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all-mirth-no-matter · 19 hours

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Time After Time | Chapter Eighteen

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: Tommy has an important question for Grace, Ada and Freddie get married, and someone else comes back from the dead

Warning: language

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Chapter 18: Trouble

Will it come to pass, or will I pass the test? You know what they say, yeah the wicked get no rest. You can have my heart, any place, any time. Got so much to lose. Got so much to prove. God, don’t make me lose my mind. — Trouble, Cage The Elephant

“Do you like races?”

The way Tommy asked the question made your heart clench.

You sat in the back room of the pub, peeking through a small crack in the doorway as you tried to remind yourself, It’s not real. You were trying to unsuccessfully distract yourself with the inventory as you stayed out of the way.

But your eye caught the way Grace’s head tilted as she offered him her shy smile.

“Is it Cheltenham?” she asked sweetly. He hummed out a yes. “And you want to take me?”

The way she emphasized the last word made you want to roll your eyes.

You heard him clear his throat. “You’ll fit in. Prim, posh, like the rest of the rich girls who come in for these races.”

You couldn’t help but look down at your own outfit, so dingy next to her deep red sweater and bright blonde hair, not a soft curl out of place. Get it together, you chastised yourself, completely over the self-loathing streak you’d been in lately.

But the way Grace’s cheeks pinkened slightly at the compliment felt like twist of the knife already plunged into your psyche.

This had been Tommy’s plan, you tried to remind yourself. The night before, after he’d come over from his altercation with Billy Kimber in the pub, he’d explained how he’d persuade the new barmaid to accompany them.

You’d almost laughed at the way you had to remind him that he couldn’t just force someone to prostitute themselves out just because he said so. You had to remind yourself that in this period, with Tommy’s influence, he probably could. But you’d been successful in steering him away from that method.

And while his proposal still felt very daunting, he’d decided to go the more flattering route. Still, you didn’t like the idea of leading her on. Not just because of your own feelings, but because you didn’t like putting someone in potential danger. Even if Kimber had good intentions (which you severely doubted, even though you’d never met the man), it wasn’t fun being blindsided that way.

But Tommy had convinced you to ease her into it. Not to tell her something until there was something to tell. Again, you weren’t happy with it — but you’d come to learn how far Tommy was willing to bend on matters like these.

You heard coins dropping on the counter, Tommy’s voice pulling back to their exchange.

“Here, for the dress. Make it red.”

“I’ll need more than that.”

Tommy huffed out an amused breath before you heard another coin be placed on the table. “That’s three pounds.”

“And how much did you pay for the suit you’ll be wearing?”

“Oh, I don’t pay for suits.” You heard the clinking of glass as he collected the bottle of whiskey and glasses he’d asked for when he originally entered. Then he continued, “My suits are on the house, or the house burns down.”

“So you want me to go lookin’ like a flower girl?”

“What I want makes no difference. It’s not me you’re dressing up for.”

The sound of the snug window doors closed, and you felt yourself exhale, knowing the conversation between the pair had come to an end for now. A few seconds later, you heard the pub doors open and close, then the distinct sound of the snug doors close.

Tommy had a meeting — some men who’d reached out wanting to discuss some potential business.

After a few minutes, now back on the inventory, you got up and opened the door to the main room to check on something. You stopped when you noticed Grace leaning against the wall of the snug, her ear pressed against the window. She didn’t notice you, her concentration focused on overhearing whatever conversation was going on in the other room.

You were deciding whether you should stop her, or continue to observe to see what she was up to, when the sound of singing began to grow louder from inside the snug. The singing caused her to push away from the wall, but not before her eyes finally met yours. Her mouth dropped in surprise before snapping shut as she tried to busy herself, but you didn’t miss the slight panic behind her eyes of being caught. She grabbed a crate of bottles and hustled into the side room behind the bar.

“All right, boys,” Tommy boomed as he opened the doors and gestured for them to exit, “when I know who knows what about what, I’ll let you know.”

One of the men pushed the second man still singing out the pub door, and you caught the last bit of his song.

“—I long to see the boys of the old IRA!”

Tommy shook his head as he set the bottle on the counter.

“Pretty bold of them to sing that with the new Inspector running around,” you commented as you moved behind the counter, grabbing the paperwork you’d originally come out for.

He huffed out a chuckle, bringing the cigarette to his mouth. “They’re only rebels because they like the songs.”

You rose your brow, “Will they be back?”

“Nah,” he shook his head, blowing out smoke. “They’ll go back to the Black Swan in Sparkbrook. I have to go, but tonight,” he pointed at you as he walked backwards toward the door.

You nodded, a slight flush across your cheek at the bluntness of his comment. Only a few men sat in the far corners of the booth, but still, it wasn’t like Tommy was trying to be discreet.

It’d been two nights in a row now that Tommy had closed out the day in your apartment. Nothing scandalous had happened either time— he hadn’t even kissed you since you’d gone to the races. Not that you were necessarily opposed to things moving a bit further — but knowing your luck the minute the two of you did, the world would swallow up into itself to stop you.

The sound of Grace clearing her throat as she reemerged from the side room caused you to turn around.

“That wasn’t what it looked like,” she began, and you were surprised at her gumption to address her obvious snooping.

Your brow creased, “Really? You’re going to pretend like you weren't eavesdropping?”

“I was just— they were my countrymen,” she stumbled, her eyes looking down to her hands. “I got curious. I know I shouldn’t—”

“No,” you emphasized.

You could see her throat bobble. “I’ve never seen them before. I haven’t seen many Irishmen in this pub, really. It was a Republic song they were singing, wasn’t it?”

“I think so,” you answered, still skeptic but curious. “Tommy said they don’t normally drink here.”

“Oh,” she said, chancing a look back at you. “Did Mr. Shelby say where they do?”

“Tommy wasn’t exactly whispering just now, I assume you heard him say where,” you answered. Her eyes dropped quickly, her cheeks pink as she met your eyes again. Unsure what her angle here was, your curiosity piqued. “Are you interested?”

“I have no sympathies for them,” she said sharply, almost out of instinct. Her facial expressions shifted from disgusted to shameful, and then back to a forced neutral, as she must have realized her own tone too late.

But in the quick moment, there was pain behind her eyes that you couldn’t help but notice. You didn’t completely understand, but you knew enough to know that what was going on with the division of Ireland at the moment was delicate. Especially with the reputation the Inspector had brought with him. And based on the history you knew, it was only going to get worse.

“I didn’t mean to imply—“

“The keg is empty, I’m going to refill it,” she said instead, avoiding your gaze as she went into the inventory room.

“Grace.”

She stepped back into the doorway, her eyes still downcast. You waited for them to meet your eyes again before you continued.

“Just… be careful.”

Ada had disappeared. You nor Polly had heard from her since Freddie came back and proposed to her at the train station, ignoring Tommy’s request for them to flee the city.

So when a knock on your door startled you early in the morning, you were surprised to see the girl, who flew into your flat with a handful of white fabric.

“YN, you’ve got to help me.”

She threw everything in her hands to the bed as you asked if everything was okay.

Turning around, her grin answered that question for you. “I’m getting married this morning. You have to help me get ready. Please.”

Without another thought, you jump to start helping her. Her dress was beautiful white and ivory layered fabric that resembled very much what you imagined the women’s fashion was going to become. It was loose around her stomach, her baby bump finally prominent.

“Where are you gonna go after the ceremony?” you asked, helping her tie the back of her dress.

She sighed, “Nowhere.”

“But I thought Tommy—”

“Freddie won’t have it. He’s insistent we stay here for now at least,” she said, her previous bubbly mood falling.

“Well since you’re staying, are you sure you don’t Polly to be here now? I mean, it’s not every day you get married.”

She shook her head. “She’ll just try to stop me.”

“And you didn’t think I would?” you asked, half joking.

“I did.” Her answer surprised you. “I’m not an idiot, Y/N. I know that you and Tommy have been seein’ more of each other.”

“It’s all still pretty platonic,” you countered, fiddling with a piece of her jewelry. When she creased her brow at your use of phrase. You offered her a shrug. “We’ve kissed, but I just can’t tell what he wants. I don’t even know if it’s a good idea, I just… I can’t help myself.”

She gave you an empathetic smile, sitting with you on the bed as she took the jewelry out of your hand and replaced it with her own. “I may hate my brother right now, but I do love him. And I know him. I see glimpses of the boy he was before the war when he’s with you. Polly sees it too — we have a bet going on how long it’ll take before the two of you will make it official.”

Your mouth gaped at that, shaking your head. “I’m choosing to ignore that comment.”

She chuckled. “Don’t worry, we wouldn’t dare say anything to Tommy. He’s nearly as stubborn as I am.”

“Fine. But why then did you come here if you thought I was going to try and stop you?”

She paused, biting her lip before fastening her shoes. “Because you didn’t tell Tommy about Freddie. He was genuinely surprised when I told him. Honestly, I’d assumed you’d told him already—”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I know.” She offered you a smile before tilting her head. “And, I know you don’t normally like to talk about the deep things — at least, not with me — but… can I ask you, why?”

Ada hadn’t pried much into your life. It’d been one of the things you’d been more grateful for in your friendship.

Honestly, previously you had assumed she hadn’t pried because of her immaturity. She was very much a carefree, live-in-the-moment kind of girl, keeping most emotions and conversations at the surface level.

But the look on her face made you wonder if you hadn’t been giving the girl credit. Maybe she was all those things sometimes, but she really did surprise you on how sympathetic and slightly intuitive she could be when she wanted to. And maybe she’d always been aware of your aversions to personal prying this whole time.

You took her hand and offered her a sincere smile. “I moved around a lot growing up. I found it difficult to make friends, even through adulthood. When I first got here, you welcomed me in when I had no one. You helped me make the most of this life I found myself in and helped me miss my old life a little less. You welcomed me into your family and you were always there to remind me of a cheerier world. I’ll always be grateful to you.”

Ada pulled you into a hug. “I knew I made the right decision.”

You wiped away the small tear that’d rolled down your cheek as she pulled away, busing yourself with the final piece of the ensemble.

You stood up and began tying on her veil. It was so delicate and ornate, adorned with flowers around edge that matched the free spirit you’d always seen in your friend.

You stood her up and smoothed out her veil, then turned her to face you, your eyes scanning for any final touches. When you were done, you took a step back and covered your mouth, your smile bursting. Her own smile widened at your reaction, turning to appraise herself in your mirror.

“Oh Ada,” your heart was bursting, “you’re beautiful.”

She blushed, her grin wide and excitement infectious. Despite the circumstances of her fiance, you really were happy for Ada. As the first person who’d accepted you in this new world, you felt very protective and loyal to Ada.

It’d been why you kept her secret about Freddie from the rest of her family, and why you’d promised to wait and tell Polly until that afternoon, after you knew the ceremony was official.

While anxious, the matriarch had taken the news better than you expected. Though you guessed she was anticipating them getting married, what she hadn’t was Tommy’s deal with the Inspector to get Freddie out of the city.

Apparently, Polly’s attempt at ‘dealing with it peacefully’ hadn’t worked out the way she expected. Ada turned up at the Garrison flushed and out of breath, looking for either her brother or husband.

“They’re gonna kill each other,” she’d nearly cried when you grabbed her arm, stabilizing her as she bent forward.

“Ada, you need to calm down,” you tried to push the cup of water back into her hands. She breathed sharply as she rubbed her stomach. “This isn’t good for the baby.”

“I don’t care,” she said through a haggard breath. “I have to find them. I have to try—“

You followed her outside and kept up with her until Freddie emerged from the stairway of a canal bridge. She threw herself into him, and you urged him to take her home and make her rest. You watched from the side of the road as they crossed it.

“He’s going to ruin her life,” you heard Tommy’s deep voice behind you.

“You can’t keep doing that to her,” you said without turning around. You felt him move beside you, both of you still looking in the couple’s direction until they turned down an alleyway. “The stress isn’t good for the baby. She nearly passed out in the pub just now worried you two were going to kill each other—“

“I should have.”

“But you didn’t.”

He took a deep breath, “He loves her.”

Your eyes shifted over to finally look at him, his eyes still staring at the empty alleyway.

That was the first time he’d ever acknowledged their feelings for each other. You were convinced he thought Freddie was using Ada — hell, since they got back, you were tempted to start thinking that way too. It wasn’t a secret how dedicated he was to the communist party, and you knew most of the strikes around here were either spearheaded by Freddie himself, or encouraged by him. There were times you began to question what he loved more: Ada or his cause.

But time and time again, Ada assured you that their love was real and strong enough to combat even Tommy’s fire.

And now, it seemed, something had finally assured Tommy that Freddie wasn’t just in it for her last name.

“What convinced you?”

“When we were kids, Ada used to chase us around, shouting at us to slow down, to wait for her, to include her in our little games.” Tommy’s throat bobbled as you watched the reel move behind his eyes, lost in his childhood memories. “Freddie would always slow down. I never realized… or maybe I did.”

He blinked, breaking the trance he’d been in as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a cigarette. He ran it between his lips and lit it.

Blowing the smoke away, his eyes hardened.

”He asked about the guns,” he said, his voice low despite the relatively secluded spot. “You haven’t told Ada—“

“No,” you said firmly, not letting him finish his question.

He hummed approvingly. Another moment passed before he spoke again. “You never asked me why.”

Your brow creased as you tried to decipher what he meant.

“Freddie and me.” He blew out a puff of smoke. “I’ve seen you watch us, when we’ve been in the same rooms. You heard what he said in the pub the day Danny blew in. And I know Ada has told you how close we used to be. But you’ve never asked me why Freddie and I fell out.”

“You never offered,” you countered, meeting his eyes again. You crossed your arms, not sure what he was playing at with bringing this up now. When he brought the cigarette to his lips again, it was obvious he wanted you to continue. “I guess I just assumed you both returned from the war with different outlooks on the world. He doesn’t accept the powers-that-be and wants to change them.”

He hummed, blowing out his smoke. “And me?”

“Did you ever feel that way?” you found yourself asking, head tilted as you considered him. You hadn’t thought about it before, but it would have made sense. Freddie’s passions weren’t new, they were deep and rooted, and it would make sense for him to have been a member of the communist party either during the war or before. You were realizing now that there was a chance Tommy could have been entertaining the idea as well before he left.

The way Tommy’s lips tightened into a hard line and he lifted his chin told you enough. But surprisingly, he offered you a short answer. “Once. Before.”

“And now?” He didn’t answer that one. You took a deep breath as you continued. “Maybe you still don’t agree with the powers-that-be, but I don’t think it matters to you anymore. Freddie wants to change the world; you want to use it.”

“I won’t let ‘em put us back in the mud,” he said, his voice calloused as he stared forward. He swallowed, “I need a drink.”

Instead of walking toward the Garrison, where you knew Grace was closing up for the night, Tommy turned right, toward your apartment.

You felt your breath let out, not realizing you’d been tensed up since Ada had blown into the Garrison.

Catching up with Tommy, you decided to lighten the mood a little. “I’m gonna need to restock if you keep drinking all my whiskey,” you teased.

He let out a humored breath. “Well, next time you’re at the Garrison, just grab a bottle on me.”

You rolled your eyes, “Yeah Harry would love that.”

“Not up to Harry anymore what happens to the inventory.”

Tommy let out a puff of smoke as you turned back to face him before letting him into your flat.

“What do you mean?”

“I bought it.”

“What?—“ your brow creased as his words sunk in. “You bought the Garrison? Can you even do that?”

“I made Harry a very fair offer,” Tommy said plainly as he made himself comfortable in your flat. It was beginning to feel less strange to have company. “He’ll stay on for as long as he wants and still manage the place.”

You felt a pang of sadness for the former owner. Harry loved that place, and always had such pride for it and its patrons.

“But why?” You asked, starting to take your shoes off. Despite you traveling in time, there were still some little rituals that you just couldn’t shake. And taking your shoes off when you got home was one of them.

Tommy began to pour two glasses. “Arthur needs some direction.”

“A distraction, you mean.”

He rose his brow, but nodded. “Regardless. He needs to keep his head out of the bloody bottle and on the business. Besides, weren’t you the one who said we needed to find a way to pass the influx of money coming in from the shop?”

It’s true, you had raised that question to Tommy recently after the Monaghan Boy win. Not that you knew much more about money laundering than you’d learned from watching Breaking Bad. But it’d apparently been enough to pique Tommy’s interest and take you seriously.

Tommy was right though. What you’d been anticipating was finally coming to a head — Tommy was, for all intents and purposes, the head of the Shelby family and the Peaky Blinders. Arthur, who had been feeling the effects of his slow descent for the past couple months, was drowning his sorrows almost daily and picking a fight whenever he got the chance. You’d even begun watering down his drinks by the time he’d get to through half a bottle on nights when you were working in the pub and he was working his way to being sloshed.

“You’ll have to help him,” Tommy spoke up after you didn’t comment.

You breathed out a disbelieving laugh, “Like Arthur would ever listen to me.”

“You’ll have to make him,” he took a step toward you and offered you your drink. When you met his eyes, he smirked, “Like you did me.”

You rose your brow. “You want me to nearly push him in the Cut and play a get-to-know-you drinking game with him?”

His smirk turned into a small smile, “Maybe not exactly like you did with me. But you’ll talk to him. You’ll reason with him. He’ll come to accept it.”

“You’ve been promising he’d come to accept me for months now,” you countered.

“And he has, you just haven’t noticed.”

You shook your head, still not convinced and beginning to worry about how you’d get along with Arthur now that you’d be essentially working for him.

“You two and can discuss the Garrison’s future at the next family meetin’.”

You rolled your eyes, half laughing at the comment. “The only reason Arthur invited me to the last one was to accuse me of influencing you. There’s no way he’d be cool with me coming to more—“

“He won’t have a choice.”

Your brow furrowed, “What does that mean?”

Tommy pulled your hand into his, causing you to stop pacing and stepped into you. The act surprised you, meeting his eyes again. They were soft, a small crease in the corners as he looked between your own, then to your lips.

“You’re mine, ‘member?” his deep voice vibrated against you as he reached up and ran his thumb across your cheek, then down to your chin. You got deja vu from that first night outside of your apartment building as he reminded you of the words you’d said to him Christmas Eve in his bed. “Well I’m yours. We’re in this together, ya?”

Your heart pounded at his words. Whatever hesitations or insecurities you’d been feeling were gone as Tommy held you against him, his eyes waiting for your response.

“Yeah,” you said easily, welcoming his lips to meet yours.

His kiss was soft, a gentle tug that showed no signs of being rushed, but savored. You hummed contently into it as you felt his lips smile against yours.

What was it about this man that made your brain go fuzzy and speech cease? Every time he brought his lips to yours, you felt like everything made sense. Like you weren’t standing in a room surrounded by puzzle pieces — but that the final piece was falling into place, even just for a moment. You laced your fingers through his hair, desperate to hold on to this feeling for as long as you could. Even if it was just a taste.

He pulled away slightly, his forehead rest against yours as you caught your breath. “Whatever we face, whether it’s Arthur or Ada—“

“Or Kimber or Campbell,” you added with a slight mocking mirth.

He breathed out a soft laugh and rolled his eyes. “Or whatever else might come our way — I know we can face it. Together.”

You lifted on your toes slightly to meet his lips again when a hard knock at your door caused you to jump.

You and Tommy looked to each other confused — no one aside from Tommy or Ada ever came to your apartment. A second knock prompted Tommy to take the lead in opening the door as you grabbed for your bag with Polly’s gun inside.

“Danny?” Tommy greeted opening the door wider for the formally dead man to come into your apartment.

Danny Owens gave you a shy smile and wave before offering Tommy a salute. “Danny Whizz-Bang reporting, sir.”

You dropped your bag, pointing at the man and looking between him and Tommy. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Tommy nodded, “at ease. What are you doing here, Danny?”

“Charlie said to try here if you weren’t at your place,” he said before taking a seat. Tommy offered him the bottle of whiskey and he poured himself a drink.

“So no one is gonna explain the very alive friend of yours sitting at my kitchen table?” you asked, still unsure what was going on.

Tommy took a deep breath before running his hand through his hair. “It was a trick to fool the Italians. Danny’s been living in London, keeping an ear out. Apparently, there’s news he couldn’t wait on.”

“I was in a pub,” Danny began, gripping the edge of his hat in his hands. “It’s called the Mother Redcap, an Irish pub. I was talking to some old bloke about Birmingham. He said there’s been trouble. An IRA man shot. He said a lot, but the only bit I heard was that their high command think it’s the Peaky Blinders who shot him. I came up on the next boat to warn you.”

“I heard about that guy,” you said softly. “It was outside of the Black Swan. Was it one of the men you met with the other day?”

Tommy nodded.

You thought about the way Grace had eavesdropped on the men, and how she’d been so interested on where they were from. Your brain ticked that there was a connection there, but you brushed it aside on the grounds that you were just searching for something to be horribly wrong with her. While you believed she still had some kind of secret, you didn’t think she’d go as far as shooting someone.

You looked down at your own hands, a vision of blood covering them from your own dirty deeds, and knowing that anything was possible.

“Is it true?” Danny asked, pulling your attention back to the men in front of you.

“No,” Tommy answered, taking a deep breath. “But lies travel faster than the truth.” He thought for a moment before gesturing toward Danny. “Get a message to them. Tell them to send someone to parley. Tell them there’s been a misunderstanding and we don’t want any trouble.”

Danny swallowed the rest of his drink before rising. He saluted Tommy again, then gave you a slight bow. “I will do my duty, sir. Ma’am.”

He left before you could ask anything more. “Tommy, what the hell—“

“Just another thing to add to the list,” he said, shaking his head as he grabbed his own glass and threw it back. “Right now, our focus is on Kimber. And tomorrow is Cheltenham. We’ve gotta be ready.”

>> next chapter: coming soon << chapter masterlist

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas Shelby x reader #tommy Shelby x oc #thomas Shelby x oc #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #time after time #mine #fanfic #fanfiction

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nightsmarish · 2 days

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Summary: as summer at hogwarts approaches, both you and Regulus build up your walls again, lose sleep, and are warry of saying yes to the offer to go to Potter Manor.

A/n: might write a pt.2? Would we like that? Maybe? Idk, I lost the plot halfway through and u can tell lmao. Also, have not written for this specific ship, so I may not be as good as the queen of this ship

Update!: pt2

Poly!moonwater x gn!reader (Remus lupin x regulus black x reader) | 1.6k words

Tw: allusions to toxic family, losing sleep, snippy bc of losing sleep, negative thoughts, anxiety, a nap dude

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History of Magic is usually an easy subject. Sit down, take notes, look over the assignment, complete it during dinner or before bed, and you're done.

But today everything but that is happening. You managed to get all the way to sitting down and pulling out your parchment and quill before the words Professor Binns says all mesh together. Nothing makes sense.

And you know it's due to the ache behind your eyes, the pounding in your head and the ache in your bones.

The last few nights you haven't slept, not really at least. It's nearing the end of this year at Hogwarts so everyone is preparing to go home. Planning what they will do with one another over break before the new year starts up. Talking about their family traditions, and a feeling of excitement takes the castle.

Despite this, a feeling of dread has been following you like your own personal rain cloud. The knowledge you'll have to return home eating you alive. Knowing you won't be able to contact Remus or Regulus, less your parents find out you're dating them, making you feel like you're choking on your heart.

The memories you've made this year really should weigh out the weeks you will spend with your family. In the stiff place, you're forced to call home with strict rules and expectations. Yet, you feel horrible. And it's been causing you to force yourself into your studies for the upcoming tests. Avoiding sleep due to nightmares that have recently plagued your mind.

Which leads to now, the room spinning slowly on an axis, ans Professor Binns slightly to blurry, even for a ghost. You know you need to zone back in, drink some water, take a vitamin potion or even visit Madam Pomfrey at this rate. Yet you can't make yourself do it.

Continuing to stay in your zoned out state till the end of class. And that's when even you draw the line.

Standing up from your seat as everyone filters out, albeit a little you're moving a little slower than usual, you exit in search of your boyfriends. Either or both. And it's not exactly a very long search, quickly finding yourself face to face with Regulus Black and Remus Lupin.

"Hey, dove." Remus' voice is sweet, per usual, like the comfort of a spoon full of honey on a sore throat.

Regulus doesn't speak for a full moment, analyzing you. To anyone else it would look judgmental, but the softness in his eyes and slight pull at the edge of his lips tell you differently.

"Hi, Rem." The boys look at one another, an unspoken conversation playing out.

"Why don't we go to my dorm?" Remus looks back to you, "haven't had much time for the three of us. James and Sirius have quidditch, and Peter is going to his study group."

"I'm down." Without another word, the three of you walk towards Gryffindor tower.

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Remus knows that Regulus tends to be a little quieter the closer to the end of the year, having been around the other Black brother for a while now. Already knowing how closed off Sirius would get when he still lived at the Black Manor, building up the walls early to protect himself when he left.

Even now, Sirius does it. Remus isn't sure if it's a habit or the fact that Regulus has been refusing to take the offer to stay at Potter Manor as well.

But you? You, he's not sure. Remus knows you and Regulus have known one another longer than he's known you, and that's never really bothered him. Remus knows all three of you love one another, and he's never felt left out. But know? Know he wishes you'd talk about your own home life.

Regulus doesn't like talking about his experiences at home; the only thing Remus knows is from old stories from Sirius. And Remus will never pry, not wanting to force either of you to do anything you don't want to.

But Merlin, he feels nearly useless right now, wishing to see the tension in your shoulders calm, wishing to see you and Regulus calm again. Wishing Regulus would take the offer to join them at Potter Manor. He wishes for both your safety more than anything.

The walk to the dorm is quite, but not peaceful. Everyone trying to stay calm and wishing someone else would say something. But no one knowing quite what to say to break the silence.

Once you do get up to the dorm, the Gryffindor's dorm, Regulus sets his bag by Remus' nightstand, you following suit, the emblems on your bags a contrast to the surrounding room. Regulus goes to find clothes he's left in Remus' closet before, while you sit on the lycans bed to slip off your shoes. Remus sits next to you, his hand resting on your lower back.

And finally, after far too long, Remus breaks the silence. "Dove..."

You glance up at him as you slip your shoes under the edge of his bed. "Yes?"

Remus sends a quick glance to Regulus, who's slipping on a long black sleeve shirt, one more comfortable than the previous Slytherin uniform. "I understand if you aren't comfortable with it, but..." He pauses for a moment, glancing back to look into your eyes, his thumb rubbing gentle strokes on your spine. "If you want to, you know you're welcome to stay at James' house."

Under his hand, Remus feels you tense, and from his peripheral, Regulus paused to listen.

"That's- that's okay, Remus. But tell James I appreciate the offer, please." You stand up far too fast for your lack of sleep, causing you to fall right back where you were sitting. Alerting both boys.

One of Remus' hands stay glued to your back, the other on your shoulder, as if your keen over. Regulus is quick to stand infront of you.

"Love, you should stay with them." Regulus' voice is full of worry. "It's better than any other option."

"You're not going." Your eyes shoot up to Regulus', far more defensive than you mean to be. Remus' hand, which was previously on your shoulder, moves down to the bed, the other hand continuing to run against your spine again.

"That's doesn't mean you shouldn't go." Regulus matches your defensiveness out of habit.

"You both should come." Remus talks before you can shoot back, hand on the bed finally moving to Regulus' arm, never seeming to catch a break.

There's a heavy pause. One that goes on for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"I'll think about it if you do." Your voice is more timid as you hold your stare at Regulus' eyes, his boring right back into you. Intense, deep, and so, so, loving.

Regulus sighs, "fine."

"Thank you, both. Seriously, you should come. James and Sirius want you guys there. Not to mention James' parents, they love new people." Remus kisses your hair line, standing up, hand leaving your back, before kissing Regulus on the lips. Both your bodies lossen.

Remus moves to change out of his uniform, and you quickly stand up to join him. Regulus' hand comes out to make sure you're steady as you grab a pair of sweats that no one truly knows who belongs to. They were probably once James, but at some point Lily stole them, and at a different point Sirius stole them back, and now so many of your friends have worn them at some point, it's probably weird.

Grabbing those and a jumper belonging to Regulus, you turn back to see Remus already curled around Regulus' back, who lays with enough room for you to join them. Both trying not to show just how eager they are for an afternoon nap.

You climb onto Remus' bed as well, using your wand to close the curtains, magically dimming the lights in the room before placing it on the bedside table. Curling into Regulus' front, leg thrown over his hip, you tuck your head into his neck. Yet your eyes remain open.

You definitely want to sleep, and you know you should, Remus is likely already asleep, knowing the bastard sleeps like the dead. Yet the knowing you could have another wretched nightmare makes you stay awake, staring over Regulus' shoulder the the golden brown hair tucked into his back, belonging to Remus, and letting the black hair belonging to Regulus slightly tickle your cheek.

"Go to sleep dove. Both of you. Please, you can't function without it." Remus' voice seems to startle both you and Regulus, both believing he was asleep, and believing the same about one another.

You pull back from Regulus neck, facing him, seeing the features of his face barely visible in the dark room. "We will, baby." Your voice is soft, as if you were telling a secret.

Remus merely hums and shift slightly before relaxing back into Regulus' back.

"Get some sleep, darling." Regulus kisses your cheek, "it's going to be okay in the end."

"I know. I know. We both need sleep; Remus is gonna kill us." Softly connecting your lips with his, slow and lazy, both smiling at the hum from Remus, confirming the empty threat you made for him.

You return to your being tucked into Regulus' neck. "'M sorry for being snappy with you." You mumble against his skin.

"You have nothing to apologies for, I understand where you're coming from darling." His hand rests on your hip and lower back, relaxing further into you and Remus, closer and closer to having a lovely nap. Of which, you join with the hopes of no nightmares.

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petit-naldo · 3 days

Text

After the race.

SHANGHAI - Post Sprint

Carlos returns from the paddock, racing so closely with Charles got him all worked up. I mean, they almost touched. Maybe they did? He's still shaking a little from the adrenaline. But it's okay; he knows the internet is going to either praise him or get mad at him for it. He knows everyone is going to comment, but it's okay. He loves it. He loves racing that way, showing the Latino mode. It's not their first time with Charles; they tacitly agreed that whatever happened on the track would stay on the track and not impact their relationship.

And Charles gave him a thumbs up after the race, so everything is okay. And it's probably just a coincidence if he doesn't run into Charles the whole hour after the race. He focuses on debriefs and interviews.

But when he finally sees him at the end of the garage, back turned towards him, he can't help but run and lightly grab his arm.

"Hey..." he holds his hand out for him to clap.

"Hey," answers Charles rather flatly, not meeting his gaze. Something feels off, but he still asks.

"Are we good?"

"..." Charles finally looks up and grimaces. He feels his stomach churning. Did he really go too far, really? He always makes sure to be very careful with his teammates, especially with Charles, who has always been very respectful towards him. With Charles, whom he particularly appreciates. So he slightly panics and stammers, "but you gave me a thumbs up so I thought that..."

"It wasn't in that way."

"Oh..." Oh, so it was an angry thumbs up. And he responded like an idiot.

"you fucking pushed me off track, Carlos, it could have caused a puncture!"

"You passed me anyway, so why are you mad?" He sees a glint of fiery arrogance in Charles' eyes.

"Because you could have let me! Instead of fighting so hard."

"Oh, let you? In what honor?"

That's new, Charles asking him for favors like that. He lets out a little laugh, and Charles blushes and says, "Not let me... just not fight me so much."

"But I'm a fighter, we are fighters... on track and chess," he tries to lighten the mood by lowering his voice a little bit, gives Charles a little bump on the shoulder, smiles... "you said it yourself in the interview... I heard you."

He tries to pinch his side, but Charles squirms away still annoyed, brows furrowed, but he knows him so well, he sees his eyes are about to laugh already because no matter how much he wants it, Charles can never stay mad at him for too long. Spanish charm.

But he is mature, and if Charles is annoyed, even a little bit, the air needs to be cleared. So he stops teasing, comes back to being serious, and presents his hand in front of him as a peace offering.

Charles meets his eyes defiantly, wondering, but slowly slowly reaches to hold it. He feels Carlos' fingers wrapping around his own, warm and strong, steady. It's strangely comforting. He'd like to hold onto them for a while, ground himself back after this madness.

"I'm sorry, if I went a bit too far. I'm sorry, didn't mean for you to think it was aggressive." His voice is low and warm, and Charles receives it like a hug. He loses himself in the big brown pupils for a while, then swallows, mouth suddenly dry, and nods a little bit, acknowledging the apology.

"We good?" asks Carlos, back to being smirky with a blink and a wide smile.

"Yes,"

And Carlos smiles even wider and pulls his hand toward his lips to give it a kiss.

"My lord..."

"STOP IT, Carhlos!" and Charles feels his face burn, pretends to be offended, and pulls back his hand, pushing him lightly on the shoulder in retaliation. His heart races like crazy.

They head towards the common room, bickering.

"Now we'll have to explain this to Fred," sighs Carlos, anticipating the scolding.

Charles nods, unfocused.

He can't help but wonder how Carlos' lips would have felt like.

#my take on the aftermath of the sprint #charlos #f1 rpf #charles leclerc #carlos sainz #fanfiction

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xbabyd0lli3x · 2 days

Text

Obsessive Flames // E.Munson

Pairing: Eddie munson /Reader

Reader Gender: not told but afab when sex

CW: sex, Unportected sex[ wrap it before u tap it] slight dubcon at first

wc: 11591

As you make your way through the dark and ominous hallways of Hawkins high school, you can't shake the feeling of being watched. You turn a corner and come face to face with Eddie Munson, but something is off. His eyes are cold and dead, his expression twisted into a menacing grin. In the dimly lit forest, you find yourself walking along a narrow path. The leaves crunch beneath your feet as you hear the faint sound of a guitar in the distance. You quicken your pace, eager to find the source of the music. As you approach the clearing where the music is coming from, you see Eddie sitting on a fallen log, playing his beloved guitar. But something doesn't seem right. He looks up at you with those cold, dead eyes and you feel a chill run down your spine.

"Eddie, what's going on?" Eddie continues to play his guitar, the haunting melody sending shivers down your spine. He doesn't respond, instead his gaze becomes more intense and predatory. You try to back away slowly, but you feel a hand on your shoulder, gripping it tightly.

"Where do you think you're going?" Eddie's voice is cold and menacing, a stark contrast to his usual carefree demeanor. You try to speak, but your voice fails you. You can feel his hot breath on your neck as he leans in closer, his grip on your shoulder tightening.

"I've been waiting for you." Eddie's other hand reaches up to your face, tracing your jawline with his thumb. You can feel the roughness of his callouses against your skin, a reminder of the many hours he's spent practicing his music. But there's something else in his touch, something darker and more dangerous.

"You're mine." Eddie's voice is firm and unyielding, leaving no room for argument. You feel a shiver run down your spine as his hand moves to the back of your head, pulling you closer to him. His other hand moves to your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

"Eddie, what are you doing?" Eddie's grip on you tightens, his fingers digging into your skin. "I'm taking what's mine," he growls, his lips brushing against your ear. You can feel his breath hot and heavy against your skin, causing you to shiver.

"But Eddie, I don't understand." Eddie's grip on you tightens even further, almost to the point of pain. "You don't need to understand," he hisses, his lips still close to your ear. "You just need to submit to me." Eddie's hand moves to your throat, gently but firmly gripping it. His thumb strokes your skin as he leans in closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're mine now," he whispers, his voice low and intense.

You feel a surge of fear and confusion, but there's something else too. A small part of you can't help but feel a spark of excitement, a thrill at being dominated by Eddie in this way. You've always admired his passion and intensity, and now you find yourself drawn to it, even as it scares you. Eddie's hand moves from your throat to your chin, gently tilting your head up so that you're looking into his eyes. His grip on you is still tight, but there's a softness in his expression now, a tenderness that takes you by surprise.

"I'm sorry," Eddie says, his voice softer now. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just needed to know that you were really here, that this wasn't just another one of my hallucinations." Eddie's grip on you loosens, his thumb gently stroking your chin. "I've been hearing things, seeing things that aren't there." Eddie's eyes fill with a mix of sadness and fear as he continues to confess. "I thought I was losing my mind. But then I heard your voice, and I knew you were real. I knew I had to see you, had to make sure you were really here." Eddie's grip on you has loosened, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you try to process what's happening. You've never seen Eddie like this before - so intense, so vulnerable. You can see the fear and desperation in his eyes, and it breaks your heart.

Eddie's hand moves from your chin to your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "Please," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Stay with me. Don't leave me alone in this darkness."

You can feel the weight of Eddie's words pressing down on you, and you realize that he needs you. You look into Eddie's eyes, seeing the raw emotion and vulnerability that he's showing you. You can feel the tension in his grip, the fear and desperation that's driving him. And in that moment, you make a decision. You're not going to leave him alone in this darkness. You lean in closer to Eddie, your lips brushing against his in a gentle kiss. You can feel him relax slightly, his grip on you loosening as he returns your kiss. But there's still a fire in his touch, a passion that you can feel pulsing through his veins. As you continue to kiss, the passion between you grows more intense. Eddie's hands move to your hair, gripping it tightly as he deepens the kiss. You can feel his tongue exploring your mouth, tasting you in a way that makes your head spin.

The kissing becomes more urgent, more primal, as if both of you are trying to convey your emotions and desires without words. Eddie's hands move from your hair to your body, exploring every inch of you with a hunger that takes your breath away. You can feel his hands move down your body, tracing the curve of your waist before settling on your hips. He pulls you closer to him, his hardness pressing against you in a way that makes you gasp. Eddie's kisses become more insistent, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip as he growls softly. Eddie's hands move to the hem of your shirt, lifting it up over your head and tossing it aside. His eyes hungrily take in the sight of your bare skin, and you can feel his breath catch in his throat. He leans in closer, his lips trailing kisses down your neck and shoulders.

Eddie's lips make their way down to your breasts, his tongue flicking at your nipples through the fabric of your bra. You can feel yourself growing wetter with every touch, every kiss. Eddie's hands move to the clasp of your bra, unfastening it with a deftness that takes you by surprise. Eddie's eyes light up as your bra falls away, revealing your bare breasts to his gaze. He dips his head down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and sucking gently. You can feel the sensation shoot straight to your core, making you moan softly. Eddie's free hand continues to explore your body, tracing a path down your stomach and beneath the waistband of your pants. You can feel his fingers probing at your entrance, teasing you in a way that makes you squirm with pleasure.

Eddie's fingers slip inside of you, and you can feel yourself clenching around him. He starts to move his fingers in a slow, rhythmic motion, building up a steady pace that has you panting with pleasure. Eddie's thumb finds your clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure to make your legs shake. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, but Eddie doesn't let up. He continues to thrust his fingers in and out of you, his thumb working your clit in slow, deliberate circles. Just as you're about to tip over the edge, Eddie pulls his fingers out of you and stands up. You look up at him, confused and a little disappointed, but he's looking at you with a fire in his eyes that takes your breath away. Eddie extends a hand to help you up from the ground, his movements quick and decisive. Once you're on your feet, he pulls you close to him, his hands gripping your hips as he kisses you deeply. You can feel his hardness pressing against you, and you can't help but grind against him in response.

Eddie's lips never leave yours as he guides you backwards towards the bed, his hands never breaking contact with your body. Once the back of your legs hit the edge of the mattress, Eddie gently pushes you down until you're lying flat on your back. Eddie breaks the kiss for a moment, his eyes locked onto yours as he reaches down to undo his pants. You watch, mesmerized, as he pushes them down, revealing his boxers and the obvious bulge beneath. Eddie kicks his pants aside, his eyes never leaving yours. Eddie then hooks his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and slowly pulls them down, releasing his hardness. He kicks his boxers aside and climbs onto the bed, settling himself between your legs. Eddie's body hovering over yours, his hardness pressing against your wetness. He smiles down at you, his eyes full of desire. "Are you ready for me?" he asks, his voice husky and low.

You nod, unable to speak, your body trembling with anticipation. Eddie takes your silence as an affirmative, and he slowly begins to push himself inside of you. You can feel yourself stretching to accommodate him, the sensation both uncomfortable and incredibly pleasurable. Eddie moves slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size. Once Eddie is fully inside of you, he pauses for a moment, allowing you both to catch your breath. He looks down at you, his eyes filled with concern and desire. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice soft and gentle. You nod, unable to speak, your body still trembling with pleasure and anticipation. Eddie starts to move his hips, slowly at first, but then building up a steady rhythm that has you both moaning with pleasure. He braces himself with one hand next to your head, while the other hand roams your body, exploring every inch of your skin. His lips find yours again, kissing you deeply as he continues to thrust into you.

The feeling of Eddie's body moving against yours, his hardness filling you up completely, is overwhelming. You can feel every inch of him, and the sensation is both intense and exhilarating. Eddie's thrusts become more urgent, his hips slapping against yours as he drives himself deeper inside of you. You wrap your legs around Eddie's waist, pulling him in deeper as you meet his thrusts with your own hips. The feeling of him inside of you is incredible, and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Eddie's hand continues to roam your body, his fingers finding your clit once again. He circles it gently, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. You cry out, your back arching off the bed as you climax hard around him. Eddie groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his own release. With one final thrust, he stills, burying himself deep inside of you as he reaches his peak.

Eddie collapses on top of you, his breathing heavy and labored. He rolls off to the side, pulling you with him so that you're both lying on your backs, wrapped in each other's arms. Eddie's fingers absentmindedly trace patterns on your arm as you both come down from the high of your lovemaking. As you lay there, basking in the afterglow of your passionate encounter, Eddie's fingers continue to explore your body. His touch is gentle and soothing, and you can feel yourself starting to relax in his arms. Your breathing slowly returns to normal, and your heart rate slows down. Eddie looks over at you, his eyes soft and full of affection. He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I love you," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie's lips brush against your forehead as he whispers those three little words. You smile, your heart swelling with love for this amazing man who has just given you the most incredible pleasure. You turn your head towards him, your lips meeting his in a soft, lingering kiss. "I love you too." The words hang in the air between you, heavy with emotion. Eddie's arms tighten around you, pulling you closer as if he couldn't bear to let you go. You feel completely at peace in this moment, wrapped up in his warmth and love.

#strawberrytalks .⋆🪼⋆. ⭒#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader

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hitlikehammers · 3 days

Text

time for that age old question: is love enough to beat back the apocalypse?

Because Steve's right there to protect everybody like the self-sacrificing asshole he is help Eddie make the music he's not strong enough for yet help them all put Vecna in the ground for good this time, right?(!??!)

or: what's the song for your walkman, baby? does it even matter?

I Could Be Your Nurse (or something)

Or: Five Times Eddie Has To Ask For Help, Plus One Time He Doesn’t Need It Anymore (but asks anyway) ✨ for @penny00dreadful 💜

<<< three: sleep 🌗

🎧 🎹 four: play 🎶 🛡️

To tell the whole truth of it: it comes too quickly—Vecna’s last stand. Of course it does.

But probably, if he’s being fair: they’d never have been really ready. Not for this, and so maybe it’s best that they’re not fully healed, not at full strength when it all comes to a head, not least because that means Vecna and his petal-toothed brigade aren’t at full strength either. And that choice, for their side, is sloppy; the Party stands on the right-side-up against the attack because they have to. Vecna makes his move because—or else, Eddie’s fairly sure—because the sadistic ballsac is losing his fucking mind.

Which is terrifying, sure, but fuck if it doesn’t help their cause.

It’s actually over pretty quick, even compared to Spring Break which, while it felt like a lifetime for how much it changed Eddie’s own, it’s only been those handful of days—but it’s kinda like the grand finale at a fireworks show: everything all at once then, done. In the everything’s though: he might not like it, but Eddie’s not so foolish as to believe he’s not still too tender, still too deep in healing the finer points of being gnawed alive to be anything but a burden in the thick of it. He refuses to be sidelined, though, and he thinks it says a lot for the long-term health of this glorious impossible thing he’s…building? Yeah, he, umm, he, Eddie Munson, is building a real goddamn thing where he doesn’t even just let someone into his heart and treasures them there, no, he’s building a thing where he gives his heart and gets on new and soft and trembling in kind and they both get to work at the treasuring of something more precious than just their own vulnerable insides, but yeah, yeah:

Eddie thinks it bodes really fucking well for the hopes he has that lean hard toward forever, already, in Eddie’s chest at least when Steve looks his way as they’re planning the teams and he locks eyes with Eddie and Eddie doesn’t even get his mouth open to breathe, to plead don’t cut me out, don’t send me to Wayne to be ‘safe’ or ‘out of harm’s way’ or whatever, don’t leave me so fucking far from you my heart hurts just because it’s beating in the middle space unmoored and shaking around all bruised up with it for not knowing and I know I can’t do what everyone else can but it’ll be bad enough not being next to you please don’t push me far enough that I won’t know the moment you’re safe, just—

Steve meets his eyes, and Eddie’s breath catches before his heart trips, and then Steve speaks up—and he doesn’t, not all that often when the nerdiest among them are shoring up the battle plans—but he watches Eddie without blinking when he pipes up:

“Eddie’s on medical and audio, with Erica and Jon.”

And maybe it’s his tone—this almost wholly novel thing in Steve that’s steely and unquestionable but no one pushes, they nod and get back to work, totally seamless and, and…yeah. That’s all Eddie wanted. Best he could hope for. Just outside the gate they go through. Close enough to hold a hand on the way down, and reach for purchase on the journey back.

Steve swallows hard, and nods at Eddie before he looks away and starts gearing up, twirls his fucking nailbat so it catches the sunlight even thought the metal’s mostly rusted, now and just…Eddie hadn’t needed to say a word. And Steve wanted to send him to safety, the way his throat had bobbed made it real clear there was something heavy he’s held back but: he’d said what he said. He’d laid the line in Eddie’s favor. Eddie wants to hold him, wants to pull him close and feel him breathe, and—

Yeah. Eddie kinda feels like the way it goes is a really good sign for their future as a couple. A couple. Them. Together.

With an always on the other side of all of this that could be kinda fucking magnificent, maybe. Given the chance.

Point being: Eddie gets himself set up with at least a full ambulance’s supplies for first aid, definitely not acquired legally, and a stereo set up he really wishes someone had been kind enough to outfit him with in not-the-apocalypse, holy shit is it gorgeous, but since the strength in his hands is still a work-in-progress, he’s gotta be ready to crank up the noise as a distraction from arm’s-length. It’s actually driving him fucking crazy—or, was; it was, pre-active return to the regularly scheduled world ending—the whole not being able to make music, to translate the noise in his head into sounds on the strings but even that, even that’s been tolerable, survivable because of Steve—who he loves, he gets to love Steve Harrington holy fuck—but Steve’s not just there to be everything and more than the air Eddie goddamn breathes, to become the music just by existing, nope, he one ups that shit: he asked Eddie if it’d be enough to learn the chords he needs. So Eddie could match the words with the notes right, so Steve could be a—

“—kinda piss-poor substitute but,” Steve had shrugged for it with a crooked grin; “but even a bad translator gets a message across, and you’d know when it’s wrong so we can figure out how to fix it and—“

And Eddie’d grabbed Steve’s chin and yanked his mouth close to fucking consume that man like a soul goddamn starved.

“I’d be a shit teacher,” Eddie had mouthed against Steve’s lips after they were sucked well-swollen; “if I still can’t lift the fucking neck for more than a minute,” but Steve had heard none of it, just shot right back:

“You don’t think we’ve beat steeper odds than that?”

And in the face of that raised brow, those red lips parted, that pulse in that neck still a little bit visible like a tease: the fuck was Eddie supposed to do but dive back in and love on the man who’d somehow agreed to be his, and to claim Eddie of all people in turn?

Which is a whole other reason why everything’s gonna be fine: Steve’s gonna make music with him. Steve’s gonna be Eddie’s muse and the vessel for what he inspires. It’s gonna be like Greek fucking poetry, except it’s gonna be them.

So Eddie’s all stocked up, s’got everyone’s floaty-bone-breaky songs queued up on blast for immediate deployment as necessary, and Steve’s the last to go through—he always is, in Eddie’s experience, waits for everyone to be safely accounted for before he spares a thought for himself and it might kill Eddie one day but not fucking today, because it’s gonna be fine—

“Eddie.”

It feels a little like history repeating itself, the way Steve huddles him in a little. Henderson’s through, with Lucas and Hopper and the weird stray Russian, but it’s not like history repeating, because Eddie’s got different words to see him off with; so fucking different.

“Last time I didn’t have,” and Steve reaches, cups Eddie’s cheek, drags down to press on his chest as his voice strains hard: “and it almost killed me,” and Steve usually pinches between his eyes to keep his feelings in check but instead of using his free hand to hold back the tears he reaches for Eddie’s and laces their fingers as his voice cracks and he chokes out:

“Please,” and it’s for everything. For all the almosts from last time; for all the possibilities rife this time. For all the hopes Eddie thinks they share beyond how this shakes out.

“Exceptionally underqualified field med,” Eddie breathes, and squeezes Steve’s hand so, so hard like a promise, because it is; “exceptionally overqualified DJ,” and Steve chuckles, wet but real and it’s enough, because:

“I got it, Stevie,” Eddie bends his forehead to Steve’s to say better than with words that he’s not in this to be a hero, he’ll be right here the whole time, but that doesn’t mean he…that doesn’t mean he can help but to ask this time:

“Just,” and the breath in him punches out unexpectedly as he damn-near begs:

“Only bring me back the little things, yeah? That I know how to fix?”

And they both hear what’s said underneath it:

Don’t turn around and die down there, and kill me in kind..

And—if anyone’s keeping track—they turn out not to need it but: the way the kiss is a wholeass wartime farewell, man.

And then: Eddie waits, and fucks with the speakers for less than an hour before the earth shakes, and his heart drops, but then he hears it.

The fucking whooping of those shitheads echoing through the cracks.

And then he sees it, runs, grabs the first hand that’s clinging to the rope this time and pulls with strength he doesn’t have, is probably more a hindrance than a help but he steadies them each back on the ground and hugs them so tight, kisses more than one of them on the head or the cheek as he doesn’t pretend not to be sobbing through the laughter because they did it, they fucking did it, somehow it’s over and he loves these people and he’s so fucking happy they’re alive and safe and here and—

And the person he loves more, loves most, brings up the rear, a little bloodied, a little scratched up, dingy with the fucking air down there but smiling and Eddie…

Eddie falls into him so fucking hard they both hit the ground and just, just grab onto one another. Just hold and breathe and catch lips every few seconds like an afterthought because they feel each other’s heartbeat where their chests are pressed tight and it’s, they’re…

Steve’s got four broken fingers across both hands. None in a row. He’s basically giving a Vulcan salute by default for how they’re taped.

Eddie loves him so goddamn much it hurts.

And Eddie’d obviously known—once things start to settle in the days that’ve followed—that teaching Steve guitar with those Spock-y hands was on the back burner, but he does ask Steve to sit, and to rest, and to help hum back the tunes in Eddie’s head while Eddie jots lyrics with a hand that’s still shaky but steadying out more every day, and it’s kind of perfect, and Steve adds some things into the melodies either on purpose or by accident but they’re better for it every time and—

Muse and vessel, man. The light of Eddie’s whole goddamn life.

With fucking Vulcan hands still, though, so: excuse Eddie for being…bewildered when his boyfriend—boyfriend, that’s his boyfriend—but his taped-up-healing-Vulcan-handed boyfriend is propping the front door open and lugging in a long, not-recovery-friendly thing that looks close to dropping on his toes and—

“The fuck are you doing?” Eddie asks with a little more panic in his voice than he’d hoped for as he rushes as best he can to where Steve’s kicking the door shut behind him, fluttering his hands around uselessly as Steve maneuvers past him, leans across for a peck at the corner of Eddie’s mouth and calls—“It’s fine, it weighs, like, nothing”—over his shoulder as he settles the, the thing down on the coffee table in the living room they’ve started actually using for, y’know.

Living.

Eddie follows him in, though, because of course, he’s half-a-dog on that man’s heels, whole-caught-in-the-gravity-of-his-everything: but Eddie follows as Steve tosses himself backward with something in his hand, rolls and rucks up his fucking absurd Hawking Middle tee across the sweet curve of his hips, the way the soft give of skin tempts Eddie to run his tongue over the trail of almost-curls, like baby-curls where they lead under the waist of his jeans: Eddie would happily volunteer to survive on the taste of that musky-delicate space until the end of goddamn time—

But then Steve’s huffing a breathless ha from behind a chair where he’d been stretched to reach and a light catches Eddie’s eye from his periphery where he’d been staring unblinking just at Steve: the big long black thing on the coffee table. It takes a genuine concerted effort not to keep at the Steve-staring—not an uncommon state of Eddie’s existence, in all fairness—and check what’s glowing on the table: something turned on. Was plugged in, right, that’s what had Steve rolling on the floor without Eddie on top of or being deliciously pinned down by him.

The something being the big long black thing that Eddie takes in for the whole of it, now: a keyboard.

“Jon picked it up for me second-hand from the place next to Fox Photo when he drove down for his camera, and Rob vouched that it’s a good brand and like, really good condition,” Steve’s raised up on his knees, now with his hands braces on his thighs as Eddie studies the keys, fingers the ends of a every few of the naturals.

“Rob helped with those, too, so I’d know the right, like, chords,” and yeah: they’re stupa of masking tape stuck to the keys with letters in blue, black, and red pen, alternating so they don’t get mixed up, some with and arrow, Eddie assumes, to indicate a sharp.

“I only remember like half of one song from when my parents thought it would look good to have me take piano lessons,” Steve huffs in whole-ass judgment; “my mom wanted the endorsement of the guy who was stepping down from city council, and his wife taught private lessons, so, y’know,” Steve rolls his eyes; “super convenient leading up to the election.”

“What song?”

Steve blinks, tips his head in askance for what Eddie recognizes very clearly as something closer to a croak than a question, his throat all tight. He tries to cough, to clear it.

“What song do you remember?”

Steve snorts at that, leans back on his palms, and fuck is he beautiful.

“Clair de Lune,” Steve grins crooked; “the one song I was allowed to pick, instead of just being assigned.”

“Why’d you pick it?” Not that Eddie doesn’t like it or anything. It’s more that…he knew Steve could more than just drum fingers on keys, if only just, and that a baby grand used to sit in the corner where there’s a stereo cabinet now, but.

But: see, there’s like a whole half of his heart that’s dedicated to collecting new knowledge about everything Steve: his favorite food when he was 12 versus the now. How his favorite color became his favorite color. The story behind all the polos. The nitty-gritties about why he’s in a big-ass house alone for approximately 360 days a year, and how long it’s been that way. Eddie’s whole heart is basically Steve’s but every day that half overflows a little, and Eddie’s only keeping it relegated to parts filled with Steve-lore so he can feel the collection break containment every other day, this grand and joyous bursting under his ribs as everything spills over again, and again, and again until it’s all just Steve, and his heart has to burst or stretch, or both.

Eddie thinks both will be amazing.

And right now, in the interest of building toward that amazing-both: he wants to know why Debussy.

Steve chuckles to himself—better music than any dead French guy by a country mile—and eyes Eddie almost slyly.

“Do you remember Claire Reynolds?”

Vaguely. Like, very vaguely. He remembers…uneven pigtails. Very actual-cult-like vibes about her family as a vague impression and now that he’s bringing it to mind he feels a new wave of indignation: those��Children-of-the-Corn motherfuckers were just fine but Eddie liked a board game and he was probably a murderer.

“When we were in like, first grade,” Steve’s continuing on; “she asked me every, single, day, to come over and see her sheep.” Steve looks up at Eddie and bites his lower lip, lets his gaze dance and lets Eddie fall into it for a few dazed seconds before he spells it out.

“She had these crazy eyes about it, it was kinda unsettling,” Steve nudges, but Eddie’s doesn’t get it until:

“And it’s not like I do now, because obviously I don’t, but I definitely didn’t speak a lick of French when I was eight.”

It takes Eddie a hot second before he snorts hard enough to hurt:

Claire, da Loon.

“I was eight,” Steve protests Eddie’s laughter halfheartedly even as he joins in, reaches to slap at Eddie’s upper arm which honestly: just makes him laugh harder.

“Anyway,” Steve fights through the last of the chuckling as it peters out between them, drags himself to sitting next to the coffee table and taps his hand to the top of the keyboard.

“I know it’s not the same as learning guitar to help, and I can probably only get the top and bottom notes with these,” he lifts his Vulcan-fingers his a shrug; “but I was hoping that’d be better than nothing?”

And, like, how Eddie was talking about his heart having to swell, for all the things he gets to tuck inside of it that come with loving Steve Harrington?

He might crack a rib, just now, because—

“This is for me?”

Steve purses his lips, lifts a brow:

“Well, technically it’s for me,” steve singles his fingers, which looks absurd with the splints; “but yeah. To help you get the songs out. I mean, once these are free again, you can help me with the guitar like we talked about, until you’re—“

And Eddie cannot be blamed, see: he cannot be fucking blamed for tackling Steve to the floor and kissing him hard enough to bruise because…

“You got hurt,” Eddie half-breathes between kisses; “you got hurt and I was so afraid I was gonna lose you,” and Eddie reaches for those taped fingers and kisses them, too: so gentle and Steve’s expression softens so quick:

“I was scared, too,” he whispers between them, cups Eddie’s face with his unloaded hand; “you were as safe as I could make you within the fucking city limits but I was still so goddamn scared.”

Cue more rib-cracking for the heart-swelling, because Jesus fucking Christ.

“And you,” Eddie exhales, slow and shaky; “you’re hurt, but you went and got,” he nods to the keyboard;

“I know it’s not ideal,” Steve’s quick to, to what, apologize? For being insane and perfect and—

“Shut up,” Eddie says, voice low and watery and he’s still kissing at Steve’s fingers, holding his wrist delicate but also like a lifeline.

“You’re hurt,” Eddie maybe kinda moans it because he hates it, as much as he’s so fucking grateful that’s it’s just this, no worse than this; “and you still—”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

And that…that’s one thing Eddie’s learned beyond reproach; that even to his detriment, Steve keeps his goddamn promises.

And he’d promised to help Eddie get his words out, to place the lyrics to the notes and help unclutter his brain so he didn’t lose his mind.

Holy fucking hell.

“Steve,” Eddie starts, shakes his head, needs to find the right words. “You’re alive,” the most important thing. “You are healing,” another most important thing, for Eddie to oversee and make sure of, even as Steve keeps an eye on the last lingering threads of the long haul on Eddie’s road to recovery in kind, his beloved mother hen.

“This is,” and he runs his fingers too light to draw sounds across the keys, hopes he sounds as awed and grateful as he feels; “but you, you’ve gotta test, you have to,” and Eddie shakes his head and lifts his eyes to just fucking ask it:

“Why?”

And Steve: Steve just studies his face for a few seconds, reads what he needs before he smiles kinda exasperated, mostly fond and answers so simply, while also breaking a few more of Eddie’s ribs when he just says:

“Because I love you.”

And Eddie’s heart’s not so overfull yet of all of Steve, it’s not fair that it just bursts right then and there, Eddie propelled into Steve’s arms to kiss him deep this time, like he’s searching out Steve’s soul to taste and maybe he is, save that he needs his heart to not have exploded for feeling if he’s going to keep the memory of it safe in his chest for always, he needs to patch his heart back up first but he’s too distracted, too drowned in the way love actually fucking feels, fucking shifts his cells around and makes a new version of him, lets his heart grow bigger except it went and blasted apart with the unprecedented immensity of loving and—

And then Eddie’s got Steve’s taped up hands on both his cheeks, and he remembers that night, in the shower, where Steve ripped the seams from his shirt so taking it off wouldn’t hurt him; notices how Steve is wearing that same fucking shirt in this very moment, all in one piece, like it never split apart in the first place.

Master seamstress, tried and tested and true; truer than anything.

So Eddie just dives back in and kisses with everything in him, thinks maybe when Steve tastes the pieces of Eddie’s blowout heart under his tongue while Eddie goes diving for the sweet lick of Steve’s soul:

Eddie thinks Steve’s mouth might know how to stitch up torn things, too. Especially the kinds that are ripped at their seams wholly for the sake of loving that fucking hard.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson

divider credits here & here

👾 title credit here

💫 ao3 link here

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rubberizer92 · 2 days

Text

The air in the room was thick with anticipation and desire, as if it had been infused with the very essence of rubber. A single candle flickered on the nightstand, casting dancing shadows across the walls of the dimly lit chamber. The mattress beneath him was soft and yielding, yet also cool and slightly sticky, like walking on a freshly waxed floor. He could feel the weight of the restraints digging into his wrists and ankles, holding him in place, as if he were a helpless sacrifice about to be offered up to some dark and forbidden god.

His eyes were closed, but he could feel the presence of the man looming over him. Tall, broad-shouldered, and clad head-to-toe in black latex, he was a commanding figure, exuding an aura of dominance and control. The man's voice was deep and hypnotic, like the rumble of distant thunder. "You are becoming more and more aroused," he whispered, his warm breath tickling against his ear. "The thought of being dominated by me, of being forced to wear rubber and serve my every whim, fills you with an unbearable desire. You know that I have the power to make you feel things you've never felt before. You want this, don't you?"

He nodded, unable to speak. His heart was racing, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He felt as if he were on the edge of some vast, unexplored landscape, teetering on the brink of an incredible revelation. The man's fingers traced a slow, sensual pattern along his jawline, down his neck, and between his shoulder blades, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through his body. "That's a good boy," the man purred. "Now, open your eyes and look at me."

His eyes snapped open, and he found himself staring into the depths of the man's dark, hypnotic gaze. "I am your master," the man said, his voice commanding and irresistible. "I will make you crave rubber, and I will make you strong. You will become the most muscular rubber-clad man in the world. You will work out day and night, wearing only the finest latex, until your body is a living, breathing temple to rubber. You will become addicted to the feel of it, the scent of it, the way it constricts and shapes your every muscle. You will wear it everywhere, from the gym to the bedroom, until there is no part of your life that isn't touched by rubber."

He felt a shiver of anticipation run down his spine. "Yes, master," he whispered, his voice barely audible. The man smiled, satisfied, and leaned in closer, pressing their bodies together. He could feel the hardness of the man's erection through the latex, and he couldn't help but arch his back, pressing himself against it. "Good boy," the man murmured, his lips brushing against his ear. "Now, close your eyes and imagine yourself wearing only rubber. Imagine how it feels against your skin, how it constricts and shapes you, how it makes you feel so powerfully masculine."

He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of rubber that seemed to permeate every pore of his body. He could feel the man's hands moving over his chest, his abs, his arms, caressing him, guiding him deeper into the world of rubber and submission. "You are becoming more and more aroused," the man whispered, his breath hot against his neck. "The thought of being completely encased in rubber, of losing yourself in the sensation, of becoming the strongest, most desirable rubber-clad man alive... it makes you ache with need."

He moaned, arching his back further, pressing his hips against the man's hand. "Yes, master," he gasped. "I need it. I crave it. I want to be yours, completely, in rubber." The man's hand slid lower, cupping his erection through the fabric of his underwear, and he cried out, the sound muffled by the gag in his mouth. "That's it," the man purred. "Let go, and let me take control."

#rubber #ai generated #muscles #jock #sexy #ai

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sortasirius · 3 days

Text

centerfold

Fandom: 911

Pairing: Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Words: 3663 (oops lol)

Rating: M

Summary: It’s all pretty simple. Buck gets up, works out, eats breakfast, goes to his shift, goes home to an empty and cavernous loft, makes dinner, and tries not to think about how much he wants his best friend. Yeah, right. Simple.

Title comes from this song.

Also on AO3 here

“Buck? You with me?”

“What?” he looked around, blinking at the others, who were all staring at him.

“I asked what you were feeling for dinner, Chinese or Italian?” Bobby’s eyebrows were raised, in that telltale way that made Buck feel like he was being x-rayed.

“Oh,” he blushed, looking everywhere but Eddie, “Italian.”

“You always say Italian,” Hen complained, folding her arms, “you need to see someone for your addiction to bad garlic bread.”

“There’s no such thing as bad garlic bread,” Chim interjected, and the tension was broken. Buck avoided Eddie’s curious gaze, and moved off to the bathroom, not waiting for anyone to call him back.

It had been like this for weeks, ever since he had woken up saying Eddie’s name, curling pleasure receding down his spine, and a wet spot in his boxers and on the sheets of his bed.

He had washed them at two o’clock in the morning, his face burning with shame, and had vowed to never tell anyone about it or think about Eddie like that again.

Unfortunately, once the door had been open in his brain, he hadn’t seemed to be able to close it, and the dreams had vacillated from highly inappropriate to sweet and soft, stolen kisses and curled around each other in the bed, with Buck waking to the echoing whispers of his name in Eddie’s mouth, aching in an entirely different way.

He wasn’t sure which was worse.

He stared into the mirror, grappling with his feelings. Look, he had…suspected this part of himself for months, maybe even years, ever since Chim said it wasn’t normal to flirt with the pizza delivery guy.

In Buck’s defense, his usual pizza guy was really cute, and always gave him extra garlic sauce without even charging him for it.

But there was a difference from admiring men from afar and wanting his best friend.

And man, did he want Eddie.

He had started noticing things, details that he had overlooked before. Things that made Eddie laugh, like when Buck would collapse dramatically when Bobby asked him to wash the rig, or when Buck would lose to Chris in Mario Kart (which was every time they played).

And worst of all, the way he looked at Buck when he would read to Chris at bedtime. That soft, sweet look that made Buck’s heart stutter in his chest and lose his place in the book, earning a jab from Chris and a laugh from Eddie.

It was driving him crazy, and he had no idea what to do.

He couldn’t say anything, not because he thought Eddie or the others wouldn’t accept him, but because it would change things between him and Eddie, and Eddie and Chris were as much his family as Maddie was.

He couldn’t lose them; he would rather live his entire life like this than ruin what he already had.

“Buck?”

He jumped so violently that he nearly smacked his forehead on the mirror. He hadn’t even realized that he was leaning over the sink, his head in his hands. Turning around, he blushed furiously as he met Eddie’s concerned and earnest eyes.

“Oh. Hey.”

“Are you okay, man?” he moved toward him cautiously, like he was a deer that would startle easily, “I just wanted to check on you.”

“What?” he gave his head a little shake, trying to clear it. It was Eddie. He wouldn’t mess this up with Eddie. “Oh yeah, I’m fine.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, like he could see right through him.

“You sure about that.”

“Yeah,” he straightened up, searching wildly for an excuse for what he was doing, “Just- Headache.”

Immediately, Eddie’s expression melted to open concern, and he moved towards him, shifting into what Buck always called “dad mode.”

“You take something for it?”

“Yeah,” he lied, hitching a smile on his face, “I’ll be fine as soon as I get my garlic bread.”

He huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes.

“You and your garlic bread,” he looked at him, evidently sizing him up, “You free on Saturday?”

“You know it.”

“You don’t have a date or anything?”

Buck swallowed. The truth was, he hadn’t been on a date in weeks, not since his first dream about Eddie.

“No, just me and myself.”

“You want to come over? Have a movie night?”

“Yeah of course, what’s Chris thinking?”

“Well,” he shifted closer to him, “Chris is spending the night at a friend’s house. So it’d just be you and me. I was going to make dinner.”

Buck felt his heart pounding in his chest. Was this a date? It felt like a date.

No, it couldn’t be a date, because it was with Eddie. He and Eddie were friends. Best friends. Best friends hang out like this. Best friends don’t date. Best friends wake up saying each other’s names either, but Buck didn’t have time to worry about that.

“I hope by ‘make dinner’ you mean ‘order takeout.’ Because I don’t think I can live through another casserole of yours.”

Eddie’s smile was wide and bright.

“Fine, but not Italian.”

“Whatever, I’ll pick the movie, then.”

That smile was still on his face.

“Deal.”

It’s not a date. It’s not a date. It’s not a date.

Buck told himself this around a thousand times a day leading up to Saturday. He felt nearly sick with anxiety every time he thought about it. An entire evening alone with Eddie, without the buffer of Chris between them.

Yes, they had done this many times before, but it felt different for Buck now, and he didn’t know how to force himself to go back to normal.

He wanted to talk to Maddie about it, but Maddie might let it slip to Chim and Chim would tell Hen who would tell Bobby who wouldn’t tell anyone, but the truth might, somehow, get back to Eddie, and Buck just couldn’t bear the shame of the entire 118 knowing that he pined over the best friend he could never have.

Before he could blink, he was pushing open Eddie’s door, swinging a laughing Chris around before he set off for his sleepover, and settling down on the couch like he had a thousand times before.

“Comfortable?” Eddie was leaning against the doorframe, watching Buck scroll mindlessly through the tv guide, looking for something to catch his attention. Other than the man in the doorway, that is.

“Yeah,” he stretched ostentatiously, grinning up at Eddie, “Your couch is more comfortable than mine.”

“Well, I didn’t have a decorator. We’re having Indian.”

“Fuck yes,” Buck punched a fist in the air, “I want-”

“I know what you want,” Eddie waved him off, “It’s already on its way.”

“Oh man, I could kiss you right now.”

He said it without thinking, and glanced nervously at Eddie, afraid that he had shown his hand, but Eddie’s smile hadn’t flickered, and he said,

“Wait until after dinner at least.”

Something felt different that night, and Buck didn’t feel like it was just the tangled jumble of confused feelings in his chest. Eddie was different, touching Buck’s arm, leaning into his space, stealing food off his plate despite Buck’s protestations, doing the dishes with him instead of just leaning against the counter.

They kept knocking into one another, making the kitchen feel four or five times smaller than it really was.

And every brush of skin, every nudge of Eddie’s hip against his, made Buck’s heart race.

He was so in tune with every move he made, he felt like he was a planet orbiting around the sun.

“What’re you looking at?” he broke the easy silence between them, drying his hands and draping the washcloth over the head of the sink. Eddie didn’t look away from him, but watched him carefully, taking in every inch of him.

“You.”

“Yeah I can see that, Diaz. You like what you see?”

“Maybe.”

“Just maybe? Fuck you.”

“What’s been going on with you, Buck?”

Buck felt his heart drop in his chest.

“What do you mean?”

Eddie folded his arms, and Buck definitely didn’t notice the way his t shirt stretched across his chest.

“You know what I mean. You’ve been weird for the past couple of weeks. Weird with me.”

“No I haven’t,” he felt himself breaking out in a cold sweat. He was caught, and all the pep talks in the bathroom mirror in the morning hadn’t worked, he hadn’t been able to hide the truth.

Everything was going to change.

“Yes you have, Buck,” he moved closer to him, “What’s going on? You can tell me.”

No he couldn’t.

He thought of the worst case scenario, of losing Chris and Eddie, of becoming an outcast among his family, of ruining the best thing he ever had just because he had never known how not to fall in love.

But then, something in his brain shifted, and he thought of the best case scenario.

A confused mix of images, with him and Eddie and Chris all thrown together, of him spending even more time in the house that he wasn’t really a guest in, of him and Eddie changing only slightly, settling into something that was easy and defined.

He wanted that. He wanted that with all he had.

All he had to do was take the leap.

“I asked you once,” Buck moved forward getting into Eddie’s space, smelling that clean, fresh scent of the cheap body wash he used, “if you wanted a shot at the title.”

He watched Eddie swallow, his wide eyes flickering down to his lips.

He felt like he was dreaming.

“I already smoke you in Mortal Kombat on a weekly basis,” he was trying for his usual bravado, Buck could see that, but he could also hear the tiniest waver in his voice, something of a giveaway, “What title are we talking about?”

Buck’s heart was in his throat, pounding so loudly that he could barely hear himself think. If he was wrong about this…

But he had to know, he didn’t want to live the rest of his life wondering…regretting.

He was willing to, but he didn’t want to.

“The title of the best I’ve ever had.”

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

It might as well have been an eternity.

“That’s easy enough.”

Buck blinked, sure he had misheard him, that his heart that beat for Eddie Diaz had traveled to his brain, whispering things that never would be.

“You-” he said, “You-”

“I would be the best, without any doubt.”

Buck’s brain was catching up, like flirting with Eddie was easy as breathing. And honestly, it was, it always had been.

“Oh yeah? You talk a big game.”

“So do you.”

They were barely an inch apart, their chests in danger of pressing together. Buck thought he could feel the heat radiating off his own face.

“How’s that?”

“You said you could take me,” Buck’s hammering heart stopped dead as Eddie leaned even closer, “I don’t think you can.”

Buck felt like the world was on fire, that he was engulfed in flames. But these were ones that he didn’t want to put out.

“You wanna bet?” their chests were really touching now, and Buck could feel the all-consuming heat of Eddie through his thin t shirt.

“What’s the wager?” his hand skimmed down Buck’s arm, and he couldn’t repress a shiver.

“You buy dinner for the next two weeks.”

“I always buy dinner,” his breath was ghosting against his face, and even though Buck was the one that had started this whole thing, he felt like he was spinning out of control, unable to find the brake or the throttle.

“Yeah but,” his mouth was dry, and he couldn’t look away from Eddie, from his wide, pretty eyes, and the way he had that line between his eyebrows when he was thinking about something, the way his lips looked soft and a little chapped and just so-

He wasn’t sure, even years later, which one of them had brave enough to take the leap. Eddie would say it was him, while Buck would swear up and down that it was him. But before Buck could even really formulate another thought, he was kissing Eddie Diaz.

He had dreamed about this for so long, laid awake at night and listened to the quiet rumble of the city around him, staring out at the orange light of the sky through the windows, and thought about exactly this.

He had imagined this scenario a thousand different ways, their first kiss, arguably the most important one.

Sometimes it would be a big dramatic thing, a declaration in front of everyone they knew. Buck would get hurt doing something stupid, and Eddie would kiss him in front of everyone, half angry, half relieved.

Sometimes it was quieter, just the two of them, something similar to this, a normal evening they had had a thousand times before turning into something more, something simmering just below the surface.

And while every scenario in Buck’s head was different, he always ended up touching himself just the same.

But nothing, not his thousands of hours of mindless dreaming about his best friend could have prepared him for the type of kisser that Eddie was.

He was practiced, and he was good.

He licked at Buck’s lips until his mouth gasped open, pulling him forward and bending him back at the same time, so Buck was well and truly trapped under his hands. They were pressed together, one long line, and Buck thought he may as well die now because nothing was ever topping this.

He groaned into Eddie’s open mouth, kissing him back with so much enthusiasm it knocked them off balance and nearly sent them to the floor.

“Calm down,” Eddie chided, smiling against his mouth, “there isn’t a rush.”

But there was a rush to Buck, because he was terrified of waking up. Because this couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t have Eddie under his hands, sighing into his mouth, hands raking down his back, pulling up his t shirt to touch his bare skin.

“More,” he demanded, tearing his shirt over his head, “I want more.”

“Hang on,” Eddie pulled back, leaving Buck chasing his lips, “Slow down, Buck.”

“No,” he said, nearly pitifully, “Come back.”

“I’m right here,” he pressed their foreheads together, “I’m not going anywhere. I just think- Should we- Talk about this?”

“Can we talk after?” he kissed the side of his face, breathing in the smell of him, tugging at the hem of his shirt. Eddie let him pull it over his head, and Buck allowed himself to take the time to touch Eddie with the reverence that he deserved.

He traced the scars on his torso, wanting to know the story of every one that he didn’t recognize.

Eddie’s chest was heaving, and there was a vague sort of satisfaction buzzing in Buck’s brain that he wasn’t the only one who was affected here.

“Yeah,” he finally managed, “We can talk after.”

The time between clothed and unclothed was short. Buck felt desperate, shaky, like he needed a hit of something. But the hit was Eddie, and Eddie was the greatest drug anyone could ever have.

Any nerves or fear that Buck had melted away the moment that Eddie had pressed his lips to his shoulder and whispered in his ear,

“I’ve got you.”

He relaxed into the experience, allowing Eddie to take the lead.

“How do you-”

“Everyone experiments in the army,” he said simply, “Not much else to do.”

“Oh,” he tried to lean into the feeling of Eddie’s hands, of the feeling of his teeth grazing the shell of his ear, but he seemed to feel him tense up, because he stopped immediately.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, making Buck turn around from his position on the bed to look at him in the face.

“Nothing,” he said, avoiding his gaze, “Just- I don’t- I haven’t-”

Eddie took his face in his hands, shushing him quietly.

“I know that, and it’s okay. But we don’t have to-”

Buck shook his head at the idea violently.

“No,” he said forcefully, “I want to. I really, really want to.”

Eddie smiled, kissing him sweetly on the lips.

“At your pace.”

Once he had shoved his anxiety to the side, he found that it was easy, as everything with Eddie was. It wasn’t strange to be with Eddie like this because they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, something that Buck had thought before, but never quite like this.

Eddie encouraged Buck to be vocal, say what he liked and what he didn’t, tell him to stop if he was uncomfortable or wanted to slow down.

But Buck was never one to slow down, and once he had figured out the sensation, and more importantly, figured out the sensation was good, he really only used his voice to tell Eddie to go faster or harder or that he wanted more. More. More.

Buck collapsed on the bed when they were done, sweaty and wrung out, but satisfied in a way that he wasn’t sure he had ever been in his entire life.

“Told you you couldn’t take me,” Eddie was standing over him, swiping a warm washcloth down his stomach.

“I think I took you just fine,” he propped himself up on his elbows, “You seemed to like it, anyway.”

“Oh, I definitely liked it. I also like that I already know that I’m the best you ever had.”

“I never said that,” Buck shifted to watch him walk back to the bathroom, the rippling muscles of his back, the curve of his ass…god damn.

“You didn’t have to, I just know these things,” Eddie leaned away from the sink to tap his temple knowingly.

And the truth was, Buck really had no comeback, because he was the best he had ever had by a huge margin.

“Whatever, you just don’t want to buy dinner,” was what he settled on, and Eddie chuckled as he slid back into the bed with him, pulling Buck on top of him and slotting their legs together.

Eddie’s bed was soft and comfortable, even more so when Buck was tangled together with him, Eddie’s hand tracing up and down his spine, his heart beating strong and steady in his chest, where Buck’s ear rested, his hand curled around Eddie’s forearm.

They were breathing in tandem, the quiet of the night around them broken only by a car rolling by or the sound of a cat passing through the back yard.

“Should we talk about this?” Eddie broke the easy silence, his hand still traveling up and down his back.

Buck turned his face into his chest, so his voice came out muffled.

“Do we have to?”

He heard Eddie huff a laugh, pressing a kiss into the top of his head. It drove him completely insane.

“Yeah, I think we probably should.”

Buck groaned, but couldn’t find the words to even begin saying how he felt, how this happened.

Fortunately, Eddie took it out of his hands.

“Is this what’s been bothering you?”

“I-” it was hard to admit this, admit something to someone that he had barely even admitted to himself, “I had a dream about you and- I thought it was just a one-off thing, one of those embarrassing things that you can’t control and you get over. And then- Then it kept happening, and then it was happening when I was awake.”

Eddie’s warm weight was reassuring, and it was easier to talk once he had started.

“I didn’t even realize- I didn’t know that I was- Like that. Sure I can appreciate anyone’s ass but I didn’t think that- That it meant anything. That I wanted anything with a guy. Until- Until you.”

The silence stretched, and it was all Buck could do not to change the subject, talk about something inane, something not quite so…raw.

“It took you long enough.”

Wait. What?

“Huh?” he twisted around to look at Eddie’s face, half hidden in the dark, but he could tell that he was grinning, “What do you mean it took me long enough?”

“I’ve been giving you signals for at least two months.”

“Two months? You- Two months?”

“Ever since the tsunami,” he gripped him tighter, like even the memory of that horrible day was too much, “The way you protected Chris, the way you did everything you could to find him, save him. I think I fell in love with you that day.”

“I was the one that lost him,” he mumbled, before his brain caught up with his ears, “Wait- What do you mean, ‘in love with’ me?”

“You’re not stupid, Buck,” he didn’t have to see Eddie to know he was rolling his eyes, “You heard me.”

“I- I don’t-”

He didn’t understand how anyone like Eddie, someone so good, so kind, such an amazing father, could be in love with him.

“You don’t see what everyone else does,” Eddie’s quiet voice filled him up like a good glass of whiskey, warming him to the tips of his fingers, “The way you brought everyone to the house for Christmas with Athena. The way you are with kids. The way you are with Chris. God, Buck, how could I not love you? How could I not want you for myself? For me and for my kid.”

Buck swallowed loudly. No one had ever said anything remotely like this to him. It was so tender, so gentle, and there was no doubt in his mind that Eddie meant it. Every word.

“I really-” he let out a shaky breath, “I really love you, Eddie. Sorry it took me so long to realize.”

“That’s okay,” he could feel Eddie’s smile as he pressed his lips into his hair again, “I was willing to wait.”

#buddie #my writing #911 #911 abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fox #probably first of many lol #buddie fanfic

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hazbinfallinginaspiral · 3 days

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hey! saw you had a post asking for requests and I had an idea.

can you please write a Vox x Reader thing where Vox is feeling insecure due to either Alastor or Valentino and reader comforts him & reassures him that he's good enough? maybe with cuddles at the end?

thank you! love your writing so much btw :)

- someone who is also an intense Vox simp

Upgrades (Insecure!Vox x Reader)

Thank you! I had a lot of fun with this one, I hope you enjoy it! I had an idea and kinda ran with it, so it may be a bit different than expected. Feel free to request again, especially if this wasn’t what you were looking for!

It’s all about image.

Vox is a loud, confident man. Everyone knows that much. He’s outgoing, social, charismatic.. He’s not afraid to stifle a rumor at a moments notice. He has no qualms about taking out the trash when necessary- and in business, it was often necessary.

“-is nothing working?”

“ignore his chirping!”

Business is all about image. It comes with its pros and cons, its rises and falls. A little risk is a natural part of it. You've got to have some skin in the game if you want to win. Business was all about the ups and downs. Sometimes it seemed as though it was an endless path down, to Vox

“Everyday he's got a new format!”

Vox is a man of change. Keeping up with the latest trends and slang. He’s not afraid to make sacrifices- it’s all apart of business, after all. He’s always looking for a new upgrade.

“You’re all bark and no bite, Voxy… just another lap dog, aren’t you?”

Vox is loud— attention seeking

Vox tasks risk— he’s got nothing to lose

Vox is a man of change— eager to please the masses

Vox is… insecure

It’s all about image.

When Vox summoned me to his office, I hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to expect. As his assistant, I had grown accustomed to his mood swings and occasional bouts of self-doubt, but something about this felt different, more intense.

The tension in the air was palpable as I made my way down the dimly lit corridor toward Vox’s office. I could sense his unease from the moment I entered the room, his usual air of confidence replaced by an aura of vulnerability.

“Vox?” I asked, stepping into his office. I gently closed the door behind me and walked over to him.

“Ah! There you are, darling,” Vox said, spinning around in his chair to face me. He wore a wide grin, cables stretched from all around the room to the back of his head. “I need your help with a few upgrades. Hand me that tablet, would you?”

“Vox,” I began softly, crossing the room to stand beside him. I gave him the tablet but didn’t leave. “Are you alright?”

“I, uh..” Vox faltered for a moment. His normally vibrant eyes were dull with self-doubt, and I could see the weight of his insecurities pressing down on him like a heavy burden. He took the tablet, his expression a mask of determination as he worked on those ‘upgrades’. But the tension in his shoulders and the furrow in his brow betrayed the turmoil brewing beneath the surface.

"I've been thinking," Vox began, his voice hesitant. "About what they said. About me being too eager to please, too willing to change myself for others."

My heart sank at the vulnerability in his voice, the raw emotion that he rarely showed to anyone. It was a side of Vox that few were privileged to see, and it filled me with a sense of urgency to help him.

"I understand why you might feel that way, Vox," I said softly, moving closer to him. "But you don't need to change who you are to please others. You're perfect just the way you are."

My heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, the weight of his insecurities threatening to crush him. “Vox, you’re perfect just the way you are,” I said again, trying to get it through to him, my voice firm with conviction. “You don’t need to change for anyone else.”

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I thought if I could just get rid of these flaws, these annoying feelings, I’d be better. But I don’t know… I just- I need some upgrades, and I’ll be right as rain!”

I reached out to him, gently tilting his chin up to meet my gaze. “Vox, you don’t need to change who you are to please others,” I insisted, my voice unwavering. “You’re already perfect in my eyes.”

For a moment, Vox seemed to waver, his eyes searching mine for reassurance. And then, with a soft sigh, he leaned into my touch, his walls crumbling in the face of my unwavering support.

He looked up at me, his eyes searching mine for reassurance. "Do you really believe that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, reaching out to take his hand in mine. "I do, Vox. You're brilliant, talented, and incredibly charismatic. You tell the best jokes, you have always have shark facts! I love you shark facts. You don't need to change a single thing about yourself."

For a moment, Vox seemed lost in thought, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. But then, with a shaky exhale, he leaned into my touch, his shoulders relaxing as he allowed himself to be vulnerable.

"I just... I don't want to be seen as weak," he admitted, his voice barely audible.

"You're not weak, Vox," I assured him, squeezing his hand gently. "You're strong, resilient, and capable of so much more than you give yourself credit for. And I'll be here to support you every step of the way."

With those words, a small smile tugged at the corners of Vox's lips. And in that moment, as we sat together in the quiet comfort of his office, I saw him cry for the first time. "I'm sorry," he whispered, wiping away his tears, his voice barely audible. "I just... I don't know… I’m sorry..."

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close in a comforting embrace. "It's okay," I murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Just know that I'm here for you, no matter what. I love you.”

And as we sat there together, enveloped in the warmth of each other's embrace, I knew that no amount of insecurities could ever change the depth of my love for Vox. I held him close, rubbing his back. I gave him soft kisses and whispered reassurances, keeping my arms wrapped around him all the same. I wanted him to know that I loved him, flaws and all.

“Thank you, I…. I needed that. Thank you,” Vox mumbled, his face buried against me. He held me tighter. “I love you too.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox #hazbin hotel fanfiction #vox fanfiction #vox x reader #x reader #my writing #writing #hurt/comfort #sort of #ao3 writer #asks open #i take requests

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