You love teasing Ghost while he's at work on your days off—sending him filthy messages, describing exactly how your fingers slid through your slick folds, how you imagined his cock filling you. You knew exactly what you were doing. And fuck do you regret it now.
The rough polyester of his uniform trousers scratches against your cheek as you while you look up at him with teary eyes, searching for any scrap of mercy. The scent of him—gunpowder, sweat, that sharp masculine musk that clings to his skin after a long shift—fills your lungs with every desperate breath. Your knees ache against the hardwood floor, the pressure a dull throb that punctuates each frantic rock of your hips. His boot is slick with your arousal now, the black leather darkened and glistening where you've been riding it like a desperate animal in heat—the need is a living thing inside you, clawing at your insides, demanding release.
Simon's eyes are dark pools of amusement as he watches you descend into ruin. He's tilted back in his chair, legs spread wide, the outline of his cock straining against the metal zipper of his trousers. You can see the damp spot where precum has beaded at the tip, darkening the fabric. He's hard—so fucking hard—but he shows no sign of easing your torment. His hand rests on your head, fingers threading through your hair with a gentleness that belies his cruelty.
"Si... please” the words tear from your throat, ragged and broken. Tears blur your vision, hot tracks carving paths down your flushed cheeks. Some drip from your chin, splattering onto the leather of his boot. You're a mess—makeup ruined, hair a tangled disaster, body shaking uncontrollably.
"Is it too much?" The question drips with faux sympathy, his voice a low purr that vibrates through your skull as his thumb brushes a tear away with mock tenderness. You nod frantically, more tears spilling free, your lips parting to beg again—
"Good. Keep going."
The command drops an octave, deep and final. The sound of it settles in your bones like a warning. A whine escapes you, high and pathetic, as your hips stutter against his boot. You're so close. So fucking close. The edge is a razor's breadth away, a precipice you've been dangling over for what feels like hours. Every time you think you'll tip over, the pressure shifts, the angle changes, and the wave recedes, leaving you gasping and empty.
"I can't," you sob, your movements halting completely. Your arms wrap around his calf, hugging it like a lifeline, your forehead pressing against his knee. "Please, I can't—"
His fingers find the nape of your neck, grip tightening on your hair, and he yanks your head back with brutal precision. Your spine arches, a gasp punched from your lungs. Through tear-blurred eyes, you meet his gaze—those cold, calculating eyes that see right through you. "Should've thought about that before being a fucking tease." His voice is a low growl, vibrating with restrained dominance. "Sending me those texts, huh? Thinking you could wind me up and I'd forget about it when I got home?"
You can't respond. Your throat is too tight, your breath coming in ragged pants. The tears flow freely now, a silent admission of guilt. Sensing your need, your submission, he tilts his boot upward. The leather toe catches your clit through the soaked fabric, a sharp, deliberate tap that sends a jolt of electricity straight through your pelvis. Your body convulses, a broken moan tearing from your chest. The sensation is too much and not enough all at once.
"Move," he orders.
Your whimper of protest is swallowed by instinct. Your hips roll forward, grinding desperately against the boot, chasing that spark of pleasure-pain. You hate yourself for how easily you obey, how your body responds before your mind can catch up. But the need is overwhelming, a primal force that strips away all dignity.
Simon watches with hungry satisfaction. Your fucked-out, tear-streaked, utterly broken face, how you look up at him with those glossy, hazy eyes. The way you hug his calf, fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers, as you hump his foot like a bitch in heat—only his to admire, to humiliate.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his hand moving from your hair to cup your jaw. He tilts your face up, forcing you to maintain eye contact as you continue your frantic movements. "Fucking desperate. Is this what you wanted?" He squeezes your cheeks, forcing your lips into a pout. "To be begging for permission to come on my boot?"
A sob escapes you, but you can't answer. Your hips only move faster, your breath coming in sharp, frantic gasps. The pressure is building again, that coiled heat in your belly tightening, threatening to snap. But you know he won't let you. Not yet. Not until he's extracted every ounce of punishment for your earlier teasing.
His thumb traces your lower lip, pressing inside, and you instinctively suck, tasting the salt of your own tears mingled with his skin. "Good. That's it," he praises, the words a venomous caress. "Show me how sorry you are." And you do. Because there's nothing else you can do. Because this is exactly where he wants you—on your knees, shattered and desperate, your pleasure dangling just out of reach, his to give or withhold as he sees fit. And as you continue to grind against his boot, you know that it's going to be a long night.
Neglectful!Batfamily x Male!Reader x The Disastrous Life of Saiki K.
Cw: Reader is called stupid (they aren't just average in a family of geniuses.) Reader can see the fourth wall, audience, and author.
part 2, part 3, part 4, divider credits.
• We're you stupid?
• No, not really, but luckily for you everyone in Gotham thought you were stupid!
• Why?
• You're the son of Bruce Wayne.
• Literally, like he fucked your mom to keep up the whole Brucie Wayne thing.
• In fact they think you're dumber or as dumb as Brucie.
• This includes his entire family.
• It hurts.
• It only got worse once Damian came around.
• Because then it wasn't about Bruce's only child being stupid.
• It was about you yourself being stupid.
• It hurt.
• Did that mean you should be rude to Damian? No.
• But were you? Yeah.
• You knew who they were.
• Why wouldn't you? They thought you were stupid.
• They got sloppy.
• You pieced it together on a corkboard.
• Why? Well, to keep track of everything of course. And because it made you feel like you were in a movie.
• You glare at someone you can't see.
• She's constantly writing your actions, but at least she doesn't think you're stupid.
• You could also see this wall.
• It was always there, but no one else acknowledged it.
• You learned to ignore both the writer and the wall.
• You were on a press tour with your family and called stupid at every turn.
• You played into it because when you're the joke it's best to play along.
• Being a Wayne kid you were kidnapped by Joker once.
• Harley was still with him, but you could tell there was a weird disconnect she had when she looked at you.
• Sometimes you felt like she was looking at you like a kid she'd work with before Joker got to you.
• You'd sit there called stupid all day then get kidnapped only to be called stupid more.
• And Harley would slip away when Batman finally arrived and crouch down beside you.
"Heya kid, ya ain't stupid. You're just average. Not everyone is as brilliant as your families."
• It was the first time in a long time you were told you were just average.
• Average.
• You liked that.
• But as soon as you were saved by Bruce, or Batman, you were back to being an idiot.
• They lectured you about how stupid you were to get kidnapped and how your family must've been extremely worried.
• And you guess they were since they were all with you just... In costume.
"How could you be so stupid–" Red Robin says as you just start to walk away. "I did everything right. I stayed in my house, I locked the doors, I locked the windows, and I went to sleep. What was stupid about thinking I'd be protected by my family? Oh right, everything." You say as you push away from them and start to walk home.
• Stupid? Yeah.
• Did you care? No.
• You were kidnapped and your family immediately called you stupid of course you're gonna make a stupid decision in anger.
• You're home and your family is already back.
• Of course they are, they had the batmobile.
• You walk past them up into your room ignoring Dick as he calls out to you.
• On your desk a pamphlet for a school.
• PK academy, a school all the way in Japan.
• Away from Gotham.
• Away from being called stupid.
• Away from family.
• So what did you do? You acted stupid.
• Why? That's how your family saw you.
• You tumble down the stairs and latch onto the railing looking at Bruce.
"Me. Abroad. Pleaseeeee!"
• Those were the only words that you uttered as you tossed the pamphlet at Bruce.
• Bruce looks it over and it's just an average school.
• And he sighs and is about to protest before you stumble onto the floor in front of him.
"I won't get kidnapped abroad."
• Of course this is immediately followed by puppy dog eyes and silent self disgust.
• Bruce sighs as he heads off to get the information set up.
• Within that night you were ready to go abroad!
• Your siblings and the few who were basically your siblings stare at you in shock.
A/N: Reader is about to be a menace to Saiki. Ngl I had fun writing this.
[𑣲] Next Time
↳ Seungmin (STRAY KIDS) x Reader
genre: fluff / comedy / rivals-to-lovers
wc: ~3.4k
summary: you and Seungmin have always bickered like enemies — until one jealous moment proves he’s been paying more attention to you than anyone realized.
— 🍋: I don't have much to say about this, just this photo of when I used to play the sims 3 to describe my reaction for this one.
You and Seungmin have been “rivals” since the day you joined a variety show as a recurring guest.
Everyone thinks you two hate each other because:
— You always roll your eyes when he corrects you.
— He gives you the deadpan glare of the. century.
— You bicker like siblings raised by wolves.
— Chan calls you both "my problematic children".
But the truth?
Seungmin treats you differently because you somehow… always get under his skin.
And he hates that he doesn’t hate it.
𖹭
You’re in the studio with Chan, working on a track, when the door opens and Seungmin walks in with a cold coffee and an even colder expression.
He looks surprised to see you.
Then annoyed.
Then something else… something he hides fast.
"Oh," he says, voice flat. "It’s you."
You scoff. "Aw, you remembered me? I’m touched."
He raises a brow, lips twitching.
"Hard not to remember someone who never shuts up."
You get up from your chair and walk closer, chin high. "At least I make things interesting."
His jaw drops. "Oh, you wanna talk about boring personalities? You—"
Chan stands up. "NOPE. Not doing this today. Both of you, out. Now."
You both get kicked out.
Into the hallway.
Alone, in the empty hallway. Amazing.
You turn away.
Seungmin grabs your wrist. "Wait."
You stiffen. "What?"
"Did you… eat?"
His voice is quieter, almost awkward.
Your brain short-circuits.
"Did you just show concern?"
"I didn’t say I cared," he mutters. "You just get crankier when you’re hungry."
"Crankier? You’re literally the human embodiment of a complaint box."
He rolls his eyes but you see the corner of his mouth tug upward.
“Come on,” he says. "Not letting you bother Chan anymore, so, go eat something."
"What if I don't want to?" you say, chin tilted in challenge.
Seungmin crosses his arms.
"Then you're proving my point. Stubborn and cranky. Terrible combination."
"Oh, please. You're acting like you’re my babysitter."
"Trust me," he fires back, "you're the last person I'd voluntarily babysit."
You open your mouth to snap something back—
But your stomach speaks first.
Violently loud.
Seungmin freezes.
You freeze.
The hallway freezes.
You pray the universe swallows you whole.
Then Seungmin’s expression cracks—
just barely,
just enough for a tiny smirk to tug at the side of his mouth.
"...Was that an earthquake?" he asks innocently.
You glare daggers.
"Shut up."
"Can't," he says, already walking past you, brushing your shoulder just enough to make your skin spark.
"I'm too busy taking you to get food before you pass out and Chan blames me."
"I didn't say I was going anywhere with you."
"You also didn't say you weren’t hungry." He looks back. "Which your stomach already confirmed."
You gape.
He keeps walking.
You stay stubborn for exactly three seconds.
One. Two. Three.
Then you stomp after him.
He glances to the side, trying so hard not to look smug.
"I’m only coming because I don’t want to owe you anything."
"You're welcome," he says.
"I didn’t thank you."
"You were getting there."
You roll your eyes dramatically.
He huffs out a laugh — quiet, real, unguarded.
And suddenly the hallway doesn’t feel so hostile.
Seungmin’s idea of “getting food” is apparently dragging you to the convenience store around the corner.
You complain the entire walk.
"It’s cold."
"Walk faster."
"My legs are short."
"Skill issue."
You smack his arm.
He pretends not to feel it.
Inside, you grab instant ramen and a triangle kimbap.
He buys the same — but grabs an extra drink and slides it onto the counter before you can protest.
"I’m paying for my own—"
"You can pay next time."
You blink.
"Next time?"
He stiffens, clears his throat, and mutters,
"I meant— next time you bother Chan and get kicked out."
"Uh-huh," you say, hiding your smile.
He holds the door open for you.
You pretend you didn’t notice.
He pretends he didn’t mean to.
𖹭
You sat across from each other in the tiny break room of, steam rising from your ramen cups.
You slurp a noodle.
He stares.
"What?"
"You eat like a gremlin."
"You breathe like a menace."
He snorts.
You lean back.
"Sooo… why are you even here today?"
"Schedules." He shrugs. "Recording later. What about you? Tripping over cables?"
"I do that one time—"
"Three."
"One time that mattered."
He looks at you for a long second, eyes softer than his voice.
Then he breaks the moment by stealing your egg.
"HEY—"
"Finders keepers."
"It was in MY bowl!"
He smirks, victorious.
You plan your revenge by stealing a piece of his kimbap when he’s not looking.
He notices immediately.
"Oh, so you want war?"
"I thought we were already at war."
“You’re unbelievable.”
But he’s smiling.
Smiling-smiling.
Like he forgot he’s supposed to pretend to hate you.
𖹭
Later that week, you both end up backstage for a music show — your group finishing rehearsals, SKZ arriving for theirs.
You’re leaning against a wall scrolling through your phone when someone approaches.
A tall idol from another group.
Pretty, harming smile, a little too confident.
"Yn, right?" he asks. "You were great on the variety show. I wanted to say hi."
You bow politely.
“Thank you! That’s sweet.”
He steps closer, too close.
"I was hoping we could talk more. Maybe exchange numbers?"
Before you even process, a shadow appears beside you.
No — behind you.
Seungmin.
He doesn’t say anything at first.
Just stands there, arms crossed, expression blank enough to freeze an ocean.
The other idol hesitates.
"Oh— uh, Seungmin. Hey."
"Hey," Seungmin says.
Flat. Cold. Dangerously polite.
You elbow him subtly.
He does not move.
The idol tries again.
"I was just asking Yn if she wanted—"
"She's busy," Seungmin cuts in.
Your eyebrows shoot up.
"Excuse me?"
He ignores you.
The guy blinks.
"Oh. I didn’t realize you two were—"
"We're not," you say.
"We might as well be," Seungmin says at the exact same time.
You turn your head slowly.
"Repeat that?"
He stares straight ahead.
"I said you’re busy."
The other idol clears his throat, bows awkwardly, and retreats like he just met a guard dog.
You whirl on Seungmin the second he leaves.
"What is wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
"You scared him off!"
"He deserved it," Seungmin mutters.
"Why??"
He tightens his jaw.
"Because he was staring at you like—"
He cuts himself off.
Looks away.
Ears turning pink.
"Like what?" you pressed.
He stays silent.
You step in front of him.
"Like what, Seungmin?"
He finally looks down at you, eyes sharp, expression unreadable.
"Like he thought he had a chance with you."
Your breath catches.
"And he doesn’t?" you whisper.
He swallows.
Very quietly, almost frustrated with himself, he answers:
"No. He doesn’t."
You forget how to breathe.
You stand there, blinking, brain buffering like a 2008 computer.
Seungmin said: “No. He doesn’t.”
You heard it. You’re replaying it. You’re questioning reality.
"Seungmin…" you whisper.
He clears his throat and immediately looks away, suddenly fascinated by the backstage wall.
"Forget it," he mutters. "I didn’t mean— I just didn’t like the way he looked at you."
"Why?" you ask, stepping closer.
He steps back. Not because he wants to. Because he doesn’t trust himself not to say something stupid.
Which, ironically, he already did.
"Because," he says, voice tight, "he was being weird. Anyone could see that."
"Chan didn't see it."
"Chan is emotionally illiterate."
"Hyunjin didn't see it."
"Hyunjin is busy staring at his own reflection."
You cross your arms.
"Then why did you see it?"
His eyes flick to yours—just once, just a flash.
"Because I pay attention," he says quietly.
Your breath catches again.
But he quickly shakes his head like he’s deleting the moment.
"Whatever. It doesn’t matter. You can talk to whoever you want."
"Oh, really?" you challenge. "Then why do you look annoyed?"
"I’m not annoyed."
"You’re literally grinding your teeth."
He unclenches his jaw like you just caught him breathing.
"I’m not jealous."
"I didn’t say jealous."
He blinks.
You grin.
He realizes he walked into a trap.
"You're insufferable," he mutters.
"And you're flustered."
"I am not—"
"Your ears are pink."
He slaps a hand over them.
You burst out laughing.
He glares at you with a mixture disbelief and shy.
𖹭
In the night, you’re brushing your hair, oversized shirt, comfy shorts, fully ready to pass out in your bed and pretend Seungmin’s words didn’t melt your frontal lobe, when someone knocks on your door.
Three knocks.
Three firm, precise and annoyingly familiar knocks.
You freeze.
Your heart does not cooperate.
You open the door and there he is.
Seungmin.
Hoodie on, hair slightly messy like he ran his hands through it too many times, lips pressed into a stubborn line, bouquet of flowers awkwardly stuffed between his arms like he’s hiding contraband.
Your brain short-circuits.
"What— what are you doing here?" you sputter.
He doesn’t answer immediately.
He looks… tense.
Embarrassed.
And also like he aged ten years in the last hour thinking about what he said backstage.
Finally, he thrusts the bouquet forward like a weapon.
"These are for you," he says flatly.
You stare.
"…Why?"
He glares at you like you’re the unreasonable one.
"Because." Pause. "You looked annoyed earlier."
"I was annoyed because YOU—"
"I know," he cuts in.
His voice has this tiny crack in it, barely there, but enough to make your chest tighten.
"I didn’t mean to embarrass you."
You blink. Then laugh.
“You embarrassed me?”
He sighs in defeat.
“You’re impossible.”
But he doesn’t leave.
Doesn’t look away.
Doesn’t regret being there.
He clears his throat.
"You don’t have to take them," he mutters, eyes drifting down. “I just— I wanted to.”
Your lips part.
That soft, almost panicked, almost shy tone is new.
Dangerous.
Devastating.
You gently take the bouquet from him.
He visibly relaxes his shoulders.
"Oh," you whisper. "They’re… really pretty."
He shrugs, trying to act unbothered while his ears betray him and turn so red.
"They were the least ugly ones."
Your laugh echoes through the hallway.
You lean against your doorframe, hugging the bouquet lightly.
"So… how are you here so fast, anyway?"
He blinks. "Oh. I live here."
You stare. "Here?"
"Yeah. Upstairs."
"UPSTAIRS??"
He winces. "Can you not shout? The neighbors will think something happened."
Something DID happen.
Your rival-crush lives ABOVE you.
He’s been above you this whole time.
Literally and metaphorically.
You narrow your eyes.
"How long?"
He scratches the back of his neck, looking anywhere but your face.
"Six months."
"SIX MONTHS?? YOU KNEW AND NEVER SAID ANYTHING?"
"You never asked!"
“WHY WOULD I ASK WHERE YOU LIVE??”
"Why WOULDN’T you?"
You stared at him.
He presses his lips together, fighting a smile.
"Unbelievable," you mutter.
He shifts his weight, hands in pockets now that the flowers are gone.
"I should go," he says quietly. "It’s late."
You nod, suddenly aware of how close you’re standing.
How soft the moment feels.
How not-annoying he is when he’s being honest.
He starts to turn—
Then stops.
Looks at you again.
Something gentle replaces the usual sarcasm.
He reaches for your hand.
Not fast.
Not hesitant.
Just… certain.
He takes your hand in his, warm and steady, and lifts it slowly.
Your breath catches.
"Goodnight, shorty," he murmurs.
And then—
He presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand.
Not mocking or teasing or dramatic.
Just real. Just him. Just… everything.
Your heart goes absolutely feral.
He lets your hand go like it’s fragile, precious even, and steps back.
"Don’t stay up too late," he says, voice so soft you almost miss it.
You nod like an idiot. "O-okay."
He walks toward the stairs, hoodie slightly slipping off one shoulder, hands in pockets, pretending he didn’t just destroy your entire ability to function.
When he reaches the top, he glances down at you one last time.
"You can text me," he says. "If you want."
You smile. "I will."
His ears turn red again.
He disappears into the hallway upstairs.
You stand there clutching flowers like they’re oxygen.
First I just wanted to say that your writing has made being in this fandom soooo good and so fun. I love retract and repent and every drabble you write on tumblr. Now that s2 is coming to a close I want to let you know how fun you make watching this show <3
Also, walk with me, cuckholding hucklerabbot where Jack is punishing Robby for one of the first times since Dennis has joined their relationship. Robby thinks: So what. Jack will hit me around a little bit, Dennis will get hard over it. Win-win and couldn't be MORE wrong.
Jack doesn't tie Robby down-- that would make it too easy for him. He makes Robby sit at the end of the bed while he takes Dennis apart two feet in front of him. Everything Jack does is one of Robby's favorites. He sucks Dennis off sweet and slow and Jack never fucking does that. Then, he turns the boy around on his hands and knees so he can face his daddy while Jack eats him out. Robby thinks he's going to fucking die. His boy, his sweet boy feeling so good and he can't even touch him because Jack is a fucking sociopath. And just when Robby thinks he's at his limit, like he's going to come just from seeing the tear tracks on Dennis' face, he realizes just how fucking bad this is.
"D-daddy," Dennis swallows. "Please touch me- ah- please! I miss feeling feeling you."
Robby makes a sound as all the air exits his lungs.
"Don't even fucking think about it, Brother." Robby can fucking hear his smirk. "You just sit there and listen to our pretty boy cry for you."
"Oh, come on! You're fucking ev-."
"No. I'd be evil if I stopped touching our boy and let him spend the whole night needy and crying. I might even make him sleep on the couch. You wouldn't want that would you?" An empty threat if he's ever heard one. That said, Jack was pretty pissed at him. "No? Then hang tight."
Robby can't decide if he's going to tear Jack apart or if he's never going to step out of line ever again. He tries to protest-- do anything to get himself out of this situation when he catches the smirk on his Dennis lips.
"P-please, daddy. I need you-- ah! I want you so bad. I just want a kis-"
-@puppyjavadi
Nothing to add other than iysm thank you drooling and thank you for the TREAT THE FOOD YAY MEEEEE
back to that post abt bruce wayne’s luscious long hair, except superbat.
bruce comes back from a mission in space where he'd been with aliens who looked down on modifying appearances in any way, claiming it was untruthful. so bruce didn't touch his hair. he was able to get away with shaving for whatever reason, but his hair had to be left alone.
he's not the biggest fan. it gets in the way, makes his head hot under the cowl, and becomes a pain to maintain after a while, lengthening his time in what should be efficient showers.
so when he arrives back in the watchtower, he's eager to make an appointment for a haircut, even sends a message down to alfred to pencil it in while he's debriefing the league on how his mission went.
he doesn't think anything of it until he's back in the cave with clark, who's being all smiley and clingy now that they're alone.
bruce manages to get clark to give him enough space to take off the suit, at least. he hooks his thumb into the cowl and tugs it over his head to hang at his back, running his hand through the long hair that tumbles into his face after being freed from the cowl.
he has to do it more than once as he pulls off his belt and plate armour, enough that he makes an irritated noise in his throat and grabs the makeshift headband he'd crafted for himself on the mission. it's enough to keep most of it back, but a few strands still fall into his eyes. bruce just sighs and tugs off his boots.
he doesn't realize clark has stopped moving until he's already in his undersuit.
bruce freezes, one hand halfway to the zipper on his front. "clark?"
clark's eyes snap to his, widening, but they keep darting upwards. "your hair," he says, sounding surprised as he steps closer.
bruce relaxes, returning to his task. "oh, that. i've already made an appointment for a cut. normally i'd trim it myself, but this is too much, and—clark, what are you doing?"
clark, who had sunk one hand into bruce's curls and grabbed bruce's wrist with the other, blinks owlishly at him. "you can't cut it," he says, sounding genuinely distressed. he tugs on it lightly before dragging his nails along bruce's scalp and dislodging the headband.
bruce suppresses a shiver as hair falls into his face again. he frowns. "it's nothing but a bother, clark," he tries to reason. "i don't have time to maintain it at this length."
"i'll take care of it for you!" clark insists.
"it's not a wig. would you just—" bruce pulls clark's hand out of his hair and ignores the soft noise of protest, glaring at him. "why do you care so much?"
clark visibly gulps. "you look good," he says in a rush, his voice gravelly. "really good."
bruce opens his mouth. closes it. he runs a hand through his hair, observing how clark tracks the movement, his pupils dilating. liquid heat pools in bruce's gut.
"hm." bruce lets his hand fall. he grabs clark's wrist and slowly brings it higher, guiding clark's fingers into the thick hair at the base of his skull.
clark grins and moves closer, scratching at his scalp in a long, slow drag. this time, bruce doesn't suppress his shiver.
yn piastri fretting over oscar’s broken rib and oscar’s like, “gee you’re worst than mum” & nicole’s just like, “yeah i don’t need to worry about oscar when yn’s around”
the rumors are true: i'm obsessed with writing this little scenarios
read little bitch here
"Are you absolutely sure you're comfortable? Maybe we should prop you up a bit more," you hover anxiously over Oscar, adjusting his pillow for the third time in as many minutes." Oh, and do you need more ice? I can run and get some. Actually, should we call the doctor again? Just to double-check everything's okay?"
"YN, I'm fine," Oscar groans, "It's just a broken rib, not the end of the world. I'll be racing in Hungary next weekend anyway."
"What? No, absolutely not!" your eyes widen in alarm. "You can't race with a broken rib, Oscar. That's insane!"
Oscar rolls his eyes dramatically. "It's cracked, not broken. And I've been cleared by the medical team," he stresses, "You're worse that mum sometimes."
From her seat in the corner, Nicole chuckles. "Oh yeah, I don't even have to worry about you when your sister is around. She's got the overprotective mother role covered."
"Thanks, Mum," you say, turning to her. "My therapist has great opinions about it. She says my anxiety comes from a place of love."
"Yeah, well, your love is suffocating me right now," Oscar snorts.
"Osc, I'm just worried about you," you stressed again, "It's too dangerous. What if you crash? What if your rib punctures a lung? What if-"
"What if aliens invade during the race?" Oscar interrupts, mimicking your concerned tone. "What if a meteor hits the track? What if I suddenly forget how to drive?"
"This isn't funny, Oscar! I'm serious!"
"So am I! Carlos nearly drove with a burst appendix, and he was fine!"
Carlos, who's been quietly watching the siblings' back-and-forth like a tennis match, pipes up. "Well, 'fine' might be stretching it. I was in quite a bit of pain, actually."
You whirled on Carlos, who suddenly looked very interested in the ceiling. "Oh, don't even get me started on that piece of stupidity!"
"In my defense," Carlos cleared his throat awkwardly. "I didn't actually race…"
"Only because the team had more sense than you did!" you exclaimed.
"Back when you pretended to hate Carlos but you were at the edge of your seat worrying the entire time he was at the hospital," Oscar teased, making you roll your eyes.
"That's not the point right now," you crosses your arms over your chest, glaring at Oscar. "We're talking about your safety, not my past… concerns."
"Oh, but I think it is relevant," Oscar grins mischievously, sensing an opportunity. "Remember how you kept texting the group chat every five minutes when Carlos was in the hospital? 'Just being a decent human being,' you said. As if we couldn't see right through you."
You feel your cheeks heat up, aware of Carlos' gaze on you. "That's... that's completely irrelevant," you stammer.
"Is that so, hermosa?" Carlos chuckles softly, moving to stand beside you. "I didn't know you cared so much back then."
You shoot Carlos a look that's half embarrassment, half exasperation. "Don't you start. And you," you turn back to Oscar, pointing an accusing finger, "stop trying to change the subject. We're talking about your cracked rib and your ridiculous idea to race with it."
Nicole, who's been watching the exchange with poorly concealed amusement, decides to intervene. "Alright, kids, let's all take a breath. YN, honey, I understand you're worried. But Oscar's right - he's been cleared by the medical team. They wouldn't let him race if it wasn't safe."
"But-" you start to protest, only to be cut off by Oscar.
"No buts," he says firmly. "I appreciate the concern, sis, I really do. But this is my job, and sometimes it comes with risks. I promise I'll be careful, okay?"
You sigh, feeling your resolve weaken. "Fine. But I swear, Oscar, if you so much as wince during that race, I'm storming the track myself."
"Now that I'd pay to see. YN vs. Formula 1 security," Carlos jokes, "My money's on you, mi amor."
As you and Oscar continue to bicker, your mom and Carlos exchange amused glances. Carlos leans towards her, speaking in a low voice.
"Has YN always been like this?" he asks, a fond smile playing on his lips as he watches you fuss over Oscar.
"Oh, you have no idea," Nicole chuckles softly. "This is actually quite mild compared to when they were kids. There was this one time when Oscar was about seven, and he fell off his bike. Scraped his knee pretty badly. YN, who was ten at the time, went into full nurse mode."
"What did she do?" Carlos raises an eyebrow, intrigued.
"Well," she continues, "She insisted on 'quarantining' Oscar in his room for a week, claiming he needed complete bed rest. She even made a 'Do Not Disturb: Patient Recovering' sign for his door. Poor Oscar was going stir-crazy by day two, but YN wouldn't let him leave. She brought him all his meals, read him stories, everything."
Carlos can't help but laugh at the image. "That sounds exactly like something she would do."
"Oh, it gets better," Nicole grins. "When I finally convinced her that Oscar was fine to go outside, she insisted on wrapping him in bubble wrap before he could ride his bike again. Said it was 'necessary protective gear'. Oscar looked like a little astronaut waddling down the street."
Their laughter catches your attention, and you pause in your debate with Oscar about the dangers of racing with a cracked rib. "What's so funny?" you ask suspiciously.
Before Nicole can respond, Oscar, catching on to the conversation, groans dramatically. "Oh god, Mum, please tell me you're not telling the bubble wrap story."
Your eyes widen in realization, and you feel a blush creeping up your neck. "Mum! You promised never to mention that again!"
Carlos, still chuckling, wraps an arm around your waist. "I think it's adorable, hermosa. You've always been a protector."
"Well control your girlfriend! She's trying to bubble wrap me again, I swear!"
"I am not! Although..." you trail off, a mischievous glint in your eye, "it's not a bad idea for the race. Extra padding couldn't hurt, right?"
quantum entanglement (the last supper) (@buckweek day 7: free choice; buck & the 118; buddie)
"If the world was ending, where would you want to be?"
Everybody turns to look at Buck, his brows a little furrowed and curiosity bright on his face. The loft is quiet for a moment, not awkward but bemused, like laughter that hasn't quite reached your ears yet.
"Thinking of becoming a doomsday prepper, Buck?" Chimney asks, tilting backwards on his chair, legs propped criss-crossed on the loft table.
Bobby taps his knee pointedly as he walks past, and he lowers them with a sheepish smile. "What brought this on?" he asks, more indulgent than teasing.
Buck shrugs. "I'm bored," he says, and Hen snorts a little into her book. Eddie smacks his ankle lightly where it's sprawled over his lap, and Buck kicks him a little in response.
"Boys," Bobby says, without even looking at them. The spat settles immediately. Hen makes a face at them. Buck makes a face back.
"I'd want to be on the beach, probably," Ravi offers. "Get a nice view before it all ends -- wait, how is the world ending, in this scenario?"
A tilt of the head. "Asteroid storm?"
"So we're getting taken out by the same thing that ended the dinosaurs?" Chimney whistles. "Damn, that's kind of cool, actually."
Eddie rolls his eyes. "Getting killed by falling rocks is cool?" he mocks. "What are you, twelve?"
"Are you saying that twelve year olds aren't cool?" Chimney retorts. "Gonna say that to your kid's face?"
"Chris is turning thirteen this year," Buck intones, with the sing-song rhythm of someone who's imitating someone else's voice. "He's not a baby anymore."
Even though he's lying down in a position where he can't quite make out Eddie's expression, his knee nudges Eddie's stomach anyways, breaking Eddie out of his little pout of sad nostalgia.
"A beach is nice," Hen brings them back on track, looking at Ravi. "Very cinematic."
Buck makes a little face. "In LA, though? The crowds would be killer."
Ravi shrugs. "Doesn't have to be in LA, right? I could fly to, I dunno, Bali or something. Or an uninhabited island."
Chimney whistles. "Blowing all your savings on one last hurrah, huh? I respect it."
Buck pouts. "So you wouldn't stay in LA?"
"You would?"
"I mean, yeah, where else would I go?"
A judgmental stare. "You've literally traveled more than any of us."
"And I liked LA the best!" Buck protests. "It's why I stayed!"
"I'd stay in LA too," Hen hums. "My family's here, after all. Maybe we'd do a little picnic on our back porch, play one last game of charades." A pause. "But maybe I'd want to come to the station. Go through the day like everything's normal. There are probably people that need helping, even at the end of the world."
Chimney's eyes soften at that. "Yeah, I'd probably want to spend the day with Maddie and Jee, too. Buy Al tickets back from Korea, get the Lees over..."
Buck nudges Eddie. "What about you?"
Eddie dances his fingers over Buck's ankle idly, thinking. "Home sounds nice," he says, finally. "Abuela and Pepa can visit, maybe Soph and Adri can, too. But honestly, I'd probably want a normal day. Just hanging out on the couch with you and Chris, you know?"
Buck blinks. "You'd want me there?" he asks. Everybody politely pretends not to notice the little wobble to his voice, even though little smiles and knowing looks are passed around the room, over the heads of the two boys on the sofa.
Eddie pinches Buck slightly, and Buck kicks him again with his mismatched socks and stinky feet. "Obviously," Eddie says, like it's nothing. Everybody knows that it's not, but with Eddie, it is often kinder to pretend alongside him.
"Oh," Buck says. He swallows, blinks, turns to Bobby: "What about you, Bobby?"
Bobby hums from the kitchen, stirring something rich and savory. He sprinkles something into a pot. Only Buck would know, by instinctive memory, exactly what spices he's throwing in. He takes his time, everybody waits. It never feels like waiting, though, with Bobby. It always just feels like gravity.
"A family dinner," he says, finally. His voice is soft, wistful. Behind him, Buck and Hen exchange a knowing glance, remembering an empty table set for four. "I think it would be lovely to have everyone over for a meal."
"Does that include all of us, cap?" Chimney asks, grinning because he already knows the answer.
Bobby gives him an amused, placid smile. "Of course," he says to him, then the rest of them. "All of you are. There's nobody I'd be more honored to share my last moments with."
Soft glances, little smiles. A moment of contentment. Then, Eddie nudges Buck's foot.
"What about you?"
Buck startles slightly. "Huh?" he says. "Like I said, LA."
Eddie rolls his eyes. "We all said LA, Buck-- except for Ravi--"
Ravi splutters. "Hey, if cap's making a last meal, I'm showing up, alright? Fuck Bali, I'd rather have Bobby's chili." Bobby looks quietly pleased.
"-- but where exactly in LA?"
Buck tilts his head back, thoughtful. A moment passes, then another.
"I don't know."
Groans and protests. A paper wad thrown at Buck's face. Buck yelps and flings it back towards Chimney, getting him in the hair. "I didn't think that hard about it!"
"You brought it up!"
Buck flails his hands. "I wanted to know what you guys wanted to do!"
"And that didn't give you any ideas?" Eddie flicks his ankle. "I invited you over, asshole!"
"Yeah, yeah," Buck rolls his eyes. "I don't know, I guess I just--"
Alarms, a rush of activity, the click of a stove being turned off. Eddie shoves Buck's legs off the sofa. The topic is left behind.
---
The thought lingers.
---
"So."
"So."
Hen levels him with a look, and Buck winces slightly. "...I threw out the couch."
"You threw out the couch, and...?"
"...and I stopped following Kameron and Connor on Instagram."
A soft look. "Buck."
"I know, I know," Buck puts his chin in his crossed arms, feeling a wave of deja-vu. Him, Hen, and the bottle of vodka between them. "I just-- I couldn't keep looking, you know? It would drive me crazy."
Hen shakes her head. "No, I mean-- that's a healthy choice to make," she says. "I just-- I wish you didn't have to make it in the first place."
"You think I regret it?"
"Do you regret it?"
Buck thinks about it. "Yes? No? Maybe? I don't know, it's done."
A nod. "It is," she says. "And you did something amazing for them."
There's that, at least.
"They deserve to have a beautiful family," Buck says. He takes a shot, then points to Hen. "Like you!"
"I deserve to have a beautiful family?"
"You do have a beautiful family." Buck sighs, love and longing twisted into one. "I love your family, Hen."
"We love you, too," Hen says. "And you're part of my family, you dummy."
Buck knows, but it's nice to hear it anyways. "Can I come over for backyard picnics, then?"
Hen laughs. "You can."
They take another shot together, afternoon light stretching over them. After a moment, Hen speaks again.
"Have you thought about it, since then?" she watches him keenly. "Where you'd want to be, for the end of the world?"
Buck feels the alcohol in his veins, warm and slow. "I dunno," he says. "But at least if the end of the world comes now, I won't have to get a new couch."
Hen breaks into giggles, Buck follows, and Karen sends the ensuing picture of them falling out of their chairs to the entire group chat.
---
"Uncle Buck!"
"Miss Jee-yun," Buck cheeses, catching Jee by the armpits and tossing her into the air. She shrieks with laughter, and he catches her to press a kiss to her cheek that mostly catches hair. Chimney and Maddie walk up to him more slowly, amusement in their eyes.
"She's been talking up today for weeks," Maddie says, all fondness. "I hope you're ready to be run into the ground, uncle Buck."
"Please," Buck snorts. "I can keep up with my adorable niece to do whatever she wants."
"You say that like we haven't seen you literally passed out after chasing after her for a day," Chimney grins, even as Buck sticks his tongue out at him.
"That was a weaker Buck," Buck informs him. "This is the stronger, better uncle. Who can totally play racecar princesses for six hours straight."
"Yay!" Jee throws her hands up into the air, and Chimney snorts fondly, leans forward to press a kiss into Jee-yun's hair, a gentle pat to Buck's shoulder. Maddie gives them both hugs, before they head to the door.
"Don't forget that we're coming back for her later!" Chimney says, wiggling a finger at him as they leave. "I'm not letting you hoard her, she's already on my end of the world guest list."
Buck cackles, lets Jee-yun wave goodbye. "The end of the world?" he laughs, holding his niece in his arms. "How could the world ever end, with this little princess still here?"
---
It's quiet on South Bedford street, and Eddie's curtains are not pulled fully closed.
It bothers Buck, in the way that small things do when you're trying too hard not to be bothered by bigger things. He watches the sliver of moonlight, streetlight, car lights dance across the ceiling, over the exposed parts of his skin. It probably dances over Eddie, too, not that Buck is looking.
Their breaths are out of sync. It's another thing that bothers Buck, in a way that he doesn't know how to articulate without it sounding like he's accusing Eddie of something. You're not breathing right, maybe. Or, more accurately: why can't we breathe together?
Maybe Christopher is breathing right. Buck fights the urge to roll out of bed and check, the miracle of that being an option to him still buzzing through his fingertips. He could close the curtains when he gets back, too. Or maybe he won't come back into this room, maybe he'll sleep on the sofa, or drive to Maddie's house, or back into the lab, or into the ocean.
Eddie runs warm beside him. They aren't touching, but Buck can feel the echoes of him anyways. His atoms, remembering. Touching the version of Eddie that touches him back.
A shift in the mattress. Eyes on his face. Buck wants to look at Eddie, but he isn't sure that he can, just yet.
"Hey," Eddie's breath is warm on his face, alive. Buck is a thousand miles from LA. "If the world were ending right now, where would you want to be?"
In LA. In Minnesota. In El Paso. Nowhere.
With Bobby, Buck thinks. Then, out loud: "I don't know."
A sigh, another shift in the mattress, and Eddie's breath isn't touching him anymore. Buck can keep holding onto the memory.
---
Ravi sits across from the ouija board, face paint smeared onto the beer bottle in his hand.
"Did you really..." he trails off, seeming to regret whatever beer-soaked words slipped from him. "Nevermind."
"Did I really believe in the ouija board?" Buck says, smile like a challenge. It's a Buck 1.0 smile, which means that to Ravi, it probably looks like the smile of a stranger. Buck understands why he flinches back. He shrugs. "Maybe. I don't know. I guess...I hoped." A little laugh. "Stupid, right? If Bobby was a ghost, why would he be haunting me?"
Ravi watches him carefully. "Why does anybody haunt anyone?" he asks.
Buck startles a little. "Uh-- revenge, I guess? Regret? Love?"
"I'm pretty sure Bobby doesn't want revenge on you."
It surprises another laugh out of Buck, more genuine this time. "I don't know," he says. "I did steal one of his pans from the station that one time."
"What? Why?"
"I was twenty-five and didn't have a proper pan."
Ravi stares. "I'm pretty sure that the fact that he didn't fire you on the spot for that proves that he loves you, Buck."
There's nothing Buck can say to refute it, least of all because Bobby has confirmed it, hasn't he? Across polished glass and never to Buck's face, never unobstructed, never without dying.
"Why the beach?" he asks, suddenly.
Ravi blinks. "The beach?"
"For the end of the world. Why the beach? You're the only person who wouldn't stay in LA."
"Hey," Ravi protests. "I said I'd stay if--"
The words die. If Bobby were making dinner. But that wouldn't be happening anymore, would it? Buck pushes past the thought. He's used to it, now, the underwater-feeling, the tightening of his shoulders, the difficulty of pushing something like water out of the way. He gets his head up above the surface. Shallow breaths. Prepare. The next wave will come.
"Why the beach?" he asks again.
Ravi takes another sip of his beer, contemplates the question. "Because it's like nothing will change at all," he says. "It's like-- even if the world ends for us, it doesn't mean it ends, right? Somewhere, something is still happening. The universe is continuing. And I got to be a part of that." A shrug. "Maybe it's morbid, but I think it's kind of nice, to be a part of that. To see something that vast before you become part of it." A laugh. "And it'd be nice to take a dip, I guess."
The world did end, once, at a beach. Buck remembers the fear, mostly. But he supposes that he can see the beauty in it, this far out. There's a reason he got so obsessed with natural disasters afterwards, after all.
"Surprisingly deep," he says, just so Ravi can give him the stink-eye. "I would've thought that it's just an excuse not to come to work and deal with us on your last day on earth."
"That too," Ravi grins, unrepentant. Then: "What about you? You never mentioned where you'd want to be, last time."
Buck shrugs. "Haven't decided yet," he says.
Anywhere but here, he thinks.
---
The sun is bright in the sky, and Jee and Theo are wrestling over the good (red) water gun, Mara already shooting at them with her own.
"Should we...stop them?" Buck wonders, not making a move towards them at all.
Maddie laughs, taking a sip of her wine. "Do you want to go stop them?"
"Just let them fight it out," Eddie says, chair kicked leg against leg to Buck's, touching him all along his side. He leans into Buck. Buck leans into him. Nobody comments on it, but he can see the soft looks and knowing smiles being traded over the backyard benches.
"Likely thing for you to say, Mr. Fight Club," Buck retorts, even as he makes the executive decision to continue to sit. Chimney cackles as Eddie shoves Buck in the side, Buck windmilling slightly before leaning back against Eddie, more firmly than before.
"I can take 'em both," Christopher informs the table.
Eddie looks skyward. "Please don't use your crutches on the toddlers."
"I'm just saying," Chris says. "I can take 'em."
Denny nods solemnly. Harry does too, but stops when he looks around at all the adults at the table, hesitatingly halting his movements and attempting adorably to imitate their disapproval. Buck's pretty sure he sees Denny mouth suck-up to him, but elects to ignore it.
It's such a beautiful day, after all.
"Dinner was delicious," May says, Ravi nodding next to her, an arm around the back of her chair. "You got the recipe spot-on."
"I don't know how you decipher that man's notes," Athena shakes her head, a soft smile on her face. "Let me tell you, god gave that man cooking skills, but he didn't give him the ability to write any kind of coherent recipe."
Buck grins. "I've been his sous-chef for years," he points out. "I probably cook the exact same way."
"He does," Maddie informs everyone. "I asked him for his roast pork recipe once, and Buck gives me a recipe all out of order."
Buck shrugs. "You should know that the meat should already be seared before you start on the glaze!"
"But why would you put a numbered list if the list isn't in order?"
Everybody laughs. "Maybe you should give him a clipboard," Hen snickers. "Maybe that'll get you instructions in order."
"But at what cost," Chimney intones, Maddie giggling at his side.
"I think Buck's great at giving instructions," Eddie says loyally. Across the bench, Ravi coughs a quiet of course you would, and Buck hopes that his glare gets across the exact number of saws that Ravi's gonna be dismantling next shift.
"Mama!" Mara runs up to Karen, Jee and Theo a damp gaggle behind her, all of them beaming. "Can we have some snacks?"
Karen presses a kiss to her hair as Jee makes the same pleading face to Maddie and Chimney, as Theo crawls into Buck's lap, uncaring of the damp soil and little-kid stickiness he's tracking onto Buck's clothes. Buck holds him tight, smiles as he reaches over to Christopher's plate, Chris rolling his eyes and pretending not to notice as Theo grabs his last piece of watermelon.
"I won!" he announces to Buck. Jee makes a shrieking protest from Chim's lap, Mara's no, I won! echoing behind her. As the kids start bickering, Buck feels a warm hand on his back, warm eyes on his. He turns to meet Eddie's eyes, real and not a memory. Something Buck can exist in the same space with.
"Hey, Buck," Eddie says, a smile hidden in the corner of his lips, loudly enough for everyone to hear. "If the world were ending right now, where would you want to be?"
Buck laughs, startled. He can see everyone turn towards them, eyes shining, waiting to hear what he'll say next. He smiles at them, and they smile back, because he's pretty sure they all already know.
"Right here, I think," he replies. He smiles, the world vast around them and also right here in his backyard, beside him, in his arms. His atoms sing. Somewhere in the universe, Bobby's atoms sing back. He's sure of it. "Yeah, right here would be nice."
Irc I think she's a (ex) barn cat, so I was wondering, now that there's livestock and chickens inhabiting a previously empty lor of land, how she would react to seeing a predator (like a coyote, or if u wanna Amp up the drama, a wolf or a bear^^) while out on her patrols for rats-- and, how would the boys react to either seeing a giant scary thing near her or witnessing her being chased off in the distance (which is kinda comedic) by something they DEFINITELY didn't know lived in the area.
Also extra love if cat reader gets spoiled to death for like a week following the incident (and maybe Price or Gaz's rooms get added into her list of beds she's allowed to be in 👀)
Tysm <33 I'm in love with all of your headcanons lol. Take care!
It’s been a while yall 💀 but I’m back from the grave! (At least temporarily aha…)
Personally, I'd like to believe that cat!reader gets along with most of the animals in the forest (except mice and rats, ofc). That being said, sometimes a few unfriendly creatures wander onto the farm, so here's how that would go--
It was a pack of coyotes, probably driven into the area from local development projects. At least, that was Price's guess.
Thank God for military men, though--when you came sprinting out of the woods with a tail of barking coyotes behind you, it didn't take long for Price to draw a handgun and shoot the closest one dead. Pierced through the temple. At the sound of the shot, the rest stopped in their tracks and darted back to the treeline, and though Price knew they'd be back for the chickens, right now his focus was on you.
Poor, little you--with your fur a mess of scratches, leaves, and cobwebs. Mud on your paws and what looked like a nip to your ear. As soon as he'd pulled the trigger, your stumbled headfirst into his boot, lunging for safety in his shadow. In response, he cursed under his breath and scooped you up with the flannel he shed, and held you close while your breathing and trembling came to a steady. Shushing your whiny, pained yowls as he walked on back to the house.
"The hell was that racket?" Soap started, poking his head out of the barn.
"Vermin," Price mutters under his breath. "Call Gaz--gotta treat the kit. And help Simon bury the coyote out back."
"Aye--mean, yes, sir."
Soap spares you a worried glance, your ears just barely poking out from the safety of your makeshift swaddle. But he follows orders with the same familiarity and readiness as he would have five years ago, locking into soldier mode for the sake of better things.
It’s no more than three minutes later when you’re safely indoors again—as though you weren’t already safe in Price’s arms.
"Poor girl," Gaz coos softly, scratching under your chin with one hand while the other holds a cotton swab, dabbing at your nipped ear to disinfect it with alcohol. "I'm telling Simon you've been designated a house cat 'til the end of the week."
You meow in protest, not wanting to be holed up all day.
"I know, I know--but you oughtta heal up. Can't have our resident mouser out of commission," he chuckles, tossing the swab into the nearby trash can. "I'll make you a deal, though. Rest up and I'll get you some more catnip."
At that, your ears perk up, and you happily wiggle halfway out of his embrace to bump your nose against his cheek.
___
Additional Notes:
It wasn’t even that bad but once Soap exits work/soldier mode, he’s back to fussing over you per usual. He’d pet you harder if you didn’t hiss at him for being so overdramatic.
Then Price says you should probably go to the vet and get checked for rabies just-in-case—and the house erupts into chaos as though you were never hurt. The lamp is off the table. Multiple lamps actually. So is his favorite whiskey glass he has to dive to catch. Ghost slowly sinks into the darkness of his room and locks the door behind him, leaving the rest of them to deal with you.
