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#a drabble
kitkatpancakestack · 2 days ago
The thing is, Buck designed the shirt when he was drunk. It didn’t take any particular fashion prowess, and he’d gotten a coupon for the custom shirt website in the mail. Apparently, five tequila shots deep was the appropriate timeframe to have an epiphany, fumble around in his junk drawer for the coupon, and bring said epiphany to life.
The point is, the whole thing was a joke.
Unless you’re Eddie Diaz.
Buck walks through the front door of the Diaz household and nudges it closed with his heel. Some nebulously fall-scented candle permeates the room. Eddie had called him more or less demanding his assistance with the fall renovation, insofar as Eddie was capable of demanding anything. Anyway, Buck would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy watching Eddie’s “Agent of Renovation Chaos” alter ego make an appearance.
“Eddie?” Buck calls, stepping out of his boots. “Chris?”
“In here, Buck!” Chris returns, voice carrying from the living room. Buck steps around the corner and has to bite his tongue. Eddie’s back is to him in a familiar black t-shirt, the words, LEAVE ME ALONE, I’M RENOVATING screaming at him via enormous block letters. It was a joke. But ever since Buck gave him the gag gift for his birthday a couple years back, he wears it every time he starts on a decorating kick. And he wears it unironically.
“Hey, did you get started without me?”
Chris smiles at him from the couch, but Eddie is statuesque in front of the fireplace, deliberating between a sign that says Fall Into Gratitude and a sign that says Life is Gourd. Buck would never have believed Eddie Diaz himself picked those two placards off the shelf, unprompted, if he hadn’t been standing next to him when he did.
“Well, you gotta go with Life is Gourd,” Buck says, standing beside Eddie in front of the fireplace. “I mean, no contest.”
Eddie’s face is pinched in, lip pulled between his teeth. “You think so?”
“I mean, it is a pun. You can’t go wrong with a pun.”
“They’re both puns, technically, but that pun just happens to be better.” He plucks the other sign out of Eddie’s hand and nods to the mantle. “Now, I know you’ve been standing here for fifteen minutes trying to decide, so put that one up so we can move on.”
Chris makes a strangled harrumphing noise from the couch. “More like twenty minutes.”
“Ouch, sold out by your own son. That’s rough, Eddie.”
Eddie looks up for the first time, his brown eyes twinkling, always a bit calmer and brighter when in his interior design headspace. He puts the sign on the mantle and bumps Buck’s shoulder. “Come on, the other stuff is in the kitchen.”
Buck ruffles Christopher’s wild mass of curls on the way to the kitchen. “Hey, Ed, you will never believe what I saw on TV the other day. You would’ve loved it. Something about amateur home renovat—oof.” Something cottony soft hits his face. When he peels it off, he realizes it’s a black shirt. Eddie’s lips are pressed together when he meets his eyes. “Eddie.”
Eddie leans against the counter, arms crossed. “Buck.”
“What is this?”
“I don’t know. Look and see.”
Sure enough, Buck unfurls the shirt in front of him and the words, LEAVE ME ALONE, I’M RENOVATING (TOO) gawk back at him. Garish, blocky white letters. Exactly the same as Eddie’s. His throat tightens for reasons unknown. He can’t get his heart to behave. Feels like it might beat out of his fucking chest.
“We match!” Christopher’s voice, loud and excited from the entryway to the kitchen, and when Buck angles to the side to look at him, Chris sports his own black shirt with the words, RENOVATOR IN TRAINING emblazoned across the back.
Buck drops his gaze to the shirt in his hands, looks up at Eddie, is immediately swept up in two warm, brown pools of fond. “Do you like it?” he asks.
The laugh that blows through his lips is thick and wet. “Yeah. Yes. Obviously.”
A broad, coy grin cracks Eddie’s face. He ducks his head a moment, hands shoving in the pockets of his jeans, and then nods to himself. “Good. Alright, let’s get the rest of this stuff up. Chris wants to watch Hocus Pocus.”
Eddie and Chris leave the kitchen, and Buck hears them engage in a decidedly one-sided debate over the specifics of his bedtime. He can't tear his gaze away from the shirt, and the warmth that percolates through every nerve ending and fiber of his being feels like a fever, feels like something he wants inside him forever.
He slides the shirt over his head, over his long-sleeved V neck, twists around to peek at the wording on the back.
“Buck!” Eddie calls. “In your own time, obviously!”
“Patience is a virtue, Eddie," he retorts, but the smile twisting his lips softens the bite. He grabs the rest of the bags off the table and joins his boys in the living room.
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stararch4ngell4dy · 2 months ago
This is a dream I had, like I took a nap and I need to write this down before I forget it. This is Connor from Detroit, so if you like him this may be for you :) I’ll put this through a gender-neutral point of view so you can see what I saw.
So, this dream, if you can remember the cutscene where Connor is talking to Hank and he walks off (I think? It’s been forever I’m sorry), and Connor is watching him leave, just try to picture that scenario.
“Why do you-I… I don’t get it.” He announced, catching you off guard before you could fully walk away, clutching your jacket closed to protect you from the cold.
“What do you mean?” You peered back at him over your shoulder, feeling your chill nipped cheeks blooming with pure warmth and your heart beat faster than the wings of a hummingbird, if that was even possible. You were conflicted, you told him the truth you’ve kept to yourself for such a long time from him, and for him to respond the way he did, it left you hurt. But you had to understand that he didn’t understand, maybe he wasn’t exactly programmed for this type of behavior, it wasn’t what he was sent out to do.
“I mean,” Connor faced you fully, those curious eyes of his staring at you with full on confusion with furrowed brows. “How… how do you do it? How could you harbor such a strong emotion for something?”
Something…? You felt your heart skip a beat in a strangely painful way. No, why does he think like that?
“You’re not a something, Connor.” You faced him fully, keeping your arms crossed. “You’re a full on being, a real being. A thinking one, a talking one, just like a normal person.”
“But I’m not a person. I’m a machine.”
“You’re not a machine,” You shook your head, “I didn’t say I liked a machine, I said I liked you. That’s different, very different.”
“I get that,” He replied, his hands closing as he avoided his gaze, looking like what you assumed was flustered. “I.. no, no I don’t get that. I understand that androids are programmed for pleasure, for more happier experiences to coerce with humans, but that’s not my purpose.”
“That’s not what I mean Connor.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, biting your bottom lip while you were almost unable to keep back a laugh. This silly man in front of you was thinking too much on this, but maybe you just weren’t clear enough.
“Look, When I said that I liked you, it wasn’t as in I liked a machine,” You tried to explain, stepping closer to him, “Or I liked you for weird purposes that other androids are made for. No, I said I liked you for you, not because of this and that involving pleasure and such.”
Connor’s eyes remained in focused contact with yours, watching you avoid his while you were explaining. You peered down to the ground to stare at your snow covered boots, you looked back at him to see the snow clinging to his strands of hair before returning to his eyes. His own gaze broke when he noticed you rolling back and forth on your feet, shivering a little from the cold.
“Can you please elaborate more Y/n?”
“Sure,” You nodded slowly, thinking on what kind of example to use. At first, you believed that a million ideas would come to mind, but these were a million ideas that Connor may not have been familiar with.
“No, it’s kinda like how Hank likes his dog-“
“But I’m not a dog.”
“No,” You laughed, “You’re not. You’re you, Connor. That’s what I like, you’re yourself. You’re honest, you’re funny without realizing, and adorable.”
His lip curled at the compliments, the sight making your heart melt. His fingers found the back of your hand when he reached for it, gently allowing your fingers to press against his. The natural skin began to disintegrate, revealing the perfect shade of sleek white that was his real form. He was incredibly warm to the touch, probably a warming mechanism of some kind in his system.
Regardless, just feeling his fingers hold yours as he warmed them felt nice.
“I’m sorry if I caused offense,” Connor spoke up, seeing your attention raise to him. “It’s just, well, this is new to me. It’s very new, but I would like to learn more in order to play the part.”
“Play the part?”
“Yes,” He nodded slowly, “Play the part as someone you deserve.”
“Connor,” You smiled, huffing out a small laugh. “You don’t need to do that. You just need to be yourself, that’s perfect.”
“That’s good,” Connor started to smile more. “Really, that’s very good. What I should’ve meant is that I would like to learn more about how a relationship goes. While I could take the time to research this myself, I would like to know your interpretation first.”
God, he was so adorable. He was asking you as if you were an instructor, and he was the eager student prepared to learn and please. As flattered as you were, maybe it would be best to do a fair amount of both, and not learn just based off what you’d prefer. If he entirely listened to you, then he’d just be doing exactly what you wanted. It sounded a little selfish on your part.
“We’ll do fifty fifty, how about that?” You proposed, seeing him immediately nod in agreement. The motion made you giggle more, seeing his smile grow at the sight of your happiness.
“I need to admit something,” Connor looked down and offered his other hand, which took the same shade of white like his other. You rested your free hand against his palm, watching his fingers wrap around yours and warm them, the back of his thumb rubbing soft circles against your knuckles.
“This feels really nice.” Connor confessed, seeing you look a bit surprised. “I like it a lot.”
His smile was contagious, a deeper blush warming your cheeks at his innocent confession. “I like it too.”
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ohheyitsokay · 5 months ago
upside down (drabble)
Pairing: Din Djarin (the Mandolorian) x reader
Wordcount: .7k
Warnings: none, enough fluff to fill a medium sized stuffed animal
Summary: Din is silly, because even tough boys have to be, every once in awhile
Din Djarin was staring at you. You weren’t sure how you knew but you always did.
It was one of the few peaceful days on the Razor Crest, and you had been thoroughly enjoying it, occupying the little one as you cleaned and fixed things, teaching yourself new things, and sneaking glances at your riduur.
He had been grumpy the last few weeks, getting bombarded with responsibilities and working hard. While you were thankful he provided for your little family, you were equally thankful when the tightness left his shoulders and he was allowed to breathe.
Now, however, the child was asleep and Din was staring at you, his helmet tilted ever so slightly and his body language suddenly tense.
“Din?” you said, concerned and confused.
Without warning, he bent the side, arms out, and lunged at you.
Your world spun and you realized you were upside down and he was carrying you across the ship with long strides.
After you comprehended what happened, you shrieked, trying to twist in his arms. You knew trying to beat at him would be useless - the beskar would hurt your hands or he would drop you entirely.
“Din Djarin, put me down!” upside down as you were, you could feel him shaking with laughter. He didn’t verbally answer, only depositing you with surprising gentleness onto your bed.
Your hands, eager for revenge grabbed at him, hooking on the plates of his armor and pulling him down with you. He must not have expected this, because he actually crashed into the thin mattress with a grunt, and you took full advantage. It was a bit uncomfortable but you swung your legs over him until you were sitting on him, pressing him down with your arms.
Absolutely unthreatening, you were stuck laughing and helpless asking him, “What was that for?”
He just shrugged under you, and you gave up, relaxing. There was no winning for you, anyway, so you peppered little kisses all over the face of his helmet. You enjoyed showering him with affection, and even more so when you knew it would make him yearn for you. Before, you would have felt cruel for torturing him in this way, but now that you were his, and it was within his power to fix it if he so chose.
You could almost hear him thinking, if he had anything else to do today, if he had to leave the safety of the room. It gave you a longer window than you expected, so you began pressing slower, more loving kisses to the helmet, eventually moving down to press a few over the cloth around his neck. As your lips left a little mark on the shoulder piece, he finally made up his mind.
His helmet came off as unceremoniously as it could, with all the weight it held, and you couldn’t help but gaze at him for a moment. Then he was pulling you into a kiss.
It was always the very first thing he needed when this time of the evening came, before either of you could move forward, and you would never complain. For all your teasing, you wanted it - needed it - as much as he did. When you pulled apart, both of you had warm smiles.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you be silly, Din Djarn,” you said, honestly. He had a sense of humor that you adored, but this was something new.
His hands wandered along your body, one finding a loose hair and tucking it away.
“You have been worrying about me, cyar'ika,” he said simply, and you felt like the words pounded straight into your heart. He was right, of course, with all the work he was doing and the danger he was in, how could you not be? But the fact that he’d noticed how you worried over him, and wanted to show you he was okay, warmed you all the way to your toes.
“You are alright, then?” you verified, leaning in until your noses were touching. He gazed at you, drinking in your form, soaking in the simple pleasure of having you on top of him, close, and unfiltered.
His voice had a warm, honest rumble to it when he answered you, whispering: “Riduur, I am perfect.”
@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost
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yourgoodpuppy-moved · 4 months ago
i had just this little idea i needed to drop about izuku. please excuse me as i do a quick ramble.
—————- 18+ // MINORS DNI ———————
i think if it’s a strong enough or good enough orgasm izuku cries. this is the same thing for me. it’s a really strange reaction, but my body practically forces me to cry. i get into a weird haze, mainly because my body just takes over. but this whole crying & cumming situation would turn even the most animalistic izuku into a soft daddy, SO FAST. (not always, depending on just how hard that orgasm hits you.) he’d pull out & just curl you up so tightly in his arms, cradling you. “oh puppy, you were soo good for me.” he’d lay soft kisses on your face, running his scarred hands up & down your arms. “i love you much, my sweet and perfect puppy”. nothing is more precious to him than your softness. the 180° you both are able to pull when it comes to sex & aftercare is something that you pride yourselves on. being equally filthy & pure. your friends joke all the time because both you & him don’t exactly exude “horny monster energy”. you both get dropped into the cute category daily. at first you felt alone in this, but when Izuku came around, you weren’t alone anymore. you are just two really soft, innocent looking people, but you’d say with confidence that you both were the dirtiest of them all. it was the versatility that strengthened your relationship with Izuku. so when you’re begging him to fuck you into oblivion one second & then going soft and crying the next, he understands more than anyone. he’ll take care of you because he knows that it’ll only be a matter of time before that switch flips again & you’re begging to have your holes filled with his cock.
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billyhargrovens · a month ago
god knows (if you feel defeated)
{title from age of machine by greta van fleet}
the storm hits just after midnight.
the trees around billy shed layers of grit and black dust, rain cutting away at the upside-down like cauterized tissue until the raw wounds are exposed to the elements, amber sap seeping from the abused bark like the blood that runs down billy's chest.
impossible things lie in a ring around him; ring around the rosie, billy thinks bitterly. one by one, they all fell down until billy was the last thing standing - a bigger monster than whatever the upside-down could cook up.
a better one.
tears have always felt useless to him. they cut down his cheeks with the rain, mixing with lightning-struck water until he can't taste them anymore, until he can't tell what's the result of his anger or god's.
a well-worn spiked bat dangles from his right hand. his tattooed knuckles are bruised and battered. his strong legs are trying to feel weak and he grits his teeth, silently commanding them to man the fuck up. chest heaving, billy prods at a half-decapitated demogorgon and his lip curls, showing a single silver canine.
"ten fuckin' years," he mutters. "ten goddamn fuckin' years of this bullshit. and for what? 'cause i'm some kinda fuckin' - freakshow magnet?"
it doesn't matter how far or fast he runs. it doesn't matter how much snake oil "protection" he buys from roadside witches or shamans or druids - it doesn't matter how many heads of the hydra he cuts off; the assholes his deadbeat dad sold him off to as a kid just keep comin' back.
billy turns his wrist. the number six twinkles up at him, the faded tattoo made shiny by the rain. two more sixes flank it - his own addition, done with a sewing needle and a bottle of expired ink in a motel somewhere on the edge of new orleans.
the rage - his gift, el calls it - starts to settle. billy hates it when it does. it comes in such a rush, whiskey-hot and lightning quick. it leaves like the sap drippin' from the trees, a slow descent back into the cusp of his bones that leaves billy feeling shaky and exposed. his fingertips tingle and his wounds start to ache even as they seal shut.
it doesn't feel like healing.
slowly, billy tips his head back, golden curls plastered to his brow, his neck. thunder rolls through the sky, half-obscured by the boughs of the swaying trees, and billy breathes in ozone through his nose. slowly he exhales through his teeth.
the roar builds quietly. the lingering remnants of his anger - his gift - are kicked up like dust in the wind, ashes stripped from the surface of his bones and persuaded into a hurricane that carves a path from billy's gut to his throat.
he tastes copper when it comes. it rips out of him like a living thing, echoing through the ruined forest to challenge the thunder. the thunder bows, bending and warping into silence, commanded to quiet by the despair lacing through the shout that billy rarely lets himself give into.
but - fuck.
fuck, he's so goddamn tired. he's so fuckin' tired.
he'd been sixteen when he and el and maxine escaped.
he's twenty-six and feels like he's lived three times that. it's endless, this fuckin' war - and for what? there's no endgame, no goal. the upside-down is a place where logic doesn't matter, where power is good enough a meal to keep their endless army fed. billy used to eat the same thing, used to fuel himself on spite and the sheer thrill of being better, stronger, faster.
for a while, billy reveled in the war. it was what he was born for, made for, carved out of marble and ivory to be admired for. he was a work of art and devastation and he thrived in it.
and then came steve harrington.
steve harrington, with his fuckin' doe eyes and flailing limbs; steve harrington, who couldn't play ball to save his life but fought the upside-down like he wasn't an ungifted sack of vulnerable flesh and breakable bone; steve harrington, the guy billy couldn't fuckin' chase off or shake or scare away, not even after he'd put his fists through the guy's face when they were eighteen.
steve harrington, who made billy forget that he was just a machine meant to challenge thunder and ruin his knuckles in the maws of demogorgons and worse things.
steve harrington, who made billy hargrove into more than just the number carved into his wrist. steve harrington, who was stubborn and stupid and brilliant all at once and who followed billy into the dark every single fuckin' time he had to wade through the abyss, no matter how many times billy told him not to.
steve harrington, who billy hargrove thinks he'd die for, rip the world apart for, challenge more than thunder for.
steve harrington, who billy hargrove loves, even if he can't ever seem to get the words right.
he does, though. love him. and he can't fuckin' lose him.
the roar fades. the thunder gives billy a few seconds of grace before it cautiously rolls through the sky, humble and softer in the wake of his grief. like a puppet cut from its strings, billy sinks slowly to his knees in the mulchy earth, mud and rainwater soaking through his jeans.
and then -
"you done?"
twigs snap under sneakers. billy doesn't open his eyes until a pair of warm, calloused hands come up to cup his face; when he does, steve's face is blurred by a fresh wave of tears. he's covered in grit and his bandana is down around his neck; there's a cut down steve's cheek and his nose is bloody.
billy hates him.
"told you to stay with the rugrats," billy rasps.
steve's lips twitch. "they're almost twenty," he points out. "not really rugrats anymore."
billy gives a bitter huff and steve drops a hand so billy can swipe an arm across his own nose.
"gonna catch a nasty cold if we stay out here like this, man," steve says quietly.
"yeah," billy says.
neither of them moves.
steve settles on his heels and shuffles closer until their knees are touching. in the distance, billy hears the barking of will's dog, strider. hopper bellows something and then lets out a string of curses; max and el's laughter follows it, and something loosens in billy's gut.
"hey, hargrove," steve says, shaking him gently. "you with me, man?"
billy's nose curls. he leans into steve's palm and breathes in the heat of his skin.
"i'm tired," he whispers. "i'm so fuckin' tired, stevie."
and just like that, the moment's theirs. the grove where billy played ring around the rosie and won is theirs, the earth and the trees forging a temporary home where they're hidden from the rest of the world. it happens so quickly it makes billy's stomach launch between his lungs and before he can even try to shut himself down, he's crumbling.
the first sob hurts the worst. it's the one that breaks the seal, see, and that's always the most painful - the first part of the scab that flakes off, ripping fresh skin away from the slow-healing wound. billy lets out that harsh, painful sob and steve's expression dawns with softness, big brown doe-eyes so gentle they make billy feel like he's been flayed open.
"fuck," billy spits; "hey," steve says quietly, "hey, it's okay. i'm right here, billy, okay? it's okay. let it out, man, you gotta let it out."
the chain around billy's neck weighs heavy. the golden pendant is worn down from all the times billy's kissed it for the virgin mother's blessing before playin' ring around the rosie and the chain feels like it's suddenly fifty pounds, biting into the skin of his neck like a vampire.
billy slumps forward, head falling to steve's shoulder, trembling fists planted in the moss. steve's hand slides up to cradle the nape of his neck, fingers tangling into billy's golden curls.
"i've got you," steve says. "it's okay."
"it's not fuckin' fair," billy snarls, "i'm so fucking tired!"
he presses against steve with the shout, half-burying it against the juncture of steve's throat and shoulder. a sob follows the words, harsh and bitter as lemon rinds left in the sun. steve catches billy closer, thighs spreading to trap billy's knees between them.
"it's not," steve agrees, "it's not fair. this sucks - like, monumentally. and you've been in it from the jump, man. it's the fuckin' pits."
relief spreads through billy - it's brief, but it's enough of a respite to let him catch his breath.
"you're not like everyone else," billy says finally, "everyone else tries - fuck. they try'n tell me it ain't that bad, that this is - this is a fuckin' gift, or some shit. that this is what we're meant for. that this is what i'm, what i'm meant for, and -"
billy shuts his eyes, face pressed to the heat of steve's pulse. steve splays his hand over the back of his shoulder, the other sunk in billy's curls to clutch him close. one of billy's hands seeks the strong plain of steve's thigh, palm pressed to heat and muscle instead of dirt and moss.
steve snorts. "fuck that noise," he says wryly. "no one's meant for this bullshit. you're right, it's fuckin' unfair, and i hate that anyone's told you you're meant for this, i don't care if it came from el or max or fuckin' god himself. you're not, billy, okay?"
the way billy's chest rises and falls hurts. he shuffles closer to steve and steve opens himself to it, hitching his arm tighter around billy's broad shoulders. calm strength radiates from steve harrington, which shocked billy at first - but makes so much sense to him now. steve harrington is one of the strongest men billy's ever met.
"i hate you," billy whispers. steve doesn't stiffen. billy can feel the fond smile steve has plastered on his face when steve presses his cheek to his forehead, and billy groans. "fuck, i hate you. sayin' the shit you do, followin' me into this stupid bullshit - i hate you."
"yeah," steve huffs, "okay. then let me go, hargrove."
"fuck off."
"again, if you want me to fuck off -"
"you're an asshole."
"yeah, so're you. guess we're a pretty good pair."
billy's stupid heart twists and he lifts his head to look up at steve; his hair is a wild, wet mess, pushed back from his forehead. the cut on his cheek gleams and glistens, blood washed away by the purging rain. slowly, billy lifts a hand, and, taking care not to get too close, mimics the shape of the cut across the unbroken skin just beside it.
"hate seein' you hurt," he says roughly.
"yeah?" steve lifts a brow. "i'm not the biggest fan of it either, gotta admit."
"then maybe you should listen to me when i tell you to stay in the fuckin' car."
"nah, 'cause, see," steve shuffles closer, one leg slipping between billy's thighs so they're connected like puzzle pieces, "then i wouldn't know if you're okay or not. i gotta keep an eye on you, hargrove, no one else does it good enough."
billy snorts. "that so?"
"last time you followed me you fell into a hellhole."
"yeah, and?" steve gives him a look. "i didn't this time, did i?"
"not for lack of tryin'."
steve's expression is both horribly fond and terribly exasperated. he cups billy's chin and billy's heart does a somersault when he thumbs under billy's lips.
"you're allowed to have me on your side, y'know," steve murmurs. "this whole thing is so goddamn unfair, billy. least i could do is even the odds a little for you, y'know? i know i'm not much, i don't have any, like, cool x-men powers, but -"
"shut up, you're everythin'."
it comes out angry, aggressive - it comes out entirely of its own accord and steve's eyes widen for a second, his soft pink lips parting with a soft little "oh."
billy curses internally. panic clambers up into his mouth, but before he can play it off, steve's giving him a huge, dorky grin and his arm slides away from billy's shoulders so he can cup his face again, nose a hair's breadth away from billy's.
it's now or never. billy might be an idiot, but he's not stupid. he knows a Moment when he meets one.
"you're -" he swallows hard. "you're... you're the healing. y'know? the... shit, just..."
he huffs. steve smells like ozone and rain and wet clothes, but underneath that is his stupidly expensive cologne that billy's gotten him for christmas every year since they became attached at the damn hip and he's wearing the fucking protection amulet billy made with his own damn hands and the shirt he's wearing is billy's, too, 'cause they live in the same damn apartment but don't share a bed and billy -
the realization slams into him here of all places - which, honestly, he doesn't think it could've been anywhere else. they're surrounded by the monsters billy beat in ring around the rosie and steve's got grit on his face and a cut on his cheek and billy puts his lips to it in the softest whisper of a kiss, claiming it for his own. steve lets out a soft breath that almost sounds like a laugh.
"finally," harrington says, and before billy can register his confusion properly, steve's turning his head and catching billy in a clumsy, uncentered kiss.
it's kinda perfect. it's actually the best damn thing that's ever happened to billy hargrove, probably - outside of escaping the hydra and meeting steve harrington in the first place, of course.
it's rain-slick and it's blood-tinged and billy wouldn't trade it for all the fuckin' freedom in the world, 'cause in that moment, this is the freest he's ever been, and steve sinks a hand into his hair and this time it's with intention and billy's stomach is all heat and knots as he slides his lips to match steve's, tongue gently probing at his teeth.
he doesn't know how long they're glued together. it could be hours, it could be minutes. billy doesn't care. steve tastes like blood and mint and coffee and billy wants to drown in it, wants to live inside this moment for as long as he can.
because it's true. this is the healing - steve harrington is the balm that coats his invisible wounds, the ones on the inside of his body that don't benefit from advanced regeneration.
steve harrington is the keeper of a brutal soul that soared too close to the dark side of the sun because fear doesn't stick to steve harrington the way it sticks to billy - it rolls off steve like the burnt bark off the trees surrounding them, crumbles to ashes beneath steve's feet.
that fearlessness could kill him. it could ruin him - and it would be billy's fault.
"stevie," billy rasps; "don't," steve whispers against his lips, "don't run, okay? not from me. not from us. i'll be the healing, billy. i'll be whatever you need."
"i can't ask you to fuckin' - waste your life on this stupid fuckin' war," billy growls.
steve smiles against billy's sneer. "how the fuck is keeping you safe a waste? you didn't ask me to do shit, hargrove. let's fuckin' ditch this pity party - it's cold as shit. let's go home, get dry - get high - and make out on the couch. you can angst when we're warm."
billy leans back. "it's that fuckin' simple for you."
steve lifts his eyebrows. "uh, yeah, dude. it's you. being with you is the easiest shit i've ever done. even like this - but i am really fucking cold, and it's kinda putting a damper on the rampant horniness i'd really like to be indulging in right now."
billy feels a bit like he's gotten whiplash. before he can say anything, though, someone - henderson, billy seethes silently - hollers "oh, gross!" and the moment is utterly demolished.
"did they finally do it?" max shouts with her usual amount of tact.
"they're kissing!" henderson barks.
"ew," mike and will say in unison - as if they're not clutching each other's hands for dear life.
"you'd think they were still thirteen," billy says hoarsely, arching a brow and eyeing their little ragtag crew. joyce is tucked up against hopper's huge frame and the sheriff is holding his coat over her head in a poor attempt to keep her dry. robin and nancy's teeth are chattering and jonathan looks like he needs either a stiff drink or a month of sleep.
"you owe me twenty bucks," lucas primly tells max. "i knew it'd be dramatic."
max rolls her eyes but fishes in her pocket, slapping a bill in lucas' hand, who looks intolerably smug. steve snorts, shaking his head, and together they clamber to their feet. their friends move to assess them for damages, henderson poking at steve's ribs with a taunting grin as max slips close and winds her arms around billy's waist.
"i'm glad you're okay," she says, and billy looks towards a laughing steve as he ruffles dustin's shaggy hair, sending rainwater everywhere.
something like hope curls through billy's chest and he slides an arm around max's shoulders.
"yeah," he says, "yeah, kid, me too."
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bubinspace · 8 months ago
Jealous Boba for the win????
I feel like this man is very secure in his *ahem* abilities, both as a bounty hunter and a man, but maybe a little more insecure about -other- things like, ya know, emotions and whatnot. But the idea of him getting jealous is just *chef's kiss*.
While writing this I decided it needed a -steamier- part 2, so look out for that later next week!
So yes, anon, you MAY have a jealous Boba. Enjoy!
Also the ending sucks but I'll make it up to all of you in the next part.
Boba Fett x femReader
Warnings: Some language, implied established relationship, grabby and unwanted male attention (male gets his face beaten)
If you happen to listen to Jealous by Nick Jonas while reading this, you probably wouldn't hate it.
With the sight of you standing alone at the bar waiting for your next round of drinks, no one would know that the bounty hunter in the back corner was your date. At least, no one who wasn't a regular. That's how you could tell everyone apart in the dark cantina. If they spoke to you in anything more than a friendly manner, they had no business being there.
And the Mirialan who just walked in most definitely did not have any business with you. He strode over, arrogance radiating off him like the heat off the Tatooine sands, smug grin plastered on his lips. He slid into the seat next to you and turned his grin to you. Ignoring him, you turned to go back to your corner when a firm grip halted you.
"Where you going, pretty thing?" You plastered a fake smile on your face and weighed your options. Yell and make a scene, drawing the attention of your bounty hunter. Hit him, making an even bigger scene. Or, try to talk him down calmly and save his life in the process.
"I'm going back to my seat," you pulled your arm away from him. Hopefully the hand to hand training you'd been getting wouldn't be needed. He reached for you again.
"Don't touch me again." You tilted your head to the side, hoping you showed your annoyance.
"Why not? Don't see anyone else touching you. And someone should be." He brushed a piece of your hair back.
With a sneer, you looked him up and down, "Trust me, shabuir, I'm being touched just fine. I don't need you."
Across the cantina, the bounty hunter was becoming anxious. He could barely see you through the crowd, which was enough to put him on edge, but the Mirialan towering over you was too much. Then you smiled.
Without thinking, he was stalking toward you, keeping himself out of the unwanted visitor's line of sight. He could see the way his newest quarry was looking at you, eyeing you and the way your dress fit your curves. With a tilt of your head, a gloved hand pushed your hair from your shoulder, as you looked him over.
Over my dead body.
Without warning the Mirialan was yanked backwards, stumbling into the stools next to you.
"Leave her alone, if you know what's good for you."
"And what does she want with an old man like you?"
For a split second, you thought he might walk away and leave you to the olive colored nuisance. But you knew better, his pride would never let him.
In a blur of gauntlets and gloves, the unwanted suitor's face met the bounty hunter's knee, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. With a yank of his arm, the Mirialan was brought face to face with his attacker.
"She's. Mine," it sounded more like a growl than words.
"Are you out of your karking mind?! Let him go," you pulled him away towards the door. He released the offender, letting him crumple to a heap on the floor.
The two of you walked to the speeder parked in the alleyway in silence. You knew he had some kind of feelings for you, but you didn't know it was... possessive feelings. Sure, the two of you had shared some moments together, but no words had ever been exchanged.
"Boba, what the kriff was that all about?!"
He didn't look at you, opting to find interest in the wall. "Nothing."
"Oh, you call THAT nothing?! You made him swallow is own teeth! You can't sell me that bantha shit."
"Just please drop it."
"Drop it?! No I will not. You acted like an idiot."
"I couldn't stand the sight of you flirting with him."
The words hit you like bricks. You weren't flirting. Not by a long shot. But then you realized how it must have looked to him. The smile, the way your head tilted when talking to him... Oh no.
"What? No. I wasn't- I didn't-"
Without warning you were pinned to the wall, and even though you knew he would never hurt you, you flinched at the sudden impact. His face was inches from your own, body keeping you from dodging him.
"Then why? If you didn't want him, why would you act like that? Why were you-" You cut him off with a kiss. It was nothing new, but right now it felt like the first time. It was different. And it melted him.
He stopped himself before he could get in more trouble and stepped back. "I'm sorry."
"Why are you sorry? I'm the one who kissed you."
"I just- sometimes I- I feel like you don't-"
"Want you?" His finished thought passed your lips like a blaster bolt. "Let's go home, and I'll show just how wrong you are."
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nayarablueglasses · 5 months ago
requested for: no
a/n: idk i wrote this for my HLATS so it’s weird. hope you enjoy! @thedevilsdaywear​ and you said i wasn’t organized smh also serious apologies for not actually making my promised content in ages. feel free to send in asks! i can almost promise you that as long as it fits my requirements, i’ll be sure to write it! i never have asks, so it means a lot when i get one.
(divider credits to @firefly-graphics​)
summary: you, iwaizumi, and oikawa are in the student council and join in on a meeting.
warning/genre: man idek, there’s mentions of oikawa not being interested in girls, you’re in a poly relationship w/ iwaizumi+oikawa, iwaizumi calls oikawa “prettyboy,” I JUST REALIZED I MADE TAKEDA THE SCHOOL COMMITTEE CLUB COUNCILLOR SO UH I GUESS I ACCIDENTALLY MADE HIM HAVE CONFIDENCE AND A SECOND JOB, THAT’S IT???
reader pronouns: not mentioned/gender neutral
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“Making the schoolyard more interesting? Prettykawa, what are you talking about?” Hajime shook his head at Tooru, who had just joined me and Hajime in waiting for the school council’s club councilor- Takeda Ittetsu- to come unlock the clubroom doors.
“No, come to think of it, didn’t Takeda-sensei mention something about having a new project to ‘improve the school’ last meeting, didn’t he?” I rubbed my head, trying to recall the exact words he’d used. “I think he said…”
Takeda’s voice came from behind us “‘We might try a new beneficial school activity tomorrow!’” Turning, we could see Takeda standing with his hands on his hips, smile on his face. “Hope you weren’t waiting long!” Walking past us after greeting us cheerfully to unlock the door. By now, the rest of the school council had amassed around us, and we filed into the council room after the rest had passed.
Tooru held a cocky look on his face- until Hajime smacked him on the back of his head. “Just because you were right about that doesn’t mean you should suddenly have a look like that on your face!”
“Mean Iwa-chan!” Tooru whined. Still, he sat down to my left, musing up my hair and threw a playful glare at Hajime, who sat to his left. Irritatedly, I sent him a harsh look and tried to return my hair to it’s (admittedly already messy) original state, muttering profanities under my breath. My attention returned to Takeda, however, when he stood up from his seat and clapped his hands.
“I have a proposal for you all!” He announced to the room.
Tooru scoffed, leaning down to my ear to whisper, “If he was planning on getting back up this whole time, why’d he sit down? Besides, he’s the club councillor, if he says something then it goes. Doesn’t he know that?”
I whispered back, “Shut up! You know he’s new at this. And anyways, you should appreciate your elders and teachers who also respect your opinions.” Hajime caught my eyes, ears practically picking up when he realized we were gossiping.
In classic Hajime style, he hit us both on the back of our heads. “Pay attention!” Ow. I’d be sure to get Tooru and Hajime back for that later.
Attention once directed back to Takeda, we realized the room was staring at us. Tooru sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, already making the girls in the class start swooning. I rolled my eyes. Sure, he put on a prettyboy popular persona, but when was his fanclub going to realize he wasn’t into girls like that?
“Well, what do you two think?” Takeda asked me and Tooru, confident in thinking we hadn’t heard him. Hajime snickered beside me.
“Uh... cleaning up the schoolyard sounds fun, but what if we... added stuff? To make it more interesting?” I tried answering with what Tooru had mentioned earlier- to which Tooru looked at me offended.
Takeda smiled. “Excellent idea! Why don’t we brainstorm what we could do to make the schoolyards more interesting?”
Immediately, the entire clubroom was echoing with noise, everybody shouting out ideas. Tooru flinched at the noise, but otherwise maintained his cool. He did, though, shoot me a look that very clearly said “I”m going to kill you for dragging me into this club.” I just responded with a nonchalant shoulder shrug and pointed at Hajime, to say, “Don’t blame me! Blame your boyfriend.” which would be hilarious when I explained what I meant to Tooru later, because the three of us were dating.
Pretty quickly, Takeda had calmed down the council members and brought out the “talking stick,” for us all to make suggestions with. Luckily, he gave it to Hajime first. Hajime was always the one with the good ideas. “What about a fountain?” Except that one.
“You dumbass! How would we get the money for a fountain!” Tooru teased.
Hajime threw the stick at his head. “If your ideas are any better, then YOU have the talking stick!” Which was, of course, what Tooru had wanted all along. Hajime and his hot head...
Tooru weaved the stick in and out of his fingers, pretending to muse over his options. Then, he said, “I’ve got it! How about a snack stand! And we’ll sell milkbread! Hmm, what do you think about that?” He rested the stick against his lips, smiling. The others in the club looked uncertain.
I snatched the stick out of his hands. “And you called Hajime-kun a dumbass? Where are we going to get the money for milkbread, idiot? It’ll go bad before we even sell it! Don’t we already sell milkbread in the snack machine?”
He stuck his tongue out at me. “Alright, well, what’s your bright idea consist of, huh?”
“Secrets! Secrets! You don’t get to know my idea!” I cried, making Hajime laugh.
“He’s got you there, Prettykawa. You don’t get to know his idea if he doesn’t tell you.” Laughing as he pat Tooru’s back. Tooru looked put out, but we’d been going on and hogging the talking stick for so long that the bell rang almost immediately after that.
We jumped out of our seats, Tooru dragging me and Hajime along. “Come on, let’s go get milkbread from the vending machine!”
“Dumbass! Slow down!”
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spookyboywhump · 3 months ago
I need to stop creating so many au’s that just slightly branch off of canon but I was thinking of one of the Ev Lives Au’s, specifically the one where Eli takes the job and the assignment anyway, thus meeting all the same people, thus attracting Nicholas’ attention, thus leading to another version of the bad timeline where Nicholas comes for him himself.
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slow-burn-sally · a month ago
I loved @fol-de-lol ‘s hc that Lascelles secretly loves when Childermass calls him “princess”, so I wrote a little drabble about it
He can tell by the shape of Henry’s lips that he’s pleased but trying to hide it. They always end up in this place. Henry conjuring up some reason to visit John’s rooms to complain. John casually telling him to fuck off. Henry stepping up close and shoving his face into John’s face, eyes flinty, calling him a wanker, or a fraud or trash or whatever vaguely inflammatory insult he can think of on the spot. John crushing their mouths together, pressing their bodies close together, so he can feel Henry’s length. His leanness and his tension pressed up against him. 
John breaks the kiss, trails one fingertip down Henry’s cheek, says, “there now princess, don’t get upset. If you wanted to kiss me, all you had to do was ask.” 
He watches as Henry’s eyes go soft. Watches the fluctuation of Herny’s nostrils, the sharp inhale of his breath at the sound of that special nickname. It’s a soft insult. A loving barb, and it always makes Henry melt against John in the most pleasing way, and so who is John to stop employing it?
“Shut up. I hate when you call me that,” Henry grouses, then is silenced by John’s swift, fierce kiss. 
“Oh, I think you love it,” John says, allowing out just a sliver of the smile he’s holding back. “My princess…” He whispers it this time, their lips so close, almost touching. “So pretty, with that red hair and that white skin. My pretty princess.”
“Fuck you,” Henry breathes, but this time, it’s him that leans in and presses their lips together, and he lets out a little moan when he does it. “Fuck you, John.”
“Mmmm yes. Fuck me indeed.”
After that there isn’t much talking. Words fade away under more and more kisses, are replaced by gasps and soft cries as hands and mouths begin to wander. Tomorrow, they’ll reset back to two men who can’t stand the sight of one another, but just now, they can pretend at being in love.
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kuro-tatsu · 2 months ago
Fallen Hero: Rebirth - A short musing
You never planned to fall in love with the good doctor
Sidestep/m!Dr.Mortum - or Sidestep musing on why is it Mortum and being frustrated at m!Ortega
Why is it you?
The question echoes in your mind as your gaze stays on Dr. Mortum, hunching over his work table with focus.
Why did I fall for you?
Is this some kind of self-sabotage? You know this kind of closeness is something you wanted, something that satiated part of your hunger for things you couldn't have before.
Yet, if all you wanted is the experience, you could've chosen someone easier to fall for. Ortega, the obvious choice. Herald, maybe, with how obvious his crush is. Even Lady Argent, the loose cannon that she is, would probably be a better choice. Hell, maybe you can even try falling for Chen, if you're feeling daring enough.
Not Dr. Mortum. Your... business associate. The one who created the key technology for your rebirth to villany and likely knows its weaknesses. The one with enough connections to bring you down if he wanted to.
The one who might have more secrets than even you.
The one you should've kept at a distance.
...who are you kidding.
Maybe you've been close to Ortega, and will always be, but he's part of your past. A whole history and baggage you don't care to unpack and dwell on. He's comforting in his familiarity, but he always needles. Picks and prods at old hurts, and always leaves you bleeding dry.
You don't fault him for his curiosity. You know his concern is genuine.
But you have enough of being on a dissection table. Enough of needles and of being stitched back together.
Your broken parts might be jagged and confusing and held together by desperation but it's you. You have been changed by your experiences, as Ortega had, and you can't return to pretend that everything is still the same. You have no intention to.
(Not his fault, not his fault. But you still choked on it sometimes, the despair when he didn't come to save you, when no one came—
You love him. Care for him.
But you can't bring yourself to trust him with your life anymore.)
With Dr. Mortum, it's easier to breathe.
He's curious, always, part of being a genius scientist. His power of observation can even be dangerous. But he seems to know when to stop. When a scar should be left alone, maybe revisited at another time.
Maybe being in another body also helps.
(He sees you. He sees you.
It's frightening.
It's exhilirating.
The softness in his eyes makes things better.)
Also, he does give solid advices. Even if you can't exactly follow them.
"Are you okay, mon chéri?"
His voice pulled you out of your musings. Dr. Mortum is looking over you with concern in his eyes, and not a tiny amount of curiosity. Still, somehow, it doesn't irritates you the way Ortega's does.
(Is it possible you are just afraid because Ortega is your enemy now? Afraid he'll be disappointed, so you hate it when he pry?)
Ortega's concern and curiosity feels like a silent accusation. 'If you trust me, you should tell me everything', they seem to say.
You hate it. Even if you can't hate him.
On the other hand... Dr. Mortum lets you have your secrets. Understands the need for it. Understands the danger of truths. Willing to wait and always asks for permission.
Willing to take what you're ready to give him.
Your conscience is screaming and you ignore it. It's getting harder by the day, but the happiness bubbling in your chest whenever you're with the Doctor feels worth it. Selfish as it may be, you never claim to be a good person.
"I just like to listen to your voice," you say, softly, with a smile. A deflection, even if it is a truth. "Tell me again about your latest invention?"
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milf-thrawn-nuruodo · 4 months ago
How do we feel about a little subby sub Thrawn? Do we... do we like that or? 
I’m writing it anyway. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
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kitkatpancakestack · 23 hours ago
The only light on in the Diaz household when Buck walks through the door comes from the kitchen. The wedge of muted luminescence spills into the hallway. He shoulders the door closed and drops his keys on the narrow corner table, and the beacon of light draws him forward.
Eddie and Christopher are in the kitchen, predictably, Chris at the table and Eddie leaning against the counter with his phone in his hand. The clock on the oven reads 6:30.
“Hey,” Buck says, and both Diaz boys glance up at the same time, identical grins cracking their faces.
“Buck!” Christopher exclaims, and Buck darts over, settles a hand on his shoulder so he doesn’t have to get up. He stoops and wraps Chris in his arms, presses a kiss to his mass of curly hair.
“Hey, buddy. Your dad made breakfast, huh?”
Chris pouts at the plate of eggs. “He burnt the toast. And the bacon.”
“Yes, well, as I have told him numerous times, that’s what happens when you get impatient.” He flashes a cocky grin up at Eddie, who is pointedly averting his gaze to his phone. “I’m only ten minutes late.”
Chris pushes the eggs around. They don’t look terrible, to give Eddie the benefit of the doubt, but the empty space where the toast and bacon are supposed to be is glaring.
Buck rounds the table and leans against the other counter, catty-corner to Eddie. When the other man doesn’t look up, he nudges his sock-clad foot with his own. “Hey.”
Eddie cuts him a short look. “I’m not hopeless. I can make toast for my son.”
“I know that, Eddie.”
He turns wearily toward the trash can, where Buck imagines the burnt carcasses must lie. “I just got distracted.”
“I know. You’re always distracted on Saturday mornings, which is why I make breakfast while you obsess over our plan of attack at Target.” He pulls a pack of bacon out of the fridge and grabs the open bag of sliced bread. “Chris! I’m saving breakfast!”
Chris cheers, raising his fork victoriously in the air.
Buck maneuvers easily around the Diaz kitchen, flitting between the fridge and the stove, dancing around Eddie. Their shoulders bump together when he reaches past him to grab a mug out of the cabinet. He catches sight of Eddie’s shopping list out of the corner of his eye.
“Jesus, Ed,” he says, angling to read the phone screen more clearly. “Feeling ambitious today, are we?”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “There’s a lot to get.”
“It’s just, we’re at the critical juncture here, Buck. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas. Not to mention the seasonal transitions. That one magazine said winter decor is what’s in this year and if I want to beat that asshole Reggie for the cover page I have to get serious.”
Buck catches his own reflection in the darkened screen of the microwave. A lopsided grin curves his lips. A warm, tingly sensation blankets his body. “Do you hear yourself right now?”
He punches a couple buttons on the coffee maker and moves back to the stove while the coffee brews. “I tried telling Hen and Chimney how neurotic you are about interior design. They didn’t believe me.”
“Because I’m not neurotic.” Eddie’s face twists around the word, like it tastes bitter in his mouth.
“You are, and you know it. And then I even brought in that feature page you had in that magazine, and I showed it to Bobby, and he didn’t believe me! I feel like I’m losing my mind sometimes. There’s so much ammunition here, so much blackmail potential, and I’m the only one who knows.”
Eddie pockets his phone and his attention lasers in on Buck, like a spotlight, which causes Buck to immediately avert his eyes. It’s a lot. Borderline too much, most times. It almost seems stupid, but Eddie’s undivided, unwavering focus is such a meaningful gesture, one that takes root in Buck’s chest and grows and grows until he could suffocate beneath it. He wouldn’t mind suffocating beneath it.
The coffee maker beeps as Buck divvies the bacon and toast among the three of them. Eddie sets two cups of coffee on the table, for him and Buck. They share a smile. Easy. Warm. Comfortable.
“Dad, can I pick out something for my room today?”
Eddie nods, biting into his piece of toast. “Sure thing, buddy. Have something in mind?”
"I’ll know when I see it.”
“That’s my boy.”
Buck rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop smiling.
They finish the breakfast with spatters of airy conversation. Chris excuses himself from the table to get dressed and ready for their Saturday Shopping Extravaganza. Buck clears the table with Eddie in silence, and their dance around the kitchen resumes. Dishes in the sink, emptied coffee grounds in the trash can, the orange juice back in the refrigerator. A black backpack materializes in Eddie’s hands, and he drops three water bottles and four energy bars inside.
“Four energy bar kind of day, huh?”
Eddie yanks the zipper on the backpack closed. “We went over this. Critical juncture, Buck. Critical juncture.”
They stand in the kitchen together, side by side leaning against the counter, waiting for Chris to get ready. The sun climbs its way up the sky, easing streaks of pale grey through the window. Buck taps out a rhythm on the counter. Eddie is fiddling with the straps of the backpack beside him, jaw working back and forth the way it does when he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to start. It’s a familiar maneuver. Buck lets him torture himself. And then finally, in a soft voice that is nearly engulfed by the hum of the heating unit clicking to life, he says, “Thank you, Buck.”
It’s not what he expects. He scrapes his nail against the lip of the counter, chin ducked against his chest. “For what?”
“For just . . . being here. For showing up when you say you will. For helping make these Saturdays fun. They are so important to Chris, now.”
Buck shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. They’re fun for me, too.”
Eddie breathes out a “yeah,” along with a laugh, pushes off the counter and swings the backpack over his shoulder as Christopher’s crutches clack down the hall. “You ready, Superman?”
Chris smiles. “You bet! Buck, can we get chocolate chip ice cream today?”
Warmth. From his fingertips to his toes, dripping through his veins, forming a molten core in his chest. “Yeah, buddy. You got it.”
He watches Chris amble toward the door. Eddie walks by him, and his hand trails along the counter, over Buck’s hand, up his arm, a brand against his skin. Their eyes lock and Eddie smiles, and then he joins his son by the front door.
“Buck!” Christopher calls. “Ice cream!”
“Not for at least another four hours,” Eddie corrects, and Buck hears his keys jangle as he collects them off the hook. The front door opens and they head out. Buck is left in silence, in the familiar stillness of the kitchen, bathed in the iridescent glow of the rising sun. He still hears Christopher’s laugh in his ears, still feels Eddie’s hand on his arm. It’s a pocket of space that only exists in that moment, between one breath and the next. Yeah.
These Saturdays are important to him, too.
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pedropascaldice · 6 months ago
agent whiskey was in the dea before he was recruited for statesman. he was a rookie, heart broken and bitter, with all the wrong motives, but he was a damn good shot and had a charming grin when he found it in himself to let it show. he was easily seduced, they (statesmen) all found, making it easier to lure them into their trap. she was a beautiful brunette, the girl that got him, looking painfully like the wife he had lost. with the same ease she had unzipped his fly with, she held a knife to his neck and demanded all the cash in pockets. he was brilliant, quick on his feet and even better with his hands; she was one of their best agents at the time, and he overpowered her quickly and precisely. he hadn’t even been positive he wanted to live, it was just an automatic response to the danger. that’s what he had told them when they sat him on the bed and explained to him who they were, anyways. it would make him a brilliant agent, they promised, that dangerous line between the desire to parish and the intrinsic need to live (this was before they added the mental health division, mind you). he nodded and thought yeah, why not? he hadn’t been more than thirty, too heartbroken to make any sort of decision as heavy as the one they threw at him, but he accepted. new name, new location, a reason to exist, some sort of purpose. they promised a lot, gave him more. he’ll never forget the day he became a statesmen agent.
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ohheyitsokay · 4 months ago
Thinking about my post about Whiskey's love language being acts of service.
Thinking about him calling you on his way home for lunch, and realizing how you're still in bed on your day off, brain full of cotton, limbs weighted down with thoughts that do not feel like your own.
Thinking about dozing off, maybe a touch resentful at yourself for not making him lunch, and waking up, hearing his quiet footsteps, smiling because you know he took his boots off, even in his hurry, just for you. Taking deep breaths and pulling yourself out of bed, away from your phone or the warm blankets and padding into the kitchen.
First, noticing the everything seems extra, almost obnoxiously bright, and then realizing he cleaned and your heart standing still, then beating hard.
Realizing it's early afternoon, seeing him trying to quietly wash dishes and his eyes are telling you he took the rest of the off, or to work from home maybe. Jack drying his hands and not saying a word as he hugs you, gentle, and then pulls the meal he made out of the fridge.
Feeling another hard heartbeat as you comprehend the food he made was assembled from the ingredients that he figured were most silent. Another as he presses a large glass of a cool drink into your hands, knowing full well you arent hydrated.
Eating with him, at first, before he disappears into the room, and feeling guilty but loved as you hear him opening the blinds, making the bed, and moving the pile of clothes on your side into the laundry bin.
Maybe later, as you work you find more little things. Your hairbrush cleaned, junk mail sorted. The chair at your desk doesn't squeak when you sit down and suddenly you're thinking you can breathe easier, a hundred tiny weights removed from your shoulders.
Jack kissing the top of your head, your temple, inbetween your eyebrows, whispering that you are not a burden, his drawl thick and insistent until you actually believe him.
@fangirl-316 @0celestialbitch0 @scribbledghost
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I watched friends and then this happened
Pairing: Clark x reader
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It was stupid really. It was just a number. Yet you couldn’t help yourself. You felt like you wasted another year. 35 years old and all you could see was what you not had.
A boyfriend. A husband. Children.
You smiled at your friends and family gathered in your living room. You loved every single one of them to pieces. Even Clark was there who you hadn’t seen in months. You’ve been friends with him for almost ten years and he always made time to check on you. Even if you lived in different cities.
It was later that night, everyone was gone except for Clark who helped you clean up.
„So another year down?“ He asked with a small smile.
„Don’t remind me.“ You groaned, letting yourself fall down on your couch, massaging your temples. You felt the couch dip and opened your eyes, seeing Clark sit next to you.
„That bad?“ He asked, looking at you.
„I just thought I would have achieved more by my age than I did.“
„Such as…?“
You groaned, letting your head fall back on the couch behind you, turning your head to the side to look at Clark.
„You know. Typical stuff. The man. The family. The dog. I never even had the perfect kiss.“ You sighed. Shaking your head you chuckled.
„Just ignore me, I‘m having a moment of self pity.“ You smiled, looking at him as you changed your position so you were sitting on the couch facing him. He had a soft smile on his lips, his eyes focused on you. You always thought he had the most beautiful eyes.
„Close your eyes.“ He whispered.
„Why?“ You frowned.
„Just… You trust me?“ He asked.
You nodded. He smiled.
„Then close your eyes.“
Curious on what he was on about you closed your eyes. You felt him shift on the couch. It seemed like he was coming closer, his scent getting more intense.
„I might not be able to help you with all you want, but one I could fix right away.“ He whispered. You felt his breath brushing over your skin. Peppermint and the hint of the beer he had before. One of his hands came up to cup your cheek.
Nervous your breathing got faster.
„Is this okay?“ he asked. And you could feel his nose brushing over yours. Barely visible you nodded.
Softly you felt his lips on yours in the next moment. A quiet sigh left your mouth. His lips were so soft. Slowly he kissed you, his lips moving on yours, and you parted your lips for him. His tongue dared out, caressing your lips and you felt brave enough to do the same. You let him kiss you. Like you had never been kissed before. Your hands reaching out, one grasping the soft fabric of the shirt he was wearing, the other going into his neck, your fingers playing with his soft hair, as his other hand disappeared in yours, bringing you closer to him. You had never been kissed like that before, melting into him, wishing you could do this for the rest of your life. His tongue touched yours, and it was like a bolt of electricity shot through your body. Opening your eyes you parted from him for some air, your breath coming out fast. You saw the storm in his blue eyes, he himself trying to get air back into his lungs.
„The perfect kiss.“ You whispered, still looking at him.
„Happy birthday.“ He whispered. You looked at him. His lips now wearing the same shade of red you had on yours.
„Can you…“ You started, wanting nothing more than to do it again, when he leaned down, kissing you more passionately, making you forget about the things you didn’t have, hoping, that he would be the one, who you could have all these things with.
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nairobiwonders · a year ago
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September 27 - anniversary
A bowl of popcorn between them, a warm fire and a shared blanket.
“I knew from the moment I saw you ...”
“You did not. You wanted nothing to do with me”
“Well, perhaps for the first few hours. During our first investigation though, I realized you were a kindred spirit...”
“I should have run while I had the chance.”
“I’ve always wondered why you didn’t, why you stayed...”
“Your father was paying me to stay.”
She moved the popcorn bowl away, and wrapped an arm around his waist “ ... I found my missing half that day, why would I leave?”
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gildedbloom · 4 months ago
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Kurt to Wanda "I can't find my shirt." || morning after starters
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                    Standing at the window, back toward Kurt, she turned when he mentioned his shirt. A puffy-sleeved monstrosity, really, but he looked good in it she thought. && so did she.
She was wearing it now. He would see so if he looked up. It hung on her some, the hem resting at her thighs, and the neckline that was low-cut even on him came to a rest below her breasts. Exposing her sternum where she wore nothing beneath it.
" Wherever could it be—? "   she joked as she watched him search. It wasn't like she was lying, just holding the garment hostage. Keeping him there a stolen moment longer while she teased him. Because, in truth, she didn't want him to go. She would have rather the two of them climb back in bed and stay there for the whole day. Pretend they didn't have anywhere else to be; no other responsibilities to pull them away.
Finally he looked up. Brows knit together as he smiled in a modicum of sheepish delight. She smiled back, motioning for him near with one finger. He obliged. Crossing the room in an easy stride that she watched voraciously. Chin lifting to meet his eye as he closed the distance between them.   " —Hello. "
" Hello~ "   His voice was soft in reply. && when he kissed Wanda's brow, she couldn't help but lean into it while his hands found her waist beneath the hem of his shirt. Fingertips crept up the supple curves of her waistline, up under her arms, pushing them up gently to raise over her head. Wanda obliged to let him pull the shirt up over her head && she was left wearing nothing but a pair of underwear before him.   " —Hübsch. "
He stepped away once more. Pulling the shirt up over her head and pausing only for a moment to breathe in the scent of her perfume on the neckline. The witch watched him go, arms crossed and head canted to one side. Smile saddened by his approach toward the door. Their moment had passed and while they had relished every bit of it, the real world had come knocking at last. && she couldn't keep him however much she might want to.
Closing the distance between them once more, her arm wrapped around his middle. Not quite pleading for him to wait. He did, though, and cast a glance back to her with a smile. She grinned up at him in return. Turning in the circle of her arms, both of his hands found her face and her hands found his. A kiss followed. SOFT and SWEET.
" Until next time~ "   he breathed into the space between them once they'd parted, stroking her cheek with her thumb. Then he was gone. Vanishing like a ghost beyond the bedroom door.
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calmly-but-insanely · a year ago
A small work for all you Salty Team Ironman/Ironstrange shippers. :) (I needed something sappy to make myself feel better)
Also @ironstrangeao3 I saw a post you made a while ago (I mean a while ago like maybe weeks idk) about reading all the IronStrange content there was so here you go!
IronStrange: First ‘I love You’
They’re in the lab and it’s a normal day. Nothing is different except for the fact that usually there’s some form of talk between them. However, sometimes they’re both quiet and calm, enjoying themselves in their safe space. The safe space where they can relax surrounded by just Tony’s creations and The Cloak for company. This time though Stephen seems to be contemplating something.
It reminds Tony of right before Stephen had grabbed him and kissed him except the air is tenser around the man. Still, Tony doesn’t say anything as he continues to work on one of his many projects. Eventually though he realizes that Stephen is becoming more and more lost in his thoughts so Tony gently prods, “What’re you thinking about?”
“The Rogues,” Stephen immediatly replies and while it’s a close second, Tony stops his flinch. There’s silence between them once again and if it weren’t for where The Cloak is playing with the bots in a corner there would truly be silence in the lab.
“What about them?” Tony eventually works himself up to responding.
“I don’t want them anywhere near you.” Stephen says it easily but there’s that underlying desperation and anxiety. Even deeper is a darker tone of ‘I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself if they hurt you again.’
His hands come down to rest on the table and for a moment he thinks he’ll panic but then he feels Stephen settle behind him, his arms gently wrapping around Tony. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, we would’ve had to talk about it eventually. Might as well get it over with.”
Stephen hums and then he’s leaning forward to rest his weight on Tony. His forehead is pressing between Tony’s shoulder blades while his hands wrap around his waist gently. Stephen always holds him as if he were a precious piece of glass “I don’t want you to get hurt again,” and that’s the root of Stephen’s problem isn’t it? He’s scared that he’ll see Tony in that state once again; Broken, betrayed and hurting.
“They won’t hurt me,” Tony’s able to say confidently because he’s knows it’s true from the tips of his toes to the top of his head.
“How can you be so sure?” Stephen asks, desperation more evident in his voice.
“Cause I’ll have you to protect me.” He says with a soft smile, his hand reaching up to rub the arms wrapped around him.
Stephen laughs from where his face is pressed into his back, “My love will protect you huh?”
“Yup!” Tony says easily, popping the p sound. “What if I’m not here?” Questions Stepehen once again. “Someone will always be here who will help me. Plus I know better now. I won’t fall for their tricks.”
Stephen smiles before he nods deciding to trust Tony, “Okay.” This isn’t the end of the conversation and they both know it but they’ll speak more about it later when Tony and Stephen are alone and in bed.
They don’t say anything for a long time before Tony finally speaks up in a giddy voice, “So love?” Except that Stephen responds in a much more serious voice, “You know I love you, right?” Tony practically turns into puddy in Stephen’s hold.
“Yea, I love you too.”
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It was early spring when Jaskier sat in a tavern in Ard Carraigh, waiting for Geralt to come down the mountain. He was singing toss a coin to your witcher when the door blew open and Jaskier could see Geralt lumber in. He finishes the song and goes to sit with Geralt who kept his cloak hood up and his head tilted down.
"Well Darling! I am so grad to see you! I missed you!" Jaskier said and before Geralt could stop him Jaskier had his hood off and had tilted his face up ready to give him a greeting kiss. 
However, as the hood fell back, Jaskier gasped in horror. His witcher had a new fresh scar down his left eye and his hair was shaved around the sides and back while the top was long and pulled back in a ponytail.
"Geralt what happened?" Jaskier croaks as he brushes his fingers over the scar.
"Um… it was wyvern. It got me on the way up. Pulled part of my hair out too." Geralt said, looking down t his hands. Jaskier sighed and pulled Geralt to him, obviously Geralt didn't want to talk. So he wrapped his arms around Geralt's shoulders and Geralt nuzzled at his collar bone.
"Well, I think you still look devastatingly handsome. I like this hair cut too. it make you look a little younger in fact." Jaskier says with a grin as Geralt pulled back.
"Are you calling me old?" Geralt snarks, his eyebrow raised challengingly.
"Of my wolf. You're over 100 years olds. You are old no matter what you say." Jaskier said before plopping down in Geralt's lap.
"Now, tell me everything. How was your winter?"
A few years later, Jaskier and Geralt had split paths for a little while because rumors of a bard competition in Ban Ard had reached Jaskier's ears while Geralt would continue to Vangaberg for a werewolf contract. So they agreed that they would meet again in Lyria. Jaskier did not expect to see Geralt's brother, Eskel, at the competition.
Seeing the lone witcher in the tavern corner, Jaskier grabbed two ales and wandered over and held one out to the befuddled witcher.
"You must be Eskel. I'm Jaskier. Geralt has probably mentioned me." Jaskier said with a grin as he watched the other witcher smile and relax a little before taking the offered drink.
"Yes, the bard. Nice to meet you." Eskel says before taking a drink.
"Nice to meet you too." Jaskier replies.
The two chat for over an hour after that, and just before Eskel got up to leave.
"Eskel, can I ask you something?"
"You want to know about my scar." Eskel sighs.
"Yes. Geralt said he got his from a wyvern and that Lambert got his from a werewolf but he never said anything about your's." Jaskier said quietly.
"I have a child surprise. I tried to raise her right but I guess it was never enough. We had a bad fight a while back. She took a dagger to my face and rode off, leaving me there, bloodied and heartbroken. I haven't seen or heard from her since." Eskel says quietly before moving his tankard to take a sip but stopped when a thought hit him. "Wait a minute… Geralt said a Wyvern gave him his scar? Oh sweet Melitele, I'm never letting him live this down. Jaskier, he didn't get his scar from a monster. Lambert and he were black out drunk one night in the keep and Lambert dared him to shave his eyebrow. He missed and slid the razor down his eye. He's lucky he didn't actually hit his eye. And his hair wasn't pulled out either. It was burnt off in a prank gone wrong." Eskel cackled loudly.
"Wait. Wut?"
Geralt would never hear the end of it.
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lilaezz · 3 months ago
b&acw day 1: favorite character/outfit
Natasha tightened her hold on the vest as she watched her sister walk away. An easy smile adorned her face even though the horrors they’d all just been through had been a lot to deal with, and would be. But it was over and she let herself be satisfied for just a second. Before she had to deal with Ross and everything else. She let herself feel the love she felt for these people she called her family. She looked down at the vest in her hands, a pleasant somberness overwhelming her, and told herself that she would survive this. 
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