#buck propriety
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stop the world just to stop the feeling
The night before Maddie and Chimney's wedding, Buck and Eddie talk on a balcony. | 1.5k | buddie | ao3
Eddie’s just uncapped his second beer when he hears footsteps behind him, so familiar he recognizes who it is by sound alone.
“Hey,” he says, as Buck sidles into view, arms coming to rest on the balcony railing beside him. He’s got a drink in his hand, too - one of those fruity vodka seltzers that Eddie’s reluctantly started stocking in the bottom drawer of his fridge. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Buck fiddles with the tab on his can, the silver of it reflecting in the moonlight. “Something like that.”
His shirt is slightly too big, slipping down just enough to expose the sharp jut of his collarbone, the dark bruise forming on the edge of it. Eddie’s eyes fly to it without permission, and Buck flushes red.
“It’ll be covered by the suit tomorrow, promise.”
“Mm.” Eddie takes another sip of his beer, ignoring the sour way it curdles in his stomach. “Good. Think Chim’s one incident away from going full groomzilla.”
“Can you blame him?”
“Not at all,” Eddie admits, and Buck huffs a laugh. “You should have been me the night before Shannon and I got married. I was a wreck.”
He’d been alone, in the shitty little apartment they’d rented once they learned about Christopher, Shannon spending the night at her mom’s across town to help them cling to some ragged sense of propriety that neither of them truly believed in. It had been one of the most awful, stomachache-inducing nights he’d ever had up to that point in his life, and it wasn’t until he saw Shannon in the church the next day, glowing in a way that had nothing to do with the bump hidden under the folds of her white dress, that everything had finally clicked into place.
“Hi,” she had said, reaching out to squeeze his hand, and Eddie had let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Buck’s staring at him now, as if he can sense the myriad emotions playing out in Eddie’s head. “It’s so weird,” he says. “Maddie and Chimney have basically been married for a while now. But all of this just makes it feel so real.” He gestures a hand at the expansive hotel grounds, the ocean beyond. “I mean, my parents are here.”
Eddie knows. Eddie had done an exceptional job at ignoring them at the rehearsal dinner that night, tucked in the corner by himself, Marisol having gone to their room earlier with a headache.
He feels a brief, guilty flash about leaving her alone now, although she’d been snoring when he’d crept past Chris on the sofa bed and out into the light of the hallway. He wonders, idly, if he should have left a note.
“They seem to be behaving,” he offers, which is about all of the goodwill he’s able to give the Buckley parents at any given time. Buck makes a face at him, and he adds, half-teasing, “for now.”
As far as he knows, they haven’t said a word so far to Buck about Tommy. He should probably ask, but somehow he can’t make his mouth form the words.
Buck drums his fingers against the balcony, quiet. “Do you ever think about it?”
What, fighting your parents? Eddie almost jokes, but he knows that’s not what Buck’s asking. “About getting married again?”
“Or getting married at all,” Buck says, and there’s something in his face, something suspiciously like longing, that has Eddie taking another gulp of his beer. “Like, big reception, flowers. The whole nine yards.”
“I wouldn’t do a big reception,” Eddie says, shuddering. “Just in the backyard, or something.”
Buck cracks a smile. “You do have a nice backyard.”
“You’re just saying that because you did all the landscaping,” Eddie says, bumping their shoulders together. “I had to weed it the other day though, so I should at least get partial credit.”
Buck looks sheepish at that, which wasn’t what Eddie was going for, but also wasn’t not what he wanted to happen. “I meant to come do it this week, I’ve just been -”
“Busy,” Eddie finishes for him, which isn’t fair, not really. Not when Buck is still over at his house most days, not when he hasn’t missed a single one of his afternoons out with Christopher. It’s just that there’s now a new purple marker in his kitchen, carefully outlining Buck’s availability on the calendar.
Eddie’s never had to schedule Buck in before. Not with Taylor, or Natalia, or even Ali, way back when.
Combine that with the fact that Buck’s now asking about marriage…
Eddie drains the last of his beer. “You should get some sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Buck agrees, but stays where he is, shoulder still pressed against Eddie’s. “Hey - uh. We’re good, right?”
“Buck, you’ve already apologized.” And grovelled, and apologized again, until Eddie was back from medical leave and working with the 118 again.
“Not about that.” Buck shakes his head, the movement bringing him closer to Eddie still, their forearms nearly overlapping on the railing. “I mean - about me. And Tommy, I guess.”
And Eddie - Eddie will be the first to admit it took him a second to come to terms with it, to fully wrap his head around the idea of Buck with a man and, more specifically, Buck with Tommy. But he’d hugged Buck, and stumbled his way through some approximation of support, and then gone home and researched until his eyes were burning and he’d bookmarked every tab he could find about bisexuality and being a good ally - so. He thinks he’s been doing okay, overall. Certainly not poorly enough to make Buck question if he’s been harbouring secret homophobic tendencies all this time.
“You know I’m good with that,” he says, and means it. “And you and Tommy seem - really good. So if you’re happy, I’m happy.”
Buck’s eyebrows crinkle together, and Eddie has to resist the fanatical urge to reach over and smooth them out. “I know. I know you are. But something else just seems - wrong.”
“With me?”
“With us,” Buck says, voice veering toward frustration. “Come on, Eddie. You know you feel it too.”
Something thumps in Eddie’s chest, like his heart is suddenly trying to beat out of his chest. “Buck, I promise nothing’s changed-”
“But something has,” Buck says. “And I don’t know what, and it’s driving me insane, and every time I’m at work or at the gym or even with Tommy-” Wait, what? Eddie thinks, panicked - “I’m lost in my own head, wondering how the fuck I managed to mess up the most important relationship in my life.”
“You didn’t fuck anything up,” Eddie says, honest. “No one did. It’s just - growing pains. You’re in a relationship, I’m in a relationship - it’s natural that we maybe don’t come first for each other anymore.”
Buck stares at him, the corner of his eyes suspiciously red. “We both know you don’t actually believe that.”
He doesn’t, but they’re veering into dangerous territory now. “Buck-”
“Why is it different now?” Buck says. “We’ve both dated people at the same time before. Taylor and Ana, Marisol and Natalia. Why is this different?”
Eddie doesn’t feel like he’s capable of breathing. “Buck-”
“It’s not because I’m with Tommy,” Buck says, raking a hand through his hair. “Or that I’m bi. It’s not actually any of it, is it, Eddie?”
He doesn’t sound angry, just - resigned. Tired. The beer bottle is clammy against Eddie’s palm.
“You never answered my question earlier,” Buck says. “About if you would get married again.”
When Eddie speaks, his voice feels like sandpaper. “Maybe. If it was the right person.”
“Is Marisol the right person?”
“Is Tommy?”
Buck flinches, minuscule. “I asked first.”
“You know what my answer is, Buck,” Eddie says, and he’s tired, so tired.
“You know mine too,” Buck says, soft.
He does know. Just like he knows Buck’s favourite song, favourite dinner, favourite feel-good rom-com. Just like he knows that Buck will spend all of tomorrow night dancing with Tommy, but he’ll save one dance for Christopher, spinning him around the middle of the room while Eddie watches. Just like how he knows -
“Eddie,” Buck says, and Eddie realizes how close they are now, facing each other with the moon still high overhead, lips a hairsbreadth apart. “We can’t.”
Eddie can feel Buck’s exhale against his lips. “I know,” he says. Taking a step back feels like swimming against a riptide, but he manages to get his limbs to cooperate eventually. “We should head back in.”
Buck swallows, chin bobbing as he nods. “Yeah. I’ll - uh. See you tomorrow?”
There’s something here, slipping out of Eddie’s grasp. He doesn’t think either of them knows quite how to cling on to it.
“See you tomorrow,” he echoes, and then Buck’s turning toward the door, back to the hallway that’ll lead him to his room, to Tommy in his bed.
Eddie waits until he’s fully out of sight before he follows.
also on ao3!
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tags: @leothil @sibylsleaves @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @deformed-globule @cantyouseethatyouresmotheringme @silassstingy
#911 abc#911 fic#buddie fic#buddie#911fic#they don't solve anything in this. in fact they make it worse! but it's ok#pour one out for eddie folks who among us hasn't been pining miserably after their best friend#myfic
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━ 𝐅*𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑.
-ˏˋ. 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˊˎ-
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — FWB!matthew tkachuk x f!reader
𝐰𝐜 — 1.7k
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — "old habits die hard..." — or, your boyfriend won’t fuck you right, so you run to the one person who always does.
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — patrons know the chokehold this toxic sin-fest has on me and probably always will... in all seriousness, this is one of my favorite things i've ever published and i am so insanely proud of it. i hope you love it as much as i do <3
(spoiler — not possible teehee)
18+ MDNI — content warnings under the cut.
𝐜𝐰 — profanity, innuendo, matthew’s filthy mouth and lack of morals, cheating (not on matty or the reader), outdated/incorrect information about having sex for the first time, borderline too much degradation, some objectification to add a little spice, unprotected sex w a cheeky creampie (what did you expect from two morally bankrupt individuals written by me, a retired whore?), matthew being a noncommittal, possessive piece of shit joking about knocking people up for funzies
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“D’you think you’re so addicted to my cock because you know I don’t give a fuck what you think about me? Or care if you think I’m a Nice Guy?”
Even buried to the hilt—bare with nothing between you and far too fucking close for comfort—Matthew Tkachuk runs his mouth like he’s got nothing to lose and even less to prove. He’s insufferable, his only redeeming quality being the pulsing appendage threatening to split you in half as you buck in his lap.
With your hands braced against his hard chest for leverage, you drown out his grating voice, chasing the white-hot surges, bolts of lightning leading you to the brink of collapse with renewed vigor.
The sooner you come, the sooner he’s gone.
“All I care about, sweetheart, is fucking you good and hard. Giving it to you like the hungry, cockdrunk whore that you are.”
Debonair attitude. Sly confidence. Vulgar demeanor.
Filthy fucking mouth.
You were warned about Matthew Tkachuck. Repeatedly. Warned about him and his complete lack of a filter, about his total disregard for anyone’s feelings but his own. His aversion to commitment, to monogamy, to propriety.
All the things that repulse you about the man lounging on expensive hotel sheets beneath you—as you do all the work—lure you back to him in equal measure. He shouldn’t turn you on, but that’s exactly why he does. He’s all wrong, wrong, wrong.
Which makes him just right.
“I bet if your fiancé walked in right now, you’d just keep riding me. You wouldn’t even notice, would you? After all, you haven’t cum yet. And that’s all you care about, right? Using my cock to get your rocks off because Billy Boyfriend’s too scared to give you what you really need. Lucky for you, I’m not a fuckin’ pussy. I don’t treat you like a fragile doll because I know you’ll take anything I give you—and beg for more. I treat you like what you are, not some chaste little princess.”
You’ve been with Bill for nearly a decade, engaged for more than a year. It’ll be a spring wedding, probably. If the venue pans out, and the caterer finally calls you back with a final quote.
Perfect on paper.
He doesn’t pay attention to you the way he used to. Just throws money at the problem until he can bury himself in work again, undisturbed by you or nagging obligation.
Flowers for being three hours late, a necklace for missing dinner entirely. A trip overseas when he had to go into the office on your anniversary.
But he’s nice, so fucking nice it hurts, and more loyal than the Golden Retriever he wants to adopt after the honeymoon. After you’re settled into a custom-build nestled comfortably in the suburbs and far away from the city. White picket fence, manicured lawn, barely-there speed limits.
It's all so nauseatingly idyllic. So perfectly attuned with what you thought you wanted, what you spent your childhood coveting.
All your single friends are jealous; your committed friends are resentful. Your family loves him, and even though you’ve got a fucked up way of showing it, so do you.
And he loves you too. He’s just busy. It’ll be different once we’re settled, he says. You try to believe him, though not as hard as you should. You tell yourself it's because he doesn’t either.
Bill’s gotten lazy. You’ve gotten bored.
You’re no angel, and never claimed to be. You just want to feel good.
Matthew barks out a dry laugh, almost like he can read your mind.
“You haven’t been since I first got you on your knees at his birthday party. And definitely not after I popped that sweet cherry you were so adamant about saving for him."
Bill doesn’t fuck you. He never has.
He makes love to you. It’s that romance-novel tenderness that got you here in the first place. Slow, sweet, and nearly devoid of passion. It’s so gentle you have to think of him just to come.
How he fucks you.
How tightly he yanks your hair, craning your neck until it aches. How hard he kneads and smacks your ass, bullying the skin until you sob. How deep his cock reaches. And how he takes, takes, takes without forethought. How could you accept a lifetime of only tame rutting in the face of Pavlovian depravity?
It’s awful, and it's so profoundly selfish, but his everything has you in a bind.
Matthew’s everything is ruining your life.
An uncharacteristic wave of guilt and sadness washes over you, and before you can catch yourself, you’re staring down at the engagement ring. The band constricts, digging into your finger like it's out for blood when you glimpse the indentation it left behind on Matthew’s peck. You wince, then choke down the shame lodged in your throat, screwing your eyes shut to will it away.
“If it's bothering you that much, take it off. I’ll keep it safe for you.” —wink— “I can’t imagine the weight of a rock like that, especially one you don’t even deserve. But, if you actually felt as guilty as you claim to, you wouldn’t be this wet on another man’s cock. Don’t play saint now. You’ll ruin the fun.”
You can’t do this right now; you can’t have this worn-out fight. So, you say what you always say even though you’ve long since stopped trying to mean it.
“You keep saying that, sweetheart. We should stop. This is the last time. But no matter what you say, you always come crawling back to me sooner or later because I have what you need. Because I’m not him. Because I fuck you better.”
His words light you on fire. You hate it, but how deeply your body enjoys them is undeniable. How tightly you squeeze and flutter with every degrading line, choking his cock as you use him to satisfy your own perverted needs. How his brutal honesty, his refusal to let you forget your zealous participation in the affair for even a second, arches your back and hardens your nipples.
Even without all that evidence stacked against you, the blitzed-out look on your face says it all. One look at you and everyone would know just how right Matthew is.
“Shut the fuck up,” you growl.
You say it for the sake of saying it. To know, when you curl into Bill's side tonight, that you said something to deny his assessment of you.
But the last thing you want is for him to shut his mouth.
Not right now, not when you’re right there—
“You can’t hide from me, sweetheart, and you can’t lie to me. You can’t fool me, either. I see right fucking through you. It terrifies you—and you love it.”
His raspy voice swims freely through your hollowed-out mind. It unwittingly thumbs through every unforgivable memory, like some sort of pornographic Rolodex.
Matthew’s hips grinding against yours in darkened corners and dive-bar bathroom stalls and poker tables.
His hands fighting against hard-earned sweat in the foggy backseat of his car, battling to find purchase anywhere he can so he can keep rutting with reckless abandon before you’re expected home.
His fingertips burrowing into the sides of your throat, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to silence, hard enough to hurt.
Him spilling inside of you, ropes painting the sacred place white with no remorse or expectation of responsibility.
Matty’s hand over your mouth, urging you to be fucking quiet as he pistons in and out, in and out, keeping you pinned against the bathroom door, against the only thing standing between Bill and the worst discovery of his apple-pie life—
Old habits die hard.
Especially when it’s one that always feels that fucking good. No matter how lecherous or immoral.
Or how badly the betrayal would hurt someone underserving and innocent.
“Even if you walk down that aisle and take his last name, you’ll still belong to me. Wedding or not, this pathetic, weeping cunt belongs to me. But it’s all gonna be okay, though. Don’t you worry that pretty, empty head. I don’t mind sharing my toys. Especially with someone who could never compete.”
You can't compete where you don't compare.
He doesn’t want to be your boyfriend. He doesn’t want to be anyone’s boyfriend. He isn’t the Relationship Type. He doesn’t even want to be exclusive. That’s part of his appeal, no matter how fervently you deny it. He doesn’t want more than pleasure—primal, deviant pleasure—and that’s all you're looking for.
That's all you need.
“Where do you want my load, dirty girl?”
“Inside. I-Inside me, please, Matty.”
“Right answer.”
The burst of warmth is like getting a perfect grade you didn’t earn. Or feeling the cash your sibling gave you in exchange for not ratting them out sitting in your back pocket. It's hard to feel bad about the wrong you’ve done when the payoff is so deliciously worthwhile.
Matthew twitches, still hugged by your sensitive walls, and you shudder.
This is the high you chase every time you bend your morals until they splinter. The still nothingness that lays beyond the denouement, where everything is glowy and the pit inside you appears not-so-bottomless for once. The lack of expectations and obligations. The sheer freedom that stringless pleasure, that sensual self-indulgence provides.
Matthew doesn’t owe you anything, you don’t owe him anything either, and neither of you pretends otherwise.
And you sure as fuck don’t trip on his dirty laundry every time you walk into the bedroom.
“If that doesn’t take,” Matthew flicks his hips in emphasis, “…let me know when and where you want your wedding present, sweetheart.”
You don’t answer. You push his hands away and roll off of him unceremoniously. But he keeps talking.
Matthew is always talking.
“Oh, and before I forget, would you be a dear and let Billy know I won’t be able to make it for his bachelor party? I don’t know why, but I have the oddest feeling that something desperately needing my attention will come up.”
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Buddie 604 meta
I feel like I deserve a medal for not making a joke about how, since it was implied in 401 that Eddie stayed at Buck’s during the pandemic, we know at some point Buck will have two ex-roommates who want his body fluids. XD ~~
It’s maybe a small thing, but I enjoyed seeing Ramon advise Eddie on his issue with Chris. It was a lovely callback to their promise in 517 to work on improving their relationship, and it also showed really nice insights from Ramon. I loved it! It’s a nice reminder that 911 for the most part doesn’t vilify people, even when it doesn’t shy away from their faults and failures. It’s also proof this is a show that doesn’t drop things once a storyline seems to have wrapped. I adore that about 911, and I also think it makes every single meaningful thing we’ve witnessed even more significant, because we know the show will return to it sooner or later. Like maybe certain scenes between a couple of firefighters? Maybe... ~~
Buck and Eddie exchanging a meaningful look over seeing this oblivious moron in love at the scene of the ep’s first call is giving me life. The wordless communication, the implied sass, the way they’re so in sync, the irony of them being exactly like him except less aware of their own feelings even if they are more aware of propriety. They’re not even teamed up together, because Chim needs Eddie’s medic experience as long as Hen’s still captain, and yet... Buddie are our hopeless romantic idiot kings, while 911 could give entire courses on how to showcase soulmates in less than a minute. ~~
A continuation of that can also be seen in another call. When Buck recklessly hops on the bike to chase and stop a car by almost getting himself killed in order to save Chim, right away we have Eddie calling out after him. He’s so exasperated with his work husband, he’s not even yelling in order to stop Buck, Eddie’s resigned to his husband’s ways. But a good husband still has to shake his head, much like we saw Eddie doing when Buck boldly insisted on the rope rescue in 316. It’s a part of their love language. ~~
All of that stands in contrast with the rest of the ep, where we don’t get to see Buck and Eddie being their usual self, meaning iconic life partners. The thing is, absence can be loud, and something that really makes this absence stand out rather than fly under the radar is contrast. In other words, we’re meant to notice the absence. That loudness is even amplified with the only scene in this ep where we have Buddie interacting in connection to their personal life. Even though they don’t actually get to consult each other, as they usually do, there’s a lot of intimacy there! For starters, Eddie’s surprised that Buck isn’t weighing in on the new issue with Chris.
This is so uncharacteristic, and we only need to think of the way Buck jumped right in with his objections about summer camp in 318 to see the difference. Eddie also believes that there are things Chris may tell Buck but not him. This man is shown throughout this ep having trouble letting go as his son is growing up to be his own person, and yet the one exception Eddie takes no exception to (sorry, bad pun, I know) is Chris filling Buck in on how he’s really doing. Eddie actually expects that to be the case. It’s a subtle, but oh so real acknowledgement that Buck is Christopher’s other dad and that the two of them have a bond that is not limited to the relationship either one of them has with Eddie. I love it. And lastly, of course Eddie can tell something’s up with Buck, troubling him. But it’s also obvious that Buck’s not ready to talk about it yet, with his quick denial of “no secrets here,” so Eddie, like the good husband that he is, lets him be.
Them suddenly dealing with their personal lives separately very much reminds me of basically the mood of most of season 5a. Buck was kept busy with Taylor and away from Eddie, who ended up struggling with how to be a good parent to Chris without the help of his biggest support, his life partner. It led to Eddie making a rash decision that we all knew he would have to find a way back from. If that’s not enough to make us realize Buck’s decision at the end of this ep is probably the wrong one, we also have him being drunk while getting drunk advice from Hen. The last time that happened (and only other one we saw on screen)? When Buck spiraled in 511 over Eddie leaving, and did something rash and foolish.
I tend to think that’s what we’re going to see with Buck now as well. I already was of the opinion that it doesn’t fit Buck as a person, he just cares too much to be the guy who can walk away. His history with Daniel might influence him to wanna help, do for these parents what he couldn’t for his own, but if he does recognize that connection, could he really help bring a new “Daniel” into this world and then... never have anything to do with that kid? But what makes me even more convinced that this decision will be reversed is the build up, showing Buck coming to this conclusion without consulting the one person he actually already shares his life (and a kid) with, and the way it parallels that storytelling structure we saw in s5. In addition, even the way he verbalized it makes me think this is meant to be seen as the wrong decision. Buck is on this journey to figure himself out, yet at the end of the day his decision to say yes isn’t about himself at all, it’s about Connor and his wife. This is who Buck has always been, the guy putting others ahead of himself. There’s nothing wrong with his big heart and generosity! But in an ep called “Animal Instincts,” this has always been he’s instinct. Now he’s meant to learn to balance it with looking after himself and his own happiness, too. So I might be wrong, but I don’t see it ending here. Taylor was a r/s Buck had to have in order for him to learn how to be the one who leaves, now Connor came to him with this request, and we’re gonna get to see him learning to say no. And just like Buck was a part of Eddie finding his way back during season 5b from his wrong decision, that temporary distance between them leaving them closer than ever, so I expect Buck’s sperm donor arc to be resolved with Eddie’s support and with the two of them getting even closer.
~~ Thank you so much for reading this! And for every reblog and like! If you’re interested in catching up, you can find my 603 meta and more on my blog. Thank you to the incredible @whosoldherout who tops posting her amazing gifs every week with providing some more for my meta.
#buddie#911meta#buddie meta#911 meta#9-1-1#evan buckley#eddie diaz#911gif#911 spoilers#buddieedit#911edit#buddie gif#911 gif#911 edit#911gifs#wm#911onabc#911 on abc#911abc#911 abc
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Thinking about the jello scene again
what I want to think about: wow look at that, eddie openly and casually mentioning his panic attacks, using something that helped him, to help someone else. we're confused but mostly proud
what I'm actually thinking about: soft dom eddie. buck and I got a tease of what soft dom eddie could be like and it's living rent free in our mind, buying propriety, nesting even. our interest has been picked. he can use whatever food analogy he wants. he can decided whether to turn us on or off as he likes. he can. yeah, he just can
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When she's abandoned her moral center and teachings… when she's cast aside her facade of propriety and lady-like demeanor… when I have so corrupted this fragile thing and brought out a writhing, mewling, bucking, wanton whore for my enjoyment and pleasure… enticing from within this feral lioness… growling and scratching and biting… taking everything I dish out to her… at that moment she is never more beautiful to me.
Marquis de Sade
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𝚢𝚞·𝚣𝚞·𝚘·𝚌𝚑𝚊 | ユズオチャ
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2. the owner of this ridiculous blog.
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headcanon
‣ the horrors of gacha. — 全て/All
‣ moments of panic. — みんな/All
‣ back in the days. — みんな/All
‣ kith? kith. — みんな/All
‣ domestic times. — みんな/All
‣ a living proof of your love. — みんな/All
one-shot + drabble
‣ heartstring fortissimo. — セイヤ/Xavier
‣ eclipse. — セイヤ/Xavier
‣ drunk mind, sober feelings. — セイヤ/Xavier
‣ a second love at second sight. — ホムラ/Rafayel
‣ post-care. — レイ/Zayne
multi-fic
‣ player one, player two. — セイヤ/Xavier
‣ syndicate overture. — セイヤ/Xavier
but really really fast
main story ‣ prologue
main story ‣ chapter ɪ
main story ‣ chapter ɪɪ
main story ‣ chapter ɪɪɪ
main story ‣ chapter ɪᴠ
main story ‣ chapter ᴠ
main story ‣ chapter ᴠɪ
main story ‣ chapter ᴠɪɪ
main story ‣ chapter ᴠɪɪɪ
incorrect quotes
ɪ ‣ truth conundrum
ɪɪ ‣ caleb v. ladder
ɪɪɪ ‣ xavier's mc sensor
ɪᴠ ‣ rafayel's morals
ᴠ ‣ anti-consolation
ᴠɪ ‣ following directions with faith
ᴠɪɪ ‣ rafayel's rancid rizzing
ᴠɪɪɪ ‣ who let xavier cook
ɪx ‣ "helping out"
x ‣ false alarm
xɪ ‣ fiery motivation
xɪɪ ‣ self love
xɪɪɪ ‣ vroom vroom
xɪᴠ ‣ how to treat a short person
xᴠ ‣ is rafayel into choking?
xᴠɪ ‣ sanity loss documentary
xᴠɪɪ ‣ spooky broccoli
xᴠɪɪɪ ‣ xavier's tendencies
xɪx ‣ "what keeps you up at night"
xx ‣ speling is hahrd
xxɪ ‣ subway surfers was fire ngl
xxɪɪ ‣ whoever threw that shell, fuck you
xxɪɪɪ ‣ innocent until proven guilty
xxɪᴠ ‣ happy middle fingers
xxᴠ ‣ single when drunk?
xxᴠɪ ‣ a cursed bless
xxᴠɪɪ ‣ serotonin, too!
xxᴠɪɪɪ ‣ he isn't wrong, per se
xxɪx ‣ lie detector
xxx ‣ an artist's perspective, apparently
xxxɪ ‣ yeah no he bucked up
xxxɪɪ ‣ a cursed bless 2.0
xxxɪɪɪ ‣ caleb's sick of it lol
xxxɪᴠ ‣ propriety over honesty
xxxᴠ ‣ words of (questionable) truth
xxxᴠɪ ‣ caleb technically didn't lie
xxxᴠɪɪ ‣ she thought she was playing chess, he was playing 4d chess
xxxᴠɪɪɪ ‣ as long as rafayel's happy, i guess
xxxɪx ‣ who let xavier cook 2.0
xʟ ‣ nice card, shitty purpose
xʟɪ ‣ put a price tag in bed
xʟɪɪ ‣ mission accomplished (?)
xʟɪɪɪ ‣ asshole of the year
xʟɪᴠ ‣ "KILL IT KILL IT KILL ITTTTTT"
xʟᴠ ‣ local fish intentionally stranded on walmart parking lot
xʟᴠɪ ‣ cereal hits when drunk
xʟᴠɪɪ ‣ zayne can't be left alone, poor him
xʟᴠɪɪɪ ‣ a chair that can kick you
xʟɪx ‣ needs and wants
ʟ ‣ honesty so brutal it hurts
ʟɪ ‣ yea just buy whipped cream instead
ʟɪɪ ‣ words v. stones
ʟɪɪɪ ‣ living in the present
ʟɪᴠ ‣ popcorn doesn't last
ʟᴠ ‣ war of words
ʟᴠɪ ‣ it is trash can, not trash cannot
ʟᴠɪɪ ‣ newton's rolling in his grave
ʟᴠɪɪɪ ‣ carnival avocado
ʟɪx ‣ how much white stuff can fit in a mouth?
ʟx ‣ 6 cm per second, which is frankly impressive
ʟxɪ ‣ xavier v. jeremiah getting punched
ʟxɪɪ ‣ hunter's "reflexes"
ʟxɪɪɪ ‣ declaration (?) of love
ʟxɪᴠ ‣ double friendzone'd
ʟxᴠ ‣ rafayel's garden
ʟxᴠɪ ‣ reminiscence (?)
ʟxᴠɪɪ ‣ xavier the almighty sun
ʟxᴠɪɪɪ ‣ xavier the almighty mosquito
ʟxɪx ‣ the duality of fish
ʟxx ‣ didn't happen if there ain't no evidence
ʟxxɪ ‣ life is just one big capitalist experience fr
ʟxxɪɪ ‣ oof lmfao
ʟxxɪɪɪ ‣ you something get eat might
ʟxxɪᴠ ‣ father v. further v. farther
ʟxxᴠ ‣ hobbies
ʟxxᴠɪ ‣ the ends justify the means, right?
ʟxxᴠɪɪ ‣ so short they can duck liability
ʟxxᴠɪɪɪ ‣ cashed in the wrong way
ʟxxɪx ‣ love is an open door
ʟxxɪx ‣ efficiency > flirting
ʟxxx ‣ viral for all the wrong reasons
ʟxxxɪ ‣ killer fashion
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"When she's abandoned her moral center and teachings...
when she's cast aside her facade of propriety and lady-like demeanor...
when I have so corrupted this fragile thing
and brought out a writhing, mewling, bucking, wanton whore
for my enjoyment and pleasure.....
enticing from within this feral lioness...
growling and scratching and biting...
taking everything I dish out to her.....
at that moment she is never more beautiful to me. "
— Marquis de Sade
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reunion ; cookie run smut
for an ao3 commenter <3
blueberry pie cookie x gender neutral!reader <3
minors and ageless blogs will be blocked <3
includes vaginal fingering, blueberry pie cookie being called ‘blue’, and praise kink <3
you can also read this on ao3 <3
918 words long <3
please note that this piece was originally written back in early july of this year and thus isn’t the best representation of my current writing style <3
Your visits with Blue were few and far between, with her constantly cooped up researching magic and it's history in her study and you out travelling the world on your own. Though, it was once said that distance makes the heart grow stronger, and in your case you knew it to be true — as you never failed to make the most of your brief stints together.
One particularly effective time killer was a favourite of you both (though, of course, Blue would never admit to such a thing) as it provided you the opportunity to spend some much needed quality time with your wife — and, for her, it offered a brief reprieve from her self-imposed dry spell. In fact, it was this such activity that you now found yourself partaking in — barely having the time to close the door before she was upon you like a butter tiger in heat, all her normal senses of formality and propriety thrown out of the window.
And who were you to deny your love after such a wanton display?
So here you found yourself: your usually composed and formal wife straddling your lap with her legs spread as far as she could manage, her blue and white skirts hiked up to her waist and her underwear discarded off somewhere you couldn't bother recalling; her braid fraying and coming undone, wispy strands of light brown hair flying in front of your face as she tossed and turned in your grip, positively writhing with pleasure; her glasses fogged up and her lips parted into a perfectly kissable 'o' as a string of breathy whimpers and moans escaped from her under your skilled touch. Making a complete mess of your love and her study as you allowed her sweet slick to pour out over your wrist and onto the plush rug below you — with Blue much too lost in the moment to realise or care.
You, meanwhile, were trying your best to not follow suit, focusing all of your attention on her pleasure as you worked her using an all too familiar pattern. Rough and fast but not so much that it would have her screaming. Light touches and squeezes of her clothed breasts that would have her back arching but not cause her pain. It was a delicate balancing act, but one you'd yet to fail.
Her moans and trembles and bucks your guide as you kept on pleasuring her, adjusting her her needs without instruction or complaint and revelling in how responsive she was to your touch. Always at her service: thrusting your fingers faster into her dripping hole when she started to buck into your hand; adding pressure to her clit with the pad of your thumb when the lightest brush of the neglected bud against the heel of your palm coaxed a whorish moan from her lips; alternating between scissoring and crooking your fingers inside of her fluttering pussy as you searched for that one spongy spot that would have her toes curling — and, finally, once you'd found it starting to aggressively target it to push her over the edge of her climax. Positively abusing her sweet spot as you continued to gently play with her breasts and kiss the sensitive skin behind her ear.
Contrasting the rough treatment of her gushing cunt with gentle words and touches elsewhere in a way you knew she loved — smiling to yourself when you were finally able to give her that last shove over the edge.
'That's it, beautiful, I've got you,'
'You're taking this so well, I'm impressed,'
'That's my girl, always so receptive,'
'If I knew that this was waiting for me, I'd have come home sooner,'
'Let go, my love, I'm here,'
And let go she did. Climaxing with a thunderous cry of your name as she choked on her desperate sobs and moans, mind running a mile a minute whilst her body was lost to the torrent of pleasure you'd released upon her. Push clenching tightly around your fingers as you continued to fuck her through her release, unbothered by the slick that was coating your wrist and the floor beneath her — focused only on making her feel good. On going what you were asked, like the attentive spouse you were.
Taking care of her by keeping her in that high with your three aching digits in her cunt and your thumb circling her clit. Taking care of her by stroking her hair gently out of her face and adjusting the position of her glasses on her face from where they'd been left askew in the midst of her overstimulated arching and trembling. Taking care of her by peppering her throat and temple with kisses as you whispered gentle reassurances and praise to her that she was only able to respond to in whimpers — her own hands busy clutching at your shirt or bunching up her thick blue skirts.
'You're doing so well,'
'Think you can give me one more? I think you can,'
'You're so beautiful like this, Blue,'
'I love you,'
And it was that last sentence, that declaration, that echoed clearly through her mind as you guided her to the peak for a second time. Eyes brimming with tears, lips damp with spit, slick coating her sex and thighs and dress — but still feeling that spread of warmth in her core alongside the threatening wave of climax that crashed over her like a storm at sea.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
#sleepingdeath sapphic#sleepingdeath#cookie run x reader#gender neutral reader#cookie run kingdom x reader#crk x reader#crk smut#cookie run smut#cookie run kingdom smut#blueberry pie cookie x reader#blueberry pie cookie smut#minors dni#minors will be blocked#ageless blogs dni#ageless blogs will be blocked
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okay but i can't be the only one who thinks guilty as sin? by taylor swift is such an eddie pining for buck-song, right?
my boredom's bone-deep, this cage was once just fine
i keep these longings locked in lowercase inside a vault
someone told me there's no such thing as bad thoughts
only your actions talk
what if i roll the stone away?
they're gonna crucify me anyway
what if the way you hold me is actually what's holy
if long suffering propriety is what they want from me
they don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly
i choose you and me religiously
i keep recalling things we never did
messy top lip kiss
how i long for our trysts
without ever touching his skin
how can i be guilty as sin?
the religious imagery that parallels his catholic guilt, the relationship with marisol as a cage, the way he tries to bury and deny his feelings for buck for a myriad of reasons, ...
it just screams eddie diaz to me. and i am here for it.
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Drinking like a Regency Buck - Part 1
What if you were praised for drinking lots of alcohol? In Regency England, you could!
Nowadays, we think that immoderate drinking is a sign of weakness. However, back in the Regency era, it was actually considered to be something between a neutral trait and a source of pride. There was even an expression - ‘Drunk as a lord’!
Another expression on the subject was ‘three-bottle man’. It described a man who could consume 3 bottles of port throughout one day, and remain on his feet. Again, it was not a derogatory expression. It was not unusual to have several dinner guests like that at one table.
Strong port indeed was the drink of choice for Regency men. It used to be different - earlier in the 18th century they preferred light wines and claret. However, after the Seven Years War, blame for the country’s poor performance in the conflict was laid at the feet of the men’s ‘effeminate’ and ‘Frenchified’ drinking habits. So, they set out to prove how manly they were afterwards. That’s where port came in.
Henceforth, claret was usually only served to women in special claret cups. Though, I do have to say, that Regency ladies were far from the Victorian ideals of propriety and sobriety, too - quite a lot of them drank fortified wine such as madeira!
Due to port’s popularity, plenty of people ended up trying to play foul with its quality for the sake of profit. Quite often, port was adulterated by raisin wines, or cheap Spanish wine that had an admittedly metal name of ‘bullock’s blood’. Even worse, some just used berry-dye for the same purposes.
However, even good port had to be ‘fined’, or clarified, before you could drink it. There was a great range of things used for that purpose. Some were mundane enough, like egg, salt, or skimmed milk. Some were weirder, like oyster shells, alabaster, dry sand, or my favorite one - powdered marble.
#regency#1810s#regency era#1800s#1790s#regency history#history resources#writing resources#regency romance
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Bite and Prejudice: The Noble and Most Ancient House of Pemberley
Chapter twenty of my pride and prejudice and werewolves wolfstar and Jily rewrite is now posted.
Ever since he had left his own parents, when his transformations became too much for them to handle, and had gone to live at Longbourn, Remus had been acutely aware that he lived among a most peculiar, if loving, family. Dumbledore was a genius, as everyone knew, and an eccentric and irascible one at that. He had bucked all convention and much of propriety by inviting Madam Pomfrey to live with him, when they were not married and had no intention of being so, and met any and all objections to their arrangements with a solemn look in his twinkling eyes and a murmured ‘Dear me!’.
The Matron herself, was a worthy woman, a fine healer and more than a match for those who would judge her lifestyle. But where Dumbledore locked himself in his reading room with copies of Transfiguration Today, and experimented with alchemy, the more practical matters of life fell to Madam Pomfrey and - though she was happy with her position and her charges - all the worrying for their future fell to her, and Dumbledore’s refusal to engage with the problems often drove her to distraction. To this end, she had taken up the occupation of muggle mothers up and down the country and was determined to get her girls well married.
When Remus had first arrived, there had only been Lily at Longbourn. She - who was all sense and goodness and beauty - should have had enough to recommend her that no wizard would look at her low birth or lack of fortune, and - though the Matron was not quite sure what would become of the sickly, little boy now in her care, she had at least thought she would have no problems with her eldest.
But then came Sybil, clutching her crystal ball and tarot cards, and uttering so many doom laden prophecies about the fate of them all that even the sensible Madam Pomfrey could not ignore every one. Next arrived Dorcas, grieving her parents and reluctant to go out in society where she would be stared at on account of her dark skin and finally, in a flurry of petticoats and ribbons, Mary had landed at Longbourn - as beautiful as Lily but without the sense and goodness. Suddenly Madam Pomfrey had a whole host of problems in her hands, each more awkward than the last, and Longbourn became known in the neighbourhood as a large and unusual family, whose very numbers and peculiarity must harm their prospects.
Remus had never felt more keenly the disadvantage of being a ward, and not with his own parents, of being one of many, and of them all not fitting in one way or another than he had that summer. He had never pondered on what it meant for him and the girls to have eccentrics who lived alternative lifestyles in charge of them until Lily was nursing a broken heart, because Black disapproved too much of her position to let Potter marry her, and Mary had gone to Brighton to make herself even more ridiculous, and Remus himself was starting to wonder how he would look back on Black’s proposal and offer of security once he was penniless and running with the wolfpacks.
read more
Or start from the beginning
#wolfstar#marauders#jily#pride and prejudice#regency au#remus lupin#sirius black#james potter#lily evans#bite and prejudice#in want of a werewolf
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uh prompt for kinktober… premature ejaculation with a little bit of humiliation? just a ‘oh my god, whoops’ moment and maybe a ‘oh sweetie, don’t worry about it’ because they’re so in to each other 🥹♥️
kinktober day 18: premature ejaculation
(previous days)
max/daniel. 755 words. nsfw. new relationship, new experiences.
-
“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Daniel purrs against Max’s ear, hips grinding up together as Daniel presses Max against the door of his driver’s room.
It’s media day and they’re both avoiding their duties by making out in Max’s room, soaking up every second they can before their team comes hunting for them.
“Daniel,” Max gasps, tilting his head back and whimpering. His hips stutter against Daniel’s and Daniel can’t help but grin.
Max is twenty, and eager, and so fucking hot Daniel can’t believe he didn’t let himself have this sooner. Max had been so willing. Wanting. Daniel had had a sense of propriety about the situation and now… well, now he knows what he could have had a year ago and he has a lot of time to make up for.
He knows they don’t have a lot of time today, unfortunately, but that’s not going to stop him from pulling Max into another heated kiss, sliding his hands down Max’s chest and up under his polo to feel the hard planes of his abs. Daniel’s fingertips can nearly touch at Max’s back when he circles his hands around Max’s waist. It makes him insane. Max’s body is so hot, so perfect, so Daniel’s for the taking.
Daniel slides his hands down around to cup Max’s tight little ass and pull Max hard against him, grinding together and moaning a little. They’re both hard as fuck in their jeans and Daniel wants nothing more than to sink to his knees right here and show Max the time of his fucking life. He’s almost certain no one’s ever sucked Max off before. It makes Daniel feel insane.
“Fu-uuck,” Max whines against his lips, shuddering in Daniel’s arms. “Daniel, stop, I-“ he nearly cries, gasping as his hips buck again and, oh.
“Shit,” Daniel pants, biting at Max’s lip. “Did you just-“
“I’m sorry,” Max cries, trembling against the door a little. He’s blushing. Furiously red, eyes downcast, whimpers as he tries to curl in on himself. He came in his pants. He came in his pants from just some heavy making out. “Stop, Daniel, please,” he says, nudging Daniel a bit.
“Maxy,” Daniel lets up a little, gives Max a little bit more space and moves his hands around Max’s hips again, not quite letting him go. Fond affection bursts through Daniel’s chest and he’s unable to help the smile blooming on his face. “That’s so hot, Maxy, oh my god,” he says, leaning in to press kisses over Max’s jaw and blushing red cheeks, across the bridge of his big, beautiful nose.
Max shakes his head, embarrassed, and Daniel just smiles, presses a kiss to Max’s soft lips.
“It is, Max,” He says, pulls away a bit to duck into Max’s line of sight. “Do you have any idea how hot that is? I can’t fucking wait to make you come again,” Daniel grins, knows they cant’ do anything more today. But tonight. Tonight he’s got plans.
Max is still blushing, expression embarrassed, but Daniel doesn’t mind. It makes him insane that Max is so into him. As into him as he is into Max.
“I have to change,” Max says, nudging Daniel away to go to his bag. They have to get out to media duties and Daniel knows they’ve got only a few minutes before they’re summoned. He lets Max go, stays near the door to give him space to clean himself up and change his pants.
Daniel checks his phone from his pocket and makes himself busy while Max does his thing, nibbles his lip as he thinks about the way Max shuddered in his arms and came in his pants. Hot.
When Max is ready and returns to the door he looks calm, collected, cap back on his head and cheeks only tinged pink now. Daniel’s heart squeezes in his chest as he reaches out to squeeze Max’s hand.
“It’s really hot, Max,” he tells him once more, leans in for a quick kiss, makes it two, and then pulls back again. “Let’s go, yeah?”
They head out of Max’s room together for the press pen and Daniel smirks to himself; thinks about tonight and the next new thing he’ll get to show Max. Thinks about seeing him come again, but all naked and spread out for Daniel this time.
Daniel bites his lip, has to reach down to adjust his still half-hard dick in his jeans, and then grins for the cameras as they step into the press pen.
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not so bad - chapter 6
enjoy my darlings. pls reblog to win my undying affection
ao3 link
It was pure happenstance that Annabeth stumbled across the incident in the boy’s bathroom. Well, happenstance and a full bladder. Mid-way through her fourth period class, European History, taught by the dullest teacher in the entire school, she excused herself to run down to the bathroom. The boy’s bathroom was directly adjacent to the girls’s. That had never mattered much, but on that particular day, it meant that she inadvertently found herself caught in a disturbing incident.
At first, she sensed nothing awry: just the sound of laughter. But it was a familiar whimper of distress that gave her pause before she entered the girl’s bathroom. Annabeth knew that sound from just about anywhere. It belonged to her oldest friend, Grover Underwood.
“Come on, Underwood. Stop being such a pussy,” a voice sneered.
Another voice added, “Yeah, we just want twenty bucks a piece. That’s not so hard now, is it?”
“I- I told you. I don’t have anymore on me. I told you that I don’t get paid until Friday. I-If you could just wait-”
“You talking back to us, Underwood? Do we have to do this the hard way again?”
At the sound of Grover’s whimper again, blood boiled in Annabeth’s veins and she balled her hands into fists. One thing about Annabeth was that you did not fuck with her friends. She got ready to burst into the boy’s bathroom, propriety be damned, fully ready to fuck shit up, until another familiar voice interjected.
“Wow, three guys bullying a dude on crutches for money? Yikes. Talk about pathetic.”
“What was that, Jackson?”
“Getting sacked so much as the school quarterback really turned your brain into mush, huh Sloan? Want me to speak slower so you can understand?”
Annabeth hid a grin at the indignant sputtering from the other speaker. Sloan was a name she unfortunately recognized. Matt Sloan was easily the biggest douchebag in their school. She’d had more than one unfortunate run in with him in the past. It had ended with her breaking his nose, but he would never admit that.
“Fuck you, Jackson,” Matt sneered.
There was a scuffle of feet, which was enough of a cue for Annabeth to burst into the bathroom. Matt and his two cronies rushed towards Percy with their fists raised. Percy neatly side-stepped the first punch and hooked his foot behind his assailants calf and lifted, throwing him off balance. With one hand, Percy pushed him face-first into a urinal, while using his other hand to catch the next attacker’s wrist. He pulled him by the wrist, making him fall forward into the wall with a groan.
Matt was last, but he’d stolen one of Grover’s crutches to use as a weapon. A flicker of worry flashed in Percy’s eyes, but Annabeth dashed in quickly and kicked Matt in the back of his knee, sending him crashing to the floor with a scream of pain. Matt looked up at her from the floor, livid.
“Chase, you fucking bitch. You almost broke my leg!”
Annabeth shrugged nonchalantly. “Whoops. I’ll try harder next time then.”
Percy’s lips quirked upwards in a smile before he went to go help Grover up. Annabeth kept her attention focused on Matt and dropped to a crouch.
Annabeth glared at him and dropped her voice to a deadly whisper. “If you ever pull this shit again, on anyone, I’ll be sure to let everyone at school know I manhandled you in a fight. I’m sure it’ll be a real embarrassment to find out the school quarterback got his ass beat by a girl.”
“As if anyone would believe that,” Matt sneered.
“They sure will,” Percy chimed in. “After all, me and Grover here are two eyewitnesses. And in case Dumb and Dumber here get any ideas, maybe the two of us saw her kick all your asses. Now that would be a real funny story, wouldn’t it?”
The other two stiffened at that and gave terse nods of acknowledgement.
“And another thing,” Percy continued. “I want you three to hand Chase all the money you’ve stolen by the end of the week, or I’ll actually be serious about hurting you next time I see you. Got it?”
Matt stood up gingerly and flipped him off, but Annabeth could tell that they were rattled by Percy’s threat. She waited for the three of them to stagger out of the bathroom before she rushed to Grover’s side.
“God, Grover, why didn’t you tell me this was happening?” Annabeth whispered furiously.
Grover hung his head in shame. “I- I don’t know, Annie. I guess I thought I could just- deal with it.”
“Hey, promise me that you’ll come to me if something like this happens in the future,” Annabeth said.
Grover looked hesitant, which only served to bewilder her more. She opened her mouth to say something more, but Percy stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. Annabeth looked up at him and he gave her a subtle headshake no. She bit her lip in frustration and watched him escort Grover out of the bathroom before he turned back to her.
“Why did you stop me?” Annabeth burst out. “I could’ve helped him!”
“I know,” Percy said simply. “But you have to think about it from his perspective.”
“What’s there to think about? Unless you mean he enjoys getting bullied by those shitstains-”
“You’re infantilizing him, Chase,” Percy interjected.
Annabeth stopped mid-sentence like he’d hit her with a shovel.
“He’s got it rough as it is with his disability and all. People try to take care of him all the time and he has to let them. Getting bullied is hard, yeah, but at least he was dealing with it on his own. But you demanding he ask for help just reinforces that he can’t solve problems on his own, that he needs someone to take care of him,” Percy said.
“There’s nothing wrong with asking for help,” Annabeth muttered.
Percy held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I agree, but I don’t think he sees it that way.”
“So you’re saying I should just sit there and watch?” Annabeth demanded.
“I’m not saying anything. I’m just trying to explain how he might feel,” Percy said softly.
Annabeth pursed her lips at that and crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t want to admit it, but Percy was kind of right.
“Fine,” Annabeth grumbled. “But if I see someone bullying a friend, I’m still going to raise hell about it.”
Percy smiled. “Yeah, I know.”
The fond admiration in his voice thawed the ice in her blood. “Thanks for stepping in. I really appreciate it.”
Percy put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Nah, it’s no problem. I don’t like bullies.”
“Still, taking three guys on at once is pretty ballsy,” Annabeth admitted.
“Pretty sure it was three on two. You helped, remember?” Percy said, grinning.
Annabeth rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure, with my heroic sneak attack.”
“Well, I thought we made a good team,” Percy said.
A smile threatened to break across her face. “We kind of did, didn’t we?”
When Percy returned her smile, it sent another infuriating flurry of butterflies loose in her stomach. God, it just wasn’t fair. The boy’s smile could make flower’s grow.
“We should probably get out of here. Would be kind of weird for someone to walk in and see you in the boy’s bathroom,” Percy said.
Annabeth felt her face heat up. “Oh, um, right. Let’s do that.”
When they stepped outside, Percy gave her a hesitant look and said, “Would you mind not telling anyone about this? I already kind of have a bad rep at school. I don’t want to make it worse.”
“Oh, yeah, no problem,” Annabeth said.
“Great, thanks!” Percy beamed. “I’ve gotta run down to pre-calc before I get written up by Mrs. Dodd’s again for like the fifth time this year. I swear she has it out for me.”
“Yeah, see you later, Perce.”
“I hope so, Annie,” Percy said, a cheeky smile on his face.
Annabeth tried her best to look stern. “Hey, not cool. Only Grover gets to call me that.”
Percy made a show of looking apologetic. “Darn, just when I thought I finally found a cool nickname for you.”
“How about just calling me Annabeth instead of Chase all the time?”
“Alright, let me try again then,” Percy said before clearing his throat. “I hope so, Annabeth.”
Annabeth mimed applause and bit back a smile. “Well done, you dork. Now get to class.”
Percy saluted her and Annabeth watched him head towards the Math department before she turned around and went back to history. At least now, she’d have something to tide her over in her imagination for the rest of class.
#knuffled fic#percabeth#Percy Jackson and the Olympians#percy jackson#annabeth chase#percabeth fluff
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camilla + december 23 + falconer’s stadium parking lot?? congrats on 200!!
I haven't written Camilla before, so this was super fun to work on! Enjoy <3
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Falconer's Parking Lot, Dec. 23
The things I do for you Jack Zimmermann, Camilla thinks when the wind kicks up while she waits outside the players’ exit.
She has gifts to finish wrapping, a guest room to get ready, last minute groceries to buy – but instead she is shivering despite her layers and the late afternoon sun.
Camilla had been planning on seeing one of Jack’s games, actually. Sometime in March, when she knew she had a week off. When it was a bit warmer. Her girlfriend had been baffled by Camilla going to hang out with an ex-boyfriend, but she and Jack had always been friends first – even after they started sleeping together. Once Jack decided he was friends with someone, he put 110% of himself into maintaining that friendship. They’d actually developed a fairly regular text thread, which – based on the everything she knew about Jack – was more surprising than him going into the NHL.
He’d used an emoji a few weeks ago and she almost fell off her chair.
Jack had actually called her to invite her to this game specifically – I know it’s right before Christmas and you’re probably busy but I’ve got a ticket, two if you want them – and there was something in his voice that piqued her interest. A hesitant sort of glee, like happiness was trying to burst out of him but he was reining it in for propriety’s sake.
So Camilla went to the game. It was a fun one, the Falconers beating Chicago by three points; Jack with a goal that even Camilla could tell was absolutely beautiful.
Jess: i’ve got dinner in the crockpot when you get back ❤️
“Camilla?”
She looks up from her phone to see Jack, game day suit on and a Falcs beanie – it’s a toque, Cam – covering his shower-wet hair.
“Hey, Jack! Great game,” she says, moving in for a hug. Despite the bulking up he’s done since the season started, Jack still hugs the same.
“Thanks,” he says, “The boys worked really hard, really dug in there, managed to get the pucks in deep, and Chicago was just—”
“Jack.”
“Right, sorry, habit now,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “How have you been?”
“You know how I’ve been. What did you want to tell me in person?”
“I—”
“Because I gotta say Jack, I’ve never seen you look so settled.”
“Oh,” he says, looking pleased.
And he does look settled. There’s actual calm behind his eyes, settled in his frame; it’s like contentment has been knit into his bones. She’s never seen him this relaxed, even after winning games at Samwell – it looks great on him.
A gust of wind comes up again, and Camilla shivers again.
“Shit, you should come inside, we can talk in the player’s lounge for a minute, plus there'll be a snack and at least coffee to drink if you want to warm up a bit before heading out.”
“Jack, of course I’ll come in for a minute, but you’re babbling.”
“Right. Um.” He takes a deep, steadying breath, before meeting her eyes squarely. “Come meet my boyfriend?”
She can’t help the smile that bursts out. “Even if I wasn’t freezing right now, you have to know the answer’s yes.”
He motions her inside ahead of him. She revels in the warmth as the chat about small things through the hallways. Camilla notes with interest as Jack nods and waves at various staff that pass them by. It’s a marked difference from even two years ago.
It suits him.
They pass into the player’s lounge and Camilla gets her first glimpse of a short young man with blonde hair who’s facing away from the entrance. Is that—? She manages to keep her excited cheer behind her lips when the man turns at the sound of their footsteps.
“Jack Zimmermann, you owe me so much money. I fucking told you so,” she mutters before raising her voice.
“Oh, shut up,” Jack whispers back.
“Eric Bittle, as I live and breathe!”
Twenty minutes, fifty bucks, and a bag of cookies later, Camilla is in her car, letting the engine heat up for a few minutes.
Camilla: Leaving now!
Camilla: I have dessert for us tonight and a double dinner date for next week
Jess: ❤️
Jess: see you soon 😘
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want your own ficlet? details here! (available thru the end of sept 2022)
#cricket writes#ficlet fest#omgcp#check please#camilla collins#jack 110% zimmermann#falconers#date stamp
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Thinking about how Buck is like super polite? He says "excuse me" when asking people if they've seen Chris in the tsunami. He says "sorry" or "excuse me" (or something to that effect I'm doing this from memory) when he runs past people in Jinx and also during the sperm donor run. He thanks the sanitation workers in s1 as he's running off. He makes sure to thank Athena for inviting him to dinner before he storms out on Bobby before the lawsuit. I'm sure there's more examples.
It's probably due to his upbringing. His parents are clearly obsessed with propriety and image, and are also just WASPS in general. So I could get in my feelings about it. But also it's just so sweet and charming?? So I kind of don't want to.
#Local golden retriever is a good boy with manners#Idk guys I'm still sick so maybe this is nothing#Flu blogging#Shut up fraddit
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More nsfw headcanons for SF9 - that I wrote before going to bed
The topic is blowjob!!
Disclaimer: please, assume that everything mentioned below is practiced out of consent.
🍭Those who fuck your mouth:
Inseong pushes his dick in and out of you mouth pretty slowly while you suck him and stroke him with your hand. Too much at the same time but it's very hard to him to be still. He likes overstimulation, babe
Taeyang bucks his hips forward from time to time. More of involuntary spasms because he squirms quite a lot. His hands go everywhere including your nape and hair but also his own chest and stomach.
Chani can be reckless unless you hold his hips and give him a bossy look. He gets quiet right alway and maybe even calls you noona. However, if you're up to face fucking he's the right guy. You'll become his toy
💋 Those who let you take your time
Youngbin just wants to lie down and enjoy the view. Not a big fan of having his cock sucked while standing. Legs go weak. He rather likes it when you get on all fours and focus on his tip. Extra points when you stroke the extention of his member. Your eyes have to lock with his.
Zuho's dick becomes your propriety once you pull it out of his boxers. He likes you to say how much you want it so he can say "go on and take my cock, baby girl". The way you know what he likes have his head spin.
Rowoon finds you cute fitting his member in your mouth and fondles your pretty face because of it. He voices it, he makes faces out of pleasure when you slide it further. Boy absolutely goes insane if you are able to thrust it deep. Likes you to gag yourself but you won't hear it from him
👀Unpredictable:
Jaeyoon wants to feel real good. Some times having you sticking your tongue out to lick his tip and the precum leaking from his slit is enough. Though other times it might be too little and he will force your face onto his pelvis.
Okay, Dawon likes to push his entire length past your lips but let's talk more about him taking it from you. He thrusts it back and forth a few times before emptying your mouth "want more?"
Hwiyoung doesn't intend choking you with his shaft or anything but sometimes you hold him by the hips, your hands might even sneak behind him and grab his butt. It just makes him absolutely desperate = hips jerking involuntarily.
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