she had never seen on him before.

The incidents pile up, and the 118 begins to worry. Tommy, although permanently in Buck's thoughts, hovers on the sidelines as far as the 118 is concerned, and his and Buck’s crazy shift schedules ensure that he doesn't catch much. He is therefore totally unprepared when, after what seems like an eternity, they finally have an evening off together and he is greeted at the door by Buck with, "Eddie's cheating."

Buck, contrary to popular belief that probably only exists in his own mind, is not an idiot, and he's completely smitten with Tommy. He knows it's not the smartest (or even the most polite) move to greet his love interest with another guy's name, even before the welcoming kiss. Buck is just so distressed, it makes him jittery. And he knows that Tommy has every right to be at least surprised, but more likely annoyed.

Tommy, however, doesn't even raise his brows at this greeting, and he is neither surprised, confused, annoyed nor offended. He just enters the loft, closes the door, looks at Buck attentively, and puts a hand on his arm (all the fine hairs there rise up) saying, "You're upset, Evan." Then he gently leads him to the sofa, they sit down, and Buck thinks, yes, indeed, I am.

It's just that he didn't expect this reaction. Buck knows he's a nervous wreck when things go differently than expected. For the most part, he has himself under control, he has adapted strategies, although his therapist describes this as evasive masking. But these strategies are usually necessary, because Buck has often run into walls. He's been told he's annoying, exhausting, overreacting and a dozen other unflattering things. Never before has someone he cares so much about taken him so seriously.

Tommy just lets Buck talk. Buck gives him his spiel on everything he knows about what happened, and it’s a confusing story about an Eddie’s-dead wife-lookalike. And then he drops the bombshell, at least that's how he feels, by saying, "I did that once, Tommy."

"You dated a doppelganger?"

"I'm serious," Buck says, but he can’t really blame Tommy for seeking to lighten the mood in this absolutely muddled affair. "I cheated."

He doesn’t elaborate, because this is nothing he likes to think back on. None of his best moments, definitely. And what kind of confession is that anyway? Is this something you tell someone you've only been out with a few times, had a few nice (hot) nights with? Rather, is this something you tell someone you care so much about? But maybe just then, Buck thinks. Maybe just then.

"You're scared," Tommy says, and it hits Buck to the core.

There's an icy knot in his stomach since Eddie told him the truth, and it finally has a name. The nervousness, his restlessness, all that shrinks into a single feeling, even if it doesn't make it any easier. Fear doesn't disappear just because it's recognized.

"Evan," Tommy says, and the care in his voice almost melts Buck, "I'm not afraid you'll cheat."

Buck takes a breath, but the words that were already on the tip of his tongue have suddenly vanished. That’s a strange thing to say, isn’t it? Just now, Buck’s confessed he cheated on a former lover, and most people would probably have replied reflexively that he had nothing to fear, that they would never do that to him. Even though it was him who cheated.

"How can you be so sure?" Buck returns, and strangely enough, he’s almost angry.

Because, let's break it down, Buck, when it comes down to it, the people he cares about will not want him, and they’ll leave. And if they don't, then he will leave; save himself the pain, because there has already been enough of that. He already knows what they will say, how they will react, doesn't he? Only... it’s different, it’s so different with Tommy.

Eyes as blue as a mountain lake, muscles saying don't mess with me, gentle words yet pithy charisma: inwardly and outwardly, Tommy is quite contradictory. But an enigma he’s not. A rock, Buck thinks, yes. That's what he is.

"I'm sure," Tommy replies with a confident smile, "because you want me as much as I want you."

Buck falls apart in the most pleasant way. Because that’s true. In all this mess, that is perhaps the only truth. Yes, Eddie lied, yes, the man cheated on his girlfriend, and yes, the parallels are scary because it's clear Eddie is shying away from a relationship. Eddie doesn't fall in love half as fast as Buck does, and he has certain morals and standards, and he has Christopher; all of that makes the affair seem so scary.

But Buck finally realizes that this can be solved. Eddie isn't just his friend, he's family, because family isn't what you're born into. Family can be a group of people who trust each other, and you don’t leave them alone, you take care of them and pounce on problems together.

And what is Tommy in all this?

Tommy with his loving gaze, his hand resting on Buck's arm, his thoughts only on Buck. Tommy, who doesn’t think he’s a nuisance because he’s talking about Eddie; he thinks Buck cares, and that’s valuable.

Tommy, somehow, is all of this and way more. For a pilot, Buck has never seen anybody so grounded, so stable as his boyfriend. Above all, he has never experienced anyone bring him down to earth so quickly, so easily and with such an inimitable look. His fear hasn't completely disappeared, perhaps that's quite impossible, but it's buried far, far down in a heap of thoughts that now revolve mainly around Tommy. He doesn't deserve the man at all. But he doesn’t voice this thought, because he allows himself a little selfishness. After all, Buck was struck by lightning and came back to life, only to be struck a second time. By Tommy.

"That's right," he says quietly, and then, as if it were a very sudden, very exhilarating realization, he repeats it, louder. "It's true. I want you."

Lock, stock and barrel, he thinks, and now his boyfriend finally gets what he deserves: all of Buck’s attention, all his care and affection.

Oh, and a kiss.

#writing #fanfiction #my fics #BuckTommy #Buck x Tommy #Buck/Tommy #9-1-1 #9-1-1 abc #9-1-1 fanfiction #Tommy x Buck #firepilot #tevan #evan buckley #tommy kinard

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